W.H.G. Kingston

"The Rival Crusoes"

Preface.

The title of the following tale was given to a short story written by the well-known authoress, Agnes Strickland, more than half a century ago, when she was about eighteen years old. I well remember the intense delight with which I read it in my boyhood, and was lately surprised to find that it had been so long out of print. The publishers, however, consider that the work, esteemed as it was in former years, is, from the style and the very natural mistakes of a young lady discernible with regard to matters nautical, scarcely suited to the taste of the present day. They therefore requested me to re-write it, believing that the subject might be worked into a deeply interesting story of much larger proportions than the original. This I have endeavoured to accomplish, and I trust that the new version of “The Rival Crusoes” may become as popular among the present generation as its predecessor was with the last.

W.H.G. Kingston.

Chapter One.

At Keyhaven—In dangerous company—The old smuggler—A frigate after battle—Dislike of Ben for the Royal Navy—An unexpected landing—Overbearing conduct of the midshipmen—Angry words—Lord Reginald Oswald—Toady Voules—At the village inn—Old messmates—Temptation—Susan Rudall’s anxious life—An adventure on the way to Elverston—Home at last—Reception at the hall.

“I tell you what, Dick, if I was Farmer Hargrave I would not turn out to please Lord Elverston or any other lord in the land,” exclaimed Ben Rudall, as he stood hammering away at the side of his boat, which lay drawn up on the inner end of Hurst beach, near the little harbour of Keyhaven, on the Hampshire coast, at the western entrance of the Solent, opposite the Isle of Wight. His dress and weather-beaten countenance, as well as the work he was engaged on, showed that he was a seafaring man.

“But Mr Gooch the bailiff says there is a flaw, as he calls it, in the lease; but what that means I don’t know, except that it’s not all right, and that father must turn out, whether he likes it or not,” answered Dick Hargrave, who was standing near, and occasionally giving Ben a helping hand. He was a lad about sixteen years of age, strongly built, with a good-looking face, exhibiting a firm and determined expression. His dress was more that of a landsman than of a sailor, though it partook of both.

“Flaw or no flaw, I say again, I would hold on fast to the farm, unless I was turned out by force. Your father, Dick, is worth ten of such lords, or a hundred, for that matter. He has held that farm since his father’s time. His father and grandfather and great-grandfather, and I don’t know how many before them, have held it. And right honest people they were. They never thought of interfering with us seafaring men, and would as soon turn spies to the French as give notice to the revenue when a cargo was to be run. If they guessed that any kegs of spirits, or packages of silks or ribbons, were stowed away in one of their barns, they took good care not to be prying about too closely until they knew that the goods had been started off for London.”

“My father always wished to live at peace with his neighbours, and would not injure a smuggler more than any other man who did not interfere with him, though I believe he has never received a keg of brandy or a piece of silk for any service he may have done the smugglers,” said Dick.

“You’re right there, my lad,” said Ben. “I mind once offering your good mother a few yards of stuff to make her a Sunday gown, and, would you believe it? she would not take them. When I just hinted that I should leave them behind me, she was quite offended, and declared that if I did she would speak to your father and have the outhouses kept closed, and that it would be our own fault if some day all our goods were seized. She shut me up, I can tell you. Yes, she is a good woman, and as kind and charitable to the poor as any lady in the land. To my fancy she is a lady just as much as Lord Elverston’s wife. I mind when he was only Squire Oswald. Because he kept hounds and was in Parliament, and came into a heap of money, he got made a lord, and then a marquis, and now he is setting his face against all us seafaring men hereabouts, and vows that he must uphold the revenue laws, and put a stop to smuggling.”

“I have no cause to care for the Marquis of Elverston or his sons either, for often when I have passed them and touched my hat, as in decent manners I was bound to do, they have looked at me as if I was a beggar-boy asking for a ha’penny. The young one especially—Lord Reginald—I had words with him one day, when he swore at me for not picking up his whip which he had let drop out riding; and at another time, when I was fishing in the lake at Elverston, he ordered me to be off, because I was catching more than he was—though father has always had the right of fishing there. He came up, with his fists doubled; but I threatened to knock him into the water if he laid hands on me, and he thought better of it. I was right glad when he went off to sea, where I hope he will have learned better manners.”

“He will have learned to become a greater bully than ever,” growled Ben. “I have heard enough about king’s ships, and catch me setting foot on board one. I’d sooner be sent to Botany Bay, or spend a year in prison, which I did once, when I was taken running a cargo down Portland way with a dozen other fine fellows. Many of them accepted the offer to go on board a man-of-war; and where are they now? Three or four shot or drowned; the rest have never come back, though whether dead or alive I cannot tell. No, no, Dick; don’t you ever go on board a man-of-war of your own free will, or you’ll repent it; and, I say, keep clear of pressgangs when you get a little older, or you may be having to go, whether you like it or no.”

“I’ll take your advice,” answered the young farmer, for such Dick might properly have been called, though he had besides, being an ingenious fellow, picked up a good knowledge of carpentering and boat-building; “but what I was going to say just now was that, although the marquis and his sons may not be liked, no one can utter a word against my lady and her daughters. They always smile and nod kindly like when one passes. When my sister Janet was ill last year, they came to the farm, and asked after her just as if she had been one of themselves, talking so sweet and gentle. If it wasn’t for them, I don’t think father would dream of giving in, as he does now.”

“Give in? He mustn’t do that!” exclaimed Ben. “Their talking and smiling may be all very fine, but I know what that’s worth.”

“You are wrong there, Ben; I couldn’t speak a word against them. But, I say, do you think we can finish the boat in time to get off and catch some fish this evening? I want to take home a couple of bass or whiting pout for Janet. She likes them better than anything else. Poor girl! it’s only fish and such light things she can eat. She’s very ill, I fear, though she talks as if she was going to be about soon; but the doctor tells mother he has no hope of her ever being well again.”

“That will be a sore pity, for, blind though she is, there’s not a prettier maiden to be found throughout the forest,” answered Ben. “I’ll do my best to serve you, Dick; but there’s two hours’ more work to be done before we can get the craft afloat.” Ben surveyed the boat from stem to stern as he spoke, and then continued boring holes and driving nails as diligently as before.

While he was thus employed, Dick, who was looking towards the Isle of Wight, exclaimed, “See, Ben, see, what a fine ship yonder is, just come in at the Needles!”

The fisherman, clenching the nail he had just driven in, turned his eyes in the direction to which Dick pointed. “She’s only a frigate, though a good big one,” he remarked. “She’s not long since been in action, too, with the enemy. Look at her topsails and top-gallant sails; they are pretty well riddled. I can count wellnigh a score of shot-holes in them; and her side, too, shows the hard knocks she has been getting. Just run to the top of the beach, and see if any other ships are following. Maybe the fleet has had a brush with the enemy, and yonder frigate has been sent on ahead with news of the action.”

Dick, doing as he was bid, soon reached a point of the shingly bank whence he could obtain a view of the sea to the westward. “Hurrah!” he shouted; “here comes another ship under a fore-jurymast and her bowsprit gone. She seems to me to have not a few shot-holes in her canvas, though it’s hard to make out at the distance she is off.”

Ben, in his eagerness, forgetting his work, ran up to where Dick was standing. “Yes, there’s no doubt about it, yonder craft is a prize to the first. When she gets nearer we shall see that her sails are well riddled and her hull battered, too. Those Frenchmen don’t give in till they’ve been thoroughly drubbed; but I doubt whether we shall know more about the matter to-night than we do now, for the wind is falling, and the tide making out strong against her. See, the frigate can only just stem it, and unless the breeze freshens, she must bring up or drift out through the Needles again.”

Such, indeed, was likely to be the case, for though still going ahead, her progress was very slow. She had already got some little distance to the eastward of Hurst Point, when, the wind freshening again, her sails blew out, and, gliding majestically on, she edged over to the Isle of Wight shore.

“She’ll not get to Spithead to-night, notwithstanding,” remarked Ben, “for there’s not a breath of air away to the eastward; see, the sails of that brig out there are hanging flat against the masts.”

Ben was right. The wind again dropping, presently the hands were seen flying aloft, the studding-sails were quickly taken in, the courses brailed up; the topsail yards being rapidly lowered, the ready crew sprang on to them, and in another minute the frigate dropped her anchor in Yarmouth Roads.

“All very fine!” growled Ben, as he saw Dick’s look of admiration at the smartness with which the manoeuvre had been effected; “but if you’d been on board you would have seen how it was all done. There’s the first lieutenant, with his black list in his hand, and the other lieutenants with their reports, ready to note down anything they may think amiss; then there are the midshipmen, the boatswain and his mates, cursing and swearing, with their switches and rope’s ends in their hands, and the cat-o’-nine-tails hung up ready for any who don’t move fast enough. Again, I say, don’t you ever enter on board a man-of-war if you wish to keep a whole skin in your body.”

The old smuggler’s picture, though exaggerated, approached too nearly the truth as to the way in which discipline was enforced on board many men-of-war in those days. Happily, some were as free from the reproach as are those of the present time, when the seamen of the navy have good reason to be contented with their lot, as everything is done which can conduce to their comfort and improvement.

