George Manville Fenn

"Nic Revel"

Chapter One.

Captain Revel is Cross.

“Late again, Nic,” said Captain Revel.

“Very sorry, father.”

“Yes, you always are ‘very sorry,’ sir. I never saw such a fellow to sleep. Why, when I was a lad of your age—let’s see, you’re just eighteen.”

“Yes, father, and very hungry,” said the young man, with a laugh and a glance at the breakfast-table.

“Always are very hungry. Why, when I was a lad of your age I didn’t lead such an easy-going life as you do. You’re spoiled, Nic, by an indulgent father.—Here, help me to some of that ham.—Had to keep my watch and turn up on deck at all hours; glad to eat weavilly biscuit.—Give me that brown bit.—Ah, I ought to have sent you to sea. Made a man of you. Heard the thunder, of course?”

“No, father. Was there a storm?”

“Storm—yes. Lightning as we used to have it in the East Indies, and the rain came down like a waterspout.”

“I didn’t hear anything of it, father.”

“No; you’d sleep through an earthquake, or a shipwreck, or— Why, I say, Nic, you’ll soon have a beard.”

“Oh, nonsense, father! Shall I cut you some bread?”

“But you will,” said the Captain, chuckling. “My word, how time goes! Only the other day you were an ugly little pup of a fellow, and I used to wipe your nose; and now you’re as big as I am—I mean as tall.”

“Yes; I’m not so stout, father,” said Nic, laughing.

“None of your impudence, sir,” said the heavy old sea-captain, frowning. “If you had been as much knocked about as I have, you might have been as stout.”

Nic Revel could not see the common-sense of the remark, but he said nothing, and went on with his breakfast, glancing from time to time through the window at the glittering sea beyond the flagstaff, planted on the cliff which ran down perpendicularly to the little river that washed its base while flowing on towards the sea a mile lower down.

“Couldn’t sleep a bit,” said Captain Revel. “But I felt it coming all yesterday afternoon. Was I—er—a bit irritable?”

“Um—er—well, just a little, father,” said Nic dryly.

“Humph! and that means I was like a bear—eh, sir?”

“I did not say so, father.”

“No, sir; but you meant it. Well, enough to make me,” cried the Captain, flushing. “I will not have it. I’ll have half-a-dozen more watchers, and put a stop to their tricks. The land’s mine, and the river’s mine, and the salmon are mine; and if any more of those idle rascals come over from the town on to my grounds, after my fish, I’ll shoot ’em, or run ’em through, or catch ’em and have ’em tied up and flogged.”

“It is hard, father.”

“‘Hard’ isn’t hard enough, Nic, my boy,” cried the Captain angrily. “The river’s open to them below, and it’s free to them up on the moors, and they may go and catch them in the sea if they want more room.”

“If they can, father,” said Nic, laughing.

“Well, yes—if they can, boy. Of course it’s if they can with any one who goes fishing. But I will not have them come disturbing me. The impudent scoundrels!”

“Did you see somebody yesterday, then, father?”

“Didn’t you hear me telling you, sir? Pay attention, and give me some more ham. Yes; I’d been up to the flagstaff and was walking along by the side of the combe, so as to come back home through the wood path, when there was that great lazy scoundrel, Burge, over from the town with a long staff and a hook, and I was just in time to see him land a good twelve-pound salmon out of the pool—one of that half-dozen that have been lying there this fortnight past waiting for enough water to run up higher.”

“Did you speak to him, father?”

“Speak to him, sir!” cried the Captain. “I let him have a broadside.”

“What did he say, father?”

“Laughed at me—the scoundrel! Safe on the other side; and I had to stand still and see him carry off the beautiful fish.”

“The insolent dog!” cried Nic.

“Yes; I wish I was as young and strong and active as you, boy. I’d have gone down somehow, waded the river, and pushed the scoundrel in.”

He looked at his father and smiled.

“But I would, my boy: I was in such a fit of temper. Why can’t the rascals leave me and mine alone?”

“Like salmon, I suppose, father,” said the young man.

“So do we—but they might go up the river and catch them.”

“We get so many in the pool, and they tempt the idle people.”

“Then they have no business to fall into temptation. I’ll do something to stop them.”

“Better not, father,” said Nic quietly. “It would only mean fighting and trouble.”

“Bah!” cried Captain Revel, with his face growing redder than usual. “What a fellow to be my son! Why, sir, when I was your age I gloried in a fight.”

“Did you, father?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Ah! but you were in training for a fighting-man.”

“And I was weak enough, to please your poor mother, to let you be schooled for a bookworm, and a man of law and quips and quiddities, always ready to enter into an argument with me, and prove that black’s white and white’s no colour, as they say. Hark ye, sir, if it was not too late I’d get Jack Lawrence to take you to sea with him now. He’ll be looking us up one of these days soon. It’s nearly time he put in at Plymouth again.”

“No, you would not, father,” said the young man quietly.

“Ah! arguing again? Why not, pray?”

“Because you told me you were quite satisfied with what you had done.”

“Humph! Hah! Yes! so I did. What are you going to do this morning—read?”

“Yes, father; read hard.”

“Well, don’t read too hard, my lad. Get out in the fresh air a bit. Why not try for a salmon? They’ll be running up after this rain, and you may get one if there is not too much water.”

“Yes, I might try,” said the young man quietly; and soon after he strolled into the quaint old library, to begin poring over a heavy law-book full of wise statutes, forgetting everything but the task he had in hand; while Captain Revel went out to walk to the edge of the high cliff and sat down on the stone seat at the foot of the properly-rigged flagstaff Here he scanned the glittering waters, criticising the manoeuvres of the craft passing up and down the Channel on their way to Portsmouth or the port of London, or westward for Plymouth, dreaming the while of his old ship and the adventures he had had till his wounds, received in a desperate engagement with a couple of piratical vessels in the American waters, incapacitated him for active service, and forced him to lead the life of an old-fashioned country gentleman at his home near the sea.

Chapter Two.

A Wet Fight.

The Captain was having his after-dinner nap when Nic took down one of the rods which always hung ready in the hall, glanced at the fly to see if it was all right, and then crossed the garden to the fields. He turned off towards the river, from which, deep down in the lovely combe, came a low, murmurous, rushing sound, quite distinct from a deep, sullen roar from the thick woodland a few hundred yards to his right.

“No fishing to-day,” he said, and he rested his rod against one of the sturdy dwarf oaks which sheltered the house from the western gales, and then walked on, drawing in deep draughts of the soft salt air and enjoying the beauty of the scene around.

For the old estate had been well chosen by the Revels of two hundred years earlier; and, look which way he might, up or down the miniature valley, there were the never-tiring beauties of one of the most delightful English districts.

The murmur increased as the young man strode on down the rugged slope, or leaped from mossy stone to stone, amongst heather, furze, and fern, to where the steep sides of the combe grew more thickly clothed with trees, in and amongst which the sheep had made tracks like a map of the little valley, till all at once he stood at the edge of a huge mass of rock, gazing through the leaves at the foaming brown water which washed the base of the natural wall, and eddied and leaped and tore on along its zigzag bed, onward towards the sea.

From where he stood he gazed straight across at the other side of the combe, one mass of greens of every tint, here lit up by the sun, there deep in shadow; while, watered by the soft moist air and mists which rose from below, everything he gazed upon was rich and luxuriant in the extreme.

“The rain must have been tremendous up in the moor,” thought the young man, as he gazed down into the lovely gully at the rushing water, which on the previous day had been a mere string of stony pools connected by a trickling stream, some of them deep and dark, the haunts of the salmon which came up in their season from the sea. “What a change! Yesterday, all as clear as crystal; now, quite a golden brown.”

Then, thinking of how the salmon must be taking advantage of the little flood to run up higher to their spawning-grounds among the hills, Nic turned off to his right to follow a rugged track along the cliff-like side, sometimes low down, sometimes high up; now in deep shadow, now in openings where the sun shot through to make the hurrying waters sparkle and flash.

The young man went on and on for quite a quarter of a mile, with the sullen roar increasing till it became one deep musical boom; and, turning a corner where a portion of the cliff overhung the narrow path, and long strands of ivy hung down away from the stones, he stepped out of a green twilight into broad sunshine, to stand upon a shelf of rock, gazing into a circular pool some hundred feet across.

Here was the explanation of the deep, melodious roar. For, to his right, over what resembled a great eight-foot-high step in the valley, the whole of the little river plunged down from the continuation of the gorge, falling in one broad cascade in a glorious curve right into the pool, sending up a fine spray which formed a cloud, across which, like a bridge over the fall, the lovely tints of a rainbow played from time to time.

It was nothing new to Nic, that amphitheatre, into which he had gazed times enough ever since he was a child; but it had never seemed more lovely, nor the growth which fringed it from the edge of the water to fifty or sixty feet above his head more beautiful and green.

But he had an object in coming, and, following the shelf onward, he was soon standing level with the side of the fall, gazing intently at the watery curve and right into the pool where the water foamed and plunged down, rose a few yards away, and then set in a regular stream round and round the amphitheatre, a portion flowing out between two huge buttresses of granite, and then hurrying downstream.

Nic was about fifteen feet above the surface of the chaos of water, and a little above the head of the pool; while below him were blocks of stone, dripping bushes, and grasses, and then an easy descent to where he might have stood dry-shod and gazed beneath the curve of the falling water, as he had stood scores of times before.

But his attention was fixed upon the curve, and as he watched he saw something silvery flash out of the brown water and fall back into the pool where the foam was thickest.

Again he saw it, and this time it disappeared without falling back. For the salmon, fresh from the sea, were leaping at the fall to gain the upper waters of the river.

It was a romantic scene, and Nic stood watching for some minutes, breathing the moist air, while the spray began to gather upon his garments, and the deep musical boom reverberated from the rocky sides of the chasm.

It was a grand day for the fish, and he was thinking that there would be plenty of them right up the river for miles, for again and again he saw salmon flash into sight as, by one tremendous spring and beat of their tails, they made their great effort to pass the obstacle in their way.

“Plenty for every one,” he said to himself; “and plenty left for us,” he added, as he saw other fish fail and drop back into the foam-covered amber and black water, to sail round with the stream, and in all probability—for their actions could not be seen—rest from their tremendous effort, and try again.

All at once, after Nic had been watching for some minutes without seeing sign of a fish, there was a flash close in to where he stood, and a large salmon shot up, reached the top of the fall, and would have passed on, but fortune was against it. For a moment it rested on the edge, and its broad tail and part of its body glistened as a powerful stroke was made with the broad caudal fin.

But it was in the air, not in the water; and the next moment the great fish was falling, when, quick as its own spring up, there was a sudden movement from behind one of the great stones at the foot of the fall just below where Nic stood, and the salmon was caught upon a sharp hook at the end of a stout ash pole and dragged shoreward, flapping and struggling with all its might.

The efforts were in vain, for its captor drew it in quickly, raising the pole more and more till it was nearly perpendicular, as he came out from behind the great block of dripping stone which had hidden him from Nic, and, as it happened, stepped backward, till his fish was clear of the water.

It was all the matter of less than a minute. The man, intent upon his fish—a magnificent freshly-run salmon, glittering in its silver scales—passed hand over hand along his pole, released his right, and was in the act of reaching down to thrust a hooked finger in the opening and closing gills to make sure of his prize in the cramped-up space he occupied, when the end of the stout ash staff struck Nic sharply on his leg.

But the man did not turn, attributing the hindrance to his pole having encountered a stone or tree branch above his head, and any movement made by Nic was drowned by the roar of the fall.

The blow upon the leg was sharp, and gave intense pain to its recipient, whose temper was already rising at the cool impudence of the stout, bullet-headed fellow, trespassing and poaching in open daylight upon the Captain’s grounds.

Consequently, Nic did take notice of the blow.

Stooping down as the end of the pole wavered in the air, he made a snatch at and seized it, gave it a wrench round as the man’s finger was entering the gill of the salmon, and the hook being reversed, the fish dropped off, there was a slight addition to the splashing in the pool, and then it disappeared.

The next moment the man twisted himself round, holding on by the pole, and stared up; while Nic, still holding on by the other end, leaned over and stared down.

It was a curious picture, and for some moments neither stirred, the poacher’s not ill-looking face expressing profound astonishment at this strange attack.

Then a fierce look of anger crossed it, and, quick as thought, he made a sharp snatch, which destroyed Nic’s balance, making him loosen his hold of the pole and snatch at the nearest branch to check his fall.

He succeeded, but only for a moment, just sufficient to save himself and receive another heavy blow from the pole, which made him lose his hold and slip, more than fall, down to where he was on the same level with his adversary, who drew back to strike again.

But Nic felt as if his heart was on fire. The pain of the blows thrilled him, and, darting forward with clenched fists, he struck the poacher full in the mouth before the pole could swing round.

There was the faint whisper of a hoarse yell as the man fell back; Nic saw his hands clutching in the air, then he went backward into the boiling water, while the end of the pole was seen to rise above the surface for a moment or two, and then glide towards the bottom of the fall and disappear.

For the current, as it swung round the pool, set towards the falling water on the surface, and rushed outward far below.

Nic’s rage died out more quickly than it had risen, and he craned forward, white as ashes now, watching for the rising of his adversary out somewhere towards the other side; while, as if in triumphant mockery or delight at the danger having been removed, another huge salmon leaped up the fall.

Chapter Three.

A Game of Tit for Tat.

“I’d have pushed him in.”

Captain Revel’s threat flashed through his son’s brain as the young man stood staring wildly over the agitated waters of the pool, every moment fancying that he saw some portion of the man’s body rise to the surface; but only for it to prove a patch of the creamy froth churned up by the flood.

It was plain enough: the man had been sucked in under the falls, and the force of the falling water was keeping him down. He must have been beneath the surface for a full minute now—so it seemed to Nic; and, as he grew more hopeless moment by moment of seeing him rise, the young man’s blood seemed to chill with horror at the thought that he had in his rage destroyed another’s life.

Only a short time back the shut-in pool had been a scene of beauty; now it was like a black hollow of misery and despair, as the water dashed down and then swirled and eddied in the hideous whirlpool.

Then it was light again, and a wild feeling of exultation shot through Nic’s breast, for he suddenly caught sight of the man’s inert body approaching him, after gliding right round the basin. It was quite fifty feet away, and seemed for a few moments as if about to be swept out of the hollow and down the gully; but the swirl was too strong, and it continued gliding round the pool, each moment coming nearer.

There was no time for hesitation. Nic knew the danger and the impossibility of keeping afloat in foaming water like that before him, churned up as it was with air; but he felt that at all cost he must plunge in and try to save his adversary before the poor fellow was swept by him and borne once more beneath the fall.

Stripping off his coat, he waited a few seconds, and then leaped outward so as to come down feet first, in the hope that he might find bottom and be able to wade, for he knew that swimming was out of the question.

It was one rush, splash, and hurry, for the water was not breast-deep, and by a desperate effort he kept up as his feet reached the rugged, heavily-scoured stones at the bottom. Then the pressure of the water nearly bore him away, but he managed to keep up, bearing sidewise, and the next minute had grasped the man’s arm and was struggling shorewards, dragging his adversary towards the rugged bank.

Twice-over he felt that it was impossible; but, as the peril increased, despair seemed to endow him with superhuman strength, and he kept up the struggle bravely, ending by drawing the man out on to the ledge of stones nearly on a level with the water, where he had been at first standing at the foot of the fall.

“He’s dead; he’s dead!” panted Nic, as he sank upon his knees, too much exhausted by his struggle to do more than gaze down at the dripping, sun-tanned face, though the idea was growing that he must somehow carry the body up into the sunshine and try to restore consciousness.

Comic things occur sometimes in tragedies, and Nic’s heart gave a tremendous leap, for a peculiar twitching suddenly contracted the face beside which he knelt, and the man sneezed violently, again and again. A strangling fit of coughing succeeded, during which he choked and crowed and grew scarlet, and in his efforts to get his breath he rose into a sitting position, opened his eyes to stare, and ended by struggling to his feet and standing panting and gazing fiercely at Nic.

“Are you better?” cried the latter excitedly, and he seized the man by the arms, as he too rose, and held him fast, in the fear lest he should fall back into the whirlpool once more.

That was enough! Pete Burge was too hardy a fisher to be easily drowned. He had recovered his senses, and the rage against the young fellow who had caused his trouble surged up again, as it seemed to him that he was being seized and made prisoner, not a word of Nic’s speech being heard above the roar of the water.

