Ernest Glanville

"The Golden Rock"

Chapter One.

A Queer Legacy.

Old Trader Hume was dead.

Not that he was really old when he died, but he had lived a life that had robbed him of his youth at one end and cut off the slow decline on the other. At fifteen he began the career of trader and hunter; before twenty he had been tossed by a buffalo, and broken his leg in a fall from his horse; at twenty-five he had been twice down with the fever; at thirty he was known as Old Hume; at fifty he had gone home to die—a man worn, sun-dried, and scarred with many wounds. Home to the Old Country, the land of his parents, the land of rest and green fields that had figured in his waking dreams, and in his lonely watches beneath the African sky.

His mother had talked to him of the quiet village, the ivied church, the bells, the song of the lark, and the pleasant customs of the country folk; and his father had told him of the great cities, the roar of life, and the silence of old ruins testifying to a mighty past; and the untrained, toughened Colonial boy had kept before him one goal—the hoary tower of Westminster, the green meadows, and the tuneful bells of old England.

Well, at last he had gone home; but it was not the home of his dreams. There were the wonderful green fields, the eloquent ruins, and a multitude beyond expectation for number; but there was something wanting, and the lack of it preyed upon him, hastening his end. These swarming men and women were not of his type. The people in the streets hurried along hard-eyed and absorbed; his neighbours treated his overtures with suspicion, not understanding his familiar greeting and his manner of going about in his shirt-sleeves, smoking strange tobacco. He was alone in the midst of crowds, and he waited for death with the patience of a stricken animal, while the people who understood him not made much of an explorer recently returned, not knowing that this weather-worn stranger who pottered about aimlessly had braved more dangers in unexplored countries, and had, without thinking of it, opened up more routes for the advance of commerce. One friendship he had formed with the son of his father’s brother, his only living relative, a boy who had been with him on his last trading trip, and whom he had sent to Oxford to pick up the ways of men, and, perhaps, some of their learning. But he only saw the lad in the long vacation, and then only for a few days, insisting that the young fellow should camp out in Wales with some of his companions.

Now, Old Trader Hume was dead and buried, and his nephew, Francis Hume, was alone in the old man’s room, the room of a hunter filled with trophies of the chase.

The young man was bending forward, one hand supporting his head, while the other, dangling listlessly, held a sheet of paper. Long he remained so, his eyes absently fixed on the point of a curved rhinoceros’ horn, then leant back in the chair and read the contents, setting forth the last will of his uncle.

A very short and simple document it was:

“I, Abel Hume, commonly known as Old Hume, the Trader, leave to my nephew Frank all my possessions, including 275 pounds in the Standard Bank. There is a map in my pocket-book drawn by myself. That I leave him also, and it is my wish that he will follow the directions therein. I would like him to use my double Express, and to treat it tenderly. Good-bye, my lad; shoot straight, and deal straight.

“Signed Abel Hume.”

“Dear old chap!” muttered Frank, with a sad smile, and again he sank into a long reverie.

He had always thought that his uncle was a wealthy man, and, under that impression, he had lived rather extravagantly at Oxford. His uncle had paid his bills, and he tried to recall if there had been, unnoticed at the time by him, any word or sign of disapproval, but he could remember only the dry chuckle of the hunter at some unusual entry.

“Poor old boy,” he said again; “I wish he had told me. What a lonely time he had!”

He thought then—how could he help it?—of his own prospects, which had lost so suddenly all the wide outlook of a happy career.

“I must give up Oxford, of course, and my friends, too, before they give me up; but what am I to do?” He looked around at the house, at the trophy of assegais on the wall, at the lion’s skin on the hearth, the yellow eyes glaring, and the red mouth set in an everlasting snarl.

“I am sorry the old man came home. He was happy there in the bush, or on the trek. What a life he must have led during those thirty-five years of hunting and trading, and what yarns he did spin in the evenings! There was that story of the bull elephant.”

He lit his pipe by instinct, and was lost in veldt and kloof among the big game until the strange glamour of the chase, from which no man is free, was upon him, and he was soon sitting with his uncle’s favourite rifle in his hands, examining its rich brown barrels, and the polished stock of almost black walnut, bound about the hand-grip with the skin of a puff-adder. He brought the butt to his shoulders, his cheek against the stock, and began sighting at small objects on the wall. The gun was heavy, but he had not been at Oxford for two years for nothing, and his muscles were those of an athlete.

He rose up to replace the gun tenderly in its rack, and then, going to his uncle’s desk, took out the pocket-book—a much-worn leather case, bound round with a length of braided buckskin.

Folded up in an inner pocket was a frayed piece of paper. This he carefully spread out on an open book, and, with a faint smile about his lips, carefully examined the roughly-drawn outlines of river and mountains. This was not the first time he had seen the sketch. His uncle had, on his last visit, with much gravity, taken the paper from its hiding-place, and had told the story connected with it—a story which had impressed the young undergraduate, chiefly on account of the moving adventures related, the real heart of the thing taking but an insignificant place in his thoughts.

Yet he vividly remembered how the old hunter, usually so cool, had worked himself into a pitch of excitement, and how, placing his withered finger on one spot, he had, sinking his voice to a whisper, said impressively:

“There, my lad, is your fortune. Your fortune; the fortunes of a hundred men.”

What was the story? Was there a fortune there, or had his uncle been, like many a lonely wanderer, the victim of a hallucination? He pored over the map, and in imagination listened again to the slow, grave words of the old hunter, whose eyes had flashed under the glow recalled by the memory of that expedition. His uncle had struck north through the Transvaal, and after crossing the Crocodile, had turned to the east for an unknown land, whence rumours had come of great herds of elephants. Entering a bush country too thick for the waggon to continue, he had gone on afoot with a score of boys for a big vlei, where there was, indeed, a happy hunting-ground. There, after bagging some fine tusks, he had heard from an old black of a strange rock to the west, which shone bright in the sun, and had struggled to reach the spot. A week he spent amid the tangle of reeds about the river, and in the gorges of a wild and lofty chain of mountains; and then, one day, in the early morning, he had, from the Place of the Eye in a singular rocky profile of a human face, seen shine out, from the great plain below, a blaze of light which glowed for the space of an hour while the rays were level, and then went out. He had seen the Golden Rock, the shining stone of the natives, the eye of the morning, the place of bloodshed, as the old man related, and he marked the spot where he had stood, for he could go no further then. Several days he had spent returning to the huts at the vlei, where he listened much to the old man, hearing more about the rock, and of the glistening ornaments that were made from it whenever a new chief arose. He learnt about the tribe who lived at the feet of the mountains and in the great forests, and he planned how he would reach the rock, when news came that his waggon had been burnt by the natives, and the next day he himself was attacked. Escaping to the river, where he lurked in the reeds, he at last fashioned a hollow tree to his purpose, and floated down the Limpopo, enduring twenty-five days of fearful suffering before he reached the month, where he was picked up by a Portuguese trader and landed at Delagoa Bay. In that trip he had lost everything—waggon, oxen, ivory, skins and stores, and before he could plan another expedition to the mysterious rock he felt he had entered the shadows, and the craving for the home of his forefathers would not be denied.

“My lad, that is your fortune. I have seen it, and you must find it. Will you promise?”

“Yes, uncle, I promise,” Frank had said, laughing at what he thought was a joke.

“That’s all right,” the old hunter had replied. “When a Hume makes a promise he means to keep it—or die.”

Frank now remembered those words and all they implied, and they spoke to him now with greater force than when he had heard them.

He had made a promise, carelessly, not knowing what he said, just to humour his uncle. Nevertheless he had given his word. Was he bound to keep it? Well for that matter, he was a Hume.

Taking an atlas from the shelf, he studied the East Coast of Africa, and the course of the Limpopo from its mouth. As far as his uncle had drawn, his sketch tallied with the map, and so exactly indeed that he must have filled in the original rough draft from the printed map.

Folding up the much-creased paper with a sigh, he paced up and down the room, tugging at his moustache, a blank look on his manly face. Suddenly stopping opposite a mirror, and seeing his reflection, he broke into a loud laugh.

“Hang it! what a brute I am! But it’s too absurd, this legacy of a Golden Rock which does not exist. Well, at any rate, I can use up the bank balance in making a hunting trip to the spot, and after that—”

He shrugged his shoulders, and went out to see about executing the will.

Chapter Two.

A Mystery.

Frank Hume had some of that tenacity of purpose which had made his uncle a successful hunter and Kaffir trader. He saw plainly enough the quixotic side of the quest to which he was committed, but he was not one of those who ask, “Is it worth while?” and “Where is the good?” if confronted with any undertaking not obviously practical.

The Golden Rock had taken no hold on his imagination. It was no bright spot glowing, like a beacon in a dark night, out of the dim future, but itself merely a dim and shadowy token representing and explaining the duty he owed to the dead man’s whim. He would go to the locality, and then let events shape his career to any rough-and-ready pattern, even to that of the hard life of a hunter. Having made up his mind, he set about his preparations carefully, shaking off his extravagant university habits, and keeping an eye to economy in small things to make the most of his little store of money.

In one important respect he was admirably fitted for a life of hardship. Though of average height, he was uncommonly deep in the chest and broad across the shoulders, and possessed a stock of bone and muscle upon which he could safely depend. His head was well set on, with a marked tilt of the chin that gave him an air of watchfulness, and this aspect was heightened by a pair of steady blue eyes.

Within a week he had settled his affairs and was ready to take the first outward-bound vessel, limiting his choice to a sailing-ship, for time was of no particular object, while money and the saving of it was of first importance. He had even seen the skipper of a four-masted iron clipper with the view of working his passage out, but the skipper had received his overture with an explosion. “No more swab-fisted gentlemen lubbers for me. They’re worse than an old maid with a family of cats, and not so useful. Have a drink?” They had a drink, and the rejected volunteer walked homewards in the evening, stopping on the Embankment to look on the dark river which was soon to carry him down to the salt waters.

As he leant there with his elbows on the granite coping, he heard the sound of oars, and presently made out the blurred outline of a boat, and a streak of white about its bows where the strong tide opposed its rush to the exertions of the labouring oarsmen. There were two of these, and Frank could see that they were not pulling together, while the bow oar was weaker than the stroke. The boat scarcely gained a foot against the tide, but, instead, moved sideways at every savage pull by stroke.

“Put your weight into it, man,” growled stroke.

“I can’t. I’m dead beat,” gasped the other.

“Look out!” shouted Frank, “you’ll be into the steps.”

Stroke looked sharply to the right, threw out a hand to keep the boat off the granite, then, as she was swept back, caught fast hold of an iron ring, while the bow oarsman sighed audibly and set to rubbing his arms.

“You’re a pretty sort of fellow, you are—as soft as butter. What the deuce did you say you could row for?”

“Who can pull against this flood? Look here!” Bow leant over, thrusting his hand into the dark waters, which foamed against the obstruction.

“What are we to do now?”

“Wait till the ebb, I suppose; or get a ferryman to row us.”

“Ferryman be damned. If we wait for the ebb we’ll not get out before daylight.”

Frank went round to the opening in the Embankment, and walked down the steps.

“Can I be of any use?” he said.

“Yes, you can, by taking yourself off,” was the surly rejoinder from stroke.

“Nonsense! Don’t go, sir. Can you row?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t want you to think. I thought I could row until I met this infernal tide.”

“Well, I can row against tide, or with it.”

“Step right in, then.”

“Man, you’re mad!” sharply interposed stroke. The two whispered together for a few minutes, then bow suavely spoke:

“My friend would be glad of your help, but he rather doubts your discretion. We are engaged in no nefarious designs, but at the same time we don’t want to be talked of.”

“I think,” said Frank, with a laugh, “you may trust me, especially as you have already given yourself away. There would be nothing to prevent my calling the attention of a policeman to your condition, you know.”

“Jump in,” said stroke quickly.

Bow crawled aft to take the tiller, and Frank stepped lightly into the boat.

“Take her through the second arch, and then keep over to the Surrey side, when you will shoot us through the end arch of London Bridge, and by the fleet of barges. She lies just beyond.”

“They are evidently making for a ship of some sort,” was Frank’s mental reflection on the reference to “she,” but he was next moment bending to his oar, his eyes fixed on the broad back before him, and his soul bent upon holding his own.

For a moment the boat had swept back with the tide, then as the oars dipped in she stood still to their tug, hung a moment, then crept on with slowly-increasing speed—under Waterloo Bridge, past the railway bridge, then across to the Surrey side, and, with a hard struggle, down under London Bridge and into the Pool, close in the shadow of a number of barges.

“Do you see her?” asked stroke, with a gasp.

“Pull on,” said the cox. “So—steady, stroke—pull, bow—easy.”

The boat scraped alongside a low craft, and cox held on to a rope ladder.

“How do you feel?” asked stroke, turning his head.

“Pretty well baked,” said Frank; “and you?”

“I’m worked to a cast-iron finish. Give me the painter—thanks. Now, up you go.”

Without more ado, Frank climbed up the ladder to a narrow deck, where he stood holding to a light rail. The two men were quickly by his side, one of them securing the boat.

“This way.”

They went forward to a deck-house, and descended a companion-way to a small saloon, where one of them struck a match, and lit a suspended lamp.

“Let’s have a look at you!” and the man who had pulled stroke, standing himself in the shade, threw the light full on Frank’s face, while the second man closed the door and stood with his back to it.

“That will do.”

“Pardon me,” said Frank, stung by this ungracious treatment; “it is my turn now.”

Quickly steadying the lamp, he directed the light on the other’s face, revealing a pair of fierce black eyes, and a face thickly bearded.

“Stop that, or I’ll—” He put his hand to his pocket with a threatening action.

“Leave him alone, Captain. Upon my word, he has served you well in your own coin;” and the other man stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Frank’s shoulder, whereat the latter, finding he was in queer company, stepped back.

“Don’t start, sir; there is nothing to fear.”

“I think there is,” said Frank; “so please keep your distance, or, better still, stand aside, as I should like to get out of this.”

“Of course you would, but—and I hate to tell you after what you have done—we can’t afford to let you go.”

“Afford, that’s not the word. We won’t let you go, mate.”

“I’ll see about that,” shouted Frank, at the same time hurling one man aside, and, seizing the handle, which came off to his furious tug, leaving the door still fast closed. Turning, he hurled the brass knob at the black-bearded man, but it missed the mark, and went with a crash through a glass door beyond.

Next moment he was looking into the dark muzzle of a revolver, held very straight in the brawny hand of the Captain, whose black eyes wore a very ugly look.

“Put that pistol down,” rang out in tones of suppressed passion.

The door stood open, and a tall girl in black swept in.

Her dark eyes, flashing from a face of unusual pallor, dwelt a moment on the three figures, the one huddled on the floor, the others facing each other.

“What does this mean, Captain Pardoe?” she asked haughtily, “and who is this stranger?”

Frank raised his hat. “For my part in this disturbance I heartily apologise, but I must say, and these gentlemen will bear me out, that my intrusion was not of my seeking.”

She inclined her head slightly, then turned to the second man, who had risen, looking uncomfortable at having been found in a humiliating position.

“Since Captain Pardoe cannot speak, perhaps you will have the goodness to explain, Mr Commins.”

“It is this way, Miss Laura!” blurted the Captain; “this young fellow knows too much.”

“Excuse me,” said Frank, “I know nothing except that I helped to row you here, and you wished to detain me.”

“Allow me to explain,” said Mr Commins, interposing with a wave of his hand. “The tide was against us, and I was unequal to the work. This young man kindly offered his help, and we accepted, but thinking it would be inadvisable to let him return, we felt it best to detain him, and if he had not been in such a hurry to put us down as thieves or cut-throats, and to act with unnecessary violence on that supposition, matters could have been amicably settled.”

“At the muzzle of a pistol,” said Frank dryly.

“I think you might have managed without help,” said the young lady coldly. “It is most vexing, and such a beginning bodes ill for the undertaking.”

