Harry Collingwood

"The Cruise of the Esmeralda"

Chapter One.

The Story of the Buried Treasure.

Those of my readers who happen to be well acquainted with Weymouth, will also be assuredly acquainted with a certain lane, known as Buxton’s Lane, branching off to the right from the high-road at Rodwell, and connecting that suburb with the picturesque little village of Wyke. I make this assertion with the most perfect confidence, because Buxton’s Lane happens to afford one of the most charming walks in that charming neighbourhood; and no one can well be a sojourner for any length of time in Weymouth without discovering this fact for him or herself, either through inquiry or by means of personal exploration.

And of those who have enjoyed a saunter through this lane, some there will doubtless be who can remember a substantial stone-built house, standing back a distance of about a hundred yards or so from the roadway, and environed by a quaint old-fashioned garden, the entire demesne being situate on the crest of the rise just before Wyke is reached, and commanding an unparalleled view of the roadstead of Portland, with the open channel as far as Saint Alban’s Head to the left, while on the right the West Bay (notorious for its shipwrecks) stretches from the Bill of Portland, far away westward, into the misty distance toward Lyme, and Beer, and Seaton; ay, and even beyond that, down to Berry Head, past Torquay, the headland itself having been distinctly seen from Wyke Nap on a clear day, so it is said, though I cannot remember that I ever saw it myself from that standpoint.

The house to which I refer is (or was, for I believe it no longer exists) known as “The Spaniards,” and was built by my ancestor, Hubert Saint Leger, with a portion of the proceeds of the Spanish prize that—having so harried and worried her that she at length became separated from the main body of the Great Armada—he drove into Weymouth Bay, and there, under the eyes of his admiring fellow-townsmen, fought her in his good ship Golden Rose, until she was fain to strike her colours and surrender to a craft of considerably less than half her size.

“The Spaniards” had continued in possession of the Saint Leger family from the time of its building down to the date of my story; and under its roof I was born. And to its roof I had returned from an Australian voyage, a day or two previous to the events about to be related, to find my dear mother in the direst of trouble. My father, like all the rest of the male Saint Legers, for as many generations as we could trace back, had been a seaman, and had died abroad, leaving my mother such a moderate provision as would enable her, with care, to end her days in peace and comfort beneath the old roof-tree. It was a lonely life for her, poor soul! for I was her only child, and—being a Saint Leger—took naturally to the sea as a profession. That I should do so was indeed so completely a foregone conclusion, that I was especially educated for it at Greenwich; upon leaving which, I had been bound apprentice to my father. And under him I had faithfully served my time, and had risen to the position of second mate when death claimed him, and he passed away in my arms, commending my mother to my tenderest care with his last breath.

Since that terrible time I had made several voyages to our eastern possessions, and now, when my story opens, was chief mate of a fine clipper-ship, with some hopes of promotion to the rank of “captain” when a suitable vacancy should occur.

The voyage which I had just concluded had been a singularly fortunate one for me, for on our homeward passage, when a short distance to the eastward of the Cape, we had fallen in with a derelict, homeward-bound from the Moluccas and Philippines, with a cargo of almost fabulous value on board; and, having taken possession of her, I had been placed in command, with a crew of four hands, with instructions to take her into Table Bay, there to raise my crew to the full complement, and, having done so, to afterwards navigate her to her destination. This I had successfully accomplished, arriving home only nine days after my own ship. A claim for salvage had been duly made, and I calculated that when the settling day arrived, my own share would fall very little short of three thousand pounds, if, indeed, it did not fully reach that figure.

I have stated that when, upon the termination of an Australian voyage and the completion of my duties as chief mate, I returned to my ancestral home for the purpose of spending a brief holiday with my mother prior to my departure upon yet another journey to the antipodes, I had found her in dire trouble. This trouble was the natural—and I may say inevitable—result of my father’s mistaken idea that he was as good a man of business as he was a seaman. Acting under this impression, he had relied entirely upon his own unaided judgment in the investment of his savings; and, anxious only to secure as generous a provision as possible for my mother, had been tempted to put his hard-earned money into certain projects that, offering, in their inception, a too alluring promise of continuous prosperity and generous dividends, had failed to withstand the test of time and the altered conditions of trade; with the result that, after paying handsome percentages for a more or less lengthened period, they had suddenly collapsed like a pricked balloon, leaving my poor mother penniless. Of course everything had been done that was possible to save something, though it might be ever so little, from the wreck; but there had been nothing to save; every penny was gone; and when I reached home I found the poor soul literally at her wits’ end to maintain a supply of the ordinary necessaries of life.

My appearance upon the scene of course necessitated the raking up of the whole miserable story once more; but when I had been told everything, I saw at once that nothing more could be done, and that my poor mother would simply have to put up with the loss as best she might.

Then arose the question of what was best to be done under our altered circumstances. The first conclusion at which we arrived was the obvious one that it would be quite impossible for my mother to maintain such an establishment as “The Spaniards” upon my income of ten pounds per month as chief mate; and she therefore suggested that we should let it upon a lease, if a suitable tenant could be found, and that she should retire, with her altered fortunes, into the obscurity of some small cottage. To this, however, I would in no wise consent; and it was while we were discussing the matter in all its bearings, and casting about for an acceptable alternative, that my mother let fall a remark, which, little as we suspected it at the moment, proved to be the key-note of the present story.

“Ah, my son,” she ejaculated, with a hopeless sigh, “if we could but find the lost clue to Richard Saint Leger’s buried treasure, all might yet be well with us!”

“Ah!” I responded, with a still more hopeless sigh, “if only we could! But I suppose there is about as much chance of that as there is of my becoming Lord High Admiral of Great Britain. The clue must be irretrievably lost, or it would have been discovered long ere now. I suppose every Saint Leger, from my great-great-great-grandfather Hugh, downwards, has taken his turn at hunting for that miserable lost clue; and the fact that they all failed to find it is conclusive evidence to me that it is no longer in existence.”

“Well, I really don’t know, my boy; I am not prepared to say so much as that,” answered my mother. “Your dear father took the same view of the matter that you do, and never, to my knowledge, devoted a single hour to the search. And I have heard him say that it was the same with your grandfather. And if they never searched for the lost clue, how can we know or suppose that any one has searched for it since Hugh Saint Leger abandoned the quest? Yet there never appears to have been the slightest shadow of doubt in the minds of any of your ancestors, that when Richard Saint Leger died in the arms of his son Hugh, he held the clue to the secret; indeed, he died in the act of endeavouring to communicate it.”

“So I have always understood,” answered I, with languidly reviving interest. “But it is so long since I last heard the story—not since I was a little shaver in petticoats—that I have practically forgotten the details. I should like to hear it again, if it is not troubling you too much.”

“It is no trouble at all, my dear boy, for it can be told in very few words. Besides, you ought to know it,” answered my mother. “You are aware, of course, that the Saint Legers have been a race of daring and adventurous seamen, as far back as our family records go; and Richard Saint Leger, who was born in 1689, was perhaps the most daring and adventurous of them all. He was a contemporary of the great Captain (afterwards Lord) Anson; and it was upon his return from a voyage to the West Indies that he first became aware of the rumours, which reached England from time to time, of the fabulous value of the galleon which sailed annually from Acapulco to Manilla laden with the treasure of Peru. These rumours, which were no doubt greatly exaggerated, were well calculated to excite the imagination and stimulate the enterprise of the bold and restless spirits of that period; so much so, indeed, that when the English, in 1739, declared war against Spain, the capture of one of these ships became to the English adventurer what the discovery of the fabled El Dorado had been to his predecessor of Elizabethan times. At length—in the year 1742, I think it was—it became whispered about among those restless spirits that a galleon had actually been captured, and that the captors had returned to England literally laden with wealth. Richard Saint Leger was one of the first to hear the news; and it so fired his imagination—and probably his cupidity—that he never rested until he had traced the rumour to its source, and found it to be true. He then sought out the leader of the fortunate expedition, and having pledged himself to the strictest secrecy, obtained the fullest particulars relating to the adventure. This done, his next step was to organise a company of adventurers, with himself as their head and leader, to sail in search of the next year’s galleon. This was in the year 1742. The expedition was a failure, so far as the capture of the galleon was concerned, for she fell into the hands of Commodore Anson. In other respects, however, the voyage proved fairly profitable; for though they missed the great treasure ship, they fell in with and captured another Spanish vessel which had on board sufficient specie to well recompense the captors for the time and trouble devoted to the adventure. And now I come to the part of the story which relates to what has always been spoken of in the family as Richard Saint Leger’s buried treasure. It appears that on board the captured Spanish ship of which I have just spoken, certain English prisoners were found, the survivors of the crew of an English ship that had fought with and been destroyed by the Spanish ship only a few days prior to her own capture. These men were of course at once removed to Richard Saint Leger’s own ship, where they received every care, and their hurts—for it is said that every man of them was more or less severely wounded—treated with such skill as happened to be available, with the result that a few of them recovered. Many, however, were so sorely hurt that they succumbed to their injuries, the English captain being among this number. He survived, however, long enough to tell Richard Saint Leger that he had captured the galleon of the previous year, and had determined upon capturing the next also. With this object in view, and not caring to subject their booty to the manifold risks attendant upon a cruise of an entire year, they had sought out a secluded spot, and had there carefully concealed the treasure by burying it in the earth. Now, however, the poor man was dying, and could never hope to enjoy his share of the spoil, or even insure its possession to his relatives. He therefore made a compact with Richard Saint Leger, confiding to him the secret of the hiding-place, upon the condition that, upon the recovery of the treasure, one half of it was to be handed over in certain proportions to the survivors of the crew who had captured it, or, failing them, to their heirs; Richard Saint Leger to take the other half.

“Now, whether it was that Richard Saint Leger was of a secretive disposition, or whether he had some other motive for keeping the matter a secret, I know not; but certain it is that he never made the slightest reference to the matter—even to his son Hugh, who was sailing with him—until some considerable time afterwards. The occasion which led to his taking Hugh into his confidence was the meeting with another enemy, which they promptly proceeded to engage; and it may have been either as a measure of prudence in view of the impending conflict, or perhaps some premonition of his approaching end that led him to adopt the precaution of imparting the secret to a second person. He had deferred the matter too long, however; and he had only advanced far enough in his narrative to communicate the particulars I have just given, when the two ships became so hotly engaged that the father and son were obliged to separate in the prosecution of their duties, and the conclusion of the story had to be deferred until a more convenient season. That season never arrived, for Richard Saint Leger was struck down, severely wounded, early in the fight, and the command of the ship then devolved upon Hugh. Moreover, not only was there a very great disparity of force in favour of the Spaniards, but, contrary to usual experience, they fought with the utmost valour and determination, so that for some time after the ships had become engaged at close quarters the struggle was simply one for bare life on the part of the English, during which Hugh Saint Leger had no leisure to think of treasure or of anything else, save how to save his comrades and himself from the horrors of capture by their cruel enemies.

“Meanwhile, the consciousness gradually forced itself upon Richard Saint Leger that he was wounded unto death, and that time would soon be for him no more. Realising now, no doubt, the grave mistake he had committed in keeping so important a secret as that of the hiding-place of the treasure locked within his own breast, he despatched a messenger to Hugh, enjoining the latter to hasten to the side of his dying father forthwith, at all risks. The messenger, however, was shot dead ere he could reach Hugh Saint Leger’s side, and the urgent message remained undelivered. At length the stubborn courage of the English prevailed, and, despite their vast superiority in numbers, the Spaniards, who had boarded, were first driven back to their own deck and then below, when, further resistance being useless, they flung down their arms and surrendered.

“Hugh now, after giving a few hasty orders as to the disposal of the prisoners, found time to think of his father, whom he remembered seeing in the act of being borne below, wounded, in the early part of the fight. He accordingly hurried away in search of him, finding him in his own cabin, supported in the arms of one of the seamen, and literally at his last breath. It was with difficulty that Hugh succeeded in rendering his father conscious of his presence; and when this was at length accomplished the sufferer only rallied sufficiently to gasp painfully the words, ‘The treasure—buried—island—full particulars—concealed in my—’ when a torrent of blood gushed from his mouth and nostrils, and, with a last convulsive struggle, Richard Saint Leger sank back upon his pallet, dead.

“He was buried at sea, that same night, along with the others who had fallen in the fight; and some days afterwards, when Hugh Saint Leger had conquered his grief sufficiently to give his attention to other matters, he set himself to the task of seeking for the particulars relating to the buried treasure. But though he patiently examined every document and scrap of paper contained in his father’s desk, and otherwise searched most carefully and industriously in every conceivable hiding-place he could think of, the quest was unavailing, and the particulars have never been found, to this day!”

“It is very curious,” I remarked, when my mother had brought her narrative to a conclusion—“very curious, and very interesting. But what you have related only strengthens my previous conviction, that the document or documents no longer exist. I have very little doubt that, if the truth could only be arrived at, it would be found that Richard Saint Leger kept the papers concealed somewhere about his clothing, and that they were buried with him.”

“No; that was certainly not the case,” rejoined my mother; “for it is distinctly stated that—probably to obviate any such possibility—Hugh Saint Leger carefully preserved every article of clothing which his father wore when he died; and the things exist to this day, carefully preserved, upstairs, together with every other article belonging to Richard Saint Leger which happened to be on board the ship at that time.”

“And have those relics never been examined since my ancestor Hugh abandoned the quest as hopeless?” I inquired.

“They may have been; I cannot say,” answered my mother. “But I do not believe that your dear father—or your grandfather either, for that matter—ever thought it worth while to subject them to a thoroughly exhaustive scrutiny. Your father, I know, always felt convinced, as you do, that the documents had been either irretrievably lost, or destroyed.”

“Then if that be so,” I exclaimed, “they shall have another thorough overhaul from clew to earring before I am a day older. If, as you say, every scrap of property belonging to Richard Saint Leger was carefully collected and removed from the ship when she came home, and still exists, stored away upstairs, why, the papers must be there too; and if they are I will find them, let them be hidden ever so carefully. Whereabouts do you say these things are, mother?”

“In the west attic, where they have always been kept,” answered my mother. “Wait a few minutes, my dear boy, until I have found the keys of the boxes, and we will make the search together.”

Chapter Two.

The Cryptogram.

The west attic was a sort of lumber-room, in which was stored an extensive collection of miscellaneous articles which had survived their era of usefulness, but, either because they happened to be relics of former Saint Legers, or for some other equally sufficient reason, were deemed too valuable to be disposed of. The contents of this chamber could scarcely have proved uninteresting, even to a stranger, for in addition to several handsome pieces of out-of-date furniture—discarded originally in favour of the more modern, substantial mahogany article, and now permitted to remain in seclusion simply because of the bizarre appearance they would present in conjunction with that same ponderous product of the nineteenth-century cabinet-makers’ taste—there were to be found outlandish weapons, and curiosities of all kinds collected from sundry out-of-the-way spots in all quarters of the globe, to say nothing of the frayed and faded flags of silk or bunting that had been taken from the enemy at various times by one or another of the Saint Legers—each one of which represented some especially hard-fought fight or deed of exceptional daring, a complete romance in itself—and the ponderous pistols with inlaid barrels and elaborately carved stocks, the bell-mouthed blunderbusses, and the business-like hangers, notched and dinted of edge, and discoloured to the hilt with dark, sinister stains, that hung here and there upon the walls, relics of dead and gone Saint Legers. To me, the only surviving descendant of that race of sturdy sea-heroes, the room and its contents had of course always proved absorbingly interesting; and never, even in my earliest childhood, had I been so delighted as when, on some fine, warm, summer day, I had succeeded in coaxing my mother up into this room and there extracted from her the legend attached to some flag or weapon. To do her justice she, poor soul, would never of her own free will have opened her lips to me on any such subject; but my father—a Saint Leger to the backbone, despite the fact that his susceptibilities had become refined and sensitive by the more gentle influences of modern teaching—felt none of the scruples that were experienced by his gentle, tender-hearted spouse, and seemed to consider it almost a religious duty that the latest of the Saint Legers should be so trained as to worthily sustain the traditions of his race. Not, it must be understood, that my father preserved the faintest trace of that unscrupulous, buccaneering propensity that was only too probably a strongly marked characteristic of the earlier Saint Legers; far from it; but it had evidently never occurred to him that it was even remotely possible that I should ever adopt any other profession than that of the sea, and, knowing from experience how indispensable to the sailor are the qualities of dauntless courage, patient, unflinching endurance, absolute self-reliance, and unswerving resolution, he had steadily done his utmost to cultivate those qualities in me; and his stories were invariably so narrated as to illustrate the value and desirability of one or another of them.

