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 'TWAS IN TlUFALGiR'S BAY. 
 
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 dred and seventy-eight, by Walter Besant and Jamks Rick, In the Office of the 
 Minister of Agriculture. 
 
 } 
 
 1] 
 
 ■♦I 
 
 National Library Bibllothdque nationale 
 of Canada du Canada 
 
 PniNTEP BY Hunter, Rose A: (^o. 
 Toronto. 
 
 V 
 
 \ 
 
 0O93S546 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ( 
 
 :? 
 
 CHAPTER r. '*"''' 
 
 In R0U8DON Bay ^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Love the Unconqubrep j4 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 A LtJCKY Run 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Ths King's Clemency _ 317 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Femina Purens ^ 4y 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Lady Campion g4 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 The Victory of Trafalgar >jq 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 Out of the Golden • 1 st g^ 
 
 V 
 
 ) 
 
1 eit''/ 
 
 '7! 
 
 S 
 
 il 
 
'TWAS IN THAKArUAR'S BAY. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 IN UOUSnON HAY. 
 
 ^:^^^HEUFi iirc not many 
 places in Knglandwliich 
 li' an; nioio beautiful than 
 Tiynje Ilegis, tlio place 
 whoro tny own ehildhood was 
 spent. You have lonjLf hill-slopes, 
 covered with orchaixlsand hani'.nir 
 I woods ; you have broad valhjys, 
 ' in which are peaceful hamlets and 
 yellow coriitields ; you have open 
 spaces on windy hill-tops, where 
 tall thistles are crowned with wine- 
 ed b; Us of feathered spray, ready 
 ? to be blown to the four corners of 
 the earth l)y the carrier winds; you 
 have chalk downs with bare turf, 
 and here and there a brij^ht trout 
 stream, where you may see the 
 quick-eyed water- rat, or even catch 
 a glimpse of an otter; you have 
 straight and sturdy cliffs, looking 
 out upon the waste waters ; you 
 have here and there a little port 
 with its little town; and you have, 
 as the towering glory and splend- 
 our of the whole, tlie Underclitf, 
 with its bracken fields and grassy 
 knolls heaped one above the other, 
 backed by the crags and faced by 
 the sea, telling of fallen rocks and 
 undermining waves. 
 
 My name, when I was a child 
 and ran wild among tlu-se wondrrs. 
 learnijig every day to fed their 
 beauty more, was Ploasance Noel. 
 There are plenty of Noels in Dor- 
 setshire, but none of my kin in 
 Lyme. Nor do I know how [ came 
 to be born there, nor anything 
 about my mother, who died when 
 I was born; nor nnich al)out Jiiv 
 father, who was a ship-carpenter 
 by rank and calling. I was born, 
 I believe, in the year one thousand 
 seven hundreil and eighty-seven. 
 I never had a birthday , because no 
 one cared to remember such an in- 
 significant circumstance as the 
 l»irth of a sailor's child. My father 
 went down ineighty-nine.on board 
 the Invincible, which foundered in 
 a heavy gale off Jamaica, with all 
 hands except two or three. These 
 managed to get to land oi- to be 
 picked up, I forget which, and told 
 the disastrous st<»ry. 
 
 Dan Gulliver came to my help, 
 being always the most kind-lieart- 
 ed of men, and, besides, a friend of 
 my ffither's. He lived at Rousdon, 
 which is three miles and a-half 
 from Lyme, being then a widower 
 with two boys living, two or three 
 years older than myself. 
 
 There are a good many Gullivers 
 
I? 7 I 
 
 a 
 
 'TWAS IS TllAI'Ar.(:All'.s IIAV. 
 
 i: 
 I 
 
 ill Dorsotshiro, as well as Noels, 
 When r first read Gulliver's Tra- 
 vels, it was the more real to ?nc, 
 Itecaiise T wns sure that the honest 
 captain nuisi hnve come from my 
 part of the country, and I was 
 etjually sure that in appeaiance he 
 ^■)-eatly resend>led Dan. 
 
 Nobody, except his sons, ever 
 called him anything else but Dan. 
 Not Mr. (iulliver, or Daniel Gulli- 
 ver, but j)lain Dan. As early as I 
 can remember him, he had grey 
 hair. He was a man of middle 
 lieight and strong build, with im- 
 mense hands; he had a face covered 
 all over with crowsfoot wrinkles, 
 and it had tlie kindliest and gent- 
 lest expression that can dwell upon 
 Jiuman countenance; his light-blue 
 •eyes rested upon one when he 
 spoke, as if he loved to look upon 
 his friend; he was as incapable of 
 thinking or speaking evil as of do- 
 ing it. Therefore he was every- 
 body's friend. I suppose he knew 
 very little of evil, living as he did 
 upon his seaboard farm, as remote 
 from the world and as little suspi- 
 cious of <langer as did those poor 
 men of Laish, who dwelt "after the 
 inannei- of the Zidonians, quiet and 
 -■secur(\" 
 
 His estate consisted of a pati-i- 
 monial ten-acre slip, lying chiefly 
 jilong the cliff. It was a poor piece 
 of land, which grew scanty crops, 
 lliaivily worth the trouble of culti- 
 vation, but it gave occui)ati()n to 
 the two boys. Job and Jephthah, 
 and to the one farm-labourer whom 
 
 we employed, Isaac Agus ; Dan 
 himself looked after the boats, of 
 course. If the land was poor, the 
 fai-udiouse and yards showed every 
 sign of prosjierity. There were pigs 
 which grunted in the sties or roam- 
 ed about the yard, grubbing among 
 roots with philanthrophic resolve 
 to waste no time in becoming good 
 pork ; fowls which laid eggs and 
 chuckled over them ; ducks which 
 drove broods of little soft yellow 
 balls, which might have been co- 
 coons had they not been live things, 
 into the pond ; geese, on tlic waste 
 land, which cackled to each other 
 encouragement to get fat come 
 Michaelmas ; and there were the 
 most generous of cows in the mat- 
 ter of milk. The dairy, where Mrs. 
 Agus and I made butter, was al- 
 ways full of cream and milk ; there 
 were hayricks, ploughs, flails,carts, 
 harrows, and all the signs of suc- 
 cessful cultivation. 
 
 The twin boys, Job and Je])h- 
 thah, were, like their father, of 
 middle height, with broad should- 
 ers and big hands ; they were as 
 exactly like each other as a pair of 
 Chinamen, but when you came to 
 Jive in the house, you learned gra- 
 dually to distinguish certain little 
 differences not apparent to strang- 
 ers. Outside the farm no one knew 
 Jephthah from Job, and addressed 
 either at random as Job or Jeph- 
 thah. They had blue eyes, like their 
 fathei', light-brown hair, and a 
 gentle way, which they inherited. 
 But they exaggerated the paternal 
 
 1 
 
 ( 
 
Isaac A^'us ; Dan 
 I after the Ijoats, of 
 I land was poor, the 
 yards sliowed exevy 
 ity. There Avere pigs 
 in the sties or roam- 
 nl,grubl)ii)o- among 
 lanthropliic resolve 
 e in becoming good 
 licli laid eggs and 
 hem ; ducks which 
 F little soft yellow 
 gilt have heen co- 
 lot heen livothini'-s 
 geese, on the waste 
 \led to each other 
 
 to get fat come 
 id there were the 
 f cows in the mat- 
 i dairy, where Mrs. 
 e butter, was al- 
 mand milk; there 
 loughs, flails,carts, 
 
 the signs of suc- 
 )n. 
 
 s, Job and Jej)h- 
 ! their father, of 
 ith broad should- 
 ds ; they were as 
 other as a pair of 
 '■hen you came to 
 . you learned gra- 
 uish certain little 
 ^parent to strang- 
 arm no one knew 
 ob, and addressed 
 
 as Job or Jeph- 
 ue eyes, like their 
 ^n\ hair, and a 
 h they inherited, 
 ited the paternal 
 
 I 
 
 IN ROUSDON HAY. 
 
 X 
 
 characteristics. His gentleness be- 
 came, with them, slowness ; his 
 taciturnity became absolute dumb- 
 ness. 
 
 The most frequent visitor was 
 Joshua Meech, Dan's nephew. He 
 was a miller at U]) Lyme. When I 
 was sixteen he must have been 
 about six-and-twenty — someseven 
 years oldei' th".n the boys. He, too, 
 was strongly built and well-])ro- 
 portioned, but he had the other 
 Dorsetshire face— not that of the 
 Gullivers. Everybody knows that 
 there are two faces in Dorsetshire 
 — that with blue eyes and brown 
 hair, a round face, and that with 
 dark hair and dark eyes, an oval 
 face; sometimes very beautiful, but 
 sometimes forbidding and harsh. 
 Joshua's face had the IfHer cha- 
 racter. ^His eyes were to , ^ose to- 
 gether ; his expression was threat- 
 ening; his chin too long and S(piare; 
 his manner was imperative. He 
 was a masterful man, a man who 
 always got what he wanted ; if he 
 desired a thing, he said he should 
 have it, and he got it. The history 
 that follows, however, is that of a 
 thing which he desired vehemently 
 and did not get. Another visitor, 
 and the only other friend of the 
 family, was the rector of Rousdon, 
 the Reverend Benjamin Burden. 
 
 Rousdon parish contained a po- 
 pulation of eleven souls, six of 
 whom came from Rousdon Farm. 
 Its yearly value was thirty-five 
 pounds. There was also a house 
 with a bit of glebe-land. The house 
 
 was a cottage ; the glebe-land was 
 a garden cultivated by the rectoi- 
 himself. He had an orchard, the 
 apples of wdiich he sold for cider, 
 a fi'uit and vegetable garden, two 
 or three pigs, somcfowls, and some- 
 times, the gift of his churchwarden, 
 some ducks. He was a bachelor/' 
 and lived entirely alone in his cot- 
 tage. His church was a barn with 
 a tluitehed roof, kept from fallino- 
 down by Dan and the boys. The 
 old pews were worm-eaten ; the 
 pulpit was tottering; the liroken 
 windows were repaired with oiled 
 paper; the covers were dropping 
 off the church-bible and prayer- 
 book ; his surplice was in rags ; 
 there was no church-plate; and the 
 one weekly service was a duet be- 
 tween himself and Dan, who was 
 at once his clerk and his church- 
 warden. The old rector wore a wi"- 
 on Sundays; on other days he tied 
 up his head in a handkerchief ; he 
 never forgot his cloth, or went out 
 without a cassock, though that 
 garment was in rags ; he 1; ui the 
 dignity of his profession, though 
 he had foi-gotten all his learning, 
 ceased to take any delight in books, 
 and was nothing but a gardener, a 
 rustic, and a peasant-priest. 
 
 Our house, at the back of which 
 lay the farmyard, was a good-sized 
 six-roomed house, with a thatched 
 roof The windows in the front 
 looked out upon Rousdon bay, 
 which lay about eighty feet below 
 us. They opened on hinges, and 
 the small panes, many of which 
 
 I 
 

 / ' ^ 
 
 8 
 
 
 a 
 
 II ! 
 
 'twas in Trafalgar's bay. 
 
 were biills'-eyed, were set in heavy 
 leaden frames. There was a fjroat 
 porch, beside w^hich flourished the 
 finest fuchsia-tree — ten feet high, 
 and ten feet across — tliat ever was 
 seen. There was a sloping garden 
 in front, where I grew beans, peas, 
 and cabbages, with all kinds of 
 simple flowers. We were quite rich 
 people. When the distress was 
 deep all over the country, we felt 
 none. We lived comfortably ; there 
 was no pinching, no talk of econ- 
 omies. I was well-dressed and well 
 cared for; the boys had all they 
 wanted. 
 
 To be sure, in those days, the 
 ideas of a farmer aa to plenty were 
 simple. We never had any holiday 
 or any change. The boys got a little 
 teaching, as I did, from the rector; 
 we had no newspapers and very 
 few books ; most country-people 
 could not read ; there wei-e no con- 
 veniences for travel ; things were 
 rough ; men were rough ; fighting 
 was common ; we were inconceiv- 
 ably ignorant ; we did not look or 
 hope for any change except for 
 peace. That was what we wanted. 
 I suppose the people of that gen- 
 eration ought to have been un- 
 happy, feeling themselves so great- 
 ly at a disadvantage compared with 
 their grand-children, who would 
 certainly have gas,railways, chloro- 
 form, electric light, cheap news- 
 pap' \s, all sorts of things. But 
 somehow they wei'e not unhappy. 
 They were just as happy, in fact, 
 as people are now, except for the 
 
 Avickedness of war, the ambition of 
 kings, and the injustice of man. 
 And these are things which seem 
 destined ever to plague, vex, and 
 trouble the world. 
 
 Now, the most remarkable thing 
 concerning Dan, his two sons, and 
 Jo.shua Mcech, his nephew, was 
 that their hands werealwaysbrown 
 with tar. There was, besides, a 
 smell of things connected with 
 boats always lingering about his 
 house ; and though fishing-nets 
 were constantly spread over the 
 garden or on the beach, there was 
 very little fishing done. 
 
 Dan, farmer though he was, 
 dressed habitually as a boatman. 
 On Sundays, in the summer, he 
 wore white ducks, a blue jacket 
 with brass buttons, and a straw 
 hat, just as if he was a navy man. 
 On other days, he wore great boots, 
 a simple blue shirt, and a tarpau- 
 lin. Down in the bay there were 
 three boats. One of these was a 
 safe, heavy-built fishing-smack. 
 Dan called her the Chace Mary. It 
 was a good many years befoi-e I 
 learned to recognize in this nan)e 
 the French chasse-mar4e. Dan 
 picked her up one night abandoned 
 in the Channel— his experience 
 decided her origin and her name. 
 The boys and Joshua used now 
 and then to go out fishing in her, 
 bringing home in the morning a 
 rich cargo of bright and beautiful 
 fish. We kept the best for our- 
 selves, and the rector never failed 
 to come lor his titho of JulmDory, 
 
m ROUSDON BAY. 
 
 9 
 
 war, the ambition of 
 e injustice of man. 
 
 things which scera 
 ;o plague, vex, and 
 rid. 
 
 st remarkable thing 
 1, his two sons, and 
 
 his nephew, was 
 3 were always brown 
 ire was, besides, a 
 ;s connected with 
 ingering about his 
 bough fishing-nets 
 y spread over the 
 le beach, there was 
 ng done. 
 
 though he was, 
 illy as a boatman, 
 n the summer, he 
 cks, a blue jacket 
 tons, and a straw 
 s was a navy man. 
 le wore great boots, 
 lirt, and a tarpau- 
 he bay there were 
 no of these was a 
 ilt fishing-smack, 
 he Chace Mary. It 
 ny years before I 
 ;nize in this name 
 asm-mai'^e. Dan 
 e night abandoned 
 1 — his experience 
 in and her name. 
 Joshua used now 
 )ut fishing in her, 
 in the morninff a 
 ght and beautiful 
 the best for our- 
 Bctor never failed 
 itho of John Dory, 
 
 bass, hake, pilchards, or m ickerel. 
 The rest went to Lyme to be sold. 
 The boat which lay beside the 
 Chace Mary was of very different 
 build. She would be called now, 
 though her ' os would no longer 
 find fa voir x fifteen-ton yacht, 
 sloop-rigged. I do not know where 
 Dan bought her ; she was long and 
 narrow ; she was decked ; she car- 
 ried any amount of canvas ; and 
 she was, as Dan often boasted, the 
 very fastest boat in the Channel. 
 She was called the Dancing Polly. 
 Hauled up on the beach was a 
 little dingy, gay with bright paint, 
 and provided with a neat lugsail 
 and a sjjritsail and a pair of sculls. 
 She belonged to me, but was, of 
 course, always at the service of 
 thr Firm. 
 
 For not to delay any longer a 
 confession which must sooner or 
 later be made, we were all of us 
 smugglers by trade, and farmers 
 by pretence. The ten acres of 
 barren cliff land could never have 
 kept us all during those hard 
 times, even in a poor way. We 
 were a gang of smugglers. Dan 
 was the head of the firm by 
 hereditary succession. His two 
 boys were partners by the same 
 right. Joshua Meech was a part- 
 ner by grace and free gift of Dan. 
 I, Pleasance Noel, was an accom- 
 plice, aider, and abettor. 
 
 In the reign of great George the 
 Third it was as impossible to make 
 people believe that sumo-o-lincr 
 
 r --- --1--^-, _, 
 
 was wrong as to make a rustic 
 
 believe in the wickedness of knock- 
 ing over a hare in a field. To evade 
 the duty was meritorious. Tlien 
 there was the romance about the 
 trade : perils surrounded it on 
 every side ; across the water you 
 might be caught by the French 
 authorities, and kept in {)rison, or 
 or even shot as a spy : or you might 
 be picked up by a French privateer; 
 or you might be cut out by a rev- 
 enue cutter ; or ycu might be ar- 
 rested while landing your cargo. 
 These things were considered and 
 went to make a daring smuiiuler 
 a sort of hero. Lastly, all the 
 country-side stood in with him. 
 It was he who brought over the 
 best French brandy, packages of 
 lace, boxes of gloves orof perfumes ; 
 he was the provider of otherwise 
 unattainable luxuries ; he was a 
 public benefactor. In no country 
 inn could you get such .spirits as 
 came out of the illicit kegs ; when 
 a landlord had any he would 
 whisper its recommendation to a 
 guest ; the squires bought it, the 
 magistrates bought it, the very 
 revenue oflicers bought it, the 
 clergy bouglit it, no one too 
 good, too highly placed, too scru- 
 pulous to buy it. A fine and flat- 
 tering perfume of universal grati- 
 tude perpetually soothed the soul 
 of Dan Gulliver ; the sense of an 
 heroic reputation added dignity 
 to a life which, if spent only on 
 the farm, would have been cer- 
 tainly monotonous, and probably 
 ignoble. 
 

 ^ 
 
 10 
 
 p 
 
 I 1 
 
 'twas in tfafaloar's bay. 
 
 Gratitude among the people na- 
 turally took the shape of coni- 
 pHcity. It sometimes happened 
 that Dan's carts— these innocent 
 carts laden with poultry, vege- 
 tables, or fish, which Jol> or Jeph- 
 thah drove into Lyme— were 
 stopped and searched. One would 
 think that Dan was regularly 
 warned, because nothing was ever 
 found in them. If the revenue cut- 
 ter chanced to look in at Rousdon 
 Bay, the Dancing Polly was lying 
 at anchor, without the least sign 
 of an intended run, and Dan 
 would be caulking the Chace 
 Mary or mending fishing-nets, or 
 painting the dingy, with a grave 
 face and a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 With a fast boat like the Dan- ! 
 cing Polly with four such handy ! 
 boatmen as the crew who manned 
 her, the chief danger was that of 
 landing the cargo. It was desira- 
 ble to know, before the run, Avhere 
 the revenue cutter was ; this in- 
 formation was got by myself, or 
 by one of the boys, from the boat- 
 men of the cove at Lyme, or 
 from the fishermen of Beer. 
 She might have been heard of 
 at Weymouth, or she might be 
 lying in Bridport. Once, when 
 we thought she was away up the 
 Solent, she came out of Lulworth 
 Cove, and chased Dan for three 
 long days, so that he only got 
 away without throwing his cargo 
 overboard, by fhe swiftness oi nis 
 heels and the providential inter- 
 
 i)u.sition of a fog. We had to get 
 news from Weymouth, from Swan- 
 age, Poole, Lymington, and Yar- 
 mouth, in the west; as from Beer, 
 Sidmouth, Ladram Bay, and Dart- 
 mouth. The revenue cutter once 
 ascertained to be out of the way, 
 there was little or no danger of 
 interference from any of the shore- 
 going folk. 
 
 When all seemed safe as regards 
 j the excise, and a run was resolved 
 I on, it was brave to see the little 
 craft, with Dan at the "helium," 
 Job and Jephthah in the bows, and 
 Joshua 'midships, beating her way 
 out of the little narrow bay, 
 straight out into the blackness be-' 
 yond— for Dan never started ex- 
 cept at night, and when there was 
 a moonless sky. I would stand on 
 the beach, the wind blowing my 
 hair about and the spray flying in- 
 to my face, to get the last sight of 
 the gallant boat. Then I would 
 gohome and stay there,cjuite alone 
 till they returned, in a couple of 
 days or so, laden with the brandy 
 m kegs. I never had any fear for 
 them. Dan knew every inch of 
 the French and English coasts, he 
 could steer blindfold, he could find 
 Rousdon Bay in the blackest night; 
 he was not afraid, in his tight lit-' 
 tie craft, of any reasonable wea- 
 ther, provided only that when he 
 landed there were no revenue men 
 waiting to capture the hero of a 
 hundred runs. 
 Ban was always a sailor, in man- 
 
IN ROUSDON BAY. 
 
 If 
 
 t fog. We had to get 
 eymouth.from Swan- 
 Lymington, and Yar- 
 e west ; as from Beer, 
 adram Bay, and Dart- 
 i revenue cutter once 
 
 be out of the way, 
 ttle or no danger of 
 Fromanyoftheshore- 
 
 ieemed safe as regards 
 id a run was resolved 
 ave to see the little 
 an at the "helium," 
 thah in the bows, and 
 lips, beating her way 
 little narrow bay, 
 ito the blacicness be- 
 n never started ex- 
 and when there was 
 y. I would stand on 
 3 wind blowing my 
 
 1 the spray Hying in- 
 get the last sight of 
 at. Then I would 
 ly there, quite alone, 
 ned, in a couple of 
 in with the brandy 
 ^er had any fear for 
 new every inch of 
 t English coasts, he 
 dfold, he could find 
 I the blackest night; 
 id, in his tight lit- 
 y reasonable wea- 
 ^'nly that when he 
 sre no revenue men 
 ure the hero of a 
 
 ys a sailor, in man- 
 
 ner and dress ; Job and Jophthah 
 played two parts : when they wore 
 corduroys and a smock they were 
 farm-labourers, and slouched in 
 their gait, lifting their feet heavily 
 and swinging their shoulders, as 
 those do who go much upon clay ; 
 when they were on board they 
 were dressed like boatmen and 
 they rolled like sailoi-s. Joshua, 
 on the other hand, played three 
 parts. As a miller, he had the re- 
 putation of being grasping and 
 greedy of gain, but honest in his 
 dealings. In this capacity he was 
 always floury,like his men,andhad 
 it not been for the tar upon his 
 fingers, you would say he had 
 never smelt salt water. As a sail- 
 or he was as daring as Dan, almost 
 as skilful, and as hard to yield as 
 Job and Jephthah. But he had a 
 third character, which he reserved 
 for Saturday evening and Sunday. 
 Then he dressed himself in a black 
 coat, and became a Primitive Me- 
 thody ; one of a certain very small 
 body so styled by themselves, who 
 met in a chapel about twelve feet 
 square, and took turns to })reach 
 and pray. His methodism has no- 
 thing to do svith my story, except 
 to show the masterful character of 
 the man. He would be a leader; 
 he wanted people to think as he 
 told them, and he could only do 
 this in a dissenting chapel. Dan, 
 who accepted the authority of the 
 Rev. Mr. Burden, and the Church, 
 w,H.s, in his way, as religious as he 
 was honest. There is nothing, he 
 
 frequently aigued, Jigainst smug- 
 gling, either in Bible or Prayer- 
 book. At the four great festivals 
 of the Church he received the 
 Sacrament ; he slept every Suiulay 
 afternoon over " Holy Living and 
 D} ing/' and he kept, as I have 
 said, the roof on the parish church. 
 It was among these people that 
 I spent the first seventeen years of 
 my life. Such educaticni as I had 
 was given me by the Rector at 
 odd moments. I could read, but 
 had few books, and those I knew 
 by heart. They were Bunyan's 
 Pilgrim's Proiiress, Robinson (#ru- 
 soe, and one or two mo^-e. Writing- 
 I learned by slow degrees ; my 
 spelling has never, I own, been 
 correct, nor can I understand the 
 fuss which is made about that ac- 
 cou.plishment. If the writer's, 
 meaning is clear, why object to 
 the omission or the addition of a 
 letter or two ? There was little 
 encouragement to literature in 
 Rousdon Farm. Job and Jephthah 
 had learned, like my.self, to read 
 and write, but as they never prac- 
 tised either art, and supplemented 
 memory only by chalk-marks on 
 the cart, I suspect they had for- 
 gotten both. Dan regarded writ- 
 ing as useful for commercial pur- 
 poses, and reading on the Sunday 
 as an aid to devotion. In respect 
 to other uses, there were instances, 
 which he had heard of where a 
 passion for books actually led the 
 victim, by iuipercepLible degrees, 
 to the gallows. Certainly in those- 
 
rrdi 
 
 (I 
 
 
 i I 
 
 % 
 
 fi t 
 
 L 
 
 12 
 
 'twas in TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 yours tlit'vo were many, many 
 roails, to that dismal tree. 
 
 I did not read much, my duties 
 at home were soon got through, 
 tlio rest of my time I spent ujfon 
 the water, alone or witli Dan, and 
 on the Undercliff. In the evening 
 there was sewing. But all day 
 Jong, and all the year round, rain 
 or sunshine, I was in the open air, 
 gathering flowers in the Holm- 
 bush fields, climbing among the 
 bracken under the Pinhay eliffs, 
 singing all alone in the woods up- 
 on the hill-sides, out upon the sea 
 in flhe dingy, or, in summei- bath- 
 ing and swimming where the rocks 
 hid me from casual eyes which 
 never chanced to pass that way. 
 It was a lonely place facing a 
 lonely sea ; few ships ever sailed 
 across that gi-eat bay save the 
 heavy craft which brought coal 
 from Wales, or the coasters which 
 traded from port to port, or the 
 fishing-craft from Lyme and Beer. 
 I had tlie sea all to myself when I 
 put out in the dingy, ran up the 
 little sail, and sat in the stern, til- 
 ler in one hand and rope in the 
 other, while the boat slipped 
 through the shuit crisp waves 
 with a nmrmurous whish, leaving 
 its little white track behind, while 
 my fancy ran riot, and I had vis- 
 ions, such as come to the young 
 and innocent, of a golden and 
 impossible future, lying among 
 figures indistinct and misty. 
 
 Sometimes I went with Dan to j 
 Lyme, where one could buy things 
 
 and see the shops in the street 
 and the ships in the cove. On 
 Sunday evenings, in summer, one 
 could sometimes go to Lyme 
 church, which was surely the most 
 remarkable and delightful chuj-ch 
 in the whole of England. To begin 
 ! with, it was a church built on a 
 staircase. You climbed up some 
 of the steps and you were in the 
 churchyard. Moie steps brought 
 you to the porch, which was long 
 and deep ; at the end of it more 
 .steps again brought you to the 
 line of the nave; half-way up the 
 nave a short flightof steps took you 
 to a higher level under the pulpit 
 and reading-desk; a last climb 
 landed you on the level of the chan- 
 cel. I believe there were additional 
 ■steps to the altar. This gradual 
 rising of tier above tier produced a 
 remarkable effect, especially if, as 
 I did, you sat in one of the gal- 
 leries. Wherever they could have 
 a gallery they did ; here one and 
 there one ; sticking them between 
 pillars, so as to produce a general 
 result, which, to the ignorant eye 
 of a girl, was grand and delightful. 
 One of the galleries was beauti- 
 fully decorated with a death's- 
 head and bones, and an appropriate 
 text. And they sang hymns. 
 They were taken very slowly, but 
 they were sung to real tunes, 
 which one could carry away and 
 sing at the top of one's voice far 
 out to sea in the little boat. The 
 hymns were set to the music of a 
 band consisting chiefly of stringed 
 
IN KOUSDON BAY. 
 
 13 
 
 le shops in the street 
 lips in the cove. On 
 inin^r.s, in summer, one 
 etimes go to Lyme 
 eh was surely the most 
 
 and deliglitful church 
 3 of England. To begin 
 s a church built on a 
 iTou climbed up some 
 
 and you were in the 
 More steps brought 
 orch, which was long 
 t the end of it more 
 brought you to the 
 ave ; half-way up the 
 light of steps took you 
 3vel under the pulpit 
 •desk ; a last climb 
 1 thelevel of the chan- 
 there were additional 
 altar. This gradual 
 ibove tier pi-oduced a 
 ffect, especially if, as 
 it in one of the gal- 
 ever they could have 
 
 did ; here one and 
 3king tliem between 
 produce a general 
 to the ignorant eye 
 :rand and delightful, 
 tileries was beauti- 
 d with a death 's- 
 i, and an appropriate 
 hey sang hymns, 
 en very slowly, but 
 ng to real tunes, 
 Id carry away and 
 3 of one's voice far 
 e little boat. The 
 t to the music of a 
 
 chieiiy of stringed 
 
 instruments, tuned stealthily be- 
 tween the different parts of the 
 service. This was all the music 
 and these were all the tunes which 
 I heard as a child. 
 
 As for the times, we were al- 
 ways at war. During the whole 
 of my childhood, and for a good 
 many years afterwards, the talk 
 was all of war. For five-and" 
 twenty years England was fight- 
 ing. On the south coast the war 
 might at any moment become 
 more than a rumour ; there was 
 no reason why a French privateer 
 should not cross over and do what 
 mischief she could. Every day, 
 before breakfast, we all solemnly 
 looked out to sea — Dan with his 
 glass — to see if an enemy was 
 hovering over the coast, and once 
 we saw a naval action. The 
 Frenchman was a privateer; the 
 Englishman a brig of war carry- 
 ing twelve guns. They ran side 
 by side I'or awhile, firing inces- 
 santly, the Englishman gradually 
 reducing the distance. At last 
 they came to close quarters, and 
 our men boarded her. Oh what a 
 sight ! It was too far off" for us to 
 see the horrors of battle, the dead 
 and wounded ; but we could make 
 out, when the smoke cleared away, 
 thav/ the L^nion Jack was run up 
 where the French flag had been 
 flying, and Dan solemnly, with 
 tears in his eyes, thanked the God 
 of Victory. It was a brave and 
 gallant action ; they made the 
 commander of the brig a first- 
 
 lieutenant for it; then they sent 
 him out to Jamaica, where they 
 forgot him altogotlici-, althougli 
 he did plenty of other things quite 
 as good. 'I'his was the way they 
 used to treat our brave sailoi-s. 
 Thirty years afterwards he came 
 home, still a first-lieutenant, and 
 bald, by reason of the many men 
 who had climbed over his head. 
 
 Heavens ! how bxave our men 
 were, and what fights they fought ! 
 They cut out French ships under 
 the guns of their own batteries. 
 They engaged vessels double their 
 own weight ; whenever they saw 
 an enemy's ship they attacked her. 
 The papers were full of naval ac- 
 tions, which were always victories. 
 I never saw the papers, but I heard 
 the news whenever Dan came 
 back fi'jm Lyme. Buonaparte 
 was going to invade England, and 
 made enormous preparations ; the 
 whole country took up arms,young 
 and old ; the war-fever possessed 
 the Britisl) bulldog. There was 
 no fear in our hearts, nor any 
 hesitation. Looking back upon 
 that time, I can only feel that 
 surely none other than the hand 
 of God was upon us ; how else 
 could we, fighting against such 
 odds as never any other nation 
 encountered, have fought so brave- 
 ly, and finished the struggle with 
 so much honour ? 
 
1 
 
 
 14 
 
 1] 
 
 'TWAS IN TJ.AIALGAK'S BAY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LOVE THE LJNCONQUEIIED. 
 
 HAVE always kept as 
 a liolyday the 1 4tli of 
 August in every year 
 since the year 1803. It 
 IS .saere.l to nie for two meniorios- 
 the first being that on tliis day I 
 first saw my own gallant an.l true- 
 hearted Will. 
 
 It was about half-past four in 
 the afternoon. I was running 
 down the crags by a way known 
 J>nly to myself, breast-high in 
 bracken,, jumping from stone to 
 stone.singingatthe topof my voice 
 with flying hair and outstretclied 
 arms when I suddenly came upon 
 JJan Gulliver and a sti-anger 
 
 "I«aw,",.aid Will afterwards 
 when he became my sweetheart- 
 ' i saw a tall girl of sixteen, who 
 might have been twenty, with blue 
 eyes and an oval face, the sweetest 
 tace m the woi-ld. She carried a 
 sun-bonnet in her hand, and she 
 wore a tight fitting frock." 
 
 " If I had known who was coin- 
 ing," I said, M .should have put on 
 uiy Sunday frock." 
 
 "^wi- Sunday frock! "he cried 
 in his foolLsh way; " why, what 
 could be more lovely than my 
 woodland nymph, flying to meet 
 us, up to her arms in the fern 
 bare-headed, her hands filled with 
 lowers, her eyes with smiles, and 
 her pretty mouth with a snncr 
 
 Sunday frock! Leave Sunday 
 irocks to city uirls. 
 
 See iniss and .uada.n lay their snares, 
 
 1 ainted faces, 
 
 Studied graces, 
 All for catching unawares 
 Flights of gamesome lovers." 
 
 But this talk came afterwards 
 When I met them in the path, 
 as I finished my run down the 
 slope,! stopped short, shame-faced 
 being unused to the sight of stran- 
 gers. 
 
 "Pleasance," said Dan, "this 
 young gentleman is coming to stay 
 awhile at the farm ; can you help 
 to amuse him, think you ?" 
 
 "I assure Miss Gulliver," said 
 the gentleman, taking ofl' his hat 
 to me, " that I shall give as little 
 trouble as possible." 
 
 " The boys," said Dan , " can 
 sleep at the cottage. Do'ee now, 
 Pleasance." 
 
 This was the old man's way I 
 was to seem the mistress, who 
 ought to have been the servant. 
 
 I turned, and led the way to the 
 house in silence. Truth to say I 
 was not best pleased with the pros- 
 pect of a strange man in the house 
 Like all wild things, I loved soli- 
 tude. Dan carried a valise and the 
 young man carried a wooden case 
 
 It was not till after we got home 
 and I had brushed my hair, and 
 put on another frock, and come 
 down stairs again, that I .saw 
 what manner of man our guest was 
 
 - o one must think that I was so 
 
AY. 
 
 t'uck! Leave Sunday 
 ity girlH. 
 
 I inadain lay their snares, 
 faces, 
 graces, 
 iiig unawares 
 uesonie lovers." 
 
 tiilk came afterwards, 
 met them in the path, 
 J my run down the 
 ped short, .shame-faced, 
 d tothe.sightof.stran- 
 
 e/' .said Dan, "this 
 sman is coming to .stay 
 e farm ; can you help 
 11, think you ?" 
 
 Miss Gulliver," said 
 m, taking off his hat 
 
 I shall give as little 
 ssible." 
 
 ■*," said Dan, "can 
 cottage. Do'ee now, 
 
 le old man's way, I 
 fclie mistress, who 
 been the servant, 
 d led the way to the 
 :e. Truth to say, I 
 leased with the pros- 
 ?e man in the house, 
 hings, I loved soli- 
 •ied a valise and the 
 ned a wooden case. 
 1 after we got home, 
 ished my hair, and 
 1' frock, and come 
 gain, that I saw 
 
 'man our guest WHS. 
 ibink that I was so 
 
 LOVK THK UNCONQI'KIIKI). 
 
 I'y 
 
 presumptuous as to fall iu love 
 with him. What did F know about 
 h\e ? My heart leaped up, liow- 
 ■ ver, becau.se I looked upon the 
 most handsome and splendid man 
 I had ever seen. To l)e sure I had 
 seen but few. The gentlemen of 
 Lyme Regis were mostly advanced 
 in life, and more or less had bottle- 
 noses, by reason of much rum. 
 
 This young gentleman was al)OUt 
 twenty-two years of age ; he was 
 tall and rather .slight in figure; his 
 eyes were brown, and from the 
 very first I saw that they were 
 frank, hone.st eyes ; his hair was 
 brown and curly ; his cheeks were 
 burned by the sun ; his fingers, I 
 noticed, were long and thin ; they 
 were, in fact, the fingers of a 
 mu.sician. 
 
 His wooden case was lying on 
 the table. I asked him if he would 
 have it taken upstairs, 
 
 " If I am allowed," he said, " I 
 should like to keep this ca.se down 
 here. And perhaps, Mr. Gulliver 
 
 " Call me Dan," said he ; " I'm 
 used to it. And this is my adopted 
 daughter, Pleasance Noel." 
 
 " Dan, then, and Miss Noel " 
 
 " Call me Pleasance," I said, im- 
 itating Dan, in order to show my 
 good-breeding. " I am used to it." 
 
 " Pleasance, then. My name is 
 William Campion. Perhaps you 
 would let me play to you some- 
 times ? " 
 
 In the case was a fiddle. This 
 wonderful young man could play the 
 
 fiddle. Now of all the instruments 
 of music which man has ever in- 
 vented for drawing forth the soul 
 of man, it has always seemed to me 
 that the fiddle is the most eHica- 
 cicnis. At the first stroke of the bow 
 I jumped in my seat and clasped 
 my hands. As he stood by the 
 window anil drew out the air softly 
 and sweetly, my s})irit hung upon 
 the notes, and for the time I was 
 in sweet heaven. 
 
 He only played one tune then. 
 When he had finished it, he laid 
 back the fiddle in its case. I 
 noticed with what tenderness, as if 
 he loved it. 
 
 " Did you like it, Plea,sance ? " 
 he asked. " But I saw that you 
 did." 
 