“You need be under no uneasiness. We can easily detain him.”

“I object,” said Frank hotly.

Captain Pardoe lifted his weapon.

“Give me that pistol, sir,” said the young lady imperiously, and the Captain reluctantly handed it over. “I regret very much that we should place you under restraint, sir; but there are interests at stake more important than considerations of mere personal convenience. I’m afraid you must be our guest for a few days.”

“We can put him ashore at Madeira, Miss Laura,” said the Captain.

“At Madeira,” said Frank, earnestly gazing at the splendid eyes and superb figure of this masterful young lady.

“We will do our best to entertain you in the meanwhile,” she said, with a sudden dazzling smile, “and, perhaps, you will even forgive us for this unmannerly and ungrateful return for your kindness.”

As he caught the dazzle of her smile he determined upon his course, especially as the trip to Madeira would advance him on his voyage.

“I am willing,” he replied, “to take an enforced passage, provided you allow me to get my baggage.”

“That means going ashore?”

“Not necessarily; for upon a note from me to the landlady of my rooms the things would be given up.”

“We have no time to spare, Miss Laura,” said Captain Pardoe.

“It is necessary for me to go ashore,” she answered, “for a few minutes. Where are your rooms?”

“Off the Temple—in York street.”

“I think I will trust you,” she said, giving her hand, which Frank warmly clasped, the spell of her beauty being full upon him.

Within an hour they were all back on the ship, and as Big Ben struck out the hours of midnight the vessel slowly crept down the river.

Chapter Three.

A Wild Rush.

Hume was immediately shown into a tiny box of a cabin and the door locked upon him, an indignity that roused him to wrath, so that he banged against the frail panels with his fist.

“Look here,” said a deep voice from the alley, “if you don’t stow that sharp I’ll clap you in irons.”

“Leave him to me, Captain, and go on the bridge. Now, sir, will you oblige me by keeping silence for a few hours?”

Frank recognised the speaker by the rich tones, and immediately was pacified.

“If you wish it, I will; but please unlock the door.”

“Give me your promise that you won’t make any disturbance.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” She turned the key, and then he heard the rustle of her dress as she quickly moved away.

He stood looking at the handle for some moments, then sat on the bunk, with the feeling strongly rooted that he was in for some dark enterprise; but his mind dwelt less on this than on the stately figure and beautiful face of this strange girl, whose strong character had been so forcibly shown.

Who could she be, and what was she doing there—one woman with several men, and men evidently lawless? Already he longed for the hour when he could see her again, and once more hear her voice, and the remarkable and sudden change in the steady current of his life troubled him not at all.

But presently his natural caution overmastered the swift-born infatuation which had threatened to make a slave of him, and he roused himself to take a survey of the little cabin. This, though small, contained two bunks, was plainly fitted and strongly built. The port-hole, he noticed by the dim light, was protected by an inner sheet of steel. This he unscrewed, and opening, too, the round glass, he framed his face in the brass-rimmed circle. The boat was slipping along down the dark river at medium speed, the regular beat of her engines sounding very distinctly in the still night, and her track stretching in a ghostly gleam, unbroken by any other craft. By craning his neck, he noticed that she seemed very low in the water, and of unusual length, and he was puzzled to place her in any category of cargo or passenger steamers, finally coming to the conclusion that she was one of those long, swift tugs he had sometimes seen ploughing up the river with a string of coal barges in tow; a boat probably built for narrow channels, and to pass under low bridges.

“She’s not built for the ocean,” he mused, “and when we get into the Bay she’ll play pitch-and-toss, I’ll be bound.”

Suddenly, quite near, Captain Pardoe spoke:

“Forrard, there!”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Do you see the Hospital ship?”

“We’ll pass her at the next bend, sir.”

“Put the lights out as soon as you see her. Who have you got in the bows?”

“Dick, the Owl,” said the officer, with a slight laugh.

“That will do. Aft there, stand by the wheel.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” came in muffled reply.

“We won’t steer her from the bridge, madam,” said the Captain, “all the lights must be out, and the orders passed by mouth.”

“Do you think they’ll challenge us?” spoke the young lady, her voice sounding so near that Frank involuntarily drew back his head.

“They’ll speak us, but we’ll get through right enough. If there’s any trouble it’ll be off Sheerness.”

“Why there?”

“They’ll wire to the coastguard, and they’ll signal the guardship.”

“That’s a man-of-war, isn’t it?”

“She is that, miss, but she’ll not fire, I hope; and we’ll slip by before she’s rubbed her eyes. There are the lights of Gravesend, and isn’t that something black ahead under the bank? You won’t go below, I s’pose, Miss Laura?”

“No, Captain Pardoe; I will stop here.”

Suddenly the glare over the bows from the forward lamps died out, there was a sharp ring of the engineer’s bell, a sound of men in hot haste thrusting at the fires, and the vessel began to quiver and vibrate to the beat of vast engines working faster and faster.

There was a rush of wind on Frank’s face, the dark objects on the shore swiftly receded into the general blur, and the water foamed up at the bows and fell away in curling waves.

“Are all the lights out, Mr Webster?”

“Yes, sir; all but a light from a starboard port.”

“It’s that swab of a passenger,” growled the Captain; “I’ll have him tied to his bunk.”

Frank, warned that he was guilty of some unpardonable indiscretion, crawled down from the top bunk, and had just reached the floor, when the handle turned, there was a quick step, a rustle, and the light was switched off, not before he had seen the dark eyes flashing in resentment.

“If you behave in this way, sir, I’ll not stand between you and discipline.”

“Really, I did not know I was doing anything wrong.”

“Shut the port-hole,” she said sharply.

He turned to obey with a frown of protest, when, seemingly not a yard off, there flamed the lights of a ship’s cabin.

“Where are you coming to, you lubber?” shouted out a voice furiously.

There was a jar, an ugly tearing noise, and Frank and the young lady were thrown at each other.

“I beg your pardon, really,” said Frank, as he loosened his hold of her waist; “but I could not help myself.”

She stood back with a gasp. “Did you see that? Has she sunk?”

The reply came from the angry officer of the other vessel in a torrent of language reassuring as to her safety, but venomously strong.

The lights of another ship flashed by; then the steamer darted into the narrow fairway between a fleet of vessels, big and little, the waves washing against them, and bringing up an angry swarm of men, whose shouts could be heard in a confused babble in the rear.

“What ship’s that?” hailed a man in powerful tones.

There was no answer, and Frank felt a hand on his arm.

“We are the Customs—where are your lights?” followed in a faint hail astern.

“Thank Heaven, we are past Gravesend. Now, sir, you may have your light again.”

She pressed the button, and the electric light shone over her lustrous hair, revealing a sparkle in her glorious eyes and a flush on her cheeks.

Frank looked at her, and forgot everything in amazement at her beauty.

“I dare say,” she said, with a faint smile, “you are wondering who we are?”

“I don’t know,” said he, “and I don’t care, so long as I”—he meant to add—“am with you,” but he paused in time at the hint of a haughty surprise in her eyes.

She looked at him steadily a moment with a glance that implied some new interest, then, once more switching off the light, went out without a word, closing the door behind her.

He listened and heard her voice on deck, when he again framed his face in the port-hole.

The bow lights had been relit, and the ship had slackened something of her tremendous speed.

“I wish to Heaven,” said the Captain, “those funnels would not draw so well. Just look at that shower of sparks; they’ll give notice of our coming.”

“Why not slacken speed until you are close on the guardship?”

“That’ll give ’em more time to prepare for us, but it’s the best thing to do.”

Then followed a sharp signal to the engineer, and the speed was still further decreased.

“Mr Webster, was she damaged at all by that brush?”

“Just a dent, sir; but she’s all sound below.”

“Douse the lights again. We’ll keep close in on the port tack. Keep your eye on the Kent shore, and tell the watch to be on the lookout for the guardship.”

For some time the ship slipped along through the dark waters without another word being spoken.

“There’s the signal, sir,” sang out a voice, breaking in on the silence. A rocket mounted afar off.

“Ay, I see it. It’s as I feared. They’ve alarmed the guardship, and’ll be sending a boat to her. Suppose they catch us, madam, what yarn will you spin?”

“They must not catch us.”

“They may open fire.”

“Whether they fire or not, we must get through. Couldn’t we open fire, too?”

Captain Pardoe laughed.

“We must depend on our heels, Miss Laura. If it came to knocks, the guardship would blow us out of the water.”

“How annoying!” was the truly feminine reply—a reply so inappropriate that even Frank smiled, while Captain Pardoe chuckled audibly.

“Understand, Captain,” she continued imperiously, “I will not be captured, nor the ship, not if they have to blow it up.”

“Ah, see that?”

A shaft of light shot into the sky, then dropped to the water and swept swiftly from right to left.

“It’s the search-light. The guardship is looking for us. Mr Webster, step down to the engineer and tell him we’ll want every pound of steam he can give us when I signal him. We must get twenty-seven knots out of her.”

“Twenty-seven knots,” thought Frank. “What ship can this be?” The cabin seemed to grow unbearable as his excitement increased, and if danger was to be encountered his place was by the side of this girl whom Fate had thrown in his path.

Again the shaft of light, broadening from its base, shot out into the darkness, and swept the water to its outermost fringe, where the gleam mingled with the black night, reaching a few lengths ahead, where it outlined a bare pole on the bank.

“Port your helm; put her over to the Kent shore,” the Captain ordered with lowered voice.

The vessel came round, and made across to the other bank.

The search-light swept round again, just as the vessel was near the right bank, and the light shone over the deck, lighting up every detail, before it passed on.

“Astern—full speed astern,” roared the Captain down the speaking-tube; “starboard your helm; bring her up on the old course.”

The vessel backed out as the search-light flew back to the place she had occupied, and then swiftly made over to the Essex shore, and at another signal from the bridge darted into the shelter of the night.

Frank could hold himself no longer, but flung open the door, and after groping about in the saloon, found the companion-way to the deck. There was a broad white belt of light on his right, but all around and ahead was darkness, intensified by the brightness so near.

“They’ll find us in a minute,” spoke the Captain, and Frank, turning, saw dimly two figures on a bridge just ahead of two singularly low funnels, from which poured dense volumes of smoke.

The shaft of light played about the further shore, swept out slowly to mid-stream, then swept back again.

“Stand by, Mr Dixon,” said the Captain, down the tube.

The guardship could now be dimly seen behind that glittering eye—a blurr of spars and funnels about a mile up stream.

The light crept over the dark river in a broad track of gleaming silver, came slowly nearer, then, in a blinding flash, shone over the vessel, lighting up every man as he stood at his post, and bringing out the girl’s face in a startling pallor.

The bell sounded its sharp order, the engines answered quicker and quicker, and the long, narrow ship seemed to leap forward, sending up a shower of water, which sparkled in the light, and came aft like rain. On she rushed—the flames springing from her funnels—the whole frame and body of her vibrating, and the water hissing and splashing before her bows and in her wake.

A ball of white smoke, which for a moment dimmed the flaming light, belched from the warship, followed at fully half a minute by the sullen boom.

“That’s by way of formal notice,” said the Captain; “by-and-by she’ll send a sharper summons; better go below, Miss Laura.”

“I will stay here,” she answered quietly.

The small ship was now abreast of the man-of-war, which had changed its course and was steaming slowly ahead. On the left were the lights of Southend, far ahead the revolving lights of the Nore lightship, and on the port bows was the black hull and green and red lights of a huge steamer.

“That’s a stroke of luck,” said the Captain. “We’ll get on the blind side of that ship, and that bulldog daren’t show his teeth until we’re well clear both of Southend and the steamer.”

The man-of-war fired another blank charge, but the long, low vessel darted along, shifting her course until she came under the bows of the big ocean steamer.

The search-light, however, soon picked her up beyond, and a minute after there was another report, followed this time by the shrill scream of a shell, than which there are few sounds more threatening. The shot flew high, plunging with a splash far on the port side.

“They cannot hit us, Captain Pardoe, and we are rapidly leaving them.”

“They are not trying, Miss Laura. That was just by way of being more peremptory. In ten minutes we’ll be beyond reach of their light, and then there’ll be another spell of safety, unless we are sunk. Hullo, here comes another.”

There was another sullen roar, and the gunner had determined on a closer call, for the ball touched the water not a hundred yards off, then ricocheted to the Essex coast.

“The next one will have us,” growled the Captain.

“Steamer’s lights ahead! Starboard bow!” hailed the lookout.

Eyes were taken off the following man-of-war, and strained into—the darkness ahead, out of which presently there stood two lights.

“She’s near us, Mr Webster, and thank your stars for a sound berth to-night for that. We’ll slip by on the port, and then get away under her bulk. Do you think they see her?”

“No, sir; but the steamer ’ll make the cruiser see her. She must be in a rare state. Ah! there goes a rocket.”

High into the black heavens ahead went a ball of fire, which presently curved over and burst in a shower of blue.

“Looks like a navy signal, sir?”

“Very like. If she is, we’re caught hard and fast.”

“There’s an answer from the warship, sir,” said Frank, who had turned his eyes aft.

“I wish I understood the game,” growled the Captain, banging his fist on the bridge rail. “Oh, she means it this time!”

A red tongue of flame leapt out, a great volume of white smoke; the shot, keeping low, struck the water up, and then there was a loud crash, followed by the whir of splinters.

Frank saw the dark figure at the wheel suddenly sink to the deck, and without losing a moment he bounded down the narrow deck, seized the handle as the wheel was beginning to revolve, and brought it round.

“She’s paying off. What in thunder’s up with the wheel?” roared the Captain. “Mr Webster, take two men aft. Starboard your helm.”

Frank put his weight in, and with every sinew straining, brought the vessel round, just as, like a runaway horse that takes the bit in its iron jaws, she had threatened to come broadside on.

“What’s wrong here?” panted Mr Webster anxiously, as he reached the wheel.

“Steersman hit,” said Frank shortly; “carry him off. I’ll manage this.”

Mr Webster groped for the wounded man, drew him away, and then paused to look up, for they were passing the vessel whose lights they had seen. She was scarcely making any way, and the bulwarks were lined with pale faces, among them those of many women.

“Thank Heaven, she’s no cruiser; hurrah, boys, hurrah!”

The few hands took up the cheer, and the people on the deck above, relieved from some nameless fear at seeing the dark ship slipping away, responded with a feeble shout; the captain, from his lofty bridge, sending a call through his hollow hands: “What’s the meaning of this foolery?”

“Ask the guardship,” bellowed Captain Pardoe; “a little target practice. Good-bye.”

The little ship plunged into the welcome darkness, still maintaining her terrific speed, and the search-light could not reach her.

Then the lights were lit, the wounded man carried below, and an inspection made of the ship, when it was found that the iron bulwarks had been pierced a little forward of the wheel.

“Send the steersman forward!” shouted the Captain.

Frank was relieved, and walked to the bridge.

“What’s your name, my man?”

“Hume.”

“What—the passenger? I gave orders to have you locked in. Never mind that, sir; you did well, and I’m much obliged to you. You’re welcome to the run of the ship. That was a close shave, eh? If it hadn’t been for the mercy of that steamer we’d have been five fathoms under. You’d better turn in now.”

Frank lingered awhile to see whether the lady would appear, and then went down below, where he saw her leaning, as it were, for support against a saloon pillar, a handkerchief pressed to her forehead.

“It has been a trying night,” he said gently.

“You had no right to leave your cabin,” she replied—then swiftly disappeared.

Frank looked down the narrow gangway, heard the bang of her door, and, with his head up, and feeling mightily offended, entered his own tiny cabin.

“She might have been civil, at least,” he muttered.

Chapter Four.

A Strange Craft.

Hume had been to the Cape and back; he had also tossed about off the Bristol Channel in a small yacht; but before morning he learnt that the ocean could play more tricks with a ship than he had ever dreamt of in the wildest tossing. He was sleeping on the top bunk, for the sake of the breeze from the open port, and was early awakened by a dream, in which, with the thunder of waters in his ears, he had gone head foremost down a cascade.