On the present occasion, however, my thoughts on entering the room were intent upon a subject but remotely connected with the valiant achievements of my ancestors; and I lost no time in collecting together in one corner every article, big or little, that still remained of the possessions of Richard Saint Leger. There were not many of them: his sea-chest, containing a somewhat limited wardrobe, including the clothes in which he died; his writing-desk, a substantial oak-built, brass-bound affair; a roll of charts, still faintly redolent of that peculiar musty odour so characteristic of articles that have been for a long time on shipboard; a few books, equally odoriferous; a brace of pistols; and his sheathed hanger, still attached to its belt.

The writing-desk, as being the most appropriate depository for papers, was, naturally, the object to which I first devoted my attention; and this I completely emptied of its contents, depositing them in a clothes-basket on my right hand, to start with, from which I afterwards removed them, one by one, and after carefully perusing each completely through, tossed them into a similar receptacle on my left. Many of the documents proved to be sufficiently interesting reading, especially those which consisted of notes and memoranda of information relating to the projected or anticipated movements of the enemy’s ships, acquired, in some cases, in the most curious way. Then there were bundles of letters retailing scraps of home news, and signed “Your loving wife, Isabella.” But, though I allowed no single scrap of paper to pass unexamined, not one of them contained the most remote reference to any such matter as buried treasure.

I next subjected the desk itself to a most rigorous examination, half hoping that I might discover some secret receptacle so cunningly contrived as to have escaped the observation of those who had preceded me in the search. But no; the desk was a plain, simple, honest affair, solidly and substantially constructed in such a manner that secret recesses were simply impossible. Having satisfied myself thus far, I carefully restored all the papers to the several receptacles from which I had taken them, locked the desk, and then turned my attention to the sea-chest.

Here I was equally unfortunate; for, though in the bottom of the chest I actually found the identical log-book relating to the cruise during which Richard Saint Leger was supposed to have acquired his knowledge of the hidden treasure, and though I found duly entered therein the usual brief, pithy, log-book entries of both actions with the Spanish ships, not a word was there which even remotely hinted at the existence of the treasure, or any record relating to it. And—not to spin out this portion of my yarn to an unnecessary length—I may as well say, in so many words, that when I had worked my way steadily through every relic left to us of Richard Saint Leger, until nothing remained to be examined but his hanger and belt, I found myself as destitute of any scrap of the information I sought as I had been at the commencement of the search.

It was not in the least likely that any one would select such an unsuitable place as the sheath of a cutlass in which to conceal an important document; still, that I might never in the future have reason to reproach myself with having passed over even the most unlikely hiding-place, I took down the weapon from the peg on which it hung, and with some difficulty drew the blade from its leather sheath.

There was nothing at all extraordinary about the weapon or its mountings; blade and hilt were alike perfectly plain; but what a story that piece of steel could have told, had it been gifted with the power of speech. It was notched and dinted from guard to point, every notch and every dint bearing eloquent evidence of stirring adventure and doughty deeds of valour. But I was not there on that occasion to dream over a notched and rusty cutlass; I therefore laid the weapon aside, and, with the belt across my knees, proceeded to carefully explore the interior of the sheath with the aid of a long wire. And it was while thus engaged that my eye fell upon a portion of the stitching in the belt that had the appearance of being newer than—or perhaps it would be more correct to say of different workmanship from the rest. The belt, I ought to explain, was a leather band nearly four inches wide, the fastening being an ordinary plain, square, brass buckle. The belt was made of two thicknesses of leather stitched together all along the top and bottom edge; and it was a portion of this stitching along the top edge that struck me as differing somewhat in appearance from the rest.

That I might the better inspect the stitching, I moved toward the window with the belt in my hand; and, as I did so, I ran the thick leather through my fingers. Surely the belt felt a shade thicker in that part than anywhere else! And was it only my fancy, or did I detect a faint sound as of the crackling of paper when I bent the belt at that spot in the act of raising it to the light? Was it possible that Richard Saint Leger had actually chosen so unlikely a spot as the interior of his sword-belt in which to hide the important document? And yet, after all, why unlikely? It would be as safe a place of concealment as any; for he doubtless wore the belt, if not the hanger, habitually; and therefore, by sewing the document up inside it, he would be sure of always having it upon his person, with scarcely a possibility of losing it.

Determined to solve the question forthwith, I whipped out my knife and carefully cut through the suspicious-looking stitches, thus separating the two thicknesses of leather along their upper edges for a length of about six inches; then, forcing the two edges apart, I peered into the pocket-like recess; and there, sure enough, was a small, compactly folded paper, which I at once withdrew and carefully unfolded. The result was the disclosure of the following incomprehensible document:—

“11331829 14443401 64519411 74217411 93613918 21541829 154123 49274519 44384914 27163426 41152923 39154319 44214414 44153317 32 24535184 19492442 17321635 24531739 15261943 24381526 29594354 29 43163543 72164627 38537766 79193423 48132915 19412338 18294865 62 93415619 48233516 31233415 43265524 54193743 58274253 87273819 32 43731941 57761738 43581741 19341645 19484368 27435989 28467691 27 43152644 57284327 52193563 74163951 62184227 43699143 68273844 74 58776387 19361641 18424777 19372041 56894566 15452641 19471526 62 91436226 56689115 34425924 42245417 29264163 93284652 831948

“17465383 17322944 17455369 64892351 44742947 16314462 234854 76133526 51235619 31274218 48558817 32294419 43295216 41154619 49 23414354 19431529 24372543 67865983 27385579 23371449 37521342 65 83445515 37497176 92163553 77193323 34164453 72195117 32164418 51 43611635 24375169 25371641 72844458 52741954 26411842 55852439 16 44152623 47193316 45334428 47557716 47537972 91558518 29849842 61 17461545 21321741 15284459 16412642 15451331 53811429 27422743 18 49164419 41436817 41264338 67154528 53164629 47425718 31295743 58 39547697 39645377 16462843 17323867 17472738 57855769 18437485 29 57193329 47349153 97791438 91728386 73564163 53761619 114301848 53711934 26395785 51666378 17382334 45693751 29511829 15392539 35 49153959 92139445 91635467 53355142 51135213 51747294 722371747 19471227 16271847 16471947 12274567 38570277 38671327 26571328 19 48335827 58588814 32163244 72174239 62629224 42112634 46656617 46 31407196 15313161 23417691 36614961 16311941 12311241 41622452 37 62294221 42.”

This I studied for a few minutes, in complete bewilderment, and then carried it downstairs to my mother, who had been called away upon some household matter some time before.

“See here, mother!” I exclaimed. “I have found something; but whether or no it happens to be the long-missing secret of the hidden treasure it is quite impossible for me to determine. If it is, there is every prospect of its remaining a secret, so far as I am concerned, for I can make neither head nor tail of it.”

“Let me look at it, my son. Where did you find it?” she exclaimed, stretching out her hand for the paper.

“It was sewn up in Richard Saint Leger’s sword-belt, from which I have just cut it,” I replied. “So, whether or not it will be the secret of the treasure, I think we may safely take it for granted that it is a document of more than ordinary value, or Dick Saint Leger would never have taken the trouble to conceal it so carefully.”

“Yes,” remarked my mother, “there can be no doubt as to its contents being of very considerable importance. It is a cryptogram, you see, and people do not usually take the trouble to write in cipher unless the matter is of such a nature as to render a written record very highly desirable, whilst it is also equally desirable that it should be preserved a secret from all but the parties who possess the key. It is certainly a most unintelligible-looking affair; but I have no doubt that, with a little study, we shall be able to puzzle out the meaning. As a girl I used to be rather good at solving puzzles.”

“So much the better,” I remarked; “for to me it presents a most utterly hopeless appearance. The only thing I can understand about it is the sketch, which, while it bears the most extraordinary resemblance to the profile of a man’s face, is undoubtedly intended to represent an island. And that, to my mind, is a point in favour of its being the long-sought document. And now,” I continued, “if you feel disposed to take a spell at it and see what you can make of it, I think I will walk into the town and attend to one or two little matters of business. Perhaps you will have the whole thing cut and dried by the time that I return.”

My mother laughed.

“I am afraid you are altogether too sanguine, my dear Jack,” she replied; “this is no ordinary, commonplace cipher, I feel certain. But run along, my dear boy, the walk will do you good; and while you are gone I will sit down quietly and do my best to plumb the secret.”

Dismissing, for the time being, the mysterious document from my mind, I set out along the lane toward Weymouth, giving my thoughts, meanwhile, to the question of what would be the best course for me to pursue under my mother’s altered circumstances. She was now absolutely dependent upon me for food and clothing, for the funds requisite to maintain the household—for everything, in fact, save the roof that covered her; and it needed no very abstruse calculation to convince us that my wages as chief mate were wholly inadequate to the demands that would now be made upon them. If only I could but obtain a command, all would be well; but I had no interest whatever outside the employ in which I was then engaged; and I had already received a distinct assurance from my owners that I should be appointed to the first suitable vacancy. But—as I had taken the trouble to ascertain immediately upon my arrival home—the prospect of any vacancy, suitable or otherwise, was growing more remote and intangible every day; steamers were cutting out the sailing craft in every direction; freights were low and scarce; and ships were being laid up by the hundred, in every port of any consequence, for want of profitable employment. Still, there were exceptions to this rule; and I had met an old shipmate of mine, only a few days before, in London, who, in command of his own ship, was doing exceedingly well. And, as my meeting with him and our subsequent chat recurred to my memory, the thought suggested itself, “Why should not I, too, command my own ship?”

I had a little money—a legacy of a few hundreds left me by an uncle some years previously; and there was my share of the salvage money: it might be possible to obtain a command by purchasing an interest in a ship! Or, better still, I might be able to acquire the sole ownership of a craft large enough for my purpose by executing a mortgage on the ship for the balance of the purchase-money.

The idea was worth thinking over, and talking over also; and, since there is no time like the present, I determined to call upon an old family friend—a retired solicitor, named Richards—forthwith.

I was fortunate enough to find the old gentleman at home when at length I had made my way over the bridge, up through the town, and along the esplanade, to his comfortable villa on the Dorchester road. He was pottering about in his garden when I was announced; and the smart parlour-maid who took my card to him quickly returned with a message requesting that I would join him there. He seemed genuinely glad to see me; and, like most elderly people who have passed their lives in one place, was full of inquiries as to the spots I had last visited, the incidents of my voyage, and so on. Having satisfied his curiosity in this respect, and indulged in a little desultory chat, I unfolded the special object of my call to him, explaining my position, and asking him what he thought of my plan.

“Well,” said he, when I had finished my story, “shipping, and matters connected therewith, are rather out of my line, as you are no doubt aware; but if you can see your way to make the purchase of a ship a paying transaction I should think there ought not to be any very serious difficulty about finding the funds: the money market is said to be tight, just now, it is true; but my experience is that there is always plenty of money to be had when the prospects of a profitable investment are fairly promising. Now, for instance, it is really a most curious coincidence that you should have called upon me just at this time, for it happens that certain mortgages I held have recently been paid off, and I have been casting about for some satisfactory re-investment in which to employ the money. How much do you think it probable you will require?”

I made a rapid calculation, and named the sum which I thought would suffice.

“Coincidence number two!” he exclaimed. “Singularly enough, that happens to be precisely the amount I now have lying idle. Now, Jack, my lad, I have known you from a boy; and, though it is an axiom with us lawyers never to think well of anything or anybody, I would stake my last penny upon your integrity. So far as your honesty is concerned I would not hesitate to advance you any sum you might require that I could spare, upon the mere nominal security of your note of hand. But there are other risks than that of the borrower’s dishonesty to be considered, and they must be guarded against. Take, for example, the possibility of your failing to find remunerative employment for your ship. How is that to be guarded against?”

“You would hold a bottomry bond—in other words, a mortgage—upon the ship for the amount of your debt, which would constitute an ample security for its recovery,” I replied.

“Um—yes; just so,” he commented. “Still, a ship is not a house; the cases are by no means parallel. Then, there is the risk of loss, total or partial. The ship might be stranded, and receive so much damage that it would cost more than she was worth to repair her. Or she might become a total wreck. All such possibilities would have to be provided against by insurance, and, as a business man, I should expect to hold the policy. Would you be willing that I should do that?”

“Certainly,” I replied. “Of course, in the event of your deciding to lend me the money I require, I presume that a proper agreement would be drawn up, specifying the amount, terms, and duration of the loan, the mode of repayment, and so on—an agreement, in short, which would equally protect both our interests; and if that were done there could be no objection whatever to your holding the policy; indeed, I should most probably ask you to do so, apart from any stipulation to that effect, as it would be much safer with you than with me.”

“That is very true,” assented the old gentleman. “The chief question, however, is whether you are practically convinced that you would be acting wisely in entering upon this undertaking. Do you honestly believe that there is a reasonable prospect of your being able to make it pay? I am asking this question on your own behalf, not mine, my dear boy. I shall be quite safe, for, as a business man, I shall take care to make myself so; but failure would be simply disastrous for you. Now, tell me, honestly, have you any doubt at all as to the success of the enterprise?”

“None whatever,” I answered confidently. “There is, doubtless, plenty of hard work and anxiety in store for me, but not failure. I am master of my profession, and I have a certain modicum of business ability, as well as common sense. Never fear for me, my dear sir; I shall come out all right.”

“Upon my word, I believe you will, Jack,” the old gentleman replied. “You are a plucky young fellow, and that is half the battle in these days. However, do not decide upon anything hastily; take a little more time to think the matter over; and if, after doing so, you finally determine upon hazarding the experiment, do not go to a stranger to borrow money; come to me, and you shall be dealt fairly with.”

As I wended my way homeward, on that glorious summer afternoon, I once more turned the whole matter over in my mind, with the result that before I reached “The Spaniards” I had fully come to the determination to take the risk, such as it was, and be my own master. There was no blinking the fact that I should have to do something; and to purchase a ship and sail in my own employ seemed to be not only the best but the only thing I could do, under the circumstances.

On reaching home I found that my mother had spent the entire afternoon in a fruitless effort to decipher the cryptogram, much to her disappointment; so, by way of giving her something else to think about, I told her of the idea that had occurred to me during my walk; of the chat I had had with Mr Richards about it, and of his offer to assist me with a loan, if need were. The dear old mater entered upon the subject with enthusiasm, as she always did upon any plan or scheme upon which I had set my heart; and though at first the idea of trusting all my savings to the mercy of the treacherous sea failed to commend itself to her, she came round to my view at length, and dissipated the only scruples I had had by unreservedly assenting to my proposal.

The matter settled thus far, the next thing to be done was to obtain my master’s certificate; and this I determined to do forthwith, and to look about me for a ship at the same time. I knew exactly what I wanted, but scarcely expected to get it with the amount at my disposal, even with such assistance as Mr Richards might be able to afford me. Still, I was in no hurry for a month or two; I should have a little time to look about me; and if I could not find precisely what I wanted, I should perhaps succeed in obtaining a reasonably near approach to it.

Accordingly, on the following day I made the few preparations that were necessary; called upon Mr Richards again and acquainted him with my decision, and, on the day afterwards, took an early train to London, and not only settled myself in lodgings in the neighbourhood of Tower Hill, but also arranged with a “coach” to give me the “polishing-up” necessary to obtain my certificate, before night closed down upon the great city.

Chapter Three.

The “Esmeralda.”

As I had been sensible enough to make the most of my opportunities at sea, I was both a crack seaman and a first-rate navigator; I needed therefore no very great amount of coaching to enable me to pass my examination; and a month later saw me a full-fledged master, with a certificate in my pocket, which empowered me to take the command of a passenger-ship, if I could obtain it.

Meanwhile, I had been keeping a quiet lookout for such a ship as I had in my mind’s eye, and indeed had looked at several, but had hitherto found nothing to suit me. I had also called two or three times at the office of my late owners, to inquire how the matter of the salvage was progressing, and had been informed on the last occasion that there was every prospect of a speedy settlement. This had been a week previous to the obtaining of my certificate. That last week had been a busy as well as a somewhat anxious one for me; but I was now free; my troubles, so far as the examination was concerned, were over; and on the eventful afternoon, when I received the intimation that I had “passed with flying colours,” I mentally resolved to pay another visit of inquiry after the salvage the first thing the next morning.

When the next morning came, however, my plans for the day suddenly underwent an alteration; for as I sat in my frowsy lodgings at a rather later breakfast than usual, devouring my doubtful eggs, munching my tough toast, and sipping my cold coffee, with an advertisement page of the Shipping Gazette propped up before me on the table, the following advertisement caught my eye.