“Vish as much mine as his,” said the man to himself; and, in nowise weakened by his immersion, he closed with Nic. There was a short struggle on the ledge, which was about the worst place that could have been chosen for such an encounter; and Nic, as he put forth all his strength against the man’s iron muscles, was borne to his left over the water and to his right with a heavy bang against the rocky side of the chasm. Then, before he could recover himself, there was a rapid disengagement and two powerful arms clasped his waist; he was heaved up in old West-country wrestling fashion, struggling wildly, and, in spite of his efforts to cling to his adversary, by a mighty effort jerked off. He fell clear away in the foaming pool, which closed over his head as he was borne in turn right beneath the tons upon tons of water which thundered in his ears, while he experienced the sudden change from sunshine into the dense blackness of night.

“How do you like that?” shouted the man; but it was only a faint whisper, of which he alone was conscious.

There was a broad grin upon his face, and his big white teeth glistened in the triumphant smile which lit up his countenance.

“I’ll let you zee.”

He stood dripping and watching the swirling and foaming water for the reappearance of Nic.

“Biggest vish I got this year,” he said to himself. “Lost my pole, too; and here! where’s my cap, and—?”

There was a sudden change in his aspect, his face becoming full of blank horror now as he leaned forward, staring over the pool, eyes and mouth open widely; and then, with a groan, he gasped out:

“Well, I’ve done it now!”

Chapter Four.

Nic will not shake Hands.

History repeats itself, though the repetitions are not always recorded.

A horrible feeling of remorse and despair came over the man. His anger had evaporated, and putting his hands to the sides of his mouth, he yelled out:

“Ahoy, there! Help—help!”

Again it was a mere whisper in the booming roar.

“Oh, poor dear lad!” he muttered to himself. “Bother the zammon! Wish there waren’t none. Hoi, Master Nic! Strike out! Zwim, lad, zwim! Oh, wheer be ye? I’ve drowned un. Oh, a mercy me! What have I done?—Hah! there a be.”

There was a plunge, a splash, and a rush against the eddying water, with the man showing a better knowledge of the pool, from many a day’s wading, than Nic had possessed. Pete Burge knew where the shallow shelves of polished stones lay out of sight, and he waded and struggled on to where the water was bearing Nic round in turn. Then, after wading, the man plunged into deep water, swam strongly, and seized his victim as a huge dog would, with his teeth, swung himself round, and let the fierce current bear him along as he fought his way into the shallow, regained his footing, and the next minute was back by the ledge. Here he rose to his feet, and rolled and thrust Nic ashore, climbed out after him, and knelt in turn by his side.

“Bean’t dead, be he?” said the man to himself. “Not in the water long enough. Worst o’ these here noblemen and gentlemen—got no stuff in ’em.”

Pete Burge talked to himself, but he was busy the while. He acted like a man who had gained experience in connection with flooded rivers, torrents, and occasional trips in fishing-boats at sea; and according to old notions, supposing his victim not to be already dead, he did the best he could to smother out the tiny spark of life that might still be glowing.

His fine old-fashioned notion of a man being drowned was that it was because he was full of water. The proper thing, then, according to his lights, must be to empty it out, and the sooner the better. The sea-going custom was to lay a man face downward across a barrel, and to roll the barrel gently to and fro.

“And I aren’t got no barrel,” muttered Pete.

To make up for it he rolled Nic from side to side, and then, as his treatment produced no effect, he seized him by the ankles, stood up, and raised the poor fellow till he was upside down, and shook him violently again and again.

Wonderful to relate, that did no good, his patient looking obstinately lifeless; so he laid him in the position he should have tried at first—extended upon his back; and, apostrophising him all the time as a poor, weakly, helpless creature, punched and rubbed and worked him about, muttering the while.

“Oh, poor lad! poor dear lad!” he went on. “I had no spite again’ him. I didn’t want to drownd him. It weer only tit for tat; he chucked me in, and I chucked him in, and it’s all on account o’ they zammon.—There goes another. Always a-temptin’ a man to come and catch ’em—lyin’ in the pools as if askin’ of ye.—Oh, I say, do open your eyes, lad, and speak! They’ll zay I murdered ye, and if I don’t get aboard ship and zail away to foreign abroad, they’ll hang me, and the crows’ll come and pick out my eyes.—I zay.—I zay lad, don’t ye be a vool. It was on’y a drop o’ watter ye zwallowed. Do ye come to, and I’ll never meddle with the zammon again.—I zay, ye aren’t dead now. Don’t ye be a vool. It aren’t worth dying for, lad. Coom, coom, coom, open your eyes and zit up like a man. You’re a gentleman, and ought to know better. I aren’t no scholard, and I didn’t do zo.—Oh, look at him! I shall be hanged for it, and put on the gibbet, and all for a bit o’ vish.—Zay, look here, if you don’t come to I’ll pitch you back again, and they’ll think you tumbled in, and never know no better. It’s voolish of ye, lad. Don’t give up till ye’re ninety-nine or a hundred. It’s time enough to die then. Don’t die now, with the sun shining and the fish running up the valls, and ye might be so happy and well.”

And all the while Pete kept on thumping and rubbing and banging his patient about in the most vigorous way.

“It’s spite, that’s what it is,” growled the man. “You hit me i’ th’ mouth and tried to drownd me, and because you couldn’t you’re trying to get me hanged; and you shan’t, for if you don’t come-to soon, sure as you’re alive I’ll pitch you back to be carried out to zea.—Nay, nay, I wouldn’t, lad. Ye’d coom back and harnt me. I never meant to do more than duck you, and Hooray!”

For Nic’s nature had at last risen against the treatment he was receiving. It was more than any one could stand; so, in the midst of a furious bout of rubbing, the poor fellow suddenly yawned and opened his eyes, to stare blankly up at the bright sun-rays streaming down through the overhanging boughs of the gnarled oaks. He dropped his lids again, but another vigorous rubbing made him open them once more; and as he stared now at his rough doctor his lips moved to utter the word “Don’t!” but it was not heard, and after one or two more appeals he caught the man’s wrists and tried to struggle up into a sitting position, Pete helping him, and then, as he knelt there, grinning in his face.

Nic sat staring at him and beginning to think more clearly, so that in a few minutes he had fully grasped the position and recalled all that had taken place.

It was evident that there was to be a truce between them, for Pete Burge’s rough countenance was quite smiling and triumphant, while on Nic’s own part the back of his neck ached severely, and he felt as if he could not have injured a fly.

At last Nic rose, shook himself after the fashion of a dog to get rid of some of the water which soaked his clothes, and looked round about him for his cap, feeling that he would be more dignified and look rather less like a drowned rat if he put it on.

Pete came close to him, placed his lips nearly to his ear, and shouted, “Cap?”

Nic nodded.

“Gone down the river to try and catch mine for me,” said the man, with a good-humoured grin, which made Nic frown at the insolent familiarity with which it was said.

“You’ll have to buy me another one, Master Nic,” continued the man, “and get the smith to make me a noo steel hook. I’ll let you off paying for the pole; I can cut a fresh one somewheres up yonder.”

“On our grounds?” cried Nic indignantly, speaking as loudly as he could.

“Well, there’s plenty, aren’t there, master? And you’ve lost mine,” shouted back the man, grinning again.

“You scoundrel!” cried Nic, who was warming up again. “I shall have you up before the Justices for this.”

“For what?” said the man insolently.

“For throwing me into the pool.”

“Zo shall I, then,” shouted the man. “It was only tit for tat. You zent me in first.”

“Yes; and I caught you first hooking our salmon, sir.”

“Tchah! much my zammon as your own, master. Vish comes out of the zea for everybody as likes to catch them.”

“Not on my father’s estate,” cried Nic. “You’ve been warned times enough.”

“Ay, I’ve heerd a lot o’ talk, master; but me and my mates mean to have a vish or two whenever we wants ’em. You’ll never miss ’em.”

“Look here, Pete Burge,” cried Nic; “I don’t want to be too hard upon you, because I suppose you fished me out of the pool after throwing me in.”

“Well, you’ve no call to grumble, master,” said the man, grinning good-humouredly. “You did just the zame.”

“And,” continued Nic, shouting himself hoarse, so as to be heard, and paying no heed to the man’s words, “if you faithfully promise me that you’ll never come and poach on my father’s part of the river again, I’ll look over all this, and not have you before the Justices.”

“How are you going to get me avore the Justice, Master Nic?” said the man, with a merry laugh.

“Send the constable, sir.”

“Tchah! he’d never vind me; and, if he did, he dursen’t tackle me. There’s a dozen o’ my mates would break his head if he tried.”

“Never mind about that,” cried Nic. “You promise me. My father warned you only yesterday.”

“So he did,” said the man, showing his teeth. “In a regular wax he was.”

“And I will not have him annoyed,” cried Nic. “So now then, you promise?”

“Nay, I shan’t promise.”

“Then I go straight to the constable, and if I do you’ll be summoned and punished, and perhaps sent out of the country.”

“What vor?—pulling you out when you was drownding?”

“For stealing our salmon and beating our two keepers.”

“Then I’d better have left you in yonder,” said the man, laughing.

“You mean I had better have left you in yonder, and rid the country of an idle, poaching scoundrel,” cried Nic indignantly. “But there, you saved my life, and I want to give you a chance. Look here, Pete Burge, you had better go to sea.”

“Yes, when I like to try for some vish. Don’t ketch me going for a zailor.”

“Will you give me your word that you will leave the fish alone?”

“Nay; but I’ll shake hands with you, master. You zaved my life, and I zaved yourn, so we’re square over that business.”

“You insolent dog!” cried Nic. “Then I’ll go straight to the Justice.”

“Nay; you go and put on zome dry clothes. It don’t hurt me, but you’ll ketch cold, my lad. Look here, you want me to zay I won’t take no more zammon.”

“Yes.”

“Then I won’t zay it. There’s about twenty of us means to have as many fish out o’ the river as we like, and if anybody, keepers or what not, comes and interveres with us we’ll pitch ’em in the river; and they may get out themzelves, for I’m not going in after they. Understand that, master?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Then don’t you set any one to meddle with us, or there may be mischief done, for my mates aren’t such vools as me. Going to give me a noo steel hook?”

“No, you scoundrel!”

“Going to zhake hands?”

“No, sir.”

“Just as you like, young master. I wanted to be vriends and you won’t, so we’ll be t’other. On’y mind, if there’s mischief comes of it, you made it. Now then, I’m going to walk about in the sun to get dry, and then zee about getting myself a noo cap and a hook.”

“To try for our salmon again?”

The fellow gave him a queer look, nodded, and climbed up the side of the ravine, followed by Nic.

At the top the man turned and stared at him for a few moments, with a peculiar look in his eyes; and the trees between them and the falls shut off much of the deep, booming noise.

“Well,” said Nic sharply, “have you repented?”

“Nothing to repent on,” said the man stolidly. “On’y wanted to zay this here: If you zees lights some night among the trees and down by the watter, it means vishing.”

“I know that,” said Nic sternly.

“And there’ll be a lot there—rough uns; so don’t you come and meddle, my lad, for I shouldn’t like to zee you hurt.”

The next minute the man had disappeared among the trees, leaving Nic to stand staring after him, thinking of what would be the result if the salmon-poachers met their match.

Chapter Five.

The Captain cannot let it rest.

“Hullo, Nic, my boy; been overboard?”

The young man started, for he had been thinking a good deal on his way back to the house. His anger had cooled down as much as his body from the evaporation going on. For, after all, he thought he could not find much fault with Pete Burge. It would seem only natural to such a rough fellow to serve his assailant as he had himself been served.

“And he did save my life afterwards, instead of letting me drown,” thought Nic, who decided not to try to get Pete punished.

“I’ll give him one more chance,” he said; and he had just arrived at this point as he was walking sharply through the trees by the combe, with the intention of slipping in unseen, when he came suddenly upon his father seated upon a stone, and was saluted with the above question as to having been overboard.

“Yes, father,” he said, glancing down at his drenched garments, “I’ve been in.”

“Bah! you go blundering about looking inside instead of where you’re steering,” cried the Captain. “Aren’t drowned, I suppose?”

Nic laughed.

“Well, slip in and get on some dry things. Look alive.”

Nic did not want to enter into the business through which he had passed, so he hurried indoors, glad to change his clothes.

Then, as the time went on he felt less and less disposed to speak about his adventure, for it seemed hard work to make an effort to punish the man who had, after all, saved his life.

About a fortnight had passed, when one morning, upon going down, he encountered his father’s old sailor-servant, who answered his salute with a grin.

“What are you laughing at, Bill?” asked Nic.

“They’ve been at it again, sir.”

“What! those scoundrels after the salmon?”

“Yes, sir; in the night. Didn’t you hear ’em?”

“Of course not. Did you?”

“Oh yes, I heerd ’em and seed ’em too; leastwise, I seed their lights. So did Tom Gardener.”

“Then why didn’t you call me up?” cried Nic angrily.

“’Cause you’d ha’ woke the Captain, and he’d have had us all out for a fight.”

“Of course he would.”

“And he was a deal better in his bed. You know what he is, Master Nic. I put it to you, now. He’s got all the sperrit he always did have, and is ripe as ever for a row; but is he fit, big and heavy as he’s growed, to go down fighting salmon-poachers?”

“No; but we could have knocked up Tom Gardener and the other men, and gone ourselves.”

“Oh!” ejaculated the old sailor, laughing. “He’d have heared, perhaps. Think you could ha’ made him keep back when there was a fight, Master Nic?”

“No, I suppose not; but he will be horribly angry, and go on at you fiercely when he knows.”

“Oh, of course,” said the man coolly. “That’s his way; but I’m used to that. It does him good, he likes it, and it don’t do me no harm. Never did in the old days at sea.”

“Has any one been down to the river?”

“Oh yes; me and Tom Gardener went down as soon as it was daylight; and they’ve been having a fine game.”

“Game?”

“Ay, that they have, Master Nic,” said the man, laughing. “There’s no water coming over the fall, and the pool was full of fish.”

“Well, I know that, Bill,” cried Nic impatiently; “but you don’t mean to say that—”

“Yes, I do,” said the man, grinning. “They’ve cleared it.”

“And you laugh, sir!”

“Well, ’taren’t nowt to cry about, Master Nic. On’y a few fish.”

“And you know how particular my father is about the salmon.”

“Oh, ay. Of course I know; but he eats more of ’em than’s good for him now. ’Sides, they left three on the side. Slipped out o’ their baskets, I suppose.”

Nic was right: the Captain was furious, and the servants, from William Solly to the youngest gardener, were what they called “tongue-thrashed,” Captain Revel storming as if he were once more rating his crew aboard ship.

“They all heard, Nic, my boy,” he said to his son. “I believe they knew the scoundrels were coming, and they were too cowardly to give the alarm.”

This was after a walk down to the pool, where the water was clear and still save where a little stream ran sparkling over the shelf of rock instead of a thunderous fall, the gathering from the high grounds of the moors.

“I’m afraid they heard them, father,” said Nic.

“Afraid? I’m sure of it, boy.”

“And that they did not like the idea of your getting mixed up in the fight.”

“Ah!” cried the Captain, catching his son by the shoulder; “then you knew of it too, sir? You wanted me to be kept out of it.”

“I do want you to be kept out of any struggle, father,” said Nic.

“Why, sir, why?” panted the old officer.

“Because you are not so active as you used to be.”

“What, sir? Nonsense, sir! A little heavy and—er—short-winded perhaps, but never better or more full of fight in my life, sir. The scoundrels! Oh, if I had been there! But I feel hurt, Nic—cruelly hurt. You and that salt-soaked old villain, Bill Sally, hatch up these things between you. Want to make out I’m infirm. I’ll discharge that vagabond.”

“No, you will not, father. He’s too good and faithful a servant. He thinks of nothing but his old Captain’s health.”

“A scoundrel! and so he ought to. Wasn’t he at sea with me for five-and-twenty years—wrecked with me three times?—But you, Nic, to mutiny against your father!”

“No, no, father; I assure you I knew nothing whatever about it till I came down this morning.”

“And you’d have woke me if you had known?”

“Of course I would, father.”

“Thank you, Nic—thank you. To be sure: you gave me your word of honour you would. But as for that ruffian Bill Solly, I’ll blow him out of the water.”