 Then I made tea, a luxury not 
 of every day — Job and Jephtliah, 
 who did not like tea, and were 
 modest, stayed in the farmyard 
 among the pigs — and after tea, Mr. 
 Campion, Dan, and I, all three 
 went down to the bay and talked 
 about boats. First we went aboard 
 the Dancing Polly, and Mr. Cam- 
 pion praised her lines, and then we 
 looked at the Chace Mary, and 
 tvhen there was notliinff more to 
 be said about either of these two 
 crafts, we got into the dingy and 
 went for a sail, I holding the tiller. 
 At eight, after the sun had set, we 
 got back again and went home. I 
 remember that there was cold 
 boiled hand of pork for supper, 
 and that Job and Jei>hthah, who 
 had polished up their faces with 
 
i 
 
 
 HI 
 
 'i 111 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 16 
 
 'TWAS ,N TRAFALu^,,., „^v. 
 
 yellow ,0,,,, till they shone like I 
 "f l>W an,l ,,,vi„s ..ever „ w„,.,I ,, ' T " ""''"'■'•* '""■'•Pi|.e ,m the 
 
 H« rl^.yo,l half-a-fe,,, tuns rr° ""''"'"" '""•'' °"'""vhe^ 
 ^ow, on the viulin M,. <- ""-' •"''»» w,,,, ,lri,.,t Tl, m,? 
 
 I»-a,,ca,,.ie,,awayintotiZ. ; I"' ''» ^o'* W.-.^olfin a ilt 
 ^faven fVon, the very be<.in„t ""'"' "»'"'°"«. " While the ral 
 
 J;:»t, ho played. "/a,.e;e r:^- "f T" "'' -"'''' "" - gTt" 
 
 " T" .to you, Spanish l„,|ies ' H """ "'"' »"« i' -i"' 1 .fm 
 
 - "Oh ,n,,pi,,d „„„ „i,, ^ ^;«; Heaven,, what an evening we had i 
 
 -A' of nat,.,.,„, p,ide and J^ct ' I > ^t™"" " "•^"■'^ of «k .■ 
 for seafaring Britons. Nex he i >, ™'' ''"P''"""' «"™ Wk for 
 played, "Oh dear; w-hat ean i "■'""' "'^'"''■''J »ch other a, th 
 
 »att„. ..„,.. . ^' can the , song enjoined, with sy^p'ttj^ 
 
 ■snoulder-thwa»l,., 1 
 
 matter he » » ' • """ tno 
 
 "ew. at ea.,t to JJorsebhire folk 
 i Ins made us just a little t J.;„, 
 
 -Iputus in the right fran,e,:: 
 
 tarly„,then,orning.justasth 
 ,r.r '"'"S-" Then he played 
 
 town; the most delieious ditty^I 
 nave ever li^o,.^ xi "^ 
 
 ---waeksh.v^:— 
 
 Lastly, rny own turn came. The 
 musiemn stopped, and his expre,! 
 -ud.anged. He looked thought. 
 luUy f°"' a moment, and then still 
 -«.l..eyes«.edupo„me,"b;;l'l' 
 
 have ever heard, then or si ' ,i""-^ """■•' ""^ "ke of which I 
 
 After that he played "Jack' , I J "''™' '•^"'' »■■ Jreamed of 
 
 la.l." the song wLh they , at b"r'' T""" "^ ''^'"■' '^ ^^^ -y 
 
 "mce made into the College H™ „ *" '™'' "'y '^ye-s to swim 
 
 P.pe. It was then that Dan X a IITT' ''" ™"' """ "™ k 
 
 ,t' •'-""""'""S - whenever he dil " t f ""'™"''^-P"™h ^ ^^ 
 
 happened to know a word or two k „d" f 'P'""'™"> fo'' ^is 
 
 f the song, nodding his head all still """^ ' ''* "'<• •''P^thah 
 
 '-»« time With his pip, la'idi;' ;:i rft^hr f'tr'/ -'- 
 
 "«"■ i iiad a strange 
 
V. 
 
 Htan.Iin^. up. soloninly 
 on.etf.in^r ,li.stantly re. 
 ;aiIor',s hornpipe on the 
 V\^'"t on i,h,yin. it, 
 Shm his oje,s, fuHter 
 ;" the enthusiasm 
 'l"tl.ah and Job, vv}u) 
 tch other y,iiti]v, an.l 
 
 ^'•o«»'an(lroti,.,,it„tho 
 '"yard, where I saw 
 
 ^' 'noonli^d.t gn,vely 
 'S't« c'aoh othei- wliere 
 s driest. Then WiJJ 
 ""e, and played, sing. 
 ' l>iniself in a lusty 
 'ne, " While the rag- 
 '■«ai-." Dan caught 
 1 sang it with him. 
 
 an evening we had! 
 " Hearts of oak." 
 hah came back foi- 
 3cJ each other, as the 
 
 with .sympathetic 
 k« heavy enough to 
 
 ^n turn came. The 
 J, and his expre.s- 
 re looked thought- 
 -nt, and then, still 
 '^ upon me, began 
 'e like of which I 
 
 or dreamed of; 
 eart to beat, my 
 ' eyes to swim, 
 pipe, and drank 
 ■andy-punch ; he 
 irently for this 
 ^ and Jephthah 
 *%> and, I sup- 
 
 I had a strans-e 
 
 I 
 
 LOVE THE UXCONOrRRFD. 
 
 17 
 
 and (l.'liglitful sensetlwit this mu.sic 
 was being phiye,! for myself alone ; 
 that the musician took this way of 
 putting thoughts into my head 
 which had never been there before. 
 I felt a pa.ssionate y«Nirning for 
 Hf'ncthing unknown. 1 was in 
 some new place of light and beauty 
 inconceivable ; my spirit rcso witli 
 a kind of raptu^s I was out of the 
 body, floating in tlie air: there 
 wore no words in which I could 
 clothe this new sensation. I could 
 have wept for very joy, but no 
 tears came. Presently i t seemed as 
 if my feet were moving in cadence 
 and my whole frame undulating 
 with the waves of melody. I could 
 bear it no longer, and should have 
 fallen, but that Dan caught me 
 with a "Steady, pretty, steady; 
 going to sleep with the music in 
 your ears ? " 
 
 I was not going to sleep, indeed. 
 But Mr. Campion ceased playino-, 
 and told me that it was a German 
 dance. 
 
 Nearly all thatnightllayawake, i 
 wondering what new world was 
 this into which I had got a glimpse. 
 And when I slept it was to dream 
 of strange delicious things, clothed 
 in shapes new and delightful. 
 
 It appeared next morning that 
 Dan's idea of entertaining the 
 guest was to hand him entirely 
 over to me. All the others, to be 
 sure, had work to do. He was 
 easy to amuse when one got over 
 the first shyness ; and he was so 
 good and thoughtfLd that the shy- 
 
 ness very socmdisappearod. Cei- 
 tainly. 1 had plenty to show him ; 
 tlit^reweri! all kinds of sylvan wny,s; 
 there was the Underclirt', where 
 they had just been cutting tlie 
 brown f(;rn foi- litter, and left open 
 spaces for fresh green gi-as,s to 
 glow. It was covered, too, with 
 its autumn robes. In August there 
 were the delicate pale yellow 
 flowers of the Traveller's Joy, the 
 red berries of the lowan, the 
 bunches of blackberries, as yet 
 only red, the tall purple thistles, 
 and the crimson fox-glove. It was 
 something to have the Undercliff 
 to show a stranger. Or we might 
 walk along the cliff itself to Axe- 
 mouth, Seaton and Beer; or we 
 might go inland along Colway 
 Lane to Up Lyme, where we could 
 find valleys and wootls, and broad 
 stretches of corn-grown hillside ; 
 or we might go fishing in the calm 
 evenings or early mornings ; or we 
 might up sail and slip along the 
 coast to Lyme, Charmouth, or even 
 Bridport, should the wind hold 
 fair. 
 
 Surely, of all delightful com- 
 panions that any girl had, mine 
 was the most delightful. He was 
 always happy ; nothing ever ruf- 
 fled his temper ; he was satisfied 
 with our simple way of life ; he 
 seemed to want nothing else than 
 to go about all day long with me ; 
 he never tired of playing to us in 
 the evening ; he even encouraged 
 my ignorant prattle, whicli must 
 have seemed to him so silly, and 
 
 

 IN 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 ""*>"«» of the ^,,.„t w,,,.,,/*" 
 
 " i<»0('r , ho cdino vvli,.n tu 
 «/«., ,• . 'Vficn tno corn 
 
 a, ?kn ^atheml I lived, fo, 'J 
 
 't wo«M last for ever. "'^'"^' 
 
 Tho (..^inning of trouhJe came 
 
 Wo were so J.appy, j^^ 
 ••^'th our new fnVnrl ,. „? 
 h-rrlly noticed the s L /' 
 tl.at Jo,hua, ,vl,o i,a,| l,„^, J^l 
 
 l-o week with „,s, had o„l,..,i,rM 
 "^ onco since Mr n ■ ''^"^^f 
 
 An., that ::" ■/ '"xr"" 
 
 P'»t Playe,l ho ^t lol^:^.,Z 
 «n<l .ll-te,„pe,.„rl. One .la/i'o " 
 
 j;--ti:ST:holsi 
 
 •■-«l.ua. mill. It eertainly wl" 
 ep.ett,o»t of all „,,,,,, ,^,™; 
 
 -e.oin,t:'e::-^^:;'[;;^^ 
 
 ;;;■•»" -■■'■yyou.-ou'daS'una 
 till you fly off and a.-okille,l. 
 
 f"IIIIYo»-fthe«,hfa;: 
 and iovely watermil]. 
 
 . ^'"'''*; ^^'^'-^ ^as a square build ^ 
 
 ' °*; .^* «°n«^«ted of two parts 
 
 one be.ng the mill and the S 
 
 te CO t,^e, in which Joshua lived 
 ^^' ^y '-aself. In the nul, was a 
 
 '^^•^« 'N TiUK.,.n.„'.S B.V 
 
 ^'"7 «»'J two windows ononl 
 
 «n'Jonohoiow .,.,••"" '^''<no 
 
 b was an unc ershof ui. i 
 twenty feet in <i; / ^'"'''^' 
 
 H i..-o„«ht „i„, "i, " ''° ?- 
 
 ft'^^^t wide ,„l] r "*' '"" 
 
 the r, ' ""••'"'li'insly over 
 
 'he sound „f . .,'""" "le house 
 g.indi '',""*"<""'-'•. tl.e 
 
 '^-' •'o^inrt '?;„tr f;-""" 
 
 """"11. Atthebarfu '" 
 
 (»"'' 'he red eido , ' '""^ 
 
 r.oa,a„^,i;"':„y'™ looked 
 
 ^^yond theorchnrr] ,. 
 
 ^ Cf :7at "'™ ~- a^ 
 
 damp among the L '""?«'«» 
 -1e of wCh waa T' ''^ "-^ 
 
 aWer-tree..„„dS„d 7'".°' 
 
 a<lark.deepwoodir„ I'f'''^" 
 
 ; ""gilt peer all „"''"'' •>'»" 
 N'-mCu'nl:::™r'''^aya„d 
 
 '»ade a .nagniflclnt 1 T ■""'^ 
 
 and reconciled to ,h ^ ■'°"'"' 
 '-offtogetherltVeTto'''^^ 
 -K^h'andmcrrVrtrr'" 
 
vo H-,n.I,.w.s. one ahov. 
 
 '"^- Atthoon.Iof the 
 *.«'> '""I.THliot Mlioel 
 '"tiiau.,.ter, uJiid, nil' 
 ^'"^0 loiind and 
 ^7'^v'atoroftl.env,.- 
 ,"'';"^' '■" '^ leat two 
 '^- •neJ<ulio,,sIy ov,. 
 '^ ^f'^' l^'iokets. and 
 ^"■"-•^; ^vJuvi hy its 
 '/^■''"" tf.0 water 
 t''f- whoel ^rrunted 
 "'.,^'thin the house 
 ;'>;' arul lahonr, the 
 '""^'' and gnjntinrr 
 ^ ^ """'^ Nor wan 
 f ^ack of the mil] 
 '. where th* fn^ 
 t'er appJcs Jooked 
 , ^"''^^^ not Jook 
 1 the orchard was a 
 e« you came to a 
 '' ^J'ich was dry 
 ^or a JittJe green 
 'e stones, by tJ.e 
 vas a coppice of 
 •eWnd the alders 
 ^, into which you 
 
 "•;"ner'.sdayand 
 Jnngs. 
 
 louse the winter 
 eat united and 
 3nt laslier, into 
 'Oiled and bub- 
 
 be^ow Niagara, 
 ■S- When :he 
 ^^-Jrly joined 
 'e union, they 
 '■ the stones in 
 y rivulet. 
 
 I.OVE THK UNrON(;UKiiKI) 
 
 10 
 
 We t'niiiid Joshua standing at 
 the dooi- • he was covori'd nil over 
 witli flour, lis becomes the sol)ur, 
 hard-working miller, looking as if 
 iiiHthoughts never ran on anything 
 more venturous than saoK ^foorn 
 Mild the everlasting grunting of his 
 waterwhrel. When he saw us, 
 liowevcr, his facecloudei^ over.and 
 instead of eojning to greet us be 
 retired within the mill. 
 
 I ran to the door and called him 
 out. He came, scowling at Will, 
 who was seated on a trunk of a 
 I ree 
 
 "Are you going to stay long in 
 these parts, young gentleman?" he 
 asked. 
 
 There was something in bis tone 
 which Will '-esented. 
 "Perhai)slsball," he said shortly. 
 "It depends, I suppose," said 
 Joshua, " on how long you like to 
 dangle about with a young frirl. 
 We don't like London ways in this 
 part of the country." 
 Will flashed red. 
 "We will discuss this subject 
 when the young lady is not pre- 
 sent ? " he said. 
 
 " I shall bo glad of an oi)i)or- 
 tunity,"said Jo.shua slowly. "Why, 
 there, that's spoke like a man. 
 Maybe I can get round to Rousdon 
 in the evening." 
 
 I ought to have known, but J 
 did not, what this meant. 
 
 You see, it was a fighting time. 
 If common men quarrelled with 
 each other, or with gentlemen, 
 
 tln-y hml it out at once with tists 
 *>•• 'M'^'terstaft: (Jentlemen fought 
 with pistols. Friends an<l .seconds 
 N»iw (air play. 
 
 ^\ Wl ,, V-t, wns going to fight 
 Joshir. Vb;ech. 
 
 I " VVIiat does he mean ?" I a.-kt<tl 
 pre.sently, when wo h»d h^ft oixv 
 ^»lky Joshua, and w.m walking 
 in the meadow beside the aldei^ 
 trees. "Wb.-.t does he mean by 
 •langling with a young girl { T am 
 the young girl, I suppf.so." 
 
 " I suppose you ;ue, Plea,sanco " 
 ho replied. "Sit ,lown on this 
 «tile and I will tell you whnt he 
 means." 
 
 I sat on the upper bai- - f the 
 «tile. Will on the second step, and 
 he looked up in my face with those 
 «nuling, steadf;i,st yes of his, which 
 always went straight to my heart. 
 
 " Joshua Meech niean.s," he be- 
 gan, "that some moi take a delight 
 in stealing away -iri's hearts, 
 
 ospeciallycountry-gi, s' hearts,and 
 then leaving thein." 
 
 I did not quite uudc i-stand. 
 
 "Don't o])en your , .retty blue 
 eyes too wide, Pleasane •," he went 
 on; "I will explain 1- an illus- 
 tration. Now listen : 
 
 "Ever so long ago there was a 
 young girl, about sixteen years of 
 age, your age, living in th. (juntry 
 by the seaside, with a j !iy old 
 sailor and his two sons, just as yon 
 have been living. She was ;i pretty 
 girl— aspretty— as pretty- as you 
 She had the same blue eye ^, the 
 

 20 
 
 Haniesw.etface,the,same ruby lips 
 the same smile, ami the snmel./ht 
 
 brown curls, and I think she w^-e 
 the same sort of straw hat" 
 
 "Oh Mr. Campion!" For all 
 ;^^^a sudden I found ouf-ln.^ 
 
 noi'I^T 'T '' '""^^ ^^^« Ji^ed 
 
 mil /^^T''""^"'^^^-^- 
 m'i ■ I think he was a jealous 
 
 austere creature, but he was in love' 
 ^vith this girl." 
 
 What did he mean ? 
 
 " Then there came from London 
 
 a young man who carz-ied a fi.ldle 
 
 -^^1 payed it. He was quite a com! 
 monplace young man, who ha.l no 
 vrtues except that he was fond of 
 his fiddle. He came into tlCun 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAB'S BAr. 
 
 try intending to be nZ 7 'T "'' '''^- ^«« ^an onj^ 
 
 •sail and fish and ir^''^^ P^'^""'^^^^^ to marry „fe 
 . '' ^"^ "^ake mus e all "Rnf ,..i,„. •„ £ "^' 
 
 to taself. He found, i„.,tea„ of 
 
 " This young man found her so- 
 c ety so delightful that he stay'l 
 
 If he did not care ever to go away 
 agam-unless-unless she would 
 go away with him." 
 
 Then I understood that he had 
 been makin<v un a linh^ >■ , 
 himsolf ^P^'^'^^^'^tory about 
 'Jimhojl: jind me nnr] T , i 
 wh«f I ,' '^"^* ^ wondered 
 wi at else he meant. I suppose I 
 looked bewildered. ^ ^ 
 
 "% dear, my dear, do you not 
 understand me r- he caugi both 
 ;;;y hands, and pressed thcLtohis 
 P'- ^^^^""ot understand me? 
 
 ^-ant you to promise to be my 
 
 " Your wife, Mr. Campion ? but 
 you are a gentleman" "^ 
 
 youhke?f''""^^^"^'--H 
 you iike me to go away ?" 
 
 I shook my head, and the tears 
 , came into my eyes. '' j 
 
 ' ly'T,7^^^« being with me? » 
 ^t.s, -lanswered.quitefranklv 
 
 much." ^ ""'^^^ ^°" ^e^y 
 
 "How should you feel if ^.^u 
 ^l^^-hatyouwouldneverseeC 
 I shuddered. 
 
 "le stay. \^ou can onlv do flia+ u 
 promising, in .»„ ^ . ^^^^ V 
 
 J^ut what wiJl Dan say V 
 ^^^a„ „,,. agree. Say. a,„ I to 
 
 plel*"^' "-■ ^-J'-™- -^ you 
 
 Then he took mo to his arms 
 
 and held me tight, and ki,,ea™e' 
 agam and again on the Hps j 
 
 -e.nyse,ff..omhin.,ahasLtl 
 
 Plodgod to each other. I ^l *n 
 you exactly what wo will do ••- 
 
 H-ntspill, my partner. y'„ ^ 
 '-™ the thing. „,,ieh you h t ' 
 
HAY. 
 
 I 
 
 yo" to promise to be my 
 
 LOVE THE UNCONQUERED 
 
 • ^ife. Mr. Campion ? but 
 
 ^gentleman." 
 
 n> little innocent; would 
 
 me to go away ?" 
 
 ■ ^«y head, and the tears 
 my eyes. 
 
 i like being with me ?» 
 answered.quite frankly 
 ere was nothing to con- 
 e being with you very 
 
 lould you feel jf you 
 ^ou would never see me 
 •ed. 
 
 aaway, unless you bid 
 u can only do that by 
 ' marry me." 
 ^ will Dan say ?" 
 agree. Say, am I to 
 
 'I one hand, but he 
 
 Campion, if ^qu 
 
 ;ok me to his arms, 
 'gilt, and kissed me' 
 m on the lips, till I 
 m him, abashed and 
 
 re all my own," he 
 
 M yours. We are 
 
 other. I will tell 
 
 cit we will do " 
 
 eplan complete in 
 ^'^^^ go up to Lon- 
 
 live with John 
 ^rtner. You shall 
 
 which you have 
 
 ;o learn ; and then, when you are 
 
 externally to all the world what 
 
 -ou are now to my eyes alone, I 
 
 ■ill take you to my mother, and 
 
 |say to her: 'Mother, this young 
 
 lady from Dorchester is going to 
 
 |be my wife.' " 
 
 "Your mother!" My heart sank 
 |a little. 
 
 Yes. By the way," he added, 
 with a laugh, " she is very partic- 
 ular about family and rank; what 
 shall we say?" 
 
 "My father's rank was ship's \ 
 carpenter," I said simply. ' 
 
 He laughed. "We will tell her I 
 the exact truth, and ask her if she ' 
 would find a lovelier girl among 
 the bluest blood. I forgot to tell 
 you that my mother is blind." 
 
 Then holding my hand in his, he 
 began to tell me all about himself 
 and his mother. 
 
 He was an only child. His father 
 was a city merchant, whom the 
 king knighted during his year as 
 lord mayor. He was Sir Godfrey 
 Campion. His motherwas awidow. 
 
 She lived in the City, and lold me 
 m the square of Great St. Simon 
 Apostle. He would be himself, in 
 two years, by his father's will, no- 
 minally the senior partner in the 
 house of Campion & Co., of Lon- 
 don, BrisfoL aDvl Jamaica. But 
 •JcnnHuntspill would do the work 
 "I shouM liketo tell you another 
 thing, my dear," he said. "My 
 mother and I parted in anger. She 
 —one must not think ill of one's 
 mother— but she does not remem- 
 
 21 
 
 ber that I am nearly twenty-three 
 years of age. We quarrelled on 
 account of my violin. She thinks 
 a fiddle only fit for an Italian mu- 
 sician, for a bear-leader, or for 
 sailors ashore. Above all, she 
 thinks it unsuited to the head of 
 a City house. Perhaps it is, but 
 then you see I never wanted to 
 play the fiddle in the office. And 
 then— well— then— there was a 
 scene one evening. My dear mo- 
 ther has a high spirit; and when 
 she came to comparing her son— 
 the fiddle-scraping son— with his 
 late father. Sir Godfrey Campion, 
 and when that son declared that 
 the comparison was not fair, and 
 one thing led to another ; why- 
 there is nothing strange in the fact 
 that the son resolved to take his 
 fiddle into the country for awhile. 
 That is how I came here." 
 
 " Yes," I said, trying in my ig- \ 
 norant, country way, to realize 
 what all this meant— the lord may- 
 or, knighthood, and the rest. 
 ' " Was your father an admiral ?" 
 I asked at length 
 
 He stared for a moment, and 
 then burst out laughing. Of course, 
 he always laughed at everything.' 
 Years afterwards I asked him how 
 it was he did not lose patience 
 with so much ignorance. 
 
 "Lose patience?" he asked in 
 his silly, delightful way, " it all 
 helped to make me love you the 
 more madly." 
 
 Now, it was not such very great 
 ignorance, after all, because f had 
 

 22 
 
 H ! 
 
 heard Of ad„,i,uJ,„h„,,,,^l^ 
 
 that all men who were called sir 
 
 were admirals. 
 
 There is o„e thing which no 
 woman can ever understand- 
 what U. sin her. and her alone, 
 that makes a man fall down and 
 ""■■f 'P her. I „as the n^ost 
 
 '■rWAS IN TEAFALOAR'S BAY. 
 
 . "".'^g'™ J"*'.aadr„bbin. 
 h«™d, wrth a cheerful chuckle 
 
 Joshua any grndge, and yet at tl 
 " ws. we all congratula^d ou 
 
 -v^ and the victor. I am aim" 
 ^hamed now to think that Wi 
 
 wa, more glorious in „,y eyes tha, 
 
 There could be no fiddling tha 
 ovenmg, and Dan had a doubh 
 ration of J,™ „.i . """h 
 
 he mked the b;^-:: ' It "T"'' """ ^^ '>^^ 
 
 "■hole life ontheThancethat I "^"""f ^^dy-punch. 
 
 should become wHat he imagined m„ ^ ' '° """^o days was „ 
 
 ".e to be already. My hearth Iks m W ''"'"'' '" '^ """''^ life. I 
 
 »t.llw,tha,ortofhumiliatirt 2 r™' "' "^ ~ 
 
 thmk how unworthy of that true f T "''^ '•""«'■'• "d » gentle- 
 
 "»d loyal gentleman I was. You ed T"' '"^'"^ ^ P-t of h s 
 
 r" --'■ Presently, of what thin" "t'TT 
 
 i was capable. " ^"t [ waj, anxious that there 
 
 We went home at length, hand next davV° "f '''°°''' ""^ the 
 
 ■n hand, across the fields. Will T,: T! *™' over to the miU 
 
 said nothing to Dan, and we Wi '°^<!'' f^hua. 
 
 '7 '^'J J""' as usual, only that" I I ba«»! ^»'i "1 ' Sood deal more 
 
 M'Hs silftnf -^ o'l' X I Dattered than Will'« t+ 
 
 1 . . ^^* '^^ -it was evi 
 
 ^vas silent, 
 
 Ju the evening Will went out 
 accompanied by the two boys I 
 
 1-d quite forgotten about Joshua, 
 
 and wondered a little at his leav- 
 ing me. 
 
 Jt was dark when they came 
 ^-k^ Will had his left hand t^d 
 ;ound with a pocket-handkerchief 
 - nght eye v.as black, and he' 
 
 ^ad got a, gash across his cheek. 
 He had been fighting Joshua 
 
 Meech and he had left, as I after- 
 wards learned, that hero senseless 
 on the ground. 
 
 Jephthah— or was it Job ?— an 
 nounced the battle and its result 
 
 1 , ,, ••^'*o. J. c was e VI- 3 
 
 dent that he had taken punisl 
 ment manfully. He asked m„ " 
 gomtohisownroomforata"k. 
 
 pose » ;V°"'' ^^''""'''- I ap- 
 pose I began, « that makes yo„ 
 
 hght a strange gentleman?" 
 "What's a fitrht?" 1. 
 
 "Thafs nothin^tith ^ 
 
 offl's '^•,^:iS-^fdapair 
 vv men makes It worse." 
 What IS worse, Joshua ? " 
 " Now, no more fooling Plea 
 
 «ance.l<.u listen to me. No good 
 comes of young gentlemen dfng 
 l^ng with young gi.,. Besides I 
 wont have it. He's ^ot to .o " 
 
 ;v\. 
 
S BAY. 
 
 ';e give Joshua a drubbin.. 
 i, with a dieerful chuckle 
 "' °o one in that house boiv 
 
 ^ any grudge, and yet at the 
 we a]] congratulated our- 
 ind the victor. I am almost- 
 d now to think that WilJl 
 ^•egloriousinmyeyesthan 
 
 LOVE THE UNCONQUERED. 
 
 28 
 
 ^ could be no fiddling that 
 ; ^'^d Dan had a double 
 t brandy-punch. 
 5^* ;« <^hose days was n 
 isode m a man's life Jt 
 '««ur at any moment, 
 ^y fought, and a gentle- 
 Qed boxing as part of his 
 I. 
 
 was anxious that there 
 3 no bad blood, and the 
 i went over to the mill 
 hua. 
 
 ; was a good deal more 
 ban Will's. Itwasevi- 
 J'^ liad taken punish- 
 ""^iy- He asked me to 
 own room for a talk, 
 'our politeness, I sup- 
 mh " that makes you 
 nge gentleman ? " 
 «;.%ht?" he replied, 
 thing neither to him 
 
 He's a well-plucked 1 
 s ever handled a pair 
 Inch makes it worse." 
 worse, Joshua ? " 
 ' more fooling, Plea- 
 .stentome. No good 
 ung gentlemen dang- 
 «ng girls. Besides, I 
 • He's got to o-o." 
 
 " You won't have it ? '' 
 " No," he said, banging his hand 
 n the table. " I won't have it. 
 'here. You've got to be my wife." 
 I'vegot— to— be— your wife?" 
 0' course you have. I've told 
 Dan long ago. Why, I've been 
 saving up for it. these ten years. 
 Next Easter Sunday I mean to 
 marry you." 
 I only stared. 
 
 " Don't think, Pleasance, that a 
 man can't love a girl because he 
 hasn't got his mouth stuffed with 
 fine words. Gar! it makes one 
 sick to think of it. I\'e loved 
 you since you were a child. And 
 he shall go." 
 
 "He shall not go, Joshua," I 
 stiid. "And I will never, never 
 marry you. Remember that." 
 
 " He shall go," he said, firmly. 
 " One way or the other he shall 
 go. Don't make me desperate, 
 Pleasance. He shall go. Now 
 you know what to expect, behave 
 accordinsr." 
 
 I sprang to my feet and rushed 
 out of the cottage. The man's set 
 lips and steady eyes frightened 
 me. 
 
 I told Will. But he laughed at 
 my fears. What was Joshua to 
 him? At the most there could 
 only be another fight. 
 
 Joshua came no more to the 
 farm, and I did not see him again 
 till the trouble came upon me and 
 mine. 
 
 - And now I must leave the plea- 
 sant time, when every day brought 
 
 some new happiness and some 
 fresh brightness with it, and come 
 to the story of that trouble. 
 It was partly my own fault. 
 One day— we had been sailing 
 to Ladram Bay and back in the 
 little boat; we had just beached 
 her, and were sitting on the peb- 
 bles hand in hand. 
 
 "What does Dan do," asked 
 Will, "with two boats?" 
 
 " The Chace Mary is the fishing- 
 boat," I replied, "the Dancing 
 Polly is for the runs to France." 
 " The what ? " cried Will. 
 "The runs over for the brandy 
 you know. Why, she is the fast- 
 est boat that ever crossed the 
 Channel." 
 
 Will listened with a bewildered 
 face. Presently he laughed. 
 
 " So Dan is a smuggle)-, is he ? 
 Crafty old man ! " 
 
 "Why," I said, with pride 
 "everybody knows that Dan i,s 
 the boldest smuggler along the 
 coast. They've given up trying 
 to catch him now." 
 "Oh ! And Job and Jephthah ? " 
 " They go too, of course." 
 "And— and the jealous amo- 
 roso, Don Joshua, does he tro 
 too?" ^ 
 
 "Yes, he goes too. They all 
 four go." 
 
 Will whistled. 
 
 " Shade of my sainted father ! " 
 he said. " Was it for this that you 
 brought your son up in pious 
 hatred to the illicit traffic which 
 interfered with your own gains ? " 
 
PR ^ 
 
 24 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 1 
 
 f 
 
 
 1 • 
 
 .^1 
 
 i 
 
 I did not understand one word 
 of what he said. 
 ''I vvil] explain," he said. « Mv 
 
 fa her made his fortune and mine 
 chiefly by rum. Rum is a rival to 
 brandy. Great numbers of the 
 '^appy children of Ham-who as 
 
 mymotherbelieves,arebyDivin' 
 ordmance subject to the chil! 
 dren of Japhet-toil in Jamaica 
 
 for the house of Campion and Co. 
 We provide the British public 
 
 with red noses, speckled noses, bot- 
 
 in theT r'' ""'^ «^-Ik-stones 
 m the hands. That is our work 
 
 m the world. We flog slaves, „ 
 
 order that ^,to„3 may get dr^nk 
 on health-givmg rum. And we 
 
 pay duty. What are we to think 
 of a n,an who runs over brandy 
 which may be sold cheaper than 
 ^m> and is more wholesome? 
 How do you think I have been 
 trained to regard such a man" 
 And now to feel that I have not 
 
 only been staying in such a man's 
 house, but that I am engaged to 
 
 - adopted daughter-anf th 
 
 yo lyS'^^"^^^"'^^^^-^" 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A LUCKY RUN. 
 
 ROM the moment Will 
 heard about the smug- 
 gling he began to get 
 restless and would fol- 
 
 ovv Dan down to the beach, a 
 
 talkwhile he looked after the-)oa 
 
 I knew that he was pumping Dar 
 
 adventures out of him-a^-oce 
 
 t>y no means difficult. Dan 
 
 anecdotes were chiefly of narro^ 
 
 escapes; not from revenue cuttei 
 
 orp„vateers,sorpuchasfromsea 
 *ogs Once m a thick fo^ h. 
 
 rf P"^ «^^-aight into Bridpor, 
 Harbour, there being at the Z 
 
 only a hght breeze from the south! 
 east, and a revenue c^:tter, armed 
 
 and manned, lyi„,^i,hin;herw 
 Pers, ready to give him and his 
 
 cargo a warm welcome. Another^ 
 trme he had to heave overboard ' 
 the whole of his cargo, almost un 
 
 del thevery nose of his pursuers. 
 He knew the whole of the French 
 
 coast, from Dunkerque to St. Malo, 
 and was known in every port 
 He would drop along the^shore 
 hugging the land, so as to look Is' 
 "'"ch as possible like a fishing- 
 «mack, till he arrived at his desl- 
 
 nation; when you may be sure, he 
 
 took verylittle time to load U 
 go away again. Or there were 
 tales of heavy seas and stiff sou '- 
 westers. Dan was sixty years of 
 age or thereabouts at this time 
 
 and l„s memory carried him back 
 for half a century of smuggling 
 His father before him, and hh 
 
 grand-father before him, had been 
 yeomen of Rousdon, like himself, 
 and like himself, mainly depen-' 
 dent on the illicit trade. 
 
 Now, there was hardly any- 
 thing more likely to excite the 
 
S BAY. 
 
 'an down to the beach, am 
 
 hile he looked after the -)oat,s. 
 ^ that he Avas pumping Dan 
 ^ures out of him-a proces 
 means difficult. Dan's 
 tes were chiefly of narroAv 
 ; not from revenue cutters 
 ^■teers, so rpuch as from sea- 
 ->nee m a thick fog ho 
 put straight into Bi-idport 
 '' ^^^^6 being at the time 
 ght breeze from the south- 
 l a revenue c^'tter, armed 
 ned, lying within the two 
 ady to give him and his 
 ^arm welcome. Another 
 had to heave overboard 
 ' of his cargo, almost un- 
 '^nose of his pursuers 
 the whole of the French 
 I Dunkerque to St. Malo 
 known in every port' 
 drop along the shore" 
 le land, so as to look as' 
 possible like a fishing- 
 he arrived at his desti- 
 en you may be sure, he 
 !ittle time to load and 
 ?ain. Or there were 
 vy seas and stifle sou'- 
 an was sixty years of 
 eabouts at this time, 
 iory carried him back 
 ^ntury of smuggling, 
 before him, and his 
 before him, had been 
 )usdon, hke himself; 
 fiself, mainly depen-' 
 licit trade. 
 
 A LUCKY RUN. 
 
 25 
 
 ' was hardly any- 
 ~eJy to excite the m 
 
 magination of a town-bred youth 
 ihan a ' 'e of a successful and 
 lazardous run. The romance, 
 luch as it was, of highwaymen 
 vas over. There were still plenty 
 'f them, and they were always 
 langed when they were caught ; 
 that they were not without 
 ome glory. But, considered as 
 eroes, they had had their Jay. 
 'he degenerate successorsof Claude 
 'uval were either desperate mur- 
 erers, like the Blacks of Waltham, 
 'r they were poor, commonplace, 
 •agged footpads. But the smug- 
 gler—the man who encountered 
 ;he dangers of war, and storm, and 
 'f the revenue officers— was still a 
 lero. So that Dan leaped at once, 
 ■in the estimation of Will, from a 
 good-natured, cheerful old sailor to 
 the level of a sea-king. And this 
 despite the young man's early 
 training and prejudice. 
 
 Then came evenings in which 
 after the violin had discoursed, we 
 sat round the fire and talked of 
 nothing else but old trips and 
 their results. Countless were the 
 questions put by Will— questions 
 as to the French coast, the French 
 people, their ways, and their man- 
 ners ; as to the boat, and the navi- 
 gation of the Channel ; as to the 
 danger and the delight of running 
 fifteen knots an hour, everything 
 made snug and taut, carrying all 
 canvas, with heavy seas washing 
 over thi gallant little craft. I 
 never thought what might happen, 
 I had lived so long in an atmo- 
 
 sphere of carelessness to danger 
 that I had quite ceased to believe 
 in any danger. And when Will 
 begged Dan to take him too when 
 he made another run, I laughed 
 and clipped my hands, to think 
 how he would enjoy it. 
 
 Dan made difficulties. He said 
 it was not a young gentleman's 
 work ; that his lady mothft- might 
 get to hear of it; that things might 
 happen ; that he should never be 
 easy in his mind afterwards if 
 anything did happen. Finally, 
 over-persuaded by the eagerness of 
 the young man, he acceded to his 
 request. 
 
 We were then in the cold even- 
 ings, about the middle of October, 
 and in the last few days of a waning 
 moon. The weather was fine and 
 open, with a steady south-westerly 
 breeze springing up most nights 
 towards sunset, and lasting till late 
 the next morning. Dan went over 
 to the mill to consult with Joshua, 
 who readily resigned his place to 
 Will, on the conditioxi of not losing 
 his place in the profits, should the 
 venture be successful. I took this 
 kindly of Joshua. I thought he 
 must have passed into a better 
 frame of mind, although he had not 
 been once to the house since the 
 day he threatened me. 
 
 Everything being arranged, and 
 the weather favourable, they went 
 on board at eight in the morning. 
 I was in the dingy, carrying things 
 
 ""•""• • •'"i-^iOrwaiUo;u.iiu vv'iien 
 
 Dan was satisfied that nothing had 
 

 l?7| I 'f'l 
 
 P^s/ 
 
 illff; 
 
 I fi 
 
 26 
 
 'TWAS JN TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 he Dancing PoJi^ ^lip ;ut hf ' ''r 'r k. . 
 
 % and glide i„fco the dark „.^ *^°"^^^ ^^ ^''^^ been drinkin; 
 
 ness, while Will Jeaned over the .7?^^ ""''^ ^^^'^^''^^ ^"^ ^looc 
 
 taffrail and waved a farewell to f" V '' '^'' ^^ ^"'^ ^^ich wer 
 
 "^«- "" f*?^ ^^««e togrether and too small 
 
 It was nothing unusual for me fi ^^'' T ^^^^^rted, and hi. 
 
 to sleep alone in the house. There T''"^''^'^ ""''^^^^^y together 
 
 wasnotangerofrobbersinsosP •..• ^^ ^'' ^'''""•" ^e asked, 
 
 «^ded a spot as Rousd^and ^"^ ^^ ^^«'« -^^le, with a sort 
 
 therf^ 11.QC o7 ' ana ) or groan. 
 
 fK^„ f ^^uusaon, an( 
 
 the e „,, ^„^y, ^ ^ . 
 
 techon m the fact of old W 
 Agus and hi. wife sleeping iX 
 cottage hard by. I had n„ feat 
 
 tlr.ffTi""- fhadleftoff 
 
 Ves," I replied, fearing he wa« 
 come for no good. "They put out 
 at eight. Now, Joshua, if you have 
 anythmg to say, have done with 
 It at once and go." 
 