Ben’s remarks did not fail to have their effect on Dick’s mind.

“Don’t think I’m a fool!” he answered. “I’ll keep out of their clutches, depend upon that, for, as I am not a seaman, a pressgang can’t catch hold of me.”

“Well, do you be wise, my boy, and don’t forget what I say,” remarked Ben. “But if we stand talking here we shan’t get the boat finished, so come along, and don’t let us trouble ourselves about the frigate. We shall hear by-and-by what she has been doing, and how the captain and officers are praised for the victory the seamen have won for them.”

Saying this, Ben led the way back to his boat, and went on with his work, though Dick Hargrave could not help every now and then casting a look at the beautiful ship as she lay at anchor a little distance off. Ben was labouring away as assiduously as before, when Dick exclaimed—

“Here comes a boat from the frigate. I thought I saw one lowered; she is steering for this point, and it will not be long before she is here.”

“Then they intend to put some one on shore at Keyhaven,” observed Ben; “but as the boat can’t get up the creek with this low tide, whoever he may be he’ll have to trudge along the beach.”

“There seem to be several officers in her,” remarked Dick, who stood watching the boat as she came rapidly on the blades of the oars, as with measured strokes they were dipped in the water, flashing in the sunlight. “They fancy that they can get up to Keyhaven, but they’ll not do that until the tide rises,” observed Ben, looking up from his work with a frown on his brow. “Let them try it, and they’ll stick fast.”

The boat passed the spot where Ben and his companion were at work, and very soon what he had predicted happened. Two of the officers, whom Dick recognised by their uniforms to be midshipmen, were heard abusing the men and ordering them to urge the boat on. But all the efforts of the crew to get her afloat were vain.

They then endeavoured to back her off, and at length four of them, tucking up their trowsers, leaped overboard. The boat thus lightened, the men, by shoving her astern, soon got her again into deep water. When, however, they sprang on board their blackened legs showed the nature of the mud into which they had stepped, and produced a malicious chuckle from Ben, who watched them with half-averted head. By moving their legs about in the water they soon got rid of the black stains, when, having resumed their places, they pulled the boat in close to where Ben and Dick were standing. As she reached the beach the two midshipmen leaped on shore.

“I say, you fellows,” shouted one of them, “come along here and carry our portmanteaus to the inn, if there is one in that village there, and tell us if we can find a post-chaise or conveyance of some sort to take us to Elverston Hall.”

“Don’t you answer,” said Ben to Dick, hammering on and pretending not to notice what was said.

“Ahoy, there! don’t you hear us? Knock off that work!” cried the younger of the two midshipmen, and he repeated what he had just said.

“Yes, we hear,” growled Ben looking up; “but we are not slaves to come and go at your beck, youngster.”

“We don’t want you to carry our traps for nothing, my man,” said the elder midshipman. “We’ll give a shilling to each of you for the job, and that’s handsome pay.”

“To those who want it, it may be,” said Ben; “but that youngster there must learn to keep a civil tongue in his head if he expects any one to help him. Hurst beach ain’t the deck of a man-of-war, and one chap here is as good as another, so you may just let your own people carry up your traps.”

The crew of the boat sat grinning as they heard the smuggler bandying words with their officers, siding probably with the former.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking, my man?” exclaimed the elder midshipman. “This is Lord Reginald Oswald, and his father is the Marquis of Elverston. His lordship will be exceedingly angry when he hears the way you have treated his son.”

Ben, turning away his head, muttered loud enough for his companion to hear him, “He might be the marquis himself for what I care; but I’m not his lordship’s slave to come and go at his beck any more than I am yours.”

Dick looked hard at the young lord, and the recollection of their former intercourse would have made him unwilling to do as he was asked, even had the request been couched in less dictatorial language.

“Come, come, we will pay you a couple of shillings each, if you are extortionate enough to refuse our first offer; but carry up our traps you must, for the boat has to return immediately to the frigate, and we cannot delay her.”

“Extortionate or not extortionate, we are not slaves, as some poor fellows are,” said Ben, glancing at the boat’s crew; “if we don’t do what you want for love, we are not going to do it for money, so you may just carry your portmanteaus yourselves.”

“Impertinent scoundrels!” exclaimed Lord Reginald to his companion. “Just see, Voules, if that young fellow is more amenable to reason than that sulky old boatman.”

“I’ll try him,” answered Voules. “Come here, you young chap. If you will carry Lord Reginald’s portmanteau I will shoulder mine; we must not delay the boat any longer.”

“Don’t seem as if you heard him,” said Ben to Dick in a low voice, then looking round he shouted, “Maybe the ‘young chap’ is deaf, and if he wasn’t, he’s not a mule or donkey to carry a load on his back. Let Lord Reginald carry his own portmanteau, and just do you understand that I’m not the man to stand any nonsense from him or from any other lord in the land.”

“There is no use in bandying words with these scoundrels!” exclaimed Voules. “I’ll carry your portmanteau, Oswald, and let my own take its chance. I don’t suppose these fellows will dare to steal it, until we can send somebody to bring it on.”

“No, no,” answered Lord Reginald; “we must get Jennings to allow two of the men to come with us, and he can explain to the captain the cause of the delay.”

Jennings, the master’s assistant in charge of the boat, naturally indignant at the way his messmates were treated, consented to this, although he was infringing orders by so doing. He accordingly directed two of the crew to take up the portmanteaus and accompany the midshipmen, who set off at once along the shingly beach. As they moved on, a peal of laughter, in which Ben indulged himself, saluted their ears, which contributed not a little to increase Lord Reginald’s anger and indignation.

“I have a notion that I remember the countenance of the youngest of those two rascals!” he exclaimed. “He is the son of one of our tenants, and used often, when a mere boy, to be impudent to me. I felt inclined more than once to thrash him, but he happened to be the stronger of the two, so I didn’t try, but I’ll pay him off one of these days. I’ll tell my father how we were treated, and he’ll show him that I am not to be insulted with impunity.”

“Certainly not, Oswald. I’ll bear witness to the impertinent way in which he behaved. I only wish that a pressgang may be sent on shore here some night; I’ll take good care that they do not overlook either the young fellow or that surly old one. They are not very particular in the service just now as to age, and both may be taken.”

“Pray don’t let me hear anything more about the matter, or when I reach home I shall not be in a condition to receive the congratulations of my family,” said Lord Reginald. “I wish that the tide had been in and we had been able to get up to the village instead of having to trudge over these abominable shingles.”

“Certainly,” said Voules; “but the fellows are beneath your notice, though the incident was sufficient to put one out of temper. If I had thought Jennings would have consented, I would have proposed landing the boat’s crew and ducking the fellows; it would have brought them to reason pretty quickly.”

“You don’t know the character of the men hereabout, or you would not say so,” observed Lord Reginald. “That fellow Hargrave is a desperate young villain, and they are all smugglers and poachers, who would not scruple to burn down the hall if they had an opportunity. My father is determined to put a stop to their poaching and smuggling, but he has not as yet had much success, I believe. The smugglers, somehow or other, manage to land their cargoes when the revenue officers are out of the way, and the poachers dodge our gamekeepers, who vow that although they hear their shots, they can never catch them.”

“It will be good fun some night to try what we can do,” observed Voules. “We should soon get hold of them, and if they are sent to prison or shipped off to Botany Bay, it will keep the others in awe.”

The two seamen who carried the portmanteaus were listening to the remarks of the young officers spoken in loud tones. Every now and then they turned to each other, exchanging winks, and smiling contemptuously, though they looked as grave as judges when Voules happened to turn round for a moment to ascertain how far they had got from the boat. On and on they trudged, until at last harder ground was gained, and they soon reached the village inn, or rather beer-shop, for it aspired to no higher dignity. Great was their disgust to find that no conveyance of any sort was to be obtained nearer than Lymington, some three or four miles off, and it was doubtful whether the single post-chaise or yellow fly, which belonged to the place, would be disengaged.

“But Lord Reginald Oswald cannot walk all the way to Elverston Hall, and we must have a carriage of some sort or other, my good woman,” exclaimed Voules to the landlady.

“Then I must send out and find my man, who has been carting coals for old Captain Knockills on the top of the hill there. Our cart ain’t exactly fit for young gentlemen like you, but it’s better than nothing, as it will carry your ‘portmantles,’ and you can get in and ride when you are tired; so, if you will walk in and sit down in the bar, I’ll send the boy off at once. It won’t be long before my man is here, as he must have finished his work by this time.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Voules. “Lord Reginald Oswald to be driven home in a coal-cart!”

The idea, however, seemed to tickle the fancy of the young lord, for he burst into a fit of laughter. “It will be better to reach the hall even in that way, than to wait in this wretched hole until we can obtain a carriage. Only, I say Voules, get them to put some clean hay or straw into the cart, or we and our portmanteaus will be covered with coal-dust.”

In the mean time the two seamen looked with wistful eyes at the cask of beer in the corner of the tap-room, but Voules, without offering them any, ordered them to hasten back to the boat. They grumbled as they went, looking back to ascertain if the midshipmen had left the inn, resolving to return, should they have the chance, to drink as many glasses of ale as they had money in their pockets to pay for.