“For Sale, at Breaking-up Price.—The exceptionally fast and handsome clipper barque Esmeralda, 326 tons B.M., A1 at Lloyd’s. Substantially built of oak throughout; coppered, and copper-fastened. Only 8 years old, and as sound as on the day that she left the stocks. Very light draught (11 feet, fully loaded), having been designed and built especially for the Natal trade. Can be moved without ballast. Has accommodation for twelve saloon and eight steerage passengers. Unusually full inventory, including three suits of sails (one suit never yet bent), 6 boats, fully equipped; very powerful ground-tackle; hawsers, warps; spare topmasts and other spars, booms, etcetera, etcetera, complete. Ready for sea at once. Extraordinary bargain; owners adopting steam. For further particulars apply to, etcetera, etcetera.”

Now, this was exactly the kind of craft I had had in my mind, from the moment when I first thought of purchasing—that is, if the Esmeralda only happened to bear a reasonable resemblance to her description. This, unfortunately, did not always happen—at all events, in the case of vessels for sale; my own experience, hitherto, had been that it was the exception, rather than the rule, for I had found that if indeed the advertisement did not contain some gross mis-statement, it was almost always so cunningly worded as to convey an impression totally at variance with the reality. In this case, however, I was somewhat more hopeful, for these Natal clippers were not wholly strange to me. The ship to which I had lately belonged had loaded her outward cargo in the same dock with one or another of them on more than one occasion, and I had noticed them as being exceptionally smart-looking little craft; and I had frequently heard them spoken of in highly favourable terms, by men who had sailed in them. I knew, moreover, that, until very lately, a strong feeling of rivalry had existed between the owners whose ships were in that particular trade—especially those who made a speciality of passenger-carrying—each owner striving his utmost to earn for his own ships the reputation of being the fastest and most comfortable in the trade. I was therefore in hopes that, if the Esmeralda had indeed been especially built for a Natal liner, she might not prove so hopelessly unlike her description as had been most of the ships I had taken the trouble to inspect; and I therefore determined to have a look at her forthwith, lest so eligible a craft as she seemed to be—on paper—should slip through my fingers.

The place at which it was necessary to apply for further particulars was in Fenchurch Street; and upon making my way thither, I discovered that it was the office of the owners. I stated my business to one of the clerks, and was immediately turned over to a keen-looking elderly man who at once invited me into his private sanctum, and, as a preliminary, showed me a half-model of the vessel. It was a very plainly got up affair, intended merely to exhibit the general shape and mould of the hull; but I had no sooner taken it into my hands and cast a critical glance or two at the lines of the entrance and run, than I decided conclusively that I had never in my life set eyes upon a more handsome craft. The model showed her to be shallow and very beamy of hull; but her lines were as fine as those of a yacht, and indeed the entire shape of the hull was yacht-like in the extreme. Having expressed, in becomingly moderate terms, my satisfaction, so far, I was next given the specification to look through; and a careful perusal of this document convinced me that, if the craft had been built up to it, she was undoubtedly as staunch a ship as wood and metal could make her.

The next question was that of price; and though, when it was named, a disinterested person might perhaps have been disposed to consider the expression “breaking-up price” as somewhat poetic and imaginative, the figure was still a very decidedly moderate one, if the craft only proved to be in somewhat as good condition as she was represented to be. This also meeting with my carefully qualified approval, it was suggested that, as the craft herself was lying in the East India Docks, I should run down and look at her. My new friend and I accordingly took train, and in due time arrived alongside.

It was hard work to restrain the expressions of admiration and delight that sprang to my lips when my eyes first rested upon her, for she was a little beauty indeed. Dirty as she was, and disordered and lumbered-up as were her decks, it was impossible for the professional eye to overlook her many excellencies; and before I had even stepped on board her I had already mentally determined that if her hull were only sound, the little barkie should be mine, and that in her I would seek for Dick Saint Leger’s long-lost treasure. For she not only came up to but far surpassed in appearance the ideal craft upon which I had set my mind. She was as handsome as a picture; with immensely taunt and lofty spars; and though her hold was absolutely empty, her royal yards were across, and the strong breeze that happened to be blowing at the time made scarcely any perceptible impression upon her. She carried a small topgallant forecastle forward, just large enough to comfortably house two pig-pens, which in this position were not likely to prove an annoyance to people aft; and the accommodation below for the crew was both roomy and comfortable. Abaft the foremast, and between it and the main hatch, stood a deck-house, the fore part of which constituted the berthage for the steerage passengers, while the after-part consisted of a commodious galley fitted with a large and very complete cooking-range. The after-part of the deck was raised some two and a half feet, forming a fine roomy half-poop, pierced only by the saloon companion, the saloon skylight, and two small skylights immediately abaft it, which lighted a pair of family cabins situated abaft the main saloon. The wheel was a handsomely carved mahogany affair, elaborately adorned with brasswork; the binnacle also was of brass, with a bronze standard representing three dolphins twisted round each other; and the belaying-pins also were of brass, fore and aft. These, and a few other details that caught my eye, seemed to indicate that no expense had been spared in the fitting-out of the ship.

While we were walking round the decks, making a leisurely inspection of such matters as would repay examination in this part of the ship, a very respectable, seaman-like fellow came on board, and was first accosted by my companion and then introduced to me as “Captain Thomson, our late skipper of the Esmeralda; now looking after the ship until she finds a purchaser. Mr Saint Leger,” my companion continued explanatorily, “has come on board to inspect the ship, with some idea of buying, if he finds her satisfactory.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” answered Thomson, “for she is altogether too good to be laid up idle. As to her being satisfactory—why, that of course depends upon what Mr Saint Leger wants; the ship may be either too large or too small for him; but I’ll defy any man to find a fault in her. She’s a beauty, sir,” he continued, turning to me, “and she’s every bit as good as she looks.”

My unknown friend here pulled out his watch and looked at it anxiously.

“I wonder,” he said, “whether you will consider me very rude if I propose to run away, and leave Captain Thomson to do the honours of the ship in my stead? I should like to remain with you; but the fact is that I have rather an important meeting to attend in the City; and I see that I have no time to lose if I am to be punctual. And Thomson really knows a great deal more about the ship than I do; consequently he will be able to give you more reliable information than I can.”

I of course begged that he would not put himself to the slightest inconvenience on my account, and expressed myself as being perfectly satisfied at being left in the hands of the skipper of the ship; whereupon he turned to Thomson and said—

“Let Mr Saint Leger see everything without reserve, Thomson; and tell him anything he wishes to know, if you please. We have no desire whatever to sell the ship by means of misrepresentation of any sort. Good-bye,” he continued, turning to me, and offering his hand; “I hope we shall see you again, and be able to do business with you.”

He raised his hat, stepped briskly along the gang-plank, and was soon lost sight of in the crowd.

“Who is that gentleman?” I inquired of Thomson, as the figure vanished.

“That is Mr Musgrave, the junior partner of the firm, and as nice a gentleman as ever stepped,” was the reply.

“Have you been long in the employ?” was my next question.

“For the last eighteen years—in fact, ever since I first took to the sea—and hope to end my days with them. They are now building a steamer for me; and as soon as this craft is sold I am to go and supervise the work upon her.”

“Ah,” I remarked, “an excellent arrangement. And now, captain, tell me, as between man and man, have you ever discovered any faults in the Esmeralda—anything you would like to have had altered in her, had such alteration been possible? You have commanded her for some time, I suppose?”

“Ever since she was launched,” was the reply, “and a sweeter little vessel, in every way, doesn’t float. As to faults, she has none, to my thinking. She is not a great cargo-carrier, it is true; in fact, her lines are so fine that the amount of her register tonnage, in dead weight, just puts her down to Plimsoll’s mark. Some men would no doubt consider this a serious fault; but I do not, for what she wants in carrying capacity she more than makes up in speed; so that when the whole thing comes to be worked out, putting her earnings against her expenses, she carries her tonnage at a less cost than any other ship I happen to be acquainted with.”

“Is she tight?”

I asked.

“Tight as a bottle, sir. Why, she don’t make enough water to keep her sweet! And strong!—just look at her copper—not a wrinkle in it; and yet I tell you, sir, that I have habitually driven this little ship so hard that she has made faster passages than any other ship in the trade. Why, we made the run from these same docks to Natal in fifty-five days, on one trip; and we have never taken longer than seventy days to do it. And a prettier sea-boat you never set eyes on. And weatherly—why, she’ll weather on craft twice her size. As to speed, I have never yet seen anything beat her. The fact is, sir, she is much too good to be a cargo-carrier; she is good enough in every way to be used as a yacht; and a fine, wholesome, comfortable yacht she would make, too.”

This was all exceedingly satisfactory; and so, too, was everything I saw down below. The saloon was beautifully fitted up in white and gold, with a rich carpet on the floor; a handsome mahogany table laid athwartships; revolving chairs; sofa lockers; a beautiful swinging-lamp, aneroid, and tell-tale compass hung in the skylight; pictures were let into the panelling; there was a noble sideboard; and a piano! The berths, too, were lofty and roomy, especially the family cabins abaft, which were lighted not only from above by a skylight, but also by stern-windows. In the hold, too, everything was as I should have wished it; the timbers all perfectly sound; no sign of dry-rot anywhere; in short, and for a wonder, the ship was everything that the advertisement said of her, and more. So thoroughly satisfied was I with her that I did not hesitate to tell the skipper, before I left him, that I should certainly buy her, if the owners and I could come to terms.

“I suppose, sir, you intend to sail her yourself?” he remarked, as I stood on the wharf taking a final look at the little beauty before returning to my lodgings.

I answered that such was my intention.

“Well,” he said, “perhaps you’ll be wanting a mate. If so, I believe my late mate would give you every satisfaction. He is a thorough seaman, a first-rate navigator, a good disciplinarian, and a most sober, steady, reliable man in every way, I should have liked to keep him for myself; but it will be some months before the new steamer will be ready, and Roberts—that is the man’s name—says he can’t afford to remain idle for so long. Shall I write to him, sir, and tell him to call on you?”

I said I should be obliged if he would, and gave him an envelope bearing my temporary address; then, shaking hands with him, and thanking him for the readiness he had exhibited in affording me information and assisting me in my inspection of the ship, I bade him good-bye, and made the best of my way back to my lodgings.

On reaching these I found, as luck would have it, a letter from my late owners conveying the gratifying intelligence that the salvage claim had been settled, and that, upon my calling at the office, my share, amounting to two thousand eight hundred and eighty-six pounds, and some odd shillings, would be paid to me. It was still early in the afternoon; I therefore snatched a hurried lunch; and immediately afterwards chartered a cab and drove into the City; duly received my cheque, with congratulations on my good fortune; and still had time to open an account and safely rid myself of the precious paper before the banks closed for the day. I dined in the City, and afterwards made my way westward to Hyde Park, in the most unfrequented part of which I sauntered to and fro until nearly ten o’clock—my pipe my sole companion—carefully reviewing my plans for the last time, and asking myself whether I had omitted from my calculation any probable element at all likely to disastrously affect them. The result of my self-communing was so far satisfactory as to confirm my resolution to become the owner of the Esmeralda; and, having conclusively arrived at this determination, I sauntered quietly eastward through the summer night to my lodgings, and turned in.

The following morning saw me once more wending my way Cityward, this time to the office of Messrs Musgrave and Company, where the preliminaries of the purchase of the Esmeralda were speedily accomplished, and a cheque for five hundred pounds given to seal the bargain. This done, I spent the remainder of the morning in seeking a freight; and was at length fortunate enough to secure one on advantageous terms for China. My next business was to run down on board my new purchase and take a careful inventory of her stores, with the object of estimating the probable amount of outlay necessary to fit her for the contemplated voyage; and while I was thus engaged a telegram was despatched to Thomson’s friend and late chief mate, Roberts, who, in response, promptly presented himself on board. I liked the appearance of this man from the moment that I first set eyes upon him. He was evidently somewhat more highly educated than the generality of his class; without being in the least dandified, he possessed an ease and polish of manner at that time quite exceptional in the mates of such small craft as the Esmeralda. He was very quiet and unassuming in his behaviour; and altogether he produced so favourable an impression upon me that I unhesitatingly shipped him on the spot, arranging with him to bring his dunnage on board and assume duty on the following day. My overhaul of the stores on board the barque resulted in the satisfactory discovery that the expenditure necessary to complete her for the voyage would be considerably less than I had dared to hope; and, this fact established, I left the ship in Roberts’s charge, and ran down home upon a flying visit to my mother, to fully acquaint her with all that I had done, and to make the arrangements necessary for her comfort and maintenance during my contemplated absence. This involved another visit to my friend, Mr Richards, with whose assistance I made a careful yet generous computation of every expense to which I should be in the least likely to be put before drawing any profit from my adventure; the difference between this sum and the amount of my available assets representing the amount of monetary accommodation which I should require from him. This—thanks to the exceptionally favourable terms upon which I had acquired the ownership of the Esmeralda—was so very small that I undertook the obligation with a light heart; and, having completed this part of my business to my entire satisfaction, I hastened back to town, my mother accompanying me in order that we might have as much as possible of each other’s society during the short interval that was to elapse before the sailing of the ship.

On my return to London, I found that a small portion of our cargo had already come alongside. I therefore lost no time in advertising the ship as “loading for China direct, with excellent accommodation for saloon and steerage passengers;” and then, in a leisurely manner, proceeded to make the necessary purchases of ship’s and cabin stores, filling in the time by taking my mother about to such concerts, picture-galleries, and other places of amusement, as accorded with her quiet and refined tastes.

One morning, about a week after my return to town, being on board the ship and down below, superintending a few trifling alterations that I was having made in my own state-room, the mate, who was taking account of the cargo that was being shipped at the moment, came aft and shouted down the companion to the effect that a lady and gentleman had come on board and were inquiring for me. I accordingly went on deck, and there found a very handsome man, in the prime of life, and a very lovely woman of about three and twenty, standing on the main deck, just by the break of the poop, curiously watching the operation of slinging some heavy cases, and lowering them through the main hatchway.

“Captain Saint Leger?” queried the gentleman, bowing and slightly raising his hat in acknowledgment of my salute as I approached him.

“That is my name,” I replied. “In what way can I be of service to you?”

“I have come down to inspect your passenger accommodation, in the first place,” said he; “and afterwards—in the event of its proving satisfactory—to see whether I can come to an arrangement with you for the whole of it.”

“I am sure I shall be very pleased to do everything I possibly can to meet your views,” said I. “If you will kindly step below, I will show you the cabins; and although we are rather in a litter everywhere just at present, you will perhaps be able to judge whether the accommodation is likely to meet your requirements. Are you a large party?”

“Myself, my wife, my wife’s sister—this young lady—two children, two maids, and a nurse. My wife, I ought to explain, is at present an invalid, and has been ordered a long sea-voyage; but, as her ailment is chiefly of a nervous character, she is greatly averse to the idea of meeting and associating with strangers; hence my desire to secure the whole of your accommodation, should it prove suitable. Ah, a very pretty, airy saloon,” he continued, as I threw open the door and stepped aside to permit my visitors to enter. “The whole width of the ship; sidelights that we can throw open in the tropics, and admit the fresh air. A piano, too, by Erard,” as he opened the instrument and glanced at the name. “You at least would not be likely to find the voyage tedious, Agnes, with an Erard within reach at any moment,” turning to the young lady who accompanied him. “And these, I presume, are the state-rooms,” opening the doors of one or two of the berths and glancing inside.

“These are some of them,” I replied. “In addition to what you now see, there are two family cabins.” And, as I spoke, I opened the door of one of them, and allowed my visitors to pass in.

“Capital, capital!” exclaimed the visitor, as he entered. “Really, these two cabins are far and away more roomy and pleasant than the ordinary berths, even in the big liners. Now, supposing that I make up my mind to take the whole of your accommodation, captain, would you be willing to have a door fitted in that partition? Because, in that case,” he proceeded, again addressing his sister-in-law, “I should propose to have one of the cabins fitted up as a ladies’ boudoir, into which you and Emily could retire when so disposed.”

“Yes, that would be very nice,” assented the lady. “And perhaps Captain Saint Leger would allow the piano to be placed there?”

I replied that I should be happy to do anything and everything in my power to meet their convenience or make them comfortable.

“Very well,” said the gentleman. “Now, Agnes, what do you think of these cabins? Do you think Emily would like them, and find them convenient?”

“I am sure she would,” answered the young lady, confidently. “They are much prettier than anything we have hitherto seen; and the two large cabins, with those great windows looking directly out on to the sea, are simply delightful.”

“So I think,” agreed the gentleman. “And now, captain, as to terms?”

I had already made a little mental calculation as to the amount I ought to ask, and had arrived at a sum which, while it was somewhat less than I should have received had the whole of the cabins been separately taken, would pay me just as well in the long run; and this sum I named.