 "I'vegotthistosay.-herepUed 
 
 thinking of myself, ,„,, ,^;"°f . "I'^got this to say," he repUed 
 i" day and ail night, of Wl' T^'^' " ^'"^ ^"'" ''yi"? to 
 
 That n,ght, for the fi„t time Iwa' P"*,/'" ™' °" "-^ "'"''.and I 
 
 t'».d. I thought of the IMetr T t '^''"■' "■■■ ^^P-"- 'hat 
 
 ;aih„g across the black Channel to '''•".°,^™« •>«■■- and take away 
 
 the enemy's coast. J conju"" un "^ T' ' 
 
 the dangers. Buonaparte migh? T. i'"T ''^ >">«■• S"''. Joshua." 
 
 catch them ; he was at Boulofne I"" '^""''^ ''"™ '"^^''- I'd ««t 
 
 then, preparing for the invasion o 2 T ^ "^ ^"'^ ^^ *-" ^^ 
 
 England, with every ship craft y ^''"' ""™' ^'^ " 'Wng that 
 
 boat of any kind which he oouM V™"'"'' "^ ^ '^''' "»' S^t. IVe 
 
 collect together. The DancW ^Tf '?''''' *" '"'"^ >'» "d 
 
 at f.T,f' '"^."P'-'-^yapriv^ l^,?"^ *'"' y""' -d I will 
 
 ateer ; they might be arrested on ^ .'w,, 
 
 ""«!'•■■"■"•■ ' ™ you ?"Ilaughed. "Never" 
 
 tho T?^ il *' ai rested on 
 
 wieck d irS"'^^ ""^'" ^ 
 wiecked. I thought of every dan- 
 ger except the one most likely to 
 
 happen that they might meet thei. 
 difficulhes on the retu™ voyage 
 
 Don t think I shall be an un- 
 kind husband, my pretty," he said, 
 with a sudden change of voice and 
 lanner. " I love you too well I 
 shall wrap you up warm and .ive 
 you nothing to do, only m°ake 
 
 afraid, and while I sat K.f T^ •^°" '^^^'^^^g ^r 
 «;econJuringup\L:lt?p^: "^'.a^y/' ' ""'•' '""''' 
 
 ^;ble disasters, I heard a step on Th' ' '''"'^"'■" ^ -H "go 
 «de, the latch was lifted,' ::d L?X" T""""""""*™- '<"■ one 
 
 T am 
 
 goin- 1,0 marry Mr. 
 
 t 
 
 
3 BAY. 
 
 1 Meech showed himself , 
 
 A LUCKY RUN. 
 
 27 
 
 or. 
 
 ought he had been drinkino 
 es were haggard and blood- 
 
 ^hose eyes of his which wen. 
 !e together and too smaJ] 
 
 e was distorted, and hisj 
 
 tvorked nervously together 
 
 y are gone?" he asked, 
 
 m Dan's settle, with a sort 
 
 I. 
 
 " I replied, fearing he wa^i 
 ■no good. "They put out, 
 Now, Joshua, if you have J 
 ■ to say, have done with 
 ' and go." 
 
 fot this to say," he replied 
 "I've been trying tol 
 out o' my mind, and l' 
 ho's Mr. Campion, that 
 ne here and take away 
 
 rwasyourgirl, Joshua." 
 ould have been. I'd set 
 >nit. And you shall be I 
 never was a thing that 
 IS I did not get. I've 
 ked to marry you and 
 't you, and I will 
 
 1?" I laughed. "Never" 
 'ink I shall be an un- 
 d, my pretty," he said, 
 
 ^n change of voice and' 
 - love you too well. I 
 ou up warm and .ive 
 : to do, only m!ake 
 
 py- 
 
 shua," I said, "go. 
 h foolishness for one 
 &""ip; t,w marry Mr. 
 
 'ampion. Do you hear? I am 
 :oing to be his wife." 
 "If you won't listen to fair 
 ords," he said, springing to -his 
 'eet, "listen to foul. I've triven 
 ou one more chance. It's your 
 last. Will you give up :,hat young 
 .opinjay ? " 
 " No, I will not. Go ! " 
 "I've warned you," he said, 
 'and I'm desperate. Whatever 
 happens, mind, it will all be on 
 'your own head. Whatever hap- 
 pens, you done it." 
 
 I had no suspicion, not the least 
 shadow of suspicion, of what he 
 meant. If Joshua's >nger made 
 me fear anything, it was that he 
 might attempt some desperate 
 deed of personal violence. At the 
 same time, I was disquieted, and 
 I longed for the return of the 
 boat. 
 
 They sailed at eight, as I have 
 said, [f the breeze continued 
 steady, they might reach the coast 
 of France in the morning. Sup- 
 posing that all went well, they 
 would receive their cargo in a few 
 hours, and should be back in the 
 early morning of the following day 
 —say from one to three o'clock, 
 before daybreak. But that depend- 
 ed entirely on the wind. 
 
 All next day I was in a kind of 
 fever. I could fix my thoughts 
 on nothing. I said to myself: 
 " Now they are stowing away the 
 kegs ; now Will is laughing with 
 the Frenchmen — of course he 
 would laugh wherever he was; 
 
 now Jephthah and Job are solemn- 
 ly receiving' the brandy ; now Dan 
 is keeping one eye upon the sea, 
 and another on the land ; now lie 
 is thinking what .sort of a run over 
 he will have; now they have 
 started : now they are on the open 
 sea; now "—but here my mind 
 grew giddy, and I could follow 
 them no longrer. 
 
 What a long and dreary day that 
 was! I who had never before 
 minded being solitary, thought 
 each hourdragged itself along more 
 .slowly than its predece.s,sor. I went 
 out in the little boat, but it was 
 only to strain longing eyes across 
 the water to see if haply I could 
 discern the white sails of the Danc- 
 ing Polly. But there was nothing 
 on the ocean, and presently I 
 rowed languidly home again, and 
 tried to think out somehow the 
 life that was before me. But that 
 was difficult, because I did not 
 know what a lady was like. 
 
 Only five in the afternoon ! the 
 whole evening and half the night 
 before me yet ! I went into the 
 yard and talked to Isaac Agus. 
 He said the wind was favourable, 
 but it would freshen in the night; 
 and then I went back to the house, 
 as it was getting dark and chilly, 
 lit the fire, and sat down before it, 
 thinking. 
 
 I was in that mood when things 
 inanimate seem to be things alive. 
 Dan's pipe seemed to look at me 
 with a sort nf ]nr 
 
 
 10" Lr&Tl 
 
 himself Will's violin in the open 
 
28 
 
 'TWAS IN mFALOAR's BAY. 
 
 case seemed endowed wJfk 
 
 jWch ,..d upon „„rd.^S'^ ^f '7-»«'""-ontho,oa. Id 
 
 Where « he, the master > " T],,; 
 very chair. ha<I a .,ad and fo" 
 hoAn^' ook. I was overc„,„e wW 
 
 the^fhadow of intending evir' 
 At eight I could beai- it „„ 
 
 te:;l!r."».^«.<'-^''-in; 
 
 th,. I.>ft .1 """ out on 
 
 the left he stoop outh-no of Pinhav 
 
 d.«, uml on the right a little f the I 
 long me of rock. Nothing esc 
 
 But the wind blew fresh inltv 
 faee,andIl,eardtheraaroft"e 
 
 -....„.; „^^ ^^.g limvvjn,] "v,«,xu i-'Je roar of fh*. 
 
 ha^ freshened by this time Id ZZ^'''^' ""«' "^ ^^^ 
 was blowing freely amon,, the « " "P "t™". and that 
 
 boug„s and branches. But itcame I "r ™"P«™™»Wp to me, 
 fro«; the right quarter, and f ""^ '" f™' "^ "•« ho„,e 
 
 wo,Ud have to be a big L Je to Ct": "T ''*'-'^"- '»" '«""' 
 
 r-»--edt„maJrs,rr,:^-:t::r 
 
 , Tired with the anxiety and soli- " T^ *° ''^'"y »"■' °f fear. 
 «""de, I fell asleep the moment ■ ^I'T^^ ' '"™<' "'d went out 
 »y head touched the pillow ?W " f'! t^'^- ^own the .steep path 
 
 1 ,. ™ ""^ '"»' "ight that I 7 P' """^ """'^d uo light to 
 
 should ever fall i„to L swelt f b ! T, °'''' *"™8h ^y B^^ 
 
 chiJd^h custom. '"'^' about half-way down I heard ano- 
 
 When I awoke from confused T' f '' T *'"' ?"«' below me- 
 
 dreams of trouble, which took „„ d Vf " "' "™ P-'™"- « was „o 
 
 ntel ,g.ble shape, it was st^l ,n ^^J 'b'"""^*''"^'""' ^ '"-Jbt 
 
 the depth of night. There was no f "' '' "■»«* be Joshua 
 
 «uchthingintho,edaysasm:t:h:s Natr^rt,'?.™'""^ "'^ 4" 
 andthestnkmgofalightbymeans lo t ! "" ^^ ^^ould come to 
 of the tmder-box was no ea^y L7 ,' lid f f' ""' ?"*'"'<' » ^^'^^ he 
 tor. Vet I could not sleep anv ,^\ T ' '"'^ "° desire to 
 more. My nerves were like fuick- wl' Zf""'"- '" ' ^*»^«> whe e 
 
 f ver. I .prang from' m^^d" 
 
 di^ssed hurriedly in the dark, tied 
 ne^"1:^nl™™'''"^''-da„1 
 
 inTn a "'^ ™y downstairs 
 
 Ltse °'^'" "^ '" '■•»' of 'he 
 
 Clou k had come up over the sky. 
 and there was not a ray of sj 
 
 - down on the hiSt'^i 
 And then-good heavens! what 
 d'd It mean ? there came more 
 .^»ij-;. .^tei-s in the distance, aj; 
 " 'he road above, the confused 
 
 rampofmanyfeetuponthet 
 of the rough lane which led from 
 
 could the.se be ? And what could 
 
 |i<Miil!li>t>iiiuuiwj 
 
LY. 
 
 'igliimneronthesea. It 
 possible to make out or, 
 
 J steep outline of Pinhay 
 tithe right a little of the 
 5f rock. Nothing else 
 nd blew fresh into n.y 
 Jieard the i-oar of the 
 :ging down the shingle 
 It up again, and that 
 lonship to me. 
 
 e in front of the house, 
 e darkness and think- 
 better to be out in the 
 ng to the voice of the 
 
 30xedupinabedroom 
 ry«ortoffear. 
 f ai-ose and went out 
 lown the steep path 
 the beach. I knew 
 
 id needed no light to 
 the rough way. But 
 V down I heard ano- 
 lie path below me— 
 person, ft was too 
 thing,but I thought 
 i must be Joshua 
 unload the cargo, 
 e should come^to 
 enture in which he 
 had no desire to 
 so I stayed where 
 off the path, and 
 i hillside to wait, 
 
 heavens! what 
 here came more 
 le distance, steps 
 ^e, the confused 
 t upon the stones 
 
 which led from 
 'usdon. Whose 
 And what could 
 
 A LUCKY RUN. 
 
 29 
 
 they want, coming to Rousdon Bay 
 at three in the morning. 
 
 I was standing on a ledge of rock 
 overhanging tlie path from the 
 house to the beach. By lying 
 along the ledge I could look over 
 the heads of these men as they 
 came down the hill, and almost 
 touch them. I waited while th(;y 
 passed by the silent house. They 
 did not stop there ; evidently they 
 had no business with its occu[)ants; 
 and then a pang of horror struck 
 my heart, for I reflected that I was 
 the only occupant ; and although 
 they might have no business with 
 me, they might have with those 
 who ought to have been there that 
 night. I lay down on the rock and 
 cautiously looked over through the 
 branches of a bramble. 
 
 It was not so dark but I could 
 distinguish the figures of the men 
 as they came down the zig-zag 
 path, and slowly felt their way 
 along the .steep and narrow way 
 beneath me. It was not so dark 
 but I could count that there were 
 sixt-en of them, and I could hear 
 the clash of arms. Then I knew, i 
 without being told or wanting to 
 see any more, what they were and 
 what was their errand. 
 
 They were the revenue men; 
 they had got intelligence of Dan's 
 run , they were come to catch him 
 at the moment of landing, in the 
 very act of rurxning his cargo a- 
 shore. 
 
 I thought, by the feel of the air 
 and the look of the sky, that it 
 
 I must be near upon three o'clock — 
 I say an hour and a half before day- 
 break. That is to say, it was the 
 very time which Dan would choose, 
 had he a favourable wind, for 
 landing. And the wind was fa- 
 vourable — a steady strong south- 
 wester, before which the Dancinor 
 Polly would fly. There could be 
 no doubt that he was ofl" the coast 
 already. 
 
 It seemed to me that there was 
 just one chance — and only one. 
 The revenue men were all down on 
 the beach, at the west side of the 
 bay, under the rocks which were 
 carried away afterwards in the 
 great landslip. Suppose I could 
 get, unseen, to the point of land 
 which ran out— just a little point 
 — on the east, and shout an alarm 
 at the moment when the Dancinjz 
 Polly neared the mouth of the 
 bay. 
 
 It was the only chance. I knew 
 every rock, and ledge, and stone 
 round the {)lace. I had no need 
 to get down by the path. I slid, 
 jumped, and crept, working my 
 way round the bay, so as to get to 
 the point unnoticed. 
 
 That was easy. I daresay the 
 men were all half-asleep ; the night 
 was very dark, and my figure 
 could hai "y be made out against 
 the black masses of rock and over- 
 hanging brambles. I arrived at 
 the point, and crouched behind a 
 stone. I sat watching intently 
 the black waves close at mv feet 
 and the black sk^ above me. 
 
'*liji. 
 
 30 
 
 - m 
 
 III 
 
 " K<'^ cold, .„ it ^1 
 
 " "'" '"'"""^ '""""onto of life „ * 
 •Iocs not thinlc „f ,„^,, ^ ""^ 
 
 prayed that Dan ,niirl,( i ,' . 
 ""J t,l,at th» day S fhr '"■ 
 'hat ho .ho„^, Tai^ ',f-- 
 Woro 1,0 ,„„do his port p" 
 once in the bay. „hie,ft« l°'{ 
 ^-e said, h„t a tin, ..eoM^i 
 
 poitunity would b<. lost 
 Ala.,! that hope laikd. 
 While I 8at watehinif, and al 
 ".est before I had tin,e o „akt 
 h^ out, the Dancing P„„";„\^ 
 "P out of the blaeknea, ^f^e 
 
 •^ ottrc™*"' '" '"^ 
 
 I sprang up and shrieked and 
 wavedmyarms ' "^ 
 
 portr"'' ''^"' ^-^^ ^-^-cl-a- 
 
 It was no usp r^or, „ 
 *i. . ^^n saw me nn 
 
 ">e pomt. but her bows we" a, 
 
 ■oady.n the creek. Job and Jept 
 
 thah ran down the eanvas, and te 
 l>oat grounded on the beaeh. 
 
 ^JheDancingPollyhadmadoher 
 I ran round the bay for my life 
 the da k, dying •■ Da„, Dan thev 
 
 J^rc:i:ttrrt *' 
 
 "In Hip 7?- . "aik-]an terns. 
 
 Jn the King's name," shouterJ n 
 
 rough voice. "surrend;r."' 
 
 cured their prisoners. All four 
 
 'TM'AS IN TRAFAUMR's HAV. 
 
 v^ere handcuffed, and the men 
 were standing round them i„ 1 
 
 -^ I broke through them, i, 
 ^hnekmg my useless warning and 
 
 fe|; crying upon Dan's neck.^ 
 
 J heard you, my pretty," said 
 
 the poor od man "hL •/ 
 
 late You ^T' \ ^^' ^"" 
 wastoolate.' ^^^"'•^^'^^•^"^it 
 
 f ''"^'fe'od him and kissed him 
 <^^yj and weeping Then iZ 
 membered WiJl. " i le- 
 
 th J o"ffiet'.rr«^'' ''»''» 
 
 vontto okon H-"- ^"""''^ 
 here h! ««» a strange, 
 
 nore. Ho IS not a smuggler hoi 
 a gentleman." fc'K'OMiei.s 
 
 officer' "' 7 ''™°"''''" ™'<' 'he 
 rest /n •■""'' «° *'* the 
 
 The men had their cutlasse, 
 drawn b„t there was no bloot: 
 
 «' one ot the desperadoes 
 -ho canied pistols, and arranrd 
 oe orehand for an armed band'of 
 V "age,, to help him in landing 
 ho cargo. Moreover, resistance to 
 the k.ng's ofReen,. in those days 
 meant death. ■' ' 
 
 path'^'m ' ''' ''™"^^''°" «P 'he 
 pa h. When we arrived in f,.o„t 
 
 of the house-poor deserted house 
 pants ..-Dan asked permission for 
 
 , "■ ff° and bring out a glass of 
 
 brandy for this gentleman, an7one . r, 
 
 all round for the.,e K,..„„ ;.. ? ■ " 
 
 - -•••r,. ^ads ana » jj 
 
uv. 
 
 "''c.um3,l. und the mo„ 
 n^'>»^' roun.I them in a 
 ^roke throu^.h thom, .still 
 
 "»y useless warning, an.l 
 ? upon Dan's neck. 
 
 •/you, my pretty," saM 
 
 ''J;nan,"butitwastoo 
 ; '';;^^ your best, but it 
 to. 
 
 ^ him and kissed him 
 ' weeping. Then I re- 
 Will. 
 
 ' passenger," I gai,l to I 
 "let him go. Heonlv 
 ^ on- He is a strangeV 
 3not a smuggler, he is 
 
 y prisoner," said the 
 
 'must go with the 
 
 in, men. Ready ! 
 
 A LUCKY RUN. 
 
 31 
 
 had their cutlasses 
 ere was no bloodshed, 
 no resistance. Dan 
 of the desperadoes 
 'istols, and arranged 
 t- an armed band of 
 elp him in landing 
 •reover, resistance to 
 «ers, in those days, 
 
 'e procession up the 
 ^e arrived in front 
 oor deserted house, 
 •eceive all its occu- 
 ked permission for 
 
 ^J pretty," said 
 ing out a glass of 
 entleman, and one 
 .e br..yo lads and 
 
 'or us prisoners. 'Tis brandy, your 
 
 [honour, as never " 
 
 '' I know, I know," snid the ofti- 
 'cer, laugh ing— it was Captain Pol- 
 lard, R.N. " Well, we will halt for 
 the brandy." 
 
 I served them all, beginning 
 with the officer, and going from 
 him to the prisoners. It was now 
 daybreak, and, in the cold grey 
 light, I recognized all their faces. 
 I knew every one of them. I had 
 seen them at Bridport, at Seaton, 
 and elsewhere, when I went to look 
 out for the revenue cutter. One 
 of them was a Lyme man, a cousin 
 of John Beer, the barber. 
 
 "There," said Dan, when the 
 brandy had gone round, " now go 
 in, my pretty, and get to sleep, and 
 
 don't fret. Where are we ffoinff 
 sir ? " ^ ^' 
 
 " To Lyme first, then to Brid- 
 port. After that, I suppose you 
 will be sent up to Dorchester to 
 take your trial." 
 
 "I shall walk to Lyme with you," 
 I said. 
 
 No opposition was made. Ar- 
 rived at the high-road, the prison- 
 ers were made to walk together in 
 the middle, all handcuffed, and 
 guarded by the men with drawn 
 cutlasses. I noticed that they all 
 tried to march next to Dan, and to 
 whisper in his ear. The whispers 
 were friendly expressions of sym- 
 pathy and regret. 
 
 " How did they know I should 
 run into Rousdon Bay?" asked 
 Dan of one of them. 
 
 Tlu m-in Hj(i his ii ad. Hr 
 knew nothir^- aJx)ut it Stmie in- 
 former," 1 iposed, M li a ran* 
 tered curse against all informt 
 
 I walked beside Will. He \ i> 
 trying to face the situation, which 
 was very serious. 
 
 " I shall be committed for trial 
 with the rest, Pleasancc. Be brave, 
 my gill ; it will be only a tenn of 
 imprisonment, no doubt. We shall 
 fight it through. But my mother 
 must not know." 
 
 " Oh Will, they won't send you 
 to prison ? " 
 
 " I doubt they must, my dear. I 
 must think what is best to be done 
 for all of us, as well as for myself. 
 You would not like me to escape 
 at the expense of this poor old man, 
 would you ? " 
 
 There was no reply possible to 
 this. Of course I would not, in my 
 right mind. Just then, however, 
 it seemed as if even Dan might go, 
 provided my Will could be got out 
 of the scrape. 
 
 We marched down the steep hill 
 which leads into Lyme at about 
 half-past five. The little town was 
 sound asleep. When we reached 
 the house of Mr. Mallock, Justice 
 of the Peace, a halt was called, and 
 the officer began to knock lustily 
 at the door. 
 
 His worship was not dressed- 
 Could we come later on ? 
 
 We could not ; the case was im- 
 perative. His worship must be 
 good enough to get out of bed and 
 receive us at once. 
 

 32 
 
 >/in ; 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALOAU's BAV. 
 
 
 The narrow hall wa, „„arly 
 
 x":;rrT^:terwi,o 
 
 wonder. "" ""S^y 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," he ™i,l 
 what s this ! ivi • '■' 
 
 break ? J^ r,. "' ^^"^^ ^'^-J- 
 H«vo ■*" ^"^"aparte landed? 
 -nave von o-/^+ „ t.. 
 
 Havp , —"""'^parce Janded ? <,rp , 
 
 Weir 17 ^"' .' *^^'^"«^^ «py ? «aidlh '"• "^^^^ ^^'^ ^-^y>" 
 
 Wn ho .s ,n eornmand of :r;'^t7^"'''"'" " You fo.gl;, 
 
 Thk 1 ^ '? '" ^'^' *h« case 
 
 P'ay excuse me. Whaf ,l« •. 
 for von In . , ^"^ wishin/? 
 
 '.i-Hi:i;:jr-t;"'^^^^^^ 
 
 « aily, a, ottcw in c«.,„uand of 
 
 stfj, forwai'd ! " ^^'woners, 
 
 "IJan Gulliver! "cried the ma. 
 S*ate as the lights were hrouX 
 andhecouhUeeourfaee,, .^„i 
 - Pn^onor ! Dear me. dear mer 
 
 I ask for the prisoner to be 
 
 committed for trinl ., »u 
 
 " 'or crial, at the next 
 
 iJorehe-ster assizpq „n . i. 
 theac't" ^ "<»"«'"«'«» in 
 
 you ? 
 
 "Iam,Mr.MalJock,ifyouwilJ 
 aliow me to speak " said cl 7 
 Pollard. Captain 
 
 fo^you. lamupatthisungodi; 
 ^^«» on purpose to hear you 
 ^Peak. Mary, go bring a pair of 
 
 "I am Lieutenant Pollard Mr 
 Malloek, and " 
 
 TJiio « ,, . ^"*^ case. 
 
 Wow for al7of „:, ''""' ' "''^' » 
 He led the way into the dinin..- 
 ™om, where was his great chaFr 
 ;0«t,ce, in which he'placed hi J 
 
 Caught, sir, landing a car™ of 
 
 oC^i-^r^'^'^r.-sr 
 
 racei. Do you wish to hear 
 evidence ? " ^^* 
 
 " Evidence, sir ? ni? 
 
 t 
 t 
 I 
 c 
 
 h 
 
 t: 
 
 o 
 
 p 
 
 tl 
 
 oi 
 
 as 
 
 ell 
 
 ofl 
 ca 
 
 w] 
 
 an 
 hit 
 
 ob 
 
 iJwwWPii 
 
 IMMMI« 
 
HA V. 
 
 ''^"«''<J-. an. sorry i .i;,, 
 ?^"^" you. What wit), 
 
 ^'^^'•''•^'--Vlary, do fetch 
 'fcs-an.l the confusion of 
 ' *^ fc'u« 'iisturhancf- 
 ''\ "•<-'• What doe. it 
 '^;'l f Wo were wi.shin,. 
 «t jught over a.s ^.ood a 
 "K'y as ever ')an - 
 
 « captain interrupted 
 I't'at alacrity. 
 0^;^'. Mr. MaJlock. offi. 
 ;ffi''^-i- in connnand of 
 « revenue cutter, The 
 
 '«e are my men; these 
 pn«one,-H. Prisoners, 
 
 \ LiTPKY nirv. 
 
 38 
 
 'Jverj"cried the ma- 
 ' lights were brought, 
 «eeour faces, "you' 
 >oar me, dear me ! " 
 the piisoners to be 
 [ trial, at the next 
 uzes, on a charge of 
 '^e caught them in 
 
 ' • Fair and easy " 
 rate. "You forget, 
 to hear the case. 
 3 way. Oh Dan 
 a Wow ! what a 
 us ! " 
 
 ■y into the dining. 
 ' his great chair 
 ch he placed him- 
 
 tnding a cargo of 
 'n Bay," said the 
 ' wish to hear 
 
 Of course J 
 
 wi.sh to hear evidence, and all tht« 
 lovidence you have to otter I can 
 laasnro you. Do you think that 
 lespfjc table people — yeomen — sub- 
 stantial f» liners, like 'nv friend 
 Dan (fulliver and his sens — are to 
 be hauled ott* to prison on y(;ur 
 i f )se-( 1 1 X i t ' Ta— ta— ta ! call your 
 evid' rice." 
 
 T /jen was a general smile at 
 the mention of Dan's occupation. 
 Everybody of covuse, know ex- 
 actly what his calling was. Even 
 the otticer. Lieutenant Pollard, 
 drank no brandy except what 
 came from Dan's secret cellars. 
 
 One after the other, the men 
 were called forward by the lieu- 
 tenant. Each deposed the same 
 thing. They had marched to 
 Rousdon Bay by order of the 
 captain, meaning Lieutenant Pol- 
 lard ; they waited under shelter of 
 the cliff from two o'clock till four, 
 or thereabouts ; then the Dancing 
 Polly sailed into the bay, and 
 they captured the crew consisting 
 of the four prisoners. 
 
 When the lieutenant had called 
 half-a-dozen witnesses, the justice 
 asked him if he had anything 
 else to depose. 
 
 "Nothing more," replied the 
 officer " Isn't that enough ? You 
 can hear the same story from the 
 whole sixteen." 
 
 " No, sir," said the magistrate — 
 and I thought I saw a twinkle in 
 his eye as he raised the important 
 objection— "no,sir;itisnotenough. 
 You have proved to me that Dan 
 
 (fulliverand the three other pri- 
 soners weio on lH>ai(l a boat which 
 I you believe to be, and which, in 
 ! the absence of evidence to th.' con- 
 I trary, we may assume to be, the 
 j Dancing Polly. You had an un- 
 (lotibte(i right, as an officer of His 
 Majesty's revenue, to Iward that 
 vessel. Where, in my opinion, you 
 exceeded your.lufy was in seizing, 
 the prisoners ; for you have not* 
 proved that there was anything on 
 board to justify that violent mea- 
 sure. Prove smuggli. .sir, or I 
 shall let the i)ri.soners go, and dis- 
 miss the case." 
 
 There was a sensation in the 
 court. The officer looked down 
 aba.shed. He had actually, in his 
 zeal to seize a well-known and no- 
 torious smuggler, omitted the most 
 neces.sary portion of his case- 
 proof of the contraband carriage. 
 He was actually so eager to bring 
 his prisoners to the magistrate, 
 that he forgot to carry with him 
 his pieces de conviction. 
 
 "Under the circumstanoes, there- 
 fore," said the justice, with a great 
 sigh of relief, " I shall di.smiss the 
 prisoners, unless you can at once 
 produce evidence of smuggling." 
 
 Dan smiled. Will laughed aloud. 
 Job and Jephthah nudged each 
 other with their elbows, and be- 
 came solemn beyond what is na- 
 tural in young men. Lieutenant 
 Pollard looked, in fact, if one can 
 say so, of a gallant officer, who af- 
 terwards fell fighting the battles 
 of his country, foolish. 
 

 Si 
 
 J could soiu back tn » 
 •""•y. he said " nn,i „ 
 
 Danein-T PoJJy." *= '^"*^ 
 
 "Tush, nian '" smM *i 
 
 MVho,-. f. "'® justice. 
 
 »Viio IS to prove that those ke^. 
 
 were tliere when vnn i , ^^^ 
 
 craft?" '''''•>'"" ^0^1' Jed the 
 
 Tlie revenue men Jooked n f i 
 
 -L^au (.juJJiver was tmJn^ x 
 
 tJ.n.-r A • , ^ ^ *^^ escape 
 
 tiieir friend and m-eate^f .» 
 
 "gilt It Will bo with a beeter case 
 ^oJiy,youha .otter ask (Sr.f„- 
 
 ;'o"a.-dto,„wi,„ou''l„^;:r 
 
 'l"nk, : ..hall go up »tah. an. 
 have my sleep out " 
 
 Wo all thought the case was over 
 !' f *'"■ «••'"»« «'on, when a youn,^ 
 Wlow one, nhe .sixteen. sSf 
 ly nan,e-he wa. a Weyn.outh 
 '•'";"<> "">" nearer than Wey 
 '»" h would have willing,/ ^1 
 '*«J .«a,nst Dan-stepped for 
 
 ,'n ""' **"!' ""'d. hesitation 
 
 ™S your honour's pardon T 
 I'l cached one of n,. i 
 
 i , ,^'t^'«^ohn Beer there" 
 -everybody looked reproaclifu^. 
 
 'T^AS I^ TIUKALOAH'S BAY. 
 
 at John Beei-* *!,« 
 
 r„... I , "' ""* "-""s"' of 01 
 ^yno barl,er-"an,l we drank 
 '"aether," '* ' 
 
 ,:'**";'■;*'•""»"■»"/' 3ai.l.the jus 
 t'ce s,tt,ng down again. ^ 
 
 ilioyyavo him the oath and l„ 
 
 repeated his evidence. The worth 
 
 ;ag,st,.te tried ^ ero..e.ri^ 
 
 liim, but ,t was useless. The ore 
 
 o"ierw,.,e be accounted for 
 
 Then they called on John Beer, 
 ««Jthaty„„„g ,„,!„.. 
 
 to c ':'r ' "r""'"^'--. was fait 
 'oconhrm the statement. ' 
 
 no furthe"'""" "' "'" """^^ ■""''"l 
 no tuither opposition. ' 
 
 ."".'"f te," he said, with a 
 ehoke m his voice. •' It i. i ' V 
 
 IjOanCdliverand/orit^i 
 
 a. Wit: C '"''*" «"'"-' 
 scribed, ^'"'"P>o«, all de- 
 
 you wdl have a speedy ,l„liver 
 "-. and quickly return to /ouV 
 
 -your farmingand the rested" 
 "•at f s,g„ this document. The 
 
 'r '» "neertain. Times are hard 
 
 H-st men cannot be spa '■ 
 
 And at V """" "'^'"'^"-e 
 
 ^ood :i ; Tat:; '°°' r"^^ 
 
 to »ay, entirely eu.pty " """^ 
 
 '■MalEXr"'"^'' '" 
 
 >"».llus sons-caught at last 
 
 'V 
 
 '•»«"i i «» «« « 
 
S RAY. 
 
 "' Boer; the cousin of ou 
 ba'-ber-"and we drank i 
 
 A LUCKY RUN. 
 
 35 
 
 ^;ar this man,- said.the jus 
 t'"g down again. 
 
 ^avohimtheoath,andhc 
 1 his evidence. The worth; 
 
 ^te tried to cross-examine 
 : '^ ^^"^ useless. Tlie pre- 
 f t''e brandy could not 
 e be accounted for. 
 ^^ey called on JoJm Beer 
 
 ^oungfelJow, with blushes 
 ' ""vvillingness, was fain 
 » the statement 
 «tice of the peace made 
 ' opposition. 
 
 «t he," he said, with a 
 .IS voice. "It is in the 
 C^ulliver and you others 
 ^er, Jophthah Gulliver,' 
 I'n Campion, all de- 
 iomnion maiiners, that 
 ave a speedy deliver- 
 "'ckly return to your 
 "fiffandtherestofit, 
 this document. The 
 tain. Times are hard 
 'cannot be ..pai-ed. 
 terrible misfortune' 
 juncture, too, when 
 IS almost not to be 
 own cellar, I ,egret 
 V empty." 
 
 I'e all committed to 
 I'efusod. 
 
 vas, the wliole popu- 
 ^ was in the streets 
 sympathy and sor- 
 tuie of Dan Gulli- 
 >ns — cauirjjf »i I- J 
 
 for Dorchester jail. Loud were 
 he lamentations, and deep were 
 ho curses which were uttered on 
 ,he unknown informer who had 
 rought this evil. They put us 
 [in a waggon and we drove oft'— no 
 [one refusing to let me go too — to 
 Bridport and Dorchester ; the 
 dreariest journey I ever made in 
 my life, except one even more sor- 
 rowful, which was to come later. 
 
 There happened, after the re- 
 luctant justice had granted his 
 warrant, a very strange thing, and 
 one which caused the sides of all 
 Lyme Regis to shake with laugh- 
 ing. We heard the news ourselves 
 two days afterwards. 
 
 Captain Pollard, ashamed of his 
 own haste, which was almost the 
 cause of a miscarriage of justice, 
 despatched four of his men to 
 seize the cargo and the boat, and 
 to bring them round to the cove 
 at Lyme. Both boat and cargo 
 were the prize of the captors; and 
 a very tidy haul the prize would 
 prove. 
 
 The men, by their own account, 
 lo t no time in marching back to 
 Ilousdon. It was about ei.dit 
 o'clock wlien they got to the 
 farm. Hero they found Isaac | 
 Agus at work in the yard, and 
 his wife in the dairy, and no one 
 else about the place. Unsuspici- 
 ously they descended the liill and 
 boarded their prize. 
 The Dancing Polly was empty. 
 The whole of hei- cargo was 
 gone. Not one keg left; not a 
 
 single trace of any brandy at all ; 
 the prize snatched from under 
 their very eyes. 
 
 The men looked at each other 
 aghast. It hud been grief to most 
 of them to arrest old Dan at all ; 
 ho had ever boon a good friend to 
 all who wanted a little cheap 
 ■spirit; but this laudable repug- 
 nance to perform the more un- 
 grateful portion of their duties 
 was moderated by the prospect of 
 a prize. The Dancing Polly, as 
 she stood with all her gear, was 
 woith something, no doubt. And 
 then there was the brandy. 
 
 They looked at each other in 
 dismay. Where was it ? Without 
 a word they turned and climbed 
 tiio hill to the farm. Here Isaac 
 Agus was placidly engaged among 
 the pigs. 
 
 He Wius hard of hearin'' and 
 slow of speech, but at length he 
 was made to comprehend that un- 
 known })ersons had boon at work 
 in the bay since daybreak, and 
 that he was wanted to say who 
 they were. 
 
 He know nothing. At the usual 
 hour — that is, before daybreak — 
 he had left his bed, and since then 
 had been busy in the farmyard. 
 The absence of Dan and the boys 
 gave him no concern, because it 
 frecpiontly happened ; and he was, 
 in his slow way, amazed to learn 
 that they were all then, with the 
 stranger, on their way to Doi-ches- 
 ter prison. 
 
 But he knew nothiuLf. The sim- 
 
PR/ 
 
 86 
 
 !fli 
 
 01 
 
 mi 
 
 P look o the old „„„, hi., doaf- 
 "'"' '^" ' ''™^''' °f eomprehen- 
 t • '=°''""="1 the men that he 
 knew nothing. Then they re 
 
 t"™«l to the hay, and stood fadiv 
 contempJatino- their ^„.r.t ■ 
 
 •'"re for certain" <n,vi „ 
 
 roiKs ii laugh at us." 
 
 Well, they may." .said another 
 Jhen nature, which brinos re' 
 
 ie::;f'™i-^'^'S-eihe": 
 
 oaths ,^*'*''°»-^'» "Wiley of 
 
 -enn. ot^infor^e:^—: 
 
 n !u ^'' ""'''"» 'liera to med- 
 llo w.th Dan Gulliver „t ail ln,l 
 
 had robbed the cargo; and then at 
 the captain, for beinr. in ,„,i, 
 
 .""ghty hurry; and the'n at "ht: 
 in genera]. "^^ 
 
 finf hl7 ""'^.''"' ^^^-S lil^e 
 mushed sweanng_so, th.at is as 
 
 to eei o^y and comforuble f^ 
 the r minds about the past and 
 Pl"Iosophic as to the future-tte 
 thought occurred to one of them 
 
 ^-^nmarchingoverth^tields: 
 
 It was ten o'clock when thev <.ot 
 there; the wheel was slowly S. 
 
 'TWAS IN THAPAIUAK'S BAy. 
 
 ■-0 the"dt;/t:tTetr:'i 
 
 -^tywaggor.^rn.-*'-;; 
 
 - 'hrct: tb°"^i; »■' 
 
 himself °'^"^ ^eech 
 
 arreted" f" ^ ^— 
 
 -oha^tht^dr:;:*"-'^^ 
 
 ha^alT r° '"'■" *"' "- -go 
 
 but w thor"^"^"- "" '-«h«., 
 
 thonheinvtlT"™'""- ^"J 
 the mill. "''' ^''^ '"» to search 
 
 Jhere was nothing there. 
 
 AM so my uncle is eau^h* » 
 he said, ■< and tl,^ i, ™ught, 
 
 "Ay.'a;'::/::;,'^^?"'''™^ 
 
 ^> vve aie like the anac 
 
 ^as a young man w-:.h them. Was 
 "6, too, caug-ht?" 
 
 " All caught." 
 
 ^^ Was there any resistance?" 
 