Had it been a dream? He sat up, knocking his head against the roof, and in his ears there was the same terrific roar, with a splashing sound, and an unmistakable feeling of dampness. A desperate lurch made him cling to the brass rail; then, as the port dipped, he saw the sky-line obscured by a moving wall, and was almost washed away by a belching funnel of cold water that boomed on to the floor, and rushed over his cabin, taking with it every movable object. As the ship heeled over he struggled, soaked and shivering, with the brass hinge of the port-window, which he thrust in and held there until the ship rolled under again. With the backward swing he worked the screw in, then lurched out from his sodden bed to the floor, inches deep in water, when he groped for the switch and turned on the electric light. His portmanteau coming swiftly out from under the lower bunk, carried him off his feet, and then bounded over his body, while his gun-case rammed him viciously in the ribs.

Staggering up, he clambered into the lower bunk, and spent an awful hour of misery with a babel of sounds racking his brain, and every possible motion threatening dislocation to his body. The small bunk was too large for him. He could not brace himself tight; but, like a pea in a drum, was rattled from side to side and top to bottom, his head at one time threatening to fly off as the bows dipped; his body sinking with the most sickening desire to part with his head as the stern went under, and his arms, legs, and head flopping about hopelessly to each dizzy roll.

Then between, and coming through every motion, was the jarring of the screw as the stern was lifted up—a most soul-disturbing sensation, enough in itself to unsettle the innermost lashings, the smallest nerves and sinews of the body.

“What the devil possesses the ship?” thought Frank, in a state of feeble protest against this indignity of sea-sickness that held him in its clammy grasp. “Hulloa!” he groaned, as he heard someone staggering along the alley-way.

The door was opened, and the new-comer dived in to the roll of the ship as though he were violently impelled from the rear, ending up by stumbling over the gun-case.

“That’s the fifty-seventh time I’ve been knocked off my pins within an hour by this infernal buck-jumper. What have you been doing, messmate; taking a shower-bath?” And Mr Webster, the speaker, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, sat down on the edge of the bunk and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.

Frank turned his head with a look of disgust, but the ship, pitching and rolling at the same moment, sent him and his bedclothes in a heap to one end of the bunk.

“God forgive me,” said the officer, making futile attempts to keep his feet out of the water; “but you’re a most dismal object.”

“What’s the matter with the ship?” growled Frank.

Webster opened his mouth to laugh, but a vicious lurch banged his head against the iron side of the cabin.

“Ship, do you call it?” he cried. “Why, ’tis nothing but a steel tube with an engine in it, and there’s not a ship afloat that would not ride over this sea without a heave.”

“Isn’t it rough, then?”

“Man, we’re just in the Channel, with a cross current and the apology for a ripple, but this devil of a sawn-off scaffold-pole just wallows in it like a porpoise. Come up on deck, and you’ll blush with shame to think you should have gone under to such little waves, scarce big enough to wet the frills of a Brighton beach-wader.”

As if to belie this imputation of mildness, a sea came on board with a crash and rushed along the deck with an angry swirl, making noise enough to spur Frank on to make an effort.

“That’s right,” said Webster, taking him by the arm. “Now come and have a nip and a bite.” Together they rolled out of the cabin and down the alley to the officers’ box, where Hume duly swallowed a stiff glass of grog, and was suited with a shiny covering of oilskin overalls. Then, holding on to anything that came handy, they clambered on deck, where the keen morning air very soon dispelled the nausea contracted in the stuffy cabin.

It was a brilliant morning, with wisps of wind-lashed clouds scurrying across the clear blue sky, and a buoyant property in the salt-laden air that brightened the eyes. It had brought a flush to the cheeks of the lady, whose figure, clad in oils, had been the first thing to catch and hold Frank’s gaze. She stood on the low bridge, holding with both hands to the rail, her feet braced and her body bending to the dips and roll of the steamer with a grace that even the heavy tarpaulin could not hide. The spray which came aft in a white and gleaming drizzle glistened on her covering, and ever and again with a low laugh she would bend her head to an unusually heavy gust of wet tossed up by the plunging bows of the steamer.

“Isn’t she a beauty!” growled Webster, brushing his hand across his eyes to wipe away the drops.

“She is, indeed!” murmured Frank. “May I ask who she is?”

Webster followed his companion’s gaze, and led him forward. “I’m not talking of her,” he said, dropping his voice; “and you’d best leave her out of your thoughts, young fellow. It’s this craft I mean; this narrow-gutted rib of a steel monument, that’s fit for nothing but to be stuck on end with a lamp in its stern, when it would make a good lighthouse. Ugh! the brute. See her bury her nose in that sea like a pig in a mash-tub.”

This wave was a gentle swell of dull green, covered with a lace-like tracing of air bubbles in round patches of white, and the top of it fringed with a line of hissing foam. A lumbering coal-ship would have ridden over it without wetting her eye-holes, but this strange craft, with a snort, leapt into the very heart of it, tossing up a column of spray, while the divided sea swelled up to the gunwales and foamed along the side with ripping noise, and went aft in a swirl of eddying whirlpools.

“Tell me,” said Webster, flicking the wet from his sou’wester, “what sort of a ship she is.”

Frank, standing wide on the slippery deck, cast his eyes fore and aft with growing wonder at the long, narrow shape of her, at the inward slope of her heavy bulwarks, at the wide, short funnels and sharp bows.

“I can’t liken her to anything but a wasp or a shark,” said he, “there’s such a vicious air about her.”

“Ay, she carries a sting in her tail and a devilish set of teeth. She’s ugly as a shark, and as narrow and vicious as a wasp. Well, what is she?”

“She’s a deuced bad sea boat, anyhow,” said Frank, as the deck suddenly sloped away at a fearful angle. “Is she a yacht?”

“You’ve hit it first shot. She’s a yacht—that’s what she is—a nice pleasure-boat for ladies and children, with engines strong enough to get twenty-seven knots out of her, and steel frame like a man-o’-war. What’s that you’re leaning against?”

“A ship’s boat, I suppose, covered with tarpaulin.”

“Right again, sir; that’s the yacht’s dinghy, fitted with velvet cushions. Take a peep.”

Frank looked under the tarpaulin, and saw the vast butt and machinery of a gun.

“That’s the yacht’s popgun, a four-inch quick-firing toy,” and Webster’s jolly face broke into a grin.

“She’s not a yacht, then?”

“Lord, how fresh you are! She’s no more a yacht than a bull-terrier is a pet pug—she’s a torpedo-catcher. Do you mean to say you had no suspicion when that ironclad opened fire on us last night?”

“I knew there was something dark afoot. A torpedo-catcher! Is this the Swift, the boat that was seized by the Customs authorities last week, on the suspicion that she had been bought for the rebel fleet at Rio de Janeiro?”

“The same, my boy; and seeing that you took an active part in her escape, it wouldn’t be safe for you to talk about this adventure. You’ve committed high treason, or some offence as bad, and would to a dead certainty be drawn and quartered.” Here Webster broke into another fit of laughter, ending up by smacking Frank on the back. “You’re in the same boat as we are, and if she doesn’t drown you, or roll you overboard, or knock your brains out, you may live to be shot.”

“Many thanks,” said Frank, with an answering smile. “And what fate is reserved for you?”

“Oh, as for me, I’ll die of a falling chimney. You feel better now, don’t you?”

“Thanks to your cheerful predictions.”

“Then come and report yourself to our chief, and harkee, you’ll be offered a billet as captain of the cook’s galley. Take my advice, and accept it; it’s comforting, sustaining, and by far the safest place in the ship.”

They went aft, now breasting the slanting deck as the bows dipped, now bending back to the answering lift, and came up to the bridge, where the Captain gave them a surly nod, and the lady flashed a smile on them.

“The new hand, mam, come to report himself. I found him afloat in his cabin with a feeling that he was an empty nothing, but he is better now,” and Webster turned a perfectly grave face upon Hume, his voice expressing the deepest sympathy.

“I am indebted to Mr Webster for his kindness, but he is premature in classing me as a new hand.”

“If you will come up here, Mr —”

“Hume,” said Frank briefly, filling up the pause.

“Mr Hume, you may talk with less discomfort.”

Webster, with a whispered word to Frank to “come off his stilts,” lurched to the chart-room, and Frank, with a feeling of resentment at the girl’s cold speech, mounted the steps to the bridge, where he waited with what patience he could muster until she chose to take her gaze off the sea, which she did presently, turning her magnificent eyes, and letting them dwell on his face in a calm scrutiny.

“Did Mr Webster tell you,” she asked in slow, formal speech, “that I had an offer to make?”

“He did suggest that I might hope for a berth in the cook’s galley.”

She did not smile at this as a man would have done, but frowned slightly. “I am—rather, the ship is—short-handed, and I wish you to take your turn in the officers’ watch.”

“But, Miss—” Here he paused with an inquiring look at her.

“You can call me madam,” she said.

He bowed, with a smile at her composure. “I am obliged for your confidence in me; but I am not competent to fill a responsible place.”

“You showed yourself last night equal to an emergency,” was the quick reply.

“Anyone could have done as well. But, madam, even if I were competent, I am not sure I could give my services unless I were satisfied as to the nature of the enterprise upon which this warship is embarked.”

She threw her head back with a haughty toss, and with a ring in her voice, replied: “I am not at liberty to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Pardon me,” he continued quietly, though his cheeks flushed, “I do not wish to pry into your secrets, but it is impossible for me to act in this matter blindfold, especially as I am not here of my own free will.”

“Then you refuse to help me?”

“I would help you willingly,” he replied eagerly, “if you tell me I can do so without hurt to my conscience or my country.”

“I will give you no assurance whatever. Do you, or do you not, accept my offer?” she said imperiously.

“No, madam, I cannot.”

“Then go back to your cabin; I will take the watch myself.” She turned away with an angry glow in her dark eyes, and he, after pausing awhile, slowly descended to the deck.

Chapter Five.

Down the Channel.

“Well, shipmate,” said Webster, coming out of the chart house, “have you been promoted from the saloon to the bridge, passing over the cook on the way, just after the old style when a lord-in-waiting, who did not know a brig from a bumboat, was appointed admiral? No apprenticeship, no navigation, no examination, but an order from the Commodore: ‘Mr Hume, sir, please take the third watch.’”

“No,” was the gloomy response; “I could not accept.”

“You swab! You mean to tell me you’ve declined to help the Commodore?”

“I presume you refer to the young lady?”

“Presume be damned. Have you no eyes, man, no gallantry; can you stand by and see a girl like that eat her heart out with sorrow and anxiety? Not that I care a brass button whether you help or not, for double work doesn’t hurt me; but just think what she’ll be like after a fortnight in this crazy roundabout.”

“You forget I know nothing about the lady, nor this ship, nor its mission.”

“And what’s that got to do with your keeping an eye on the binnacle, or a cheerful face that will do something to keep her spirits up? As for the matter of that, I know precious little about the object of this voyage, but it’s enough for me to know that she wants my help, and that Captain Pardoe is in command.”

“It is not enough for me. My knowledge of Captain Pardoe does not inspire me with much confidence in his designs, and you forget the circumstances under which I was trapped.”

“Well, well, you’re just like the rest. You landsmen don’t mind what you do ashore, but no sooner do you come aboard than you’re as nice with your conscience as a lady’s-maid with her mistress’s borrowed gown. I warrant you’d not trouble your head about the policy of a merchant’s business if you entered his service, not though he was selling bad pork to sailors or robbing the widows.”

“You’re going rather wide of the mark, Mr Webster,” said Frank sternly.

“There, now, you’ve taken offence, and that’s what makes me sad to think of you tossing like a log in your cabin—like that cold-blooded creature of a Commins who’s drinking champagne in his bunk, the swab.”

“Mr Webster!” hailed the Captain.

“Yes, sir!”

“Take the remainder of my watch, please, and keep a sharp look-out on the starboard quarter.”

Webster swung quickly to the bridge, where he touched his hat to the lady, and then braced himself fast to sweep the channel with the glass.

Captain Pardee came down slowly, and reeled a little on the deck, as though he had taken too much grog, thought Frank, as he caught him by the arm.

“Thank ’ee,” said he. “I’ve not quitted the bridge before since we left the Pool, and my legs are rather stiff.”

He staggered on to the small gangway and descended, leaving Frank to his own reflections, which were not very pleasant. If a man so tough and strong, and inured to hardship, as Captain Pardoe evidently was, felt the strain of the long watch on board, it was clearly beyond the power of a girl to undertake any part of work so trying.

She was still standing on the bridge, her face wet with the driving spray, and a tense look about the mouth which told of nerves high-strung. She was looking fixedly before her, and did not, as she had on her first coming on deck, bend her head to the flying spume in playful defiance. As he watched her, hesitating between his wish to help and his stubborn regard for his own rights, he saw her lips tremble, and that settled the matter.

“Madam,” he said, reaching her side in a moment, “I am ready to help.”

She withdrew her face from the sea, and he saw that her thoughts had been far from him or the ship, and in some confusion he repeated his words. A faint flush came to her cheek, and a brighter look in her eye.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered, and Frank, feeling something coquettish in this, flushed himself. With the faintest smile, she continued: “I come of a superstitious race, and your refusal, so brusquely given, too, had shaken my faith in my own power, and what is of more importance, in the success of my undertaking. I was reading ‘failure’ out there in the tumbling waters—But now you have reassured me. That is why I am glad.”

He flushed more deeply yet to think how easily she read his thoughts.

“You must forgive me,” he said, with a frank smile, “but I only wanted an excuse to satisfy my reasonable suspicions.”

“And you have found it?” she said, with an answering smile.

“Yes; I think I have.”

“Then you do not think that I am likely to menace the security of England with this craft?”

“I am in ignorance of your intentions still, but I am willing to believe that you are bent upon no desperate or unjust enterprise.”

“Desperate it may prove,” she said proudly, “but unjust it is not. No, no, believe me, sir, if there is any cause which would claim the sympathy of a brave man it is this upon which I am set.”

She rested her fingers on his arm, and looked at him earnestly with eyes dewed with unshed tears.

What emotion could it be, he thought, so powerful as to move one by nature so proud and self-reliant? He felt that further suspicion on his part would be contemptible.

“I am no seaman, madam,” he said, “but I may be of some service.”

“Mr Webster, will you tell Mr Hume in what way he may best assist us?”

“Ay, ay, madam.”

“Then I leave the ship in your hands, gentlemen, until Captain Pardoe has rested.” She bowed her head and left the bridge.

“So, after all, you’ve taken up arms against your lawful sovereign, and all for the smile of a woman, with not so much to show as the Queen’s shilling. Shake, my son!”

“Don’t talk rot, and tell me what I’m to do.”

“Is that the way to address your superior officer? Harkee, sir, for less than that I’ve clapped a man in irons. But I forgive you. Put your eye to the business end of this glass and tell me what craft is steaming up on the weather bows. My eyes are dim for the want of sleep.”

What with the swing and plunging of the “catcher,” it was some time before Frank could get the object within view, and when he did it was but a fleeting glimpse he had.

“It’s a Cape mail-boat,” he said; “I can make that out from her red funnels and grey hull.”

“Good. Now, would you know a warship if she showed at that distance?”

“Possibly, from her unusual breadth of beam—not to speak of her guns.”

“Well, my lad, keep a keen lookout, for there’ll be a lookout kept for us off the Isle of Wight, and be most particular in noting small craft. Set a thief to catch a thief, and as likely as not they’ll send a ‘catcher’ out from Portsmouth, and a cruiser from Plymouth. If you see anything strange in the movements of a steamer, blow down this pipe, and I’ll be up in a brace of shakes. I must have a wink before to-night;” and Webster, fetching a terrific yawn, went off down below.