Voules, however, must have suspected their intentions, for he kept an eye on them as long as they were in sight. Just before reaching the frigate’s boat, they met Ben and Dick, who had been on the watch for their return. Ben put out his hand and shook that of one of them.

“Well, Bill Webster, I knew you as soon as you stepped on shore. Glad to see you with a whole skin on your back,” he exclaimed. “How do you like serving his Majesty afloat? A pleasant sort of a life, isn’t it?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders as he answered, “Well, it’s better than rotting in prison, though I’d rather be at the old work again.”

“Then why not give them leg-bail at once; you’ve a chance you’ll not find again in a hurry, and we can stow you safe away, where they’ll have a hard job to find you.”

“No, no, mate,” said Bill’s companion, Jack Coyne. “I know what running away means. It’s being caught, with a sharp taste of the cat on one’s back at the end of it.”

“Then, mates, you’d rather be slaves than free men?” said the old smuggler.

Jack Coyne, however, was firm; and notwithstanding the arguments Ben used, he finally persuaded his shipmate to return to the boat which, immediately they stepped into her, shoved off and pulled for the frigate.

“Each man to his taste, and some day they’ll be sorry they didn’t take my advice,” muttered Ben. “Now, Dick, let’s you and I get the boat into the water, and try to catch some fish for your sister Janet.”

As the boat was placed on a steep beach, she was easily launched, and Ben and Dick, each taking an oar, pulled away some distance from the shore, when they let down a big stone which served as an anchor. They had not to wait long before Ben hauled up a fish, and Dick soon afterwards got a bite. In a short time they had caught several bass, a whiting pout, and two grey mullet, with which, well satisfied, as the shades of evening were already creeping over the water, they pulled for the shore. As the tide had now turned, they were able to get up the creek to the spot where Ben generally left his boat moored.

“I’m well pleased that I am to send these to your young sister,” said Ben, handing over the mullet and two of the other fish to Dick. “Your mother won’t mind receiving them, though they haven’t paid duty, seeing as how they are not taxed, though when they will be is more than I can say. Always glad to see you down here, my lad; some day you’ll take a trip across the water, aboard the Nancy. You’ll like the life, I know, especially if we are chased by one of those revenue craft. It is a pleasure, I can tell you, to give them the go-by, though, to be sure, we do sometimes have to heave our kegs and bales overboard, but we generally keep too bright a look-out to have to do that.”

“I should like it well enough, Ben; but there are others at home who would object to my going away on board the lugger. However, I won’t say no, so good night, Ben, and thank you for the fish;” and Dick Hargrave set off at a brisk pace towards his home, while his evil adviser—for such Ben Rudall undoubtedly was—entered his cottage, where his wife was busy preparing supper for him and their children.

An anxious woman was Susan Rudall. Sometimes there was an over-abundance on the board, and she had more money than she well knew how to spend. At others it was a hard matter to find a few shillings to pay the week’s bills for bread and other necessaries, though, to be sure, she could generally obtain credit, as it was hoped that, on the return of the Nancy, Ben would again be flush of money. Sometimes, however, she, as well as the tradespeople, were disappointed. Then often and often, while south-westerly gales were blowing, she had the anxious thought that the Nancy was at sea and might perchance founder, as other similar craft had done, or be cast on the rocky coast, or be taken by a revenue vessel, when Ben and his companions, if caught with a cargo on board, would be thrown into prison, or sent to serve his Majesty on board a man-of-war for three or four years or more.

Poor Susan’s lot was that of many other smugglers’ wives, who, notwithstanding the silks and laces with which they could bedeck themselves, and the abundance of spirits and tobacco in which their husbands might indulge, had often a troubled time of it. Not that she, or any other of the wives and daughters of those engaged in the lawless trade, thought that there was any harm in it. Probably their fathers and grandfathers before them, and most of their male relatives, except those sent off to sea, followed the same calling, and when any were caught or killed, they looked on their fate as a misfortune which had to be borne, without considering that it was justly brought upon themselves.

Meantime, the two midshipmen, after waiting till their patience was almost exhausted, having seen their portmanteaus put into Silas Fryer’s cart, set off on foot for Elverston Hall.

“I really regret, my dear Oswald, that you should be exposed to this inconvenience. For myself, I confess I do not care; the pleasure of accompanying you and the honour of being received by your family, will make ample amends to me for a far greater annoyance. As a miserable younger son, with little more than my pay to depend upon, I have often had to tramp it. But you, I fear, will be greatly fatigued.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Reginald. “I can walk as well as any man, and could get over the distance if it were twice as great. I was only vexed at the impertinence of those fellows.”

“Of course, of course,” said Voules, soothingly; “but leave them to me, and if I have an opportunity while remaining here, I’ll endeavour to pay them off.”

Mr Alfred Voules, though an especial friend of Lord Reginald Oswald, was not a favourite on board his ship, where he was known by the name of “Toady Voules,” an appellation he richly merited by the mode in which he paid court to any shipmates possessed of titles or amply stored purses. He had lately won his way into the good graces of Lord Reginald, who had obtained leave to take him on a visit to Elverston Hall, while the frigate was refitting at Portsmouth. When she brought up in Yarmouth Roads, Lord Reginald explained that his home was a short distance off on the opposite coast, and that it would save him and his friend a long journey if they were to land at Keyhaven, as they could easily reach it from thence. Much to their satisfaction, their captain allowed them—certainly an unusual favour—to be put on shore as they desired. Voules himself stood well in the opinion of the captain and lieutenants, as, although he might not have exhibited any especial gallantry, he always appeared attentive to his duty.

As the two midshipmen stepped out briskly, they soon distanced the cart, though darkness overtook them when they were still three or four miles from the hall. Lord Reginald, however, knew the road, and there was light enough from the stars to enable them to see it without difficulty. Elverston was situated some distance from the coast, within the borders of the New Forest. They were laughing and talking merrily together as they made their way along an uncultivated tract, covered with heather and occasional clumps of trees, here and there paths crossing the main road, when Voules exclaimed—

“What are those objects moving beyond the trees there? They seem to me to be like men on horseback; and, surely, that is the sound of cart wheels.”

As they stopped talking, a low murmur, as of human voices in subdued tones, reached their ears, and continuing on, they made out distinctly a train of carts, accompanied by horsemen riding in front and rear.

“What they are is pretty clear,” said Lord Reginald. “Those are smugglers. I have heard they muster at times in great force to convey their contraband goods up to London.”

“I wish that we had some of the frigate’s crew with us,” said Voules; “we’d soon put a stop to their journey.”

“Will you, young masters?” said a voice. “You’ll just come along with us, and spend the night in different company to what you expect!”

Before the midshipmen could turn round, they found their arms seized by half a dozen stout fellows, who had apparently been detached from the main body, and had come up thus suddenly upon them.

“Unhand us!” exclaimed Lord Reginald, indignantly. “What right have you to stop us in this way?”

“The right of might, young master,” answered the man who had before spoken. “Tell us what brings you here at this time of night!”

Voules, seeing that it would be to their advantage to speak the truth, answered, “My good friends, we have only just landed from our ship, and being unable to obtain a carriage, are walking on to Elverston Hall. We have not the slightest wish to interfere with you or any one else we may meet on the road; and it would be a serious inconvenience to us to be detained.”

“You speak fairly, my young master,” said the man; “and if you and this youngster here will give us your word of honour that you will not mention having met us, we will let you go on in a few minutes; but do not interfere in a matter which does not concern you.”

“Oh! certainly, my friend, certainly,” answered Voules. “We will hold our tongues, depend upon that, and we shall be much obliged to you if you will let us go at once, for we are desperately hungry, and want our suppers.”

“That may be,” said the smuggler, laughing; “but you have not given us your word yet that you will hold your tongue, and we want to know what this other lad has to say for himself.”

“Oh, I’ll give you my word to say nothing about you, if on that condition you will let us proceed on our way,” said Lord Reginald; “although I cannot make out what reason you have for asking us.”

“Our reasons do not concern you, so give us your answer without further delay.”

“I promise, then, on the word of an officer and a gentleman, not to mention having met you,” said Voules.

Lord Reginald repeated the same words.

“Well, then, you may go about your business,” said the smuggler; “only don’t in future talk of putting a stop to smuggling; it’s what neither you nor your elders can do. Now, good night, lads. Remember, if you break your words it will be the worse for you.”

Saying this, the smuggler and his men rejoined their companions, who had already crossed the road, and the two midshipmen, glad to escape so easily, proceeded on their way.

“I thought we were in for it!” observed Voules; “it would have been very unpleasant if they had carried us off, or knocked us on the head!”

“Yes, indeed,” answered Lord Reginald; “they are bold fellows to travel through the country so openly, even at night; but, as my father says, ‘Bold as they may be, they must be put down.’”

“Well, we must try to forget the circumstance at present, or we shall be letting something slip out,” remarked Voules. “Are we approaching the hall yet?”

“We cannot be far off, though I should be better able to answer the question in daylight. I am only certain that we are on the right road, and have not reached the lodge gates; we shall see a light shining in the window when we get near.”