 ^he old man and his son f). 
 ^ero quiet enou<.h " re XT' *^'^ 
 
 the men. " The ^hr^""' °^ 
 low k 7 • , '^^^^' yo«nfi-fel- 
 
 V;,"^*" -""J fought ato" 
 Thatwa™ash r • " '^'"^ ^"^ 
 
 '° the w, tr"""''™^» 
 
 That's •„ ^ • °^''-' " <leath. 
 
 '' a hanging matter. The ■'"» 
 
 "I Wore 
 
 ■jki-fjln -Vii — -i.|||..i M||itlli<Wi>liMiMii... 
 
BAY. 
 
 , ' tho water splashed 
 /'eep dark hole below 
 ■»-- of the upper and tho' 
 '"e were heard within • 
 waggon was standin.. bv' 
 
 •«^'Jy to be loaded; "and 
 ^' ^^« Joshua Meeeh 
 
 ^»<^ flat cap, his boots 
 ^re covered with flour' 
 lem roughly what they 
 
 '^eard that Dan was 
 ^ «eemed to reel and 
 
 doorway. 
 
 ^^eard that the cargo 
 appeared, he laughed, 
 ' merriment. And 
 ^d ^he men to search 
 
 THE king's clemency. 
 
 bther three will get off with seven 
 ^eaivs' transportation. But he'll 
 be hanged. Dear me ' How very 
 lad!" ^ 
 
 He smacked his lips as if he 
 liked the thought. Some people 
 Bo like to dwell on melancholy 
 Subjects. 
 
 37 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TH.i kino's clemency. 
 
 nothing there. 
 
 ny uncle is caught," 
 
 the boys with him ?" 
 ' of them." 
 
 "certain," said the 
 
 ' are like the grass. 
 
 ephthah ! And there 
 
 anwn.hthem. Was 
 
 •-ny resistance ? " 
 ^ and his son, they 
 ?K' replied one of 
 other young fel- 
 and fought a bit." 
 ?" cried Joshua 
 ''es<^- "Did he? 
 because resistance 
 officers is death. 
 »g matter. The 
 
 T was late in the even- 
 ing when we got to 
 Dorchester. The pris 
 on gates— above them 
 ung, as a warning to evil doers, a 
 ■ of rusty fetters and handcuffs 
 •closed upon all that I called dear, 
 iid I was left outside. 
 
 The young man, John Beer, the 
 iame whose appetite for brandy 
 liad done us so much mischief, 
 'ound me a lodging with respec- 
 table people ; and I waited in 
 rouble of soul for the morning. 
 
 At nine, after waiting outside 
 'or two long hours, I obtained ad- 
 [mission to the prison. I went in 
 rembling, and expected to see the 
 jprisoners jangling their chains in 
 lespair. I looked for sighs and 
 prayers, for the tears of repentance 
 and the groans of remorse. I found 
 'nothing of the kind. The court- 
 yard was half full of men who 
 were all laughing, talking, drink- 
 nig, and singing. Some of them 
 wore fetters. One man alone was 
 
 dejected. He sat crouched up 
 in a corner, his head upon his 
 hand. I learned afterwards that 
 he was in pi-ison on account of a 
 debt contracted foi-a friend, which 
 he had no means of paying. Out- 
 side the prison his wife and chil- 
 dren were starving, and he could 
 give them no help. The law 
 cruel and stupid, would keep him 
 there until out of his destitution 
 and wretchedness he should pay. 
 So that he was doomed to a life- 
 long imprisonment. But Will re- 
 medied that later on. The most 
 dare-devil fellows were a jolly band 
 of three, waiting their trial on a 
 charge of highway robbery, for 
 which they were all hanged a few 
 weeks afterwards, preserving to 
 the last their jovial spirits, and 
 exhibiting an example to all the 
 world how brave men ought to 
 face death. 
 
 My own party were not in the 
 courtyard. Dan Gulliver and his 
 sons were no common criminals. 
 They had obtained, on payment 
 of certain fees, the use of a ward 
 all to themselves, where I found 
 them. It was a large and cheerful 
 room, but disfigured by the odious 
 bars over the windows. Dan was 
 pacing backwards and forwards ; 
 Job and Jepthah were sitting side' 
 by side in one corner, their hands 
 folded, in silence and resignation ; 
 Will was at the table, writing. 
 
 " We must be very clear and 
 precise about this statement, Dan," 
 he was saying " There must be 
 

 I? 7 
 
 liliill: 
 
 38 
 
 10 poss.Mc misunderstanding 
 
 i oy mnst be „,ade to ,ee ti,at 
 
 ,f '■?' "" "'^■'-''nd-bull story, got 
 
 «P by us to help us out of our 
 
 scrape. 
 
 Dan nodded reflectively 
 
 "Now, this is what! have writ- 
 ten-P]easance, you are come to 
 
 i^imited the accommodation, but 
 we must make the best of it. Sit 
 jJown, child, while we finish our 
 business— now. Dan ; 
 "'This is the statement of me, 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S RAY. 
 
 l'%t;^^^"«t them, and thej 
 was flying French colours. \ 
 
 " 'On the Dancing Polly ^e waJ 
 
 about half a mile to starboa.7o 
 the enemy's fleet. One of the shi J 
 hai ed us to h«.ii i ^''"^snipv 
 
 ouXr'^*"'"^-""^"---': 
 
 "■At three o'clock or so we" 
 maje Rousdon Bay, intending to v 
 tendon news of the enemy's lee 1- 
 Lr..!!..!''' -""• Unfortt 
 
 B-ieiGumv: :rR:^XnPar ::tr " -" ""-"• '^"^<' 
 
 of Lyme Regis. 
 
 '"On Wednesday evening, Oc- 
 tober 21st, in this year 1803 was 
 
 Poll "1 7 '^^*' ^^^ ^-eing 
 f'olly, off the coast of France 
 
 no tzme inputting on paper the 
 observations we made as to the 
 
 whereabouts of the enemy 
 
 "; I am in the hope that this in- 
 telligence may prove of u.se to his, 
 
 homeward bound, f was runW 37 "'^ '"^^ ^' "'^^ *« hi.; 
 a cargo of brandy, in the landinf iTrv' ^T'"""^'"*' ^^^ that 
 of wbi.l. T ,„„. . ^"^^"^ I the diligence I have used in for- 
 
 Wfi.rr\inrr U : 1. . . 
 
 rvf iT- I. T -^ ' "^ Janain< 
 
 ^^7^^;^^™ caught and arrest, 
 ed by the revenue officers, and am 
 now, with my two sons and a 
 young man who was staying in 
 my house, committed for trial for 
 that offence. 
 
 " ' We took in our cargo at Bar- 
 fleur, on Wednesday morning We 
 sarted. the wind being thenlight, 
 
 warding ,t immediately may bei 
 
 toof /"°"°' against^he 
 fact of my havmg broken the law 
 
 "1 my venture to the Frenoh 
 coast." " JTencli 
 
 •' I don't think, Dan," said Will 
 after carefully ..eadi^^^^^^^^j. 
 
 that we can do much more good' 
 to the document. Here is the in- 
 
 but aft;„;rd r; le^niranf "l'- '» the document, n^^;^ 
 E. by S, a favourabklind fo, t^TJ^h '"t^""^ ™'-"<' -' 
 us, but bad for the ships we met I itTf r ^'^ ,^'''-'™ ^""^ "k" 
 later on ,■„ *!,. ^i_ .^ "^^ "et I 't. If the officials do not; but thev 
 
 could not ,lo,„ ». _. , . . "•' 
 
 iater on in the Channel. 
 
 "'Ten miles, or thereabouts due 
 north from Point Barfleur they 
 
 were-threemen-o'-war,eightfri- 
 gates and small craft. They were 
 beating „p Channel, apparently 
 
 would not dare ioThZ'rS 
 now, Dan, you must sign " 
 
 Dan Gulliver, after making the 
 
 caretul preparations for writing 
 
 common to people of that time 
 
 unaefin.tjtomo'^ *- __•_,,. ' 
 
 """'-'-' "" =*^^ tneir names 
 
 Isay 
 |der 
 
 chil 
 
iuy. 
 
 ^ north, though the win. 
 d against them, and thev 
 ig FrencJi colours, 
 the Dancing Polly ^^ ^^ 
 It a nnJe to starboard o 
 y's fleet. One of the ship- 
 ' *« haul down and lay 
 ^e held on, seeing th^ 
 ^« freshening, and all i,i 
 r. ' 
 
 hree o'clock or so we 
 isdon Bay, intending to^ 
 >ws of the enemy's fleet' 
 ^ we could. Unfortu 
 were caught by the ofli- 
 ••rested. So I have lost 
 puttmg on paper the 
 s we made as to the 
 s of the enemy. 
 
 1 the hope that this in- 
 lay prove of use to his 
 overnment, and that 
 3 1 have used in for- 
 immediately may be 
 account against the 
 iving broken the law 
 ure to the French 
 
 THE king's clemency. 
 
 ink, Dan," said Will, 
 r reading the whole,' 
 do much more good 
 nt. There is the in- 
 sh and valuable and 
 Nelson would like 
 ^Is do not; but they 
 i to shelve it. And 
 must sign." 
 ", after making the 
 itions for writing 
 opie of that time, 
 sign their names 
 
 srpetrated a form which he meant 
 stand for Daniel Gulliver, while 
 fob and Jephthah looked on in 
 'lent admiration. Anything their 
 tther did was great and beautiful, 
 'or that parental respect I honour 
 leir memory. 
 
 That done, "Now, Pleasance," 
 id Will, who had taken the en- 
 re command of the business, 
 please go into the town, ascertain 
 •ho is the best lawyer in the town 
 -the gentlefolks' lawyer. Go, call 
 tthis office, and bring him here 
 "ithout a moment's delay." 
 "Tell him not to fear about 
 oney, for there is plenty under 
 he hearthstone," said Dan. 
 
 It was not difficult to find the 
 •est lawyer in Dorchester. Every- 
 ^•ody sent me to Mr. Copas. I 
 ^ound him an elderly gentleman, 
 svho wore a large wig, and looked 
 !ike a dignitary of the Church. 
 
 " This sort of case does not lie in 
 
 he ordinary course of my prac- 
 
 ice," he said ; " I recommend you 
 
 '0 go to Mr. Ferret, whose clients 
 
 ihiefly consist of ." 
 
 "I think, sir," I said, "that 
 ^hen you know who one of the 
 smugglers is you will not refuse to 
 tot for us. Pray, pray come and 
 see him ! And, oh ! if it is the 
 money you are thinking of, Dan 
 [says, there is plenty of money un- 
 |der the hearth.^one." 
 Mr. Copas smiled. 
 " It had better be in the bank 
 child. ^Well, I will go with you! 
 But I do not promise anything." 
 
 We found Willalone in the ward, 
 still busy with paper and pen. He' 
 was graver than usual, as was only 
 natural, but when his eyes met 
 mine he smiled in his quiet and 
 sympathetic way. 
 
 " Now, my good fellow," said 
 Mr. Copas, in a patronising and 
 friendly tone, « tell me what you 
 have to say, but do not waste time 
 and tell the truth." * 
 
 " What I have to say is Mr 
 Copas," said Will, «I am a gentle- 
 man who has got into a scrape 
 with three most worthy smuo-- 
 glers." ° 
 
 " A gentleman ? Well, you do 
 not look much like a sailor. But 
 go on." 
 
 " My name is Campion. I am the 
 only son of the late Sir Godfrey 
 Campion, and the chief partner in 
 the firm of . " 
 
 "Good heavens! And you a 
 smuggler ? " 
 
 " Well, not exactly. But I went 
 for a venture with Dan Gulliver, 
 and we were all caught. That is' 
 the story." 
 
 " But you— you, my dear sir— 
 the influence of your family must 
 
 case 
 
 be brought to bear. Your 
 must be separated." 
 
 Here Will interposed. 
 
 " I cannot separate my case from 
 the poor fellows with me," he said. 
 " I cannot have any family inter- 
 est employed, because, above all, 
 my mother must not know of this 
 —this disgrace. I shall stand my 
 trial with the others. Fortunate''- 
 
pl< 
 
 40 
 
 r~, /j 
 
 U ' 
 
 ly"— he took up the papers which 
 he had Mj-itten and Dan had .signed 
 — " I have soniethino- ],ere which 
 '•"^'ht to procure us an absolute 
 pardon. It is secret intelligence 
 ior tlio Admii'alty. We .sighted 
 the French fleet on oui' way' back, 
 find we can report on the enemy's 
 cour.se. Now, Mr. Copas, can you 
 hnd me a trustworthy mossen.rei ? 
 You can ? Then let liim ride as 
 hard as horses can carry him. Let 
 him ride without stopping, let him 
 get to London before midnight. 
 He must be armed witli a ]et 
 ter from you and one from the 
 mayor." 
 
 " I am the mayor." 
 . " ^;^°^- The letter must simply 
 give the date of our capture, and 
 •state that the document is signed 
 by a man well-known in Lyme 
 perfectly trustworthy, althouo-h' 
 »ow in jail on a charge of smuc- 
 
 ollKl-" ® 
 
 'TWAS IN TJiAFALGAR's BAY. 
 
 img. 
 
 , Mr. Oopas hastened away with 
 tlie papers. 
 
 "They ought to let us go at once 
 ^vithout a trial," said Will the 
 sanguine. " Sit down and look 
 «-heerful, Pleasance dear. Why we 
 can make love as well in a prison- 
 ward as under Pinhay cliff. Let 
 »ne ki,ss the tears from your pretty 
 eye.s,mypeerle,sswoodlandnymph " 
 We had a fortnight to wait for 
 t le assizes. No answer came from 
 the Arhniralty, nor any sign that 
 were all to be acquitted without a 
 trial. Meantime Mr. Copas en- 
 gaged the best counsel on the cir- 
 
 cuit, no less a man than the grea 
 
 |e;^ant Tamblin, king's co^sd 
 iw- our defence. As fm- T^ i, 
 
 Meech. he d>d ^,, ^' '^'''^''' 
 > "t CI 1 not once come to 
 
 «ee as. an act of prudence which 
 wh,leI_)ancomn.endedit,wassur.' 
 pnmgtohnn Tobe,sure,asDan 
 «aid. It was only by chance that h 
 wasn t caught with the rest. An, 
 yl.enltoldhimofthe .single step 
 had heard before the revenue me, 
 came down the hill, he surmised 
 that It was Joshua, and divined 
 the .secret of the empty hold. Who 
 
 but Jo,shua could have cleared out 
 the cargo in so expeditious and 
 ciafty a manner? Who but Joshua 
 i^new the caches in the cliff ? Who 
 but Joshua would have been so 
 thoughtful of the interests of the 
 firm ? 
 
 The court, on the day. of the 
 
 tnal, was crowded with .spectators 
 
 principally people from Lyme and 
 Bridport who knew Dan Gulliver 
 
 talk, for It was nothing but specu- 
 Htion as to what the punishment 
 would be. 
 
 Everything frightened me-the 
 
 ™ld.st,ff court, «th the constables 
 and the javeiin-„,en; the people 
 .n t he gallene., who .see.„ed eager 
 for the show to begi„_a,, if dear 
 old Dan belonged t» a caravan 
 and was to be brought out and 
 teed for their g,,*fieatio„ ; the 
 hornd dock; the witness:box, 
 where I knew the evidence of our 
 guilt would be overpowering ,- the 
 b«.r„et«,, who .arrived just before 
 
 i 
 
BAY. 
 
 ' ^^""^ « '»an tJ.an the grea, 
 '\ '^a»'Win, king's eoun.se) 
 •Jew. As for Joshua 
 l^e fl-J not once come t, 
 an act of luudence whicJ. 
 '" ^onunended it, was but- 
 ohim. To be sure, as Dan 
 -as only by chance that h, 
 '"^^ht with the rest. And 
 
 Wi'"nofthe .single step] 
 i before the revenue men 
 n the ]nll, he surmised 
 a« Joshua, and divined 
 ofthe empty hold. Who 
 acould have cleared out 
 "1 so expeditious and 
 inner? Who but Jo.shua 
 'aches in the cliff ? Who 
 a would have been so 
 of the interests of the 
 
 TJIK Kr.G's CMvVlENCy. 
 
 41 
 
 t, on the day of the 
 ■owded with spectator.' 
 people from Lyme and 
 10 kiiew Dan Gulliver, 
 v^ith dismay to their 
 i^as nothing but specu- 
 what the punishment 
 
 ? frightened me— the 
 % with the constables 
 'iin-men; the people 
 «, wlio seeiiied eagej' 
 to begin-as if dear 
 iged to a caravan, 
 »e brought out and' 
 f gi-i'^ification ; the 
 the witness-box, 
 the evidence of our 
 overpowering; the 
 arrived just before 
 
 |ten in their wigs and gowns, and 
 talked and laughed as if there was 
 nothing to come of tlu; day's work 
 but a tight in words among them- 
 selves; the en)pty seat of the 
 judge; the clerk below with his 
 papers. 
 
 I came with Mr. Copas, who 
 provided me with a seat below 
 the dock, so that I could .shake 
 hands with the prisoners. 
 
 Presently our man, our advo- 
 cate, the grc „t Sergeant Jamblin, 
 K.C., afterwards Sir Peter Jamb- 
 lin, one of his majesty's judges, 
 came into court. He was followed 
 by a clerk bearing a blue bag full 
 of papers. I noticed that he nod- 
 ded, but did not shake hands with 
 Mr Copas. Yet he shook hands 
 wi. a every member of the bar in 
 the court. I believe that in those 
 days it was not considered right 
 for a barrister to shake hands with 
 an attorney. 
 
 Presently he left the table and 
 came to me. 
 
 " I have heard of you, Miss 
 Noel," he said. " Pray let me shake 
 hands with you. Mr. Copas has 
 told me the whole history. I am 
 only sorry that your gallant at- 
 tempt to warn Dan Gulliver did 
 nc^ ".ucceed. I am not sure, but I 
 am in great hopes that we shall 
 get them off altogether-one and 
 all, you know ; they were in the 
 same boat. But if we cannot, 
 then I may tell you that a little 
 bird has whispered good news in 
 my ear. A lord, high placed, has 
 
 iiitorested himself in the case. 
 Courage, my dear 3'oung lady." 
 
 This was very kind of the .ser- 
 jtiant. He was not, to look at, a 
 man from whom such kind thin<>s 
 were to be ex[)ecte(I; for lie had a 
 harsh and strident voice, full pro- 
 jecting lips, and staring eyes. Also 
 he had very red cheeks, and a way 
 of pu.shing back his wig which 
 showed that he was already <piite 
 bald. But when, years afterwards, 
 I heard people talk of the har.sh 
 and overbearing way of Judge 
 Jamblin, I rememl)ered that he 
 had once taken pity on a poor girl 
 in grievous trouble, and said words 
 of comfort to her. 
 
 Then there was a blare of trum- 
 pets, and presently the whole court 
 rose to greet the .judge. 
 
 Now I firmly believe that, if we 
 had had any other judge in all 
 England to try the case, or if this 
 particular judge had not been at- 
 tacked the day before with gout 
 in his great toe, so signal was the 
 service rendered by Dan to the 
 government, that we should have 
 all got off with a free pardon. But 
 the day was unlucky. Our judge, 
 never the most kindly of men, was 
 in a bad temper that morning. 
 His face was pale, austere, and 
 gloomy. His eyes had a fishy 
 stare in theia, which was due to 
 his thinking more of his great toe 
 than of the arguments ffointr on 
 before him. He was very old ; he 
 had been a judge many years ; he 
 had sentenced so many people to 
 
f 
 
 
 42 
 
 'TWAS m TRAFALOAn's BAV. 
 
 """■ent, that he had g„t to ro^ f^Jo.-"' Jamblin leaned back a„ 
 
 As for th. «"'"" D™- »i-'<teen mp„ •' i " """Pany of 
 
 »'ucK to KISS me when Jm * i ^loout four o c opt ,■» *i, I 
 
 them as if if ,J^''^*^^i<^'i 
 
 »". a gentleman in the ^uise of . 
 
 -inen tlie counsel fnr +k 
 «"«o„ „.,e and opoltd b?™"' 
 He began by .ayi/^X/^" »-■ 
 
 *^er;:Ht,ar^r^'^""« 
 
 " Where did you get your in 
 ^0-at.n, Lieutenan't Pra:d T" 
 
 . ^.^^^' ^^th his lordship's per 
 »7-n. I decline to state.""^ ^ 
 
 The court ruled that the ques 
 t'on need not be asked ^ 
 
 "I was only anxious, my lord " 
 said the serieanf «,v,-i- "^ ' 
 "for fK •^.'^"^'•''"^hng sweetly 
 *o^ the witness's own sake J' 
 
 P-- that a British officer- in 
 
 ^espicable persons who live bv 
 
 thSf '''' ■'"■^ ^^^ ^o"-« of 
 ''fleii teilow men." 
 
 Here the gallant officer v.a 
 ^ened and ,o„ked nneofX.^ 
 
 ,n^:.^°™»« these. 
 
 t 
 
 Aflat th*> nnf^— •- 
 
 "otoijuus smuggler 
 
BAY. 
 
 THE king's clemency. 
 
 o 
 
 ^tJamblin leaned back aivf a" Gulliver would attempt a 
 ^u ^ J^^ifpei'erl one of tlil"" over from the French coast on 
 ounsel, With a depreciatorjhat particular night, laden with 
 
 fcrand}'. 
 
 ''"^ ^''""•'^^^ f^J- the pros J "A.h! Remember, Lieutenant 
 a finished he called hif'^^ *r<l. you are on oath. Every 
 
 r"5i"^ which you say is on oath. 
 : ^^ ^("^i&vd was the first jPi-ay, why 'notorious sm-^^ler ?' " 
 ormation received he staj ^he witness laughed. 
 
 X--V ^m ' ^^^'Tbody knows that he is 
 '' ^^"^ Rousdon Bay atl* notorious smuggler." 
 ^ Thursday. Opfr.K^.,P "I care nothing about every- 
 body knowing ; do you know ? " 
 " Of course, I know." 
 " How do you know ? " 
 " By general report." 
 , u , _ "So, if general report pro- 
 
 ' ' •'^"ostantially, that I claimed you a murderer, a thief, 
 ay. Then the Serjeant I or anything else, you must of 
 to tear him to I necessity be that kind of crimi- 
 nal ?" 
 
 The witness was silent. Of 
 course, he could not be expected 
 to state that he had often par- 
 taken of the Gulliver brandy, and 
 had, indeed, purchased it. 
 
 " Has the elder prisoner or any 
 of the prisoners, indeed, ever 
 been convicted of smuggling ? " 
 " No." 
 
 "Have you ever seen them 
 smuggling ? " 
 
 " Never before." 
 
 " Do you, then, still persist in 
 that expression, ' notorious smug- 
 gler ? " 
 
 The witress hesitated. 
 
 "I suppose I must withdraw 
 it," he said. 
 
 " He withdraws it, gentlemen 
 of the jury. Remark, if you 
 
 4S 
 
 '"■^^Jf^ with a company of 
 
 on Thursday, Qct^be, 
 ;o"t four o'clock in the. 
 
 he Dancing Polly ,ound- 
 nt and stood in for tho 
 
 'the moment of land 
 the arrest 
 
 >egan 
 
 ;^i'l you get your in 
 t-ieutenant Pollard ? ' 
 ip's per- 
 
 ith his lordsh 
 ■cline to state, 
 ruled that the ques 
 i be asked. 
 
 y anxious, my lord," 
 ant, smiling sweetly 
 ness's own sake, to' 
 British officer is in- 
 
 ^Joying any of those 
 •sons who live by 
 
 sins or follies of 
 m." 
 
 allant officer red- 
 
 ^ed uncomfortable, 
 
 on," said the ser- 
 
 clid this villanous 
 u?" 
 
 torious smuggler, 
 
 please, that the witness has never, 
 he says, known of any smuir<rlin«r 
 on the part of the prisoners. Let 
 the injuriouspresumption raised in 
 your minds by my learned bro- 
 ther's opening speech, and per- 
 hafjs confinmed by the careless, 
 baseless expressions of a preju- 
 diced witness, be immediately 
 dismissed. We have to do with 
 one charge, and one alone. Now, 
 sir, your best attention, if you 
 please. You say you caught this 
 man smuggling, do you ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " What was he smuggling ? " 
 
 " Brandy." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 "One of my men opened a 
 keg." 
 
 "And purloined, being in the 
 revenue service, spirit which he 
 supposed to be smuggled. Has 
 that man been brought to jus- 
 tice ? " 
 
 " He has not." 
 " Were there other kegs? " 
 " I did* not see." 
 " When your men returned for 
 their prize, what did they find ?" 
 " Nothing. The craft had been 
 cleared in their absence." 
 
 The next witness was the man, 
 James Skirling by name, who had 
 opened the keg. 
 
 He gave his evidence in as few 
 w^ords as possible, and was then in 
 his turn submitted to cross-exami- 
 nation. 
 
 "I understand you," said the 
 Serjeant, in slow and awful tones. 
 
44 
 
 "to in. '''''''' '^^^^^U^An'H n.y 
 
 ^«ok advantage of the ^l^'^" 
 " I (hVl." 
 
 JJieinano-nnned. 
 
 V the ::rr :"""-■ """««'' 
 
 They .toio^l'i'"' '«'■"■«'"", 
 Vou betrayed a tr?"" '■"*''"^'- 
 
 bran.V'" ^°" ''°'' "'■■"' ""= 
 
 -"^thattr '■" ^°"^"-' - 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " There fa n »,„ i- 
 
 ask for fli,. ». I 
 
 n'ba.su/pat^-O-'^ wa„ J 
 " ^O" took one kcc an,l I 
 
 ;p;- u; y„„ ,,,.„,, ;«-ro. 
 
 y(>u stole some of iU . / ""^'1 
 
 P«y, wore tl, relit '"■''"'^^■, 
 J^ here weio • r ? 
 
 ke^s?"^^'' ^°" «Pen those I 
 
 " No." 
 
 :;^?™"'0»eke,^evere»m-|: 
 
 ined ? " 
 
 -nersa^a". ""^^-^^^-P-i 
 
 " ^ou have no knowledo-e whnf 
 they contained ? " * ''^ 
 
 " Brandy, of course," said th 
 "^a"> picking up hi// ' 
 
 little. ^ '■' courage a 
 
 "^ouwiJI swear wifhm.f j 
 
 y thp fo..„ ., , ' !^^t^out know- 
 
 thumbs into his w!' / '"^ ^^'^ ^^^ndy ? " ' ^^ *^^"->^ contained 
 ''Hereisavi]JIi^"''°"^^^°^kets. I « ^i: ,. 
 
 deliberate! v,!'^^^^^^^"•' He 
 
 deliberately p],!" 1?^'"' ^' 
 
 court boasts of if m , ^P"^^ 
 
 a«k for th/1 !• ^•^.^'^rdJmust 
 
 jfH-r^ 
 
 " How could- ? " 
 
 rogue, if :hrir"? ^^ *^- te. wfaT.'^"^^"*'^-^^ but- 
 country such '^' ^^ the ofFre;! I "°^ ^^e excellence 
 handed r" ^. ^'"^"^ "^"«t oe tlVl ^'"^*^^^'- ^i^' you swear 
 
 bene1c1altr;tr'^^"^^^^^ "^^^.'^^ ^^^ -^ oontain^:^^ 
 am not o , P^^lic morals. J ^ " 
 
 --"at, X o„,,,„, ,„ I e.a':c,;:rar''"--^-- 
 
 ' vvno all swore tn *h- 
 
 If 
 
 !f< 
 
 I ®' 
 
 I ^ 
 o: 
 
 ft 
 
 fe 
 
 b( 
 
 k 
 
 b 
 
 fr 
 
 w 
 w 
 ch 
 vi 
 
 nii 
 
 di; 
 W( 
 
 li\ 
 
 re] 
 vvi 
 
"A V. 
 
 '■ f^l"' prosecution of 1 
 
 -then as conniving at a. 
 'H' ennie." 
 
 THK KiNd'.S CLKMENCY. 
 
 45 
 
 'J'r' '^^f'"" to the terrifie, 
 ^''«^o logs trtMuM,.! be 
 
 ''•7/^iIe his cheek wa«o 
 pallor. 
 
 took one Jceo- .,»,<] 
 
 ^6 and yoiii 
 
 •youfoun,n>randy;nit. 
 
 «7e of that brandy,' 
 B there other kegs ? " 
 ;^ere ; I .saw. theni by 
 ^ "'y dark lantern." 
 
 ^^^ you open those 
 
 f^ose kegs ever exam- 
 
 y were aJI cleared out 
 '? "^arching the pri- 
 
 3 no knowledge what 
 
 of course," said the 
 "P his courage a 
 
 ^oar, without know- 
 that they contained 
 
 'question. Can you 
 contained brandy?" 
 
 'a^e contained but- 
 'ow the excellence 
 '■ Wiil you swear 
 fc contain butter?" 
 
 'er witnesses were 
 all swore to the 
 
 mo facts. One thing was clear, 
 lliat hn.l it not boon for that un- 
 iicky little bottl.. of brandy, tho 
 rosecution would have brciken 
 lown completely. 
 Three witnesses for chnractor 
 ere called. 
 
 The principal evidence was the 
 :ev. Benjamin Burden, rector of 
 :ous.lon. The poor old rector, a 
 veritable peasant-priost, stood in 
 the witness-box clad in his tattered 
 cassock and his battered old wig, 
 !yet bearing upon him the dignity 
 of his saei-od calling. The serJeant 
 handled him -with much .softness 
 and delicacy. He made him inform 
 the court that he was the rector of 
 Rousdon, that its population was 
 fourteen, his stipend was thirty- 
 eight pounds, and his church was 
 a barn. This melancholy condition 
 of thinf^s moved the jury in his 
 favour, and dissipated the bad ef- 
 fect which might otherwise have 
 been produced upon a fat and well- 
 fed jury, clad in strong broadcloth, 
 by his rags and his evident poverty. 
 The counsel went on to elicit 
 from the rector that Dan Gulliver 
 was his churchwarden, and that 
 with his two sons he kept the 
 church in such repair as made di- 
 vine service possible. The clergy- 
 man added, quite simply and with 
 dignity, that Dan Gulliver was a 
 worthy and religious man, who 
 lived the life of a true Christian. 
 
 The Serjeant emphasized these 
 replies, one after the other, each 
 with a waive of his hand towards 
 
 the jury, as much as to say: " You 
 hear this, gentlemen ; you will ro- 
 momber the evidence of this holy 
 minister of religion." 
 
 The ovidonce of the good old 
 man, however, lostitM whole wei-^dit 
 wh(m the counsol for the prosecu- 
 tion asked him one or two ipies- 
 tions in a <lifferent <lirection. 
 
 He said : 
 
 " I fear, Mr. Bunion, that the 
 lamonfablo exiguity of your in- 
 come must shiit you out frctm the 
 enjoyment of many of our choicest 
 blessings -port- wine foi- instance !" 
 
 The rector shook his head sa<lly. 
 
 " I believe that I remember the 
 taste of port," he sai<l, " but I can- 
 not be sure—it is so long since f 
 saw any." 
 
 " Brandy cannot altogether re- 
 place port, can it ? " asked the bar- 
 rister. 
 
 " It cannot," said the rector. 
 
 " Yet I daresay you get brandy, 
 at least sometimes ? " 
 
 " I do," said the rector. 
 
 " As a present, now ? from a 
 parishioner ? " 
 
 " I have it given to me," .said 
 the rector, " by my churchwarden, 
 Dan Gulliver." 
 
 " I will not ask you," said the 
 counsel, "whence you imaginethis 
 brandy to be derived. I prefer 
 to think that you ask no ques- 
 tions, and have no suspicions. It 
 would be too much to believe that 
 a divine of your age and position 
 should countenance the practice of 
 
 smuggling." 
 
et- 
 
 4(] 
 
 r-y^ 
 
 '^'"'n followed nfh 
 
 I''-.-.«..tly tl,„ 
 ^'■«*'' ■..«,I,. l,i, „,, ™ ' '■ '■ "■" 
 "«•> short. "HerL."! ., ""■•' 
 
 tl'eeml, „f"", """"<"'»''eat 
 '■■»' tl.o coast of r "'""" "'"' 
 
 contained, Jike f ]. '"^ ^^''^'^ 
 
 i'^"t(i, brandy. Of , 
 It was open f.. « ^''"''S'^ 
 
 "•"' U.e.,0 fo, , , ''? '" ''"'fevc 
 *^ Chan,.,," "7 'r' "''^cd 
 
 -^-/»eoa.s,r„;, : r' "" "" 
 
 '""*''tal,Iea,i '"'."'^"t^^' 
 i""«l fact, were h; f , ""*■"- 
 "»" with a 27' ,"' '""■<' "'a'^ a 
 
 j-oft\e^U:^;::;f'-^- 
 
 intimate frienr?. , ^.^'^ ^''^most 
 
 "-y-eceiverh „;":':«;' *'■'« 
 ft'om him Wt, I f ^ Pi-esent 
 
 "">t'"-a.Ki,r;rf;<"'^'i™»-e 
 
 As 'eo-arderf ,, y Profession. 
 
 --'■-•Sirs 
 
 ''•»■« m inAKAuun's bav. 
 
 of ."orality,w,icl,al, «.„,„,, 
 
 'Y "^''^ 'ovonuo 8( vice M 
 
 ''«"''t the gallant o/Hce,. who! 
 ^'ff«etod the anesf, with I ,' 
 
 i^--U>titudeandeoura!;a h:r 
 ^'^'' a little .ndiscror^ ^' 
 
 hj« niiJitm.v ^^'^c^ ^'^ 
 
 h'-a^kodtjuX"^- *"""H 
 forth.^ '^^'> ^•^g've a verdict 
 
 ^oe,s an,l dof,,,,,, „f j, I 
 
 "hen our counsel's t,„.„ „ 
 'if'iwdoa most „i '""'^^' 
 
 <"8"«nts„„„T/c""r'^"'"''"- 
 
 DanO.dlvrtfr""^""'"'"' 
 
 "" ailiiiirable snccim^n „« 
 class which fo,,„„,, i'"." °' " 
 
 '""^I'hone of ™ ™"^' "=<= 
 
 .'^ffe upon his own land 1 . 
 
 '"SPm-poseshehadtw , ■■ 
 of them called ,1! ''""'«• one 
 
 '-.are:Xh;;°--.^po%, 
 
 "'- particular nil t'r'i"'-°" 
 f-g the coa-sT'liT ' '''^" 
 do-l't. « cargo of 1^ !f'"« "P- "0 
 »• it might be fil "r ""'' ^«g». 
 '« .natters an, :' ".'''"'*™- 
 
 '•"■"toRousdrferf'"-- 
 
 or inlet of th. •^' ^ ^''^^^e creek 
 ^^^0^ his farm '^'''''''^^^tely 
 
 been across the p, ^ ^'"'"^^^^ 
 ^^ tne (JhanneJ « tr 
 
 can you prove it ? w ^^^ 
 
 «««picion to arise - W '^™' *^' 
 ^"^ • Was ,t JikeJv 
 
 w 
 er 
 "t 
 ha 
 m( 
 
 CO 
 
 "v 
 ru 
 
 thi 
 
S BAV. 
 
 «J'ty.v^h.chaIlwo„Mregn> 
 
 ^'' Revenue «. vice. IV 
 
 ho gallant ofhW who ha 
 ';« ano,st with ,so ,nuo 
 
 ' p-'eoura.e.althou.i 
 
 '"^'^^''•« of the offbnce in 
 
 •tmy capacity. Finally 
 
 t''e.jurytogiveaver,Jic, 
 
 --';tion,an,l,so to strike, 
 ^« t^e lioarts of other 
 '^"'l defiers of the Jaw 
 ""• counsel's turn ca.ne 
 ■ "'o^t eJo(p,enX and i„.' 
 
 "'' t^^e much luaJiLmed 
 
 »"■''« We specimen of a 
 
 ^"^'ned. he said, the 
 
 ^o'"-country;hewas 
 ^"■'">n^' the few acres 
 ^^ ^»« paternal estate, 
 '•y iy with his sons 
 
 'Gd daughter, in a cot- 
 ; own land. For fish- 
 
 ^« 'ad two boats, one 
 
 ' ^t ^^"^^"^ Polly, 
 
 '^"bly fast sailer. On 
 
 •"'^•i^the had been 
 'll picking up, „, 
 , , '^"tter and eggs, 
 
 «f' and such ha?l 
 »d proposing to re- 
 
 ^^ay, a little creek 
 ^ s^^a immediately 
 
 THE KING.> CLEMKN(;V. 
 
 47 
 
 ^^ted against the 
 
 ^^^expedilfcionhad 
 fhannel. "How 
 
 ^ -now came the 
 • "^^« it likelv 
 
 ')at in HO small a vessel, at that 
 itonny period of the year, four 
 len would venture on a voyage ho 
 langerous ? What is more common 
 ihan a trading voyag(> alon^r tlie 
 loast ? What more reasonable to 
 luppose tlian that a .small farmer 
 ivith a taste for sailing and boating 
 iliould carry on such a trade ? At 
 [least, gentlemen, tdl the contrary 
 bs proved, you have no right to 
 suppose that the object of keeping 
 the Dancing Polly was a criminal 
 one." 
 