Hume was left alone on the bridge, and, as far as he could see, there were only two other men on deck—the steersman inside the wheelhouse, and a seaman in a look-out shelter forward. It was a strange turn of the wheel which had placed him there in temporary charge of a torpedo-catcher, bound on he knew not what mad mission, and he shook his head once or twice in grave doubts of his own action, and of the conduct of those who so lightly trusted him—conduct which seemed to him to smack of the reckless. However, he entered upon his task without further thought of the consequences, letting his eyes sweep from right to left over the grey waters, and lingering here and there on a sail or a streamer of smoke. At first he eyed every ship with suspicion and fidgeted when a fishing lugger drove by before the wind, the crew peering under the boom at the long, low, swift craft; but after a time he reasoned he need fear no Craft which sailed on a parallel course up or down channel, and looked out only for sign of a ship making across. The sun mounted higher in the heavens, the wind fell away, and the Swift grew gradually steadier, and he could walk up and down the bridge without having to hold on at each step.

Close on noon Captain Pardoe came up to take a “sight,” retiring to the chart house to work out his bearings. The man at the wheel was relieved, and Mr Webster reappeared, looking as jolly as before, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

“Anything in view, Mr Hume?”

“Nothing but a couple of sailers and an ocean tramp, as I judge that steamer to be.”

Webster took a look round to satisfy himself.

“Now,” he said, “you go below for a snack and a snooze. You’ll find some tack on the table. Tumble into my cabin, as yours is too wet.”

Frank, nothing loath, went down, and was soon in a sound sleep, out of which he was aroused well on in the afternoon by a rough shaking, to find Webster bending over him with a sparkle in his eyes.

“There’s some fun afoot, my lad, with the prospect of sudden death and damp burial, so hurry up,” and the breezy first officer went like a tornado down the narrow alley.

Frank was quickly on deck, and found Webster talking to the look-out man, while Captain Pardoe and Miss Laura were on the bridge anxiously watching some object on the starboard bows. Looking in that direction, he could see nothing but a heavy streamer of smoke tailing away to the north, plainly showing that the steamer was on a course that would intercept the “destroyer.” Mounting to the bridge, he sighted the double funnels and heavy top hamper of a large vessel with the unmistakable cut of an ironclad.

“What do you make her?” said the Captain gloomily, more to break the silence than to ask for information.

Frank took the proffered glass, and bringing it to bear, it revealed two barbette towers, with long guns projecting, sharp bows heavily scrolled with gilt, and a mass of tumbled waters pouring before her rush.

“She is coming along at a tremendous pace, Captain.”

“Ay, eighteen knots, and she’ll be across our bows in a quarter of an hour, if she doesn’t ram us to gain a little experience.”

“I am sure she cannot be in pursuit of us,” said Miss Laura, stamping her foot. “How could she hit off our position so exactly, when we have made little smoke and stood well away from the English coast? She may be a French cruiser.”

The Captain shook his head.

“They’d log our course as soon as they received all particulars by wire, and from the crow’s-nest on the masts they’d see us sooner than we could find them.”

“Well, then, we must run away; and if she is only doing eighteen knots we should have no difficulty in escaping.”

“True, ma’am, if it was a stern chase; but she’ll have us right under her bows.”

“And what will you do if she orders us to stop?” and the young lady fixed a burning glance upon the dark and troubled face of the Captain.

“I’ll take my orders from you, Miss Laura,” he said gravely; “even though she turns her big guns on us.”

“Well, then, signal to the engineer to cram on all steam. We won’t get under her guns, at any rate.”

The Captain smiled, then touched the bell, and the sharp summons below was answered by prompt stoking.

Frank stood back, an amazed and silent witness of this scene on the little bridge. It seemed a thing incredible and unreal that a girl should have control in a matter fraught with such a responsibility and such peril. He glanced keenly at the Captain to see whether or no he were humouring the young lady; but there was no sign in that dark and gloomy face except an air of grim resignation, while, though Miss Laura showed, in the imperious lift of her head and in her flashing eyes, visible tokens of intense feeling, she gave no trace of a mind unhinged.

“Heave the log, Mr Webster.”

Webster’s voice rang out cheerily; and soon the long line was paying out in the foaming track. A bare-legged and brawny-armed tar, taking the line over his shoulder, staggered forward with it when its swift race had been checked by the minute hand, and Webster himself put his weight into the work, seeing which, Frank went down to help, for it’s no child’s play towing in the line from the grasp of the rushing waters.

“Twenty-three, sir,” sang out Webster; “and no bad speed, too, in the open,” he added to Frank.

In a few minutes the space between the two ships had greatly lessened, and the name of the cruiser could be picked out on her bows.

“Do you see that, Miss Laura? there’s no doubt she’s after us.”

“I see no change in her, Captain.”

“She has shifted her course in answer to our increased speed, and instead of being stem on, you can now see almost the length of her broadside.”

“She’s got her bow chaser cleared, sir,” said Webster, in a tone of pleasurable excitement.

A grand and formidable object the warship appeared now, sending before her terrible bows a white avalanche of water, her white decks lined with men, and the dark muzzles of her guns threatening destruction. And no less deadly in aspect, though on a lesser scale, was the low and swifter craft sullenly plunging on like some stealthy panther retreating, snarling and half reluctant, before the advance of a royal tiger.

“It is strange she does not signal,” muttered the Captain, “unless she means to speak us.”

The cruiser was so near now that every man on board the port side could be distinctly seen, and it was clear that where the two lines met the ships would be within less than a cable’s length.

“She made another point to starboard,” said Webster. “If she doesn’t give way she’ll be on top of us.”

“She won’t give way an inch,” said the Captain bitterly; “and she’s in her rights as a Queen’s ship. Stand by, below!” he shouted.

The two ships tore along, the cruiser terrible and silent, except for the foaming of the waves, and every soul on the smaller vessel held his breath.

“Reverse the starboard screw!” shouted Captain Pardoe; “bring her round two points on the starboard!”

The long craft trembled as the one screw revolved in opposition to the other, then she bore away and darted under the stern of the great ship, heeling over from the waves that swelled up in the wake.

The cruiser came round with a stately sweep, bringing up on the port side on a parallel course; and they all waited for the summons from the commander. It came, ringing, sharp and peremptory:

“Lay-to, there!”

Miss Laura looked at Captain Pardoe, with her hand to her heart, and he signalled to the engineer for more speed. The little vessel darted forward, her stem settling down like the tail of a duck taking to flight, a huge wave rising up right above the rails.

The cruiser sank astern; but from her bows there leapt a great ball of smoke, followed by a deafening report.

“We know what that means,” said Webster, with a smile, “and she’ll play skittles with us presently.”

But the cruiser held on without further notice, sinking further astern with each minute.

The distance between widened to a mile, and still she gave no other sign, and those on the bridge looked at each other in wonder.

“You see, Captain,” said Miss Laura, betwixt a sob and a laugh, “I was right. She did not know us, and we are safe.”

“Steamers ahead!” came the hoarse cry from the look-out, like a croak of ill-omen.

Glasses were quickly raised for a long scrutiny of two small steamers low down in the water.

“Well?” said the Captain, with a look at Webster.

“Pilot boats mayhap,” said that officer, with a queer grimace and a swift glance at the young lady, whose face had paled again to the lips at this new anxiety.

“Oh, are they?” she asked, with a troubled look at the Captain.

“No, Miss Laura,” he said sadly; “they’re torpedo boats. That’s why the cruiser let us slip. They mean to take this boat without injury to her or us, and they’ve got us in a trap.”

Chapter Six.

A Narrow Escape.

Torpedo boats! Two insignificant smudges of black, lifting and bowing like a couple of dingy sea-birds in a waste of waters, wretched little things that could be stowed away on the promenade deck of a mail steamer, and yet the appearance of one of them among a fleet of heavy ironclads would create as much consternation as a gadfly among a mob of cattle.

On came these mosquitoes of the navy, with nothing to distinguish one from the other but a white number on the black funnel, and the honest merchant seamen on the bridge of the Swift almost shuddered at the sight, recognising in them the incarnation of stealth and mischief. The torpedo-catcher, however, abated nothing of her speed. Was she not, after all, built to destroy these venomous midgets of the ocean? They were her game, and a brawny-armed seaman growled out his opinion of the relative fighting values of the crafts.

“Sink the little brutes,” he said, shooting a squirt of tobacco juice; “run over ’em, blow ’em up, send them to—”

His deep voice swelled from a murmur to a shout, and a melancholy seaman at the wheel nodded his head vigorously in hearty approval.

The first officer winked at Frank and pushed his big oilskin cap over his head.

“What an almighty smash there would be if the Captain gave the word. We’d sink the torpedo boats and the cruiser would sink us.”

Frank began tugging at his small moustache as the unreasoning fighting impulse seized hold of him. He forgot that his own countrymen were the objects of his increasing animosity. Underneath his feet he felt the quiver of the deck as the long vessel darted along, and the speed affected him with the same exaltation that boils through the blood of a cavalry-man when his horse has got into the desperate swing of the charge.

“Clear the gun for action,” shouted the Captain; and Webster, at the order, sprang over the bridge to the deck. Four men were at his side, the tarpaulin flew off, and the long black gun emerged.

Frank drew closer to the young lady. “Won’t you come below?” he said.

She did not hear, and he touched her with his hand.

She turned her eyes on him, magnificent and wild.

“Had you not better come below?”

She shook off his hand with an impatient gesture.

The long gun was already charged, and Webster stood by whistling, his hand ready to touch her off.

“Send the shot over that boat on the port side. Make it a close call, and she’ll shear off.”

Webster climbed up on the butt of his gun, took a long glance over the grey waters at the black funnel that alone showed, and without troubling himself about the reckonings for range finding, ventured an opinion:

“Is she a mile?”

“About that, sir,” growled the big Quartermaster, Black Henderson.

Webster jumped down, and, with a smile on his face, fired the gun.

There was a deafening report, which shivered the glass in the chart-room, and when they drove through the smoke, and steadied themselves after the shock, they caught faintly the scream of the shell, and saw it stream high above the black boat.

“That’ll scare the life out of them,” growled a sailor, with a chuckle.

He forgot that there were men after his own metal on board, and the little boat paid not the least attention to the warning.

A little patch of red instead streamed out from her bare pole of a mast, the meteor flag of Old England, which no British seaman can see without a glow of pride, and a look of consternation came into their faces.

They had forgotten about the cruiser steaming in their wake, showing nothing now but its white fighting deck, surmounted by two huge funnels; but she kept a watchful eye on the swift catcher, and at the audacious act of hostility had bristled with anger. Two small bow chasers projecting from the bulge in her bows spoke together, and a sharp reminder in the shape of a nine-pounder went screaming over the low craft, to plunge in the sea a cable’s length ahead, while the second, in a sort of devil’s “duck-and-drake” hops, sped away.

Captain Pardoe turned swiftly, and shook his fist at the cruiser.

Miss Laura had ducked her head at the vicious scream of one shot, and started aside at the angry splash and wild screech of the other, then stood trembling from head to foot while she bit her lip in vexation at her weakness.

Captain Pardoe noted her emotion, and swallowing his own rage, said gruffly:

“Shall we give in, mam?”

“No,” she said; “take no notice of me, please. Keep right on, Captain. Even if we are hit, our machinery may escape injury. You know what there is at stake, and if—if I am—if anything happens to me, promise me you will do your best.”

For answer Captain Pardoe took her hand, and raised it to his lips.

“Now,” said he gruffly, “you must go below.”

“I cannot; you must not ask me; you are endangering your lives for me, and I must be with you.”

“Mr Hume, please take this lady to the saloon; and hark you, sir,” he added in a whisper, “lock her in.”

Frank looked at the young lady in dismay, and she, betwixt surprise at the order and indignation at the intended affront, stood silent.

“Do you hear me, sir?”

There was a dull report from the stern, and again there came that nerve-shaking scream.

Frank seized the lady in his arms, lifted her up, and staggered towards the steps.

“Put me down,” she gasped.

At the steps he put her down, and, with tears of mortification in her eyes, she soundly boxed his ears, then went down the steps to the deck, and into the saloon, while he stood with a curious feeling that what he had done bound her to him.

“What’s the matter with your cheek?” said Webster, coming up; “seems to be redder on one side than the other. There, now, don’t get angry. Lord love you, I’d sooner face that cruiser than attempt to carry the Commodore; but I thank you for it, my son. The sight of her up here put my heart in my mouth. Are you going to run ’em down, sir, or blow ’em up?”

The Captain had his glass to his eye again, and held it there for some time, slowly sweeping the sea.

“Neither, Mr Webster,” he said finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, “I am going to steam at half-speed.”

He signalled to the engine-room.

“Hoist the distress signal, Mr Webster, that’ll serve the purpose.”

“Do I understand, Captain Pardee, that you intend to give this vessel up?”

“Understand what you like, my lad, but do what I order.”

The ship had got a tremendous way on, but she perceptibly slackened speed, and the sailors, noticing this, got together in a group, directing surly glances at the bridge.

Webster folded his arms, and faced the Captain.

“Do you mean to surrender this ship, Captain Pardoe?”

“And if I do so intend, what then?”

“Why, then, I’ll take command.”

“The devil!” said the Captain, making a step forward, grasping his long glass as a cudgel. A moment they faced each other; then a grim smile hovered about the Captain’s thin lips. “You’re a queer fellow, Jim, and a mutinous one; and I don’t know why I should waste words over you. Take this glass and look over that boat on the starboard.”

Webster, with a keen glance at his captain, did as he was told.

“Well, what do you see?”

“I see a mast with cross-trees.”

“Can you see the hull or rigging below the yards?”

“No, sir, there’s a layer of fog.”

“Ah, now, bend the flag on.”

Webster took another look at the Captain, then bent the Union Jack reversed to the peak.

They looked at the cruiser, and she at once signalled the torpedo boats, which simultaneously turned almost in their own lengths, and one on each bow, steamed a quarter of a mile in advance.

The cruiser came on hand over hand, and Captain Pardee’s glance turned repeatedly from her to the grey belt ahead.

He touched the bell, and the catcher responded with slightly increased speed, which soon brought her within hail of the torpedo boats.

An officer on the port boat, clad from head to foot in oils, all glistening with wet, leant over the bridge, and through his hollowed hands called, “Slacken speed, sir!”

“All right; what’s the fuss about?”

“Slacken speed!”

“So I am.”

There came a hail from the starboard boat.

“Make away, Number 4; the cruiser will settle this matter.”

The cruiser was signalling again, and the torpedo boats began to shear off.

Captain Pardoe measured the distance to the fog, and called on the engineer for full speed; and before the torpedo boats had got well out of reach of the cruiser’s guns, had she then opened fire, the Swift darted by them. When she was out of the range of their torpedoes, had they resolved to fire, he gave one of them his wash, placing it between him and the cruiser, and thus attaining his object, which was to stop the cruiser’s fire until he could make a dash for the shelter of the fog.

This feat was greeted with a ringing shout from the crew, and the men shot admiring glances at the Captain.

Chapter Seven.

Object of the Voyage.

Into the welcome security of the fog they plunged, and dashed on impetuously, regardless of danger to themselves or other ships from collision, and heedless of the rules about half-speed.

“Now is our chance!” growled the Captain, “and we’ll not lose it. If the fog’s only deep enough the cruiser will not see us again this side the Atlantic.”