Nearly another half-hour passed before the light Lord Reginald spoke of appeared. The park-keeper and his wife, who had their minds filled with the dread of an invasion from the French, or an attack from the smugglers, were at first very unwilling to open the gates. Not until Lord Reginald had explained who he was, and had mentioned several circumstances to prove that he spoke the truth, would they admit him and his companion.

“Beg pardon, my lord; but we hope you won’t take it amiss,” exclaimed the gate-keeper.

“We meant no offence, that we didn’t, my lord,” chimed in his wife. “But you see, your lordship, that there are all sorts of bad characters about—smugglers and highwaymen and gipsies, and we couldn’t tell if it was some of them come to murder us and burn the hall down, as they swear they will; or if it was the French, for it’s said that they will land one of these nights, and turn out the king and Parliament.”

“Hold your tongue, wife, and don’t be keeping Lord Reginald and the other gentleman waiting,” exclaimed the husband. “You see, my lord, how my good woman is afeered, and so I hope your lordship will pardon me, as I mustn’t leave her alone, if I don’t go up with you to the hall, for if any strangers were to come there would be no one to open the gate.”

“Stop and look after your wife; I can dispense with your attendance, for I know my way perfectly,” answered Lord Reginald, laughing. “Come along, Voules, I shall be glad to be at home at last.”

The authoritative pull which the young nobleman gave to the hall bell soon brought the domestics to the door. The marquis and Lady Elverston, with their two fair daughters, and Lord John their eldest son, hurried out to meet Lord Reginald. His mother and sisters embraced him affectionately, gazing into his well-bronzed countenance, while his father and brother warmly wrung his hand, as they expressed their joy at his safe return. He then introduced his messmate Mr Voules, who received a polite welcome to Elverston Hall.

“And now, pray tell us, Reginald, to what circumstances we are indebted for seeing you so unexpectedly,” said the marquis.

“The kindness of Captain Moubray; who, hearing, when our frigate came to an anchor in Yarmouth Roads, that we were within a short distance of this, allowed me and my messmate Voules, at my request, to come on shore and pay you a visit, while the Wolf is refitting at Portsmouth.”

“What brings her back?” asked his father. “I understood that she was not expected home for some time.”

“We have had a glorious fight with a French frigate, which we compelled to strike, and have brought home as our prize; though, as we did not get off scot-free, it will take the Wolf some time to repair damages.”

“Did you lose many men?” asked the marquis.

“Twenty or more killed or wounded,” answered Lord Reginald, in a careless tone.

“My dear boy, how thankful I am that you escaped!” exclaimed the marchioness, gazing at him with a mother’s love in her eyes.

“Oh, do tell us all about it,” cried Lady Lucy, his eldest sister.

“All in good time,” answered Reginald; “but to say the truth, we are very sharp set after our long walk, and should prefer refreshing the inner man before we exhaust our energies by talking, and I will refer you on the subject to Voules, whose descriptive powers are far superior to mine. All that I can tell is that we saw a ship, which we soon discovered to be French, and, coming up with her, fired away until, in the course of a couple of hours, having had enough of it, she hauled down her colours, and that when we were sent on board to take possession, we found that we had knocked over some forty or fifty stout fellows.”

The marquis rang the bell, while the midshipmen retired to their rooms to prepare for supper.

Voules gazed round the handsome chamber in which he found himself, with a well-satisfied look. “I have fallen on my feet for once in my life, at all events,” he said to himself. “If I play my cards well, who knows what may happen? It is evident that his family think a good deal of this young lordling, and I must take care to keep in his good graces. He is fond of flattery, though it doesn’t do to lay it on too thick, but his sisters and mother will be well pleased to hear his praises sung, and as I have a fair groundwork to go upon, I may praise him to the skies behind his back; he is sure to hear what I say of him, and will be more pleased than if I flattered him to his face. I shall thus get into the good graces of the ladies, who may induce the marquis to use his influence at the Admiralty to obtain my promotion.”

His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a valet, who came to offer his services. Voules, supposing from his appearance that he was one of the other guests who had mistaken his room, made him a polite bow, and said something to that effect. The valet, uncertain whether the young gentleman was a lord or a commoner, thought it wise to be on the safe side, and addressing him as “My lord,” said that he had been sent by Lord John to brush his clothes and shoes, and as the portmanteaus had not arrived, to put any of his lordship’s wardrobe at his disposal.

“Oh, ah! my good fellow,” said the midshipman, discovering his error; “much obliged to Lord John; but as there is not time to shift my rigging, I’ll just trouble you to give me a brush down and to bring me a pair of slippers, and I shall be all to rights.”

The valet quickly performed the duties required of him, and Voules, perfectly satisfied with himself, followed him downstairs to the drawing-room.

Chapter Two.

Voules makes himself at home—Eager listeners—Fight between the Wolf and a French frigate—Lord Reginald’s account—Merit and modesty—A bumper round—Voules makes headway—Dick Hargrave—An encounter in the forest—Smugglers—Good Faithful—The farmer’s home—Dick’s mother—Sound advice—Contending influences—Bitter feelings—A prudent resolution.

Several guests were staying in the house, and a large party were soon assembled round the supper-table. The two midshipmen were objects of general interest, and they had more questions asked than they could well answer. Voules had the honour of sitting near Lady Elverston. Lord Reginald was at the other end of the table, where his father had placed him, anxious to hear from his own lips an account of what had occurred. Just then, however, being very hungry, the young lord was more interested in discussing the viands placed before him than in narrating the particulars of the engagement. Voules had therefore the field to himself, and although quite as hungry as his brother midshipman, he restrained his appetite, for the sake of giving full play to his tongue.

“I can assure your ladyship that we have had as fine an action as any which has been fought during the war, and though his modesty might induce him to disclaim any peculiar merit, Lord Reginald played no unimportant part in it,” began Toady Voules, bowing to the marchioness, and then giving a quick glance towards the other end of the table to ascertain whether his messmate was listening. Finding that he was fully engaged with the viands before him, he went on. “We were about thirty leagues from the coast of Spain, in the latitude of Cadiz, when early one morning, we discovered a sail to the south-west, we having the wind at the time from the north-east. As you may suppose, we immediately bore up in chase, for we had every hope that the stranger would prove an enemy. It was some time, however, before we could settle the point, as the wind was light and we made but little way. At length, to our great joy, we were almost sure that she was a French frigate by the cut of her canvas and the appearance of her hull; at last, when she hoisted her colours and fired a gun to windward, we had no doubt about the matter. She was hove to, with her mizzen-topsail aback and the main-topsail shivering, waiting for us. This showed that her captain was a brave fellow, and would give us some trouble before we were likely to make him strike.

“We were all in high spirits, and I never saw Lord Reginald look cooler or more at his ease than he then did. Our captain, to prevent the French frigate from escaping, made up his mind to engage her to leeward. Our men were at their quarters, with matches in their hands, ready to fire. The word, however, was passed along the decks that not a gun should be discharged until the captain should give the signal, though the enemy had begun to blaze away, and his shot was passing through our sails and cutting up our rigging. The enemy, seeing our intention, wore and foiled the manoeuvre. As she sailed much better than the Wolf, our captain at length saw that he must adopt a different plan to that which he had at first intended. The Frenchman several times filled and wore so as on each occasion to bring a fresh broadside to bear on the Wolf, which annoyed us greatly. It was trying work to have her shot crashing on board without being able to return the compliment. Fortunately, the Frenchman firing high, few of our men were hurt. We now steered directly down upon the enemy, and having got within pistol-shot of her, the satisfactory words reached us, ‘Give it her, my lads, and enough of it.’ We did give it her, the men tossing their guns about like playthings, running them in, loading and firing two shots to the Frenchman’s one. We were now what we wanted to be, engaging the enemy broadside to broadside, within pistol-shot distance, pouring into each other a fire of round, grape, and musketry. I am afraid you would not understand the various manoeuvres we performed. As we carried a press of sail, we shot past the enemy, who, bearing up, managed to cross our stern and pour in a raking fire. As our captain saw what she was about to do, he ordered all hands to fall flat on the deck, and many who might have had their heads knocked off thus escaped. As the shot flew over us like a shower of hail, the only person I saw on his feet besides the captain and first lieutenant was Lord Reginald. He told me afterwards that he could not bring himself to bend before a Frenchman. ‘Better, my dear Oswald, to do that than to be knocked down by a Frenchman’s shot,’ I observed. ‘No, no!’ he answered. ‘I should have died an honourable death.’ I beg to observe that I did not agree with my noble messmate; but I mention the circumstance only to show what stuff he is made of.