 Daniel Gulliver, he went on to 
 .say, was accompanied by the two 
 boys and a sti-anger. No secrecy 
 was observed about the expedition, 
 and some idle or malignant person' 
 one of those creeping things which 
 infest every society of men, thought 
 it worth while to communicate the 
 proposed voyage to Lieutenant Pol- 
 lard, that gallant officer whose dis- 
 cretion was not equal to his zeal, 
 and whose eagerness to pi-otect 
 His Majesty's revenue 1<rl lim to 
 overlook the fact, you must 
 
 not arrest a man n suspicion and 
 charge him with smuggling, unless 
 you can prove it. "For, gentlemen," 
 he .said, " what actual proof have 
 we? This"~he held up the half- 
 empty pint-bottle of brandy— 
 "this is the mighty proof. A small 
 half-pint of .spirits, which smells to 
 me, gentlemen"— he took out the 
 cork and smelt it cautiously— 
 "which smells to me, I confess, of 
 rum, rather than of brandy— is all 
 ' prooi, uusoiuieiy the only proof 
 
 
 that we have. In the dead of a 
 dark night, a man whose object is 
 theft, hurriedly steals, this spirit 
 from the hold „f the ve.s.sel, and 
 swears that he saw other ke<^r.s, the 
 contents of which are unknown. 
 The [)lace is most rclii-ed and se- 
 cluded. Th(!y cany off tlieir pris- 
 oners, the officer never once think- 
 ing of examining the boat. When 
 they send back for that purpose 
 theie is nothing at all in the boat. 
 Mind, gentlemen, no one had been 
 there. Yet the boat was in ballast. 
 That is a very remarkable circum- 
 stance. That is a very su.spicious 
 circumstance. That is a circum- 
 stance which in my mind ren.lers 
 entirely valueless the evidence of 
 the man— the chief witness -who.so 
 only value was that it .seemed to 
 afford a ba.sis for a,s.sumption of 
 guilt. Komember,gentlemen, again, 
 that the only proof of guilt is a 
 half-pint of rum, or some such 
 spirit, in a bottle— a half-pint— 
 about enough to anmse a gentle- 
 man between a bottle of port and 
 bedtime; aUd on that hali-pint you 
 are asked to convict this honest, 
 religious, and God-fearing yeoman,' 
 with his two innocent boys, and a 
 young man of whom no harm what- 
 ever is known, and therefore none 
 should be nspected." 
 
 When all was done the jud^^e 
 summed up. It was most unfor- 
 tunate for us that his gout rendered 
 himiU-temperedandsour. He went 
 through the evidence bit by bit. 
 pointed out how simple it was, how 
 
f/l 
 
 48 
 
 (^1 '/ 
 
 d 
 
 m 
 
 rh !! 
 
 f wl 
 
 f'ni- fi, • intention 4^ 
 
 '■e«t of the r.nv :, ^°^ tJie 
 
 was entireJv.„ ™«"«thatit 
 brandy -^ '""P"*^' "' F.'cneh 
 
 "'eyea™eVclt:;,"'"'-.<""y^ 
 ver,lict_ "naninious 
 
 JU'Jffe ^^r' ^ ''-■•■ -W the ' 
 
 spoC °''''^"' "^ ">,.„„» and 
 'jfeiii:, ne said "Tv.^ 
 
 There was a geltan ,!'""■" 
 «ven the iurf„„ * , ? ''"'8'>' and 
 
 "iami5h.r'^''«r*-^'y. 
 
 ?"'■'*• r«, are' - •""'"^"y™'' 
 ■"ercy Tr' , T"'««'"'Je<l to 
 
 p»a,t;:'itr;*r'r"" 
 
 "tude Bi,* T • P""*"' ser- 
 
 anotherafdAT','"'"™'''"--"'" 
 ^-.DaniG, ?':;■, ^""-'-^at 
 
 Portance to-ill •*' '* »' ■«- 
 
 W '='"">t'y. In return 
 
 ^i^Al-ALGAH's BAY. 
 
 expe.ie„ee C n-I^V""''^ "'■ 
 *'" al»o anxious ^' "I"'"'''"''' ' 
 »™t the !1 '^ 'r '*''<' '"'» ac 
 
 yo" have -ecXed r°'"- "'"4 
 
 /"■■andothe: t r'f,r"'"' 
 
 ' "'at this run of " """^ ''«"«M 
 
 '«' a notninal seMel ™ '"*' 
 15»' it wa. not Yr,"P™ y°4 
 3""' have been sv , ""' """ 
 
 r -i in brSi^" r:tr"v» 
 
 ^ave brono-I.f . ^- ^ouf 
 
 ' ™t;i:r:^-'-»°th^l 
 
 ^ V- i^e sentenpp nf +1 
 therefore i., th»r '""='""' 
 
 '"-o sons aid t^ /°" "'' >''""' 
 ' ^■■"iam cln,'t! ."'"" P'"™^''' I 
 ' ""jest, on ToC'th ""^ «'» 
 '■»■• the space °fti, ''°^''' "^^^ 
 
 ••-'■-l from re: ^"^' "°'^ "- 
 rewards nrl,. *^ '""'h pay, 
 
 «ons*',~'""^y'«'=dpro„o';' 
 
 just due. ;i''D:r-""''' ^°" 
 of course the "« ^°% is. 
 
 Pollard." P"'^ °f Captain 
 
 t-To^.rtr'irt"''"'"°'^''>« 
 
 'houghtof it wV *'"'""' 
 
 ^ He stooped over the doek to ki„ 
 
 "Remember the heartl,.t„ 
 P'-^Wy." he whisperer a, ,"^'"^ 
 
 "P,>'°'"- heart, aid wait fo"''P 
 patience, w,- a m °' "^ "' 
 
 "Sain. ThotordX;"'".'!"'"^ 
 
BAY. 
 
 ;ou and your party ,,; 
 ' *^« kin./, alemeZy 
 ;"-^^°"« to take into ,, 
 ' g«od character whic) 
 
 -ee.ved from your e 
 -• Iflcouldbeiie; 
 :" f your.s was a soJi 
 
 '«' / vvouJd have infiic. 
 «al .sentence upon you 
 
 "«^' You know t^hat 
 een •'^ystenuticalJy en- 
 ■^aking the Jaw. You 
 
 t"P your sons in your 
 «• TheJawsot'Eufi. 
 >t be broken with im- 
 sentence of the court 
 that you and your 
 the fourth prisoner 
 'P^o«. do serve Hh 
 >ard the royal fleet 
 't three years. Dur- 
 3^ou will not be de- 
 -eceiving .such pay 
 ^oney, and promo- 
 te considered your 
 Dancing PoJjy i^ 
 P'-^^e of Captain 
 
 t ^ill, not at his 
 to see what he 
 ^^"P«t up his 
 ^^ng silence, 
 ^r lordship," Dan 
 tne kintr ? " 
 
 i' the dock to kiss 
 
 hearthstone, my 
 ''^^^ "and keep 
 ^ait for us in 
 ^^ come home 
 less thee I " 
 
 FEMINA FURFNS. 
 
 49 
 
 But it was Will who held me 
 [ightest. 
 
 "Be patient, dear," he whispered, 
 patient and true. Good-bye." 
 
 Then they removed the prison- 
 irs, and Mr, Copas took me out of 
 he court. 
 
 Next day he sent me in a car- 
 liage back to Lyme. 
 
 It was in the evening that I ai-- 
 rived. Joshua Meech was in the 
 street. He was dressed in black, 
 and had evidently just come out 
 of his meeting-house, so that he 
 was playing his third part. 
 
 "Dispensations !" he groaned, 
 holding up both his hands. " Oh 
 Pleasance, Jet us kiss the rod. 
 Three years aboard the royal fleet! 
 What a sentence for a young gen- 
 tleman ! Ropes-ends and cat-o'- 
 nine-tails, with salt junk. 'Tis the 
 chastisement of Providence." 
 
 " Do not come near me, Joshua," 
 I said fiercely, thinking of his last 
 visit to me. " For three years I 
 shall see no one." 
 
 " Grievous, grievous dispensa- 
 tions ! " he replied, holding up both 
 hands and shaking his head. But 
 there was the joy of revenge in his 
 eyes. He was glad that my Will 
 was out of the way for three yeu.rs. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FEMINA FUHENS. 
 
 ' )R two days I sat at 
 liome, or walked about 
 the Holmbush B'ields,' 
 brooding. The Danc- 
 ing Polly was gone, she was the 
 prize of the revenue people. They 
 had not taken my little boat ; 
 I might, as of old, put out to sea 
 and dream, no hmgerof the future, 
 but of the golden past, on the gen- 
 tle bosom of the Channel. And of 
 course, there was the Chace Mary, 
 which was no good to me. For 
 two days I thought of nothing but 
 the sentence. Three years at sea ; 
 three years on board a man -o'- war; 
 three years among the rough sea- 
 dogs who manned our ships ; three 
 years in a hard and severe service ; 
 where they flogged the men for 
 next to nothing ; where the pur- 
 sers cheated and starved the crew ; 
 where the food was the coarsest ; 
 where the rivalry after every ac- 
 tion was, who could show the big- 
 gest " butcher's bill ; " where there 
 was but one saving clause — that 
 the men fought to win. I knew, 
 from the talk I had heard, what 
 manner of thing this service was ; 
 I knew how hard and rough it 
 was ; I feared nothing for Dan and 
 the two boj's, for obvious reasons, 
 but Will was a gentleman. 
 
 And then, he might get killed 
 in an engagement. Fights were 
 
50 
 
 f'^'V.s happening, the,-. 
 
 <% b« sumo net' ,, *^ "<> 
 
 Ifx'y's .ship Hero hjT ? "'"■ 
 '^'■«''ch shin f. '^"«''" «>e 
 ""■o-ght ho,. ho,„e fe r^t' ""'' 
 ""daprtsone, Y"tI'*^'"''»<'- 
 take them. Thatfa 3 'r: "' '« 
 wonderful part J M **"""»' 
 
 'o'-yuhat'^rh l"'\'^''°'«''fe- 
 
 sh'PS better built ,h! "*' °^ 
 
 f'houghDantel^"'"""- 
 
 \- 'o take and deS»«- 
 
 -"i one of th 
 ■"^ WiJi, r,^„ ;?" 'engagements, 
 nieet their end °^'- •"'S^t 
 
 ■•''5and:::r;;^'-^-n,an 
 
 '''•oha.dnot.onb^lt: /d'^one 
 ""•'over, fchtin ^'■' '"'^''antl, 
 
 r>''y'^ S«:^;r-^- his' 
 A cruel «„^ ' "* or ashore 
 
 r'^-St ab ! Xf ;': '"-" '-y 
 
 f-d eye.,, and eleSd^''^' 
 '■•ying vainly to hlT f '"'"*, 
 »"'«vatedJieth'^^^°P.'"^^';when 
 
 ^"■"edwithag™;!;:'-^'"''"'' 
 
 "-lien all of „»""!'''"'«'■ hearts; 
 ™W alike, &7"'''»doulti. 
 
 "ope and refuZ' ''"'"""• °«'y 
 0'"lie;,earni^*~"'P''" our knee.,. 
 
 "•'•-ppiatHrrtr'^^^- 
 
 ■nercy, the torture of '''"' °' 
 
 '^datlasttoar;ti„;f'*'''^" 
 
 '--o---whe„aTtre:!:e*;r 
 
 'twas IV TRAL, 
 
 ^ J«AFALGAII'S liAr. 
 
 -prayers XSf", 4 
 fathoms deeo on »,[,', "" '•>''nsl 
 
 o" covered r:::.t*;fH 
 
 'and with a few :'l """e^l 
 
 "'-npaign.,'^:":^:.:'-''.! 
 
 "■^^ *p'hs of dS: 
 
 le to the „„., .. _ ™'Pa" I 
 
 "-ughtmeothCa,:f "^^'P- 
 «on which all woir„ /fr'gna- 
 
 "ental conflicts, S "'';,;■ '"^h 
 began to look about f ^''^° ^ 
 °f passing the t: '"•"'"'* -''^ 
 
 isaac Agus and his wif« 
 "^y on the farm . ,^ * '*"'"" 
 the farm-it '"""P'od^ce of 
 
 -uids^fliclC^hth"'"''- 
 -d myself. Than ™n'""*- 
 
 out, and represented trtb''*"^ 
 labourer wK^ 7 *"® o^d 
 
 tension buf T ^^'^'^^compre- 
 
 «^and at length that t '^''■ 
 
 years. ^'"'^^^^ ^^^^^^er for three 
 
 ^'his settled T C 
 about the very r.^"; '" ">'"'= 
 '^PidcIeaJcTofT"'^*'"^ ^d 
 
 Of course r"'^°- 
 •^-hxa whS; ' "Th 'T. '»» 
 ''^r;itm„sthtvebe:n;V'^ 
 
 ~n>e down to lend a hand" if*"" 
 have been Josh,,. """"''tniust 
 
 "oiJ ; no one e, *'"' "'""^ the 
 it. °' *» »onM have done 
 
 ^here had he ni,t tu 
 . ™e arrest took n !' '^'''' ' 
 
of 
 
 HAY. 
 
 'JT" J'ou^g feUow f„ 
 tears were shej and 
 •■= were offered, waaly 
 
 '^Pontheshelisofocean 
 l^»»ewherei„aforeig^ 
 
 ^fev.,„ehe,, „f,^rth 
 SOS over for ever ! 
 
 ="t hours' jstr ] I ^^uvv, weimu luui-a-uozeu places, 
 
 ^^ depths of 1 .^Hknown only to ourselves, in which 
 
 to thf> rr^„i _^ ." Bwe could stow our mprphanflisA 
 
 FEMINA PUKENS. 
 
 61 
 
 if brandy, each holding four gal- 
 lons or so. 
 
 For one man, single-handed, 
 hat is a heavy job. It would not 
 »e possible to^carry the kegs very 
 ar. 
 
 Now, we had half-a-dozen places. 
 
 ^^thegoalofresigna- 
 
 ^ women, after such 
 , ^f' reach. Then J 
 k <ibout for some 
 ^e time. 
 
 way 
 
 ;^"d his wife would 
 farm; the produce of 
 7^8 not much- 
 ^ keep him, his wife, 
 ^^at I soon argued 
 ^«ented to the old 
 ^ashardofcompre- 
 ^^fnaged to under- 
 ' ^^a<^ he was to be 
 manager for three 
 
 '^gan to think 
 remarkable and 
 ^f the cargo. 
 °^"st have been 
 'P J heard in the 
 ^ve been Joshua 
 ^ a hand; it must 
 who cleared the 
 ^ould have done 
 
 it the cargo ? 
 
 P^ace at four 
 en the re venue 
 'Ok after their 
 ^^ght. Four 
 3r sixty kegs 
 
 we could stow our merchandise 
 They were scattered about in the 
 Undercliff. Some were a good 
 mile from the bay, one or two 
 were quite close. Joshua,! thought 
 would take the nearest of all. 
 This was a place lying quite close 
 to the path from the bay to 
 the farm ; to reach it you scram- 
 bled over a sloping ledge of 
 loose stones, and you passed 
 'oy what si med to be a tan- 
 gled heap of brambles. If you 
 got to the back of the bushes you 
 saw •"' J., they covered only a 
 natvaei hollow, a sort of punch- 
 bowl, which made the most ad- 
 mirable cellar in the world, 
 especially in summer, when the 
 leaves were thick. 
 
 T went straight to the spot, and 
 pulled aside the branches. Below 
 me to my great joy, I discovered 
 the whole of the Dancing Polly's 
 last run. 
 
 Joshua had put it there — care- 
 ful Joshua ! He had not ventured 
 yet to sell any of it — prudent 
 Joshua ! No doubt he would ac- 
 count to Dan on his return for his 
 share of the money — righteous 
 Joshua ! 
 
 Anvhow whether Jop.hu.R. did 
 
 this thing with a view to his own 
 interest only, or not, it was plucki- 
 ly done, and well done. 
 
 Woman like, I had found a se- 
 cret, and I rejoiced. Who could 
 have laid the information ? 
 No one but ourselves — of whom 
 Joshua was one — knew. Now, 
 much as I dreaded the man for his 
 violence and masterfulness, I 
 never for one moment suspected 
 Joshua of this villany. The 
 loathing, the hatred, the contempt 
 with which men of a^l classes in 
 those, days regarded an informer, 
 were such, that a mother would 
 have preferred to see her son ly- 
 ing in his grave than to hear 
 that he had become such a crea- 
 ture. 
 
 I have heard that a poet has 
 said that an angiy woman will 
 dare anything. I think I have 
 learned from my own experience 
 that a man from whom has been 
 taken the girl he loves, will do 
 and dare anything to win her 
 back. 
 
 The day after I made this 
 covery, there came to Rousdou 
 Bay the young fellow belonging 
 to Captain Pollard's company, of 
 whom I have already spoken, 
 John Beer. 
 
 He was a good-natured lad, and 
 had never ceased to regret the 
 part he played in the case. He 
 found me sitting in the porch 
 looking sadly out to sea^.and he 
 sat down, kindly saying nothing 
 for awhile. That was good of him. 
 
52 
 
 i'i. ill 
 
 fl' 
 
 m 
 
 ■^AS ,N TOAPALOAR'S ,UV. 
 
 Tat'fr ''"'"''"*'■ -'ft-Kivin,, 
 
 ^_JJ.at,%aidthe„a„...i3a,,. 
 
 "Tell ,„e_ j„, ^ 
 Oh. if I u„lyk„,^,„ ""■'«"■»». I 
 
 " Ijonder ,,h„t 
 
 Know. Pofl««„„„ o.. '^to^vt 
 
 "What is it you want with i«e 
 Juhn Beer?" ' 
 
 " Nothi.iy," he said. 
 
 Then there was no need for 
 
 - o say anything, so I went on 
 
 ^^th my n^editations, which were 
 gloomy enough. 
 
 n% wanton," he did say that 
 ^ "»gM come over here, and find 
 
 out something about the eargo if | . , " ""v ^w..w r 
 I could ; and he did say, too that L , '^""^^^^' ^^^^^ Jo 
 he ioped youwouldnVfret an ' *° ^^l^^' ^^e^^ance r 
 gnz^Ie because, there's more comes I T .^"^ ^^^« ^ *«" ? " 
 back than 3.ou'd think, and it s thin! TV" "^^^ ^^ --kmg 
 only for three years. Lord I what's h, "^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ man "J 
 hree years to a chap. Next ^ onlutt"^^;!^^*^^^^- ^~try 
 to no hmg-and good fun all the Z. ^^' '^^^^^^'^ window 
 
 tm.e knocking over they Fren h t! '^7 "^^ ^ ^^'^^^^-i- Th. 2 
 '"en like ninepins" ^ ^'^' ^^^" ^"^ him, they think no T 
 I made no reply. ,^^«^«- ^ ^ in fhe front of th 
 
 "About the cargo,Pleasance. It's 'r^f"" ^ '^^''^^ ^^ 
 
 Ves, Isaid; "lamveryf^Iad ' onpn ?V ^"^ ^^e window was 
 ^-u h '^ got it." ' '''' I ^^:, -^ I both heard and sZ 
 
 „ ^^ course you know where it ' ' T.l. 
 '■\ he went on. with a meaning ' Oh I '''"' "^'^^^ ^^er, tell me ' 
 
 rL:t!^^ ws si::;;'r?i--^^vetomake;:; 
 
 3'ou were in alf the secrets. The 
 2^amhesaysthatifyouweren 
 r7r"''«'^-^^"^"»-setshire 
 ^ed have put you in the do.1. 
 alongside of the rest." '^' 
 
 He reflected with a str««.- i,- 
 mouth. '^^ ^^ his 
 
 "There was fifty keo-s if tu 
 
 --one,"hemurLt:i Ixtr 
 
 ^^ay the captain's shire i. 
 matter of thL ....... '^'"'^^ '' ^ 
 
 "If I did k„ow,vher. u ■ ..r *™^""* «>?'*•■>'« share i/ 
 -i'J, " I should notl^r; ' to . iT^" "' *•"■- g»~ead " n 
 
 .erow."!?.!''"™ '''ten it? 
 
 :i^™-on,.u:rhri*^ 
 
 ■" "'^ "^P'^i" «o- But oven he 
 
 c^iveThr;"'^°^"'>^^"^^h;il;ri, 
 "'r/\^^" *« you at once." ' 
 And yet it's a risk Q 
 
 ^he captain was to ^ou'"^^^^^^^^ 
 
 How can he find out? " 
 Vvny, girl.s t="- 
 
 tt^tv Wliti. 
 
 ou'd 
 
V. 
 
 ^ave dared, after givin.i 
 ■T-ti on." "' 
 
 FFMINA FURENS. 
 
 53 
 
 give 
 
 '^ ^t gave fhe informa- 
 P'-ang to my feet a)! 
 
 'th excitement. " Whn 
 'ou ?" 
 
 'id the man, " is a se- 
 
 John Beer, tell me 
 knew '" 
 
 what you would 
 «ance ?" 
 
 1 tell ? " 
 
 ^«ean and sneaking, 
 said the man. "I 
 ntally. I was sentry 
 captain's window 
 listened. Thecap- 
 they think no one 
 in the front of the 
 le flagstaff is ; he 
 
 2 back, so as no one 
 t the window was 
 '^ heard and seen 
 
 in Beer, tell me! 
 ?ive to make you 
 
 ith a straw in his 
 
 ^y kegs, if there 
 t-mured. -'Take 
 s share, it is a 
 'ineas ahead. If 
 
 them kegs ' 
 
 fi. you shall; rji 
 tt once." 
 
 r^sk. Suppose 
 find out." 
 d out ?" 
 ^ ^-iw. You'd 
 
 in a tair — able rage, you would, 
 
 easance, if you only knew. It's 
 
 e meanest, sneakinirest thino- 
 
 er done. That's what it is." 
 
 If you will only tell me, I will 
 
 lever let out co a single creature 
 
 lOVT I got to know. Tell me!" 
 
 " Why then, if it's all right about 
 |hem two kegs, and you* won't 
 lever let out who told you — and 
 ionsidering what a mean and 
 neaking thing it was to do — why, 
 don't mind telling you. It was no 
 other — than — ^^ Joshua — Meech 
 iimseif ! " 
 I stared at him, incredulous. 
 'he thing was impossible. 
 " I tell you,' repeated John Beer, 
 I seen him. It was the evening 
 >efore, and at nine o'clock." 
 
 Nine o'clock! Then he must 
 
 liave gone straight away to give 
 
 ;he information, after telling me 
 
 'hat, whatever happened, I was to 
 
 [blame. 
 
 "The window was open. The 
 [captain was reading by the light of 
 la pair of candles. I heard steps at 
 the back of the house, crunching 
 the gravel. Then I heard a knock 
 at the captain's door. I looked in 
 at the window, being so placed in 
 the dark that I could do that with- 
 out being seen. And I saw Joshua 
 Meech himself open the door and 
 walk in. Then I knew that there 
 was misc'Iiief brewinof." 
 
 " Pleasance ! " he went on after 
 a pause, during which he gasped 
 with indignation " I knew that 
 there was villany. And I wish I'd 
 
 have put my carbine at that open 
 window and let him have the, 
 charge in his face, the scoundrel." 
 
 '"Captain Pollard,' he says, 
 looking more like a devil than a 
 human man, let alone Dan Gulli- 
 ver's nephew, ' I've come to lay in- 
 formation.' 
 
 " ' Why ! ' cries the captain, ' In- 
 formation from you, Joshua Meech ? 
 Dick Turpin will be laying in- 
 formation next. Or perhaps Dan 
 Gulliver.' 
 
 " ' I've come to lay information, 
 sir, against Dan Gulliver.' 
 
 " ' You? Against Dan Gulliver? 
 What is the meaning of this ? 
 Why, man, you are his partner ! 
 You are his nephew ! ' 
 
 '"I've come to lay information 
 against Dan Gulliver,' repeated 
 Joshua, with a white^face. I was 
 listening all the while, you may be 
 sure. 
 
 What does it mean ? Have 
 you quarrelled ? ' 
 
 That does not matter to you,' 
 he replied, doggedly. ' I'm come 
 with that infornifition. Will you 
 take it, or will you refuse it ? If 
 you do, I must go to the Mayor 
 and lay it before him.' 
 
 " ' Joshua Meech,' said the Cap- 
 tain, 'you are a villain. You are 
 a black, foul villain. Whether this 
 IS treachery or revenge, you are a 
 double-distilled scoundrel.' 
 
 " Joshua Meech made no reply. 
 
 '"I must take your :' "orma- 
 tion, the captain went on. " li/ is 
 my duty to take it and act upon it. 
 
51. 
 
 'TWAS IN niAFALGAll's I3Ay. 
 
 Most informers are poor starving 
 rlevil.s,whose necessities make tlien'i 
 enact the pai-t of spy. Vo,, liave 
 not that excuse. You are bring- 
 ing ruin upon your uncle, the man 
 hy whom you have been befriend - 
 e<l and enriched. It is revenge, I 
 suppose, for some petty .juarrel. 
 but such devilisl) revenge I never 
 heard of before. Go on with your 
 tale, blackguard and villain !' ! 
 
 " Ah.rieasance, you all thought, j 
 at the trial, that the captain glo- j 
 ried in what he had done. Don't ' 
 you believe that no moi-e. Only 
 he had to do it, you know. It was 
 his duty. 
 
 " Then Joshua Meech told how 
 the run over was to be that very 
 night, how the Dancing Polly was 
 already gone, and how she would 
 return the next night 
 
 " The captain took it all down. 
 " ' Is that all ? ' he asked. 
 That is all,' said Jo,shua. 
 Then go. Do not breathe the 
 air of this room with me. Great 
 heavens !' he cried, starting to his 
 feet, 'that such a villain should 
 live in this kingdom of England, 
 and call himself my fellow country- 
 man ! Go ! ' 
 
 " There, Pleasance ; now you 
 know all." 
 
 Yes, this was his revenge. This 
 was his plan to prevent me from 
 marrying Will. To make this im- 
 possible, or to defer it, he had the 
 incredible baseness to sacrifice his 
 uncle and his cousins. Was it 
 possille, could anv miP hnAro h^ 
 
 lioved that a man should be s„ 
 wicked ? 
 
 J sat all that day meditatin. 
 
 revenge, thinking in what .vay 1 
 
 i could most injure this man. Ono 
 
 wild plan after another suggested 
 
 Itself to me. J would set fire to 
 
 I his mdl. I would secretly destroy 
 
 I *h^ti'«e.^in his orchard. I would 
 
 I l)ut a stone in the wheels of his 
 
 I '«! J. I would go into the town 
 
 and tell everybody. 
 
 Nothing, however, satisfied me 
 Kevenge never does satisfy If 
 his mill was burned he would 
 build It up again ; but that would 
 not give me back Dan, and the 
 boys and Will, and the Dancing 
 Polly. He could repair any mis- 
 chief I could do him. Even if I 
 whispered it round in Lyme Re- 
 gis that he was the informer, he 
 would deny it, and I had no proof 
 because John Beer was bound t i 
 silence. What then could I d.. ^ 
 in ti 3 evening, still broodin. 
 
 over the revenge I was to take J 
 grew restless and walked over the 
 fields to the mill itself. 
 
 It was a bright night ; the val- 
 leys which stretch away behind 
 
 Lyme lay all bathed in a beautiful 
 moonlight, everything was peace- 
 ful and quiet, except the heart of 
 
 the girl who went along the lonely 
 way. She met no one, she saw 
 nothing, her soul was full of an 
 inextinguishable craving for ven- 
 geance ; she was like a tigress be- 
 reft of her cubs. 
 
 'The mill .stood alone in its field 
 
 '=^*Si«r«k., 
 
FEMINA FUKENS. 
 
 00 
 
 a man .should be so 
 
 that day meditating 
 ikinq- in what way ] 
 
 iiijure thi.s man. Ono 
 ter another suggested 
 
 I would set fire to 
 ^ould secretly destroy 
 is orchard. I would 
 in the wheels of his 
 id go into the town 
 /body. 
 
 owever, satisfied me. 
 er does satisfy. If 
 burned he would 
 ain ; but that would 
 back Dan, and the 
 % and the Dancing 
 'uld repair any mis- 
 do him. Even if ] 
 round in Lyme Re- 
 as the informer, he 
 and I had no proot; 
 Beer was bound tj 
 ^ then could I d:» ? 
 ling, still brooding 
 ?e I was to take, I 
 nd walked over the 
 11 itself. 
 
 ?ht night ; the val- 
 •etch away behind 
 thed in a beautiful 
 ything was peace- 
 xcept the heart of 
 nt along the lonely 
 ■ no one, she saw 
 ul was full of an 
 3 craving for ven- 
 i like a tigress be- 
 
 1 alone in its field, 
 
 I silent, and backed by the black 
 depths of its shadows and the 
 woods. The top of the big wheel 
 could be made out standing clear 
 against tlie sky. Beneath it poured 
 the waters of the leat, which in the 
 daytime worked the wheel. 
 
 I stole like a shadow through 
 tiie orchard ; on the other side, 
 away from the mill, was a linney, 
 or penthouse, where Joshua's wag- 
 gon was kept. I sat down on the 
 broad wheel of the waggon, trying 
 to put my disordered thoughts into 
 some sort of shape. I hungered 
 for revenge — I longed to make him 
 suffer. I had come here to feel 
 near to the man on whom I was 
 going to work revenge. 
 
 He was on the other side of the 
 wall, I thought. He was chuck- 
 ling, no doubt, over the end of my 
 love-story, laughing to think that 
 my lover was ser^uiig before the 
 mast on one of His Majesty's ships 
 for three lonnr years. O villain ! 
 It was something to be near him, 
 
 ■ to feel that one could even kill 
 him if one had the strength — that 
 alone was wanting — to think that 
 close to him one could execute 
 whatever the mind could conceive. 
 Presently, as I listened, I heard 
 voices. Some one was with him 
 then. I crept from the penthouse 
 and stepped lightly over the nar- 
 row flowerbed which stood beneath 
 the window. The shutter was 
 closed, but one knew what sort 
 of a shutter would be that of Josh- 
 uas cottage at the mill. In fact 
 
 it was not even barred, and there 
 was a hole in it, through which I 
 saw what was going on. The visi- 
 tor was our old friend Mr. Mal- 
 lock, justice of the peace, and he 
 was talking in his magisterial 
 way. 
 
 " Quite a providence, Joshua" — 
 he wagged his head till his pui-ple 
 cheeks shook and wabbled — " that 
 you were able to rescue the cargo. 
 Quite a providence. At one time 
 I thought I should be able to dis- 
 miss the charge, but it was impos- 
 sible. Poor old Dan ! Poor boys ! 
 Who was the villain that in- 
 formed ? " 
 
 " I wish we knew, sir," 
 
 " I wish we did, with all my 
 heart. He would get a warm re- 
 ception at Lyme, I promise him so 
 much. However — three years — it 
 is a long time. You may send me, 
 Joshua, at the old price — ah ! — 
 twenty kegs — yes, I think I had 
 better secure what I can get. 
 Twenty kegs. Dear me ! Thfey 
 can come to-morrow morning in 
 flour sacks, I will pay for them 
 now." 
 
 There was a great counting out 
 of money on the table. When 
 Joshua was satisfied that it was 
 all right, he put it up in a little 
 bag, and pro.nised to bring the 
 brandy next morning. 
 
 Then the worthy justice of the 
 peace retired. I slipped back to 
 my place of concealment, while 
 Joshua accompanied his visitor to 
 the door with many expressions of 
 
!9ll|i 
 
 56 
 
 Mr 11 
 
 I 
 
 gratitude for his custom and hi.s 
 
 condolences. 
 
 " You are very welcome, Joshua 
 very welcome," said his worship;' 
 "and as for that villain 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S RAY. 
 
 He disappeared in the darkness 
 still muttering what he would do' 
 iiad he the power, to the scoundrel 
 who spoiled an honest man's trade 
 Joshua went back, and I heard 
 nni bar the door, so that I knew 
 
 hewould have no other visitors 
 
 Then I returned to my place 
 and watched him again through 
 the hole of the shutter. 
 
 Hewas rather pale, and his hand 
 was shaking. No doubt he was 
 thmkmg of his villainy. I 
 
 He went to the cupboard in the ' 
 wall, and drew out a bottle, con- I 
 
 ^^imng,I knew well, some of poor 
 Ban Gulhver's best. T wished I ' 
 
 could dash the bottle in his face as I 
 lie drank from a wineglass. | 
 
 Thebrandygavehirncoura.reI 
 suppose, for he looked round IL 
 witJi a more assured air. What he 
 was saying to himself, I believe 
 was that nobody knew, except 
 Captam Pollard, and he certainly 
 oould not tell. Nobody knew^ 
 Why, withm a short six feet of 
 
 where he stood was the girl he had 
 so foully wronged, burning to be 
 avenged. * 
 
 He tied the bag of money which I 
 Mr^ Mallock had left with him I 
 
 tightly, and ta dng a short thick ' 
 poker which stood beside the an- 
 dirons, he prised up the hearth- 
 stone. There he deposited the ba. 
 
 and replaced the stone carefully 
 taking the precaution to sweep 
 ashes over the edges, so as to con- 
 ceal the fact of its recent removal. 
 
 We all used the hearthstone for our 
 bank, and we all went through the 
 
 trL^^^^^^^^^^^'--^^"^^^^^^^^ 
 
 This done, he looked around 
 him again, sighed-with another 
 thought of his villainy, I suppose 
 
 I :rfl'^ ^^'""^^ *^^ «tone bottle which 
 I held the brandy. One, two, three 
 glasses in succession of raw spirit 
 I ^^\^^^^ his nightly custom, or 
 
 I !:,^''^t«^^ki«g to drown remorse? 
 I Then he took the candle, opened 
 
 I ^5' f^^^'^hich stood at the bottom 
 ; of the stairs, and stumbled up to 
 
 his bedroom. It seemed to me that 
 
 Joshua was likely to sleep heavily, 
 atter all that brandy. 
 
 I waited below, motionless, until 
 tile Jighi was extinguished. Then 
 
 i began cautiously to see if I could 
 open the window. The shutter 
 was not secured, as I said before 
 
 J he window was upon hinges, and 
 opened inwards. It was a heavy 
 
 window, consisting of small square 
 
 panes of thick glass, set in lead. I 
 
 , ^fted the latch which fastened it 
 
 I by means of a small twig. The' 
 
 window fell open, I waited for a 
 
 ^«oment to see if Joshua was 
 
 round, and then I climbed into the 
 room. 
 
 What I was going to do was 
 simply to rob Joshua. That was 
 part of my revenge. Not to get 
 
 any advantage onf nf fu^ . . 
 
 ,-, — .., mQ money 
 
FEMINA FURENS. 
 
 67 
 
 the stone carefully, 
 •ecaution to sweep 
 etlo-es, so a.s to con - 
 it.s recent removal, 
 hearthstone for our 
 11 went thi-ough the 
 ' of trying to hide 
 
 le looked around 
 led— with another 
 ^'illainy, I suppose 
 stone bottle which 
 . One, two, three 
 sion of raw spirit, 
 'ghtly custom, or 
 3 drown remorse ? 
 le candle, opened 
 ood at the bottom 
 
 stumbled up to 
 3emed to me that 
 
 to sleep heavily, 
 idy. 
 
 motionless, until 
 nguished. Then 
 to see if I could 
 The shutter 
 s I said before, 
 pon hinges, and 
 t was a heavy 
 of small square 
 !, set in lead. I 
 ich fastened it, 
 ill twig. The 
 r waited for a 
 Joshua was 
 inbed into the 
 
 g to do was 
 a. That was 
 • Not to get 
 •' --^le iiioney 
 
 for myself at all, but just to de- 
 prive him of it. 
 
 Itwas nothing to me boingwitl^r 
 out a light in the room. I knew 
 exactly where everything was. I 
 first bolted the door of the stair- 
 case. That would secure me plenty 
 of time for escape, should Joshua 
 be roused. Then I took the poker 
 and prised up the hearthstone 
 cautiously. Feeling in the dark, I 
 discovered one, two, three — eight 
 bags, all tied up, and all cimtaining 
 money. Now I was (piite certain 
 when I laid my hands upon those 
 bags, that I was not only going to 
 take some of Joshua's money, but 
 all of it. He kept his whole store, 
 all his savings in that hiding-place. 
 I ought, at this length of time, to 
 feel ashamed at the baseness of my 
 revenge; but I cannot. I suppose 
 I ought to repent of what I did — 
 but I cannot. The wrong was so 
 bitter, the villainy was so unutter- 
 able, that I have only to think of 
 my own feelings that night, and I 
 justify myself at once. It was de- 
 lightful to me to feel that I was 
 taking the whole of his money. I 
 hoped that its loss would ruin him. 
 When the bags were all out, I 
 carefully put back the hearth 
 stone. 
 
 Eight bags. There were no 
 more. I laid them all together on 
 the table, felt in the drawer for 
 the ball of string which the prac- 
 tical mind of Joshua made him 
 always keep there, and tied them 
 all together, and attached about 
 
 three yards of string by which to 
 hang them in their place. 
 
 There must have been a good 
 sum of money in the whole, be- 
 cause the bags were pretty heavy 
 to carry. T dropped them cau- 
 tiously out of the window, crept 
 outside myself and carried away 
 the bags. 
 
 The great undershot wheel of 
 the mill occupied, as we know 
 already, one end of the building 
 which formed both mill and cot- 
 tage. It stood there, under a 
 broad sloping penthouse of heavy 
 thatch, which made it dark on the 
 brightest day. Once, long before, 
 when the wheel was stopped for 
 some repairs, I held it in its place 
 by a wooden spoke, and amused 
 myself by climbing to the top 
 under this projecting roof. It 
 was a girl's trick and rather a 
 dangerous one. I got no good, 
 not even the nest which I ex- 
 pected to find ; but I saw, hidden 
 away in the darkness, a great 
 hook, stuck in the wall. What it 
 was originally placed there for I 
 do not know, but it was so high 
 up, so hidden by the wheel and 
 the black shadows of the roof, 
 that it was quite invisible from 
 below. That was the place for my 
 bags. First, I succeeded, by tying 
 a spoke of the wheel to one of 
 the beams in the woodwork, in 
 keeping the wheel, over which 
 the water was no longer running, 
 motionless, while I climbed up. 
 Then 1 mounted the wheel, which 
 
ri-^ 
 
 IS. 
 
 08 
 
 ^v^l'll 
 
 'twas in TUAFALGAR'a BAY. 
 