The fog closed round in damp clinging wraiths, affecting everyone not only with an acute feeling of discomfort, but with a sense of impending misfortune. The sea, visible only for a few yards, came with a heave out of the white bank and went by into mysterious obscurity with a subdued swish, while the ship went on wailing hoarsely. Those on deck thrust their hands deep into their pockets, hunched their shoulders, and stared with white faces at the drifting mists and the beads of wet on the ropes. Between the hoarse, choking cries of the foghorn there was a heavy silence, in which the ear was strained to detect some sound of life beyond the impenetrable cloak, and the silence was unbroken by any word or motion, for each man stood where he was when the ship dashed into this mantle of death—an obscurity that is worse than the blackest of southern midnights, and is more dreaded by the mariner than the sound of breakers on a lee shore. A seagull appearing out of nowhere, swooped upon the ship with a startling cry, and disappeared like a wraith of fog more solid than the other gliding and twisting coils of mist. And the steamer plunged on, wailing and roaring in an ecstasy of mingled fear and rage as though it also felt the depressing influence. Each one was impressed with an actual sense of insecurity in the headlong speed of the craft; the vibration from the stroke of the engines appeared too great for the stability of the frame; the dip and roll seemed to be at a perilous angle, and dark forms shaped themselves ahead, threatening the horrors of a collision. These, it is true, melted away, being but darker masses of fog, charged, probably, with imprisoned volumes of smoke from another steamer; but the presence of this smoke, judged soon for what it was by its acrid smell, disclosed the imminence of the very danger they had anticipated. At any moment there might loom out of the mist a solid mass in place of these darker patches, and at the speed they were going nothing could prevent the shock and dread disaster of a collision.

“Keep a good lookout forward, Mr Webster,” sang out the Captain, in tones that were muffled as though he were calling from a well.

“We are doing that, sir,” said Webster, who had gone forward as soon as the fog bank was entered; “but the spray is blinding.”

The Captain growled under his breath, poked his nose against the binnacle, and then glanced into the driving mist overhead.

“It’s lightening above, Mr Hume, eh?”

“Yes, sir; but there appears to be a strong streamer of smoke on the port side.”

“Ay, I noticed it before; but it certainly is thicker. I’ll give ’em a call.”

The steamer’s siren sent forth a rending cry from its brazen throat.

Almost immediately there came a response—a wild, hoarse roar terminating in a frantic screech.

“Where away, Mr Webster?”

“Port, sir.”

“Starboard, sir.”

“Dead ahead!” were the conflicting cries.

The siren flung another wild cry into the wet gloom—a cry that was at once imploring, menacing, and complaining.

It was answered again by a roar as of a great sea beast in fear of pain.

Then followed a deep silence, while every man strained his eyes.

At the same instant they saw her, a great mass looming out suddenly just ahead.

“Starboard!” shouted the Captain, in a voice of thunder.

The Swift leant over as she answered to her helm. There was a noise of shouting from the towering decks of the strange steamer, a feeling of impending doom, as her iron side rolled over towards the low craft, but next instant she was swallowed up in the gloom astern.

The Captain drew a long breath, and the men turned and looked at each other in silence, their faces still white and fixed.

“That was a close shave, Mr Hume?”

“Yes, sir,” said Frank, wiping his forehead; “I’d rather be in daylight with the cruiser opening fire than pass through such a moment again.”

“Ay, my lad, it was touch and go, and by the mercy of a good seaman at the wheel we didn’t touch.”

Webster came with a swing up the steps, and clapped Frank on the back.

“I told you she’d drown you before you’d have done with her.”

“Well, I’m not drowned yet.”

“No; but, by gum, you were near it! Did you see the cook’s face at the gangway when we rushed by? Lord, I nearly died with laughter at his sudden gasp, and I shouldn’t wonder but he’s got his mouth open yet. By the way, the Commodore’s down at the cuddy door, and by the same token she’s got her mouth open in surprise. Why not go down and tell her the news?”

Frank accepted the hint, and very soon was beside a tall figure, dimly seen in the shadow of the door; but, having got so far, he was at a loss to proceed. It was a stilted form of address to call her “madam;” “Miss Laura” was at once too familiar, and smacked of servility. Why had they not told him her name and have done with it; why, in fact, could she not tell it him herself? Having now mastered his first boyish fears and awe of her beauty, and warmly conscious that he stood on a different footing to her since he had boldly lifted her in his arms, he determined to brush away the mystery which hedged her in.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I hope you will forgive me for obeying the Captain’s orders just now.”

“Ah! is that you, Mr Hume? Can you tell me how we are getting on, since I am not able to judge for myself?” She spoke gently, and he caught the gleam of a smile.

“You must admit that, though the Captain was somewhat peremptory, the necessity was urgent.”

“And you must admit, Mr Hume, that he was obeyed with singular promptitude, which told of distinct pleasure on your part at the prospect of relieving the bridge of my presence. But still, you have not told me of our position.”

“We are well away from the cruiser, and when we have pierced this bank of fog, which we may do soon, as it is growing lighter, we should be free from danger of pursuit. Pray, however, do not think that we wished to keep the bridge to ourselves, and if I was presumptuous to act promptly, it was because I was anxious for your safety. You have not said whether you forgive me?”

“Is my safety, then, of any interest to you?” she said, turning her eyes upon him, and laying a hand upon his arm with the look and action of a born coquette.

“Not with me only,” he said earnestly, “but, if a new shipmate may say so, with every member of the crew. Mr Webster told me his heart was in his mouth when he saw you in danger.”

“He is a brave fellow,” she said softly, “and modest with it all—a man who would give his life with a smile for anyone he liked. It sometimes distresses me to think that I should have led him and the others upon this venture, dangerous as it must be.”

“Will you share in the danger?”

“Assuredly. This boat is mine. I had bought it when it was seized by the Customs. The enterprise is of my planning, and what danger there is will be shared by me.” She lifted her head as she spoke.

“Why should you venture upon anything that brings danger to yourself? Surely you have friends, relatives, who would have acted for you?”

She stood silent for some time, and looked at him curiously for his boldness.

“I have only one relative, Mr Hume, and he is my father, a prisoner in the hands of Balmaceda. It is to rescue him that I have risked the passage of the Thames, and if I cannot save his life I will die with him.” There was subdued passion in her voice, and her hands were clenched.

“Your father a prisoner in Brazil! How can they imprison an Englishman?”

“He is no Englishman. My father is Manuel da Gama Lobo de Anstrade, Colonel in the Army, and member of a noble Spanish family, treacherously seized by that ruffian President.”

“But you—surely you are of English descent?”

“My mother was English, Mr Hume, and I have been educated in England.” She paused for some moments, then continued quickly: “I have told you more than is known by any on board, except Mr Commins and Captain Pardoe. But I am seldom misled, and I am sure you will respect my confidence.”

“I will, Miss de Anstrade.”

“You must not mention my name. If you knew the Brazilians you would understand. Were this ship to fall into the hands of the President’s party, and my name were discovered, there would be little mercy shown. Ah! what fiendish punishment they can devise! Luiz, my brother, they made him walk blindfolded over the precipice at Garanagua.”

She spoke scarcely above a whisper, but with an intentness that thrilled her listener, and her eyes were fixed before her, wide open and gleaming. He had seen that look before, as she stood on the bridge gazing into the tossing seas ahead, and yet seeing nothing. Now he knew that a terrible picture was before her eyes.

Instinctively he took her hand.

“I am grieved I should have awakened these memories,” he said gently.

“You have not awakened them, my friend; they are burnt in.”

He stood there in silence, holding her hand, which was like a lump of ice in his warm grasp, and which she allowed to remain there, unconscious of his touch. He could mark the hollow under her eyes, the lines of pain between her dark brows, and he sighed.

She sighed too; her mind came back from its troubled wanderings in the far Brazil, and she looked down at her hand, drawing it away, and regarding him with haughty disfavour.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“You are strangely daring, Mr Hume.”

“My thought was to show my sympathy, and I could not find words.”

“It is true. You English are slow of speech, but quick to act. That is why, in this matter, I am trusting to my mother’s countrymen.”

“Will you trust me also, my Captain?”

“You! But we are to land you at Madeira.”

“I am in your service already for a time; will you not engage me permanently?”

“But you do not understand. We cannot hope to escape the Brazilian warships without a fight, and they are but the first of the dangers to be met and overcome.”

“And yet you will face those dangers?”

“For my father’s freedom!”

“But Mr Webster, Captain Pardoe, these sailors, what of them?”

“They are men accustomed to danger; they know the risks they run, and are satisfied with their reward.”

He flushed at this plain speech, but continued:

“And yet a few hours ago you urged me to help you?”

“And you at first declined?”

“I knew nothing then; but now you have taken me into your confidence, and I would be a poor thing, indeed, if I were to step ashore at the first opportunity. I may not be able to do much, but—”

“You will see I do not run into needless danger—is that it, Mr Hume?” she said, with a smile. “I accept your services, sir,” she added slowly; “but I do so with a sadness at my heart that warns me of impending trouble. I hope it bodes no ill to you. My mind is fixed upon this enterprise; but, oh! often in the night my heart is heavy with forebodings, so that I could abandon myself to the relief of womanly tears, if I only dared. It is not an easy task, this,” she went on, with a tremble in her voice, “for a girl to be alone among strange men; but my father, pale and stern, beckons me on, and my brother—oh, my brother!”

Her voice gave way, and she put her hand to her eyes; then, as he stood by pale, distressed, with an oppression in his throat, she thrust her hand forth with a wild gesture, and swept by him to the bridge. Frank stood awhile, then went slowly forward.

When, with a start, he came out of his reverie, it was to find the ship free of the fog, and dashing along in the grey of the evening towards the golden glory of an exquisite sunset. The sea stretched away to where glowed a rim of molten gold upon the horizon; and from this glowing band there shot streaks of fire into the sky, and rippling bars of silver on the waters, while the deepening dusk turned the blue of the ocean to a wonderful hue, shading from grey to deep black.

Chapter Eight.

Lieutenant Gobo.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, with lockers almost exhausted of coal, they sighted the outposts of Madeira—jagged rocks, with the clearest of outlines—and made for Funchal with some apprehension as to their reception from the Portuguese.

They had not passed scathless through the Bay. The funnels were coated with salt, the mark of a curling sea which had swept over the bows, and the starboard boat was missing. The deck was soaked, and grimy from coal-grit,—while all on board looked worn and unwashed, as though they had been without sleep, and, indeed, they had passed through a wearying time, tossed about like corks, compelled to hold on at every step, and drenched with spray. But though the catcher had plunged and rolled in a manner that tried the nerves of the oldest seaman, she had gone safely through those huge rollers, and they had learnt to trust in her. What they wanted now was her full capacity of coal, with some tons over for storage on the deck, to enable her to make the long passage to Rio, if possible. The question was, Had the Portuguese been warned by the Brazilian Consul in London, and would they give them coal?

Very soon she was steering a course parallel to the vast slope of the Island, ploughing through waters of deepest violet. Innumerable little white houses dotted that seemingly inhospitable slope of coloured sandstone, many as the white crests of the waves, and each one of them when viewed through a glass was seen to be embedded in a wealth of vegetation. So steep was the slope, and so limited each settlement, that every bit of land was terraced, so that not one spadeful of the precious soil should escape. From where, at the foot, the slope terminated in a precipitous descent to the foaming wave, these terraces ascended like irregular steps far up to the heights. And there lived a frugal people, with that brilliant sea below them, and the blue, unclouded sky above, with the air tempered by the mists on the mountain ridge above to the most balmy softness, and with a soil, once saved and scraped together, that grew all they needed without much toil. Theirs is the life of repose, with grapes and bananas for their principal food, varied with onions and fish, and washed down with the wine of that iron soil.

A slothful people, perhaps, but they have discovered the secret of living on the soil and out of the soil, developing the idle ruminating pleasures of sleek cattle; happy in their little houses, their tiny plots of fruitful ground; rich in their climate, and most fortunate in their situation. What to them the aspirations of the struggling hordes of Europe, the agonised cry of the hopeless poor of more powerful countries, the ambitions and the social schemes of the proud Northerners, but the echoes of a stormy life?

The Swift rounded into Funchal Bay, and anchored in the calm waters, under the guns of a picturesque fort covered with green. The fires were raked out, and the long craft, weather-beaten and streaked with rust stains, was at rest—an object, however, of suspicion to the peaceful merchant-ships. A tug from the shore shot out, encircled the catcher, and returned in haste.

“That doesn’t look friendly,” said Lieutenant Webster.

“They’ve had notice to look out for us,” was the Captain’s comment. “It’s what I feared; but so long as they give us coal they may do what they like.”

“There’s a boat putting off, sir—probably to warn us off.”

“Well, we can’t go without coal, and if they won’t give it we’ll take it.”

“Yes,” said Webster, looking reflectively at the fort.

The boat approached within a ship’s length, and a fat man in uniform, who held the tiller, took a long look at the Swift, then made a signal, and was rowed back again.

The fat man was met by a number of men in uniform, and after much gesticulation the whole party entered a larger boat, flying the Portuguese flag at the peak and stern, and with an awning aft.

This time they came alongside, mounted the steps, and stood twirling their black moustaches, while their dark eyes roamed over the long deck.

“Have I the pleasure of speaking to the Captain?” said the stout man, looking at a group of three.

“I am the Captain.”

“Ah! receive my respects. And the name of the ship?”

“The Swift—steam yacht.”

“True, she has the appearance of a pleasure-boat. You intend, perhaps, to remain here? The Island of Madeira is very lovely.”

“Yes,” said the Captain; “but not at present.”

“You will be going on to Teneriffe?”

“Doubtless; but we require coal. You have a good supply?”

“Why not? But this small yacht would not require much for a cruise to the Canaries.”

“About eight hundred tons, sir, is all we require.”

“Eight hundred tons, sir? Very good. With that you could reach America, possibly Brazil. Is it not so?”

Captain Pardoe bit his lip, while the stout man turned with a smile and a shrug to his companions, one of whom strolled leisurely forward.

“Perhaps eight hundred tons is more than I require, especially as I could get more on my return,” said the Captain quietly.

“I understand, sir; but that’s a matter of business arrangement with a coal-merchant. You have left England recently?”

“Four days since.”

“Four days—carambo—a quick passage! Then, sir, perhaps you can inform me of the progress of the revolution in Brazil. Have the rebels been beaten?”

“I am afraid I can give you no information about Brazil.”

“And you have not heard of the escape of a torpedo-catcher from the Thames, bound for Rio to help the rebels?”

Captain Pardoe looked astonished.

“You have surely been misinformed, señor. No vessel could get out of the Thames without the wish of the authorities.”

“I assure you, my Captain, the impossible has happened, and, believe me, I first supposed your boat was that same vessel. Ha! ha!”

“Ha! ha! what a good joke, señor!”

“Is it not?” The officer who had walked forward returned, and whispered to the stout man. “But why, my Captain, do you carry a torpedo-tube and a heavy gun? Is it to shoot gulls? Ha! ha! I am afraid, Captain, you will not get your coal here, and that your visit may be prolonged to our satisfaction. You will find the island of Madeira lovely—most beautiful. In the meantime, I may introduce you to my friend Lieutenant Guilia Gobo, who will remain your guest with these soldiers.”

The stout officer gave some order to his Lieutenant, and clambered down into his boat.

“My Captain,” he said, with a pleased smile, “may I direct your attention to our powerful fort? We have there some heavy guns; oh, very formidable.” He sat down chuckling, and rubbing his knees.

“The old boy is pleased with himself,” remarked Webster to Frank, who, together, had been amused spectators of the scene. “He euchred the Captain without trouble—an easy matter enough, by the way, in the face of that little weapon forward. Look at the skipper: dissimulation is not his rôle.”

Indeed, Captain Pardoe looked very black, as he confronted the Lieutenant and his four men.

“Well, sir,” he said, “what is the meaning of your presence on board my ship?”

“I no speak the Ingleese,” said the Lieutenant haughtily.

“But he understands it well enough,” muttered Webster.

“You don’t speak English; perhaps you will understand that I have enough coal to take me to Teneriffe, and I will leave in an hour. Up to that time you are welcome to the run of the ship, but you will find it agree ill with your uniform.”

The Lieutenant turned sharply, and shouted after his superior officer.

Captain Pardoe knitted his black brows, and was about to speak again, but turned to walk off, when he was joined by Frank.

“I understood what he said, sir.”

“So did I, Hume, but I don’t fear the fort’s guns. It is necessary to humour them, and with a little judicious palming we might win our object, but I have no genius for that work.”