“We were quickly on our feet again, and engaged in firing every gun we could bring to bear. After some time, having crossed each other’s courses, we being ahead of the French ship, she stood right at us, bringing her larboard bow against our starboard quarter, over which her bowsprit ran, pressing against the mizzen rigging. The captain immediately ordered it to be lashed there, to prevent her escaping. Lord Reginald was, I can assure you, among the first to obey the captain’s order. Several men were shot in the attempt, but at last it was successful. Scarcely, however, was it done, and we had the Frenchman fast, than we saw the greater portion of her crew rushing forward, ready to spring down on our decks. It was as much as we could do, I can tell you, to keep them at bay. Our marines, stationed on the quarter-deck, fired away at them as fast as they could load and discharge their muskets, but not until our captain himself, at the head of our own boarders, armed with cutlasses, pikes, and pistols, rushed to our quarter, over which the enemy had begun to pour, was their progress stopped. It was desperate work; those who had gained our deck were cut down, others were hove into the sea, while the remainder beat a rapid retreat. Their foremost guns then began to thunder away at us, and we could not bring one to bear in return, until a couple of pieces were dragged aft on the main-deck and run through the cabin windows, which had been cut down to serve as ports. We had now an advantage of which we made good use. Every shot we fired told with tremendous effect, but the enemy was still unconquered. The lashings which held the bowsprit of the French ship to the mizzen rigging giving way, she began to forge ahead. As she did so, a fortunate shot cut away the gammoning of her bowsprit. We were now exchanging broadsides yardarm to yardarm, but the drubbing they had already received seemed to dishearten the Frenchmen. Still they held out, showing a wonderful amount of pluck. They had sent men into the tops, armed with muskets, who were firing down on our deck, and had already wounded several of our officers. I was standing a short distance from our captain, when I saw Lord Reginald seize the musket of a marine who had just been killed, and at the same time shove the captain aside and fire at the maintop, when down came a man on deck. The captain was saved. The fellow had been taking aim at him, and there is no doubt that he owes his life to the coolness and resolution of Lord Reginald, although he looked rather astonished at being treated in so unceremonious a manner by a midshipman—”

“Why, you make Lord Reginald a perfect hero,” observed a dowager duchess sitting opposite to Voules, who might possibly have suspected that the young gentleman was drawing on his imagination as to the details of the action.

“Pray go on, Mr Voules,” said Lady Julia. “I could not listen to you without trembling; and, did I not see my brother sitting safe there, should be thinking all sorts of dreadful things. I wonder any one remained alive on the decks of the ships engaged in so fearful a battle.”

“A good many did lose the number of their mess, but fewer were killed than might have been supposed, for round shot and bullets fortunately have a happy knack of making their way between the heads of people without hitting them.

“By this time our gallant frigate, which had lately been under a cloud of canvas, swelling proudly to the breeze, made a deplorable appearance with rope’s ends and torn sails hanging down from every mast and yard. The French ship, however, was in a still worse condition. The sails, however, were of sufficient service to force the two ships through the water, and the Frenchman took advantage of this, and hauled up, in a short time getting out of gun-shot, we being unable, in consequence of the loss of our gaff and topsails, to follow. Our captain, however, had no intention, as you may suppose, of letting her escape. All hands set to work to knot and splice our rigging, to refit braces and repair other damages. While thus employed, we saw the Frenchman’s foremast fall over the side. Our crew, as you may suppose, raised a loud cheer at the sight, and redoubled their efforts to be ready, should a breeze spring up, for again getting within range of our opponent. Scarcely had the hands reached the deck, when we saw a ripple playing over the ocean; the sails were trimmed, and once more, with eager hearts, we steered towards the French ship. We did not suppose that she would hold out long, but after the pluck her captain had exhibited, we fully expected to be at it again. In a few minutes the crew were at their quarters, ready to fire a broadside, when down came the Frenchman’s colours.

“‘She has struck! she has struck!’ resounded through the ship. We at once hove to. The first lieutenant was sent on board to take possession; I had the honour to accompany him. The sight I had witnessed on board our own ship was bad enough, for we had upwards of twenty men killed and wounded, the former still lying in their blood where they fell; but on stepping on the Frenchman’s deck, it seemed literally covered with dead men, for the rest of the crew had been too busy to throw any of them overboard, while the cockpit below was filled with wounded, many of whom were too much hurt to recover.

“The French captain, who came to the gangway to present his sword to the first lieutenant, informed us that the ship was the Reynard, when we found that she was not only of larger size and carried four more guns than we had, but had commenced the action with upwards of two hundred men more than we mustered. The French captain, Monsieur Brunet, who had really fought his ship very gallantly, shrugged his shoulders, exclaiming, ‘It is the fortune of war!’ as he delivered up his sword, and was requested, having packed up his personal effects, to go on board the Wolf, in a boat sent for the purpose. The boats of the French frigate were too much knocked about to float, and it took us some time to remove the prisoners and send a prize crew on board. It was night, therefore, before we were ready to make sail, when we steered a course for the north-west, to avoid the French fleet, which was supposed to be off the coast of Spain or Portugal.

“The scene on board the prize made me very glad to get back to my own ship. Though we had gained the battle, we were not allowed to sleep on beds of roses. Our prisoners considerably outnumbered our own crew, and our boatswain, who spoke French, having been taken during the earlier part of the war, overheard some of them discussing a plan for overpowering us and regaining the prize. As we could not put them all in irons, we had to keep a strict watch over their movements.

“The weather remained fine, but there was a thick mist which prevented us from seeing far ahead. It had just gone two bells in the morning watch, when, as I was forward, I heard a tinkling sound. I listened attentively. Again the sound distinctly struck my ear. It came borne along the surface of the water from some distance. I reported the circumstance to the officer of the watch, and he immediately sent to inform the captain. He soon reached the deck, and after listening for a while, announced it to be his belief that the sounds proceeded from the French fleet. He immediately ordered the ship’s course to be changed to the westward. In another hour we again hauled up to the northward. When morning broke, the look-out from the mast announced a fleet in sight to the south-east. All the sail we and our prize could make was set. We soon discovered, however, that several large ships were in chase of us, but our captain was not the man to give in while a stick remained standing. We continued our course, hoping that a change of wind or some other chance might enable us to escape our pursuers. It would have been tantalising to have lost our prize and have been taken prisoners ourselves, and some of the least hopeful declared that such would be our fate. ‘Well,’ exclaimed Lord Reginald, ‘we must submit, but nothing can take away the honour we have gained by capturing a French frigate of superior force.’ Your ladyship will perceive the courage and spirit of your gallant son; indeed, he has exhibited them on many occasions, and I hope that some day we may see him leading England’s fleets to victory.”

“What’s that you are saying about me?” exclaimed Lord Reginald, from the other end of the table, for during the sudden silence of those around him he had caught the last words uttered by his messmate.

“Mr Voules is only speaking of you as you deserve, my dear Reginald,” said the marchioness. “He has been giving us an account of the battle and the gallant way in which you behaved.”

“We all behaved gallantly, or we should not have thrashed the enemy,” said Reginald, laughing.

“I hope Mr Voules has given you a clearer account than Reginald has himself, for, except that the two ships spent the morning in pounding away at each other, and that at length the Frenchman, being tired of the amusement, and having lost his foremast, hauled down his colours, I have heard no details of the action,” said the marquis.

“Then his modesty prevented him relating how he lashed the bowsprit to the rigging and saved the captain’s life,” observed the marchioness.

“I lash the bowsprit to the rigging? Why, the men did that, and very imperfectly they performed the work, or our antagonist would not have got clear again; and as to saving the captain’s life, I know only that I took up a musket and brought down a Frenchman, or he would have knocked over the captain or me, or somebody else.”

“Whose account is to be relied on?” asked the marquis, looking somewhat puzzled.

“I do not wish to gainsay my noble messmate, but your lordship must make allowance for his modesty, and give me credit for stating facts as they occurred,” answered Voules.

“I see how it is,” observed the marquis, glancing approvingly at his son.

“Merit is always modest, which may account, Mr Voules, for your not having described your own gallant deeds,” said the marchioness, looking hard at him. Being a clear-sighted woman, she may have suspected why the smooth-tongued young gentleman had praised his noble messmate.

“But how did the Wolf and her prize manage to escape from the enemy?” asked Lady Julia. “Pray go on and tell us, Mr Voules.”

“For some time I must own that we fully expected to be captured, for wounded as our masts and spars were, we could not venture to make more sail; indeed, it is a wonder those of the prize which remained standing did not fall over the side. Fortunately, we had a good start, and the wind being light, the French ships did not gain on us as fast as they would otherwise have done. To our infinite satisfaction, just about noon, we saw them haul their wind, having been probably recalled by their admiral, who thought it possible that they might run into the jaws of an English squadron, which he must have known was cruising in the neighbourhood. We had still no small anxiety about our prisoners, and, I believe, it was not a little owing to the vigilance of Lord Reginald that they were prevented from rising. His perfect knowledge of French, for which he tells me he is indebted to his sisters, enabled him to speak to the men, warning them of the danger they would run should they make the attempt, and in a short time he brought them into good humour, notwithstanding which, as before, a strict watch was kept on their movements. Having stood well to the westward, we got a fair breeze, which carried us up Channel and safe inside the Isle of Wight, where I hope the prize is by this time, for she was close in with the Needles, and was only prevented following us for want of wind and the ebb still making out against her. It would be a serious matter if she were to run on shore during the night, or be retaken by a French cruiser.”

“No chance of that,” observed Reginald. “No French cruiser would ever venture so close in with our shore, and within two or three hours at most the prize would be able to follow the frigate.”

“I must get you, Mr Voules, to repeat the account you have given of the action for my benefit, as Reginald is wonderfully reticent on the subject,” said the marquis.

“I shall have great pleasure, my lord,” answered Voules, bowing.