 ^^^ now Ifke a la.ldor, an<l da.n- I Farm I h„ M • 
 
 ''ered „p three or four of the nn T ^''''"'''' ^« ^'^>. an,| 
 
 the wall close nn,l... !ll^' \^''' "'« that night. But first I 
 
 the wall close under the roof. 
 
 Here fo,t ,hout in the darkne,s« 
 , ! ^ ^'^""'l the hook, and then 
 
 to .t f iowei-ed the bags slowly 
 •nto he black water beneath I 
 heard above the noise of the fall- 
 ing water the splash of the bags 
 I felt them touch the botton., and 
 
 *^'y;j^ ^ ^r^^t gladness in my 
 h art thinking of Jo.shua's rage 
 when he should find out his lo^s 
 i cautiously descended from the' 
 perilous perch, untied the .spoke 
 and considered what to do next ' 
 
 1 he first temptation-a childish 
 one-was to hurl stones at his 
 
 bedroom window, so as to awaken 
 hnn and bring him down ; but I 
 abandoned that idea, as another 
 and a more brilliant one occu;Ted 
 to me. 
 
 Joshua had .sold twenty kegs out 
 of the cargo to Mr. Malloek, the 
 justice of the peace. No doubt 
 he had an^nged, or was arranging 
 for the sale of all the rest. No 
 tloubt. too, he intended adding the 
 
 proceeds of this transaction to the 
 pile-aha ! the pile beneath the 
 hearthstone. 
 
 I set ofl' to run almost the 
 whole of the way back to Rous- 
 don, under the impulse of this 
 new idea which filled my mind. 
 It was about eleven o'clock as I 
 should judge. It took me nearly 
 an hour before I got to Rousdon 
 
 — jjui, nrst 1 
 went into the house, found some 
 ;;"PPer, and procured certain 
 handy tools neces.sary for my pur- 
 pose. ■^ ^ 
 
 Had I time to do it ? ft had 
 
 taken nearly fourhours to remove 
 the cargo of the Dancing Polly 
 
 from the boat to the hiding-plac.^ 
 Could I do what r proposed in 
 
 I would try. 
 
 There certainly was no stronger 
 g^rl tharr myself .long the whole 
 «hore. The life I had led in the 
 
 open air; the rowing, sailing and 
 
 fishing; thegardening. the rambles 
 
 an. climbs among the crags of the 
 Holmbush Fields and Pinhay 
 
 Point,- the sea-bathing, the gen- 
 erous b t «i„pl, diet; all these, 
 ^dded to a physique to which 
 J)ame Nature had been ^ene- 
 rous, made me active and mus- 
 cular above the average even of 
 young women living like myself 
 ^et It was a heavy task which I 
 proposed to effect. 
 
 It was nothing less than to cai- 
 ry every single keg down to the 
 
 seashore, turn outthe contents fill 
 hem with sea-water, and carry 
 
 ^east Two hundred journeys up 
 and down that steep cliff, eacitim! 
 with a weighty burden. But the 
 thought of Joshua's consternation 
 when he should discover it .ave 
 me courage. * 
 
 ^?4w. 
 
FKMINA FUIIENS. 
 
 59 
 
 d business to do, and 
 be no thou;|rht of bed 
 "'^'ht. But first J 
 8 house, found soni.. 
 procured certain 
 lecessaiy for my pur- 
 
 5 to do it? rtha<l 
 four houi-8 to remove 
 tlie Dancing Polly 
 to the hiding-place, 
 vhat I proposed in 
 
 nJy was no stronger 
 If idong the whole 
 e I had led in the 
 owing, sailing and 
 lening, the rambles 
 ngtiie crags of the 
 Ids and Pinhay 
 bathing, the gen- 
 i diet; all these, 
 lysique to which 
 had been gene- 
 active and mus- 
 average even of 
 ^ing like myself 
 vy task which I 
 
 less than to car- 
 :eg down to the 
 
 the contents, fill 
 ater, and carry 
 Fifty kegs at 
 ■ed journeys up 
 P cliff, each time 
 irden. But the 
 s consternation 
 iscover it gave 
 
 When I hud got all but six or 
 ^even down the clitt' another 
 thought struck me. There were 
 two kegs for my informant, John 
 Beer. It would not be fair to irive 
 liini sea-water after the service he 
 luid don.' me. There was also tlie 
 poor old rector. What wouM he 
 do without his brandy i And, un- 
 less I provided for liim, he would 
 get none till Dan and the boys 
 came home again. So I removed 
 the last six, and carried them away 
 to a place where I was pretty cer- 
 tain Joshua would not tliink of 
 looking for them. And then I 
 proceeded to the next part of my 
 task. 
 
 The kegs were now all in a row 
 upon the beach, lying on their sides. 
 I went from one to the other, and 
 with my hammer and chisel forced 
 out the bung from every one. In 
 a few minutes the smooth water of 
 the little bay was salt-water bran- 
 dy-gi"og, rather weak, and the kegs 
 were empty. 
 
 To fill them again quickly was 
 moro difficult. I had to take off 
 shoes and stockings, tuck up skirts, 
 and wade in the water, carrying 
 each keg separately. It was now 
 gi'owing late. I must have been 
 at work five hours, and yet 
 the kegs had all to be carried 
 back. 
 
 Well, it was done at length; 
 The day was breaking as the last 
 keg was laid in its place, and the 
 brambles pulled together to hide 
 ujciu. me tiae nau come up in 
 
 the bay, and washetl away Jill 
 traces of the brandy which had 
 been spilt so freely on the stones, 
 I sat down, and tried to think so- 
 berly what I had done. 
 
 ^. villain was punished ; the 
 meanest, most treacherous, mo.st 
 cold-blooded scoundrelismever per- 
 petrated had received some sort of 
 fit reward. In a few thiys, per- 
 haps in a few hours, the traitor 
 would find his hearthstone prised 
 up, and his treasure gone. A few 
 hours more and he would discover 
 that his prize from Dan's unlucky 
 run was not worth the kegs which 
 contained it. 
 
 And yet I was unsatisfied. All 
 this would not give me back my 
 lover, nor bring home Dan and the 
 boys, nor undo the misery of the 
 past three weeks. I thirsted fin- 
 more revenue. 
 
 When I rose to go home the 
 splendid sun was rising over the 
 waters of the Channel, and the 
 morning was clear and bright. Far 
 off on the horizon I saw the sails 
 of a gr-eat fieet. It nmst be Nel- 
 son's fleet. Among the ships, 
 somewhere, were those I loved, 
 going away to sea, to face battle, 
 sudden death, shipwreck, plague, 
 and pestilence, all by the act of 
 one man. 
 
 I lay at home all that morning 
 asleep. At twelve o'clock Mrs. 
 Agus, surprised at my long sleep, 
 awakened me, and brought me 
 some dinner. 
 
 Then I began to think again. 
 
no 
 
 '¥i 
 
 I 
 
 'ntho afternoon arrived my ov 
 "Wave you done anythin.r to 
 
 -^•■d,unU.vathle,s,svvay..sutl.at 
 ,,;'"' ^'^ "-^^ ''^^vo hoard .son.e- 
 
 'TWAS m THAKAlAiAU's BAY. 
 
 til in'' 
 " Dono anything ? " 
 
 Hes been robbed ofaUhi. money 
 Hes been tearing round town all 
 
 ^ «-'^^o'Ihopetheinfor. 
 
 mation money wa,s with it too, 
 
 VVho could have rohlH^d him?" 
 " )^^o ^'"i^l^l ? " I eclioed. 
 
 ^hoha,I a spito against him. Who 
 ^utyouhada.spite?OhPleaHance 
 feasance -it's a hanging matter."' 
 Bunt talk wild," 1 ,epjied. 
 
 -tf Joshua 1.S robbed .so much the 
 l>etter. I am glad of it." 
 
 John Beer shook hi.s head He 
 was only half satished. 
 
 "To be .sure," he said, " IVe 
 «een gipsies about. Vou know best. 
 
 VV..I1, .„,1 how about the ke" I n '■ , '""^" ^-''•'» ^-l » t 
 Plcasanoe ? " '"'>^'- I D" an.1 all „f them a>vay to ,ea 
 
 Pleasance ? " 
 
 "I will give you the kegs at 
 once, ,f you will do me an:ther 
 favour Nay, ifc i, not to tell me 
 
 more about Joshua; I know quite 
 
 r"f- ^^^'^-^^yto carry some 
 brandy to Parson Burden s'' 
 
 .-'Why, m Jo that," he said 
 
 briskly, "and more, for your .sake" 
 
 He took the wheelbarrow, and 
 
 very soon was trundling mv r.re 
 
 «ent, which I had resolved to say 
 was Dans, to the good old rector 
 On the way he mentioned casu- 
 
 .>,ijy that a ni'(>«u ..o^ 
 
 n,.; 11 , ^'•'^^-ffang was in tho 
 
 n"«hl,o„,.ho.H.. .Th..y,|o,.'tkn„;v 
 
 Bi.t lata- „„ ( .started, remc.n 
 bern,,, that J„„h„„ had „C j 
 
 to ;Wn..,. twenty ke,.s that „:;' 
 
 :^;.7;','^'f.',"'JVb.eak he would 
 ,, "', '■'■' '"<lm(;-plac.e. Another 
 "luiiflit struck nic. 
 
 1 had no doubt, knowing the 
 na"..-o of the business, and Z 
 
 ''-to made after a run to get the 
 
 '"rgo safely stowed away and dk 
 P-« of; that Joshua intenJea''; 
 
 ^ke,aUn two loads, probably 
 one that n,r„ing and one the 
 " '■ . ■""" '"■■'»''"lgn«" a fatal 
 power „,to„,y hands. I turned the 
 thought over in my „,;„,, ti„i J 
 
 »meare-„lut,o„,cle«randdete. 
 """Bd. y,„ee j„,,,„^ ^^,, 
 
 he should go too. 
 
 W course they could not take a 
 ■"'lier from his mill-no. Butsup. 
 
 pose Joshua was caught, in boat- 
 
 ">".sr,g; handling his kegs in 
 Kousdon Bay ; 
 
 When John Beer ha<I taken the 
 . etor h-s brandy, and carried off 
 h.s own to some .secure place which 
 he knew of, probably to a friend 
 .nth town, a burning desire came 
 ove me to see Joshua Meech face 
 tofece, and to triumph over his 
 
 imsfojtunes. Tired ..r 
 
 ,. iiieci as 1 was with 
 
t'KMINA FURFNS. 
 
 (il 
 
 "Tlu'yfbn'tknoH' 
 %»'it', el«o they'. I 
 for a (lay or two, 
 :^'l few . sui iocs n.o.v 
 ♦-''^tys sliips wfion 
 ona its biLsineMN." 
 '""ngat the time. 
 f started, rcmem- 
 ua had proiuiHed 
 '' kegs that niorn- 
 5iybieal< ho would 
 -piace. Another 
 le. 
 
 l^t, iciiowing the 
 '«"iess, and the 
 I i-un to get the 
 'I away and di.s- 
 '«a intended to 
 ionds, probably 
 r and one the 
 idge put a fatal 
 Is. I turned the 
 mind till it be- 
 :lear and deter- 
 Hia had sent 
 I avN^ay to sea, 
 
 uld not take a 
 -no. Butsup- 
 ght, in boat- 
 liis kegs in 
 
 ad taken the 
 d carried off 
 ■ place which 
 
 to a friend 
 
 desire came 
 
 Mtecli face 
 ph over his 
 
 I was with 
 
 my long night's work, I hastened 
 to put on my hat and set off once 
 iiior.! for my three-mile walk across 
 the fields. 
 
 I cannot pretend iu anything 
 but a feverish joy that ho far my 
 weary head suffered. I knew how 
 mean and parsimonious he was, 
 how he had pinched and saved, 
 denynig himself luxuries and liv- 
 ing hnrdly, in order to feel richer 
 every day. I was quite certain 
 that his chief pleasure was to open 
 his hiding-place secretly and count 
 his treasures. I rejoiced to think 
 how, in these moments, there was 
 mixed up a feeling that he was 
 saving up for me, and how that 
 memoiy would be an add^'lonal 
 stalj for him. For me ? Was it 
 possible, even without his super- 
 human wickedness, for me to '..ok 
 upon another man after my glori- 
 ous Will ? 
 
 So he had already found out his 
 loss. That vv^as strange. Did he 
 then look in the morning to see if 
 it was safe ? But perhaps the open 
 window and the hanging shutter 
 awakened his suspicions. I should 
 soon know. As I drew near the 
 mill, and looked down upon it from 
 the top of the steep lane leading 
 from the high road, I could not help 
 feeling the contrast between the 
 beauty of the place and the angry 
 passions of its master and the girl 
 who was going to visit him. But 
 1 had to hide my indign.Lion, I 
 composed my features as well as I 
 could, and erosaud his oichai'd. 
 
 Jf)shua was sitting on the bench 
 outside the mill. The wheel wa> 
 slowly going round and round, 
 with its monotonous .sound, and 
 the mill was at work. Hut its ujas- 
 ter sat motionless, his head on his 
 hands. He was trying to think 
 who could have robbe<l him. 
 
 " Joshua ! " I cried ; " Joshua I 
 What is the matter :' Are you 
 asleep ? " 
 
 " I wish I was,"he replied hoarse- 
 ly. " I think I shall never be able 
 to sleep again. What do you want, 
 Plea.sance ^ " 
 
 " I came to tell you, Joshua, that 
 I saw the fleet pass along the hori- 
 zon this morning. It must be Nel- 
 son's. Dan and the rest must l>e 
 aboard one of the ships." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; no doubt. Well, they 
 — they — they will get through it, 
 I daresay." 
 
 " Oh, Joshua, what a villain must 
 he be who informed against them ! 
 What could we do to that villain 
 to punish him properly ? Tell me, 
 Joshua." 
 
 " Do— do i What could we do '. 
 Put him in the duck-pond, I sup- 
 pose," he replied wearily. 
 
 " That would not be half enough, 
 Joshua. I should like tu take away 
 all his money "—he started— "and 
 to tell all the world, and .send him 
 away forever with the curses of 
 the people." 
 
 " Ay," he said, " never mind the 
 informer, Pleasance ; listen to me. 
 I've been robbed." 
 " You, Joshua '. You robbed ?" 
 
62 
 
 'twas in tkafalgar's bay. 
 
 " I've been robbed of every far- 
 thing J l,ad. All in -okl-all tied 
 up in bags— all tlie money I've 
 been saving for years." 
 
 "AH the money you saved to 
 marry me with ?" 
 " It is all gone." 
 
 "Then you can't marry me, 
 which will be removing a tempta- 
 tion, Joshua. But who could have 
 done it ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I can't tliink. 
 Go away, Pleasance, and let me 
 think by myself." 
 
 " Is there anyone who is at en- 
 mity with you, Joshua ?" 
 
 He shook his head. I 
 
 "Anyone whom you have ! 
 wronged, Joshua ?" | 
 
 A Hush crossed his face. " Go, 
 ohild. You can do nothing, leave 
 nie alone." 
 
 " Joshua,"! said, retreating*" you 
 are a Methody. Remember what 
 you said to me : ' Patience, and kiss 
 the rod.' " 
 
 I found next morning, on inves- 
 tigating the cache, that t^venty 
 kegs of the salt-water had been 
 taken out, no doubt at daybreak. 
 I rowed to Lyme, sought out John 
 Beer, and revealed my new plot. 
 He at once fell in with it. The 
 press-gang was in hiding some- 
 where at Up Lyme. Four of them I 
 would be enough to effect the cap- i 
 ture. He would tell them where 
 to go, and what they were to ex- 
 pect—a d(!termined man who 
 would fight for his liberty, but a 
 good sailor. 
 
 They were tolie concealed anion., 
 the rocks, just under the hidin.^^| 
 place of the cargo. They were to 
 wait until they heard their victim j 
 climbing down the zig-zag roa.l, 
 and then they were to effect th(>ii' 
 seizure. Above all, they were to i 
 take care not to let him be seen in 
 Lyme, Up Lyme, Bridport, or any 
 of the places round, where he'might 
 be known. 
 
 Now this seemed to be a really 
 splendid piece of revenge. The 
 other things were very well in 
 I their way, but incomplete. Joshua 
 j was, no doubt, mad with rage at 
 I being robbed of his money, but he 
 I would recover in time. 'aIso he 
 would be enraged beyond expres- 
 sion at losing his brandy. Still he 
 would recover from that blow. 
 But how would he recover from 
 the blow of being pressed and sent 
 to sea ? 
 
 All that night I did not sleep. I 
 heard towards daybreak the foot- 
 steps of the press-gang as they 
 crept down the road to the bay. 
 And then I went out in the dark 
 to see for myself what would hap- 
 pen. 
 
 About four o'clock I heard the 
 noise of Joshua's waggon- wheels, 
 and then I— I was sitting among 
 the rocks, wondering when the last 
 act of my revenge would be com- 
 pleted— I saw his figure in the 
 moonlight, as he strode down the 
 rough way, with the certain tread 
 of one who knew the path, and 
 had trodd«3n it hundreds of iime.s. 
 
FEMINA FURENS. 
 
 63 
 
 )Iie concealed anjoiioj 
 t under the hidin-J 
 irgo. They were to I 
 ( heard their victiin 
 1 tlie zig-zag roadj 
 were to effect theii 
 e ail, tliey were to | 
 
 let him be seen in 
 le, Bridport, or any 
 md, where ho'iiiig] It 
 
 rned to be a i-oally 
 
 of revenge. TJic 
 
 ^ei-e very well in 
 
 ncomplete. Joshua 
 
 mad with rage at 
 
 his money, but ho 
 
 n time. Also he 
 
 d beyond expres- 
 
 hramly. Still he 
 
 fiom that blow. 
 
 he recover from 
 
 jpres.sed and sent 
 
 1 did not sleep. I 
 lybreak the foot- 
 ss-gaug as they 
 road to the bay. 
 ' out in the dark 
 what would hap- 
 
 lock I lieard the 
 waggon-wheeLs, 
 3 sitting among 
 ng when the last 
 J would be com- 
 i« h'guie in the 
 fcrode down the 
 he certain tread 
 r the path, and 
 idrods of times. 
 
 His face was shaded by his hat 
 and I could not see that. 
 
 He went straight to the place 
 where his treasure lay, and roughly 
 pulling away the brambles, he be- 
 gan to take out the kegs. Appar- 
 ently, from his composure, he had 
 not yet leai-ned from the worthy 
 justice the nature of the new mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 As he began the work, I heard 
 other footsteps. They were those 
 of the foui» sailors. I saw them, 
 but he did not — being intent u[)on 
 the job — come cautiously out of 
 the shade of the rock. There was 
 not much to climb — about twenty 
 feet — and they took it, having 
 Joshua well in sight, with a rush 
 and a shout. 
 
 Joshua sprang to his feet and 
 turned upon his assailants. They 
 carried cutlasses, but ^^ese were 
 not drawn, and each '.j,d a stout 
 short cudgel in his hand. Joshua 
 fought like a madman. One after 
 the other he hurled his assailants 
 from him. He was a splendidly 
 strong man. But the others came i 
 like bulldogs, they had now caught 
 hold, and they would not let go. 
 When it was all over, he stood 
 with bleeding face and head, and 
 arms pinioned close to his siiles. 
 He could make no more resist- 
 ance. 
 
 " Now, mate," said one of the 
 men, "you come quiet, or we'll 
 make you that quiet as you'll nev- 
 er want to sing no more." 
 
 All the rest growled acquies- 
 
 cence. They had had enough of 
 fighting for that bout. 
 
 "But what's all this T' The 
 leader pointed to the kegs, three, 
 or four of which Joshua had al- 
 ready brought out and laid upon 
 the grass. 
 
 " Brandy," said Joshua. 
 
 The men looked at one another. 
 
 " A gimlet," said the pinioned 
 Joshua, " is in my pocket." 
 
 One of them drew out the gim- 
 let, and bored a hole. Joshua 
 shook his head cheerfully. No 
 doubt they would all get drunk, 
 and he would escape. 
 
 " Never a pannikin, be there, 
 mate?" tl . man asked his pri- 
 soner. 
 
 Joshua shook his head. 
 
 Then I laughed to myself. For 
 the maT who bored the hole lifted 
 the keg, and poured what he 
 thought was brandy into his open 
 mouth. 
 
 " Faugh — waugh — pr — rt ! " 
 
 " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " It isn't brandy at all. Faugh 
 — waugh ! It's sea water." 
 
 " It'sbrand3^" said Joshua. 
 
 " Drink it yourself, then." 
 
 He lifted the keg. Joshua 
 drank. 
 
 He too behaved in the same sur- 
 pi'isiug manner. 
 
 " It was brandy three weeks 
 ago," said Joshua, despairing. 
 
 Then he sat down, saying no 
 more, while the men tried the 
 other kegs with the same result. 
 They all contained sea-water. 
 
■Oi 
 
 '^"■-^ '" mPx,.o.«., ,^^ 
 
 •■ (Jot any „o "'^'-UAB-s uj,y. 
 
 pair. ■"»>» »f ™,„plete de,,. 1,^ 1 '1°' " '"S^'^'' »ilor i, 
 
 l^^^yo-a Not :,t'tf;'"'" into go-do, H?t7>°"- DolethiJ 
 T^his here," .said one «; Pre-'s hi,,,. He L ,??""""■■" "»' 
 
 good a sailo,. ,„ u ■ '"' '" '"""h too 
 
 'odou-^thti, ? ''"■>'o" = 
 .,^^"^''>on,,".,„idj„„,„^ 
 
 for brandy Jr'"^ '° «« tl.e,n 
 
 ''" them tilT ^°" *■«■""« 'o 
 "T,, oiJgo wate,'?" 
 
 ^ ley wei'e full „c ', 
 woelcsajro ",.„„ T? '"andy three 
 -""Ik'„;w.?""'^'"-''-"That 
 
 "'« "'o,,), as if ',':': ''=''^«'- gave 
 
 ju!:";,;:,:"r- -^-^"■■" 
 '"■*"g-i"aooJth""rV"r'" '"y I 
 
 P'oWyclearthen-!an'r'« ' ""^ 
 *"ocl«.,o.„*: ""^J ran up over 
 
 "P on the :::,'";:' '"-hi,,, J 
 ^ 'night have be.„ ^^"^ "' if J 
 
 "■: -i- of ti'eXhTtr" ^-^ 
 
 outt„»ee,vhatitC^"^'™«l 
 Preas-gan.-it ' f f" """~i' i» a 
 
 -iiorata?/;,,";;"^^'?"-'- 
 
 no right .. '"™ ""'y have 
 
 "Oh Joshua-Jo.,,, „ ,„., 
 
 thw,sve,y ,,ad! Wo^'v, '?• 
 "ontyou Jet 
 
 good a sailor to h. """""'='""" 
 hiwgo!" '^ '"= P'-^sed. DoJ,i 
 
 ^et him o-o ? " „ • , , 
 
 ^ flench pnC '' ^'"^^^'^^^^ - 
 
 "^^' Joshua, Joshua f" r • . 
 astheydrag-o-edhim! ''"'^'' 
 
 <^"evous disn^n . • '"P^^sations ; 
 
 ghapter VI 
 
 ^^Dr CAMpro.v. 
 
 ,'i;^«HT. '0 have l.en 
 „ ' ""PP'"=-* girl in the 
 -hoJe world, because I 
 had craved for f„|, ,.<,. 
 
 -uidh:ttri\^''°<'y 
 
 Actively tharisCa^tad^r'" 
 P>>vcd him 0, ,,, J^J "^d de- 
 
 n>or>ey, which he love !, u- '"'^ 
 
 --evertr::hr4j:t£ 
 
 I'ev 
 
 r 
 
 'so. 
 loni 
 not 
 wh( 
 thir 
 I time 
 f end. 
 It 
 ' Nov 
 mus 
 boys 
 thou 
 of hi 
 tomj 
 lauor} 
 
 o 
 
 unac( 
 
 along 
 
 cause 
 
 luan < 
 
 with 
 
 neck. 
 
 perhaj 
 
 aspect 
 
BAY. 
 
 '*""'• And an the b^r 
 ^'■''"■me'Oh.doiet," 
 
 .'""'"■eguiar sailor 
 ■-n injeod he i. ^l 
 
 -« .so handy aboard th,, 
 
 "•'^the be.,6 boatoa,, 
 <■» be pressed. Do le. 
 
 LADY CAMPION. 
 
 natter of brandy wliich had not 
 baid the duty; and of his personal 
 liberty, because they M^ere quite 
 fcertain, once they had him on 
 
 oard, not to hit so smart a sailor 
 
 65^ 
 
 -'^^ cnedtheboat- 
 ^^^^^-'Ifliefchin, 
 
 "ay be smothered in 
 on." 
 
 a,Joshua!"leried, 
 
 ;^^^^«^awaypinio„ed 
 
 ^^spensations ' 
 ^««tions//,etuski,, 
 
 TER VI, 
 
 ^T to have been 
 ppiest g-irl in the 
 ^•^orld, because I 
 aved for fujj ^.g. 
 
 '•^ ^^ Nobody 
 P"»^hed moi-e 
 ^^"a. I had de- 
 y^^^ing: of his 
 ^ed; ofhisre- 
 '^e was proud, 
 lost certainly, 
 » again in the 
 
 Yet revenge does not satisfy, 
 nd it cannot atone. No amount 
 |of suffering and sorrow restores 
 the shattered past; you cannot 
 bnnga murdered happiness into 
 [life by hanging the murderer. All 
 this I did not understand, and sat 
 [alone in my cottage, or wandered 
 alone on the Undercliff, seeking 
 satisfaction in the memory of my 
 revenge, and finding none. 
 
 Three weeks or a month passed 
 so. Had I lived much longer in this I 
 loneliness-for I spoke to no one ' 
 not even to the faithful old woman 
 who took care I did not starve— I 
 think I should have gon- mad with 
 much brooding. But there came an 
 fend. 
 
 It was on a sunny forenoon in 
 November, I was thinking how it 
 must be out at sea for Dan and the 
 boys, and wondering whether Wi. ■ 
 thought of me as much as I thought 
 of him, and trying to bring b^ck 
 to my mind his hand.sbme face and 
 laughing eyes, when I saw a most 
 unaccustomed sight. There came 
 along the lane, riding slowly, be- 
 cause the road was rough, a gentle- 
 man dressed in an immense cloak 
 with a fur collar, buckled at the 
 neck. He was a middle-aged man 
 perhaps turned fifty, and of grave 
 aspect. 13-1 • 1 ' • 
 
 : va,.ts, each of whom carried at the 
 back of his saddle a small leather 
 trunk. 
 
 The gentleman looked about 
 him curiously. The place, left now 
 to the charge of the two old peo- 
 ple, was already beginning, to show 
 
 sign.s of neglect. I sat in the porch 
 half hidden by the great fuchsia- 
 tree. Heseemedtobelookincrfor 
 
 some one to speak to. The .servants 
 I ^ode up to him, and they ail then 
 I consulted. 
 
 i.v"^^T V° ''^^'' '^«"«ebut 
 this m the place. ItmustbeGul- 
 f liver's Farm." 
 
 I I emerged from the porch, anrl 
 went to ask of whom the gentle- 
 man was in search. He took off 
 his hat politely. 
 
 " ^^" are Miss Pleasance Noel ?'" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes sir, I am Pleasance." 
 
 It was so seldom that I heard 
 
 my surname, that I had almost 
 
 forgotten its existence. 
 "You are the young lady of 
 ; whom I am in search. You are a 
 
 -a friend, I believe, of Mr Wil 
 
 lam Campion, son of the late Sir 
 
 trodtrey Campion." 
 
 "He is my sweetheart," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 Then the gentleman smiled dis- 
 mounted, and gave the reins to one 
 or the servants. 
 
 .. " ^ *"" f ^'" Huntspill." he said. 
 I have the honour to be a part- 
 ner in that firm ; I am travelling 
 ror t.hA W/^.,^„ • ii . « 
 
 i^uxiieu nrty, and of grave for the Hnno • C '""*"'""^' 
 Robm.n.;.> ,,„._.^ ,' ^ ^^® ^o"se in the southern 
 
 ■ "" ^"^^ ^"" '''- ' ^^"»"««' I am also, I may boast; 
 
! PHI 
 
 T 
 
 J|i 
 
 66 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S RAV. 
 
 '" tho confidence of Mr Willi i 
 
 o' a pr,..ate mtervie,^ with you »" ,„ " fi* ."'""" "' "™"te whie 
 
 Th,,s wa. very , ■„,,„,; ^^ ; '"^.'^^ the y„u„g , " ^'> 
 
 e .ay ,„t„ the ho,.e and hejel X t' '"^'"""'""r position. H ," ' 
 
 "m to be seated; at the .same Ifme t? T" °' '' i" time, such 
 
 f offered him a glass of bmndv '""'"'"''^ »' 'ho hous; and ' 
 
 •f ;;:-« hi„, i,. the weds o?S r^r^ T "■" --iee^ of ihe tl ' 
 
 ^"'I've., that it was right good f "; ''""^'i' ("f pious m moM 
 
 mast!— n« u„.,.., _^«rore the 
 
 on prmc pie exemf tl, • "!""», 
 i F<e, except their own mm 
 
 «<1 that is duty paid ■' ' 
 
 He meant the ia^t fact as an ad 
 rttT,T''"'"'-''oo„f:. 
 
 -that the rum was of inferior 
 
 ■• twJ !T ''"'''™<''" '"' *«nt on 
 two letters, part of which r pro-' 
 
 pe to communicate to you l", 
 
 feet young lady, they immediate; 
 concern you. The fli^t i. e. 
 
 Ml-. William." ' '^'°"> 
 
 iTHiT '°"' ™o-of"r,::h:;: 
 
 2«- Majestys fleet. He say'. 
 
 Mr w ^"^ness alone reign.'" 
 ^i^i- Huntspill read fl^ic 
 
 very impreli4^^.|:^P-^; 
 ui u , ^ -"^ bowed, and f 
 
 jn;u„d,i:^:,rnrg;rur 
 
 He opened a great leathern pock '"^"""'^fon, thinking howiito 
 et hook and p^dueed twole!tet "eXra ""'' "-"^ ^^ ' ^^ ^ 
 
 " pZtd 1 r:"^^ "! -'>-'' Virtu, 
 
 „T . .^ "^^' "wu letters. 
 
 I '-eecved this," he said. " te„ 
 
 '%s ago, being then in the WlWe 
 of Br,ghthelmstone, and immldl 
 
 ^ -o'ved upon travS; 
 
 I' ther to acquaint you with the 
 
 «-.shes of Mr. Wilham 
 
 played so poor a part. 
 
 Z ^"«<^«Piii went on • " ' Vho 
 worth of her hear^ ,•« -n x 
 andimrJa illustrated 
 
 and made apparent to the world 
 
 by the extraordinary beauty of h 
 face and pers..'_oh Win, W'im 
 
J-msme,first,oftheJa. 
 ^ain of events which 
 
 jounnr gentleman in- 
 iclioly position. Harl 
 >f it in time, such is 
 
 o* the house, and so 
 
 le services of the late 
 (of pious memory) 
 
 ^aml certainly should 
 ^ fcne immediate re- 
 ^^liam, and probably 
 I the others. But 
 W not allow him to 
 he news to us. The 
 f on the road to 
 Jience he is to be 
 
 heavens! the son of 
 sailor before the 
 ■f one of the ships 
 s fleet. He says 
 
 unlucky accident, 
 ar good fortune to 
 tions of a young 
 ' soul, I believe, 
 sss alone reign.'" 
 >ad this passage 
 7' repeating the 
 ue and goodness 
 ' howed, and I 
 satisfaction at 
 ious words, but 
 
 'king how little 
 nd how I had 
 
 in which virtue 
 rt. 
 
 nt on ; " ' Tjj^, 
 
 is illustrated 
 
 to the world 
 
 beauty of her 
 Oh Will, Will; 
 
 LADY CAMPION. 
 
 67 
 
 — " ' She has promised to make me 
 happy by becoming my wife. The 
 jiromise remains to be fulfilled on 
 my return, should a benignant 
 Providence grant my return to my 
 native shores. 1 have told you, 
 my generous friend, the whofe of 
 iny story. You will, I am sure, 
 continue to behave to me with the 
 
 same ' that is not part of the 
 
 business," said Mr. Huntspill, inter- 
 rupting at this point. " He goes 
 on presently : ' I have written to 
 my mother — who must on no ac- 
 count discover the degrading situ- 
 ation in which I have been placed 
 —stating, which is perfectly true, 
 that I am going to sea for a long 
 voyage, in which I may visit many 
 lands, and that I hope to pay my 
 duuiful respects to hei- on my re- 
 turn. I have also informed her of 
 my proposed marriage with Pieas- 
 ance Noel, and begged her, as a 
 mark of her forgiveness and con- 
 tinued love, to receive my betrothed 
 in her own house, and, during my 
 absence, to have her instructed in 
 the practice of those external ac- 
 complishments which alone are 
 wanting to make her an ornament 
 to the polite world. Goodness, my 
 dear friend, is at all times better 
 tlian rank.' 
 
 " It is indeed," said John Hunt- 
 sinll, folding up the letter. " With 
 this, which was forwarded to me 
 from London, came a letter fron» | 
 Lady Campion herself, a portion of 
 which I will also read to you." 
 ^x. naa luiig ueen my resolu- 
 
 tion,' she .says, ' to attempt no fur- 
 ther interference with my son's 
 plans of life. His devotion to a 
 musical instrument, especially 
 when that instrument is the com- 
 mon fiddle, seems to me inconsis- 
 tent with the sobriety of a London 
 merchant; his readiness at all 
 times to forsake the counting-house 
 for a conceit < . a play, seems to me 
 unworthy of the seriou-sness which 
 should characterize a churchman ; 
 while his roving habits hold out 
 little hope of a steady futui-e. I 
 have now learned that he has jzone 
 to sea, aftei- contracting an engage- 
 ment of the most serious charactei- 
 with a young woman, apparently 
 of humble oriofin.' " 
 
 "'My father was a ship's car- 
 penter," half in pride and half in 
 explanation. Beiore I knew Will 
 I had alway., regarded that rank as 
 exceptionally dignified.. But I was 
 quite aware that Lady Campion 
 would hardly be likely to think so 
 highly of the position. 
 
 " Quite .so," said John Huntspill. 
 "A most respectable and useful 
 vocation. Let me continue : ' In 
 justice to her and to myself, I 
 should wish to make her acquaint- 
 ance. Will you, therefore, make it 
 your business to see her. Com- 
 municate with her friends, and tell 
 them that I propose to receive hei- 
 in ray poor hou.se. And should she 
 wish to remain and I to keep her 
 with me, I undertake to bestosv 
 upon her whatever les.sons and ed- 
 ucation she may yet require to befit 
 
68 
 
 h 
 
 |M i 
 
 her for the station to ^,,,,,1,,^ 
 hath ra ,od he,-. V„„ ,„ l^^j^ » 
 '"'■■ '«* "ith ,.„,, „„j,. '"; 
 own pivtjotion.' ^ 
 
 "Such, Mias Pleasanco," ,sai,| 
 
 "»;iatoy„,,bvI,a<lyC.4iorj 
 w. .o,„,«.te„,,t„,ayil,,l,^' 
 youv iionch. 
 
 „ d7„ ''"^7 f"™')'." I replied. 
 
 "I>o you mear, that tou are 
 alone, aUsolutely alone T„ ft I 
 
 . " ^"^^« alone," I said. " OnW 
 
 •n the cottage there are Isaa.>\o^ 
 ^^nd his wife. I live 1 ^"' 
 
 1 , ^® aJone ar^I 
 
 -eep alone here. I thou<-ht I 
 
 ^^ooM,o„,,iWn,a,,ne.o;.ol,e 
 
 it fe »ado at ;.;, Wi„i ',r'*'-' 
 
 request. She Mill'-,. , "^ 
 
 ■■N^»T •, ^ ^™"'n'°*er." 
 
 INO. J .><n.i,l <f T -- 
 
 'T^AS m TRAFALGAR'S „ay. 
 
 orrr-";""'-'--^"- 
 
 ' "" "f good courao-e and ..„ 
 , solve that when M,- Wir'l 
 
 ! ".an real!.,";... "''^"'''■'■»™ more 
 
 eou!-'!'- '''■*''"'"''■ ■""»■■ from en- 
 cou ag,ng „e, rather d.:.„ted Z 
 
 Torthemome»jt Af+«r, r 
 
 .'rtwtrr''"''''''-^-''^" 
 
 Wu^ied. For in truth I had 
 
 not.Mng to trave.i 
 
 war Irob onlv • "" ""''o'" 
 
 do.u,fr,.;k'i:7T''<'°fh^lf-a- 
 
 Willhartr: " *"^""'''''«h 
 me. ""*'^ '» '" "ado for 
 
 MrHuntspill read „y thought, 
 
 -ihere arp sJinr... ,v T ° 
 
 «aid. "Iwill.f ^ ^^°^^'"^e 
 
 town and n!?"''"^'^"'^*^^ 
 . ! ^"^ purchase for vnu fi, 
 
 «^n^ple necessaries requ Lit. f 
 youno. iadv'« ,-.„...^ ^"'''^" ^^' a 
 
 "\T '. T . '^^""^ mother." i «,-„,^] r--*^ ■««-»« lor you th^ 
 
 this wnnl.7 !,„ n . r^* new life 
 
 g;-ly/.thochie..tp,S;: 
 ""'.upward.ina.rehrrS 
 
 thi^ would be which L"'" "'" 
 before nie "' "P^'-'g 
 
 '"°-. and was w';,' ' ^''"P ^^ 
 
 on agate. 
 
tJie qualities u-hich 
 ho loves u,s, doth in 
 "l>utetou,s. There- 
 i courage, and re- 
 " ^^r. WiJliam re- 
 ^fJ his dreams more 
 
 ch,sofarfromen- 
 '■^-'"'^'r d,.mted me 
 ^'^■'terward^, Tl^hen 
 ^'cr it and tn^k^ 
 '^"'^'t. r thin?, t't 
 ■go. 
 