“There is one little matter I should like to mention,” I said. “My mother is now in town with me, and I had promised her that, if all the cabins were not engaged, she should make the trip home to Weymouth in the ship—”

“An arrangement with which I would not dream of interfering,” interrupted the gentleman. “Even should we determine to take your cabins, captain, we shall certainly not require them all—at the outset of the voyage, at least—and I am quite sure that your mother’s presence, for the few days that she will probably be with us, will be the reverse of disagreeable to my wife. And now I cannot, of course, decide definitely, one way or the other, until I have told my wife what we have seen; but here is my card; and if you will allow me twenty-four hours for consideration, you shall have my definite decision within that time.”

As this was the first inquiry I had had from prospective passengers, I thought the proposal was good enough to justify me in according the grace asked. I therefore undertook to hold the cabins at my visitors’ disposal until noon next day; and they then left, with a cordial hand-shake from each.

I waited till they were fairly out of sight, and then looked at the card. It bore the name of “Sir Edgar Desmond,” with an address in Park Lane, in the corner.

On the following morning, about half-past eleven, the owner of the card again put in an appearance on board, and, greeting me with the utmost cordiality, exclaimed—

“Well, captain, I have hurried down to let you know that the account of our visit to your ship, and the description of her cabins which I was enabled to give my wife last night, proved so thoroughly satisfactory to her that it was definitely determined, in family conclave, that we should secure your cabins upon the terms mentioned by you yesterday. I have accordingly brought you a cheque for half the amount of our passage-money—here it is—in order to properly ratify the arrangement; and now I presume there will be no difficulty about commencing the few alterations in the cabins that I suggested yesterday?”

“None whatever,” I replied; “I will get the carpenters on board to-day, if possible; and in any case the work shall be begun as early as possible, so that the paint may be thoroughly dry and the smell passed off before you come on board.”

“I shall be greatly obliged to you if you will,” said Sir Edgar. “And now there is another little matter upon which I wish to speak to you. My wife being quite an invalid, it will be necessary that she should have many little delicacies that are not included in the ordinary bill of shipboard fare. These I intend to order at once, and will give instructions that they are to be delivered on board here as soon as ready. May I rely upon you to have a careful account taken of them as they come on board, and to see that they are so bestowed that they may be easily got at when required? Among them will be a few cases of wines for Lady Desmond’s personal use; but, so far as the rest of us are concerned, I presume you will be able to supply us with whatever we may require?”

“Certainly,” I replied. “I have not yet ordered my stock of wines, and if you have a partiality for any particular kind or brand, and will let me know, I shall be pleased to select my stock with especial reference to your taste.”

“Oh, thank you. I am sure you are very good,” he laughed; “but we are none of us connoisseurs, nor do I think any of us have a weakness for any one particular kind of wine more than another. If you can undertake to give us a good sound claret every day for dinner, with a bottle of decent champagne now and then, we shall be perfectly content. And now, what is the longest possible time you can allow us in which to get together our outfit for the voyage?”

“We are advertised to sail to-morrow three weeks,” I replied.

“Very well,” he said. “That is rather brief notice for the ladies; but I have no doubt they will be able to manage when once they are given to understand that it must be done. As for me, I shall have no difficulty whatever. I shall be obliged, however, if you will give me a hint or two as to the different climates we shall encounter on the voyage, so that we may prepare accordingly.”

I did so, Sir Edgar jotting down a few memoranda in his note-book meanwhile; and then, with another hearty shake of the hand, my visitor left me.

The succeeding three weeks passed uneventfully away, the cargo, during the first fortnight, coming alongside very slowly; but there was quite a rush at the last, and on the night before the day on which we were advertised to sail, I had the satisfaction of seeing the hatches put on and battened down over a full hold, with the barque down to within an inch of her load-mark.

Meanwhile, private stores in considerable quantities had come on board, bearing Sir Edgar Desmond’s name upon them, and these I had had carefully stowed away by themselves. This had been a busy day for me; for there were the articles to be signed, the ship to clear at the Custom House, bills to pay, and a hundred other little matters to attend to—among them the giving up of my lodgings, and the removal of my mother and myself with our dunnage to the ship—but when I turned in that night, in my own comfortable state-room, it was with the feeling that my business of every kind had been satisfactorily concluded, and that henceforth, until our arrival in Hong Kong, I should only have the ship to look after. Moreover, the whole of my crew, with two exceptions, had faithfully kept their promise to be on board before the dock-gates closed that night, so that I might reasonably hope to go out of dock with a tolerably sober crew in the morning.

We unmoored at seven o’clock next morning, and half an hour later—the two absentees from the forecastle scrambling on board as we passed out through the gates—were clear of the dock and in the river, with the tug ahead and the first of the ebb to help us on our way. We made a pause of half an hour off Gravesend, to pick up Sir Edgar Desmond and his party—who had spent the night at an hotel there—and then, pushing on again, found ourselves, about six o’clock that evening, off the North Foreland, with a light northerly air blowing, which, when we had got the barque under all plain sail, fanned us along at a speed of about five knots.

Chapter Four.

In Blue Water.

As the sun declined toward the west, the light breeze which had prevailed throughout the day became still lighter, dwindling away to such an extent that when, about two bells in the first watch (nine o’clock p.m.), we returned to the deck after partaking of our first sea dinner, the water was like glass for the smoothness of it, while our canvas drooped limp and apparently useless from the yards and stays; a faint rustle aloft now and again, with an accompanying rippling patter of reef-points, betraying rather some subtle heave of the glassy sea than any sign that the breeze still lingered. Yet there must have been a light draught of air aloft, for the vane at our main-royal-masthead occasionally fluttered languidly out along the course we were steering, and our royals exhibited an occasional tendency to fill, albeit they as often collapsed again softly rustling to the masts. Moreover, the barque still retained her steerage-way. I remarked upon this to the mate, who had charge of the deck. He laughed.

“Ay,” said he, “that is one of the Esmeralda’s little tricks. I’ve seen her, before now, sneak up to and right through a large fleet of ships, every one of which, excepting ourselves, was boxing the compass. When this little barkie refuses to steer, you may take your Davy to it, sir, that there ain’t enough wind to be of any use to anybody.”

It was a glorious evening. We were off Deal, slowly drifting past the town on the ebb tide; our progress made apparent only by the quiet, stealthy way in which the masts of the vessels lying at anchor in the roadstead successively approached, covered, and receded from some prominent object on shore, such as a church spire, a lofty building, a tall chimney, and what not. The sun had sunk behind the land, leaving behind him a clear sky of softest primrose tint, against which the outline of the land cut sharply, the town being steeped in rich dusky shadow, out of which the lights were beginning to twinkle here and there. We were close enough in to catch an occasional faint, indefinite sound from the shore, accentuated at intervals by the sharp, clear note of a railway whistle, or the low, intermittent thunder of a moving train; while, nearer at hand, came the occasional splash of oars in the still water, or their thud in the rowlocks; the strains of a concertina played on the forecastle-head of one of the craft lying at anchor; a gruff hail; a laugh; or the hoarse rattle of chain through a hawse-pipe as one of the drifting vessels came to an anchor. Our own lads were very quiet, the watch below having turned in, while those on deck, with the exception of the lookout, had arranged themselves in a group about the windlass, and were conversing in suppressed tones well befitting the exceeding quiet of the night. Lady Desmond, well wrapped up in a fur-lined cloak, occupied a large wicker reclining chair placed close to the after skylight, where it was well out of everybody’s way, and was languidly listening to the conversation which was passing between her sister and my mother, in which she occasionally joined for a moment; while Sir Edgar was down below, chatting and laughing with the two children during their preparation by the nurse for bed. The two maids were also below, busy in their mistress’s cabin.

The ship having been all day—as she still was—in charge of the pilot, I had had leisure to make the first advances toward an acquaintance with my passengers; and, from what I had thus far seen of them, I had every reason to hope that the association would be a particularly pleasant one.

Sir Edgar was a fine, handsome man, of about thirty-five years of age, standing some five feet nine or ten inches in his stockings, well made, with dark brown hair that covered his head in short wavy curls. He had dark blue eyes, with which he looked one frankly and pleasantly in the face; and his manner, while it possessed all the polish of the perfect gentleman, was particularly frank and genial.

Lady Desmond appeared to be some eight or nine years younger than her husband, and was unquestionably an exceedingly handsome woman. She was perhaps three inches less in height than her husband, but, when standing apart from him, gave one the impression of being the taller of the two, probably because she happened to be very thin and fragile-looking when she first joined the Esmeralda. She had evidently only just emerged from a very severe illness, for all her movements were marked by the slowness and languor of one who is still an invalid. She had not a vestige of colour, and her hands, when I saw them ungloved at the dinner table, were attenuated to a degree that was painful to contemplate; but her eyes were magnificent, and her voice, albeit it was weak and low like that of an invalid, was very sweet and sympathetic in tone. I had not been enlightened as to the nature of her illness; but its most marked symptom appeared to be a profound melancholy and depression of spirits which it seemed utterly impossible for her to shake off.

Her sister, Miss Merrivale, was her exact counterpart, except that the latter was the junior by some three or four years, and was, both in form and complexion, the very picture of exuberant health and spirits. She possessed a singularly agreeable and engaging, though high-bred manner; and the patient tenderness with which she studied her invalid sister’s whims quickly won my warmest admiration.

Of the two children, the elder was a fine sturdy boy, about seven years old, named after his father; while the other was a sweet little tot of a girl, about five years old, with the prettiest, most lovable, and confiding ways I had ever beheld in a child. They were both very merry, light-hearted, buoyant-spirited children, but exceedingly well-behaved, very tender and affectionate toward each other; and perfect patterns of obedience while they remembered the parental injunctions laid upon them from time to time; but it must be admitted that their memories in this respect were, like those of most children, a little apt to be short-lived.

And, as to the two maids and the nurse, they impressed me as being very quiet, respectable well-behaved representatives of their class, and not at all likely to give me trouble by encouraging any attempts at flirtation on the part of the men. So that altogether I thought I had every reason to congratulate myself upon my first experience in the command of a passenger-ship.

Then, as to the ship herself. Though it was early yet to form a distinct and definite opinion of her, having had only a few hours’ experience of her under sail, and that, too, in a light breeze and smooth water, still her behaviour under those circumstances had been such as led me to feel assured, from past experience, that she was everything a seaman’s heart could wish. That she was certain to prove extraordinarily fast I was convinced, even before we had spread a single cloth of canvas, by the ease with which the tug had walked away down the river with her. And after the tug had let go our hawser and left us to our own devices, we had overhauled and passed everything in our company with an ease and rapidity that proved her to be a perfect witch in light breezes; while now, when the rest of the fleet were either drifting helplessly with the tide and heading to all points of the compass, or anchoring to avoid falling foul of something else, we were sneaking along at a good two knots through the water, with the ship under perfect command of her helm.

At length the sounds of the children’s happy voices ceased down below: and, a few minutes later, Sir Edgar emerged from the saloon companion. He paused for a moment to address a cheery remark or two to the little party aft, and then joined me near the break of the poop, where I had been standing for some time gazing abstractedly about me in a contented, half-dreamy fashion at our surroundings. He made some conventional remark as to the wonderful calmness and beauty of the evening, and offered me a cigar; upon which, responding to his friendly overtures, I turned, and we proceeded to quietly pace the deck together; the baronet—for such he proved to be—confiding to me, in an easy, chatty manner, the circumstances that had led to the family undertaking the voyage.

At length, when the dusk of evening had fairly merged into the darkness of night, and the illimitable vault above us had become spangled and powdered with stars innumerable of every magnitude, a delicate sheen appeared on the eastern horizon, glowing faintly and softly at first as the tremulous shimmer of summer lightning, but brightening by imperceptible degrees until it revealed a hitherto invisible bank of fleecy vapour lying low along the horizon’s margin, the rounded edges of which it daintily touched here and there with glowing silver. Rapidly, yet with the most subtle mutations, the glow increased in strength and splendour, the colour at the same time deepening to a warm orange hue; and presently, above the upper edge of the cloud-bank, the sharp rim of the moon’s broad disc soared into view, ruddy as a shield of burning gold, while simultaneously a wavering line of ruddy gold flashed across the gleaming surface of the water almost to the ship’s side. Slowly and majestically, as befits the movements of the stately queen of night, the glowing orb rose clear of the cloud-bank, her orange beams flowing softly into the shadows of the night and revealing here and there in clear but delicate outline the forms and details of craft that had before appeared but as black shapeless blots against the starlit heavens; while the hull and canvas of our craft, that had hitherto worn the aspect of a huge black shadow upon sky and water, now glowed faint but clear in the warm light, with rich touches of ruddy gold here and there where the radiance struck and was reflected from the dew-wetted bulwarks, the glistening spars, the taut rigging, or the polished brass and glass about the deck fittings and skylights.

The misty light now revealed to us that we were in the very heart of a fleet numbering some two hundred and fifty sail, most of which were at anchor, many with their canvas more or less snugly stowed; but there were a few—perhaps a dozen in all—on board which the canvas hung in the brails, all ready for sheeting home and hoisting away at a moment’s notice. There were also a few—obviously outward-bound, like ourselves—who were—also like ourselves—holding on in the evident hope that with the rising of the moon, or at all events before the turn of the tide, a little breeze might spring up which would obviate the necessity of letting go the mud-hook, with the attendant loss of time and expenditure of labour in getting it again and making sail once more. It was soon evident that this hope was to be realised, for the moon had scarcely been above the horizon half an hour when a narrow dark line appeared stretching along the horizon beneath her, and gradually widening, until at length a very pretty little easterly breeze reached us, under the influence of which, heeling slightly and coquettishly away from it, the saucy Esmeralda began to slip along, with scarcely more than a ripple at her sharp bows, at the rate of a good honest seven knots.

Impelled by this most welcome breeze, we were soon round the South Foreland and off Dover, where we hove-to to land the pilot. In executing this manoeuvre we passed close under the stern of a magnificent topsail schooner-yacht, as large as ourselves, with hull painted a brilliant white, which, in the pale moonlight and with her snow-white canvas, made her look like a beautiful phantom craft. She was getting under way, and had just tripped her anchor and was canting to the southward when we rounded to under her stern; and I noticed Mr Roberts, my chief mate, looking long and admiringly at her as she gathered way and, swinging her fore-yard, glided swiftly, yet with a stately movement, out from among the crowd of craft by which she was surrounded. Turning away at last, as if regretfully, from the contemplation of the noble vessel, Roberts stamped his foot impatiently, and, striding up to the pilot, demanded—

“I say, Mr Pilot, is there any chance of those mates of yours catching sight of our signals to-night, think ye, or are they keeping a lookout from between the blankets?”

The pilot, whose perfect calmness and indifference were in ludicrous contrast to the mate’s impatience, turned slowly round and eyed his questioner deliberately from top to toe before he deigned to answer.

“They will be alongside in less than a minute, mister. They are shut in behind that billy-boy just now; but—Ah, here they come!”

“Lay aft here, one of you,” shouted the mate, “and stand by with a line for that boat.”

“You will come below and take a glass of wine or a glass of grog before you go ashore, pilot?”

I asked.

“Thank you, sir; I’ve no objection,” was the response; and we were just turning away toward the saloon companion when the mate stepped quietly up to me and said—

“I suppose we may as well rig out the stu’n’sail-booms all ready for making sail as soon as the pilot has left us? It will be a pity not to make the most of this fair wind while it lasts.”

“Certainly,” I replied, somewhat unwillingly; for, truth to tell, I thought it would be quite time enough to hurry when my poor mother had gone ashore and we were on the other side of the Bill of Portland.

Roberts, however, evidently regarded the matter from a very different standpoint from that which I occupied—perhaps he was anxious already to show off the ship’s pace—for, ere I had time to reach the companion, his voice rang out loud and clear—

“Lay aft here, some of you lads, and rouse out the stu’n’sail gear; the rest of you slip up aloft and cast loose the larboard fore-topmast and topgallant stu’n’sail boom, ready for rigging out. Take a line aloft with you, and send the end down on deck for the gear as soon as you are ready. Look alive, my hearties!” Then, sotto voce, “Yon schooner is a beauty, and no mistake; but she is not going to be allowed to run away from this clipper if I can help it!”

So that was the explanation of friend Roberts’s impatience! He had been so long in the Esmeralda, and had been so accustomed to beating everything that had been fallen in with, that he could not endure with equanimity the sight of even a yacht running away from him. “It is evident,” thought I, “that the grass will have very little chance of growing on this ship’s copper so long as Roberts is mate of her. But I shall have to keep an eye on the fellow, or perhaps he will be taking the sticks out of her, or laying her on her beam-ends some day in the excitement and enthusiasm of a race with something bigger and more nimble than ourselves.”