“In the mean time, do me the honour of taking wine, and we will afterwards drink a bumper round to the future success of the Wolf,” said the marquis.

“The very toast I was going to propose,” said an old general, who had long since been placed on the shelf. “Though my fighting days are over, an account such as we have just heard warms up my stagnant blood, and I beg to second your lordship’s proposal.”

“Charge your glasses, gentlemen, and I hope, ladies, that on this occasion you will join us,” exclaimed the master of the house.

No one declining, the fair sex put out their more moderately sized glasses to be filled as the bottle went round. The toast was drunk, the whole party standing, with the exception of the two midshipmen, who, with assumed modest looks, retained their places.

“And now we will give three cheers for our naval heroes,” cried the old general, making an effort to stand up on his chair, but giving it up, as he reflected on the danger he might run of toppling over among the dishes which still covered the board.

“Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” and the supper-room rang with the sounds, which were taken up by the servants outside and repeated in the hall below, where the domestics not in waiting were making merry.

When all the guests sat down they looked at the two midshipmen, while Reginald made signs to Voules to speak.

“You are the eldest, old fellow, and having been longest in the service, it is your business to reply.”

Voules, nothing loth, rose to his feet. His only difficulty in commencing being the doubt whether he should address his friends as “My lords and ladies.” His tact, however, prevented him doing so, and he contented himself by neatly expressing his thanks for the honour done to the glorious service of which he was so humble a representative. “Had Lord Reginald been induced to speak,” he added, “he would have said more to the purpose. My belief is, that should the war continue a few years longer, my noble friend will be found in command of as fine a frigate as the Wolf, and will outshine the deeds of his predecessors. Should I be so fortunate as to have reached the rank of lieutenant by that time, I hope that it will be my privilege to serve under him.”

Voules’s modest remark in reference to himself drew forth, as he intended it should, a reply from his host, who assured him that any interest he possessed should be exerted to obtain for him the promotion he deserved, and that he hoped to see him a post-captain as soon as his son had obtained that rank.

“Thank you, my lord, thank you!” exclaimed Voules, highly delighted. “Your lordship will allow me to remind you of your promise, whenever Lord Reginald obtains a step in rank. I do not aspire to be promoted before him, and shall be glad to serve in any ship to which he is appointed, until we are both eligible for independent commands.”

The ladies now withdrew, and when the gentlemen left the supper-table it was found that they had retired to their rooms. Voules was too prudent a man generally to take more wine than his head could stand. So delighted, however, did he feel with his bright prospects, that he found considerable difficulty in restraining his tongue, and excusing himself on the plea of fatigue, was glad to make his way to his room, where he was followed by Lord John.

“I came to thank you, Mr Voules, for the very handsome way in which you spoke of my brother,” said the latter. “He is a very fine fellow, somewhat thoughtless and impetuous, and requires guiding, and I rejoice to think that he has found so steady a friend as you are to guide and restrain him.”

Voules put on as sedate an air as possible, although just then he did not feel very capable of guiding himself, for he had had considerable difficulty in steering a straight course along the passage which led to his room. “You may depend upon me, my dear Lord John, that I will do my best to keep your lordship’s brother out of mischief. I do not profess to be his monitor, but I may exert an unperceived influence over him to his advantage.”

“And did he really perform all the gallant acts you describe?” asked Lord John.

“Every one of them, and others besides,” answered the midshipman. “There’s not a more gallant young officer in the service, and he’ll make the world know it some day, if no harm befall him.”

In spite of all the efforts he made, Voules could not help yawning, and Lord John, perceiving this, allowed him to go to bed in quiet, while he went to have a further talk with his brother, who, however, by that time, had turned in and had already fast closed his eyes.

In the mean time Dick Hargrave hurried towards his home with the fish he and Ben had caught, anxious to present them to his young sister, whom he dearly loved. He stopped at the village inn, the Admiral Benbow, and found that the two midshipmen had only just left it for Elverston Hall. “I have no fancy to meet the young lord and his friend,” observed Dick, “or we may chance to fall out, so I’ll take the other road, and shall soon get ahead of them.”

Following this wise resolution, he set off at a pace which soon brought him to the borders of the forest. He knew the road too well to be impeded by the darkness. He was running on, his own footsteps not allowing him to hear other sounds, when on passing beneath some overhanging trees, the shadow of which prevented him from seeing objects ahead, he suddenly found himself close upon a body of men, some on horseback and others on foot, escorting a line of carts. Dick at once knew what they were about, and not wishing to be stopped, he sprang on, hoping to remain concealed behind the trunk of a tree until they had passed by; but he had been observed, and two of the men came up to him.

“What business have you here, youngster?” asked one of them, seizing his arm and dragging him forward.

“I am Farmer Hargrave’s son, and am on my way home with some fish Ben Rudall and I have been catching for my sister Janet,” he answered.

“All right, Master Dick,” said the man; “we know you well enough; but don’t say that you have seen us, and if Ben has taken care to show himself, the revenue people won’t suspect what’s in the wind, as they will think that he would be sure to be along with us. Have you any news?”

“Nothing that much concerns you, Master Fryer,” answered Dick, who recognised the speaker. “A frigate anchored in Yarmouth Roads this evening, and two of the officers, one of them Lord Elverston’s son, have landed and gone on to the hall.”

“I should like to pay them off for the trouble the marquis gives us,” said Fryer; “though we have put him on a wrong scent, and he is not likely to find out this time what we are about, until the goods are safe in the hands of the London merchants.”

“It would not do us much good to interfere with the youngsters,” observed the other man. “If the marquis would but let us alone we should have no ill will towards him. All we want is free trade and fair play.”

“You are right there, mate,” observed Fryer; “and now, Master Dick, you may go your way, and remember to keep a quiet tongue in your head.”

Dick, escorted by his captors, who explained who he was, passed unquestioned through the main body of the smugglers, who had halted for some reason for a few minutes, just as he got up to them. Dick again hurried on, while the smugglers proceeded along by-paths across the country, shortly after to fall in, as has been seen, with the midshipmen. Dick was met by his faithful dog, who was always on the watch for him when he was away from home, and having an especial duty to perform, seldom accompanied him. That duty, which he performed with exemplary patience, was to lead about blind Janet, who, under his guidance, when she was well, would venture in all directions without the slightest fear of a mishap. Every one in the neighbourhood knew her and her dog, and even the roughest characters treated her with courtesy. Of late her walks had been greatly curtailed, for the last few days Faithful’s office had become a sinecure, though he still remained at his post, ready to perform his duty if required. He was a handsome spaniel, and had been brought up from a puppy by Dick, who had thoroughly broken him in. Though fond of scampering across the fields and poking his nose into every hole he could find in the hedges and ditches, he became as sedate as a judge the moment Janet called him and fastened the ribbon by which she was led to his collar. Dick was naturally very fond of his dog, but had become still more so since the animal had shown how useful it could make itself to poor Janet.

Faithful, who had long been on the watch, when he heard his master’s footsteps, with a bark of welcome leaped over the palings, and came frolicking and leaping round him, licking his hands to show his joy, and together they entered the house.

Mrs Hargrave, a comely, pleasant-looking dame, was seated busily stitching by the side of the table. “What has kept you so late, Dick?” she asked in an anxious tone. “Your father has gone to bed, as he must be up betimes. We thought that you had got into some mischief; but I am thankful to see you back, my son.”

Dick explained what he had been about, and exhibited the fish he had brought. “And how is Janet this evening?” he asked. “I thought that I should have been back in time for her to have one for supper, but they’ll do for her breakfast or her dinner to-morrow.”

“She’s asleep, sweet dear! though I’m afraid she’s no better. The Lord’s will be done, if He thinks fit to take her; and then, Dick, I want you to remember that you will be your father’s chief hope and stay in his trouble. Whether or not we shall have to turn out of our home, and seek for another farm, is more than I can say. Your father doesn’t wish to displease the marquis, but he thinks that it is his right to remain where he is, and that he would not be acting like an Englishman to give up that right.”

“Of course he would not,” exclaimed Dick. “Ben Rudall says he would not knock under to the marquis or any other lord, and he would hold on fast with tooth and nail.”

“I don’t want to say anything against Ben Rudall, my son; but I wish that you were not such friends with him. He is a smuggler, and may draw you into mischief, though maybe you’ll think it ungrateful in me to say so, when he has helped you to catch those fish. Remember that you cannot associate with bad characters without getting some harm and being looked upon as one of them.”

“Ben is a right honest fellow, and true as steel,” answered Dick. “I don’t like to hear anything said against him, mother; if he were ever so bad, he would not lead me astray.”

“He is a smuggler, Dick, and though he may be true to his companions, he is false to his country, or he would not be trying to cheat the revenue, as the smugglers do.”

“I had not thought of that; but don’t you trouble yourself about Ben,” answered Dick. “Now, mother, I am pretty hungry, and should like some bread and cheese;” and Dick turned round to go to the larder.

“Sit down, my son, and I’ll get them for you,” said Mrs Hargrave, taking the fish at the same time. “While you are eating, I’ll clean these, and they’ll be ready in the morning if Janet has a fancy for one of them.”