“Better let it rest, father,” said Nic. “We escaped a bad fight perhaps. I believe there was a gang of fifteen or twenty of the scoundrels, and I’d rather they had all the fish in the sea than that you should be hurt.”

“Thank you, Nic; thank you, my boy. That’s very good of you; but I can’t, and I will not, lie by and have my fish cleared away like this.”

“There’ll be more as soon as the rain comes again in the moors, and these are gone now.”

“Yes, and sold—perhaps eaten by this time, eh?”

“Yes, father; and there’s as good fish in the sea.”

“As ever came out of it—eh, Nic?”

“Yes, father; so let the matter drop.”

“Can’t help myself, Nic; but I must have a turn at the enemy one of these times. I cannot sit down and let them attack me like this. Oh, I’d dearly like to blow some of ’em out of the water!”

“Better put a bag of powder under the rock, father, and blow away the falls so that the salmon can always get up, and take the temptation away from these idle scoundrels.”

“I’d sooner put the powder under my own bed, sir, and blow myself up. No, Nic, I will not strike my colours to the miserable gang like that. Oh! I’d dearly like to know when they are going to make their next raid, and then have my old crew to lie in wait for them.”

“And as that’s impossible, father—”

“We must grin and bear it, Nic—eh?”

“Yes, father.”

“But only wait!”

Chapter Six.

Plots and Plans.

The rain came, as Nic had said it would, and as it does come up in the high hills of stony Dartmoor. Then the tiny rills swelled and became rivulets, the rivulets rivers, and the rivers floods. The trickling fall at the Captain’s swelled up till the water, which looked like porter, thundered down and filled the pool, and the salmon came rushing up from the sea till there were as many as ever. Then, as the rainy time passed away, Captain Revel made his plans, for he felt sure that there would be another raid by the gang who had attacked his place before, headed by Pete Burge and a deformed man of herculean strength, who came with a party of ne’er-do-weels from the nearest town.

“That rascal Pete will be here with his gang,” said the Captain, “and we’ll be ready for them.”

But the speaker was doing Pete Burge an injustice; for, though several raids had been made in the neighbourhood, and pools cleared out, Pete had hung back from going to the Captain’s for some reason or another, and suffered a good deal of abuse in consequence, one result being a desperate fight with Humpy Dee, the deformed man, who after a time showed the white feather, and left Pete victorious but a good deal knocked about.

So, feeling sure that he was right, Captain Revel made his plans; and, unwillingly enough, but with the full intention of keeping his father out of danger, Nic set to work as his father’s lieutenant and carried out his orders.

The result was that every servant was armed with a stout cudgel, and half-a-dozen sturdy peasants of the neighbourhood were enlisted to come, willingly enough, to help to watch and checkmate the rough party from the town, against whom a bitter feeling of enmity existed for depriving the cottagers from getting quietly a salmon for themselves.

The arrangements were made for the next night, a stranger having been seen inspecting the river and spying about among the fir-trees at the back of the pool.

But no one came, and at daybreak the Captain’s crew, as he called it, went back to bed.

The following night did not pass off so peacefully, for soon after twelve, while the watchers, headed by the Captain and Nic, were well hidden about the pool, the enemy came, and, after lighting their lanthorns, began to net the salmon.

Then a whistle rang out, a desperate attack was made upon them, and the Captain nearly had a fit. For his party was greatly outnumbered. The raiders fought desperately, and they went off at last fishless; but not until the Captain’s little force had been thoroughly beaten and put to flight, with plenty of cuts and bruises amongst them, Nic’s left arm hanging down nearly helpless.

“But never mind, Nic,” said the Captain, rubbing his bruised hand as he spoke. “I knocked one of the rascals down, and they got no fish; and I don’t believe they’ll come again.”

But they did, the very next night, and cleared the pool once more, for the watchers were all abed; and in the morning the Captain was frantic in his declarations of what he would do.

To Nic’s great delight, just when his father was at his worst, and, as his old body-servant said, “working himself into a fantigue about a bit o’ fish,” there was a diversion.

Nic was sitting at breakfast, getting tired of having salmon at every meal—by the ears, not by the mouth—when suddenly there was the dull thud of a big gun out at sea, and Captain Revel brought his fist down upon the table with a bang like an echo of the report.

“Lawrence!” he cried excitedly. “Here, Nic, ring the bell, and tell Solly to go and hoist the flag.”

The bell was rung, and a maid appeared.

“Where’s Solly?” cried the Captain angrily.

“Plee, sir, he’s gone running up to the cliff to hoist the flag,” said the girl nervously.

“Humph! that will do,” said the Captain, and the maid gladly beat a retreat.—“Not a bad bit of discipline that, Nic. Wonder what brings Lawrence here! Ring that bell again, boy, and order them to reset the breakfast-table. He’ll be here in half-an-hour, hungry. He always was a hungry chap.”

The maid appeared, received her orders, and was about to go, when she was arrested.

“Here, Mary, what is there that can be cooked for Captain Lawrence’s breakfast?”

“The gardener has just brought in a salmon he found speared and left by the river, sir.”

The Captain turned purple with rage.

“Don’t you ever dare to say salmon to me again, woman!” he roared.

“No, sir; cert’n’y not, sir,” faltered the frightened girl, turning wonderingly to Nic, her eyes seeming to say, “Please, sir, is master going mad?”

“Yes; tell the cook to fry some salmon cutlets,” continued the Captain; and then apologetically to his son: “Lawrence likes fish.”

As the maid backed out of the room the Captain rose from the table.

“Come along, my boy,” he said; “we’ll finish our breakfast with him.”

Nic followed his father into the hall, and then through the garden and up to the edge of the cliff, passing William Solly on his way back after hoisting the flag, which was waving in the sea-breeze.

“Quite right, William,” said the Captain as the old sailor saluted and passed on. “Nothing like discipline, Nic, my boy. Ha! You ought to have been a sailor.”

The next minute they had reached the flagstaff, from whence they could look down at the mouth of the river, off which one of the king’s ships was lying close in, and between her and the shore there was a boat approaching fast.

As father and son watched, it was evident that they were seen, for some one stood up in the stern-sheets and waved a little flag, to which Nic replied by holding his handkerchief to be blown out straight by the breeze.

“Ha! Very glad he has come, Nic,” said the Captain. “Fine fellow, Jack Lawrence! Never forgets old friends. Now I’ll be bound to say he can give us good advice about what to do with those scoundrels.”

“Not much in his way, father, is it?” said Nic.

“What, sir?” cried the Captain fiercely. “Look here, boy; I never knew anything which was not in Jack Lawrence’s way. Why, when we were young lieutenants together on board the Sovereign, whether it was fight or storm he was always ready with a good idea. He will give us—me—well, us—good advice, I’m sure. There he is, being carried ashore. Go and meet him, my boy. I like him to see that he is welcome. Tell him I’d have come down myself, but the climb back is a bit too much for me.”

Nic went off at a trot along the steep track which led down to the shore, and in due time met the hale, vigorous, grey-haired officer striding uphill in a way which made Nic feel envious on his father’s behalf.

“Well, Nic, my boy,” cried the visitor, “how’s the dad? Well? That’s right. So are you,” he continued, gazing searchingly at the lad with his keen, steely-grey eyes. “Grown ever so much since I saw you last. Ah, boy, it’s a pity you didn’t come to sea!”

Then he went on chatting about being just come upon the Plymouth station training men for the king’s ships, and how he hoped to see a good deal now of his old friend and his son.

The meeting between the brother-officers was boisterous, but there was something almost pathetic in the warmth with which they grasped hands, for they had first met in the same ship as middies, and many a time during Captain Lawrence’s visits Nic had sat and listened to their recollections of the dangers they had gone through and their boyish pranks.

William Solly was in the porch ready to salute the visitor, and to look with pride at the fine, manly old officer’s greeting. He made a point, too, of stopping in the room to wait table, carefully supplying all wants, and smiling with pleasure as he saw how the pleasant meal was enjoyed by the guest.

“We were lying off the river late last night, but I wouldn’t disturb you,” he said. “I made up my mind, though, to come to breakfast. Hah! What delicious fried salmon!”

“Hur–r–ur!” growled Captain Revel, and Solly cocked his eye knowingly at Nic.

“Hallo! What’s the matter?” cried the visitor.

“The salmon—the salmon,” growled Captain Revel, frowning and tapping the table.

“De-licious, man! Have some?—Here, Solly, hand the dish to your master.”

“Bur–r–ur!” roared the Captain. “Take it away—take it away, or I shall be in another of my rages, and they’re not good for me, Jack—not good for me.”

“Why, what is it, old lad?”

“Tell him, Nic—tell him,” cried Captain Revel; and his son explained the cause of his father’s irritation.

“Why, that was worrying you last time I was here—let me see, a year ago.”

“Yes, Jack; and it has been worrying me ever since,” cried Captain Revel. “You see, I mustn’t cut any of the scoundrels down, and I mustn’t shoot them. The law would be down on me.”

“Yes, of course; but you might make the law come down on them.”

“Can’t, my lad. Summonses are no use.”

“Catch them in the act, make them prisoners, and then see what the law will do.”

“But we can’t catch them, Jack; they’re too many for us,” cried the Captain earnestly. “They come twenty or thirty strong, and we’ve had fight after fight with them, but they knock us to pieces. Look at Solly’s forehead; they gave him that cut only a few nights ago.”

The old sailor blushed like a girl.

“That’s bad,” said the visitor, after giving the man a sharp look. “What sort of fellows are they?”

“Big, strong, idle vagabonds. Scum of the town and the country round.”

“Indeed!” said the visitor, raising his eyes. “They thrash you, then, because you are not strong enough?”

“Yes; that’s it, Jack. Now, what am I to do?”

“Let me see,” said the visitor, tightening his lips. “They only come when the pool’s full of salmon, you say, after a bit of rain in the moors?”

“Yes; that’s it, Jack.”

“Then you pretty well know when to expect them?”

“Yes; that’s right.”

“How would it be, then, if you sent me word in good time in the morning? Or, no—look here, old fellow—I shall know when there is rain on the moor, and I’ll come round in this direction from the port. I’m cruising about the Channel training a lot of men. You hoist a couple of flags on the staff some morning, and that evening at dusk I’ll land a couple of boats’ crews, and have them marched up here to lay up with you and turn the tables upon the rascals. How will that do?”

Solly forgot discipline, and bent down to give one of his legs a tremendous slap, while his master made the breakfast things dance from his vigorous bang on the table.

“There, Nic,” he cried triumphantly; “what did I say? Jack Lawrence was always ready to show the way when we were on our beam-ends. Jack, my dear old messmate,” he cried heartily, as he stretched out his hand—“your fist.”

Chapter Seven.

The Captain will “wherrit.”

Captain Lawrence spent the day at the Point, thoroughly enjoying a long gossip, and, after an early dinner, proposed a walk around the grounds and a look at the river and the pool.

“What a lovely spot it is!” he said, as he wandered about the side of the combe. “I must have such a place as this when I give up the sea.”

“There isn’t such a place, Jack,” said Captain Revel proudly. “But I want you to look round the pool.—I don’t think I’ll climb down, Nic. It’s rather hot; and I’ll sit down on the stone for a few minutes while you two plan where you could ambush the men.”

“Right,” said Captain Lawrence; and he actively followed Nic, pausing here and there, till they had descended to where the fall just splashed gently down into the clear pool, whose bigger stones about the bottom were now half-bare.

“Lovely place this, Nic, my boy. I could sit down here and doze away the rest of my days. But what a pity it is that your father worries himself so about these poaching scoundrels! Can’t you wean him from it? Tell him, or I will, that it isn’t worth the trouble. Plenty more fish will come, and there must be a little grit in every one’s wheel.”

“Oh, I’ve tried everything, sir,” replied Nic. “The fact is that he is not so well as I should like to see him; and when he has an irritable fit, the idea of any one trespassing and taking the fish half-maddens him.”

“Well, we must see what we can do, my boy. It ought to be stopped. A set of idlers like this requires a severe lesson. A good dose of capstan bar and some broken heads will sicken them, and then perhaps they will let you alone.”

“I hope so, sir.”

“I think I can contrive that it shall,” said the visitor dryly. “I shall bring or send some trusty men. There, I have seen all I want to see. Let’s get back.”

He turned to climb up the side of the gorge; and as Nic followed, the place made him recall his encounter with Pete Burge, and how different the pool looked then; and, somehow, he could not help hoping that the big, bluff fellow might not be present during the sharp encounter with Captain Lawrence’s trusty men.

“Hah! Began to think you long, Jack,” said Captain Revel; and they returned to the house and entered, after a glance seaward, where the ship lay at anchor.

Towards evening Solly was sent to hoist a signal upon the flagstaff, and soon after a boat was seen pulling towards the shore. Then the visitor took his leave, renewing his promise to reply to a signal by sending a strong party of men.

Nic walked down to the boat with his father’s friend, and answered several questions about the type of men who came after the salmon.

“I see, I see,” said Captain Lawrence; “but do you think they’ll fight well?”

“Oh yes; there are some daring rascals among them.”

“So much the better, my dear boy. There, good-bye. Mind—two small flags on your signal-halyards after the first heavy rain upon the moor, and you may expect us at dusk. If the rascals don’t come we’ll have another try; but you’ll know whether they’ll be there by the fish in the pool. They’ll know too—trust ’em. Look, there’s your father watching us—” and he waved his hand. “Good-bye, Nic, my dear boy. Good-bye!”

He shook hands very warmly. Two of his men who were ashore joined hands to make what children call a “dandy-chair,” the Captain placed his hands upon their shoulders, and they waded through the shallow water to the boat, pausing to give her a shove off before climbing in; and then, as the oars made the water flash in the evening light, Nic climbed the long hill again, to stand with his father, watching the boat till she reached the side of the ship.

“Now then, my boy,” said the old man, “we’re going to give those fellows such a lesson as they have never had before.”

He little knew how truly he was speaking.

“I hope so, father,” said Nic; and he was delighted to find how pleased the old officer seemed.

The next morning, when Nic opened his bedroom window, the king’s ship was not in sight; and for a week Captain Revel was fidgeting and watching the sky, for no rain came, and there was not water enough in the river for fresh salmon to come as far as the pool.

“Did you ever see anything like it, Nic, my boy?” the Captain said again and again; “that’s always the way: if I didn’t want it to rain, there’d be a big storm up in the hills, and the fall would be roaring like a sou’-wester off the Land’s End; but now I want just enough water to fill the river, not a drop will come. How long did Jack Lawrence say that he was going to stop about Plymouth?”

“He didn’t say, father, that I remember,” replied Nic. “Then he’ll soon be off; and just in the miserable, cantankerous way in which things happen, the very day he sets sail there’ll be a storm on Dartmoor, and the next morning the pool will be full of salmon, and those scoundrels will come to set me at defiance, and clear off every fish.”

“I say, father,” said Nic merrily, “isn’t that making troubles, and fancying storms before they come?”

“What, sir? How dare you speak to me like that?” cried the Captain.—“And you, Solly, you mutinous scoundrel, how dare you laugh?” he roared, turning to his body-servant, who happened to be in the hail.

“Beg your honour’s pardon; I didn’t laugh.”

“You did laugh, sir,” roared the Captain—“that is, I saw you look at Master Nic here and smile. It’s outrageous. Every one is turning against me, and I’m beginning to think it’s time I was out of this miserable world.”

He snatched up his stick from the stand, banged on the old straw hat he wore, and stamped out of the porch to turn away to the left, leaving Nic hesitating as to what he should do, deeply grieved as he was at his father’s annoyance and display of temper. One moment he was for following and trying to say something which would tend to calm the irritation. The next he was thinking it would be best to leave the old man to himself, trusting to the walk in the pleasant grounds having the desired result.

But this idea was knocked over directly by Solly, who had followed his master to the porch, and stood watching him for a few moments.

“Oh dear, dear! Master Nic,” he cried, turning back, “he’s gone down the combe path to see whether there’s any more water running down; and there aren’t, and he’ll be a-wherriting his werry inside out, and that wherrits mine too. For I can’t abear to see the poor old skipper like this here.”

“No, Solly, neither can I,” said Nic gloomily.

“It’s his old hurts does it, sir. It aren’t nat’ral. Here he is laid up, as you may say, in clover, in as nice a place as an old sailor could end his days in.”

“Yes, Solly,” said Nic sadly; “it is a beautiful old place.”