At length, to Roberts’s unconcealed gratification, the pilot went down over the side and shoved off, and we were left to our own resources.

“Up with your helm and let her pay off!” was now the word; “round-in upon the starboard main-braces; now your larboard fore-braces; well there; belay! Now rig out your booms, there, as soon as you are ready, and let’s get some muslin on the little beauty.” And forthwith the mate put in a pleasant hour decking the ship with her larboard studding-sails, from the royals down. And truly, prepared as I was for a somewhat out-of-the-way performance on the part of the little craft, I was astounded at the ease and rapidity with which she overtook and passed everything near her. The schooner-yacht had managed to slink away to a distance of some three miles from us during our short detention while landing the pilot, and by the time that my passengers had said “good night” and retired to their cabins she was the only craft ahead of us; and we had been gaining on her fast until her people, noticing this fact, had begun to pack sail upon her; and now there she was, straight ahead of us, with her mainsheet eased well off, a gigantic balloon topsail over her huge mainsail, and an immense square-sail set forward, with all her larboard studding-sails spread, skimming away swiftly and easily as a wreath of summer mist over the smooth surface of the Channel waters. I remained on deck until midnight, when, giving the second mate a word of caution not to carry his canvas too long in the event of the breeze freshening—which, however, it gave no indication of doing—I retired below and turned in with the gratifying feeling that I was now my own master; that I was working for myself, and should henceforth reap the direct benefit of my own labour and skill—such as the latter might be; that, in fact, my fortune was in my own hands, to make or mar; as it is in the hands of every young man.

The sound of the scrubbing-brushes, as they were set to work at four bells (six o’clock) next morning, awoke me; and, hastily donning such garments as were indispensable, I went on deck to take a look round. The easterly breeze, though it had proved somewhat fitful, had held with sufficient strength through the night to place us off Selsey Bill, with the high land of Saint Catherine’s Point looming faintly ahead of us about two points on the starboard bow; and there, too, hauling up for the inside of the Wight, was our friend the schooner-yacht of the night before, some two miles inshore of us and about the same distance ahead. The mate was very busy with the hose, with which he was liberally sluicing the decks and bulwarks, to say nothing of the bare feet and legs of those of the crew who in their scrubbing operations happened to approach within range of him. Of the yacht’s existence he was apparently quite oblivious; at all events, he carefully abstained from directing his glances in her direction.

“Good morning, Mr Roberts,” I exclaimed genially. “So you were unable to overtake the flyer yonder, after all.”

“Good morning, sir,” he responded with equal geniality. ”(Now then, you sodgers, stand clear of the hose if you don’t want a ducking. Serve you right, Tom; you’ll take warning, perhaps, the next time I give it you.) The flyer, sir? Oh, you mean the yacht. Well, of course, they have the pull of us in light weather, such as we’ve had through the night; but I’ll bet my hat that neither yonder schooner nor e’er a yacht that now happens to be away there inside the island could look at us in a good, honest to’gallant breeze. You wait a bit, sir; the little hooker hasn’t had a chance yet to show what she can do. But there’s a breeze coming by-and-by, if I’m any judge of that sky away there to the east’ard; and then, after we’ve touched at Weymouth and hauled out again into the wake of that fleet astarn of us, you’ll have a chance to judge of the Esmeralda’s paces when she lays herself out to travel. Now, boys, lay aft here with your squeegees, and give this poop a drying down!”

It was a glorious morning; the sun, already well above the horizon, just taking the keen edge off the air, and rendering the pure easterly breeze soft and balmy without depriving it of any of its bracing and exhilarating qualities; the sky a magnificent, deep, pure blue overhead, softening down in tint to warm tender tones of grey as the eye travelled from the zenith, horizon-ward. Cloud, properly speaking, there was none, save a few faint streaks here and there of the kind known as “mares’ tails”; but away to the northward and eastward the sky at the horizon, although it was of a clear pale primrose hue, had that peculiar indescribable “hardness” of tint that, to the experienced eye, is the sure forerunner of a good wholesome breeze. That breeze, however, was yet to come; the wind at the moment being very paltry—little more than sufficient, indeed, to keep the heavier canvas “asleep,” and to send the barque along at a speed of about five knots. The water was perfectly smooth, save of course for the ripple caused by the light breeze; but, so far as swell was concerned, there was absolutely none, the ship neither pitching nor rolling perceptibly.

In due course my passengers made their appearance on deck, in high glee at the favourable condition of the weather, and full of compliments as to the comfort of the sleeping cabins. And indeed it was not difficult to judge, by their fresh and cheerful looks, that they had enjoyed a sound and undisturbed night’s rest. Even poor Lady Desmond was looking incomparably more bright and cheerful than had been the case with her a short day previously, and was already beginning to speak hopefully of her possible recovery.

As the day wore on, the wind, instead of freshening, as we had expected from the indications at sunrise, grew more and more paltry; so that it was rather late on in the afternoon ere we reached Weymouth. The weather, however, had been undergoing a slow and subtle change all day; and when we at length rounded to and backed the Esmeralda’s mainyard in the roadstead the sky away to the eastward was overspread by a broad bank of dirty grey vapour reaching almost to the zenith, the mares’ tails had increased in number and become more strongly defined, and a thin veil of scarcely perceptible vapour was sweeping steadily athwart the blue. The horizon to the eastward, too, had become overcast—so much so, indeed, as to completely obscure Saint Alban’s Head; the wind was beginning to freshen in fitful puffs, and the small surges occasionally combed and broke into a miniature white cap. All of which indicated with sufficient clearness that the long-expected breeze was close at hand, and that, moreover, we should probably have quite as much of it as we wanted. I accordingly lost no time in lowering the gig, and getting my mother and her belongings into her; when we shoved off—leaving the ship in charge of Mr Roberts—and stretched out for the harbour. My mother seemed a good deal cut up, now that the moment of parting had drawn so very near, and—poor soul—spent most of the short time during which we were traversing the space between the ship and the harbour, with her head on my shoulder, crying softly, and fondling my disengaged hand in hers. While, as for me, I was—like most sailors—sadly wanting in eloquence, and could think of nothing better or more encouraging to say than that I was at last really starting out to seek my fortune, and that I fully intended to find it ere I returned to her. Ah me! how little I guessed at the hardship and suffering in store for me, or the anxiety and anguish of mind that my dear mother was to endure before we two should meet again!

Landing at the flight of boat-steps near the inner end of the pier, I put my mother and her baggage into the first fly that presented itself; kissed her a dozen times; said good-bye hurriedly, and tore myself away; springing hastily into the stern-sheets of the gig with a final wave of the hand as the dear soul drove away.

“Give way, men!” I exclaimed huskily; “the breeze is freshening fast, and I care not how soon we are once more on board the Esmeralda!”

The breeze was indeed freshening fast; the thick weather had crept down the coast until the high land about the Burning Cliff was only dimly visible; and as we dashed out past the end of the pier, the water in the bay was all flecked with white. The Esmeralda, with royals clewed up, was halfway across toward Portland Roads; but Roberts was evidently keeping a sharp lookout, for, judging it to be about time for us to make our appearance, he had already filled on the ship, and as we rounded the buoy marking the extremity of the reef on the south side of the harbour, we saw her fly up into the wind and tack with a rapidity which I had certainly never before witnessed in a square-rigged ship. The little beauty worked “as quick as they could swing the yards,” as the stroke oarsman remarked enthusiastically. We paddled gently ahead, leaving to those on board the task of picking us up; and very neatly and smartly was it done too, the barque keeping a rap full, and tearing through the water like a racer, until exactly the right moment, when she flew up head to wind, shooting into the wind’s eye in magnificent style, ranging up alongside us in the boat and picking us up while still in stays, then paying off again on the other tack almost before the tackles were hooked on. Another minute and the gig was once more at the davits; and the Esmeralda, on a taut bowline, and with her royal yards again mast-headed, was rushing away at a perfectly bewildering pace, on a course that would enable her to just handsomely weather the outer end of Portland breakwater, if the little witch continued to eat into the wind as she was then doing. Roberts was evidently in ecstasies at the ship’s behaviour; his flushed cheek, his sparkling eye, and his quick, restless movements told me that; but he would have bitten his tongue out, rather than have suffered himself to be betrayed into any remarks which could possibly be construed into “fishing for a compliment;” and it was truly amusing to watch the heroic efforts he made to simulate a cool and indifferent demeanour. But it was plain enough that he was hungering for a word of praise to the ship that he had learned to love as though she were flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone: so I hastened to gratify the good fellow by eulogising—as indeed I could with the most perfect honesty—the marvellous weatherly qualities and speed of the ship, as also the stiffness with which she stood up under her big spread of canvas. Had I not done so, I verily believe that my reputation as a seaman would have shrunk very materially in my chief mate’s estimation, instead of increasing, as it immediately did.

The wind being dead fair for the run out of the Channel, we “took our departure” from the Bill of Portland; and, packing the studding-sails upon the willing little barkie, passed Ushant at four o’clock the next morning—a truly wonderful run; but then our patent log showed that we had been travelling at the rate of a fair, honest fifteen knots from the moment that we dropped that useful machine overboard off the Bill. This magnificent breeze followed us up for the next four days, and carried us into the latitude of Madeira—an almost unprecedented performance; but it must not be forgotten that it was blowing a whole gale from the eastward all this time, or well over our larboard quarter, allowing every thread of canvas to draw to perfection; and, finding that the barque carried her canvas superbly, I simply let Robert have his way with her, although I must admit that never before in my experience had I seen a craft so boldly driven. Then—on the evening of the fifth day out from Weymouth—the wind rapidly dwindled away to nothing, and left us rolling heavily on the steep swell that followed us. I concluded that we had run into the doldrums, or horse latitudes, and that we should now probably have calms, or light baffling airs until we fell in with the trade-winds; but on going below to turn in at midnight, I observed that a very decided fall of the barometer had taken place. I therefore returned to the deck for a moment and cautioned the second mate—whose watch it was—to keep a sharp lookout for any sign of a decided change in the weather; and gave him strict injunctions to call me immediately that any indication of such change should become apparent. I had some thought of remaining on deck an hour or two longer, to personally watch the development of events; but reflecting that I had been out of my berth for the last eighteen hours, and that, if we were to have bad weather, it might be some time before I should have another opportunity to sleep, I decided to go below and get what rest I could, especially as the sky was at that time perfectly clear, with the stars shining brilliantly.

A sailor soon gets into the habit of falling asleep the moment his head touches his pillow, and I was no exception to the rule, although my newly assumed responsibilities caused me perhaps to sleep more lightly than before; at all events, I had—even in the short time that we had been at sea—acquired the faculty of being cognisant of almost everything that happened on deck, even during the time that I was asleep; and on this particular night it seemed to me that I had not been in my berth more than ten minutes—though the time was actually close upon two hours—when I heard the second mate quietly descending the saloon staircase, and in another moment his knuckles were cautiously tapping at the door of my cabin.

“Ay, ay,” I answered drowsily; “what is it, Mr Forbes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” was the reply, “but there seems to be something brewing away down there to the south’ard and west’ard. It’s as black as a wolf’s mouth thereaway; and there is a nasty cross swell getting up, as you may feel for yourself, sir.”

“All right,” I returned, rolling reluctantly out of my berth; “I will be on deck in a minute.”

I was as good as my word; and upon popping my head outside the companion I came to the conclusion that I had been called none too soon. There was absolutely not a breath of air stirring save that created by the heavy flapping of the canvas as the ship rolled, with a quick, uneasy motion, almost gunwale-to; and upon interrogating the helmsman I learned that he had lost all command over the vessel for fully an hour. It was, as the second mate had said, intensely dark down in the south-western quarter; and a very brief observation sufficed to demonstrate that the pall of cloud which hid the heavens in that direction was slowly but steadily spreading toward the zenith, star after star being blotted out even as I watched them. The air, too, was close and oppressive as the breath of an oven; while the surface of the sea was unusually agitated, the run seeming to come from all points of the compass at once, and to meet under the ship, causing her to “wallow” so awkwardly that the water tumbled in over her rail in all directions, now forward, now aft, and anon in the waist, and on either side with the utmost impartiality. The water was everywhere of an inky blackness, save along the ship’s bends and where she dipped it in over her rail. This disturbed water looked, at a short distance, as though it had been diluted with milk; but, examined closely, it was found to glow with a faint fire, like the glimmer of summer lightning, with small star-like points of stronger light thickly scattered through it. The most perfect silence reigned outside the ship, but on board there was quite a small Babel of sound storming about us; the creaking of yard-parrels and trusses aloft, mingled with the loud flap of the canvas to the roll of the ship, the “cheep” of block-sheaves, the sharp “slatting” of suddenly tautened gear, and the pattering of reef-points; while on deck there was the monotonous swish of water washing athwart the planks from side to side, with the choking gurgle of the water spouting up through the scuppers, and the heavy splashing sound of the brine as it poured in over the bulwarks; the whole set to a dismal accompaniment of creaking timbers, rattling doors, and breaking crockery below.

“How long has the weather been like this, Mr Forbes?” I asked, as my subordinate stood a few paces apart from me, waiting to hear what I had to say about the aspect of things in general.

“Well, sir,” he replied, “that is not a very easy question to answer. It has been gathering ever since about half an hour after you went below; but the change has been going on so imperceptibly that it scarcely forced itself upon my attention until just before—Ah! did you hear that, sir?”

A low, faint, weird, moaning sound, scarcely perceptible, had floated to the ship, causing the mate to interrupt himself suddenly; and at the same moment a light, evanescent puff of hot air seemed to sweep past us.

“Yes,” said I, “I both heard and felt it. We are going to have a heavy squall, if nothing worse, out of that blackness yonder. Turn the hands up at once, and let them go to work to strip the ship without loss of time. Get in all your light flying kites first of all, and stow them snugly; then brail in your mizzen and stow it; let run your staysail halliards, and haul up your courses. We will leave nothing spread but the two topsails and the fore-topmast-staysail; then, let what will come, we shall be prepared for it.”

Forbes hurried away to execute this order, and next moment there came the sounds of a most unmerciful pounding on the forecastle-head with a handspike, and the accompanying cry of—

“Hillo there, sleepers; tumble up. All hands shorten sail! Hurry up, my bullies, or we shall have the squall upon us before we are ready for it.”

The response to this summons was almost instantaneous, and in two or three minutes the whole crew were at work, under the orders of Mr Roberts, who had heard, even in his sleep, the distant cry of “All hands,” and had tumbled out without waiting for a more formal summons. This man I now found to be excellent in such an emergency as the present; calm, cool, and collected; not hurrying anybody, yet, as it were, infusing his own energy and vitality into the men by the sharp, incisive tones of his voice, and putting quicksilver into them by—as it seemed—the mere exercise of his will. Under such masterful supervision the work progressed rapidly, and in something over half an hour we had the ship under her fore and main-topsails (which were patent-reefing) and the fore-topmast staysail; every other thread being snugly furled, and the men once more down on deck. The watch was then sent below again for the short time remaining to them, and I composed myself comfortably in a capacious wicker chair to abide the issue of events.

The sky had by this time become entirely overcast, from horizon to horizon, and so intensely dark was it that I was literally unable to see my hand when I raised it before my eyes, by way of experiment; and, but for the dim radiance gleaming through the skylight from the turned-down lamp in the saloon, the faint gleam of light from the binnacle illumining feebly and in a ghostlike manner the head and shoulders of the man who lounged beside the useless wheel, and the pale fires flashing from the water that washed to and fro athwart the deck with the roll of the ship, it would have been utterly impossible to have moved from spot to spot save by the aid of one’s memory of the various localities about the ship.

A period of perhaps twenty minutes had elapsed since the retirement of the watch below at the conclusion of their labours, and I had stolen on tiptoe to the skylight—doubtless influenced to this stealthy mode of progression by the profound silence of the night—for the purpose of again consulting the barometer that swung therein, when I felt a heavy drop of tepid water fall upon my face. This was followed by another, and another, and another; and then, with the roar of a cataract, down came the rain in a perfect deluge, thrashing the surface of the sea into an expanse of ghostly, lambent, phosphorescent white that quickly spread apparently to the extreme limits of the horizon, and filling our decks so rapidly that it became necessary to open the ports fore and aft in order to free them. This deluge lasted for about five minutes, when it ceased as abruptly as it had begun; but even that short time had sufficed to beat the sea down so smooth that the previous violent rolling of the ship was reduced to a gentle, scarcely perceptible oscillation.

“Now stand by to let run your fore and main-topsail halliards!” I cried—a command which was responded to by a prompt “Ay, ay, sir!” from the forecastle, the pattering of bare feet upon the deck, and the sound of ropes falling smartly on the planking as the halliard-falls were lifted off their pins and flung to the deck.