 ^ J'ou be ready ?" 
 • in truth I had 
 
 :"• ^J^ ^vho]e 
 listed of is.alf-a- 
 
 <> 5>e made for 
 
 ^ my thoughts. 
 
 in Lyme," he 
 e ride into the 
 
 ^01- you the 
 ^quisite for a 
 ^ to London. 
 Jr protection, 
 
 For the pre- 
 
 I wish you 
 
 ' iny finger 
 gone. Pre- 
 ying sJowJy 
 at down to 
 t new life 
 ^-s opening 
 
 ^hom he 
 protection 
 ed up his 
 •n a e-afp 
 
 LADY CAMPIO>f. 
 
 It seemed inhospita^'le not to ask 
 him into the house, and I did so, 
 inviting him to sit down, greatly 
 to his surprise. Ho refused to sit 
 in my presence, but was pleased 
 to accept such a meal as I was able 
 to offer liim, with two or three 
 glasses of the brandy which never 
 P»i'i duty. This part of the en- 
 tertainment, indeed, affor.Ied the 
 honest fellow infinite gratification. 
 it was about two o'clock in the 
 afternoon wlien Mr. HuntspiH re- 
 turned, his servant carrying a box 
 before him, and leading a horse on 
 winch was a lady's .saddle. I 
 
 When in my own room I was 
 dressed in the new clothes, I hardly 
 knew myself. A long black habit 
 for nding, gloves, a hat and veil 
 all sorts of little things of which I 
 hardly knew the use, neatly packed 
 m a leathern valise. I finished 
 my preparations at length, and 
 came downstairs— dressed like a 
 young lady. But I could hardly 
 have looked one, because I felt 
 awkward and constrained in my 
 new attire. Mr. Huntspill bowed 
 politely. 
 
 " The most beautiful girl," he 
 said, repeating Will's dear words, 
 " on all the southern coast." 
 
 That wa^ all very well. But how 
 would beauty give me courage to 
 face Lady Campion ? 
 We were to start at once. But 
 
 69 
 
 a sudden thought struck me. The 
 heartlistone ! Dan's last words 
 were to remember the hearthstone. 
 
 T ^^::::^:^':'^T ""'■ I -^ afraid to say how mnnh 
 
 - „aci ..een f. ..... use Jo.nua put i there was under the heartnstone. It 
 
 his, and I had every reason < j be- 
 lieve that Dan's was, in the same 
 manner, his own bank, the place 
 where he conHded his single talent 
 so that it could by no means grow 
 
 or produce interest, or become use- 
 tul at all, except for spendin.r 
 
 I reflected for a moment. 
 
 "Now,my dear young lady," said 
 
 Mr. Huntspill, his eyes had been 
 
 upon me ever since I came down in 
 my new dress, and I could see that 
 he looked at me with admiration, 
 ihat to my mind meant that Will 
 would have been satisfied, and I 
 was glad. 
 
 " It is the hearthstone," I said. 
 He stared for a moment. Then 
 he remembere<l that the general 
 use of the lower sort of people was 
 to hide away their money, and that 
 the hearthstone was the general 
 hiding-place, so that if a cottage 
 was robbed, the first thing the 
 burglars did was to prise up the 
 hearthstone. 
 
 We raised the stone, Mr. Hunt- 
 sjMlI and I, between us. Beneath 
 was a perfect mine, an Eldorado of 
 gold and precious things. 
 
 Remember that Da^i Gulliver 
 was turned sixty years of age, that 
 he had been smuggling ever since 
 he was ten, that he had never had 
 an unsuccessful run, and that ever 
 since his father's death, the farm 
 had supplied most of our frugal 
 wants, always excepting the 
 brandy, which never, &c. 
 I am afraid to say how much 
 
70 
 
 was, f know.more thnn a thousand 
 pounds, all in goMon guineas, tied 
 
 "P m bags containing a hundred 
 each. 
 
 Mr. HuntspiJI poured the con- 
 tents of each bag upon the table 
 and counted the coin carefully. 
 
 For each he made a separate mem- 
 orandum. Mr. Hur,tsr,ill tied up 
 the bags again, callc] one of his 
 
 elr"'^;""^^ "'''«''-• t''^''" to his 
 caie. Then we started on our 
 journey. 
 
 I said farewell to the two old 
 people who were to be loft in sole 
 charge of Rousdon Farm. Mi- 
 Huntspill wrote his London ad- 
 dress, m case anything should be 
 
 wanted. And then he lifted me into 
 ;:"' «^'^'"^^ ^nd we turne,! our 
 horses' heads LondonvN'ards 
 
 We rode through Lyme, along 
 the rough way over the cliffs to 
 
 tharmonth, and then past the yel- 
 IowpeakofGoldenCap,oversome 
 hills to Bndport, where we spent 
 the first naght of the journey, and 
 where Mr. Huntspill bought me 
 
 some things u.seful and pretty, and 
 had my hair dressed for me by a 
 gossiping old barber, who told me 
 It was the most beautiful hair he 
 ever had the honour of dress- 
 ing. 
 
 I do not know how long we took 
 to finish our journey to London. 
 We did nof^to begin with-pro- 
 ceed by the mo.st direct road be 
 
 cause Mr^ Huntspill, , ho was tra- 
 ^el ling for the firm and never 
 neglected business, stayed in one 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 place and went to another without 
 considering short ways. 
 
 I should have been perfectly 
 happy but for two thir.gs-the 
 ncver-cea.sing anxiety about Will 
 and an always-increasing fear of 
 the terrible Lady ('ampion. 
 
 ihe road, as we drew near Lon- 
 don-say from Salisbury to Read- 
 ^ng, which was the way we took 
 
 and from Reading through VVindsoi- 
 and H,.unslow-became more and 
 more crowded with carts, stage- 
 coaches, post-carriages, fkmily- 
 coaches, and foot-travellers. They 
 
 all seemed bound to Lond.m. What 
 was this mighty London, which 
 swallowed everything ? Cattle in 
 innnease numbers- for London • 
 herds of oxen, flocks of sheep,' 
 
 dioves of turkeys and geese. wJ: 
 gom piled with every conceivabi; 
 t^^in^-all for London. At regular 
 
 nervals were the great inns, out- 
 «ide of which there lounged an 
 
 i^rmy of grooias, butlers, help,s, and 
 postboys ; in the yard was stablin..- 
 
 forcountlcss horses; post-carriages 
 carts, and gigs stood about under' 
 
 the penthou.ses; within were ram- 
 bling passages and ! .ng dark gal- 
 lenes; the bedrooms were himc 
 with heavy curtains, gloomy and 
 ghostly. Mr. Huntspill was well- 
 known everywhere. I noticed that 
 everybody asked with particular 
 respect after the health of Lady 
 
 Andthen the motley crowd along 
 the road. The slouching laboured 
 
io another without 
 t ways. 
 
 e been perfectly 
 two tliiri^r.s— the 
 xiety about Will, 
 ncreasin^r feHi- of 
 ' C'auipioii. 
 ? drew near Lon- 
 ilisbury to Read- 
 tie way we took, 
 through Windsor 
 oeanie more and 
 th carts, stage- 
 "ag(..s, fiiiinjy. 
 ravellers. They 
 'London. What 
 London, which 
 ing? Cattle in 
 - for London ; 
 <^'ks of sheep, 
 nd geese, wag- 
 ry conceivable 
 »n. At regular 
 I'eat inns, out- 
 3 lounged an 
 ers, helps, and 
 I was stabling" 
 •ost-carriages, 
 about under 
 li'i were ram- 
 iig dark gal- 
 ' were hung 
 gloomy and 
 ill was well- 
 noticed that 
 1 particular 
 th of Lady 
 nquired for 
 
 srowdalono- 
 ig labourer 
 
 in his smockfrock, hedging and 
 ditclnng, who never moved from 
 h«H village, saw many a curious 
 group which might tell him of 
 the outer world. A recruitin-r. 
 
 «eijeant,with twenty or thirty lads 
 ull of beer an.l martial ardour 
 longing to fight the French • a 
 wounded and maimed sailor' or 
 soldier.hobblingalong.begginghis 
 
 ^vay from village to village jal.ro- 
 cess.on of gipsies setting up their 
 arrow.,na,k, ,,,,., ,,,,^^^.^^^^_^.^^^j 
 
 to show then- friends where to look 
 for them, stealing, singing, .l.-ink- 
 ing, laughing, and fortune-tellin.. • i 
 menwholedaboutadancing-berr'l 
 
 Withapoleandaviolin;menwhol 
 took from place to place the bull I 
 
 who spent most of his pugnacious I 
 l^te in bemg baited; men who car. 
 ned with them cocks for %htin<r 
 badgers for baiting, fen^ts C 
 ratting; the eheap-jack in his cart, 
 the travelling theatre, the travel- 
 ing circus, the travelling showman 
 
 the open-air gymnast, the vendoi- 
 of cheap books, the singer of bal- 
 lads, and sometimes -^..Hoping 
 
 along the road, blowing a trumpet^ 
 shouting: "Luhe king's namL 
 way . -the bearer of State de- 
 spatches hastening to London. 
 
 Now and then we would pass a sus- 
 picious pair of horsemen, at sight 
 
 of whom Mr. Huntspill would look 
 to the pistols in the saddle, and 
 beckon his servants to close up 
 
 I learned a good deal in those 
 days of other things besides curi- 
 and interesting sights. Mr. 
 
 LADY CAMPION. 
 
 71 
 
 ••-13 
 
 Huntspill, who was always talkincr 
 to me, taught them. For instance 
 in the gentlest and kindest manner 
 
 po.ssible,he instructed me insun<lry 
 points of minor morals— I mean 
 carriage and conduct of mys.^lf 
 This, I knew, was done in or.ler 
 tliat r might not prejudice La.ly 
 tampi.m against me at the outset 
 by .some act of awk vvardness or bad 
 breed inir. 
 
 "A lady," said Mr. iruntspiH 
 who always spoke with authority' 
 
 I "i« 'cno wn by her acts and words 
 first; Imt there is a connection be- 
 tween nobility of thought and 
 
 I dignity of carriage." 
 
 I He had learned by this time all 
 
 I my deficiencies, and I know that he 
 was going to report upon them to 
 U<ly Campion. I was not afraid 
 
 of the report which he would make 
 of me, but I was horribly afraid of 
 Madam, as he called her. 
 
 The day before we rode irfo 
 London he talked about her. 
 "Lady Campion," he .said, "is 
 Wind, as you doubtless know. But 
 ma short time you will forget her 
 bhndness. .She writes her own 
 etters, and her letters are read to 
 her by means of a confi.lential 
 c^rk. She hears reports about the 
 affairs of the house, and .>-,vc. ^er 
 counsels-which are, in reality 
 her instructions. And all as well 
 an If she had the use of her eyes 
 Madam," Mr. Huntspill went on 
 was left sole guardian to Mr' 
 William at the. death of Sir God- 
 frey, her son being then fourteen 
 
 I-: > 
 
 L 
 
 'M^ 
 
^! 
 
 72 
 
 yearsofage; with a cJauHo appoint- 
 ing' Mr. WiJlian. as chief partner 
 
 '"th.hou«eattheageoffive-aml- 
 
 -eny. He is now three-and- 
 
 twenty. He denmnd.s Jiherty of 
 
 action until the time con.eHibr him 
 
 'twas in TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 thence, by a network „f streets and 
 ianes, in which it seemed impos- 
 sible to find our way into the 
 v^ity of London. 
 
 I was silent with amazement at 
 «o much noi.se, such crowds, and 
 
 to rule over u.s. Moantin,,.' M "" """"'' ""'"^' '"<='' "owdn, and 
 
 — '"- — « I ^''''^^'^"'Pi^'n.everything.inwon. 
 
 prudence. What she will We for 
 '"you IS the power . 
 
 «ontohisdomest:.auuu.....uti)r 
 and make the r.>ver a worthy .suc- 
 cessor to the ..eat Sir Godfrey 
 Wd Mayor of London." ' 
 
 This was disquieting. How 
 could I? ^ "°^^ 
 
 He answered my look, being at 
 all times a sympathetic man 
 "Madp,. will tell you how. 
 
 deranddel.ght I rode bWde Mr 
 
 Hunt.sj>ill in a dream. 
 He watched mo, riding close af 
 
 my side and guiding my horse. 
 
 Iresentlywe turned into a lonsr 
 
 v^inding lane with no carts or 
 ■ oo^-S hut a continuous stream 
 of people. Many of them knew 
 Mr. Huntspill, and took off their 
 hats to him. He gravely returned 
 the salute. The lane led to a 
 
 You will modify the str^^r:; ' Zj^lli "'^ ^^" ''' ^^ ^ 
 her i).j:;nctions by the -entleno.^ ' . ^ '''"''''^' '"^ '^^^'^^ ^e^c 
 nfv .-^^ ,^e gentleness only pnvate hou.ses. Oneofthe.se 
 
 of your own heart. Your affection 
 f- Mr. William will supply the 
 
 Next day we rode over Houns- 
 low Heath-where so many mis- 
 guided men had committed the acts 
 
 the largest, o-cupied the whole side 
 or the square. 
 " This," said Mr. Huntspill - is 
 
 .<-reat St. Simon Aposh. and'this 
 IS Lady Campion's town house." 
 I dismounted in considerable 
 
 ^^hicii led to a violent death I f V n!^^'^^^^^ "^ considerable 
 through Uxbridge.pastl^^eph:!' ^"ff f^", . ^^- Huntspill led me 
 Bush--a coppice in\ Hose elsst 'f .^ 'i"'" *'^'°"'^^ ^^ "P 
 there lingered at evening many" on th T f' ^'^^^^^ ^* ^ ^«- 
 cowardly footpad, on the waL t t ^^^^^ng and knocked. 
 
 fnr ..^. ,,../ , ^^ ^^a*ch I Tuenhe opened the door gently 
 
 for some defenceless - ^au or 
 ^oman; by the stately Holland 
 l-ark, standing an, id a lov-1 v oun- 
 
 tryset sv'ith trees, along the gar- 
 dens of Kensington, on the north 
 of which extended mile after mile 
 of nursery and vegetable gardens; 
 past the dreadful tree of Tyburn 
 at the corner of Hyde Park ; and 
 
 and led me into the presence of 
 Lady Campion. 
 
 " Those," sa; ( a firm clear voice 
 "are the footsteps o^ John Hiint- 
 spill . : welcome you, my friend. 
 Is ah well ? " 
 
 f is well, man im," said John 
 
 '^ "ill. "Thek^nrestsof the 
 
 nouse are prospering. I present to 
 
 h 
 
LADY CAMPION. 
 
 'ork of streets and 
 t soerned impos- 
 ^ wa>- into the 
 
 th amazement at 
 ich crowda, and 
 Idin^rs. I forgot 
 
 irything.in won- 
 f rode beside Mr. 
 im. 
 
 riding close at 
 I'mg my liorse. 
 ed into a long 
 h no carts or 
 tinuous stream 
 of them knew 
 took off their 
 avely returned 
 ane led to a 
 in which were 
 
 Oneofthe.se, 
 ihe whole side 
 
 funtspil], " is 
 ^-^i; and this 
 wn house." 
 consider J. 'e 
 itspill led me 
 lou.sc and up 
 id at a door 
 nd knocked, 
 loor gently, 
 pre«ence of 
 
 clear voice, 
 ^ohn Hunt- 
 i^jy friend. 
 
 ' said John 
 58ts of the 
 present to 
 
 you, madam, the young lady of 
 whom you wrote to mo, Pleasance 
 Nnel, and commend her to y r 
 ladyship's prot«!ction." 
 
 " Couje here, my dear. Clo.s. r 
 — closer yet." 
 
 I had not dared to raise my 
 eyes. Now I ,lid so. I saw a 
 splendid lady, aj)parently about 
 Hfty years of age, magnificently 
 dressed in black velvet. Round 
 her neck was hung a heavy gold 
 chain. Her collar and wristbands 
 were of costly lace. She was sit- 
 ting when we came in, and .she 
 turned her head in the slow cau- I 
 tious way peculiar to blind people. 
 Yet there was little lo, k of blind- 
 ne.ss in her eyes, and she ^ med 
 to .see me as my eyes met those 
 large j)roud orbs of hers. She rose, 
 iiowever, to give me greeting, and 
 continued gazing at me, as it 
 seemed, reading my features in 
 imagination. Then .she placed her 
 ^and.s on my shouMers and began, 
 a. a way which made me tremble, 
 gf^Mjy to pass hei fingers over my 
 *<ice and ^ead. 
 
 " Y(» pretty, child, and you 
 
 are tfill. vVha* is your age ?" 
 " I am past si.Kteen." 
 " What colour is your hair ?" 
 "It is light brown. AFv eyes 
 are blue." 
 
 ^ All this time her busy sensitive 
 finger; were passing lightly over 
 my face. 
 
 " Your name is Pleasance. Your 
 father, John Huntspill tells me, 
 \^as a ship's carnenter. Yonr 
 
 73 
 
 guardian, one Daniel Gulliver, has 
 gone to sea, and you were left 
 alone. My son Wiiliam has fallen 
 in love with you. You are be- 
 trothed to each other without the 
 formality of asking my consent. 
 It was wrong in my .sun. I trust 
 my dear, that what I .see of yoi, 
 will induce mo to grant that con- 
 sent. We have time before us 
 during which we may do the b-st 
 to learn each other's ways and char- 
 acter. Be sui-e that in all you do, 
 I shall be always watching you, 
 blind as I am. You may kiss me, 
 Pleasance." 
 
 I ki.ssed her fingers, but she 
 drew me to herself and ki.ssed my 
 forehead. Presently, to my dis- 
 tres.s, John Huntspill went away, 
 an<l r was left alone with madafti.' 
 She began by askiug me how 1 u.sed 
 to spend my days, what J u.sed to 
 read, of what character weie my 
 religious opportunities, and other 
 questions designed to bring out 
 exactly what I knew and how I 
 thought. Then she told me that 
 John Huntspill had pre[)aied a re- 
 port of my general ignorance, for 
 Avhich care would ;.,' immediately 
 taken. She informed me further, 
 that a skilful governess, aided by 
 all kinds of i; ters .rould begin 
 theii- labours with -i^ the very 
 next morning. 
 
 She ended in her stately way : 
 " ^Villi un did not wait for my 
 consent, nor did you kno\- per- 
 haps that it is unl coming of a 
 maiucn to engage iierself without 
 
 / 
 
74 
 
 I 
 
 *« 
 
 1^1 
 
 thntoonsent. Nevortheloas, should 
 
 .V<">J.orhIi.,nfc ami prove yourself 
 Possosseci of ti.e aptitude and tho 
 q'>»l.t.os which ho l«.lieves to bo 
 J» yon that consent will not he 
 ^vthhoh Understand u.o, Plea- 
 anc., WWliao. is of a^o, and in 
 two years t.n.e or so will be called 
 
 upon to assun,e the chief eouimand 
 of Ins .reat firn,. H. cu. n.arry 
 ^'tl.o.it n.y consent, if he wishes. 
 For your own happi„.vsH. and in 
 obedu.nce to the Fifth t.'onnnand- 
 
 "i^'nt. you will study to oUauMuy 
 "I'P^val. I do not ,leny that I 
 ;'-M l.ave wished-yes, that I 
 
 jnoststron^vwished-mysonto 
 f nanaIl,aneewithoneof,.entle 
 ^"/l.. ^ou must try to remove 
 this di.snppoi.tuient." 
 'Then my new manner of life be 
 
 ^an It was, indeed, differei.tfron. 
 tlic old. 
 
 For the free wiM country-the 
 oonhnement of a city mansion; for 
 ^aniens, fields, and sea-beach-the 
 flags of a city square; for fresh air 
 -smoke; for entire idleness-hard 
 and unremitting toil; for freedon. 
 -7 he strict and stately manners 
 
 of the tmie; for running and clin.b- 
 ;ng about the cliffs-a daily drive 
 in a stately coach, with a fat coach- 
 n.an on the hannne,--cloth and two 
 t^n footn.en behind; for doino- 
 
 everything myself-having a la! 
 dy™dofmyown;forthecom- 
 rnnionslnp of Dan, with his pipe 
 
 andgla,ssofbrandy-grog-statefy 
 ^ame who sat watching me with 
 Wind eyes, and the patient middle- 
 
 '''■^VAs IS thavaloaiCh bav. 
 
 aged lady, my governess, who lis- 
 tenedk.ndly to my troubles and 
 
 What t ungs I learned, of which 
 If fore I had never even guessed ' 
 Wy morning I practise,! for two 
 
 'P'^ on the pianoforte, or harpsi- 
 cl«ord, as madam called it. After 
 
 ^™kfast came the masters. There 
 was M.KIie Lemoine, master of 
 cJancmg and <Ieportment-he was 
 nO' favourite, because J took to 
 <'arH-ing with great readiness • a 
 -"^nng master; a refugee French 
 i'l'b , of courtly manners, to teach 
 H'c French ; one of the clerks, an 
 ^'I'lerly man with a wife and larc^e 
 fanuly. pern.itted to increase Ids 
 income by giving me lessons in 
 wntmg; and a professor of elocu- 
 tion, who taught me to rea.l with 
 propriety. 
 
 With a,j this work before me. I 
 
 -httletin.e to think about poor 
 V ilK One day. however, John 
 
 "untspillcametoseeme.and re- 
 quested that I would favour him 
 
 |>y walking in the square with him 
 ror a few minutes. 
 
 He told me that Madam was 
 g;owing anxious about her son 
 
 H^s story, to put her oli- the scent' 
 was that he was going to the West 
 
 Ind.cs. And the WcsMndian mails 
 had come in, but no letter, natu- 
 rally enough, had arrived from Will 
 Campion. 
 
 „ "Everything (h.pends." he said, 
 on there being no inquiry. I 
 
 have, for my own part, ascertained 
 by a Portsmouth correspondent in 
 
veinnss, wlio Jis- 
 "v troubles and 
 J to knovvled^re, 
 inied, of which 
 f even ffiiessod : 
 mctistM) for two 
 'o'to, or hjirpjsi- 
 nlk'il it. After 
 JuHNtors. There 
 ine, innster of 
 iniont— he was 
 'U«<> I took to 
 fc readiness ; a 
 ■efiiifoo French 
 mors, to teach 
 the elerks, an 
 ^vife and lar^e 
 
 increase hi.s 
 ne lessons in 
 issorofelocu- 
 
 1 to read with 
 
 before me, I 
 »k about poor 
 wever, John 
 nie, and re- 
 favour him 
 tre with him 
 
 !Vfadain was 
 ut her son. 
 tf the scent, 
 to the West 
 tidian mails 
 etter, natu- 
 d from Win 
 
 s," he said, 
 iquiry. T 
 scertained 
 Jondentin 
 
 LADY CAMPION. 
 
 75 
 
 whom T can trust, that Mr. Vv^illJam 
 is now at sea. Madam woidd die of 
 shame were she to h-arn the truth. 
 I nee notliin^r for it l)nt to fei<,m a 
 letter from him. I have written it, 
 and propose to brin<,' itto-niorrow 
 as coming from the oflicc. Jt will 
 <loubtless bo for you to rea<l it 
 aloud. We lire embark.-d in a 
 course of falsehoods. From one de- 
 ceit springs many. Far, far bet- 
 ter had Mr. William at once con- 
 fessed his name and position, and 
 obtaine.l, as he certainly would 
 have done, His Majesty '.s pardon 
 for a boyish ( scapade." 
 
 Yes, we were indee<l embarked 
 in a couise of falsehood. Not one 
 letter di<l we write, l)ut many- 
 four every year. John Huntspill 
 wrote them, getting his descrip- 
 tions of West India scen.ny from 
 all sorts of sources, avoiding the 
 islands of Jamaica, Barbadoe.s, and 
 St. Kitt's, in which the house had 
 correspondents. Then he would 
 bring in his precious missive, an- 
 nouncing calmly that a mail was 
 in from the West Indies bringing 
 a letter for Madam. Lady Campion 
 always took it, felt it, remarked 
 bow the smell of the ves.sel clung 
 to the paper, and then putting it 
 into my hands, commanded me to 
 read it. In this way we carried on 
 ii regular correspondence, and 
 though from time to time Madam 
 complained that her son did not 
 send direct answers to her ques- 
 tions (which we could not be ex- 
 pected f- know), we managed to 
 
 make things hang together, and 
 the poor lady never suspected. 
 Neverthele.ss it went to my heart, 
 and John Huntspill used to throw 
 a guilty glance at me when she 
 folded up the letter carefully, and 
 placed it in hei- bo.som, as if she 
 was pressing her son to her heart. 
 Also, on the days when a letter 
 arrived ,she was silent, and would 
 request to be left alone in lier 
 room. 
 
 No letter really came from Will 
 at all. He was fighting the French 
 somewheie. That made me tremble 
 at night, thinking of the almo.st 
 <laily news, .shoute.l about the 
 streets, of another engagement and 
 another victory, with the dreadful 
 list of kille<l which followed after. 
 I Yet John Huntspill bade me hope. 
 I Among the lists, so far, he had not 
 I seen the name of Williaii» Campion, 
 I or tho.se of Dan and his boys. 
 So the days passed on. Lady 
 Campion did not mi.\ in general 
 society, but .she received at dinner, 
 on certain days, a few old friends' 
 of her husband. These dinners, 
 indeed, were magriificent, but one 
 always wished to be a .spectator 
 instead of an actor in an entertain- 
 ment which began al six, and from 
 which even the ladies could not 
 escape before nine. As for the gen- 
 tlemen, they remained over their 
 port, and I think many of them 
 remained too lonir. 
 
 On Sunday we went to a city 
 church where the clergyman wore 
 an immense wig, and used to have 
 
76 
 
 » ^ 
 
 a inck of smackinr. his ]{,,« be- 
 *"''^'^" Ins word.s. which alway.s 
 amuse. Izne. Thus he would say: 
 
 /owthesonsofEIi-'^snmck-- 
 wero sons of Belial "- «„.ack. 
 
 «maok--"they knew not the Lord" 
 -«u,ack^ He always preached a 
 
 -mono the s..une length, exactly 
 
 neasured-countin..theintro,luc- 
 tory prayer an<l the eoneludir... 
 
 bonod,et,on to the space of half- 
 an hour. He was a good old n.an 
 
 metnnes like n.y poor old friend 
 th RevBen.,an.inl^urden.fondof 
 r ' "r' ^""'^ "^''%'. Wvolent 
 |«-ned.andholdin.,stron.opin-' 
 ^ons on the authority ,.f the cler..y 
 
 'twas in TRAFALGAR'S JJAY. 
 
 OHAPTER vn. 
 
 THEVICTOUYOFTRAFALOAR. 
 
 I AY followed day, and 
 season followed season. 
 ^k I I'ad been with Lady 
 Oanip.on nearly two years. I had 
 ;'«en so long in the great quiet 
 "»'.se, whe.e no footfall was ever 
 b^'anl on the thick carpets, so lon.r 
 with the stately lady who saw 
 everything with blind eyes that 
 the oKHife .seemed quite gone and 
 
 bour, what weariness, could not be 
 borne ? 
 
 VVe di,l not stay all the time in 
 tl>e city. Lady Can.pion had a 
 house at Chertsey, whither for 
 three months in the year we re- 
 pa.re,l. governess, lessons, and all 
 1 here a horso was kept for my own 
 
 nding and agroom to protect me 
 i here I could ramble about a park 
 where there were deer, who.n T 
 
 taught to come at my call, and eat 
 
 "t of my hand. An.l there wa.« 
 
 the river. I do not know whether 
 
 It was more d.-lightfid for me to 
 
 ^vatch the current of the Thames 
 
 ^hpi'M.^^silentlyaway, or the waves 
 of Kousdon con.e tun^bling along 
 the shore, rolling over each other 
 m ceaseless sport. When Septem- 
 ber vanished, and the leaves were 
 
 yelow, we left Chertsey and drove 
 back to our city house, in a car- 
 nage almost as grand as that of 
 tlie iord mayor. 
 
 NoletterfromWillall this time- 
 not one line. ' 
 
 We kept u|> the deceitful corres- 
 pondence between Will and his 
 
 luother. What travels we contrived 
 [•"• Imn ! What adventures John 
 Huntspill aTul J in.itated from 
 
 hook.s, or invented out of our own 
 H>ad! What ha.rbreadth escapes r 
 
 T \\t\ t-i «>k.^ . 1 I* , \ 
 
 hrst, a sense of weariness wo61d 
 
 rail upon n.,., Madam, who divined 
 everything, w.ndd admonish me • 
 "It IS for Wills sake. Ph-asance:- 
 And for his dear sake, what la- 
 
 the arrival of the letters; she had 
 thorn read and ro-road to her • she 
 -arnecl them all by heart; she 
 quoted them as admirable speci- 
 n»ens of the best modem style -shP 
 
THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR. 
 
 S8, Could not be 
 
 all tlio tiinq in 
 •"ip'on Iiad a 
 . whither for 
 « year we re- 
 'ssons, and ail. 
 •ptformyown 
 to protect me. 
 J ftbout a parlc 
 tJt'cr, wiiom T 
 y call, and eat 
 nd there was 
 now whetlier 
 Pul for lilt) to 
 tile Thajiies, 
 , or (lie waves 
 libliiig along- 
 
 »■ each otiier 
 lien Septem- 
 Jeaves were 
 'J find drove 
 e, in a car- 
 I fw that of 
 
 '1 this time; 
 
 tfnl corres- 
 '1 and JuH 
 ^' contrived 
 ■I'l'cs John 
 ifced from 
 f our own 
 li escapes ! 
 ^•' Alttdam 
 Htched for 
 ; slio had 
 > Jier ; s}\e 
 •ni't; sJio 
 >le speci- 
 ityle ; she 
 
 77 
 
 dated events from incidents in the 
 letters. Such a thing happened 
 when she heard how her son had 
 captured an alligator— been wreck- 
 ed on the coast of Cuba—marched 
 ir:' .1(1 with the Honduras Indians 
 —or rescued tlie starving slaves 
 abandoned on a West Indian key. 
 We might have laughed but for 
 the dreadful fear that possessed 
 our souls, of which we never dared 
 to Sj)eak, that fear which made 
 JohnHuntspill look through every 
 list of killed and wounded, which 
 blanched my cheek at every an- 
 nouncement of another naval ac- 
 tion. For Will, we know, was 
 before the mast, and gone afloat to 
 fight the French. 
 
 They were all victories in those 
 days. Surely there was never a 
 time when a nation was so brave 
 as in the time of that long war. 
 There was no note of hesitation 
 then— no timid counsels. Girl as J 
 was, I gloried in the spirit of the 
 country when, with one consent, 
 the nati(m flew to arms to resist 
 the threatened invasion. And one 
 could not choose but exult when 
 th(! brave sailors went out to fight 
 and conquer, with never a thought 
 of striking the good old thig. I 
 seem to see again the newsboys 
 flying through the streets shout- 
 ing the news of another glorious 
 victoiy— the people in the streets 
 buy the handbills and shake hands 
 with each other, strangers fhough 
 they nmy be. I forget the other 
 side of the picture— the tremblin^r 
 
 women, the orphaned children, 
 myself beating down the terror of 
 my heart. I remember only the 
 glory of it. Poor Madam, who knew 
 nothing of this fear, took, of course, 
 the greatest interest in the doings 
 of the English fleets. There could 
 not be too many actions to please 
 her ; every action was a victory ; 
 every victory reduced the enemy's 
 resources, and enabled her own 
 great ships to perform their voy- 
 ages in greater safety. Every day 
 after breakfast, I read aloud the 
 Mornivij Post, especially that por- 
 tion of the paper which gave the 
 naval if'velligence. 
 
 One morning 1 read the news of 
 the Battle of Trafalgar. 
 
 The list of casualties would })e 
 pul)lished in a few days. John 
 Huntspill and I went about with 
 heavy hearts. He did not dare to 
 meet my eyes. For his Portsmouth 
 correspondent had found out that 
 all four v.-ere on board the Victory. 
 We had illuminations in the city 
 to celebrate the event on the Day 
 of Rejoieing. We drove in state; to 
 church to offer up our far froiu 
 hund)le offering; we invited guests 
 for a feast of thanksirivint' : wii 
 sent iioney for the poor in token 
 of gratitude ; and we gave orders 
 that the rejoicings of the house of 
 Campion and (.V, should excel in 
 splendour those of every other pri- 
 vate house. The front of the house 
 was covered over with a trellis- 
 work, on which were fixed thou- 
 sands of ojl-lnuinK of ,lirt'..i..>nf 
 
 A 
 
 J 
 
78 
 
 colours, arranged in patriotic de- 
 igns. In the centre was the lion 
 and unicorn, with the words "God 
 •"aveKingGeorge!" Above was the 
 
 "nionjack with the legend. "Hon- 
 our to the glorious dead!" I drew 
 out the plan by Madani's instruc 
 tions. She thought me wanting in 
 enthusiasm, and delivered a little 
 speech on the part which should 
 be borne by women in the glory of 
 their country. Above all, she said 
 
 -her words fell upon me as a bad 
 omen-above all, women must be 
 
 readyfor the sake of their country 
 • *« ^niperil, without a murmur, the 
 lives of husbands, lovers, or sons 
 iiesides the oil-lamps for the 
 house illun.ination. Lady Cam- 
 pion devised another and a more 
 original manifestation of joy She 
 procured a ship's boat, which she 
 caused to be mounted upon wheels 
 decorated with masts and iiaos' 
 «nd n.anned by a do.en jolly tars,' 
 and a band of n.usic. The band 
 
 ™ to play patrioticairs, the boat 
 ^as to be dragged through the 
 
 streets, the sailors were to sin.- 
 the masts being adorned with fet' 
 
 toons of oil-kmps. The chief duty 
 ^mpressed upon the men was that 
 they were to keep sober, if they 
 
 could, until midnight, when a pun- 
 cheon of rum would bo broaihed 
 
 for them in the square of Great St 
 
 :^;^":" >f tJ«- In the morning 
 
 of this joyful day, John HuntspiU 
 
 J^.1 paying his daily visit to Madam' 
 
 handed me quietly a letter. It was' 
 addressed to me-I had seen th-^ 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 writmg once before, in the parish 
 register-bytherectorofRousdon. 
 Could It be from Will? I hastened 
 away, and tore it open with trem- 
 bimg fingers. It was not from Will 
 It was from Dan Gulliver, and it 
 
 was the saddest letter that ever a 
 girl received: 
 
 "My dear Pretty," said poor oM 
 L»an,-" We have made the port of 
 Portsmouth, with the admiral 
 
 aboard m his coffin. Jephthah was 
 killed m the action with a round 
 shot, which cut him in two pieces. 
 M-y poor, pretty Pleasance ! don't 
 cry too much, but Mr. Campion fell 
 
 overboard on the way home, and is 
 consequently drowned. This is bad 
 
 news foryou, lam afraid; and for 
 me too. Job sends his love, and he 
 says he is alive, and he wishes it 
 had been him.-Your affectionate, 
 " Dan Gulliver." 
 That is the news which greeted 
 
 me on the day of illumination for 
 the victory of Trafalgar. 
 
 My governess came to me I 
 sent her away with some excuse 
 and sat down by myself, saying 
 over and over again, so that I 
 should be able to feel the whole 
 bitterness of despair: "Will is 
 drowned ! Will is drowned ! We 
 shall never see him again!" 
 
 John HuntspiU came in search 
 of me. He saw by my face what 
 had happened. He took the letter 
 from my fingers, and read it — 
 " Poor Pleasance !" be said, "Poor 
 poor child!" 
 
 I think he must have sat with 
 
I in the parish 
 arofRousdon. 
 J ? I hastened 
 3n with trem- 
 ^ot from Will. 
 Jliver, and it 
 if that ever a 
 
 said poor cM 
 e the port of 
 'le admiral 
 -T^^thah was 
 ith a round 
 ^ two pieces, 
 iance! don't 
 /ampion fell 
 lome, and is 
 This is bad 
 tid ; and for 
 ove.and he 
 e wishes it 
 ffectionate, 
 
 LLIVER." 
 ch greeted 
 i nation for 
 
 to me. I 
 le excuse, 
 If, saying 
 io that I 
 ;he whole 
 "Will is 
 ted! We 
 I" 
 
 n search 
 ice what 
 he letter 
 !ad it. — 
 I, "Poor, 
 
 iat with 
 
 THE VICTOICY OF TRAFALGAR. 
 
 79 
 
 me all tliat morning. I know he 
 talked from time to time, but I 
 forget what he said. Presently I 
 began to understand something. 
 "We must not letMadam know," he 
 repeated. "She must never know. 
 We will prepare a letter from — 
 from her son "—he paused, and for 
 a moment his voice broke—" stat- 
 ing that he is going on some expe- 
 dition up the country; and then 
 no more letters at all will come 
 afterwards, and you will mourn 
 together — you and his mother. 
 But she must never know her son's 
 real end." 
 
 Had I had my will I would have 
 gone straight to Madam, and told 
 her all. But it seemed more merci- 
 ful that she should be spared the 
 details which he wished his mother 
 never to know. 
 
 "For his sake, Pleasance," urged 
 John Huntspill, " for his sake be 
 brave, keep up your heart before 
 her. Let not my lady's pride, as 
 well as her heart, be broken. She 
 must never know. For his sake 
 she must never know." 
 
 He would not leave me till I pro- 
 mised that I would do my best. 
 Durinr the rejoicings I too would 
 seem to rejoice. 
 
 Oh heavy day ! Oh day which 
 seemed as if it would never pass ! 
 At one I was called to luncheon 
 with Madam. She was in excellent 
 spirits— hapi.ier than 1 had ever 
 known her. 
 
 Presently she asked sharply . 
 
 "What is the matter, Pleasance? 
 You are crying." 
 
 •' I was thinking, Madam," I sob- 
 bed, " of the brave fellows who are 
 killed." 
 