“Ay, it is, sir; and when I cons it over I feel it. Why, Master Nic, when I think of all the real trouble as there is in life, and what some folks has to go through, I asks myself what I’ve ever done to have such good luck as to be safely moored here in such a harbour. It’s a lovely home, and the troubles is nothing—on’y a bit of a gale blowed by the skipper now and then along of the wrong boots as hurts his corns, or him being a-carrying on too much sail, and bustin’ off a button in a hurry. And who minds that?”

“Ah! who minds a trifle like that, Solly?” sighed Nic. “Well, sir, you see he does. Wind gets up directly, and he talks to me as if I’d mutinied. But I don’t mind. I know all the time that he’s the best and bravest skipper as ever lived, and I’d do anything for him to save him from trouble.”

“I know you would, Solly,” said Nic, laying a hand upon the rugged old sailor’s shoulder.

“Thank ye, Master Nic; that does a man good. But look here, sir; I can’t help saying it. The fact is, after his rough, stormy life, everything here’s made too easy for the skipper. He’s a bit worried by his old wounds, and that’s all; and consekens is ’cause he aren’t got no real troubles he wherrits himself and makes quakers.”

“Makes quakers?” said Nic wonderingly.

“Sham troubles, Master Nic—wooden guns, as we call quakers out at sea or in a fort. Strikes me, sir, as a real, downright, good, gen-u-wine trouble, such as losing all his money, would be the making of the Captain; and after that he’d be ready to laugh at losing a few salmon as he don’t want. I say, Master Nic, you aren’t offended at me for making so bold?”

“No, Solly, no,” said the young man sadly. “You mean well, I know. There, say no more about it. I hope all this will settle itself, as so many troubles do.”

Nic strolled out into the grounds and unconsciously followed his father, who had gone to the edge of the combe; but he had not walked far before a cheery hail saluted his ears, and, to his great delight, he found the Captain looking radiant.

“Nic, my boy, it’s all right,” he cried; “my left arm aches terribly and my corns are shooting like mad. Well, what are you staring at? Don’t you see it means rain? Look yonder, too. Bah! It’s of no use to tell you, boy. You’ve never been to sea. You’ve never had to keep your weather-eye open. See that bit of silvery cloud yonder over Rigdon Tor? And do you notice what a peculiar gleam there is in the air, and how the flies bite?”

“Yes—yes, I see all that, father.”

“Well, it’s rain coming, my boy. There’s going to be a thunderstorm up in the hills before many hours are past. I’m not a clever man, but I can tell what the weather’s going to be as well as most folk.”

“I’m glad of it, father, if it will please you.”

“Please me, boy? I shall be delighted. To-morrow morning the salmon will be running up the river again, and we may hoist the signal for help. I say, you don’t think Jack Lawrence has gone yet?”

“No, father,” said Nic; “I do not.”

“Why, Nic?—why?” cried the old sailor.

“Because he said to me he should certainly come up and see us again before he went.”

“To be sure; so he did to me, Nic. I say, my boy, I—that is—er—wasn’t I a little bit crusty this morning to you and poor old William Solly?”

“Well, yes; just a little, father,” said Nic, taking his arm.

“Sorry for it. Change of the weather, Nic, affects me. It was coming on. I must apologise to Solly. Grand old fellow, William Solly. Saved my life over and over again. Man who would die for his master, Nic; and a man who would do that is more than a servant, Nic—he is a friend.”

Chapter Eight.

The Captain’s Prophecy.

Before many hours had passed the Captain’s words proved correct. The clouds gathered over the tors, and there was a tremendous storm a thousand feet above the Point. The lightning flashed and struck and splintered the rugged old masses of granite; the thunder roared, and there was a perfect deluge of rain; while down near the sea, though it was intensely hot, not a drop fell, and the evening came on soft and cool.

“Solly, my lad,” cried the Captain, rubbing his hands, “we shall have the fall roaring before midnight; but don’t sit up to listen to it.”

“Cert’n’y not, sir,” said the old sailor.

“Your watch will begin at daybreak, when you will hoist the signal for Captain Lawrence.”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“And keep eye to west’ard on and off all day, to try if you can sight the frigate.”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“And in the course of the morning you will go quietly round and tell the men to rendezvous here about eight, when you will serve out the arms.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“The good stout oak cudgels I had cut; and if we’re lucky, my lad, we shall have as nice and pleasant a fight as ever we two had in our lives.”

“Quite a treat, sir,” said the old sailor; “and I hope we shall be able to pay our debts.”

The Captain was in the highest of glee all the evening, and he shook his son’s hand very warmly when they parted for bed.

About one o’clock Nic was aroused from a deep sleep by a sharp knocking at his door.

“Awake, Nic?” came in the familiar accents.

“No, father. Yes, father. Is anything wrong?”

“Wrong? No, my boy; right! Hear the fall?”

“No, father; I was sound asleep.”

“Open your window and put out your head, boy. The water’s coming down and roaring like thunder. Good-night.”

Nic slipped out of bed, did as he was told, and, as he listened, there was the deep, musical, booming sound of the fall seeming to fill the air, while from one part of the ravine a low, rushing noise told that the river must be pretty full.

Nic stood listening for some time before closing his window and returning to bed, to lie wakeful and depressed, feeling a strange kind of foreboding, as if some serious trouble was at hand. It was not that he was afraid or shrank from the contest which might in all probability take place the next night, though he knew that it would be desperate—for, on the contrary, he felt excited and quite ready to join in the fray; but he was worried about his father, and the difficulty he knew he would have in keeping him out of danger. He was in this awkward position, too: what he would like to do would be to get Solly and a couple of their stoutest men to act as bodyguard to protect his father; but, if he attempted such a thing, the chances were that the Captain would look upon it as cowardice, and order them off to the thick of the cudgel-play.

Just as he reached this point he fell asleep.

Nic found the Captain down first next morning, looking as pleased as a boy about to start for his holidays.

“You’re a pretty fellow,” he cried. “Why, I’ve been up hours, and went right to the falls. Pool’s full, Nic, my boy, the salmon are up, and it’s splendid, lad.”

“What is, father?”

“Something else is coming up.”

“What?”

“Those scoundrels are on the qui vive. I was resting on one of the rough stone seats, when, as I sat hidden among the trees, I caught sight of something on the far side of the pool—a man creeping cautiously down to spy out the state of the water.”

“Pete Burge, father?” cried Nic eagerly.

“Humph! No; I hardly caught a glimpse of his face, but it was too short for that scoundrel. I think it was that thick-set, humpbacked rascal they call Dee.”

“And did he see you, father?”

“No: I sat still, my boy, and watched till he slunk away again. Nic, lad, we shall have them here to-night, and we must be ready.”

“Yes, father, if Captain Lawrence sends his men.”

“Whether he does or no, sir. I can’t sit still and know that my salmon are being stolen. Come—breakfast! Oh, here’s Solly.—Here, you, sir, what about those two signal flags? Hoist them directly.”

“Run ’em up, sir, as soon as it was light.”

“Good. Then, now, keep a lookout for the frigate.” The day wore away with no news of the ship being in the offing, and the Captain began to fume and fret, so that Nic made an excuse to get away and look out, relieving Solly, stationing himself by the flagstaff and scanning the horizon till his eyes grew weary and his head ached.

It was about six o’clock when he was summoned to dinner by Solly, who took his place, and Nic went and joined his father.

“Needn’t speak,” said the old man bitterly; “I know; Lawrence hasn’t come. We’ll have to do it ourselves.”

Nic was silent, and during the meal his father hardly spoke a word.

Just as they were about to rise, Solly entered the room, and the Captain turned to him eagerly.

“I was going to send for you, my lad,” he said. “Captain Lawrence must be away, and we shall have to trap the scoundrels ourselves. How many men can we muster?”

“Ten, sir.”

“Not half enough,” said the Captain; “but they are strong, staunch fellows, and we have right on our side. Ten against twenty or thirty. Long odds; but we’ve gone against heavier odds than that in our time, Solly.”

“Ay, sir, that we have.”

“We must lie in wait and take them by surprise when they’re scattered, my lads. But what luck! what luck! Now if Lawrence had only kept faith with me we could have trapped the whole gang.”

“Well, your honour, why not?” said Solly sharply.

“Why not?”

“He’ll be here before we want him.”

“What?” cried Nic. “Is the frigate in sight?”

“In sight, sir—and was when you left the signal station.”

“No,” said Nic sharply; “the only vessel in sight then was a big merchantman with her yards all awry.”

“That’s so, sir, and she gammoned me. The skipper’s had her streak painted out, and a lot of her tackle cast loose, to make her look like a lubberly trader; but it’s the frigate, as I made out at last, coming down with a spanking breeze, and in an hour’s time she’ll be close enough to send her men ashore.”

The Captain sprang up and caught his son’s hand, to ring it hard.

“Huzza, Nic!” he cried excitedly. “This is going to be a night of nights.”

It was.

Chapter Nine.

Ready for Action.

“That’s about their size, Master Nic,” said Solly, as he stood in the coach-house balancing a heavy cudgel in his hand—one of a couple of dozen lying on the top of the corn-bin just through the stable door.

“Oh, the size doesn’t matter, Bill,” said Nic impatiently.

“Begging your pardon, sir, it do,” said the old sailor severely. “You don’t want to kill nobody in a fight such as we’re going to have, do ye?”

“No, no; of course not.”

“There you are, then. Man’s sure to hit as hard as he can when his monkey’s up; and that stick’s just as heavy as you can have ’em without breaking bones. That’s the sort o’ stick as’ll knock a man silly and give him the headache for a week, and sarve him right. If it was half-a-hounce heavier it’d kill him.”

“How do you know?” said Nic sharply.

“How do I know, sir?” said the man wonderingly. “Why, I weighed it.”

Nic would have asked for further explanations; but just then there were steps heard in the yard, and the gardener and a couple of labourers came up in the dusk.

“Oh, there you are,” growled Solly. “Here’s your weepuns;” and he raised three of the cudgels. “You may hit as hard as you like with them. Seen any of the others?”

“Yes,” said the gardener; “there’s two from the village coming along the road, and three of us taking the short cut over the home field. That’s all I see.”

“Humph!” said Solly. “There ought to be five more by this time.”

“Sick on it, p’r’aps,” grumbled the gardener; “and no wonder. We are.”

“What! Are you afraid?” cried Nic.

“No, sir, I aren’t afraid; on’y sick on it. I like a good fight, and so do these here when it’s ’bout fair and ekal, but every time we has a go in t’other side seems to be the flails and we only the corn and straw. They’re too many for us. I’m sick o’ being thrashed, and so’s these here; and that aren’t being afraid.”

“Why, you aren’t going to sneak out of it, are you?” growled Solly.

“No, I aren’t,” said the gardener; “not till I’ve had a good go at that Pete Burge and Master Humpy Dee. But I’m going to sarcumwent ’em this time.”

“Here are the others coming, Bill,” cried Nic.—“What are you going to do this time?” he said to the gardener.

“Sarcumwent ’em, Master Nic,” said the man, with a grin. “It’s no use to hit at their heads and arms or to poke ’em in the carcass—they don’t mind that; so we’ve been thinking of it out, and we three’s going to hit ’em low down.”

“That’s good,” said Solly; “same as we used to sarve the black men out in Jay-may-kee. They’ve all got heads as hard as skittle-balls, but their shins are as tender as a dog’s foot.”

Just then five more men came up and received their cudgels; and directly after three more came slouching up; and soon after another couple, and received their arms.

“Is this all on us?” said one of the fresh-comers, as the sturdy fellows stood together.

“Ay, is this all, Master Nic?” cried another.

“Why?” he said sharply.

“Because there aren’t enough, sir,” said the first man. “I got to hear on it down the village.”

“Ah! you heard news?” cried Nic.

“Ay, sir, if you call such ugly stuff as that news. There’s been a bit of a row among ’em, all along o’ Pete Burge.”

“Quarrelling among themselves?”

“That’s right, sir; ’cause Pete Burge said he wouldn’t have no more to do with it; and they’ve been at him—some on ’em from over yonder at the town. I hear say as there was a fight, and then Pete kep’ on saying he would jyne ’em; and then there was another fight, and Pete Burge licked the second man, and then he says he wouldn’t go. And then there was another fight, and Pete Burge licked Humpy Dee, and Humpy says Pete was a coward, and Pete knocked him flat on the back. ‘I’ll show you whether I’m a coward,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to have no more to do wi’ Squire Revel’s zammon,’ he says; ‘but I will go to-night, for the last time, just to show you as I aren’t a cowards,’ he says, ‘and then I’m done.’”

“Ay; and he zays,” cried another man from the village, “‘If any one thinks I’m a coward, then let him come and tell me.’”

“Then they are coming to-night?” cried Nic, who somehow felt a kind of satisfaction in his adversary’s prowess.

“Oh, ay,” said the other man who had grumbled; “they’re a-coming to-night. There’s a big gang coming from the town, and I hear they’re going to bring a cart for the zammon. There’ll be a good thirty on ’em, Master Nic, zir; and I zay we aren’t enough.”

“No,” said Nic quietly; “we are not enough, but we are going to have our revenge to-night for all the knocking about we’ve had.”

“But we’re not enough, Master Nic. We’re ready to fight, all on us—eh, mates?”

“Ay!” came in a deep growl.

“But there aren’t enough on us.”

“There will be,” said Nic in an eager whisper, “for a strong party of Jack-tars from the king’s ship that was lying off this evening are by this time marching up to help us, and we’re going to give these scoundrels such a thrashing as will sicken them from ever meddling again with my father’s fish.”

“Yah!” growled a voice out of the gloom.

“Who said that?” cried Nic.

“I did, Master Nic,” said the gardener sharply; “and you can tell the Captain if you like. I say it aren’t fair to try and humbug a lot o’ men as is ready to fight for you. It’s like saying ‘rats’ to a dog when there aren’t none.”

“Is it?” cried Nic, laughing. “How can that be? You heard just now that there will be about thirty rats for our bulldogs to worry.”

“I meant t’other way on, sir,” growled the man sulkily. “No sailor bulldogs to come and help us.”

“How dare you say that?” cried Nic angrily.

“’Cause I’ve lived off and on about Plymouth all my life and close to the sea, and if I don’t know a king’s ship by this time I ought to. That’s only a lubberly old merchantman. Why, her yards were all anyhow, with not half men enough to keep ’em square.”

“Bah!” cried Solly angrily. “Hold your mouth, you one-eyed old tater-grubber. What do you mean by giving the young master the lie?”

“That will do, Solly,” cried Nic. “He means right. Look here, my lads; that is a king’s ship, the one commanded by my father’s friend; and he has made her look all rough like that so as to cheat the salmon-gang, and it will have cheated them if it has cheated you.”

A cheer was bursting forth, but Nic checked it, and the gardener said huskily:

“Master Nic, I beg your pardon. I oughtn’t to ha’ said such a word. It was the king’s ship as humbugged me, and not you. Say, lads, we’re going to have a night of it, eh?”

A low buzz of satisfaction arose; and Nic hurried out, to walk in the direction of the signal-staff, where the Captain had gone to look out for their allies.

“Who goes there?” came in the old officer’s deep voice.

“Only I, father.”

“Bah!” cried the Captain in a low, angry voice. “Give the word, sir—‘Tails.’”

“The word?—‘Tails!’” said Nic, wonderingly.

“Of course. I told you we must have a password, to tell friends from foes.”

“Not a word, father.”

“What, sir? Humph, no! I remember—I meant to give it to all at once. The word is ‘Tails’ and the countersign is ‘Heads,’ and any one who cannot give it is to have heads. Do you see?”

“Oh yes, father, I see; but are the sailors coming?”

“Can’t hear anything of them, my boy, and it’s too dark to see; but they must be here soon.”

“I hope they will be, father,” said Nic.

“Don’t say you hope they will be, as if you felt that they weren’t coming. They’re sure to come, my boy. Jack Lawrence never broke faith. Now, look here; those scoundrels will be here by ten o’clock, some of them, for certain, and we must have our men in ambush first—our men, Nic. Jack Lawrence’s lads I shall place so as to cut off the enemy’s retreat, ready to close in upon them and take them in the rear. Do you see?”

“Yes, father; excellent.”

“Then I propose that as soon as we hear our reinforcement coming you go off and plant your men in the wood behind the fall. I shall lead the sailors right round you to the other side of the pool; place them; and then there must be perfect silence till the enemy has lit up his torches and got well to work. Then I shall give a shrill whistle on the French bo’sun’s pipe I have in my pocket, you will advance your men and fall to, and we shall come upon them from the other side.”