She soon returned, not only with some bread and cheese but some cold meat, and a mug of home-brewed beer, showing that the good housewife did not stint her family.

Dick described the arrival of the young lord and his shipmate. “I’d as leave he had stopped at sea, for, somehow or other, he and I are always getting foul of each other. But there will be rare doings up at the hall to welcome him home, especially if there’s been a battle, as Ben thinks, and his ship gained the day.”

“Then, Dick, do you keep out of his way, and no harm can come of it,” said Mrs Hargrave. “I am glad, however, for her ladyship’s sake, and the young ladies, for they will be main pleased to see him. Only this morning they came here to visit Janet, and when I told my lady what Mr Gooch says, she promised to speak to the marquis, and that makes me hope that the matter will be settled better than your father expects.”

“Not if that young lord finds out about it. He’ll try and set his father against us. You should have heard him and his shipmate this afternoon blackguarding Ben and me, because we wouldn’t carry their portmanteaus.”

“There would have been no disgrace in so doing. It shows that they thought you stronger men than themselves,” observed Mrs Hargrave.

“I should not have minded doing it, if it hadn’t been for Ben; but the way they spoke put his back up, and he gave them a piece of his mind.”

“Just now, Dick, you said that you would not be influenced by Ben; but surely you were on that occasion,” remarked Mrs Hargrave. “However, Dick, I do not want to blame you, but just try to keep clear of those men, and show what a help you can be to your father on the farm. Now, as you have had your supper, you had better go to bed, and I’ll close the door. I want to sit by Janet’s side, in case she should awake before I lie down. Do not forget to say your prayers, my son, and sing one of the hymns I taught you, though you look so sleepy that I am afraid you will not think much about what you are saying.”

Dick had in truth given way to several wide yawns, while his eyelids had begun to droop. He followed his mother’s advice, as far as he was able, and especially in the last particular; but he was fast asleep as soon almost as his head touched the pillow.

Chapter Three.

Good intentions—Blind Janet—Poor Faithful shot—A trying moment—Dick’s anger—Desire of revenge—A dangerous speech—Threatening to shoot—The consequences—Tempted—Indignation of the farmer’s son—A sorrowful duty—Grief of the blind girl—A scheme of Mr Gooch—Dick’s fears of arrest—Running away from home—At the smuggler’s cottage—On board the Nancy—Safe for the present.

Dick Hargrave kept to his resolution of trying to avoid meeting with Lord Reginald. Should he do so it would not be his fault, and should he fall in with him, he would endeavour to retain his temper, should his lordship speak to him in his former style. He likewise refrained from going to Keyhaven, or any other place where he was likely to meet any of his associates engaged in smuggling, although it was difficult to say who was not, more or less, implicated in the lawless proceedings so general at that time along the south coast. He assisted his father on the farm, and occasionally took Janet out for a short walk, as, notwithstanding the doctor’s expectations, she was able to get up again the very day after she had appeared to be so ill.

She declared that it was owing to the nice fish Dick had brought her. Again, however, she was confined to her room. As she could not take out Faithful, she begged that Dick would give him a run. “The poor dog sits so quietly at my feet all day, and if he sees me moving, I hear his tail thumping on the floor, and he begins to scamper about, fancying I am going to take him out. It is very dull for him, poor dog, and he deserves some amusement,” she said.

Dick promised to follow her wishes, and the next morning, saying that he would try to shoot a rabbit, and summoning Faithful, who bounded after him, he set off with his gun in his hand. With the assistance of the dog, he soon shot a couple of rabbits, with which he was about to return home. Faithful, however, highly delighted at finding himself abroad, went ranging wildly over the fields. Dick called to him, but the dog was too eager in the chase or too far off to hear his voice, and did not, as usual, return. Some minutes passed, when Dick heard a shot coming from the direction in which Faithful had disappeared. He hurried on, fearing that one of the keepers had caught sight of him; but then they all knew Janet’s dog, and the most surly would not have had the heart to fire at the honest brute, even though he might have been infringing the game laws by scampering for amusement after a hare or rabbit. Dick looked out anxiously, hoping to see the dog return; but though he shouted, “Faithful! Faithful!” and whistled shrilly, the animal did not make its appearance. Wondering what could have become of it, he went on calling its name. At last he saw it crawling towards him, dragging its limbs along in evident pain. At length the poor dog, unable to get further, sank to the ground. Dick, darting forward to where it lay, stooped down to ascertain how it was hurt. Its lacerated side, which bled profusely, showed that it had been shot.

“What villain has dared to hurt you, my poor Faithful?” exclaimed Dick.

The dog’s only reply, true to its name, was to lick his hand and endeavour to rise, but again it fell back, and after a few convulsive struggles, expired.

“Poor, poor Faithful! Janet will miss you, that she will! She will never find so trusty an animal to lead her about; but I’ll be revenged on the fellow, whoever he is. He ought to have known that you never poached, though you did love to run after a hare, for the fun of the thing. If I can meet the savage brute I’ll shoot him, as sure as my name is Richard Hargrave.”

“What’s that you say, you young ruffian?” exclaimed a voice near him.

Dick had not observed three persons who had approached. Looking up, he saw Lord Reginald and his brother midshipman, attended by a keeper.

“I do say that the heartless fellow who shot this dog deserves to be shot himself,” exclaimed Dick, looking boldly up.

“I shot the dog; it deserved to be killed for chasing hares on my father’s property,” answered the young lord. “You yourself must have set him on to drive the hares towards you. You are a poacher; we must have you up before the magistrates and punish you accordingly.”

“I did not set him on,” answered Dick, rising to his feet, “and I had no intention of killing any hares on the Elverston property. These rabbits I shot on my father’s farm, and I had a perfect right to kill them. The dog belongs to my blind sister. As she is ill, I took the poor brute out for a run.”

“A very likely story!” exclaimed Lord Reginald. “You have a gun in your hand and rabbits over your shoulder, and you had sent your dog scampering over the fields in search of more. I know your name, and shall report you to my father, so you may expect to take up your quarters in prison before many days are over.”

“The lad speaks the truth, my lord, about the dog,” observed the keeper, who had stepped forward and examined poor Faithful. “I have seen it many a time leading Farmer Hargrave’s blind daughter about, though whether he shot the rabbits on his father’s farm or not is another matter. We have never found him poaching before, so that part of the story may be true also.”

“I am sorry to have shot the dog, if it was useful to his blind sister,” said Lord Reginald; “and, I say, Jackson, I wish you’d look out for another to give the poor girl, instead of this one; she’ll not find out the difference.”

“I wouldn’t let her receive it if you should give her one!” exclaimed Dick, his anger in no way pacified by the young lord’s expressions of regret. “No dog could be found to equal Faithful; but I myself will look after a dog to take its place.”

“Really, my dear Oswald, I cannot stand by to see you thus insulted by this ungrateful young ruffian,” said Voules. “He has threatened to shoot you, and he looks like a fellow capable of doing what he says. The sooner he is taken up and sent to prison the better.”

“I have not been poaching! If you lay hands on me it will be the worse for you,” said Dick, grasping his gun.

“Come, come, Master Dick, do you go to your home, and do not be so foolish as to threaten mischief. It is dangerous to use such words, and you’ll be sorry for them by-and-by,” said the keeper, wisely interposing between the exasperated young men. “I know where to find you if you are wanted; but I don’t suppose the marquis will be hard upon you, when he hears how it was your sister’s dog was shot. If, my lord, you’ll please to let the lad go, I’ll undertake that he shall not come into the park again. His father is not the man to allow him to do anything against the law.”

Lord Reginald, who really much regretted having shot the dog, willingly listened to the keeper’s advice, and Voules, who had no object to gain in irritating him further against Dick Hargrave, said no more on the subject.

“Well, Hargrave, I will try to forget your threats, and I again assure you that had I known the dog was your sister’s, I would not have shot it,” said Lord Reginald, turning aside; and without waiting for an answer he led the way, followed by Voules and the keeper, in the direction of the hall, leaving Dick still standing by the side of his dog.

“I do not trust his fair words,” said Dick, looking after the party; “but I am obliged to Jackson for speaking a word in my favour, for if it had not been for him, matters would have become worse. Poor Faithful! I don’t know how I shall ever have the heart to tell Janet what has happened,” and stooping down he again examined the dog, to assure himself that it was really dead. Of this he was soon convinced. “I’ll not let you lie here, my poor dog!” he exclaimed, and taking it up in his arms, he walked away with it towards his home. He was crossing the road from Keyhaven, when a voice hailed him, and looking round he saw Ben Rudall approaching.

“What hast thou got there, Dick?” asked Ben. “Your sister’s dog—and killed, too! How did that happen?”

Dick told him, describing what had occurred.

“And thee wouldst trust the chaps, would thee?” said Ben, speaking in the Hampshire dialect. “No, no; don’t be doin’ that. Measter Jackson may have spoken fair enough, but he knows that he’s got his thumb on thee, an’ can come down on thee when he loiks. Now, just listen to what I have got to say. I was going to look for thee. The Nancy is expected in before many days are over, an’ she’ll be sailing again the next morning. If thee’ll come down to Keyhaven, there’ll be a good chance of taking a trip, an’ ’twill be safer for thee to be out of the way in case the young lord should change his mind an’ have thee up for poachin’. When the marquis hears of it, it’s my belief that he won’t let thee off, for he’s wonderfully strict about the matter, and if he had his will he’d be sending half the people hereabouts to prison.”