 "Yes, but there is a time to 
 mourn and a time to rejoice. You 
 were thinking, my child, of my 
 son?" I did not answer. "Come to 
 me, Pleasance." She was sitting 
 after luncheon in her armchair be- 
 side the window. " Come to me." 
 I knelt at her feet, and buried 
 my head in her lap. 
 
 " He is a long time away, is he 
 not ? But I write to my son, and 
 tell him about you, child. When I 
 wrote last I sent him word that I 
 would not oppose his desire. Yes, 
 Pleasance, I have watched you 
 more narrowly thiin you know. 
 You will make my son happy. 
 Take my blessing, my dear." 
 
 She laid her hand upon my head 
 solemnly. Ah! if she knew— if she 
 only knew! 
 
 In the evening, at half-past five, 
 we had a gi-eat dinner, which 
 lasted until half-past nine, and 
 then we all sallied forth, including 
 Madam, into the street, protected 
 by a bodyguard of the House's 
 pf>rters armed with stout cudgels. 
 The streets wei-e full of people, 
 shouting, fighting, and drinking. If 
 they j)assed a house without illu- 
 mination, they broke- the windows. 
 Should we never finish ? I thought. 
 Midnight came at length, and 
 the boat with the sailors came 
 ^"ili to the square. The puncheon 
 
80 
 
 of rum was rolled into the square- 
 there w«s „,ore shouting, more 
 %hting:, until the contents were 
 all gone We were at the open 
 wmdow, looking on. At last the 
 
 ^•um was all drunk up, the mob dis- 
 persed, the oil-lau)ps went out one 
 by one, and we were able to go to 
 bed. '^ 
 
 J'^u'l'""'^^'^' '""y ^I'^ughter," 
 said Madam, as she retired, exuU 
 ">g and happy, to her room. It 
 
 ^as the fi,st time she had called 
 n^e her daughter. Oh, the bitter- 
 ness : that such a day of death and 
 bereavement .should be chosen for 
 
 this act ofgrace and kindness 
 
 I^fit me not speak more than I 
 can help-the pain, even now, is 
 too great-of my own sufferings 
 at th,s time. Remember that I 
 had to wear all day long a mask 
 ofcheezfulness. If I failed for a 
 moment there was something in 
 the quick symr)athies of the blind 
 
 lady which enabled her to perceive 
 It at once. 
 
 This torture endured for a fort- 
 mght. Then the end came, in a 
 way which we little expected and 
 iiad not guarded against. 
 
 hall-past eleven, before John 
 
 Huntspill had left Madam, and be- 
 ore the arrival of my singing- 
 master, who was due at twelve I 
 was alone in .ny o^vn room, free 
 tor a moment f,-om tutors, gover- 
 
 nesses. and my lady-free to think 
 «* the pa,st, my only solace, My 
 own maid-she wa.s the only one 
 
 'twas in TIUFAr.GAU's BAY. 
 
 m the house who knew that I had 
 some secret sorrow— came to tell 
 me that there was a sailor, an old 
 sailor, in the hall, who wished to 
 
 see me. Who could it be but Dan 
 Crulhver ? 
 
 It was indeed old Dan himself 
 He came upstairs in his slow and 
 quiet way. J saw him before he 
 saw me. He was dressed like a 
 com mon sailor ; his hair was greyer 
 and his dear old face graver; there 
 was no other chano-e. 
 
 He stood in the doorway. He 
 actually did not recognise me. 
 
 "Dan!" I cried, springing into 
 his arms, "Dan! Don't you 
 know me ? " 
 
 Then he did, and laid his hands 
 upon my shoulders, holding me 
 back and looking at me. before he 
 kissed my cheek. 
 
 "% pretty!" he said, "and 
 growed so tail. And such a lady 
 ^o be sure she always waa as 
 
 sweet-mannered as any lady in the 
 Jand, And oh, my pretty ! he's 
 gone! he's gone! Don't take on 
 "on t take on." 
 
 "Tell me all about it. Dan Tell 
 me. _ And poor Jephthah gone 
 
 "Cut in two halves, he was, 
 with a Cham-shot. Died in action 
 my boy Jephthah. But Mr. Cam- 
 Pion, poor young gentleman, he 
 filed by drownding. Fell off the 
 yard m the night, and never was 
 seen-how could he be seen ?- 
 -Herwards, Poor young gentle- 
 man ! ® 
 
lew that I had 
 -came to tell 
 sailor, an old 
 ■^ho wished to 
 it be but Dan 
 
 Dhu himself. 
 
 his slow and 
 im before he 
 I'essed like a 
 ir wa.s greyer 
 [•raver ; there 
 
 orwaj. He 
 lise me. 
 ''"nging into 
 Don't jou 
 
 i his hands 
 lolding me 
 ■, before he 
 
 aid, "and 
 iph a lady. 
 '« wiia as 
 ady in the 
 9tty.' he's 
 take on . 
 
 Dan. Tell 
 
 THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR. 
 
 81 
 
 -Dan -my heart will 
 
 lah 
 
 gone 
 
 be was, 
 n action, 
 Hr. 0am- 
 ^man, he 
 
 off the 
 iver was 
 seen ? — 
 
 gentle- 
 
 " Oh, Dan! 
 break ! " 
 
 " Cry, pretty, cry as much as 
 ever you can. But cryin' won't 
 bring him back. Cry now, while 
 I tell you all about him. 
 
 " They knowed our story aboard 
 the ' Victory.' I was smuggler 
 Dan. The boys were smuo-o-ler 
 Job and T'other Job — because, I'm 
 sorry to say, they mariners aboard 
 his majesty's ships never knew 
 which was which. And so Jeph- 
 thah, who is now cut in two pieces 
 was never knowed as such. And 
 Mr. Campion tiiey called Gentle- 
 man Jack. Now remember — some 
 young gentlemen, after getting a 
 three years' billet in the fo'ksle for 
 smuggling, would ha' sat down 
 and grizzled. Mr. Campion wasn't 
 one o' that sort. ' Providin' al- 
 ways,' he says to me — 'providin' 
 always, Dan, as my mother never 
 finds out, why, what odds is a three 
 years' cruise ? ' And merry with 
 it. Once he ketches hold of a 
 fiddle, the fo'ksle's alive ; when he 
 began to play you'd ha' thought 
 the fiddle was talkin', not him a 
 playing. All round him the men 
 would be sittin* an' singin , till the 
 whole ship was as good-tempered 
 as if there wasn't nary a l)os'n nor 
 petty officer a'ooard. 
 
 " Well you may depend on it, 
 pretty, that it wasn't long before 
 the officers got to kj.'^v v; hat an 
 uncommonsailorthc y'd got. shipped 
 aboard the Victory 'V;- ^ little run 
 a^ he had made across the Chan- 
 
 nel one fine night, and it wasn't 
 long before Captain Hardy hisself, 
 finding Mr. Campion on the quar- 
 terdeck, axed him — ay! before the 
 admiral — who he was and how he 
 came aboard. Mr. Campion, no 
 more afraid of speakirg to the 
 captain than o the carpenter, he 
 told him, touching his hat, that he 
 had been caught smuggling, that 
 thi-y'd all got off with three years, 
 f(jr the information they gave to 
 the Adiniralty, and that he hoped 
 to give satisfaction to hu honour 
 so long as he was aboard, after 
 which time, be said, he should give 
 up sailing before the mast. Cap- 
 tain Hardy he laughed, and the 
 Admiral laughed ; and then his 
 loidship, who ought to know, said, 
 in his quiet, easy way. that a man 
 was no worse a sailor for beino- a 
 gentleman born, but that gentle- 
 men ought not to run cargoes 
 across the Channel. After that I 
 think the word was passed down 
 to make some sort of difference 
 with us. Anyway, the worst of 
 the bos'ns never laid rope's end on 
 none of us four. 
 
 " Come the action off Trafalgar. . 
 My pretty, we done our duty — 
 Job and Jephthah and Mr. Cam- 
 pion and me—till that chain- shot 
 came, and all I saw o' my boy 
 Jephthah was two halves and a 
 pool of blood. 
 
 "When the Admiral fell they 
 told me off to help carry him down. 
 That took best part of a quarter of 
 an hour. The action ln=fo.i h^\f 
 
82 
 
 
 an hour longer. Whon the firing 
 ceased an,l one could look around 
 
 Job ahve and hearty. As for 
 ;^-'Phthal, that poor boy was 
 t'-wed overboard in tvvo halves! 
 
 wav . """'^^ ^'"^^^^^ «" the 
 
 way home. One of the prizes 
 foiinderer a,w1 ._ . . ^ ^^ 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S RAY. 
 
 wJlt1'"""'^«"-^-«-'-too, 
 
 "No,Madan,nota,s,nug,.I,,. 
 
 only once, for a boyish freak I 
 must needs m,. « ' "^ 
 
 ^'^^^ ^"n across vvth me for 
 ^ single venture. And Jh 
 were aJJ trie.I ,„, , , "^^"^ ^^« 
 chestf.,- '<^ "^ ^^'^•^' at Dor- 
 
 years «!...,.... '.^""^^^^or three 
 
 ^•-iered. And one dark ^ ;^ ^^ ?' " '^' ^'" ''" ^^ 
 "^ t^^at nasty weather, all in ^thj Te It T ' ^'''''' ''^ '^^ news 
 ^"^^- ^'-'- ^'- - • " - ' ^IP;^.'^^ , "P on our way back ' 
 
 J 1 '' "^"'"'uj, an in tJi< 
 
 Jark po„, 1,, c,„„,,i„„ ,„ ; 
 
 boanl and wa, U.owndod " 
 
 . ^ ''■''■■'«J to the story, ,„y l,ea,l 
 
 '.''."'■" 7' "'to fmsl,.,„i,l,i„,, „„j 
 
 '"" ,"'"' '^"•'■.Vtl.ing. I neve.. 
 '~ked „p. wWlo Dan tol.l |,i,, 
 
 toryIay,,idi„„,ny,Heei„tl.o 
 sofa and c-y.n,,, „,dle the doo. 
 
 ^tood WKle open, and Jfa,Ia„, he,- 
 »elt ^tood tl,e,.e listening t„ ovo I 
 
 ™,''' "f 7"' '-'■ Jolu. Hunt"; 
 H'». w„I, white chocks and t,o„- 
 bled broiv r i..,.. , . 
 
 with -^'^^ was tried '- 
 
 with common sailors ( R« 
 
 tnedand',.otoff- ," ' "^^'^ 
 to sea I " "~"^^" ^«»^ «ent 
 
 J<new that he was «f . "^ 
 
 monsailor?' '^■"''"^«"^- 
 
 ;'^^^«•'" r moaned, "I k^.w 
 only too well." "^^ 
 
 " That ^-xDu concealed from me 
 S:r,!!--^^-ination 
 
 K, , , ">- '="'J«Ks and tiou- Did ,•„, i ---"•"'•i trai 
 
 W^-'J brow. I lo„k„,| i„ " ^'"^^ >™ know on Illu,,,,, 
 
 «-f. 'out ,„ran. to n,y fl, ' „ !^ ""Yj^ '»^ »™ was dead P 
 fled hv „,„ u, ,. . ./ . I I knew that then," I replied 
 
 :'i 
 
 I2LJ 
 
 fled by the look of Ma,h,n,. She 
 
 "'". "''"wn to her full hei„ht 
 
 l«a'""S on her stick; her face wl, 
 
 peWectly white; her lips trX: 
 b« .,.ghtless eyes seon.ed to po„; 
 
 ?'."'"« '>» I'»°.- Ban; she w 
 tembe m ,,«. despai,. and wratK 
 
 Telln,e,' she said-" not you 
 g.l;notyon-tell,ne,mans,„u,"' 
 
 gl-.-ilor, whatever yo„ a.,:!" 
 was this i\ Pn.. • , 
 
 ^« ^*^ . Campion who fell 
 
 overboan and wo. i , 
 
 ., "'"' ancj was drowned ? " 
 
 «o was your ladyship's son 
 -nd my Pleasance's sweetheart '' 
 said Dan simply. ' 
 
 ShewassdentforrVcr'^C 
 eyes were dry and her li.s parch" 
 «aJ she wept, one, ni^hthLeht^- 
 
 " f 1 that day," she said, •■ you 
 g.o,, ejoiei„,„„„,;,^™ 
 
 >oui lover, rejo,ced with the rest." 
 
 ' Hun5l""--.She"'^r^"' ^*- 
 
 bv M- wii- , "*"""'• It was 
 by Ml. W,ll,a„,'s own wish_„av 
 
 comn,and-that yon were keptTn 
 .gnoranee of what happened I 
 
 knewjlagreed that it would be 
 
OUT OF THE GOLDEN MIST. 
 
 83 
 
 smuggler too, 
 
 a smuggler; 
 'i«^» ft-ealc, he 
 '« with me for 
 nd when Ave 
 *dy, at Dor- 
 oti' for three 
 "f the news 
 way back." 
 
 was tried ! 
 
 •' He was 
 'le Was sent 
 
 said John 
 id n ess. 
 d his moth- 
 
 g"'!, you 
 •-a, a com- 
 
 "J knew 
 
 from me. 
 
 ruination 
 ?ad ? " 
 
 1 replied, 
 ice. Her 
 
 ^ parched, 
 have had 
 
 >d, "you 
 ther who 
 ' had Jost 
 ihe rest." 
 Hi John 
 ided, to 
 It was 
 h- 
 
 nay, 
 kept in 
 ned. I 
 mid be 
 
 better. As no letters came from 
 Mr. William we wrote letters, and 
 pretended that they were from 
 him—for his sake ; we read them 
 to you— for his sake. When the 
 dreadful news came, I resolved 
 that we would keep up the decep- 
 tion—for his sake ; so that you 
 should never know when and how 
 your son had died." 
 
 " Get me my desk, John Hunt- 
 spill." 
 
 He went obediently,and brought 
 back her great mahogany desk, in 
 which were Will's protended let- 
 ters, all neatly tied up. She opened 
 the desk and found the [)arcel. 
 
 " Take them ! Henceforth, John 
 Huntspill, you are no longer my 
 confidential friend. I cannot trust 
 you ! Trust you ? Oh Heaven ! 
 can I trust anyone ? Is there 
 man, woman, or child in this great 
 world that will not lie ? " 
 
 Poor woman ! poor mother ! She 
 stood where she had heard the 
 whole, just within the doorway, 
 John Huntspill beside her; before 
 her, Dan Gulliver, amazed, and not 
 knowing what to say or do ; and 
 myself, overwhelmed with misery. 
 "We must put some kind of 
 order into our affairs," said Madam. 
 " You will send my lawyer to me 
 at once, John Huntspill. Life is 
 precarious, even with the old as 
 well as with the young. I must 
 make n^w dispositions. And T 
 would be alone— altogether alone 
 —in this house. You will take 
 away the girl. If she wants money, 
 
 let me know. My son's betrothed 
 must not starve because my son is 
 dead— is dead ! " she repeated, with 
 a sad dropping of her voice. 
 
 I tlirew myself at her knees and 
 cauglit her by the hand. 
 
 " Oh Madam ! dear Madam, for- 
 give me ! Say that you foi-give 
 me, for Wills sweet sake ! " 
 
 " Forgive ! " she och(..jd in a hard 
 voice. "Forgive! what does it 
 mean ? I shall not seek to do you 
 harm. You shall have money. 
 What more do you want ? You 
 have fooled me and played with 
 me. Yon have tempted my .son to 
 destruction, you and your .smug- 
 gler friends. My son, who .should 
 have been an honour to me and to 
 this city, like his father before him, 
 has died in disgrace. Forgive you ? 
 Yes, I will forgive you— when the 
 sea gives up its dead." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OUT OF THE GOLDEN MIST. 
 
 E were back again at 
 Rousdon— Dan Gulli- 
 ver and Job and I — to 
 begin again such por- 
 tion of the old life as was possible. 
 " We will go on," .said Dan saiUy, 
 "just as, we used to go on before 
 ever he came. We will forget that 
 he ever came. You will forijet 
 that you are a young lady." 
 
 Alas ! not only was the old time 
 gone, but nothing like it could 
 
 >- 
 
 e 
 
84 
 
 ;'f 
 
 ever come again. Will had torn 
 "P the old time and thrown it 
 ^^ay. It was .lead. But the 
 memory wa.s left. One could .sit 
 ^^^ thmk till day after day that 
 
 'TWAS W TKAFALOAR'S BAV. 
 
 pened.followed by the dreadful dis- 
 covery of the sea-water! So that 
 when we camo home again, there' 
 were vmtn p,,id to us not only 
 of congratulation on our return 
 
 summer of ms unrolled , •,'„'!, ™''S™'"lation on „„r return 
 
 again, and leonW re,::' "It ^ ":: Zlr^ "" ^"^''''^^-^^''^ 
 -'"■" '' -■•■ " Mr M ,1""^^ and^^ton,pUt,„„. 
 
 "-••'uct every 
 
 -oni he .said, even the lightest 
 
 with every gesture and every look 
 i he people at Lyme welcomed 
 "« ••lil with a cordiality which 
 meant not only gratitude for the 
 past but hope for the future. Since 
 that dreadful d«y of rebuke when 
 
 Joshuas delivery of good.s was dis- 
 covered to be so much sea-water 
 and nothing else, the town had 
 been without brandy. Campion's 
 fine old Jamaica rum. well enough 
 initsway,wasapoorsub,stitutefor 
 
 the nght good Nantes which Dan 
 •ad provided. A teste had been 
 
 developedwhichwasdoomedtodis- 
 
 appovutment, for no one succeeded 
 
 Alan. A man cannot suddenly be- 
 
 cor.,e a smuggler. Relations have 
 
 to be established on the opposite 
 
 shore, a connection to be formed Ht 
 *iome; It ,s a business which is the 
 growth of years. Now Dan repre- 
 sented the third, and his sons the 
 
 fourth generation, of a long career 
 m he trade, during which the 
 
 whole business for this part of the 
 coast had dropped into the hands 
 
 of Gulhver and Company, .smug- 
 glers to the nobility, gentry, an^d 
 
 '^''^J.°^^y'«c Regis and the sur- 
 rounding country. Imagine, there- 
 fore, what a blow it was to the 
 district when the fatel arrest hap- 
 
 Hf^ M II ■ ^ »'^-"ipuition. 
 
 Mr. Mallock. J.P.. walked all the 
 
 way from Ly,ue on purpose to .see 
 his old fnend again, and to hint 
 timt the naked condition of his 
 
 cellar, as regarded French brandy 
 was deplorable. The Rev. Renja- 
 mm Burden, who. long before the 
 end of Dnns two years' captivity 
 had got through his fou^ kegs 
 came to say that he was reductc! 
 to cider, and that of the thinnest. 
 Dan received these visitors with 
 great politeness, but held out no 
 hopes that the old trade would be 
 revived First, he said, the Danc- 
 ^"g Polly was gone; he should 
 never again find a boat he could 
 trust so well; then his nephew. 
 J-hua Meech. was gone, pressed 
 
 whde busy w.th the kegs; though 
 how them kegs turned out to be 
 sea-water, he couldn't say; and 
 Jephthah was gone ; and he was 
 
 getting old,and a second conviction 
 meant a capitel sentence. Then 
 his money in John HuntspiU',, 
 hands was bringing him a little 
 
 income by itself, andhe had given 
 his promise not to smuggle any 
 "•ore. I think the old man had 
 
 learned to look on .smuggling, com- 
 
 paied with the great game of war 
 as a small thing. 
 
 It was strange to come back to 
 
 m accor 
 
OUT OF THK OOLDEN MIST. 
 
 Ireadfii] dis- 
 ••' So that, 
 igain, there 
 3 riot only 
 >ur ret'irn, 
 'Jt'phthah, 
 ernptatiori. 
 Gd all the 
 pose to see 
 'd to hint 
 on of his 
 h brandy, 
 2v. Benja- 
 lefore the 
 captivity, 
 >ur kegs, 
 I reduced 
 tliionest. 
 ors with 
 1 out no 
 'V'ould be 
 le Dane- 
 should 
 le could 
 nephew, 
 pressed 
 though 
 t to be 
 y; and 
 fie was 
 viction 
 Then 
 tspill's 
 
 . little 
 given 
 e any 
 n had 
 , com- 
 f war, 
 
 2k to 
 
 85 
 
 this queer atmosphere, in which 
 crime appeared no sin, and law- 
 breaking was encouragetl by the 
 administrators of the hw. The 
 strangeness passed off after a while, 
 and then the two years of life in 
 the stately house of the old city- 
 square appeared, in its turn, -amy 
 and unreal. 
 
 We came back to the old place, 
 and began, in a broken-winged 
 way,to resume the old ways. Then, 
 naturally, I began to make the 
 house and the house-keeping more 
 in accordance with my recently ac- 
 (luired ideas. Dan acquiesced, 
 wondering; Job tried to adapt 
 himself to my ways with the good- 
 will which always distinguished 
 him, but with less success. He 
 betook himself to work on the 
 farm ; and, in as.sumingthe smock- 
 frock, immediately changed, just 
 as he used to do, the roll of the 
 sailor for the slouch of the labourer. 
 John Hunts pill wrote to me 
 from time to time. Madam made 
 no sign of relenting. She never 
 asked for news of me ; she had 
 withdrawn her confidence from 
 him ; she never spoke to anyone 
 about her son ; she sat silent all the 
 day long, pale and stem. Her 
 heart was full of bitterness. 
 
 When Dan began to talk about 
 Joshua, and to regret the misfor- 
 tunes which befell him, I con- 
 ■sidered that it would be well to 
 conceal my share in them, and the 
 fact of his treachery. When he 
 came home a^rain — should hn AVAr 
 7 
 
 come home— it would be time to 
 consider what steps should be 
 taken. For the present it seemed 
 better to leave the old man in the 
 belief that Joshua's troubles were 
 undeserved. Indeed, it would have 
 been difficult to persuade him that 
 his own nephew could be guilty of 
 so foul and dastardly a crime. For 
 my own part, I hoped that he 
 would never come home again. 
 " A life for a life," I said, bitterly. 
 " As he destroyed my Will's life, 
 so let his be taken away." 
 
 It was in the dark days of De- 
 cember that we came back toRous- 
 don. The winter weather suited 
 the misery of my mind. Yet, after 
 a time, the old charm of the sea 
 fell upon me and soothed me. Dan 
 painted and caulked the little boat- 
 I put out to .sea in her again during 
 the soft, smooth moming.s, common 
 in winter on the .south coast, when 
 the sun floats, bathed in a soft yel- 
 low mist, itself a disk of molten 
 gold ; when, if you see a boat, her 
 masts and hull are wrapped round 
 with a yellow haze, like those of 
 a boat in a dream. Sometimes Dan 
 came with me, and we .sailed or 
 rowed, silent, thinking of the days 
 that could come no more. 
 
 " There was no one like him," 
 said Dan, one day, when we had 
 been sitting quiet in the boat'for 
 an hour and more. " There never 
 was no one like him, and never 
 wiU be. Joshua had his good 
 points. For a rough night at sea, 
 "^ " '^"^j nanu, josnua never 
 
 r 
 
 sp- 
 ue 
 
 r'i 
 
 P» 
 le 
 
 d- 
 
 id 
 
 Df 
 
9^Bc:i»flH 
 
 8« 
 
 had hi8 equal. But Joshua was 
 purnpy. J lo took after his father 
 in such re8p(,ct8. Now, Mr. Cam- 
 pion, he was alvvuy.s Iauf,'hing, al- 
 ways talking.al ways ready to du a 
 hand's-tum for everybody. No- 
 J>ody like him. And to th,' k of 
 
 •tWAH in TRA f,aAR'.S RAV. 
 
 11 
 
 "Don't, Dan, don't," I mur- 
 mured, with the tears cominir into 
 my eyes. 
 
 We had a dreary Christmas that 
 winter, though after service in the 
 poor old barn, which had gone 
 nearly rooHess since Dan went 
 away, the Rev. Mr. Burden came 
 to take his dinner with us A 
 ttirkey from the farmyard fur- 
 nished the meal, and afterwards 
 Dan, with a guilty look, produced 
 
 a bottleofnnn. Mr. Burden shook 
 hi8 head sadly, but spent the rest 
 ot the day over the drink in com- 
 pany with Dan, and departed in 
 
 the evening withlegsvxc^^showed 
 a tendency to tie ihvmsdves into 
 knots. 
 
 Then the days beg^m to grow 
 longer, and the spring flowers ap- 
 peared on the Undercliflf, till all 
 the ground was covered with the 
 pale primrose. It must have been 
 about this time that everything 
 began to look as if it belonged to 
 a dream. I am not sure when that 
 strange feeling began; I knew, 
 hoNvever, that Dan used to follow 
 me about, and was loth to let me 
 go out of his sight, for fear, I sup- 
 pose, that, being in this dreamy 
 ^*y. I might fall into mischief and 
 
 I do myself some injury. Also, ho 
 
 ! '"^f'^^ talk of doctors and goin.. 
 o Lyme for a change. Poor uJd 
 Dan .' 
 
 The place was so (juiet, so re- 
 "'ote from all external influences 
 
 that one fell back easily upon one's' 
 own brooding thoughts, I had no 
 duties and no distractions. Dan 
 was not a great talke, , and Job 
 was actually dumb, ,., that T lived 
 m a dream, and it was a dream of 
 the past. 
 
 The spring in its turn passed 
 away, an<l was followed by the 
 soft, warm summer, with day.s 
 when I would sit a whole day 
 through beneath the shade of tiio 
 rocks watching the waves. Here 
 Dan used to come after me, tempt- 
 ing me to go out in the boat with 
 him, to fish with him, to walk with 
 bim, anytliing to rouse me from 
 that state of dreamy despair. I 
 used to sit and listen unmoved- 
 unmoved I saw the tears roll down 
 his cheeks-they only irritated 
 me. Sometimes I think that in 
 those days T must have been mad 
 One night I could not sleeo It 
 was in the middle of August, 'when 
 there is little darkness on the sea, 
 but only a luminous twilight I 
 rose about midnight, and dressed 
 myself quickly, thinking I should 
 escape Dan's attentions, and stole 
 downstairs into the open air, just 
 as I had done two years and a half 
 before, to watch for the return of 
 the Dancing Polly. It was not. as 
 then, a rough and boisterous night * 
 
 breei 
 This 
 
 ing 
 
«A A 
 
 "'"^^^} 
 
 ^ Also, he 
 
 '8 find ;f,'oing 
 
 f'oor old 
 
 "if^t, so re- 
 influenceH, 
 upon one's 
 , I had no 
 
 ons. Dan 
 and Joh 
 
 hat r lived 
 
 L <lrearn of 
 
 m passed 
 d hy the 
 ith days 
 hole day 
 tie of the 
 is. Hero 
 e, tempt- 
 oat with 
 alk with 
 ne from 
 ■fpair. I 
 noved — 
 oil down 
 irritated 
 that in 
 en mad. 
 eep. It 
 it, when 
 the sea, 
 ght. I 
 dressed 
 should 
 i stole 
 ir, just 
 a half 
 urn of 
 lot, as 
 light i 
 
 OUT OF THE UOLDEN MIST. 
 
 87 
 
 there ha<l been all da a fresh 
 hroeze blowingfrom the south-east. 
 This had died away, and there was 
 little air left. T slowly passed 
 down the well-known path, to sit 
 by the shore and think of my poor 
 dead Will. [ an there while the 
 night slipped away. I was facing 
 the mouth of the little creek, look- 
 ing straight out to sea. 
 
 When the morning broke there 
 was a liofht fog upon the water, 
 which the sun, when it rose, col- 
 ourcl with a beautiful hue, chang- 
 ing every minute. I remombered 
 then — Heaven knows how —that 
 it was the 14th of August, and 
 three years since I first saw my 
 Will. As I gazed seawards, look- 
 ing througl he fog, I became 
 aware of a g st. 
 
 It was the ghost of a boat shin- 
 ing in the golden mist, all gorgeous 
 with colours. The hull was yellow 
 and blue and crimson, the colours 
 changing every moment ; the sail 
 looked like a sheet of azure silk, 
 and the spirit who stood behind 
 the m.'ist — it was the spirit of my 
 Will— was all glorified. I stood 
 quite still, fearing that the vision 
 would fade. T had often, before 
 this, seen him in dreams of the 
 night, but never in the broad day, 
 and in dreams he vanished so 
 swiftly that I could never find time 
 to speak to him. The boat seemed 
 at first to be floating on the water 
 —but she was not. In the light 
 air of tho morning she was slowly 
 makin<: for the land; andpresentlv 
 
 she pii.saed through the mist, and 
 lost all the gorgeous colours which 
 thefog had Irnt her. But the ghost 
 of my Will n - -ined, pale, as all 
 ghosts of drov , men should be. 
 He saw uw, « ne bow of the boat 
 grated on the stones — ho cried my 
 name — he throw up his arms — he 
 leaped ashore. 
 
 " Oh. Will, Will ! " r r-ried, fall- 
 ing upon my knees before him, 
 " let me speak to you. Do not go 
 away as you do in the dreams. 
 Let me '^^oak to you. I knew you 
 would day think of me, and 
 
 come 1, om the grave. Oh, what 
 am I to say, now you are here ? 
 What can I say, dear Will, poor 
 Will, my dead love, my lost dar- 
 ling, come from Heaven to comfort 
 my poor heart ! Oh, it is break- 
 ing ! Will, it is breaking with grief 
 and pain ! " 
 
 " Pleasance," he cried, lifting me 
 in his strong arms, and folding me 
 to his heart, " Plea.sance, I am not 
 dead — I am no ghost, my darling. 
 I am come back to you again, alive 
 — alive. Can you not understand ? 
 Oh, my love, my darling ! " 
 
 I could not understand at first, 
 nor for many days afterwards. 
 But joy does not kill. 
 
 Will had, it was quite true, fallen 
 overboard. But he was picked up 
 by a French chasse-mar^e, and 
 taken to France, where he lived 
 among the fishermen, no one be- 
 traying him, till he could persuade 
 one of them to trust him with a 
 boat. He promised a large price; 
 
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 fi 
 
 jhouJd he reach England in safety 
 it IS needless to say that he kept 
 his promise. ^ 
 
 When I was able to listen to it 
 
 i^ll, when I could sit with my hand 
 n h:s ,n such happiness as never 
 'tny other girl, I believe, experi 
 
 enced, he began to talk about our 
 ">arnage He wanted to see his 
 
 mother, but he would tell her him- 
 self, not write to her. And he could 
 not go, he said, unless I would go 
 
 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S BAY. 
 
 the back of the man was familiar 
 
 to me, for the face, when we came 
 up ^ith its owner, was the face of 
 Joshua Meech. 
 
 He looked round at the sound of 
 
 the horses' feet. At first he did not 
 recognize us. I was dressed in a 
 
 dark-green riding-habit, and wore 
 a veil. 
 
 "Joshua," I said softly; do you 
 not remember us ?" 
 
 "Joshua Meech, n,y boy," cried 
 
 111 AJT-h/^ 1» 1 . 
 
 -ithhim. Wh;tcouidi:a;r5l Will'"l;"\''"^'' -^^^y/'eried 
 course we were married, just a. hp ] « ' ^'"^ "'^^^^^"-^ "^ ^^^t 
 
 wi«l,«.i u . . 'J^'^tashe I ^^dhappened,"Howgoesit,mate? 
 
 ■oriel. 1 1 * ""'^''''^*' Ji^st as he 
 
 wished he and I, ;„ r„„,,,„„ 
 
 el.urch,bythe Reverend Benjamin 
 Bu*„. Will doffed his ,ai,„," 
 
 oothe« for the fi„t time, and :;! 
 reared dressed a.s a gentleman. Dan 
 gave me away. It was agreed that 
 T *°."''' "do »tr^ight from the 
 
 -.Tn \. , ' """ s"'^'-' 11^, matey 
 Where <bd yo„ Jose your Jcgs, 
 man ? ° 
 
 "Where a good many lost their 
 heaas, Mr. Campion "- he spoke 
 quite cheerfully, while a horribly 
 guilty feeling seized me—" at Tra 
 falgar. Glad to.see you safe home 
 
 church into Lyme, and leLeVos • .^''^f *° ^^ y™ -fe home 
 
 direct without stoppin! ™ C '^'""■■T- 7'"= """'" -ho <lid the 
 don. PP"" *" ^°"- I "'"eh.ef, he's well punished, he is ; 
 
 We left Dan and Job and the 
 poor old rector at the door of the 
 ecclesiastical barn. Will lifted me 
 into the saddle, and we rode slowly 
 
 -ay, poor old Dan crying, and 
 Wi I promising soon to bring me 
 back. We ha<l ridden half a mile 
 or so on our way along the Seaton 
 road, when I saw before me, just 
 before you come to Colway Lane 
 
 a%urewhich seemed familiar to 
 me. It was indeed, only part of a 
 
 hgure, consisting of a man's trunk 
 and a couple of very short wooden 
 «tumps, on which the owner was 
 pegging his way, literally, with 
 uncommon vigour. I ^^s ri^ht • 
 
 and serve him right." 
 
 Now no one, except myself, ever 
 knew who the villain was. 
 
 Later on, when Dan came to see 
 
 us in London, he had a good deal 
 to tell of Jushua. 
 
 The mill was set going again, 
 
 after hefoundhismoney,by means 
 of a mysterious letter with a Lon- 
 don postmark. It had become 
 ruinous, but thewheels were there 
 and Joshua began again to prac- 
 tise his ancient craft. He went no 
 longer to chapel, but became a firm 
 Piliar of the established church 
 having been converted on board 
 ship. 
 
 The way of his conversion was 
 
CUT OF THE GOLDEN MIST. 
 
 89 
 
 as familiar 
 n wo came 
 the face of 
 
 sound of 
 he did not 
 essed in a 
 and wore 
 
 ^ ; do you 
 
 ^3^" cried 
 ■ of what 
 it, mate? 
 •ur legs, 
 
 ost their 
 e spoJce 
 horribly 
 'atTra- 
 fe home 
 did the 
 X he is ; 
 
 If 
 
 , ever 
 
 ! to see 
 d deal 
 
 again, 
 
 means 
 
 I Lon- 
 
 ecome 
 
 there, 
 
 prac- 
 
 nt no 
 
 t firm 
 
 urch, 
 
 )oard 
 
 was 
 
 sini])le. He one in his early days 
 aboard, began to argue a point 
 v*nth the chaplain, who was so 
 amazed at the audacity <"f a com- 
 mon sailor pretending to be skilled 
 in theological subtleties, that he 
 complained to the captain. The 
 captain, a choleric man, ordered an 
 application of the only remedy 
 then employed for offences and 
 disorders at sea — three dozen. 
 
 Before the first dozen I ad been 
 received, Joshua felt conviction 
 pouring in. About midway through 
 the second, the force of the con- 
 viction was irresistible. By the 
 end of the third he had .steadfastly 
 resolved on adhering, while on 
 board, to the Church of England 
 and Ireland, as by law established. 
 And after coming ashore he con- 
 tinued this godly habit. 
 
 It is the last scene of my story. 
 
 A bright morning in autumn, 
 when even the City houses look 
 pleasant, and the trees in the City 
 churchyards have not lost their 
 leaves, and are pleasant to the eye. 
 We go to the house in the Square, 
 Will and I, followed byJolin Hunt- 
 spill. Madam has not gone to 
 Chertsey this year. 
 
 Thei'e are no servants to meet 
 us. John has taken care of that. 
 We cross the hall and mount the 
 stairs, covered with tneir thick 
 Turkey carpets, which deaden 
 every fuotfall. On the landing we 
 can look into the great room which 
 Madam always uses as her own. 
 We can see Mttdam herself sitting 
 8 
 
 by tiie window, pale, rigid, and 
 stern. 
 
 No one moves, no one whispers. 
 The tears come into Will's eyes as 
 he looks upon his mother. Pre- 
 sently John Huntspill takes my 
 hand and leads me quietly into the 
 room. 
 
 Madam looked up in her quick 
 interrogative fashion. 
 
 " It is I, Madam," said John. 
 
 "Is there anything of import- 
 ance, John Huntspill ? Unless you 
 have news to tell me, why do you 
 come ? And who is with you ?" 
 
 " I have to say a thing of great 
 inq»ortance. Madam. I bring with 
 me a girl who has suffered nuic]^. 
 I ask foi- your forgiveness for her, 
 and for myself, for the deceit we 
 practised upon you." 
 
 "Oh Madam!"— I knelt at her 
 feet — "we have been very un- 
 happy: Forgive me, and let us be 
 as happy together — as wo can." 
 
 " I said, Pleasance," she rei)lied, 
 " that I would forgive you when 
 the sea gave up its dead. But that 
 will be long, perhaps. We sl-ould 
 wait — till the Judgment Day. My 
 dear, I forgive you, for the sake o^ 
 him whom we both loved. Pleas- 
 ance, child" — she held out both 
 her arms — " come and lot us weep 
 together, and go in mourning and 
 sorrow all our day^s." 
 
 " Not in sorrow, Madam. Oh ! 
 not in sorrow, but in gladness. For 
 look, the Lord is very merciful. 
 The sea has given up its dead, an<l 
 here is vour son. hoiup .T<rn!n uid 
 in your arms." 
 
 r. 
 
 >ng8 
 oep- 
 jme 
 
 tra- 
 ng» 
 tic, 
 
 'er'a 
 
 t' 
 ed- 
 )ed 
 of 
 er- 
 
 tre 
 
 al 
 
 lU 
 ia 
 
 
y^^ 
 
K 
 
 "This Able Volume //, u .,, , 
 
 »^r NEARLY FEADY 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION OF MR. OEOROE STEWART JR.. GREAT HISTORICAL WOR 
 
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 What ,s sa,d about tHe »„.t i^ponant Boo. eve ,.,.,l.„.,,, ,. o^naCa- 
 
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 Mr. St™t has .lone las work Nvitlidi.^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
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