“I see, father.”

“But look here, Nic—did you change your things?”

“Yes, father; got on the old fishing and wading suit.”

“That’s right, boy, for you’ve got your work cut out, and it may mean water as well as land.”

“Yes, I expect to be in a pretty pickle,” said Nic, laughing, and beginning to feel excited now. “But do you think the sailors will find their way here in the dark?”

“Of course,” cried the Captain sharply. “Jack Lawrence will head them.”

“Hist!” whispered Nic, placing his hand to his ear and gazing seaward.

“Hear ’em?”

Nic was silent for a few moments.

“Yes,” he said. “I can hear their soft, easy tramp over the short grass. Listen.”

“Right,” said the Captain, as from below them there came out of the darkness the regular thrup, thrup of a body of men marching together. Then, loudly, “king’s men?”

“Captain Revel?” came back in reply.

“Right. Captain Lawrence there?”

“No, sir; he had a sudden summons from the port admiral, and is at Plymouth. He gave me my instructions, sir—Lieutenant Kershaw. I have thirty men here.”

“Bravo, my lad!” cried the Captain. “Forward, and follow me to the house. Your men will take a bit of refreshment before we get to work.”

“Forward,” said the lieutenant in a low voice, and the thrup, thrup of the footsteps began again, not a man being visible in the gloom.

“Off with you, Nic,” whispered the Captain. “Get your men in hiding at once. This is going to be a grand night, my boy. Good luck to you; and I say, Nic, my boy—”

“Yes, father.”

“No prisoners, but tell the men to hit hard.” Nic went off at a run, and the lieutenant directly after joined the Captain, his men close at hand following behind.

Chapter Ten.

A Night of Nights.

Nic’s heart beat fast as he ran lightly along the path, reached the house, and ran round to the stable-yard, where Solly and the men were waiting.

“Ready, my lads?” he said in a low, husky voice, full of the excitement he felt.

“We’ll go on round to the back of the pool at once. The sailors are here, thirty strong, with their officer; so we ought to give the enemy a severe lesson.—Ah! Don’t cheer. Ready?—Forward. Come, Solly; we’ll lead.”

“Precious dark, Master Nic,” growled the old sailor in a hoarse whisper. “We shan’t hardly be able to tell t’other from which.”

“Ah! I forgot,” cried Nic excitedly. “Halt! Look here, my men. Our password is ‘Tails,’ and our friends have to answer ‘Heads.’ So, if you are in doubt, cry ‘Tails,’ and if your adversary does not answer ‘Heads’ he’s an enemy.”

“Why, a-mussy me, Master Nic?” growled Solly, “we shan’t make heads or tails o’ that in a scrimble-scramble scrimmage such as we’re going to be in. What’s the skipper thinking about? Let me tell ’em what to do.”

“You heard your master’s order, Solly,” replied Nic.

“Yes, sir, of course; but this here won’t do no harm. Look here, my lads; as soon as ever we’re at it, hit hard at every one who aren’t a Jack. You’ll know them.”

Nic felt that this addition could do no harm, so he did not interfere, but led on right past the way down to the falls, which had shrunk now to a little cascade falling with a pleasant murmur, for the draining of the heavy thunder-showers was nearly at an end, and the pool lay calm enough in the black darkness beneath the overhanging rocks and spreading trees—just in the right condition for a raid, and in all probability full of salmon.

All at once the old sailor indulged in a burst of chuckles.

“Hear something, Bill?” said Nic.

“No, my lad, not yet; I was on’y thinking. They was going to bring a cart up the road yonder, waren’t they?”

“Yes; one of the men said so,” replied Nic.

“Well, we’re a-going to give ’em something to take back in that cart to-night, my lad,” whispered the man, with another chuckle; “and it won’t be fish, nor it won’t be fowl. My fingers is a-tingling so that I thought something was the matter, and I tried to change my stick from my right hand into my left.”

“Well, what of that?” said Nic contemptuously; “it was only pins and needles.”

“Nay, Master Nic, it waren’t that. I’ve been a sailor in the king’s ships and have had it before. It was the fighting-stuff running down to the very tips of my fingers, and they wouldn’t let go.”

“Hush! don’t talk now,” whispered Nic; “there may be one or two of the enemy yonder.”

“Nay, it’s a bit too soon for ’em, sir; but it’ll be as well to keep quiet.”

The narrow paths of the tangled wilderness at the back of the pool were so well known to all present that their young leader had no difficulty in getting them stationed by twos and threes well down the sides of the gorge on shelves and ledges where the bushes and ferns grew thickly, from whence, when the poachers were well at work, it would be easy to spring down into the water and make the attack. For the flood had so far subsided now that the worst hole was not above five feet deep, and the greater part about three, with a fairly even bottom of ground-down rock smoothed by the pebbles washed over it in flood-time.

Here it was that the salmon for the most part congregated, the new-comers from the sea taking naturally to the haunts of their forerunners from time immemorial, so that poacher or honest fisher pretty well knew where he would be most successful.

Nic chose a central spot for himself and Solly, some four feet above the level of the black water, and after ranging his men to right and left he sat down to wait, with all silent and dark around, save for the murmur of the water and the gleaming of a star or two overhead, for besides this there was not a glint of light. Still, the place seemed to stand out before him. Exactly opposite, across the pool, was the narrow opening between the steep rocks on either side; and he knew without telling that as soon as the poachers began their work his father would send some of his active allies into the bed of the stream lower down, to advance upward, probably before the whistle was blown.

“And then the scoundrels will be in a regular trap before they know it,” thought Nic, as he strained his ears to catch the sound of the sailors being stationed in their hiding-places; but all was still save the soft humming roar of the falling water plunging into the pool.

An hour passed very slowly, and Nic’s cramped position began to affect him with the tingling sensation known as pins and needles; this he did not attribute to the movement of his nerve-currents eager to reach his toes and fill him with a desire to kick his enemies, but quietly changed his position and waited, trembling with excitement, and longing now to get the matter over, fully satisfied as he was that his friends were all in position and ready for the fray.

At last!

There was a sharp crack, as if someone had trodden upon a piece of dead-wood away up to the right. Then another crack and a rustling, and an evident disregard of caution.

“Come along, my lads,” said a low, harsh voice; and then there was a splash, as if a man had lowered himself into the water. “They had enough of it last time, and won’t come this, I’ll wager. If they do, we’re half as many again, and we’ll give ’em such a drubbing as’ll stop ’em for long enough.”

“Needn’t shout and holloa,” said another voice from the side. “Keep quiet. We don’t want to fight unless we’re obliged.”

“Oh no, of course not!” said the man with the harsh voice mockingly. “If we do have to, my lads, two of you had better take Pete Burge home to his mother.”

There was a low laugh at this, and Pete remained silent as far as making any retort was concerned, but directly after Nic felt a singular thrill run through him as the man said softly:

“Three of you get there to the mouth and drop the net across and hold it, for the fish will make a rush that way. Don’t be afraid of the water. Shove the bottom line well round the stones, and keep your feet on it. A lot got away last time.”

There was the sound of the water washing as men waded along the side of the great circular pool, and then the whishing of a net being dropped down and arranged.

“Ha, ha!” laughed a man; “there’s one of ’em. Come back again’ my legs. He’s in the net now. Can’t get through.”

“Now then,” cried the harsh-voiced fellow; “open those lanthorns and get your links alight, so as we can see what we’re about.”

“Not zo much noise, Humpy Dee,” said Pete sharply, as the light of three lanthorns which had been carried beneath sacks gleamed out over the water, and the light rapidly increased as dark figures could be seen lighting torches from the feeble candles and then waving their sticks of oakum and pitch to make them blaze, so that others could also start the links they carried.

At first the light was feeble, and a good deal of black smoke arose, but soon after over a dozen torches were burning brightly, showing quite a little crowd of men, standing in the black water, armed with hooks and fish-spears, and each with a stout staff stuck in his belt.

The scene was weird and strange, the light reflected from the cliff-like sides of the pool seeming to be condensed upon the surface; and the faces of the marauders gleamed strangely above the flashing water, beginning to be agitated now by the startled salmon; while rising upward there was a gathering cloud of black, stifling smoke.

“Ready there with that net,” cried Humpy Dee, a broad-shouldered, dwarfed man, whose head was deep down between his shoulders.

“Ay, ay!” came from the mouth of the pool.

“Less noise,” cried Pete angrily. “Here, you, Jack Willick, and you, Nat Barrow, go up towards the house and give us word if anyone’s coming, so as we may be ready.”

“To run?” snarled Humpy Dee. “Stop where you are, lads. If the old squire meant to come with his gang he’d ha’ been here afore now, and—”

Phee-yew!

The Captain’s shrill silver whistle rang out loudly at this instant, and Nic and his men grasped their cudgels more tightly.

“Now for it, lads,” he shouted, and he sprang from his ledge into the water and made at Humpy Dee.

Chapter Eleven.

A Black Night.

Nic’s cry was answered by a loud cheer from his men, which seemed to paralyse the enemy—some thirty strong, who stood staring, the torch-bearers holding their smoky lights on high—giving the party from the Point plenty of opportunity for picking their men, as they followed their leader’s example and leaped into the pool. This caused a rush of the fish towards the lights for the most part, though many made for the gap to follow the stream, shooting against the net, which was held tightly in its place.

“There, go home, you set of ugly fools, before you’re hurt,” cried the deformed man, with a snarl like that of a wild beast. “What! You will have it? Come on, then. Hi, there! hold the links higher, and let us see their thick heads. Give it to ’em hard.”

Emboldened by old successes, two wings of the gang whipped out their sticks and took a step or two forward, to stand firm on either side of the deformed man, who was a step in front. The next minute the fray had commenced, Nic leading off with a tremendous cut from his left at Humpy Dee’s head.

For the young man’s blood was up; he was the captain of the little party, and he knew that everything depended upon him. If he fought well they would stand by him to a man, as they had shown before. If, on the other hand, he seemed timid and careful, they would show a disposition to act on the defensive. That would not do now, as Nic well knew. His object was to make a brave charge and stagger the enemy, so that they might become the easier victims to panic when they found that they were attacked by a strong party in the rear.

Crack! went Nic’s stout stick, as he struck with all his might; and crick, crick, crack, crash! went a score or more, mingled with shouts of defiance.

But Nic’s cudgel did not give forth its sharp sound from contact with the leader’s head, for he had to do with a clever cudgel-player as well as one who had often proved his power as a tricky wrestler in contests with the best men of the neighbouring farthest west county. Nic’s blow was cleverly caught on as stout a cudgel, and the next moment his left arm fell numb to his side.

He struck savagely now, making up for want of skill by the rain of blows he dealt at his adversary, and thus saved himself from being beaten down into the water at once.

But it was all in vain.

On the other hand, though his men did better, being more equally matched they did not cause the panic Nic had hoped for, and the enemy kept their ground; while the torches spluttered, blazed, and smoked, and to the spectators the amphitheatre during those few brief moments looked wild and strange as some feverish dream.

But, as before said, Nic’s brave efforts were all in vain. His muscles were too soft and green, and he was, in addition to being young, no adept in the handling of a stick. He fought bravely, but he had not the strength to keep it up against this short, iron-muscled, skilful foe. He was aware of it only too soon, for his guard was beaten down, and he saw stars and flashes of light as he received a sharp blow from his adversary’s stick. Then he felt himself caught by the throat, and by the light of one of the torches he saw the man’s cudgel in the act of falling once more for a blow which he could only weakly parry, when another cudgel flashed by, there was a crack just over his head, and Humpy Dee uttered a yell of rage.

“You coward!” he roared. “Take that!” and quick as a flash Nic made out that he struck at some one else, and attributed the side-blow in his defence to Solly, who was, he believed, close by.

At that moment a loud, imperious voice from somewhere in front and above shouted, so that the rocks echoed:

“Hold hard below there!”

Nic involuntarily lowered his cudgel and stood panting, giddy, and sick, listening.

“Yah! never mind him,” roared Humpy. “You, Pete, I’ll pay you afterwards.”

“Now, boys, down with you.”

“The poachers’ companions,” cried one of Nic’s men, and they stepped forward to the attack again, when a pistol-shot rang out and was multiplied by the rocky sides of the arena, making the combatants pause, so that the voice from above was plainly heard:

“Below there, you scoundrels! Surrender in the king’s name. You are surrounded.”

“Brag, my lads!” roared Humpy Dee. “Stand to it, boys, and haul the beggars out.”

There was a moment’s pause, just enough for the next words to be heard:

“At ’em, lads! You’ve got ’em, every man.”

A roaring cheer followed, and Nic saw the torches through the cloud that seemed to be thickening around them. He could hear shouts, which grew louder and fiercer. There was the rattle of cudgels, savage yells seemed to be bellowed in his ears, and he felt himself thrust and struck and hauled here and there as a desperate fight went on for his possession. Then, close at hand, there was a deafening cheer, a tremendous shock, the rattle of blows, and he was down upon his knees. Lastly, in a faint, dreamy way, he was conscious of the rush of cold water about his face, in his ears the thundering noise of total immersion, with the hot, strangling sense of drowning; and then all was blank darkness, and he knew no more.

Chapter Twelve.

A Strange Awakening.

Another storm seemed to have gathered in Dartmoor—a terrible storm, which sent the rain down in sheets, which creaked and groaned as they washed to and fro, and every now and then struck against the rocks with a noise like thunder. Great stones seemed to be torn up and thrown here and there, making the shepherds shout as they tried to keep their flocks together under the shelter of some granite for, while down by the falls at the salmon-pool the water came over as it had never come before.

Nic had a faint recollection of his fight with Humpy Dee, and of some one coming to take his part, with the result that they were all tangled up together till they were forced beneath the water. This must have separated them, so that he was quite alone now, being carried round and round the pool, rising and falling in a regular way, till he came beneath the falls, when down came the tons of water upon his head, driving him beneath the surface, to glide on in the darkness, feeling sick and half-suffocated, while his head burned and throbbed as if it would burst.

It did not seem to matter much, but it appeared very strange; and this must be drowning, but it took such a long time, and went on and on, repeating itself in the same way as if it would never end.

That part of it was very strange, too—that light; and it puzzled Nic exceedingly, for it seemed to be impossible that he should be going round and round in the salmon-pool, to be sucked under the falls, and feel the water come thundering upon his head with a crash and creak and groan, and in the midst of it for a lanthorn to come slowly along till it was quite close to him, and voices to be heard.

After seeing it again and again, he felt that he understood what it was. He had been drowned, and they were coming with a lanthorn to look for his body; but they never found it, though they came and stood talking about him over and over again.

At last he heard what was said quite plainly, but he only knew one voice out of the three that spoke, and he could not make out whose that was.

The voice said, “Better, sir, to-day;” and another voice said, “Oh yes, you’re getting all right now: head’s healing nicely. The sooner you get up on deck and find your sea-legs the better.”

“Oh, I shall be all right there, sir.”

“Been to sea before?”

“In fishing craft, sir—often. But would you mind telling me, sir, where we’re going?”

“Oh, you’ll know soon enough, my lad. Well: America and the West Indies.”

“This must be a dream,” thought Nic; and he was lying wondering, when the light was suddenly held close to him, and he could see over his head beams and planks and iron rings and ropes, which made it all more puzzling than ever.

Then a cool hand touched his brow, and it seemed as if a bandage was removed, cool water laved the part which ached and burned, and a fresh bandage was fastened on.

“Won’t die, will he, sir?” said the voice Nic knew but could not quite make out.

“Oh no, not now, my lad. He has had a near shave, and been none the better for knocking about in this storm; but he’s young and healthy, and the fever is not quite so high this morning.—Hold the light nearer, Jeffs.—Hallo! Look at his eyes; he can hear what we say.—Coming round, then, my lad?”

“Yes,” said Nic feebly, “round and round. The falls will not come on my head any more, will they?”

Crash—rush! and Nic groaned, for down came the water again, and the young man nearly swooned in his agony, while a deathly sensation of giddiness attacked him.

“Head seems to be all right now,” said the third voice.

“Yes, healing nicely; but he ought to have been sent ashore to the hospital.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Bit of practice.”

The roar and rush ceased, and the terrible sinking sensation passed off a little.

“Drink this, my lad,” said a voice, and Nic felt himself raised; something nasty was trickled between his lips, and he was lowered down again, and it was dark, while the burning pain, the giddiness, and the going round the pool and under the falls went on over and over in a dreamy, distant way once more. Then there was a long, drowsy space, and the sound of the falls grew subdued.