“How is her head?” I inquired of the helmsman.

“West-nor’-west, sir,” was the reply.

“Man your starboard fore and main-braces, Mr Forbes,” said I to the second mate, who was standing by the break of the poop, peering anxiously into the impenetrable gloom.

“Ay, ay, sir! Starboard fore and main-braces, lads. Be smart, now, and lay the yards fore and aft before the squall breaks upon us!”

The men, who were evidently uneasy, and anxious to be doing anything rather than spend their time in passive anticipation, sprang to the braces and hauled the yards smartly round to a cheery “Yo heave ho;” flattening in until they could get no more.

“Well there, belay!” commanded Forbes. And as he spoke a sudden, powerful puff of warm air swept athwart the ship and was gone, causing the topsails to flap violently once, and collapse again. This was quickly followed by a second puff, heavier and rather less transient than the last; indeed, it continued long enough to give the ship steerage-way; for which I was deeply thankful, promptly availing myself of it to order the helm hard up and get our bows pointed in a north-easterly direction, so as to place the point in the horizon from which we expected the squall dead astern of us. This was barely done when Forbes cried out, in a voice the tones of which curiously expressed a feeling of mingled alarm and relief—

“Stand by, sir; here it comes at last!”

Chapter Five.

A Wreck and a Rescue.

At the sound of the second mate’s voice I turned, and saw, dead astern, a thin streak of ghostly white, drawn horizontally across the curtain of Stygian darkness in that quarter. The line lengthened and broadened with amazing rapidity; and presently a low moaning sound became audible.

“Let run your topsail halliards, fore and aft,” I cried; and the command was instantly followed by the creaking of the parrels as the yards slid down the well-greased topmasts, and the scream of the block-sheaves as the falls rapidly overhauled themselves.

The moaning sound grew louder as the band of spectral white astern extended and approached; and presently, with a deafening shriek, the hurricane struck us, the line of white foam at the same instant sweeping past us at railway speed. The stroke of the blast was like a blow from something solid, causing the ship to quiver from stem to stern; then she gathered way, and, with bows buried deep in the milk-white water, drove ahead like a frightened sentient thing. I had never witnessed so fierce a squall before in those latitudes; the outfly was indeed as violent as anything I had ever seen in the tropics; and there was nothing for it but to let the ship scud. This she luckily did in splendid style, gathering way quickly, and steering like a little boat, otherwise I firmly believe that the first stroke would have dismasted us. The air was so full of scud-water that, but for the salt taste of it on the lips, one would have thought we were being pursued by a drenching torrent of rain; while the roar and shriek of the wind overhead produced a wild medley of sound that was simply indescribable, and so deafeningly loud that it would have been quite impossible to issue an order in the usual way, had it been ever so necessary, for the simple reason that in that wild turmoil of sound no human voice could have made itself audible. Fortunately, no orders were needed, we had done everything that could be done for the safety of the ship—short of putting her under bare poles—and now all that was left to us was to trust in the mercy of God, and the staunchness of our spars and rigging.

The first mad fury of the squall lasted for only some five minutes; but after that it still continued to blow so fiercely that we were compelled to scud for fully three hours before we dared venture to round-to. Then, having first with great difficulty clewed up and furled the fore-topsail, we watched our opportunity and, taking advantage of a momentary lull, put the helm over, and brought the ship to on the starboard tack. We now, for the first time, had an opportunity of realising the full strength of the wind, which still blew with such violence as to careen the ship gunwale-to, even under the small canvas which remained exposed to the blast. It was still intensely dark overhead; but the surface of the sea, highly phosphorescent, and scourged into foam by the wind, gave forth a pale lambent light against which the hull of the ship and all her rigging up to the level of the horizon stood out with tolerable distinctness. The swell, meanwhile, was rapidly rising, but there were as yet no waves, the wind instantly catching any inequality in the surface of the water and carrying it away to leeward in the form of spindrift. This lasted until daybreak, when the strength of the gale had so far moderated that—despite the fact of the wind having backed to the southward—I ventured to set the fore-topsail, close-reefed; more, however, for the sake of steadying the ship than for any other advantage that I expected to get from it.

With sunrise the sky cleared; and when my passengers came on deck before breakfast, they had the—to them—novel experience of witnessing a hard gale of wind under a cloudless blue sky, with brilliant sunshine. And, truly, it was a grand and exhilarating scene that met their gaze; for the wind, though it still blew with the force of a whole gale, had so far moderated its fury as to permit the sea to rise; and now the staunch little ship, heeling to her covering-board, was gallantly breasting the huge billows of the mid-Atlantic; each wave a deep blue liquid hill, half as high as our fore-yard, crested with a ridge of snow-white foam that, caught up and blown into spray by the gale, produced an endless procession of mimic rainbows past the ship. And, as the crest of each wave struck our weather-bow and burst into a drenching shower of silvery spray, a rainbow formed there too, overarching the ship in the wake of the foremast and causing the whole forepart of her to glow and glitter with the loveliest prismatic hues.

As the day wore on the gale continued to moderate somewhat, until by noon its fury had become so far spent that I thought we might venture to once more get the courses on the ship; and this was accordingly done when the watch was called. The effect of these large areas of sail upon the craft was tremendous, causing her to heel like a yacht under a heavy press of canvas; ay, and to travel like a yacht, too, notwithstanding the heavy sea that was running. But the little beauty behaved superbly, luffing to each comber as it approached, and taking it in a blinding shower of diamond spray, it is true, but still with an easy, buoyant movement such as I had never experienced before. It was the first opportunity that had been afforded me of testing the barque’s behaviour in heavy weather, and I was more than pleased at the result, for she not only proved to be a superb sea-boat, but she also travelled like a racehorse.

By four bells in the afternoon watch the wind and sea had so far moderated that the mate, whose watch it then was, gave orders to take a small pull upon the topsail halliards, to set the jib, and to haul out the mizzen. When the last of these operations were undertaken it was found that something had jammed aloft, so that the head of the sail would not haul out along the gaff; and a hand was sent up to see what was foul, and to clear it. The man had accomplished his task, and was just swinging himself off the gaff into the lower rigging, when he was observed to pause and gaze intently to windward.

“Well, what is the matter, Bill? Do you see anything unusual away there to wind’ard, to set you staring like an owl in an ivy bush?” demanded the mate, somewhat impatiently.

“Yes, sir. There’s something away over there,” replied the man, pointing with his hand, “that looks like a dismasted ship, or a craft on her beam-ends. Whatever it is, it is very low in the water; and the sea is breaking very heavily over it.”

The mate said no more, but swung himself into the mizzen-rigging, and made his way as far aloft as the cross-trees; when he turned and, bracing himself against the masthead, directed his glances toward that part of the horizon indicated by the seaman. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked steadily for a full minute; then he said something to the man beside him, when the latter nimbly descended the ratlines to the deck, and, explaining that “Mr Roberts wants the glass, sir,” went to the companion, where the instrument always hung in beckets, secured it, and took it aloft to the mate. With its assistance a still more prolonged examination was made; and when it was at length completed, the two men returned to the deck together.

“Well, Mr Roberts, what do you make of it?” I inquired, as the mate, having restored the telescope it its accustomed place, joined me near the break of the poop.

“Well, sir, there is something away there to windward,” was the reply, “but what it is I couldn’t very well make out, the sea was breaking so heavy over it. Sometimes it has the look of a dismasted and waterlogged ship; and then again it takes the look of a craft on her beam-ends, with her yardarms just showing above the water; and once or twice I thought I could catch a glimpse of something like an attempt to make a signal by waving a white cloth or something of the sort. But that may have been only the glancing of the flying foam in the sunshine.”

“How did she bear when you were aloft?” I inquired.

“Broad on our weather-beam,” answered Roberts.

“And how far distant do you judge her to be?”

“About a matter of nine miles, I should say. I suppose you’ll be taking a look at her, sir?”

“Most certainly,” said I. “We will stand on for a quarter of an hour or so, when we will go about, if you think we should then be able to fetch her. Meanwhile, we may as well run our ensign up to the peak, to let the people on board—if there are any—know that we have seen them.”

“Yes, sir,” assented Roberts; “I should think that in that time we ought to have head-reached far enough to fetch her. Shall we get a small drag at the topsail halliards? She will bear another inch or two.”

“Very well,” I agreed; and away trundled the sympathetic Roberts forward to muster the hands.

The extra “inch or two” of topsail that he proposed to give her resolved itself into a liberal two feet of hoist; under which augmented canvas the barque bounded from sea to sea like a mad thing, completely burying her lee rail with every roll, and causing the gale to fairly howl through her rigging when she recovered herself; while a whole acre of dazzling snow-white foam hissed and stormed and roared out from under her lee bow, and glanced past the side at what looked like railway speed when she stooped to it under the influence of wind and wave together; the spray meanwhile flying over the weather cat-head in such a perfect deluge that the whole fore deck was knee-deep in water, while the foresail was drenched halfway up to the yard, and even the weather clew of the mainsail came in for a liberal share. To leeward the shrouds sagged limp and loose at every roll of the ship, while to windward they were as taut as bars; and it was by no means without apprehension that I contemplated the possibility of a lanyard parting, or a bolt drawing under the tremendous strain to which they were subjected. Truly we were driving the little ship in a most reckless fashion; and, but for the presence of that mysterious object to windward—which was undoubtedly the hull of a ship, to which possibly a helpless crew were clinging in deadly peril—I would have shortened sail forthwith. But, for aught we knew, the question of rescue or no rescue might be a matter of minutes, or even of seconds, with the distressed ones; we therefore “carried on,” and took our chance of everything bearing the strain.

At the expiration of the allotted half-hour the hands were called, and, taking the wheel myself and watching for a “smooth,” we proceeded to ’bout ship. This manoeuvre was successfully accomplished, though by no means without danger, the ship, while head to wind, taking a green sea over the bows that literally filled her decks fore and aft, washing some of the men off their feet and compelling everybody to cling for life to whatever they could lay hold of until the open ports partially freed her. Strange to say, beyond the flooding of the forecastle, the deck-house, and the galley, no damage was done; and, the next sea that met us happening to be a moderate one, the nimble little craft was round and away upon the other tack before another could come on board us. Once round and fairly on the move again, upon being relieved at the wheel I took the telescope and myself ascended to the foretop upon a visit of inspection. Yes; there the object was, sure enough, about three points on the lee bow, and, as the mate had said, about nine miles distant. I tried to get a peep at her through the telescope; but, even at the moderate elevation of the foretop, the plunging and rolling motion of the ship was so wild that I found it most difficult. I managed, however, to catch an occasional momentary glimpse of her; and from what I then saw I came to the conclusion that she was a dismasted craft, of some five hundred tons or so, floating very deep in the water, with the sea breaking heavily and constantly over her, and that there was a flag of some sort flying from the stump of the mizzenmast—no doubt a signal of distress. She seemed to be a craft with a full poop, the after-part of her standing somewhat higher out of the water than the rest of the hull; and once or twice I caught a glimpse of what had the appearance of a small group of people clinging about the stump of the mizzenmast. More than that I could not just then make out, owing—as I have said—to the exasperatingly wild motion aloft; but I had at least ascertained the important fact that, with careful attention to the helm, we should fetch her on our present tack; and with that I was compelled to be for the nonce satisfied.

We were evidently nearing her very fast, much faster than I had dared to hope, for upon my return to the deck after my somewhat protracted investigation I found that we had risen her from the deck, and all hands were intently watching for a glimpse of her every time that we rose to the crest of a sea, notwithstanding the deluges of spray that flew incessantly in over our weather-bow. My passengers were of course intensely excited and interested and sympathetic at the idea of a real genuine wreck and the possibility of a rescue, even Lady Emily seeming to have utterly forgotten her ailments in her anxiety to see as much as possible. To their credit, however, be it said, they were considerate enough to abstain from tormenting me with ridiculous questions, evidently realising that I had at that moment more important matters occupying my thoughts.

And truly I had; for there was the question of how the people, if any, were to be taken off the wreck. For it must not be forgotten that, hard as we were driving the ship, it was still blowing with the force of quite a strong gale; while the sea was so tremendously heavy that, though a boat, moderately loaded, could undoubtedly live in it if once fairly launched, the task of safely launching her and getting her away from the ship in such weather, and, still more, in getting her alongside, either to ship or to unship people, presented so many difficulties as almost to amount to an impossibility. Fortunately, our boats were all fitted with a most excellent pattern of patent releasing tackle, but for which I should not have felt justified in risking the lives of my men by asking them to undertake such a desperate task. As to the possibility of the wreck being able to lower a boat, the thought presented itself only to be instantly dismissed; for, with the sea breaking so heavily over her as I had seen, it was to the last degree improbable that any of her boats had so far escaped damage as to be capable of floating, even had they escaped total destruction. True, there was a bare possibility that the strait of those on the wreck might not be quite so desperate as it had appeared to me to be—in which case we could stand by them until the weather moderated sufficiently to render the operation of launching a boat a comparatively safe one—but I was very doubtful of this. The wreck had presented all the appearance of being either waterlogged, or absolutely in a sinking condition; and in either case there would be but little time to lose; for, even if the craft were only waterlogged, her people were constantly exposed to the danger of being washed overboard. These points, however, would soon be made plain, for we were rapidly approaching the wreck; and the time had arrived for us to commence our preparations.

Mr Roberts, meanwhile, had been forward, talking to the men; and presently he came aft again to the poop, wearing a very gratified expression of countenance.

“They are a downright good lot—those lads of ours, for’ard,” he began, as he ranged up alongside of me in the wake of the mizzen-rigging. “I’ve just been on the fo’c’s’le to find out what their ideas are about manning a boat; and I’d hardly had a chance to mention the matter when every man Jack of ’em gave me to understand that they were ready to do anything you choose to ask ’em, and that I’d only to say who I’d have to go in the boat with me. So I’ve picked Joe Murray and Tom Spearman, Little Dick, and Hairy Bill—as they call him in the fo’c’s’le; and if you’re agreeable, sir, I’ll take the whaleboat gig; she’s as light as a cork, and far and away the prettiest boat for a sea like this. The other gig would hold a man or two more, perhaps, but she’s a much heavier boat; and those flat-starned craft are not half so safe as a double-ended boat when it comes to running before such a sea as this.”

“I fully agree with you, Mr Roberts,” said I; “and I am very much obliged to you for your readiness to take command of the boat. Let two hands lay aft at once and see that everything you require is in her, and get her ready for lowering. The rest of the men can set to work to haul up the courses, take in the jib, and brail in the spanker. I shall heave to, and drop you as close to windward of the wreck as I can with safety; and then shall fill, and round-to again close under her stern.”

“Very good, sir,” was the response. And Roberts turned away forthwith to prepare for the work of rescue.

As we rapidly decreased the distance between ourselves and the wreck, it became unmistakably clear that the situation of those on board her was frightfully critical, and that if they were to be saved no time must be wasted. The craft was a wooden, English-built barque of between five hundred and six hundred tons register, with a full poop; and seemed, from the little we could see of her, to be a very fine, handsome vessel. Her three masts, as well as her jib-boom, were gone; and from the stump of her mizzenmast the red ensign was flying, union down; while the wreck of the spars and all the raffle of sails and rigging was floating along her starboard or lee side in a wild swirl of foam. Her bulwarks were swept clean away on both sides, from the catheads as far aft as the poop, only the stump of a staunchion remaining here and there to show where they had been. She had, like ourselves, a short topgallant forecastle, under which the windlass was housed, and this structure remained intact; but a deck-house abaft the foremast, and between it and the main hatch, had been swept entirely away, with the exception of the sills, which still remained bolted to the deck. The long-boat, also, which is almost invariably stowed on top of the main hatch, was gone, not even the chocks remaining to show where she had been. In short, the whole of the deck, forward of the poop, had been cleared of everything removable, the only things remaining above the level of the deck being the gallows, the stumps of the main and fore masts, the fife-rails, and the pumps. The front of the poop was stove in, and the poop ladders were gone; there were no boats on the gallows; and while the boat hanging in the lee davits had had her bottom torn out, of that which had hung at the weather davits only the stem and stern-posts remained. She was floating broadside-on to the sea, and was very deep in the water, so deep, indeed, that every wave swept completely over her maindeck in a perfect smother of foam; and she rolled so horribly that I momentarily expected to see her turn bottom up. Moreover, that there was a very considerable quantity of water in her hold was made painfully manifest by the sickening sluggishness of her movements in response to the heave of the sea; there seemed to be scarcely a particle of life left in her, many of the seas running completely over the forepart of her before she could lift herself to them. And, to make matters still worse, she appeared to have a heavy list to starboard, as though her cargo, whatever it might be, had shifted. On the poop, which stood some seven feet higher than the maindeck, matters were not quite so bad, the deck fittings, such as the skylights, etcetera, remaining intact, although much of the glass had been smashed. The wheel remained entire, and as we drew nearer we could see it wildly spinning round, now to port and now to starboard, as the sea acted on the rudder. There were ten men clustered in this part of the wreck, six of whom were crouching under the lee of the skylight, while four had lashed themselves to the stump of the mizzenmast. They were all, of course, drenched to the skin, the sea breaking over them constantly; and some of them were clad only in shirt and trousers, seeming to indicate that they had turned out hurriedly. As we drew close up to this pitiful victim of the relentless power of the wind and sea, we saw a movement of some sort among the figures crouching under the lee of the skylight; and presently, watching their opportunity, they retreated aft, one or two to the wheel grating, one to the standard of the binnacle, and others to positions where they could secure themselves from being washed overboard by grasping ringbolts, bollards, and the like, revealing the whole length of the skylight, on the panelling of which was inscribed in chalk—

“We are fast sinking. For God’s sake, take us off quickly!”