“May I try, sir?”

“Certainly, Hume, do what you like, for at the worst we can throw them overboard.”

“Then, sir, set the hands to clean the ship, and send Webster ashore to lay in a stock of vegetables, fruit, and fresh meat.”

“Since when were you appointed purser, Mr Hume?”

“It will show them you do not mean to leave in a hurry, and we’ll lull their suspicions.”

The Captain issued his orders at once, and in a few minutes Webster, with the chief engineer, Mr Dixon, were being rowed ashore, while half a dozen salts, with bare legs, were turning the hose on the grimy deck, and the stokers, black almost as sweeps, came on deck to hang over the bows and pull at their well-seasoned clay pipes.

Before Webster left, Hume had drawn his attention to two large barges laden with coal which were anchored to the left, and suggested that he should find out what coal they contained.

He next dived into the main cabin, where he found Miss Laura and Mr Commins looking at the island through a port-hole. This was the first time Commins had emerged from his cabin, and though he bore traces of severe illness he was very spruce and neat in his dress, markedly so in contrast with the weather-stained appearance of the others.

Their heads were very close together, and Commins had succeeded in making his companion laugh, a little circumstance which unduly nettled Hume.

He secured some cigars, a bottle of wine, and was hurriedly leaving the cabin, when Miss Laura asked him a question or two concerning their position.

“It is so annoying,” she added, “that I dare not show myself on board, as the people here are sure to communicate with their friends in Rio.”

“I hope our young friend will be discreet,” said Commins, with irritating condescension in his manner. “Pray don’t leave the cigar-box open, otherwise the sea air will spoil the contents; and I see you have selected the choicest of the 1880 brand.”

“These are for the Portuguese Lieutenant,” said Frank shortly.

“An officer! What business has he on board?”

“It appears they suspect us, and an officer, with four men, has been placed on guard.”

“That means we have been seized,” said Commins, turning to Miss Anstrade. “I advised you not to run into a Portuguese port; but you would be guided by your headstrong Captain.”

“There is no cause for fear,” replied Frank. “We hope to be off before morning with a full supply of fuel.”

“Your hopes may be interesting to you, sir; but I, for my part, do not find them amusing.”

“Enough!” interposed Laura with a frown; then, turning to Frank, she asked him if there really was any prospect of getting away.

“There is, madam, if you have one commodity on board.”

“What is that?”

“Money!”

“Ah! come with me,” and she started for the cabin.

“Laura, don’t be imprudent. You forget.”

“No, on the contrary, Mr Commins, I remember that this gentleman has behaved nobly, and risked his life while others remained in safety.”

Mr Commins murmured something about being ill, but he shot an evil look at Frank.

“Come, Mr Hume.”

“No, madam; if you assure me, that is sufficient. It will be necessary to pay for the coal in cash.”

“You have some scheme,” she said, looking earnestly at him, and placing her fingers on his arm.

“I have, or, rather, the Captain—”

“Ah, that is better,” said Commins, with a sneer.

“Say no more, Mr Hume; I have faith in the resources and courage of my officers.” She gave him her hand, but her eyes were fixed on Commins.

Frank, somewhat uneasy at what he had witnessed of the familiarity between the two, hurried away with the wine and cigars to presently engage the Lieutenant in pleasant conversation in French.

Seeing the officer comfortably seated in the chart-room with the wine, he went to the side to receive Webster, who had returned in the best of humours with a boat-load of bananas, custard apples, grapes, vegetables, and fresh meat.

“I have left the engineer ashore, drinking Madeira with an old crony,” shouted the genial officer.

“Good,” said Frank, raising his voice. “I’ll ask the Captain to let me return for him later on. Well,” he whispered a moment later, as Webster stepped on board, “what about the barges?”

“They have 300 tons, and are waiting out there for the Cape mail steamer, due early to-morrow morning.”

“Well, the mail steamer will have to wait. That is our coal.”

Chapter Nine.

Coaling the Catcher.

Lieutenant Webster joined the Portuguese officer in the chart-room, where, with his gallant attempts to speak French, and his readiness to join in the laughter at his own most amusing blunders, he quite charmed Lieutenant Gobo, who grew confidential, and imparted an interesting item of news.

“You will remain with us, amigo mio, and we will crack many a bottle of old Madeira in a posado kept by an old man with two lovely daughters.”

“Thanks, señor, with pleasure, if we do not depart to-morrow.”

“To-morrow! What say you? We have a proverb that says that the wages of to-morrow mock the promise of yesterday. To-morrow you will all be our very good guests.”

“For my part, nothing would please me better; but our Captain has said that to-morrow he will sail, and he is a very devil—diavolo—eh?”

“You speak idly, my friend. I assure you to-morrow this ship of yours will be seized.”

“How so, Lieutenant? We have no quarrel with Portugal; and, moreover, there is no craft here that could overhaul us.”

“Not here at present, señor, but it is coming.”

“Your glass is empty, Lieutenant. Is this a British ship you speak of?—for I know none other that could capture us.”

“There are other ships than British afloat,” said the officer, twirling his moustache. “The ship I speak of flies the Brazilian flag: the Esperanza sloop of war, which, providentially, left Lisbon two days since, and may be here at any hour. She was advised of the escape of your boat from the Thames, and has warned us to be on the watch. Juarez is her commander, and I tell you he also is a devil. Ha! ha!”

“I perceive,” said Webster, with a laugh, “you have been too smart for us. We English are sometimes very dull.”

“Truly, mon ami, in quickness of wit, as in matters of love, we of the South are superior to you heavy islanders. But you are good comrades, nevertheless. Your health, señor.”

“I see the bottle’s empty. Pardon me, Lieutenant, while I overhaul the locker.” Webster, with an innocent look on his bronzed face, went below and sent a message to the Captain.

“Sir,” he said, as the Captain approached, “there is a Brazilian sloop of war in pursuit of us. She may be here to-night, or in the morning.”

“How did you learn this?” asked Captain Pardoe, with a dark look.

“From that yellow-skinned effigy on deck. The Swift is to be taken to-morrow and the crew landed. It is all settled.”

“Is it?” said the Captain, with a peculiar smile. “We shall see to that Hume will presently leave for the shore with two men. As soon as his boat is clear have these soldiers seized and bound. Take your measures quietly, Mr Webster, and be very careful that they do not cry out.”

“What’s on foot, Captain?”

“We mean to have that coal, my boy, sloop or no sloop. Thunder, do they suppose I’ll surrender to a sloop after defying a British cruiser! You have your orders.” The Captain went down to the engine-room; and Webster, after securing another bottle, gave a few sharp words of instruction to the Quartermaster, who received them with a grin.

Soon after a boat from the shore came alongside with a gendarme, who, after a few words with Lieutenant Gobo, received a note from that officer and returned.

“I have assured my Captain,” said the Lieutenant to Webster, “that we are friendly here, and that while one of your men is ashore he need not take extra precautions.”

“What precautions are, then, necessary?”

“Oh, a boat or two of soldadoes!”

“Mr Hume!” cried the Captain, from his position on the bridge, “you will take the boat for Mr Dixon, and see what arrangements you can make for coaling to-morrow.”

The Lieutenant jogged Webster in the ribs.

“Is he not droll—this Captain of yours?”

“Very droll,” remarked Webster, with a meaning look at the Quartermaster, who stood near.

Hume swung into the boat with two men, and gave the order to push off.

Webster leaned over the side, ran his eyes over the men on deck who were drinking with the three soldiers, then spoke a word to the Quartermaster, who immediately joined the group, placing himself as he did so between the soldiers and their rifles, which rested against the side.

Webster strolled to the chart house, took another look at the group on guard, then flung himself on the Lieutenant, pinning that astonished individual by the throat. There was a scuffle forward, a smothered cry or so, and in a minute the four Portuguese were bound and gagged.

“Lower the long boat, Mr Webster,” said the Captain in low tones.

This was done by the now thoroughly alert and expectant crew in silence.

“Man the boat, take a tow-line, and make for the coal barges.”

Four men dropped into the boat, a tow-line was made fast.

“Weigh anchor and deaden the noise with tow. Let the flukes hang for the present.”

Quietly and slowly the anchor came in. Webster entered the boat, the tow-line tautened, and the Swift gradually moved off in the direction of the barges.

Meanwhile Hume had met a boat half-way from the shore, with the chief engineer on board, and taking him in, waited till the shore boat had rowed out of hearing, then shaped for the barges.

“You are shaping a wrong course for the Swift, Mr Hume.”

“We are making for two barges laden with coal, Mr Dixon.”

“Oh, oh, what’s in the wind?”

“These beggars won’t give us coal, so we mean to take it. We will approach the barges quietly, board them, and secure the people on board. Will you assist us, Mr Dixon?”

“Certainly, my boy; and what’s the Captain doing meanwhile?”

“He’ll be alongside very soon after we have done our business. No doubt he’s on the move now, with a tow-line out. Gently, men, I think I see the loom of something dark.”

They stole softly up to the unwieldy boats, going alongside one which had an awning forward, made the boat fast, then clambered on deck. One of the sailors walked along the broadside, and reconnoitred. There were two men only, sleeping on a rough bed of sacks, their forms dimly outlined by the light of a lantern. He then crossed to the other boat, which was unoccupied. He made his report, and next minute the sleepers were aroused to find four men standing over them. They permitted themselves to be bound without a murmur, on an assurance from Hume that they would not be harmed.

A few minutes later the Swift crept up, took in her boat, and got up steam.

“Make fast the tow-line to the barges, Mr Hume,” came an order from the Captain.

“It is done, sir.”

“Cut the moorings.”

The rope was cut, and the Swift steamed out, towing the barges, until she had rounded the south-western point below Funchal, when she dropped anchor, and all hands, including the two Portuguese sailors, were hard at it, transferring her coal to the torpedo-catcher. The coal was in sacks, the steam tackle was set in motion, and with a loud noise that sooner or later would reach the ears of the people ashore, the precious cargo was swung on board and shot down the shoots, covering every part of the deck and rigging with grit. The long, low steamer lay sandwiched between the barges, and while the steam tackle worked aft, forward the sacks were handled by the men, everyone, except Miss Anstrade and Mr Commins, lending a willing hand.

They had been hard at work for an hour, when a confused babble of shouting was heard from the port, and shortly after they saw a shaft of light shoot into the sky and glance across the harbour. It was the flash-light from the little fort, and no doubt revealed the absence of steamer and coal barges.

Presently they heard the beat of engines—a steamer’s light appeared round the point.

“Show a light, Mr Webster. We don’t want to be run down.”

A red light was hung out over the stem.

“Keep on with your work,” shouted the Captain, as the men paused to watch the progress of the steamer.

“Carambo! Señor Capitaine, what in the devil’s name is the meaning of this?” shouted a deep voice from the steamer, in furious accents.

“Quien es?”

“Demonios! Colonel Alvaro, commander of the fort. What mean you by moving off like a thief in the dark? It is an offence against Portugal and the laws.”

Captain Pardoe laughed. “I am merely taking coal for which I am willing to pay. Will you receive the money?”

“Yes,” said a strange voice; “I represent the coal company.”

There was an altercation on board the tug, for such it proved to be.

“I protest, Colonel Alvaro. When I have received payment you may do what you like. Lower a boat.”

Colonel Alvaro gave way, the boat was lowered, and a young Englishman stepped on board, who was immediately taken below, where he made a good bargain.

“Now, Captain,” he said, after securing a roll of notes, “you have acted in a high-handed manner, and it is no business of mine to help you, but the sooner you move the better. The warship Esperanza has been signalled, and will be here in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” said the Captain, with a grim smile; “we can look after ourselves. Mr Webster, release the soldiers, and let them return with these gentlemen.”

Webster did so, and could not forbear chaffing Lieutenant Gobo. “We are no match for you, Lieutenant, in resource, but you see we are having our own way.”

“Matre de Dios!” cried the Lieutenant, grinding his teeth, “you will pay for this, you base picaro!” and he shot a vengeful glance at Webster and Hume, who stood close by, their faces black with coal-dust.

Little did they dream that Gobo would make good his threat.

The tug waited for its boat, then steamed away towards the harbour at great speed, Colonel Alvaro and Lieutenant Gobo shouting a string of threats as to what they would do on their return.

Mr Dixon reported that the bunkers were filled.

“Stack a row of sacks along the sides, and have them lashed. Get a full head of steam up. Mr Webster, cast this boat off from the port side.”

Soon the steam from the escape pipe set up its shrill clamour.

The Captain mounted to the bridge, and with his night glass fixed to his eye searched the mouth of the harbour.

“See that row of lights, Captain?” said Miss Laura.

“A steamer just entering the harbour.”

“And there is another light moving.”

“That is the tug which just left us. Is there much more coal left, Mr Webster?”

“About fifty sacks, sir, I should say.”

“Whip them in, then. All firemen get below.” He approached the tube. “Stand by, Mr Dixon!”

The steamer which had just entered the harbour put out her lights, but there was a glow from her funnels which revealed her movements, as it grew rapidly brighter.

“All aboard!” shouted the Captain. “Cast off the barge!” The men clambered from the barge, and the unwieldy craft was shoved away.

“Full speed ahead!”

The water was lashed by the screws, the Swift vibrated like a living thing, and shot away, leaving the barges rocking on the swell she had kicked up.

“Surely, Captain,” said Miss Anstrade, “that steamer is following us!”

“She is, Miss Laura, sure enough. It is the Brazilian ship Esperanza, Captain Don Juarez.”

“Don Juarez,” said the girl, in a startled whisper. “O, Santissima Maria,” she added, with a passionate cry, “that treacherous dog, the murderer of my brother! Captain Pardoe, you must not fly. Mr Webster, listen to me.”

“Laura, my dear girl,” said Mr Commins, laying his hand on her arm.

She shook him off with an angry gesture, and turned her flashing eyes on the Captain, while her bosom heaved.

Some of the men had heard her cry, and stood near the bridge.

“Men,” she said, in quick, excited tones, “hear me! That is a Brazilian warship behind. It is commanded by a man who has done me a most fearful wrong. You are Englishmen, and I ask you—”

“Enough, madam,” whispered Pardoe sternly. Then, raising his voice, “Clear the guns for action.”

The Quartermaster’s shrill whistle rang out in immediate response, and in reply a flame of fire leapt out from the darkness astern, followed by the screech of a shell.

Chapter Ten.

Pursued.

The Swift was a formidable fighting ship, though built to tackle the midgets of the sea—the 130 feet torpedo boats. She had no torpedo-tube in the stem, which had been strengthened for ramming; but she carried two tubes at the stern, one four-inch quick-firing gun, two six-pounders forward, and two twelve-pounders on pedestals. Including the officers, there were twenty men to work the ship and guns, and a staff of ten firemen and engineers. The seamen were picked men, tempted by high pay, and all of them showed the unmistakable stamp of strict training and discipline. They were, in fact, men of the Naval Reserve, recruited by the Quartermaster—hard, weather-beaten, and, except when off duty, still-mouthed. The Quartermaster, Henderson, was black-bearded and swarthy, like the Captain, and it was rumoured among the men that this was not the first time the two of them had shipped in the same capacity in blockade-running in the wars of South American Republics. The conning-tower, a small chamber, fitted with tubes, knobs, levers, and a spare wheel, and walled in with thick plates of toughened steel, was just forward of the first funnel. Beyond it was a turtle-backed deck of iron, and on either side were the six-pounders, protected by bullet-proof shields. The Captain could fire the aft torpedo guns by electricity from the conning-tower.

“Clear the guns for action, and slacken speed.”

The shrill, clear notes of the whistle rang out the sharp summons, and the men sprang to their positions with an alacrity which had not marked their actions when threatened by the British warships. Then they had done their duty sullenly, with a sense of ill-omen at having to encounter their own flag; but now they were on a different footing in respect to this new foe, and eager to be at some other game than always on the run.