At last Nic lay puzzling his weary, confused head as to the meaning of a strange creaking, and a peculiar rising and falling, and why it was that he did not feel wet.

Just then from out of the darkness there was a low whistling sound, which he recognised as part of a tune he had often heard, and it was so pleasant to hear that he lay quite still listening till it ended, when he fell asleep, and seemed to wake again directly, with the melody of the old country ditty being repeated softly close at hand.

“Who’s that?” he said at last; and there was a start, and a voice—that voice he could not make out—cried:

“Hullo, Master Nic! glad to hear you speak zensible again.”

“Speak—sensible—why shouldn’t I?”

“I d’know, zir. But you have been going it a rum ’un. Feel better?”

“Feel—better. I don’t know. Who is it?”

“Me, sir.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Nic querulously; “but who is it?”

“Pete Burge, sir.”

“Pete—Burge,” said Nic thoughtfully, and he lay very still trying to think; but he could not manage it, for the water in the pool seemed to be bearing him along, and now he was gliding up, and then down again, while his companion kept on talk, talk, talk, in a low murmur, and all was blank once more.

Then a change came, and Nic lay thinking a little more clearly.

“Are you there, Pete Burge?” he said.

“Yes, I’m here, master.”

“What was that you were saying to me just now?”

“Just now?” said the man wonderingly. “Well, you do go on queer, zir. That was the day afore yes’day. But I zay, you are better now, aren’t you?”

“Better? I don’t know. I thought I was drowned.”

“Poor lad!” said Pete softly; but it seemed to sting Nic.

“What do you mean by that?” he said feebly.

“Zorry for you, master.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you’ve been zo bad.”

“Been so bad?” said Nic thoughtfully. “Why have I been so bad? It’s very strange.”

Pete Burge made no reply, and there was silence again, till it was broken by Nic, who said suddenly:

“Have you been very bad too?”

“Me, zir? Yes, horrid. Thought I was going to the locker, as they call it. Doctor zaid I ought to have been took to the hospital.”

“Were you nearly drowned?” said Nic after a pause, during which he had to fight hard to keep his thinking power under control.

“Was I nearly drowned, zir?” said the man, with a low chuckle. “Zeems to me I was nearly everythinged. Head smashed, chopped, choked, and drowned too.”

Nic was silent again, for he could not take in so many ideas as this at once, and it was some minutes before he could collect himself for another question.

“But you are better now?”

“Oh yes, zir, I’m better now. Doctor zays I’m to get up to-morrow.”

“The doctor! Was that the doctor whom I heard talking yesterday?”

“Yes: two of ’em; they’ve pulled uz round wonderful. You frightened me horrid, master, the way you went on, and just when I was most bad. You made me feel it was all my fault, and I couldn’t zleep for thinking that if you died I’d killed you. But I zay, master, you won’t die now, will you?”

“How absurd!” said Nic, with a weak laugh. “Of course not. Why should I die now?”

“Ah, why indeed, when you’re getting better?”

There was another silence before Nic began again.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, “why it is that we can be going round the salmon-pool like this, and yet be lying here talking about the doctor and being bad.”

“Ay, ’tis rum, sir.”

“Yes, it puzzles me. Look here; didn’t we have a fight with you and your men to-night?”

“We had a big fight, sir; but it waren’t to-night.”

“But it’s quite dark still, and I suppose it’s my head being giddy that makes me feel that we’re going up and down.”

“Oh no, it aren’t, zir,” said the man, laughing; “we’re going up and down bad enough. Not zo bad as we have been.”

“And round and round?”

“No; not going round, master.”

“But where are we?” said Nic eagerly.

“Ah, that puzzles you, do it, zir? Well, it puzzled me at first, till I asked; and then the doctor zaid we was in the cockpit, but I haven’t heard any battle-cocks crowing, and you can’t zee now, it’s zo dark. Black enough, though, for a pit.”

“Cockpit—cockpit!” said Nic. “Why, that’s on board ship.”

“To be zure.”

“But we are not on board ship?”

“Aren’t we?” said the man.

“I—I don’t understand,” cried Nic after a pause. “My head is all confused and strange. Tell me what it all means.”

Pete Burge was silent.

“Poor lad!” he said to himself; “how’s he going to take it when he knows all?”

“You do not speak,” said Nic excitedly. “Ah! I am beginning to think clearly now. You came with the men after the salmon?”

“Ay, worse luck. I didn’t want to, but I had to go.”

“Come,” said Nic sharply. “To-night, wasn’t it?”

“Nay. It’s ’bout three weeks ago, master.”

This announcement, though almost a repetition, seemed to stun Nic for the time; but he began again:

“We had a desperate fight, didn’t we?”

“Worst I was ever in.”

“And—yes, I remember; we were struggling in the pool when the sailors came.”

“That’s it, master; you’ve got it now.”

“But your side won, then, and I’m a prisoner?”

“Nay; your side won, master.”

“How can that be?” cried Nic.

“’Cause it is. They was too many for uz. They come down like thunder on uz, and ’fore we knowed where we was we was tied up in twos and being marched away.”

“Our side won?” said Nic, in his confusion.

“That’s right, master. You zee, they told Humpy Dee and the rest to give in, and they wouldn’t; so the zailor officer wouldn’t stand no nonsense. His men begun with sticks; but, as our zide made a big fight of it, they whips out their cutlashes and used them. I got one chop, and you nearly had it, and when two or three more had had a taste of the sharp edge they begun to give in; and, as I telled you, next thing we was tied two and two and marched down to the river, pitched into the bottoms of two boats, and rowed aboard a ship as zet zail at once; and next night we was pitched down into the boats again and hoisted aboard this ship, as was lying off Plymouth waiting to start.”

“Waiting to sail?”

“That’s right, master! And I s’pose she went off at once, but I was too bad to know anything about it. When I could begin to understand I was lying here in this hammock, and the doctor telled me.”

“One moment. Where are the others?”

“All aboard, sir—that is, twenty-two with uz.”

“Some of our men too?”

“Nay, zir; on’y our gang.”

“But I don’t understand, quite,” said Nic pitifully. “I want to know why they have brought me. Tell me, Pete Burge—my head is getting confused again—tell me why I am here.”

“Mistake, I s’pose, sir. Thought, zeeing you all rough-looking and covered with blood, as you was one of us.”

Nic lay with his head turned in the speaker’s direction, battling with the horrible despairing thoughts which came like a flood over his disordered brain; but they were too much for him. He tried to speak; but the dark waters of the pool were there again, and the next minute he felt as if he had been drawn by the current beneath the fall, and all was mental darkness and the old confusion once more.

Chapter Thirteen.

William Solly has Thoughts.

It would have been better, perhaps, for Nic Revel if he had not heard the result of the plan to get help from Captain Lawrence’s ship and its disastrous results for him.

For Pete Burge’s narrative was correct enough, save that he made an omission or two, notably the fact that he was captured while making a brave effort to save Nic from the savage blows being dealt out to him by Humpy Dee, who was trying to visit upon his head the disappointment he felt through the failure of the raid.

It was from finding Nic, helplessly insensible, being carried off by Pete that in the dark the sailors took the young man for one of the party they were to attack; and hence it was that he was tied fast to his injured companion, carried down the hill-slope to the river, bundled into the boat with the other prisoners, and carried off, there being no further communication held with the shore. Captain Lawrence knew nothing till long afterwards about Nic being missing, and the long, long search made for him in the pool; two of the men, when questioned later on during the inquiry, having seen him go down in the fierce struggle. But no one, during the confusion which ensued, had seen him rise again; for it was somewhere about that time that those who bore torches, and saw that the fight was going against them, dashed them down into the water, hoping the darkness would cover their escape.

The Captain, in the triumphant issue of the encounter, had stood to see the prisoners all bound, and soon after, upon not finding his son, accepted Solly’s suggestion that Nic had walked down to see the prisoners off, and perhaps gone on board to thank the officer for his help.

The next morning the ship was gone, and a horrible dread assailed master and man as to Nic’s fate. Then came the information from the two labourers who had taken part in the defence and the search, every inch of the pool and river being examined, till the suspicion became a certainty that Nic had been swept down the river and carried out to sea, the cap he wore having been brought in by one of the fishermen who harboured his boat in the mouth of the stream.

But Captain Revel did not rest content with this: in his agony he communicated with Captain Lawrence, who came on at once, and confessed now to his old friend why, when his help was asked, he had jumped at the idea. They wanted men for one of the ships bound for Charleston and the West Indies, the pressgangs having been very unsuccessful; and as the salmon-poachers were described to him as being strong, active fellows, the idea struck him that here was a fine opportunity for ridding the neighbourhood of a gang of mischievous ne’er-do-weels—men who would be of service to their country, and henceforth leave his old brother-officer in peace; while any of them not particularly suitable could be easily got rid of among the sugar and tobacco plantations.

“Then,” said Captain Revel, “you have sent them away?”

“Yes; they sailed the next night. It was rather a high-handed transaction; but the service wanted them badly, and we can’t afford to be too particular at a time like this.”

“But do you think it likely that my poor boy was among the prisoners?”

“Impossible,” said the Captain. “If he were—which is not in the least likely—all he had to do was to speak and say who he was. But absurd! I should have known, of course.”

“But after he was on board the other vessel?”

“My dear old friend,” said Captain Lawrence sympathetically, “I shrink from dashing your hopes, but I feel how unjust it would be to back you up in the idea that he may have gone with the impressed men. He is a gentleman, and an English officer’s son, and he would only have to open his lips to any one he encountered, and explain his position, to be sent home from the first port he reached.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said the Captain bitterly; “and I shall never see my poor boy again.”

Captain Lawrence was so uneasy about his friend that he went back to the boat and sent her off to the ship, returning afterwards to the house, bitterly regretting that he had sent his men ashore and allowed himself to be tempted into making a seizure of the poachers.

Captain Revel was seated in his arm-chair when Captain Lawrence re-entered the house, looking calm, grave, and thoughtful. His friend’s coming made him raise his head and gaze sorrowfully; then, with a weary smile, he let his chin drop upon his breast and sat looking hard at the carpet.

“Come, Revel, man,” cried Captain Lawrence, “you must cheer up. We sailors can’t afford to look at the black side of things.”

“No, no; of course not,” said the stricken man. “I shall be better soon, Jack; better soon. I’m getting ready to fight it.”

“That’s right; and before long you will have the boy marching into the room, or else sending you a letter.”

“Yes, yes,” said Captain Revel, with a sad smile, and in a manner totally different from that which he generally assumed, “he’ll soon come back or write.”

“But, poor fellow! he does not think so,” said Captain Lawrence to himself, as Nic’s father relapsed into thoughtful silence.

“Solly, my lad,” said the visitor, when he felt that he must return to his vessel, “your master has got a nasty shock over this business.”

“Ay, ay, sir; and he aren’t the only one as feels it. I ought never to ha’ left Master Nic’s side; but he put me in my station, and, of course, I had to obey orders.”

“Of course, my lad. Here, we must make the best of it, and hope and pray that the boy will turn up again all right.”

Solly shook his head sadly.

“Ah, don’t do that, my man,” cried Captain Lawrence. “You a sailor, too. There’s life in a mussel, Solly. A man’s never dead with us till he is over the side with a shot at his heels.”

“That’s true, sir,” said the old sailor; “but, you see, I’m afraid. There was some fierce fighting over yonder in the pitch-dark, where the lights waren’t showing. Sticks was a-going awful. If my poor boy got one o’ they cracks on his head and went beneath, there was plenty o’ water to wash him out o’ the pool and down the river.”

“Yes; but hope for the best, man; hope for the best. Remember the bit of blue that comes in the wind’s eye often enough when we’re in the worst part of a gale.”

“Ay, sir, that’s what I do—hope for the best, and that if my poor young master, who was as fine a lad as ever stepped, is done for, I may some day find out who it was that hit that blow, and pay it back.”

“No, Solly,” said Captain Lawrence sternly. “An English sailor does not take revenge in cold blood for what was done in hot. Never! There, I must get off, and in a few days I hope to be back to see my old friend again. Meanwhile, I know he’s in good hands, and that he would not wish to be watched over by any one better than William Solly, his old companion in many a trouble of the past.”

“It’s very kind o’ you to say so, sir,” said Solly humbly.

“I only speak the truth, my man,” said the visitor. “I have seen a great deal, and Captain Revel has told me more, about what a faithful servant you have been to him. Do all you can to comfort him, for he is terribly changed.”

The tears were in old Solly’s eyes, and there seemed to be a kink in his throat, as he said huskily:

“Awful, sir. I was a-saying on’y the other day, when the skipper was wherriting hisself about losing a few salmon, and raging and blowing all over the place, that he wanted a real trouble to upset him, and that then he wouldn’t go so half-mad-like about a pack o’ poachers working the pool. But I little thought then that the real bad trouble was coming so soon; and it has altered him, sewer-ly. Poor Master Nic—poor dear lad! Seems on’y t’other day as I used to carry him sittin’ with his little bare legs over my two shoulders, and him holding on tight by my curly hair. Yes, sir, you look; it is smooth and shiny up aloft now, but I had a lot o’ short, curly hair then, just like an old Calabar nigger’s. And now, on’y to think of it.”

“No, don’t think of it, my lad, for we are not certain, and we will not give up hope. There, good-bye, Solly, my man. Shake hands.”

“Shake—hands, sir—with you, cap’n?”

“No, not with the captain, but with the man who looks upon you as an old friend.”

The next minute Solly was alone, rubbing his fist first in one eye and then in the other, twisting the big bony knuckle of his forefinger round so as to squeeze the moisture out.

“Well now,” he said, “just look at that! What an old fool I am! Well, if I didn’t know as them there drops o’ mystur’ was ’cause o’ my poor lad Master Nic, I should ha’ thought it was all on account o’ what Cap’n Lawrence said. ‘Friend!’ he says. Well, I like that. I s’pose it’s ’cause I’ve allus tried to do my dooty, though I’ve made a horful muddle on it more’n once.”

Chapter Fourteen.

From Darkness to Light.

The next time the doctor came below to see his patients he examined Pete Burge.

“Humph!” he ejaculated. “Lucky for you, my man, that you have such a thick skull. You’ll do now; but you’ve had a narrow escape. There, you can go up on deck every day a bit, but keep out of the sun; it’s very hot, and getting hotter. It will do you more good than stopping down in this black hole.”

“Thank ye, master,” said Pete; and he lay still in his hammock, waiting for the doctor to go on deck before getting out and beginning to dress.

“Look here,” said the doctor; “you are not off the sick-list yet, and you will come down and look after this lad till he is fit to go up.—Well, how are you, my lad?—Hold that light closer,” he continued, turning to his assistant. “Humph! fever stronger.—Has he been talking to you—sensibly?”

“Yes, zir,” replied Pete. “A good deal muddled at first, but he began asking questions at last.”

“What about?”

“Didn’t know how he come here, and I had to tell him.”

“Yes! What then?”

“Give a zort of a groan, zir, and been talking to hisself ever zince.”

“Humph! Poor wretch,” muttered the doctor, and he gave some instructions to his assistant before turning once more to Pete:

“Look here, you had better stay with your mate when you are not on deck. If he gets worse you can fetch me.”

“Where shall I find you, zir?” asked Pete.

“Ask one of the men.”

Pete began to dress as soon as he was alone, and found that it was no easy task on account of a strange feeling of giddiness; but he succeeded at last, and stepped to Nic’s hammock and laid a cool hand upon the poor fellow’s burning brow. Then he went on deck, glad to sit down right forward in the shade cast by one of the sails and watch the blue water whenever the vessel heeled over.

The exertion, the fresh air, and the rocking motion of the ship produced a feeling of drowsiness, and Pete was dropping off to sleep when he started into wakefulness again, for half-a-dozen men came up a hatchway close at hand, with the irons they wore clinking, to sit down upon the deck pretty near the convalescent.

Pete stared as he recognised Humpy Dee and five other partners in the raid.

“There, what did I tell you?” said the first-named, speaking to his companions, but glaring savagely at Pete the while. “There he is. I allus knowed it. He aren’t in irons. It was his doing. Give warning, he did, and they brought the sailor Jacks up. It was a regular trap.”

“What do you mean?” said Pete wonderingly.