I was able to read this distinctly through my own binoculars; and I no sooner made it out than I jumped on to the top of a hen-coop, and, grasping the mizzen-rigging with one hand, waved the other encouragingly to them, their response being a feeble cheer.

At this moment Sir Edgar Desmond, who with the rest of his party had been absorbed spectators of everything that passed, stepped quickly to my side, and, fairly panting with excitement, said—

“Captain, if there is anything I can do to assist in this matter, I shall take it as a very especial favour if you will command me.”

“Thank you very much, Sir Edgar,” I replied. “I do not know that you can help us very materially at present, unless,”—as I saw a look of deep disappointment come into his eyes—“you would kindly produce a bottle or two of your remarkably fine port, and have it warmed ready for those poor fellows when—or rather if—we get them on board. They have been exposed for some hours at least to wind and sea, and—”

“Say no more, my dear fellow,” he interrupted; “I understand perfectly.”

And away he went, highly delighted at finding he had the power of doing something, however little, toward succouring the poor wretches whose pitiable condition was so patent to us all.

Meanwhile sail had been shortened on board the Esmeralda to topsails and fore-topmast staysail; the gig had been prepared for lowering, and everybody was at his station.

“Are you all ready for lowering, Mr Roberts?” I asked, as Sir Edgar left me on his charitable errand.

“All ready, sir,” was the prompt response.

“In with you, then, into the gig, lads,” said I. “I must leave you to act as you think best, Mr Roberts, in the matter of getting alongside the wreck; but there seems to be a small clear space just abaft the mizzen channels, if you can reach it without getting under the counter. If you fail in that, the only alternative that I can see is for you to get as close as you can to the wreck’s lee quarter, and let her people jump overboard, when you must look out for them and pick them up.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the mate cheerily; “I have a plan that I think will do. All ready, sir, whenever you are.”

We were now within a hundred feet of the wreck, and heading so as to cross her stern at about that distance.

“Back your main-topsail, lads; round-in smartly upon your weather braces,” said I. “So! well there; take a turn; but be ready to fill again when I give the word. Now, Mr Forbes, are you ready with the davit tackles?”

“All ready, sir.”

“Then, when I give the word, let them run smartly and evenly. Mr Roberts will attend to his share of the work. Now, stand by.”

The tackle-falls had some time previously been taken off their proper pins, except for a single half-turn, and carefully laid out along the deck, so as to insure their running out clear, after which they had been placed under contiguous pins in the spider-band of the mizzenmast, and a single turn taken with them, thus enabling the second mate to hold them both in his hands, and sustain the entire weight of the gig and her crew. Now, as I gave him the caution to “stand by,” and at the same time stepped on to a hen-coop in the wake of the mizzen-rigging to watch for a favourable opportunity for lowering, he took off half the turn round the belaying-pin, and held the boat by mere main strength and the grip of the rope on the pins. We were by this time fair across the stern of the wreck, and within a hundred feet of her, with not much way on us, and were ready to drop the gig at a moment’s notice. A perfect mountain of a sea at this moment came sweeping down upon us, and as our buoyant little craft floated up its steep side, she started upon a heavy lee roll, that I saw would swing the gig well clear of her side, and at the same time dip her almost into the water before the tackles were started. We should scarcely get a more favourable opportunity.

“Lower away.”

Prompt, at the word, the second mate allowed the falls to run rapidly out, while the chief, sitting in the stern-sheets, with the yoke-lines in one hand, grasped the releasing line in the other. As the barque careened to her gunwale, the light boat swung far out from her side, and in a moment splashed into the water. At the same instant a smart pull upon the releasing line freed her from the tackles fore and aft; and as the mate sheered her with the rudder toward the wreck, the men tossed out their oars with a cheer and gave way.

“Fill the main-topsail,” cried I. “Up with your helm, my man, and let her gather way.”

And as the barque drew away diagonally to windward of the wreck, we lost sight of our boat behind the lee quarter of the latter, and began to turn our attention to the problem of getting the people on board our own ship, and of hoisting the gig once more to the davits, if possible, after she had fulfilled her present mission. A sailor’s duty constantly brings him face to face with difficult problems, and among them all there are perhaps few more difficult, though, of course, many of infinitely greater importance, than that of successfully picking up and hoisting a boat that has been launched in a very heavy sea, such as was running upon this occasion. So violent was the motion of the Esmeralda, that to have brought the boat alongside of and actually in contact with her hull would have simply been to invite the instant destruction of the smaller craft; yet it was of considerable importance that the boat should be recovered, since there was no knowing how soon her services might be required again. The problem was how to do it; and here my previous experience was of no service to me, as I had never before seen a boat launched in anything like such heavy weather as that of the moment. So as we drew off from the wreck, and prepared to tack, I gave the matter a little thought, and soon hit upon a plan that I thought would answer our purpose. A few minutes sufficed to place us in the proper position relative to the wreck for tacking, and having got the ship round, gone to leeward of the wreck, and hove-to again with our mainyard aback, I at once proceeded to put my ideas into practice. A whip from the lee fore and main yardarms, with a standing bowline in the end of that depending from the mainyard, and with a hauling-line attached to it, was all that I required, after which I had the davit tackles overhauled to their extremest limit, with a stout rope’s-end bent on to each fall just inside the sheave, so that the tackle blocks should reach quite to the water even when the ship was taking the heaviest weather roll.

Meanwhile, Roberts, in the gig, was faring capitally; he had succeeded in getting up stern on, close under the lee quarter of the wreck, with a line from her to the boat, and down this line the people were passing pretty rapidly, our men keeping the line taut all the while by tugging away steadily at the oars. Occasionally one, a little bolder than his fellows, would leap overboard, when Roberts or one of the boat’s crew was always ready to seize him by the collar and drag him into the boat. Everything seemed to be going on with the utmost regularity—one man, whom I took to be the skipper of the wreck, evidently superintending affairs on deck, while Roberts was attending them in the boat—yet it was easy to see that not a moment was being lost, one man being no sooner safe in the boat than another started to follow him. And, indeed, there was evidently the utmost need for haste, for the wreck was visibly settling before our eyes, every sea making a cleaner breach over her than the last, while there were occasions when she was absolutely buried, fore and aft, in a wild smother of white water, nothing of her showing above the turmoil save the stumps of her spars, a small portion of her poop skylight, and the davits with the fragments of the boats hanging from them. On one of these occasions the boat in the starboard davits—that one already mentioned as having had her bottom torn out—was completely demolished, nothing of her remaining when the buried hulk once more rose to the surface. When this was likely to happen the people on board the wreck—warned by their skipper—clung for dear life to whatever they could first lay hold of, while those in the gig, similarly warned, letting go the rope, pulled out of reach of the smother, only to back smartly up again the moment the danger was past.

At length one man only—the skipper—remained on the wreck. I saw him pause for a moment and glance round him at the poor, shattered, labouring relic of the ship that had borne him so proudly out of harbour, probably not very long before, and on board which he had perhaps successfully battled with wind and wave for many years, and then drawing his hand across his eyes—to clear them, maybe, of the brine that had been

dashing into them for the last few eventful hours, or, more probably, to brush away a tear of regret at this dismal ending of a voyage that was no doubt hopefully begun. Finally, waving a signal to Roberts, he placed his hands above his head and, poising himself for an instant, dived headlong into the raging sea. A breathless moment of suspense, and then we saw Roberts lean over the boat’s quarter, grasp something, struggle with it, and finally the diver’s form appeared on the gunwale and was dragged safely into the boat. At this moment a towering billow reared itself just beyond the labouring hull, sweeping down upon it, green and solid, with a curling crest of hissing, snow-white foam. The men in the gig fortunately saw it too in time, and, with a warning shout to each other, stretched out to their oars for dear life. On swept that hissing mountain of angry water, heaving the wreck up on its steep side until she lay all along upon it, presenting her deck perpendicularly to us; then, as it broke over her in a roaring cataract of foam, we saw the upper side of her deck inclining more and more toward us until over she went altogether, nothing of her showing above the white water save her stern-post and the heel of her rudder. For a fraction of a moment it appeared thus, the copper on it glistening wet and green in the light of the declining sun; then the crest of the wave interposed between it and us, and hid it from our view. When, a few seconds later, the great wave reached us and we soared upward to its crest, the wreck had vanished, nothing remaining but a great patch of foam and a curious swirling of the water’s surface to show where the good ship had been.

Meanwhile, the gig, now deep in the water, was making the best of her way down to us, and I freely confess that when I saw that huge wave chasing her I gave her up, and everybody in her, as lost. The boat’s close proximity to the wreck, however, probably proved her salvation, for its fury seemed to have been spent in completing the destruction of the ship, and before it could gather strength again it had swept harmlessly past the boat and, equally harmlessly, down upon us. A few minutes later, the little craft—oh, what a frail cockleshell she looked in the midst of that mountainous sea!—swept close under our stern and, splendidly handled by Roberts, came to under our lee. The ends of the two whips were smartly hove into the boat and caught, and Roberts, instantly comprehending my intentions, lost not a moment in putting them into effect. The barque, with her main-topsail aback but with her fore-topsail and fore-topmast staysail full, was forging very slowly ahead, just sufficiently so to enable those in the gig to sheer her well away from the ship’s side when towed along by the whip from the fore-yardarm; while with the aid of the whip and hauling-line from the main yardarm we were able to get the rescued people quickly and safely out of the boat and in upon our own deck, where—the boat now demanding our most unremitting attention—we turned them over to the willing hands of Sir Edgar Desmond and his party, the women finding themselves impelled by their sympathy to take an active part in the reception of the poor half-drowned fellows. Our own lads worked intelligently and with a will, and, in a shorter time than it takes to tell of it, everybody was safely out of the boat except the chief mate and the two smartest men we had in the ship. We were now ready to make the attempt to hoist in the boat herself. The tackle-falls were accordingly manned by all hands except two, who stood by with the running parts in their hands, ready to drop them into the boat at the proper moment, while I, in the mizzen-rigging, keeping a keen watch upon the seas, superintended the whole. The boat was now sheered as close alongside as it was prudent to bring her; and the two men in her stood by—one forward, the other aft—to catch the blocks and slip the clutches into position, Roberts, meanwhile, attending to nothing but the steering of the boat. At length, as the ship took a terrific weather roll, and the gig seemed to settle in almost under her bottom, I gave the word to heave, and both tackle blocks were dropped handsomely into the hands of the men waiting to catch them. In an instant both clutches were dashed into their sockets—the click of the bolts reaching my ears distinctly—and the two men simultaneously flung up their hands to show that this delicate operation had been successfully accomplished, and that the boat was fast. The ship had by this time recovered herself, and was now nearly upright in the performance of a correspondingly heavy lee roll.

“Round-in upon the tackles, lads, for your lives!” I shouted; and at the words the slack was taken in like lightning, the strain coming upon the tackles exactly at the right moment, namely, when the ship was pausing an instant at the steepest angle of her lee roll, prior to recovering herself.

“Now, up with her, men, as smartly as you like!” And in an instant the boat, within six feet of the davit-heads, was jerked out of the water, and, before the ship had recovered herself sufficiently to dash the frail craft against her side, was swinging clear of all danger, and in her proper position, to the triumphant shout of “Two blocks” from the men at the falls. To secure the gallant little craft in the gripes was the work of a few minutes only; after which the mainyard was swung, sail was made upon the ship, and we resumed our voyage, deeply thankful that our efforts to rescue our fellow-beings, in their moment of dire extremity, had been crowned with such complete success.

Chapter Six.

The Tragedy on board the “City of Calcutta.”

The men we had just rescued were destitute of everything save the clothes they brought on board us on their backs, and those were, of course, saturated with salt-water; it therefore became necessary to supply them with a new rig from the contents of the ship’s slop chest; but our first business—while the unfortunates were being stripped and vigorously rubbed down under Sir Edgar’s personal superintendence, and afterwards liberally dosed with some of his mulled port—was to clear out the deck-house forward, and get the bunks ready for their reception, they being, naturally, very greatly exhausted by the long hours of exposure that they had been called upon to endure. The baronet, with that warm-hearted kindness and delicate consideration that I had already discovered to be characteristic of him, had, after consulting me, and obtaining my permission, caused one of the spare state-rooms in the saloon to be cleared out and prepared for the captain; and, once warm and snug in their berths, we saw no more of any of the rescued men until the next day.

The next morning, at breakfast, the skipper put in an appearance, introducing himself as Captain Baker, late of the barque Wanderer, of London; and as the meal proceeded, he told us the story of the disaster that had befallen him. It appeared that, like ourselves, they had been becalmed on the previous night; and, like myself, Baker had retired at midnight, without, however, having noticed the fall in the mercury that had given us our first warning of the coming blow. On the top of this oversight, the officer of the watch had made the fatal mistake of supposing that the change, when it made itself apparent, meant nothing more serious than the working up of a thunderstorm. He had therefore contented himself with clewing up the royals and hauling down the flying-jib, after which he had awaited the outburst with equanimity. When, therefore, it came, they were utterly unprepared, and the ship was caught aback with topgallantsails upon her, and hove down upon her beam-ends. This was bad enough; but, to make matters worse, she was loaded with iron, and, upon being laid over, the cargo shifted. The watch below, of course, at once sprang on deck, and, under poor Baker’s supervision, everything that was possible was promptly done to get the ship upon her feet again, but all to no purpose; and at length, finding that the craft was shipping a great deal of water, the order was reluctantly given to cut away the masts. This was easily accomplished by cutting through the lanyards of the rigging to windward, when the masts went by their own weight. Thus relieved, the ship partially recovered herself; but she still had a heavy list to starboard, and was floating so deep that the water constantly washed over the deck as far as the lee coamings of the hatchways as she rolled. The pumps were then manned; but after an hour’s hard work it was found that the water was a full foot deeper in the hold than it had been when the pumps were started. It was therefore conjectured that the ship had suffered a very serious strain when thrown upon her beam-ends, or that the violent shifting of the cargo in her hold had started a butt. Still the pumps were kept going, in the hope that the leak might suddenly stop, as leaks have sometimes been known to do without any apparent reason.

Meanwhile, the sea had been rapidly getting up, and soon began to break heavily over the dismasted ship, which was now rolling so violently that, combined with her heavy list, it became almost impossible to move about the deck, the leeward inclination of which soon grew so steep that the men had to be lashed to the pumps to save them from falling or being washed overboard. At length a tremendously heavy sea swept over the ship, from stem to stern, carrying away the whole of the bulwarks, smashing the deck-house and long-boat to pieces, carrying two boats off the gallows, tearing the booms adrift, staving in the front of the poop cabins, and—worst of all—killing four men who were working at the pumps. Captain Baker now abandoned all hope of saving the ship, and gave orders to prepare the boats for launching. And now the full measure of their disaster became for the first time known; for upon proceeding to investigate, as well as they could in the pitchy darkness, it was found that they absolutely had not a boat left capable of floating. This fact once ascertained, all hands beat a retreat to the cabin, there to consult together, in such shelter as it afforded, regarding the most desirable steps to be taken. It was soon found, however, that the sea surged into the cabin in such overwhelming deluges that they ran the utmost risk of being drowned if they remained there, and they were, therefore, compelled to turn out again and seek for safety on the poop. There the day-dawn found them, shivering with cold, wet to the skin, and drenched every moment by the pelting, pitiless sea, hungry, thirsty, and hopeless—when once they had had an opportunity of seeing the condition of the battered hull that supported them, and were fully able to realise the absolute impossibility of doing anything to help themselves. They could not even build a raft for themselves, every scrap of movable timber having been swept away during the darkness of night. True, there was the wreck of the spars still alongside; and if the ship would but remain afloat until the weather moderated, something might possibly be done with them, but not until then. So they could only crouch there on the wet exposed poop, with the sea washing continuously over them, and the raw wind penetrating their saturated clothing, and hope dubiously that some ship might heave in sight in time to save them. And thus they remained until we took them off.