“If our Captain’s half as good at fighting as he is at running,” growled the sailor known as Dick the Owl, for his night eye, “we’ll have a bellyful, eh, mate? and good luck to it.”

“Eh, it’s a queer thing, Dick, that we navy men should be under these port-to-port cargo and hat-box carriers, but the Captain’s got red lights in his head when there’s danger afoot, and maybe he’ll be a good ’un to follow.”

“As good as any you would find on the bridge of any battleship afloat, my men,” said Lieutenant Webster, who had been standing by unobserved.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the men, touching their caps.

“That’s all right, my men; we’ve got to know each other yet,” replied the Lieutenant, with a kindliness that won their hearts. “Wash down the decks first,” he cried; “we’ll not go down to Davy’s locker disguised in soot, like imps of darkness. Out with the hose.”

The men laughed as they screwed on the hose to the hydrants and poured on a stream of water, sweeping the grimy decks from stem to stern.

“Now, get below for a sluice and a dram,” cried the cheery voice of the Lieutenant, whose idea of handling a crew was not according to naval instructions. The men trooped down the narrow companion-way laughing and joking in their excitement; but the roar of the enemy’s guns, as he fell round to port, and brought his starboard broadside to bear, was a summons that brought them tumbling on deck again ere they had time to wipe their mouths with a backhanded swipe.

“Steady, men, and to your quarters,” said the Captain quietly; “all but the men for the big gun, who will go below.”

Five men had taken their position about the big gun, which stood with its chase pointing up, as though looking away to the horizon for its enemy. These men stood astonished at the order.

“Below, men,” said Lieutenant Webster, approaching them; “you’ll not be wanted till morning,” he added, as he noted their sidelong looks.

They went down in silence; and, by the pressure of a button in the conning-tower, the Captain lowered the long gun into the deck, the same machinery sliding a heavy shield of toughened steel over the opening left by its disappearance. This gun had been specially built for the catcher, and was of a larger calibre than the guns usually carried by that kind of craft. It rose or fell on a strong powerful lever, on a modified principle used for the disappearing guns; and the frame of the ship had been strengthened amidships to bear the strain. It could be loaded and fought on deck, or loaded below and fired from the conning-tower when at close quarters, and had been christened “The Ghost,” after a trial made before reaching Madeira. “The Ghost” was turned out at the Elswick Works, and could fire sixty fifty-pound projectiles in ten minutes.

“We’ve laid our ghost,” said Webster to Hume, who, being quite fresh to this part of the business, stood looking out into the blackness astern in a state of suspense; “we’ve laid our ghost, and must raise theirs.”

“Is that you, Mr Webster?” said the Captain, leaning over the bridge.

“Yes, sir!”

“I must ask you to go to your cabin.”

“To my cabin, sir?”

“Yes; I will not want you till daybreak, and you will fight all the better, then, for a good sleep. Take off the men from the six-pounders—the fewer on board the better.”

Webster went below with six men from the two guns, leaving on deck eight hands in all to work the ship and the two twelve-pounders. One of these was at the wheel in the conning-tower; another was stationed forward on the lookout; and the others were in two steel towers, which were aft, about three feet above the deck, protecting the men from the hail of missiles that might be discharged from the machine guns, while their sloping sides would deflect larger projectiles.

“Mr Hume!”

“Sir.”

“Join me on the bridge.”

Frank mounted to the low bridge, and went close to the dark figure of the Captain for companionship. They were unprotected by steel armour, and for himself he experienced a feeling of complete helplessness. He felt that up there he was a mark for every gun aimed at the Swift, and that without any power of retaliation.

“It is a fine night,” he said aimlessly, looking up at the starry sky.

“A very fine night, indeed,” said the Captain, taking hold of his beard with both hands; “but there’ll be rain in the morning.”

Frank brought his eyes down from the stare to a red eye that gleamed far astern.

The Captain took a couple of steps, and spoke down the tube: “Please attend to your fires; there are too many sparks.”

Frank wondered at the Captain’s quiet tones. Usually he was sharp and rough; now he spoke as though he were asking for a second cup of tea.

“I knew it,” said the Captain.

The red eye astern was dimmed by two livid flashes. Frank heard the dull reports, and then with a thrill down his back listened to the cry of the shells as they sped on. The enemy had as yet done no damage, but he knew that these shrieking messengers had at last scented their foe. He jerked his head violently as the shriek rose to a fiendish scream, and a swift rush of air swept across his face, whilst the crushing of iron behind him told that the shot had struck. It passed through the forward funnel as though it had been a sheet of paper, and the smoke came pouring out of the holes.

“They’ve got our range at last, and it’s lucky for us they have no search-light.”

“I’ll go and get my rifle,” said Frank.

The Captain chuckled: “She’s a mile off, at least; and if not, you might just as well puff at a whale with a pea-shooter. Still, I know how you feel. It’s devilish hard to stand fire without giving back.” He raised his voice: “Fire!”

The twelve-pounders spoke together, belching out balls of fast revolving smoke, and spurring the ship on with their recoil.

“It’s no good, of course,” muttered the Captain; “but it will encourage them to keep up the chase.”

“Why not give them the big gun, Captain?” asked Frank impatiently.

“A waste of ammunition; and we’ll want all we have when we get near the end of our voyage. I could turn and engage them, but I like to see what I am about, and all I want to do now is to encourage them. There she goes round; see her port lights; she’ll give us another broadside, and do you count the flashes.”

“Count the flashes,” thought Frank; “does he think this is a review?”

The twelve-pounders let go at the row of lights, and as the smoke rolled away there came a muffled roar, and in an instant, it seemed to Frank, the air was full of shells. The water was cup up astern, and one projectile struck the turtle-backed deck forward, and went humming into the black of the night.

“She carries six guns to the broadside, I think. What do you make it?”

“A dozen, at least, Captain, and heavy metal,” said Frank, wetting his lips.

“No more than six and twelve-pounders. A larger shell sets up a different music, as you will soon learn. Still, I don’t like it; their gunners are too smart.”

The Captain took a turn up and down the bridge, then sent a shout to the Quartermaster to cease fire.

“Mr Hume, you will find a life-belt on the starboard side, opposite the hatchway, with a canister attached. Cut it adrift.”

Frank found the belt, and sent it overboard.

“Keep her three spokes to port.”

The steersman starboarded the helm, and the Swift went off at an angle to her former course, whilst the canister, on reaching the water, flared out in a brilliant blaze in the ship’s former wake.

Before Frank had reached the bridge the enemy had come round and fired his two forward guns, then, keeping on to port, quickly let go his starboard broadside. The water about the floating flare was dashed up in showers.

The Captain slapped Hume on the back as he reached the bridge.

“That’s a simple trick, eh! and we could slip away as easy as winking if we had a mind to. Lord, won’t they howl when they find how they have been done!”

There came a hearty guffaw from the towers aft as the men saw through the Captain’s joke.

“Lord, there he goes again,” as the forward guns again belched forth; “what a ferocious devil the commander must be! He takes that light to be a signal, and imagines he is firing at a crippled ship, the devil.”

The Quartermaster came forward. “The enemy has slackened off, sir.”

“Is that so?” said the Captain, taking a long look at the steamer’s lights. “Ha, I have it,” and he smacked his fist in his hand, showing the first symptoms of excitement. “He thinks we’ve gone down, and we’ll lay-to till morning, which can’t be far off.”

“There’ll be grey light in an hour, sir.”

The Captain kept his eye on the steamer’s light, which rose and fell, but kept its place.

“Quartermaster, take your men below for some hot grog and a bite, and rouse Mr Webster.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

The Captain went to the tube. “Slacken speed, Mr Dixon, and be very careful with your fires. Starboard your helm; bring her round.”

The Swift went round with a steady swing, bringing the enemy’s light on her port bows, instead of over her starboard stern rails.

The men lingered awhile to see the manoeuvre finished, and then went below, satisfied there was to be a fight.

“Keep her on that course now,” said the Captain to the steersman.

“Mr Webster,” he continued, as that officer stepped briskly up and took a glance round, “see that everything is in readiness, and that the men take their positions without a word. Within an hour the fight will begin.”

“Begin, sir? You’ve been at it this past three hours, and I’ve been in and out of my bunk a dozen—times, while the men are all on the quiver.”

“We haven’t come to knocks yet. I’ll present my card in the morning with a fifty-pound rat-tat.”

Webster laughed gaily as he set about his duties, and presently the men gathered silently to their posts, some of them every now and again stealing to the sides to make out the whereabouts of the enemy and the meaning of the manoeuvre, which puzzled them, as one might gather from their whispered arguments.

The Swift doubled back towards the eastern horizon, where the darkness was quickly melting into the grey of dawn, and a deep silence rested on the ship, and over the shining heave of waters. Slowly the enemy’s light was overhauled, then sank astern, but the Swift kept on its way until a tint of pink appeared in the sky and the stars suddenly paled.

“The time has come,” said the Captain. “Are you all ready?”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came the answer in suppressed tones.

“Round with her, my man, on the port tack.”

The Swift rushed round, and there was a murmur of admiring criticism from the old tars as they now understood the meaning of the Captain’s manoeuvre.

“They are satisfied now,” said the Captain, grimly, to Frank. “They thought all along, I’ll be bound, that I could not fight this ship.”

“I confess, sir, I don’t understand your tactics.”

“Well, I suppose you don’t. The enemy’s fighting strength is evidently in her bow guns. So is ours. I have got the ’vantage of her by going into action on her beam. Mark me, before she can bear her bow guns on us she’ll be crippled. Full steam ahead!” he shouted, and the low craft rushed forward.

The whole horizon on the east was now bathed in light, and in a moment the blood-red disc of the sun flamed above the black line of the waters, while streamers of light shot into the sky. Straight ahead there rose a dark object. A shaft of golden light stretching across the waters struck full upon it, and there stood out in a glory of softest fire the tall masts and long black hull of the Brazilian ship. She was at rest, rising and falling gently; but there was a terrible awakening in store. Every minute brought her into clearer relief, though from the dark background beyond there was a blur about her deck, out of which, however, presently there emerged distinct objects—her boats, her bridge unoccupied, the gilt scroll under her stern, over which idly dropped the Brazilian flag; and last of all, the chases of her port broadside grimly projecting, with a glint of red sunlight on their smooth cylinders.

The two vessels were now distant about six hundred yards, and at last the careless lookout on the Brazilian ship saw something alarming astern in the fierce rush of the low grey craft. Some men dashed up the rigging to get a better view, and a small group gathered on the bridge.

“We’ll wake ’em up!” shouted the Captain, springing into the conning-tower and pressing a button, which brought up “The Ghost” from its bed.

The real action had begun; the night’s work had been child’s play. There was a terrific din as the long gun threw shot after shot, and in ten minutes a dense bank of smoke enveloped the Swift. The firing was suspended a minute.

The Captain stood in the conning-tower, his hands on the wheel, and his eyes fixed in a narrow slit under the steel roof. Giving a turn of the wheel to starboard, he brought the stem free of the smoke, and saw the enemy slowly gathering way, while men rushed about her decks in a state of terrible confusion at this sudden tempest of shells that had poured upon them.

Some damage had been done evidently, but principally to her top rigging. And now she spoke from her stern guns, but not allowing sufficiently for her height, the first stinging flight of shells went over the catcher.

“Stand by the six-pounders!” cried the Captain, his voice rising to a roar. “Depress your muzzle, Mr Webster! Fire!”

Again there was another tremendous fusillade, continuous and deafening, while the men’s eyes smarted from the sulphur in the smoke, and their throats grew dry and husky. For five minutes the rain of lead was kept up, and from the three guns one hundred projectiles tore into the sloop, plunged along the port side, and shattered her rigging. Lieutenant Webster devoted his second storm of fire at the stern guns, and the stanchions and bulwarks about them were ripped up, and the guns themselves dismounted.

The order to cease fire was again given, and the Captain made a point to starboard just as the sloop was swinging round to bring her port broadside to bear.

The ships were now but two hundred yards off, the sloop bearing off from the port quarter of the catcher in her attempt to come round and bring her bow guns to bear. Once she could do that she could blow the Swift out of the water, but Captain Pardoe had foreseen the manoeuvre and was ready for it. Counting upon the narrow turning power of his boat, he swept on, and suddenly put the wheel hard to port, bringing the vessel round within her own length, and bringing the boats stern to stern. At the same moment he flashed the signal below to fire the stern torpedoes. Then he stepped out to watch the effect, and the men, with heaving chests and smoke-blackened faces, from which their eyes glared with the fever of battle, watched too. There was a cry from the deck of the sloop, as they saw the leap from the tubes of the two torpedoes, a hoarse cry from the Captain to the man at the wheel, a terrible pause, and then two lines of bubbles below the water marked the swift rush of the deadly tubes. One line, it was seen, would continue free of the ship, the other went straight for her stern, and a sailor, in a mad fit of rage, first discharged his rifle at the approaching torpedo, then plunged overboard with a wild yell. A moment later there was a muffled roar, a vast column of water was thrown up, followed by a rending and grinding noise. The stern of the sloop was raised, then settled down in the trough of a great sea raised by the explosion. The torpedo had reached its mark, and Captain Pardoe stood by to give what assistance he could.

There was the wildest consternation on board the sloop, and the rending noise continued; but though she lay helplessly on the water she showed no signs of sinking.

The men on board the Swift set up a hoarse cheer, and shook each other by the hand.

“It’s twenty minutes since we went into action,” said Webster, wiping the blood from his brow. “Three cheers for our Captain, men!” and waving his hat, he led the hurrahs.

“For the love of God,” cried a voice in English from the sloop, “help us!”

“Strike your flag!” cried the Captain.

The gay flag came down, and the Captain brought the Swift nearer. “What is the matter?”

“Your cursed torpedo has blown away our propeller, and the shaft—oh, Sancta Maria!—listen to it!—is breaking the ship.”

“Why don’t you shut off steam?”

“Our engineer is dead. Demonios! Don’t talk, but act.”

“I’ll send our engineer to you.”

“Quick, quick!”

Mr Dixon came up from the bowels of the Swift, where, without the stimulant of action, he had stood by his work, animating his men with a quiet courage, which was the finer because he stood in absolute darkness regarding the progress of the fight, and knew that at any moment he might be sent to the bottom a helpless victim in an iron prison. His face was white and streaming with perspiration, and at the first touch of the cold air he reeled with dizziness, but when told what was required of him, he prepared for his new task without a word. The Swift moved gently under the tall sides of the sloop, and the engineer, with Webster, Hume, and six men, were quickly on board. Mr Dixon went at once to the engine-room, whence proceeded a truly infernal din.

“Where Is the Captain?” asked Webster of a dozen men round him.

A short, thick-set, bullet-headed man, with a neck like a bull, and moustaches that reached up to his ears, stepped forward.

“Your sword, Señor Juarez!”

“I must know to whom I am asked to surrender.”

“To the National flag,” said Webster haughtily.

“Carambo! that is an excellent jest. Is the flag broad enough to cover the ships of every nation? And why should I surrender my sword?” he asked, with a fierce scowl, while his officers drew near threateningly.

Webster stepped quickly to the bulwarks, and called to Captain Pardoe to stand away.

That officer went at once full speed astern, and lay-to a cable length off, with the men at their guns.

“You see?” said Webster.

The Brazilian Captain, with a terrible malediction, broke his sword over his knee.

“A thousand thunders!” he roared, while the black blood swelled in his temples, “to think I should have been beaten by that—that thing—and scarcely a boat’s crew hurt!”

“It is the fortune of war,” said Webster, looking around. “But while we talk the ship may be sinking for want of a little sailor-like care. Have you a spare sail, señor?”

The Brazilian Captain folded his arms and spat on the deck.

“You surly brute!” cried Webster. “Here, men, cut away the mizzen sail!”

In a trice the British sailors swarmed up to the mizzen yard and cast loose the sail, which came down with a thud, knocking a couple of yellow-faced sailors off their legs, whereat the tars up aloft laughed. At this a dozen of the enemy drew their knives and looked to their Captain for a word.