“What I say. I always knew you’d turn traitor and tell on us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” cried Pete. “Look here, lads.”

The men he addressed uttered a low growl and turned from him in disgust.

“Oh, very well,” said Pete bitterly; “if you like to believe him instead of me, you can.”

“I told you so,” went on Humpy Dee, whose countenance looked repulsive now from a patch of strips of sticking-plaster upon his forehead; “and he says I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s right,” said Pete; “you don’t.”

“Maybe; but I do now. Look ye here, Pete Burge; it’s your doing that we’re here. Nearly the whole lot on us took—there, you can see some of ’em sailors now. Pressed men. They took the pick of us; but we’re not good enough, we’re not, while you’re to be a bo’sun, or some’at o’ that sort, you expect. But you won’t, for, first chance I get, Pete Burge, I’m going to pitch you overboard, or put a knife in your back; so look out.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Pete again, for nothing better occurred to him; and as the charge seemed to have gone home for truth with the other unfortunates, one and all embittered by sickness, injuries, and confinement in irons below deck, Pete sulkily did as they did, turned away, confident that Humpy Dee’s threat would not be put in force then; for a marine was standing sentry over them, till the men in irons were marched below, Pete finding that, as one on the sick-list, he was free to go up or down when he liked.

During the next fortnight the man puzzled himself as to what was to become of them. He had seen others of his companions often enough, going about their duties; but every one turned from him with a scowl of dislike, which showed that the charge Humpy had made had gone home, and that all believed he had betrayed them.

The consequence was that he passed much of his time below decks, and preferred to come up for his breath of fresh air after dark, passing his time beside Nic’s hammock, thinking what he ought to do about him, and making up his mind what it was to be as soon as the poor fellow grew better and fully recovered his senses.

“I’ll tell the doctor then,” he said to himself. “There’s no good in telling him now, for if I did they’d take him away and put him in a cabin, where it would only be lonezome for him and for me too; and no one would wait on him better than I do.”

But Nic did not get better, as Pete wished, nor yet as the doctor essayed to make him.

“It has got on his brain, poor fellow,” said that gentleman one day, when the patient was able to walk about, apparently nearly well, but his mind quite vacant. He talked, but the past was quite a blank.

“But he’ll get it off, won’t he, zir?” said Pete, who felt the time to speak had come.

“Some day, my lad. I dare say his memory will come back all of a sudden when he is stronger and better able to bear his trouble; so perhaps it’s all a blessing for him in disguise.”

There was so much in this that Pete felt that it was not the time to speak yet.

“What good can it do him till he can think?” he said to himself. “It will only be like me losing a mate as can be a bit o’ comfort, now every one’s again’ me. I mean to stick to him till he can speak out and tell ’em as I didn’t inform again’ the others.”

So Pete held his tongue, and being so much below, was almost forgotten, save by the men of the watches who had to bring the two sick men their rations; and finally he left it till it was too late. For he awoke one morning to find that they were in port in a strange land, and in the course of the morning the word was passed to him and his unfortunate companion to “tumble up.”

“Here, master,” he said to Nic; “you’re to come up.”

Nic made no objection, but suffered himself to be led on deck, where he stood, pale and thin, the wreck of his former self, blinking in the unwonted light, and trying to stare about him, but in a blank way, ending by feeling for and clinging to Pete’s arm.

Very little time was afforded the latter for looking about, wondering what was to happen next; all he saw on deck was a group of marines and about a couple of dozen of the sailors doing something to one of the boats, while the officers were looking on.

The next minute his attention was taken by the beautiful country spreading out beyond the shore, a quarter of a mile away across the sparkling waters of the harbour.

But there was something else to take his attention during the next minute, for there was the clanking of irons, and he saw Humpy Dee and his five companions marched up from below to be called to where he was standing with Nic.

The poachers looked repellent enough as they followed Humpy Dee’s example, and scowled at the pair who had come up from the sick bay, and seemed to receive little sympathy from those who were looking on. Then there was an order given by one of the officers, and the crew of the boat climbed quickly in, while the marines came up behind the prisoners.

“They’re going to take us ashore,” thought Pete excitedly, and the idea had hardly been grasped, before a couple of old hats were handed to him and his companion by the sergeant of marines.

“They’re going to put uz with Humpy and that lot,” said Pete to himself excitedly; “and I must speak now.”

He spoke. It was hurriedly and blunderingly done, and the officer whom he addressed looked at him frowningly.

“What!” he cried; “this man is not one of you—one of the gang taken that night?”

“No, master; he’s a gentleman, and took by mistake.”

Humpy Dee’s eyes flashed, and he burst into a coarse laugh.

“Silence, you scoundrel!—How dare you?” cried the officer angrily.

“Couldn’t help it, master,” growled Humpy. “Make a horse laugh to hear such gammon.”

“What! Do you say that what he tells me is not true?”

“It is true, master,” cried Pete, “every word—”

“All lies,” snarled the poacher savagely. “He was in the fight, and got hurt. He’s one of us. That Pete Burge peached on us, and brought the sailor Jacks on us; and he wants to get out of it to let us go alone. Lies, captain; all lies.”

“What do you say, my men?” said the officer sternly, turning to Humpy’s companions.

“Same as he does,” cried the pressed men in chorus.

“And you?” cried the officer, turning to Nic. “Are you one of this fellow’s comrades?”

“No, master, he aren’t,” cried Pete; “he aren’t, indeed. He’s nought to me. He’s—”

“Silence, sir!” roared the officer. “You, sir,” he continued, turning to Nic, “speak out. Are you one of this fellow’s comrades?”

Nic looked at him blankly, and there was silence on the deck, as the various groups stood there in the burning sunshine.

“Well, sir, why don’t you answer?” cried the officer.

Nic’s answer was in dumb-show, for, poor fellow, he did not grasp a word. He knew that the man by his side had been with him a great deal, and nursed and helped him, speaking soothingly when he was at his worst—every one else seemed strange; and without a word he smiled sadly in Pete’s face and took hold of his arm.

“That will do,” said the officer, who had his orders to carry out. “In with them!”

The marines laid their hands on Nic’s and Pete’s shoulders, while the sergeant signed to the others to climb into the boat; Humpy Dee turning, as he got in last, to give Pete a savage look of triumph.

Pete turned sharply to the marine who was urging him to the side.

“Tell me, mate,” he whispered quickly; “just a word. Where are we going to be took?”

The marine glanced swiftly aside to see if it was safe to answer, and then whispered back:

“Off to the plantations, I s’pose. There, keep a good heart, lad. It aren’t for ever and a day.”

The plantations—to work as a kind of white slave for some colonist far-away.

Pete, in his ignorance, only grasped half the truth; but that half was bad enough to make him sink down in the boat as it was lowered from the davits, put his lips close to Nic’s ear, and groan more than say:

“Oh, Master Nic, lad, what have you done?”

Then the boat kissed the water; the order was given; the oars fell with a splash; and, as the men gave way, Pete Burge darted a wild look about him, to find Humpy Dee just at his back, glaring malignantly, and as if about to speak, as he leaned forward.

But no word came, for the marine sergeant clapped a hand upon his shoulder and thrust him back.

“All right,” said Humpy Dee; “my time’ll come bimeby. Better than being a pressed man, after all.”

Nic had been a long while in the darkness below deck, and his eyes were feeble; but, as the boat glided on rapidly towards the shore, they became more accustomed to the light, and he gazed wonderingly about in his confused state, seeing nothing of the trouble ahead, only the fact that he was approaching the far-stretching, sun-brightened shore.

Chapter Fifteen.

Humpy Dee’s little Threats.

However much he might have been disposed to make a fresh appeal on his companion’s behalf, Pete had no opportunity; for, upon the boat being run alongside of a roughly-made wharf, he and the others were hurried out and marched away to a kind of warehouse, and the care of them handed over to some people in authority, by whom they were shut-in, glad of the change from the broiling sun outside to the cool gloom of the interior, lit only by a grated window high up above the door, from which the rays streamed across the open roof, leaving the roughly-boarded floor in darkness.

After a few minutes the eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and the men seated themselves upon the empty chests and barrels lying about, Pete securing one for Nic, who sat down mechanically, with his head thrown back so that he could gaze at the light. Pete contented himself with the rough floor, where he half-lay, listening to his companions in misfortune, half-a-dozen yards away, as they talked over their position and wondered where they were to go—to a man keeping aloof from Pete, the traitor they accredited with bringing them to their present state.

The men were better informed than Pete had been, his stay in company with Nic and the dislike in which he was held by his old companions having kept him in ignorance of facts which they had picked up from the sailors. And now Pete gradually grasped in full that of which he had previously only had an inkling—that the pick of the prisoners had been reserved for man-o’-war’s-men, those who were considered unsuitable having been reserved for handing over to the colonists. This was in accordance with a custom dating as far back as the days of Cromwell, the Protector being accredited with ridding himself of troublesome prisoners by shipping them off to the plantations as white slaves, most of them never to return.

“Well,” said Humpy Dee aloud, in the course of conversation, “I suppose it means work.”

“Yes,” said another; “and one of the Jacks told me you have to hoe sugar-cane and tobacco and rice out in the hot sun, and if you don’t do enough you get the cat.”

“If any one tries to give me the lash,” growled Humpy, “he’ll get something he won’t like.”

“They’ll hang you or shoot you if you try on any games, old lad,” said another of the men.

“Maybe, if they can,” said Humpy, with a laugh. “Perhaps we may be too many for them. I mean to take to the woods till I can get taken off by a ship.”

“Ah, who knows?” said another. “I aren’t going to give up. Place don’t look so bad. See that river as we come up here?”

“Of course,” growled Humpy.

“Well, I dare say there’ll be salmon in it, same as there is at home.”

“Tchah!” cried Humpy; “not here. This is foreign abroad man. You’ll get no salmon now.”

“Well, any fish’ll do,” said another of the men. “The place don’t look bad, and anything’s better than being shut down below them decks. ’Nough to stifle a man. I know what I’m going to do, though, along with them as like to join me.”

“You’re going to do what I tells you,” said Humpy Dee sourly; “I’m going to be head-man here; and if you don’t you’ll find yourself wishing you hadn’t been born.”

The man growled something in an undertone, and Humpy made an offer at him as if to strike, causing his companion in misfortune to flinch back to avoid the expected blow.

“Look here, boys,” said Humpy; “if every one here’s going to try to do things on his own hook we shall do nothing, so what you’ve got to do is to stick by me. We’re not going to be sold here like a gang o’ black slaves.”

“But we are sold,” said the man who had shrunk away.

“Never mind that; we’re not going to work, then,” said Humpy. “We’re going to slip off into the woods, get to that there river, and do something better than spear or bale out salmon. We’re going to take the first boat we see and get round to the coast, and then keep along till we find a ship to take us off.”

“Well, that’s what I meant,” said the other man.

“Then you’ll be all right,” said Humpy.

So far, without paying attention, Pete had heard every word, and his blood began to course faster through his veins at the thought of escaping and helping Nic back to his friends; but, though he strove hard, not another word reached his ears; for Humpy leaned forward and began speaking in a hoarse whisper, his companions bending towards him, as he said with a peculiar intensity:

“We’ve got to get back home, lads, and not stop here to rot in the sun to make money for whoever’s bought us; but there’s something to do first.”

“What?” said one of the men, for Humpy Dee had stopped and sat in the gloom, glaring savagely at the farther side of the place.

“Wait, and you’ll hear,” was the reply; and there was another pause, during which Nic uttered a low, weary sigh, and let himself fall sideways, so that his head sank in Pete’s lap, and, utterly exhausted, he dropped off to sleep.

“You know how it all was,” Humpy went on at last. “I aren’t going to name no names, but some ’un was jealous-like o’ me, and wanting to take the lead always; and, when he found he couldn’t, he goes and blabs to the young master yonder. Well, we’re not going to take him back—we’ve not going to tell him how we’re going to do it.”

“Have told him. Spoke loud enough,” said the man who had received the rebuff.

Humpy leaned towards him, and with a peculiar, savage air, said in a husky whisper:

“Look here, mate; there’s only room for one to lead here. If you aren’t satisfied you can go and sit along with them two and sham sick, like Pete Burge has all through the voyage.”

“Well, don’t bite a man’s head off,” said the other. “Who wants to lead?”

“You do, or you wouldn’t talk like a fool. Think I’m one, mates?—think I’m going to do as I said, and let him go and blab, so as to get into favour here? That’s just what I don’t mean to do.”

“Then what are you going to do?” said his fellow-prisoner; but for a few moments Humpy only glared at him without speaking. At last, though, he whispered:

“I mean for us to go off together and get free; and as for some one else, I mean for us all to give him something to remember us by afore we go.”

Chapter Sixteen.

Human Cattle.

The prisoners had been sitting in the dark warehouse-like place for some hours, Nic sleeping soundly, and Pete watching and listening to his companions in misfortune, judging from their behaviour that he was to be treated as an outcast, but caring little, for he was conscious of having been true to them in their nefarious doings.

“Let them think what they like,” he said to himself. “Humpy has got that into their heads, and if I talk to them for a week they won’t believe me.”

Then he began to muse upon the subject which forms seven-eighths of a prisoner’s thoughts—how he and Nic were to escape, and whether it would be possible to get to a boat and float down the river of which they had had a glimpse, and of which he had heard his companions speaking, when suddenly there was the deep, heavy barking of a dog, followed by that of two more; and, as he listened, the sounds came nearer and nearer, in company with the shuffling of feet. Voices were heard too, and directly after there was a loud snuffling sound and a deep growling, as the dogs they had heard thrust their noses under the big door, tore at it, and growled savagely, till a fierce voice roared:

“Come here! Lie down!” and there was a crack of a whip, and a sharp yelp to indicate that one of the dogs had received a blow.

Directly after there was the rattle of a big key in the lock, the bolt snapped back, and the door was thrown open, to fill the place with the glow of the afternoon sunshine; and three great hounds bounded in, to rush at once for the prisoners and begin snuffing at them, growling loudly the while.

“Call those dogs off, Saunders,” said a stern voice, as the entrance was darkened by the figures of a group of men.

“In a moment,” was the reply, made by a tall, active-looking man, “They only want to know the new hands, and their flavour.—Here: down, boys!”

The speaker accompanied his order with a sharp crack of the whip, and the dogs came back unwillingly from the groups seated on the floor.

“Take care,” said the first speaker; “that man has a knife.”

Pete turned sharply, to see that a knife-blade was gleaming in Humpy Dee’s hand.

“Knife, has he?” said the man addressed as Saunders, and he stepped forward to where Humpy was crouching down.

“Give me that knife,” he said sharply.

“I don’t want to be eat by dogs,” said Humpy in a low, surly tone.

“Give me that knife,” was reiterated sternly, “or I set the dogs to hold you while I take it away.”

Humpy hesitated for a moment and glared in the speaker’s eyes; but he read there a power which was too much for him, and he closed the blade with a snap and slowly held it up.

The man snatched it from him with his left hand, and the next instant there was a sharp whish through the air and a smart crack, as the stinging lash of a whip fell across Humpy’s shoulder, making him utter a yell of rage.

“Saunders, Saunders!” said the first speaker reproachfully.

“All right, Mr Groves; I know what I’m about,” said the man sharply. “That fellow was armed with a knife which he must have stolen from one of the sailors; and he was ready to use it. The sooner a savage brute like that is taught his position here the better for him. You have done your part and handed the scoundrels over to me, so please don’t interfere.”

The first speaker shrugged his shoulders, and turned to a couple of men who were carrying a basket and a great pitcher; while Saunders went on sharply:

“You hear what I am saying, my lads; so understand this: You have been sent out here from your country because you were not fit to stay there; and you will have to serve now up at your proprietor’s plantation. Behave yourselves, and you will be well fed, and fairly treated over your work; but I warn you that we stand no nonsense here. The law gives us power to treat you as you deserve. Our lives are sacred; yours are not—which means, as Mr Groves here will tell you, that if you venture to attack any one you will be shot down at sight, while I may as well tell you now that we shall fire at any man who attempts to escape.”

Pete’s head gave a throb, and his hand glided slowly to Nic’s and held it tightly.

“When you get up to the plantation you will see for yourselves that you cannot get away, for you will have jailers there always ready to watch you or hunt you down. There are three of them,” he continued, pointing to the dogs which crouched on the warehouse floor, panting, with their long red tongues out and curled up at the ends.

At their master’s gesture the sagacious animals sprang up and gazed eagerly in his face.