At sundown the gale broke, the wind moderated and came out from the eastward, and by midnight we were once more bowling along upon our course under royals. The next morning, when I went on deck, I found that Roberts had been busy during the whole of his watch getting the studding-sails set; and, in short, it proved that we had now caught the trades, which ran us to within a degree and a half of the Line, and then left us in a glassy calm, sweltering under the scorching rays of the tropical sun.

The breeze left us during the night, and when day broke, a large, full-rigged ship was discovered within about seven miles of us. As soon as it was light enough to see, she hoisted her ensign, but as it drooped in motionless folds from the peak we could only discern that its colour was red, from which circumstance, and the build of the ship, we arrived at the conclusion that she was British. We of course showed our ensign in return; but, as there was no wind to blow out the flags, it was useless to attempt exchanging numbers or otherwise indulging in a little sea conversation. We therefore dismissed all further thought of her pro tem.

It was consequently with some little surprise that, shortly after we had seated ourselves at breakfast in the saloon, I received a report from the mate—who happened to be in charge of the deck—that a boat was in sight, about three miles distant, apparently pulling to us from the ship.

Now, when ships happen to be becalmed within close proximity to each other, with a prospect of the calm continuing for some hours, it is not altogether an unusual thing for the master of one ship to board the other, for the purpose of exchanging a little sociable chat, learning the latest news, or perhaps leaving a letter or two to be posted at the first port arrived at. But when ships are becalmed on the Line, this is rarely done unless the two craft happen to be fairly close together—say, within half a mile or so; because in this region light, transient airs are liable to spring up with very little warning, and when they come everybody is naturally anxious to avail themselves of them to the utmost as an aid toward escape from a spot in which ships have been known to be imprisoned for as much as a month or six weeks at a time. Then, again, under the influence of the sun’s vertical rays, important atmospheric changes sometimes take place with startling rapidity—a squall, for example, working up and bursting from the clouds in a period so astonishingly brief as to afford little more than the bare time necessary to prepare for it. Under these circumstances, therefore, ship-masters are usually very chary about making long boat-excursions when becalmed on the Line.

The novel sensation of an anticipated visit probably caused us to dally less than usual over our morning meal. At all events, when we rose from the table and went on deck the boat was still nearly a mile distant. And a very curious object she looked; for the weather being stark calm, and the water glassy smooth, the line of the horizon was invisible, and the boat had all the appearance of hanging suspended in mid-air. This effect was doubtless heightened by the extremely rarefied condition of the atmosphere, which also gave rise to another effect, familiar enough to me, who had witnessed it often before, but productive of the utmost astonishment to my passengers, who now, it seemed, beheld it for the first time. This effect was the extraordinary apparent distortion of shape and dimensions which the boat underwent. She appeared to stand as high out of the water as a five-hundred-ton ship, while her breadth remained somewhat about what it ought to be, thus assuming very much the appearance of a plank standing on its edge. The men at the oars were similarly distorted, and when, upon going on deck, our eyes first rested upon them, the only indication of their being in active movement consisted in their rapid alternate evanishment and reappearance as they swung forward and backward at the oars. The oars betrayed their presence merely by the flash of the sun upon their wet blades; but a fraction of a second after each flash there appeared on each side of the boat a large square patch of deep ultramarine, which could have been nothing but the broken surface of the water where cut by the oar-blades, for the ripple caused by the boat’s progress through the water similarly appeared as a heavy line of blue extending on each side of the boat for a certain distance, when it broke up into a series of ever more widely detached and diminishing blots of blue. The curious atmospheric illusion, of course, grew less marked as the boat approached; and when she had neared us to within about a quarter of a mile, it vanished altogether, the craft resuming her normal everyday aspect.

At length she ranged up alongside of us. One of our lads dropped a line into her, and the man who had been handling the yoke-lines—a grizzled, tanned, and weather-beaten individual, somewhere on the shady side of fifty—came up over the side, the rest of the crew remaining in their boat alongside, from which they engaged with our own men in the usual sailors’ chat. The stranger—who, despite the roasting heat, was attired in blue cloth trousers and waistcoat, surmounted by a thick pilot jacket, the whole topped off with a blue cloth navy cap, adorned with a patent-leather peak and two brass anchor buttons—was received by the mate, to whom he intimated his desire to speak with “the cap’n.”

“Well, my man,” said I, stepping forward, “what can I do for you?”

“Well, sir,” he replied, “I’m the bo’sun, you see, of the ship yonder—the City of Calcutta, of London, Cap’n Clarke; eighty-six days out from Calcutta, and bound home to the Thames. We’re in terrible trouble aboard there, and you bein’ the first sail as we’ve sighted since the trouble took us, I made so bold as to man the gig and pull aboard you—and a precious long pull ’tis, too—to ask if so be as you can help us.”

“That, of course, will depend upon the nature of your trouble,” I replied. “What is wrong on board you?”

“Well, sir, you see, it’s this here way,” replied the man, twisting and twirling in his hands the cap he had removed from his head when he began to address me. “Our cap’n is, unfortunately, a little too fond of the rum-bottle, or p’rhaps it would be nearer the mark to say as he’s a precious sight too fond of it; he’s been on the drink, more or less, ever since we lost sight of the land. Well, sir, about a fortnight ago we begins to notice as he seemed a bit queer in his upper story; he took to talkin’ to hisself as he walked the poop, and sometimes he’d march up to the man at the wheel and stare hard at him for a minute or so without sayin’ a word, and then off he’d go again, a-mutterin’ to hisself. The men didn’t half like it, and at last one of ’em ups and speaks to the mate about it. The mate—that’s poor Mr Talbot, you know, sir—he says, ‘all right, he’s got his eye on him;’ and there the matter rests for a few days. All this time, hows’ever, the skipper was gettin’ wuss, and at last he takes to comin’ on deck along somewheres in the middle watch, and tellin’ the first man as he can lay hold of that there was devils and sich in his state-room, and givin’ orders as the watch was to be mustered to go below and rouse ’em out. After this had lasted two or three days, the mate summonses Mr Vine—that’s the second mate—and me, and Chips, and Sails to a council o’ war in his own cabin, to get our ideas upon the advisability of stoppin’ the skipper’s grog and lockin’ him in his own cabin until he got better again; and we agrees as it was the best thing to do—because, you see, sir, when a man gets into that sort o’ state there’s no knowin’ what devilment he mayn’t be up to, without givin’ of you any warnin’. So we agreed as it would be the right thing to do for the safety of the ship and all hands; and we promised the mate as we’d back him up in it when we arrived home and he had to answer for hisself to the owners. Well, sir, nobody don’t know how it come about, but we suspects as the skipper must ha’ overheard Mr Talbot and Mr Vine talkin’ about this here business a’terwards; anyhow, he gets the two of ’em by some means into his own cabin, and there he shoots ’em both dead with a revolver, killin’ the chief mate at the first shot, and woundin’ poor young Mr Vine that badly that the poor young feller died only a few minutes after we’d broke open the state-room door, which was locked, and had got him out. And now, sir, we’ve been obliged to put the cap’n in irons—he bein’ stark, ravin’ mad, you see—and we’ve got nobody to navigate the ship. And we thought, mayhap—Chips, and Sails, and I did—that, learnin’ of our trouble, you might be able to spare us somebody to navigate the ship home.”

“Certainly,” said I, “that can be done; for I happen to have on board the captain, mate, and part of the crew of a ship that was foundering when we fell in with her, and I have no doubt they will all be glad of this opportunity to get home. But this is a very dreadful story you have told me, my good fellow, and I hope you have ample proof of its truth; because, if not, it may go hard with you all when you reach home. You may possibly be charged with the murder of your two officers, you know; or with all of them, should the captain unfortunately die. When did this dreadful business happen?”

“The shootin’, do you mean, sir? Four days ago.”

“Well, if you will wait a bit I will speak to Captain Baker, and hear what he says to the idea of taking charge of your ship. I suppose you can find room for his crew? There are ten of them altogether.”

“Oh yes, sir; and glad to have ’em. We were short-handed when we left Calcutta; and now—”

“Yes, yes; of course,” I interposed hastily. And, with a suggestion that his crew should come on deck and get some breakfast while waiting the progress of negotiations, I stepped aft to the wheel grating, where Captain Baker was busy spinning yarns to the youngsters, and, beckoning him aside, repeated the story I had just heard; winding up by asking him whether he felt disposed to undertake the duty of navigating the ship home.

As might have been expected, he was more than willing to take advantage of so favourable an opportunity to return home; and as neither he nor his crew had anything to pack, or any preparations to make for the contemplated change, they were quite ready to leave us by the time that the Calcutta’s people had finished their breakfast. Before they left, however, it was privately arranged between Captain Baker and myself that, with the first breeze that came to us, the two craft should close, in order that I might have an opportunity of going on board and adding my signature to a declaration that he proposed to insert in the City of Calcutta’s log-book relative to the statement made to us by the boatswain, and the circumstances generally under which he was assuming the command of the ship.

The weather was, as I have already said, stark calm, with not a speck of cloud anywhere within the whole visible bounds of the heavens; the sea was like glass; and if I had been asked whether there was any movement in the atmosphere I should unhesitatingly have answered “No;” yet, as Roberts was careful to indicate to me more than once during the morning, the helmsman managed not only to get the Esmeralda’s head pointed towards the distant ship, but also to keep it pretty steadily in that direction; and it is an unquestionable fact that, this done, we neared her at the rate of about three-quarters of a knot per hour. This state of things lasted during the whole day; and accordingly, when eight bells in the afternoon watch struck, the two ships being at that time about a mile and a half apart, I had the gig lowered, and, after carefully instructing the chief mate how to proceed in the event of a breeze unexpectedly springing up, pulled on board the City of Calcutta.

She was a noble ship, of some eighteen hundred tons measurement, built of iron, with a spacious poop aft; the decks as white as snow; fittings of every kind of the very best; double topsail and topgallant yards; in fact, a typical modern clipper. She had accommodation for thirty saloon passengers; but was luckily carrying none, on that voyage at least. The accommodation ladder had been lowered for my convenience, and as the gig dashed alongside and the oars were tossed in, Captain Baker made his appearance at the gangway to welcome me, and at once led me into the saloon.

“Well,” said I, “how did you find matters on board here on your arrival?”

“Just as I might have expected to find them after listening to the boatswain’s story,” was the reply. “The poor skipper is undoubtedly mad—he is in that cabin, there, and I will take you in to see him presently—but within the last two hours a change seems to have come over him. Before that he was dreadfully violent and noisy; but he has now calmed down, and I should not be surprised to find that the worst of the attack is past. I have not the slightest doubt in the world that the story of his having murdered the two mates is perfectly true; all the men—and I have examined each of them separately—tell exactly the same tale, and there is confirmatory evidence of a certain kind; that is to say, there are blood-stains on the deck in the skipper’s state-room, proving that the deed was committed there; the door has been broken in, as stated, and is now in the state-room, with the lock still turned and the key in it; the revolver with which the murders were committed has three chambers still loaded, and it is splashed with blood—showing how close the madman was to his victims when he used the weapon; and last, and most convincing evidence of all, there are certain entries in the official log-book, signed ‘A. Talbot, Chief Mate,’ particularising the captain’s eccentricities of behaviour; and one—dated four days ago—recording the consultation held as to the propriety of temporarily confining Captain Clarke to his cabin, and the decision arrived at, duly signed by each of the parties concerned. See, here they are.”

Saying which, he opened the closed log-book that I had already noticed lying on the table, and drew my attention to the entries, one after the other, in consecutive order. I looked them all over most carefully, and was bound to admit that they had all the appearance of being genuine. “A most fortunate circumstance for the hands forward that the mate took the precaution to make those entries,” I remarked.

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Baker. “And now,” he continued, opening the book at a fresh page, “this is the entry I made shortly before I saw you pulling on board us. I want you to have the goodness to confirm the statement by appending your signature.”

I read the entry, and found it to consist of a brief statement of the facts connected with the loss of his own ship; of his crew and himself having been taken off the sinking wrecks by us; of his brief sojourn on board the Esmeralda; of the barque having been boarded by a boat from the City of Calcutta, and of all the circumstances that followed. At the foot of this, and under Captain Baker’s signature, I added the following note:—

“I hereby certify that the above statement is true in every particular.

“John Saint Leger, Master of the British barque Esmeralda.”

This done, accompanied by Captain Baker, I entered the cabin where the madman was confined; and there saw a sight which I shall probably not forget to my dying day. It was one of the saloon cabins—the door of the poor fellow’s own state-room having been beaten in by the crew in their endeavour to rescue the mates from his clutches—and was a very fine, roomy, airy, well-lighted apartment, containing two berths and a sofa, a folding wash-stand, large mirror, a handsome silver-plated lamp with a ground-glass globe, and a brass pole over the top of the door carrying brass rings, from which depended a crimson curtain. The lower berth was made up, and upon it, lying face downwards, was the form of a stalwart, well-built man, with irons on his legs. I thought for a moment that the poor fellow was asleep; yet, as we stood gazing upon him in silence, I was suddenly impressed by the perfect immobility of the figure, and the oppressive silence that pervaded the cabin. Let a man be sleeping ever so peacefully, you will notice some slight movement due to the inspiration and expiration of his breath; and there will also be the sound of his breathing, as a rule; with perhaps an occasional sigh, or faint, inarticulate murmur—something to tell you unmistakably that the figure you are gazing upon is that of a living man. But here there was nothing of that sort—a circumstance which seemed to force itself upon the attention of Baker and myself at the same moment, for we suddenly turned and gazed inquiringly into each other’s faces, and then, reading there the reflection of our own dreadful suspicions, without a word we simultaneously stepped forward and turned the figure upon its back. The ghastly truth at once became apparent in all its unspeakable horror; the miserable madman had crowned his folly and wickedness by cutting his own throat! It was a sight to turn one sick and faint—at least, it had that effect upon me; and doubtless Baker felt as I did, for when I turned to look at him he was white as chalk to the very lips. For a moment we stood gazing at each other, speechless; then, closely followed by me, Baker staggered out of the berth into the saloon, and thence on deck, shouting for the steward, who happened to be forward at the galley. The fellow hurried aft at once, evidently prepared, by the tone of Baker’s voice, to find that something was wrong.

“Steward,” inquired Baker, “how long has Captain Clarke been left to himself?”

“About a quarter of an hour, sir,” was the answer. “Dennis has been looking after him, sir; but, finding the captain quite quiet, he went forward to get his supper with the rest, asking me to keep an eye on him meanwhile. And I did, sir, for the minute or two before this gentleman,”—indicating me—“came aboard; then, when you both went into the saloon, I took the opportunity to step for’ard to arrange with the doctor,” (the cook) “about the supper for the saloon. I hope nothing has gone wrong, sir.”

“Captain Clarke has cut his throat, and is stone dead,” said Baker. “Call Dennis aft at once.”

The steward hurried away; and in less than a minute the man Dennis made his appearance, followed as far aft as the mainmast by all hands. He was at once rigorously examined by Baker as to the condition and behaviour of his charge; and his replies went to show that when he went on watch at eight bells he found the patient perfectly quiet, but evidently—so at least he judged—quite unaware of his situation and surroundings. The captain, he said, was then seated on the sofa in the cabin, with his hands clasped before him, his elbows resting on his knees, his body inclined forward, and his eyes fixed upon the carpet at his feet; in that attitude he had remained continuously, and in that attitude he had been when he (Dennis) left him. This was all that was to be got out of the man, except protestations that when he left the captain alone he believed he might do so with perfect safety, and expressions of the deepest regret at the dreadful thing that had happened.

A few of the men—Captain Baker’s two mates, the boatswain, carpenter, and sailmaker of the ship, and one of the able seamen—were then conducted into the cabin to view the body and have explained to them its position when we entered, and so on; and then another entry in the official log, detailing the tragedy, became necessary; which entry I also attested.

By this time it was getting dark, and one of the men came to the saloon door to report that a small air of wind was coming down from the eastward; as therefore my business on board the City of Calcutta was concluded, I prepared to leave the ship. Nothing now remained to be done but to hand Baker some letters from the Esmeralda to post on his arrival home—a matter I had almost forgotten in the excitement induced by the dreadful discovery in which I had participated—and to bid good-bye to my late guests; which done, I hurried down over the side and stepped into my gig, glad to be out of a craft on board which such horrible tragedies had so recently been enacted.