It was a ticklish moment, and Hume pulled out a revolver, which he instantly presented at Juarez.

“Good, my lad,” said Webster. “Shoot him down if he moves a foot. Do you understand, señor?”

Juarez glared like a wild beast, and a hoarse, unintelligible cry escaped from his thick lips, but he kept quiet, while Webster, without another look at the scowling group, quickly slipped the great sail over the side, and had it drawn round and up over the damaged stern.

In the meantime Mr Dixon, working down below, had stopped the engines and explored the shaft funnel, ascertaining the extent of the damage done by the shaft in its unchecked revolutions. He came on deck, wearied out, to be met by dark looks.

“What’s the meaning of this?” said he.

“The meaning is,” cried Webster, with a bitter look of contempt round, “that these cowardly hounds won’t lift a finger to help us, and I’m damned if my men will do another stroke to save them! Let the ship sink, and she is sinking fast.”

“And you’ll sink with us!” roared Juarez. “Down with them; slit their throats!”

There was a rush of men, and the little party were hemmed in.

A young officer bounded forward with drawn sword, and wheeling round, faced his men.

“Diavolo!” he hissed through his clenched teeth, “what devil’s game is this? You called to these gentlemen in your fear to help you, and now you would turn on them like base assassins. I tell you,” he cried passionately, “it shall not be!”

Webster and Hume, with their blue eyes flashing, ranged up on either side of their unexpected friend, while the British tars stood with their cutlasses ready.

Captain Pardoe, seeing something amiss, drew near. “Do you hear,” he shouted, “if you harm my men I’ll let go a torpedo.”

The young officer repeated the message, and the men whispered among themselves, then threw down their arms.

Juarez shot a venomous look at his officer, and placed his foot upon a knife, which, presently, he drew toward him.

Webster thanked the gallant foe for his assistance, and assured him that the sloop would keep afloat until they reached Madeira. He then turned to the side to speak to Captain Pardoe, while Frank Hume walked aft to see what damage had been wrought by the fire of the catcher.

There was a cry, and they turned to see the young officer fall, struck to the heart by the vengeful Captain. The next instant Juarez himself was cut to the deck by a slashing blow from a cutlass.

At this act of black treachery the small boarding party were ready to make a furious rush, but the sloop’s officers and men looked on themselves appalled, while a young fellow, quite a boy, flung himself on the officer’s body in a passion of grief, then suddenly springing up, drew his knife and advanced towards Juarez.

“Enough!” said Webster sternly.

“Kill the black-hearted dog!” screamed the Brazilian sailors, giving vent to their hate for their brutal commander, which no doubt had been long pent up.

“I see,” said Webster, with a grim smile; “we must get this fellow on board to save him from his friends.”

He signalled to the Swift, and when she came alongside, Juarez, who still breathed heavily, was lowered to her deck.

“What’s to be done with the sloop, sir?”

“Oh, leave her, if she can float, and think ourselves lucky to be free of a gang of prisoners.”

“She can reach Madeira by means of her sails.”

“Take a look round, then, and come aboard.”

Webster and Hume went aft, where all the damage done by the Swift’s guns had taken place, and there they found the bulwarks smashed to splinters, the two guns overturned, and the deck wet with blood from a dozen dead.

With a last word of advice to the gloomy and silent officers of the sloop, Webster stepped overboard, and very soon the Swift went on her way.

Chapter Eleven.

A Painful Scene.

The stricken sloop lay like a log on the ocean as the Swift stretched along into the Atlantic. In less than half an hour she had been struck down, maimed, and humbled by an enemy which she had treated with contempt.

“Why didn’t you sink her?” said Commins softly, coming to the side of Captain Pardoe, who stood with a dull flush in his face, fixedly regarding the labouring sloop. “You are fighting for the National Government. Why didn’t you sink her?”

Pardoe turned and regarded the man at his side under his brows for a moment. “What a devil you are, Commins!”

“Am I really?” remarked Commins imperturbably; “but, however flattering to my sagacity, that is scarcely an answer to my question. You have committed a blunder, Pardoe, and if the authorities at Rio were informed of it they might—I’m not saying they would, mind you—but they might court-martial you.”

“Court-martial me for smashing an enemy’s ship? You’re a fool, Commins!”

“Pardon me, but you have not smashed the enemy. There he goes leisurely on his way back to port after you had him in your power, and if either of us is to be called a fool I am inclined to think you are entitled to that honour. Take my advice: go back and sink that ship.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Certainly, in your own interests. The Brazilian Admiral would be the last man to suppose you had let the enemy escape from motives of humanity. And, then, you saved the life of that fiend, Juarez.”

“Juarez is my prisoner.”

“Yes, truly; but, observe how absurd your case would be when you say to the Admiral: ‘I let the warship escape, but I have brought you her Captain, who would have been assassinated by his own crew.’”

“I see you have already placed me on my trial,” said Pardoe dryly. “I presume you wish me to murder Juarez as well as to sink the ship?”

“You have a brutal way with you, Pardoe, as befits, no doubt, a brave sailor; but it jars. As for Juarez, it may give our friends some pleasure to dispose of him at Rio, though his presence on board will cause me a feeling of nausea; but it is necessary that you should do your work thoroughly, and for your safety, and the success of our mission, you must destroy that ship.”

“I must!” said the Captain, with a dark look.

“Well, there is no compulsion; but that is my opinion, and the opinion of Miss Laura de Anstrade.”

“You lie!”

Commins grew white to the lips, and his gloved fingers, resting on the bridge rail, trembled, but recovering himself, he said: “I will bring her here, and you shall receive the orders from her own lips,” then left the bridge.

Captain Pardoe flung himself round, took a hasty turn up and down the cramped bridge, then, with a stern and angry visage, faced Miss Anstrade.

She came swiftly, with a rustling of skirts, and a faint perfume that seemed strangely out of place, as much out of place as would be the inhuman order from her woman’s lips to destroy a helpless ship. Her large eyes glared with a feverish light, her breast heaved, and her hands were clutched in a sort of hysterical passion.

“Captain Pardoe,” she cried, in a thin, unnatural voice, “why have you let that ship escape?”

“Because, madam, I had not men enough to work her, and she would never have reached Rio.”

“No; but she can reach the bottom.”

“Good God!” he muttered, his face turning an ashen grey, “Miss Laura, you cannot mean that?”

“Yes; but I do!” she said, with a gasp.

“Then,” he said fiercely, “you must put someone else in command.”

“Oh, no, no!” she cried, “I never—”

“Be firm,” whispered Commins; “think how your case will be strengthened. If you can say you have destroyed one of the enemy’s ships. Remember your brother!”

Captain Pardoe noticed the action, and, pointing to Commins, he said bitterly: “Appoint that man your Captain, madam; he alone is capable of such an act, and perhaps Juarez would assist him.”

“It is policy,” whispered Commins.

The name of Juarez had a strange effect on the girl. She drew herself up, and in a hard voice called Lieutenant Webster.

He, seeing something unusual occurring, as, indeed, had all those on the main-deck, had drawn near.

“At your service, madam,” he said, with a hasty look at Captain Pardee’s dark face.

“I wish to appoint you Captain, Mr Webster.”

“Thank you, madam!”

Commins smiled as Pardoe threw his head up with a snort of indignant surprise.

“Mr Pardoe has refused to obey orders. I beg your pardon, what were you about to say?”

“I don’t think I wish to say anything, madam, and I’d rather not hear anything more;” saying which, Webster, with a distressed look on his frank face, stepped by, and stood beside Captain Pardoe.

“Ah!” cried Miss Anstrade, “you desert me for him. Let it be so. I would rather know at once whom I may trust.” The weakness and hesitation which at first she had shown disappeared, giving place to a feeling of wounded pride. She drew herself up, and regarded the two officers scornfully, forgetting, as only an angry woman can, the services they had already performed.

“I will have you placed on board yonder ship with that defeated crew, and perhaps then, when they turn their fury on you, you will repent your ingratitude. Once before I had to turn to these gallant sailors in order to shame you into doing your duty, and now, with confidence, I will appeal to them once more.” Her voice rang out clear and loud, and, charmed herself by the sound, she dwelt on her words. The men edged up, looking at the group on the bridge; and, if she had not been carried away by the confidence of her tone, she would have seen that their aspect was not friendly to her or to the man at her side. Hot, and most of them bleeding from a fight into which they had been led with courage and skill by their officers, it was not to be thought that they would, on the bidding of a woman, turn their backs upon their leaders. Commins was quick to note their bearing, and so was Hume, who stood by, amazed at the scene.

As she stood there with a proud smile on her lips, Frank swung himself up, unceremoniously shouldered Commins away, and stood by her side.

“Men,” he said, “it is a fine custom after a fight for the Captain to thank his officers and men, and one that should be kept up by us. This lady is our commander, and she wishes to thank you all for the splendid courage with which you have fought at this engagement against a foe of double our strength.”

“Sir,” she said, recovering from the shock of surprise, “what is the meaning of this insolence?”

“For Heaven’s sake,” whispered Commins, “let him speak. Don’t you see the men side with them?”

She flashed a startled look over the upturned faces, then, with a motion of her hand, signified to Frank to continue.

“Say a word to them, madam, yourself.”

“Do you command me?” she asked haughtily.

“No, madam, I implore.”

With a terrible look at Commins she went forward, and with a smiling face, though her hands were clenched, she thanked them.

The men touched their caps, but they lingered, casting puzzled glances at the Captain and Lieutenant.

“If so please you, mam,” said the big Quartermaster in deep tones, “we’d like to know what’s been said by way of thanks to the Captain for the handsome way he took the ship into action, and to the Lieutenant for the way he worked ‘The Ghost’ Isn’t it so, mates?”

There was a deep growl of assent.

“My men,” said the Captain, in a deep bass that had a thrilling touch of emotion in it, “I am pleased with you, and I think you are satisfied with me and with the ship. And all of us are proud of the young lady, who, trusting herself fully in our keeping, has so bravely shared our dangers.”

“Three cheers for the lady,” sang out Dick the Owl; and “God bless her!” chimed in the Quartermaster.

The ship rang again to the shouts of the men, and Commins slipped below.

Miss Laura coloured, then grew white, but the Captain was too experienced a man to show his triumph, though he could not forbear one shot:

“If you will allow me, madam, I will go to my cabin, for I have been on the bridge all night.”

“All night! you are cruel to remind me of it, Captain.”

“Am I Captain again, then?”

“Go to your room, sir,” she said, with a frown, “and consider yourself under arrest till eight bells. Now, Mr Webster,” she continued, with a sudden change of manner, “you will show me over the ship, and explain to me all about the action. I see you are wounded.”

“Merely a scratch, madam, from a flying link from the anchor chain.”

He led the way down, and Hume and the Captain, lingering on the bridge, saw her chatting with the men, and examining the damage done aft, where a flight of missiles had struck the deck.

“That was a timely speech of yours, Hume,” said the Captain, “and saved us from an awkward fix, for had the men once got the notion that they had done me an obligation, there would have been an end to discipline, tried men as they are. I am not satisfied that we have a plain course before us, for we have to reckon with that man Commins, and the whims of a young lady.”

“She appears to be quite reconciled now,” remarked Hume.

“Maybe, and I hope so, but a woman can sail under false colours and dummy portholes without a sign of her real feelings. See the way she’s smoothing down Black Henderson. I shouldn’t wonder if she’s scheming to gain the men over in preparation for the next mad-brained jamboree.”

“What relation does Mr Commins hold to her?”

“That is no business of ours,” said the Captain gruffly, “and harkee, my lad, remember that you are sailing under her orders, and that you have to stand by her, and not me.” With that he swung down below, leaving Frank to his own reflections, which were not of the brightest. He noticed that Miss Anstrade had ignored his presence, and wondered whether she was displeased at his interference, then dwelt on the influence which Mr Commins undoubtedly exercised over her, and finally blamed himself for having committed himself to this mad venture. His thoughts went back to his uncle, and to the promise which he had given to search for that impossible Golden Rock, and he asked himself if he would not have been happier had he started on that forlorn enterprise; but, even as he thought, his mental image of that imaginary rock faded away before the visible presence of the wayward, passionate girl whose beauty had already beguiled him.

She had parted from Webster, who was busy with the men, and came slowly picking her way over the litter of coal scattered from the bags by a shell which had ripped up the whole row on the port side, her one hand stretched gracefully to its full length at her side to hold up her skirts, the other at her throat holding a black mantilla which framed her face. Passing up to the bridge, she leant forward with her elbows on the rails, the wide lace on her sleeves falling back and disclosing shapely arms, and, with her chin in her hands, looked dreamily over the grey sea to a faint blur which marked the toiling sloop. She had not noticed him by so much as a glance, and, accepting this as a hint, he put the length of the bridge between him and her.

“Mr Hume.”

He turned, but she was still absorbed in watching the sloop.

“Must I call twice?” she said in her low, rich tones; and he was by her side.

“I feared I had offended you by my interference.”

“And would my displeasure disturb you?” she asked, reclining her head until she could look at him, and so keeping it.

Frank thought of Captain Pardoe, and wondered if she could be acting a part.

“Why do you look at me so? Tell me, what do you think of me?”

“I think you are very beautiful,” he said daringly, carried away by her beauty, and forgetting the part she had just played.

“Don’t. This is no ball-room interlude, and such a vapid compliment is out of place here. Be frank. Come, tell me.” She nestled her face more comfortably in her supporting palm, and looked at him with a faint smile that parted her lips.

“Don’t,” he murmured, repeating her word; “I am only human.”

“And I am not. Is that it? Well, perhaps you are right.”

“I did not say so. What I meant was, that if you look at me so—”

“Spare me! I detest explanations. Do you see that ship?” she turned her face to the labouring sloop. “It carries many souls—men who have friends waiting for them in some far-off hacienda, gleaming white in the bright sun, wives, mothers, and others as dear, who would grieve were they lost. You know, I had it in my head to sink that ship and all on board. What do you think of me? I would like to know.”

“It was a horrible fancy,” he said a little sternly; “but I do not believe you meant to carry it out.”

“Ah! you do not know me,” she whispered, with a shudder; “I am sometimes afraid of myself.”

“You brood too much over your sorrows. Why not come up here more often and talk with us?” he said, with a jealous thought of Commins.

“That is very good of you,” she answered demurely, with a swift change of expression; “and I appreciate the invitation all the more because of the evident implication that I alone am to benefit from it.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said hastily; “what I meant—”

“Yes, yes; how dull you are, Mr Hume!”

“I am sorry you should think so, madam,” he answered stiffly.

“Now go off in a pet, and leave me to my own thoughts, which, of course, are very pleasant company for a lonely girl among a lot of morose and fiery men, who cannot see that the strain upon her is almost too much.” She said this with a smile, but Hume noticed that the lips trembled while they smiled, and that in the eyes there was a worn, almost wild, look.

“Take my arm, Miss Laura,” he said gently. “Let me tell you my story; it may interest you.”

She took his arm with almost a convulsive grasp, and for a moment she bent her head; then with a soft and womanly look she asked him to talk and not to heed her silence. So they paced up and down, six paces one way, six another, and were necessarily thrown together by the narrowness of the passage. He talked of his uncle, the tough old hunter, of the simple life he led, of his sacrifice and quiet death, and a sweeter look stole into her face.

“And so,” she said, “you have put aside the quest entrusted to you by that good old man and thrown in your lot with me? I thank you, but you must find the Golden Rock.”

“If it is there,” he said, smiling at her eagerness.

“Oh, it exists; I am sure of it. I can see the gleam of it now;” and she shaded her eyes with her hand.

“But it is not on the sea,” he said laughingly.

“I am looking beyond the sea, among your African mountains, to a flame that glows under the rays of the morning sun, and there is a ring of red around the flame. Ah! you will encounter many dangers.”

“What will it matter,” he said, “since I am alone in the world?”