“Not now, boys; lie down.—Ah, what’s that?” he cried sharply, and the dogs made a movement as if to rush at the prisoners, for Humpy leaned sideways and whispered to his nearest companion:

“More ways than one o’ killing a dog.”

“Talking about the dogs,” said the other surlily. “You are making yourself a marked man, my friend. Take care. Who are these—the two who have been in hospital, Mr Groves?”

“I suppose so,” was the reply.

“What’s the matter with you?” said the overseer—for such he proved to be—addressing Pete. “Jump up.”

Pete softly lifted Nic’s head from his knee and rose quickly.

“Was cut down, sir,” said Pete; “but I’m getting better fast now.”

“Good job for you. Now, you, sir; wake up.”

The overseer raised the whip he held, to make a flick at Nic as he lay soundly asleep; but Pete stepped forward to save his companion, and in bending over him received the slight cut himself without flinching, though the lash made him feel as if he had been stung.

“He has been a’most dead, zir,” said Pete sharply; “but he’s getting better now fast. Hasn’t got his zenses, though.”

“Wake him up, then,” said the overseer sharply; “and you can get your meal now.—Here, my lads, bring that stuff here and serve it out.”

Pete obeyed the order given, and began by gently shaking Nic, who made no sign. Pete shook him again more firmly, starting violently the next moment, for, unnoticed, one of the great hounds had approached him and lowered its muzzle to sniff at the prostrate man.

Pete’s first instinctive idea was to strike fiercely at the savage-looking intruder, but fortunately he held his hand and bent over his companion wonderingly, and hardly able to believe what he saw; for as the dog nuzzled about Nic’s face, the young man, partly aroused by the shaking, opened his eyes, looked vacantly at the brute for some moments, and then, as if his intellectual powers were returning, he smiled, the animal stopping short and staring down at him closely.

“Well, old fellow,” he said gently; “whose dog are you?”

Pete looked up sharply, and saw that every one’s attention was centred on the basket and pitcher, the two men serving out the provisions and their two superiors looking on.

Then he glanced back again, to see in horror that Nic had raised his hand to the dog’s muzzle, and followed that up by taking hold of and passing the animal’s long, soft ears through his hand.

Pete would have seized the dog, but he felt paralysed by the thought that if he interfered he might make matters worse; and then his heart seemed to rise in his throat, for the great hound uttered a deep, short bark, which had the effect of bringing the others to its side.

“Quiet, you, sirs!” cried their master, but he did not turn his head, and the three dogs now pressed round Nic, the first planting his fore-paws on the young man’s chest, blinking at him with his jaws apart and the long red tongue playing and quivering between the sets of keen milk-white teeth, evidently liking the caresses it received, and of which the other two appeared to be jealous, for they suddenly began to whimper; and then the first threw up its head, and all three broke into a loud baying.

“Quiet, there!” roared Saunders, and he turned sharply now, saw what had taken place, and came back cracking his whip. “Ah!” he shouted. “Get back! How dare you?”

The dogs growled, stood fast, and barked at him loudly.

“Good boys, then!” cried Saunders. “Yes, it’s all right; you’ve found him. There, that will do.”

The dogs began to leap and bound about the place, while their master turned to Pete.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he said. “Have they bitten him?”

“No; haven’t hurt him a bit,” said Pete quietly.

“Lucky for him,” said the man. “There, you see what they’re like, and know what you have to expect—What?”

“I said, are they your dogs?”

Pete stared, for it was Nic who spoke, perfectly calmly, though in a feeble voice.

“Yes,” replied Saunders. “Why?”

“I could not help admiring them. They are magnificent beasts.”

“I am glad you like them, sir,” said Saunders, with a mocking laugh; and he turned and strode away, to order the men to take some of the food they had brought to the other two prisoners, leaving Nic gazing after him.

“Rather brusque,” he said, half to himself, and then he passed his hand over his eyes, drew a long, deep, restful breath, and turned over as if to go to sleep again; but he started up on his elbow instead as he encountered Pete’s face, and a look of horror and dislike contracted his own.

“You here?” he said wonderingly.

“Hush! Don’t speak aloud, dear lad,” whispered Pete excitedly.

“Dear lad?”

“Master Nic Revel, then. You haven’t quite come-to yet. You don’t remember. You were took bad again after being bad once—when you asked me questions aboard ship, and I had to tell you.”

“Taken bad—aboard ship?”

“Here you are; catch hold,” said a voice close to them; and one of the men handed each half a small loaf, while his companion filled a tin mug that must have held about half-a-pint, and offered it to Nic.

The young man had let the great piece of bread fall into his lap, but the gurgling sound of the water falling into the mug seemed to rouse a latent feeling of intense thirst, and he raised himself more, took the vessel with both hands and half-drained it, rested for a few moments, panting, and then drank the rest before handing the tin back with a sigh of content.

“No, no; hold it,” said the man sharply; and Nic had to retain it in his trembling hands while it was refilled.

“There, give it to your mate,” said the water-bearer.

The two young men’s eyes met over the vessel in silence, Nic’s full of angry dislike, Pete’s with an appealing, deprecating look, which did not soften Nic’s in the least.

“Well, why don’t you take it?” said the man with the pitcher.

“Don’t seem to kinder want it now,” replied Pete hoarsely.

“Drink it, man, and don’t be a fool. You’ll be glad of it long before you get there. Sun’s hot yet, and the water’s salt for miles, and then for far enough brackish.”

Nic looked at the speaker wonderingly, for the blank feeling seemed to be coming with the forerunner of the peculiar sensation of confusion which had troubled him before, and he looked from one to the other as if for help; while Pete took the mug and drained it, but contented himself with slipping his bread inside the breast of his shirt, and stood looking down at Nic, whose lips parted to speak, but no words came.

“Seem decent sort of fellows,” said the water-bearer, as he turned off towards the door with his companion; and the dogs rose to follow them, sniffing at the basket.

“Yes, poor beggars!” said the other. “Whatever they’ve been up to in the old country, they’ve got to pay pretty dearly for it now.”

Nic’s hearing was acute enough now, and he heard every word.

“Here, you,” he gasped painfully. “Call them back.”

“What for, Master Nic?” said Pete in an appealing whisper. “Don’t; you mustn’t now. Ask me for what you want.”

“I want to know what all this means,” panted the young man. “Why am I here? What place is this? I’m not—I will know.”

“No, no; don’t ask now, Master Nic,” whispered Pete. “You aren’t fit to know now. I’m with you, my lad, and I swear I won’t forsake ye.”

“You—you will not forsake me?” said Nic, with a look of horror.

“Never, my lad, while I’ve got a drop o’ blood in my veins. Don’t—don’t look at me like that. It waren’t all my fault. Wait a bit, and I’ll tell you everything, and help you to escape back to the old country.”

“To the old country!” whispered Nic, whose voice was panting again from weakness. “Where are we, then?”

“Amerikee, among the plantations, they say.”

“But—but why? The plantations? What does it mean?”

“Work,” said Saunders, who had come up behind them. “Now then, look sharp, and eat your bread. You’ll get no more till to-morrow morning, and in less than half-an-hour we shall start.”

“Start?” cried Nic huskily, as he clapped his hands to his head and pressed it hard, as though he felt that if he did not hold on tightly his reason would glide away again.

“Yes, man, start,” said Saunders. “Can you two fellows row?”

“He can’t, sir; he’s too weak,” cried Pete eagerly; and the overseer’s face contracted. “But I can. Best man here with an oar. I can pull, sir, enough for two.”

“I’ll put you to the proof before you sleep,” said the overseer sharply. “Now, Mr Groves, I’m at your service. I suppose I have some papers to sign?”

“Yes,” said the agent, and he led the way, while the overseer followed, closing the door, placing a whistle to his lips and blowing a shrill note which was answered by a deep baying from the dogs.

“Escape!” muttered Nic wildly. “Plantations! Why, I shall be a slave!”

“No, no, my lad; don’t take it like that. I’ll help you to get away.”

“Will ye?” growled Humpy Dee, coming towards them. “Then I tells that chap next time he comes. I splits on you as you splits on we; so look out, I say, both of you; look out!”

“It’s a lie, Master Nic—a lie,” cried Pete fiercely. “I swear to you, I never—”

Pete caught at the young man’s arm as he spoke, and then loosened it with a groan, for, with a look of revulsion, Nic cried hoarsely:

“Don’t touch me; don’t come near me. Wretch—villain! This is all your work.”

“And so say we, my fine fellow,” cried Humpy Dee, whose eyes sparkled with malignant joy. “His doing, every bit, ’cept what you put in, and for that you’ve got to take your share the same as us. And all because a few poor fellows wanted a bit o’ salmon. Hor, hor, hor! I say, take it coolly. No one won’t believe ye, and you may think yourself lucky to get off so well.”

Nic turned from the man with a look of disgust, and sat up, resting his throbbing head in his hands; while, as Humpy Dee went back to his companions, whistling as he went, Pete threw himself upon the floor, watching him, with his hands opening and shutting in a strange way, as if they were eager to seize the brutal ruffian by the throat.

Chapter Seventeen.

Chains and Slavery.

Pete calmed down after a while, and began to feel a bit sulky. He had common-sense enough to begin looking at the state of affairs from a matter-of-fact point of view, and he lay conning the position over.

“Just as he likes,” he said. “He pitches me over, and won’t have any more to do with me. Well, it aren’t no wonder, zeeing what I’ve been. Wonder what made me turn so zoft and zilly about him! Zeeing how hard it was for him to be zarved as he was, and then hooked off along with us.”

“Dunno that it’s any worse for him than it is for me,” he muttered; “but zeemed to feel a bit sorry about him, poor lad!—there I go again: poor lad! No more poor lad than I be. Got it into my thick head that it was nice to help him while he was so bad, and that, now our lads have pitched me overboard, we was going to be mates and help one another. But we aren’t, for he’s pitched me overboard too.”

“Well,” muttered Pete, with a bitter laugh, “I can zwim as well as most on ’em, and I shan’t hurt much; and as for him, he must take his chance with the rest on us. He’s got his wits back again, and don’t zeem like to go wool-gathering again; and, if he’s sharp, he’ll speak up and make that t’other man understand it’s all a blunder about him being sent off along o’ we. But there, he wants to go his own fashion, zo he must. But if I was him I should kick up a dust before we start, and have myself zent back home by the next ship.”

He glanced in the gloom at where Nic was seated, and a feeling of sorrow for the poor fellow filled him again; but after the rebuff he had received he fought it off, and began to watch Humpy Dee and the others, as they sat together talking in a low tone, and then to meditate on their position towards himself.

“They’re half-afraid of Humpy,” he thought, “and he’s made ’em think that I zet the sailors at them. If I go on talking till it’s a blue moon they won’t believe me, zo things must go their own way, and zome day they’ll find Humpy out; on’y I’m not going to let him do as he likes with me. This isn’t going to be a very cheerful zort of life out here; but, such as it is, it’s better than no life at all; zo I aren’t going to let him pitch me into the river or down some hole, or knock me on the head, or stick a knife into me. That won’t do. It’s murder—leastwise it is at home; p’raps it aren’t out here. Zeems not after the way that chap talked about shooting us down and zetting them dogs at us. Why, one of ’em’s stronger than us, and a zet-to wi’ one of ’em wouldn’t be nice. Bit of a coward, I s’pose, for I can’t abide being bitten by a dog.”

“Best thing I can do will be to slip off first chance; for I zeem, what with Humpy and these folk, to have dropped into a nasty spot. Dessay I can take care of myself, and—nay, that won’t do; zeem sneaky-like to go and leave that poor lad, for I do zort o’ like him. Wonderful how they dogs took to him. Nay, that aren’t wonderful. Got a lot o’ zense, dogs have. Allus zeem to take to zick people and little tiny children, and blind folk too. How they like them too!”

At that moment there was a deep baying sound not far-away, and Pete had not long to wait before there were steps, the door was unlocked and thrown open, and the overseer entered, accompanied by the dogs, and followed by a party of blacks, one of whom carried a roughly-made basket.

They were big, muscular fellows, and shiny to a degree whenever the light caught their skins, a good deal of which was visible, for their dress consisted of a pair of striped cotton drawers, descending half-way to the knee, and a sleeveless jacket of the same material, worn open so that neck and breast were bare.

The dogs barked at the prisoners, and repeated their examination by scent, ending by going well over Nic, who made no attempt to caress them, nor displayed any sign of fear, but sat in his place stolidly watching the proceedings, the dogs ending their nasal inspection by crouching down and watching him.

The overseer was alone now, and his first proceeding was to take his stand by the black, who had set down the heavy basket, and call Humpy Dee to come forward, by the name of Number One.

The man rose heavily, and this seemed to be a signal for the three hounds to spring to their feet again, making the man hesitate.

“Them dogs bite, master?” he said.

“Yes; they’ll be at your throat in a moment if you make the slightest attempt to escape,” said the overseer sharply.

“Who’s going to try to escape?” grumbled Humpy.

“You are thinking of it, sir,” said the overseer. “Mind this,” he continued—drawing the light jacket he wore aside and tapping his belt, thus showing a brace of heavy pistols—“I am a good shot, and I could easily bring you down as you ran.”

“Who’s going to run?” grumbled Humpy. “Man can’t run with things like these on his legs.”

“I have seen men run pretty fast in fetters,” said the overseer quietly; “but they did not run far. Come here.”

Humpy shuffled along two or three steps, trailing his irons behind him, and the overseer shouted at him:

“Pick up the links by the middle ring, sir, and move smartly.”

He cracked his whip, and a thrill ran through Nic.

Humpy did as he was told, and walked more quickly to where the overseer stood; but before he reached him the herculean black who stood by his basket, which looked like a coarsely-made imitation of the kind used by a carpenter for his tools, clapped a hand upon the prisoner’s shoulder and stopped him short, making Humpy turn upon him savagely.

“Ah!” roared the overseer, as if he were speaking to one of the dogs.

Humpy was overawed, and he stood still, while the black bent down, took a ball of oakum out of the basket, cut off about a foot, passed the piece through the centre ring of the irons, and deftly tied it to the prisoner’s waist-belt. Then, as Nic and Pete watched, the action going on fascinating them, the black made a sign to one of his companions, who dropped upon his knees by the basket, took out a hammer, and handed it to the first black. Then the kneeling man lifted out a small block of iron, which looked like a pyramid with the top flattened, clapped it on the floor, and the first black began to manipulate Humpy as a blacksmith would a horse he was about to shoe, dragging him to the little anvil with one hand, using the hammer-handle to poke him into position with the other.

“Going to take off his irons,” thought Pete, and the same idea flashed across Nic’s mind.

He was mistaken.

Another black stepped up, as if fully aware of what was necessary, and stood behind Humpy, ready to hold him up when necessary; for the second black now seized one of the prisoner’s ankles, lifted his foot on to the little anvil, and the first examined the rivet, grunted his dissatisfaction, and Humpy’s foot was wrenched sidewise by one man, who held the rivet upon the anvil, while his leader struck it a few heavy blows to enlarge the head and make it perfectly safe.

This done, Humpy was marched nearer the door, scowling savagely at having had to submit to this process; but he grinned his self-satisfaction as he saw his companions brought forward in turn for their irons to be examined—one to have them replaced by a fresh set, which were taken from the basket, and whose rings were tightly riveted about his ankles, the rivets of the old ones being quite loose.

The men were ranged near the entrance, which, at a look from the overseer, was now guarded by the three unoccupied blacks.

“Now you,” said the overseer to Pete, who rose from where he sat alone and approached the anvil with a curious sensation running through him.

“Why didn’t they iron you?” said the overseer harshly.

“Wounded and sick,” replied Pete gruffly.

“Ah, well, you are not wounded and sick now.—He’s a big, strong fellow, Sam. Give him a heavy set.”

The big black showed his fine set of white teeth. A set of fetters was taken from the basket, and with Pete’s foot held in position by the second black—a foot which twitched and prickled with a strong desire to kick—the first ring was quickly adjusted, a soft iron rivet passed through the two holes, and then the head was rested upon the little block of iron, and a few cleverly-delivered blows from the big black’s hammer spread the soft iron out into a second head, and the open ring was drawn tight.

The second ankle-ring was quickly served in the same way, and the centre link was lifted and tied to the prisoner’s waist-belt, Pete turning scarlet, and wiping the perspiration from his dripping brow from time to time.

“Over yonder with the others!”