Dick had not forgotten his mother’s advice to keep clear of Ben Rudall, and he knew well enough that even though he should only go as a passenger, he would be committed to whatever was done by her crew.

“You mean kindly, Ben, I know,” he said; “but I cannot leave Janet, she’s so ill; and if she gets better, there’ll be no one except mother and me to walk out with her, now poor Faithful’s gone; but if I hear there’s a chance of my being had up for poaching, maybe it’s the best thing I can do.”

Ben laughed scornfully. “They’ll not let thee know what they intend to do; but thee would find thyself carried off to Winchester jail some fine morning, so just don’t be a fool, Dick, an’ come along with me.”

Dick, however, was firm in his resolution not to go off without seeing his mother and sister, and Ben was obliged to be content with his promise that he would come down to Keyhaven to talk the matter over. He would have been wiser had he not given that promise.

Ben returned the way he had come, and Dick, carrying the body of his dog, continued on towards his home.

On reaching the cottage, he carried the dog to a corner of the garden, while he went in for a spade to dig its grave. While he was searching for one in the outhouse, his mother saw him.

“What has happened, Dick?” she exclaimed, observing the blood on his clothes.

He at once narrated what had occurred, for although he had many faults, he was truthful to her.

“I am very sorry for what has happened. Poor dear Janet will almost break her heart. She said that she should like to take a stroll to-morrow with Faithful, if you were not able to accompany her. However, we must bear with it. From what you say, the young lord would not have shot the dog if he had known whose it was, and if he gives Janet another, she may become as fond of it as she was of Faithful.”

“I should not like her to become fond of Lord Reginald’s dog,” answered Dick. “If he sends one, I shall have a mind to shoot it, or send it back to him with a kettle tied to its tail.”

“That would not be a right thing to do,” observed Mrs Hargrave. “We should not harbour ill feelings towards others, though they have done us wrong. Come in now, and let me wash the blood off your coat. It looks bad, and if your father were to return, it would frighten him, as it did me. We’ll just break the news gently to Janet, and don’t say you won’t receive another dog if the young lord sends one. Remember how kind his mother and sisters are, and I dare say he is not so bad at heart, though he has more than once fallen out with you.”

“He has an abusive tongue in his head, and that shows what sort of heart he has got,” answered Dick, not inclined to agree with his mother about Lord Reginald. “You tell me the ladies speak so sweetly, but, as Ben Rudall says, that’s all outside show, and I would not trust them.”

“That’s because you have never been at home when they have called, or you would have agreed with me, if you had,” observed Mrs Hargrave. “Stay here while I get a sponge and some hot water; I can’t let you go about as you are; I cannot tell what people would say. If you were seen, there would be all sorts of tales about you.”

“I don’t care what is said, and I should just like them to know that Lord Reginald is a brute. That’s what I call him.”

“Hush! hush, Dick!” said his mother. “Sit you down here, until I have taken off those blood stains, for although poor Janet cannot see them, some one else may come in, and ask what has happened.”

Dick seated himself on a bench to which his mother pointed, and she quickly returned with soap and water. It was no easy operation, however, to get rid of the stains, and Dick declared that before he came in he must bury the dog. To this Mrs Hargrave consented, as she thought it would be a good opportunity to tell Janet of the loss of her favourite.

Dick, taking up the spade, and having selected a spot for Faithful’s grave, began digging away. More than once he stopped and gazed at the animal, feeling unwilling to put it so soon out of sight; then he went on more energetically than before. Having just completed his task, he leaned on his spade, while the tears rolled down his cheeks, as he thought he should never see his dog again. The wind had begun to blow strong, and dark clouds were gathering in the sky. The gloomy aspect of Nature suited his feelings. On looking up, he saw his mother and Janet approaching.

“Mother has told me, Dick, what has happened,” said his sister, as she came up. “I want to stroke Faithful’s head once more before you put him into his grave.” She stooped down by the side of the dog. “Oh! He doesn’t feel my hand now,” she said. “I am very sorry; but, Dick, I want you to promise me not to nourish anger against the young lord. He would not have fired had he known the dog was so useful to me. He told you as much. If I forgive him, you must.”

“I may forgive, but I do not forget,” said Dick. “If he keeps to his word, I’ll believe that he did not intend to do the cruel act. However, we must put poor Faithful in his grave, and if I do not make a vow to be revenged on Lord Reginald, it is because you are here to prevent me, Janet.”

“I would that you had a higher motive than that,” said Mrs Hargrave. “Now, Janet, you must return to the house; I promised you’d stop but one minute; Dick will soon have finished his task, and then he’ll come in to supper. Father will soon be home, Dick, so don’t delay.”

Dick, having at length brought himself to place the dog in its grave, hastily shovelled in the earth, muttering as he did so, “He’d better not cross me again; if he does he’ll have to repent it. Lie there, poor dog!” he added, as he finished the work. “I’ve a mind to put up a tombstone, and write on it, ‘Wantonly killed by Lord Reginald Oswald.’”

On entering the cottage, he found that his father, having come in, had heard what had happened. He was thankful at all events that he had not had to break the news to Janet. Farmer Hargrave said what he thought would pacify his son, and declared his belief that the young lord had not killed the dog with any malicious intent.

Dick pressed his lips together and made no reply. He could not trust himself. They were just finishing supper when a knock was heard at the door, and Dick, opening it, Mr Gooch the bailiff entered.

“Good evening, farmer; good evening, dame; somewhat stormy weather,” he said, throwing back his wet coat, and placing his dripping hat on the floor, as he took the seat offered him. “I didn’t think it was coming on to be so bad, until just before sunset. It blows hard enough now, and the rain is coming down in torrents, but I wanted to talk over that affair between us, so I came out in spite of the weather.”

“What have you got to say, Mr Gooch?” asked the farmer. “You know as well as I do that I have no wish to leave this farm. It will be a heavy loss to me to give it up, and I am determined to abide by my rights.”

“Very good, Mr Hargrave, very good,” said the bailiff, in a bland tone. “His lordship doesn’t want to be hard upon you, and if you have the right to remain, he would be the last man to ask you to turn out, but as I before told you, you have not the right, and if you go to law you’ll be worsted. Now, a little piece of information has come to my knowledge which may make you see that it would not be wise to go to law, even supposing there was a chance of your winning. I have not communicated with my lord on the subject, so I act on my own responsibility. This lad here, your son, has put himself in an awkward position. He has been poaching—not for the first time, either. I have just heard all about it from Jackson, the keeper, and from a young gentleman who is staying at the hall. They can give evidence, not only that he was poaching, but that he threatened the life of Lord Reginald Oswald—a very serious business, let me tell you. Had he fired, as he threatened to do, he would have been hung to a certainty, and as it is, I see every probability that he will be sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude. Now, of course, his lordship has it in his power to overlook the offence, and if I can tell him that you will yield to his wishes and consent to give up the farm, I am pretty sure that you will hear no more about the matter, only you must restrain your son from poaching in future, or from associating with smugglers, as I have evidence that he is in the habit of doing.”

The farmer listened to all the bailiff said, while Dick sat clenching his hands, with his eyes to the ground, every now and then giving a look at his mother.

Ben was right, then, in warning him. Had he accompanied the old smuggler at once, and got out of the way, Mr Gooch would not have been able to obtain the upper hand of his father.

When the bailiff had finished, Mr Hargrave replied, “I have before given you my answer. I believe the marquis to be a just man. If he finds I have the right to continue in the farm, he would not wish to dispossess me. In regard to Dick, the provocation he received by having his dog killed would excuse any thoughtless words he might have uttered. So I cannot offer to give up my rights for fear of the consequences, and I will never believe that Lord Elverston would act as you suggest.”

“Then you dare to say that you doubt my word, Farmer Hargrave?” exclaimed the bailiff, in a tone of indignation, rising from his seat. “I’ll give you until to-morrow to think over the matter; but you’ll take the consequences if you have the same answer ready for me. And dame, I would advise you to persuade your husband to act as I recommend, or, whether you go out of the farm or not, that lad of yours, before many days are over, will be lodged in Winchester jail, and be sent to Botany Bay, if he doesn’t get the chance of entering on board a king’s ship. Perhaps they won’t give him his choice, for threatening to shoot a lord is a serious matter.”

“Oh, Mr Gooch, you would not be so cruel as to wish to send our Dick to prison!” exclaimed Janet, who had been listening to what was said.

“All your father has to do is to agree to what I propose, and he is safe enough,” answered the bailiff. “I can stay no longer. I called in to give some friendly advice. If not taken, it is not my fault; so good night to all. I hope that you’ll settle the matter between you!”

Mr Gooch got up to go. Dick opened the door, having no wish to detain him. Looking out, he saw that the account given of the weather was not exaggerated.

“Is is plaguey dark, Mr Gooch!” he observed. “You’d better take a lantern, sir.”

“No, no; I know my way as well in the dark as in the daylight,” was the reply, and Mr Gooch stepping out, was soon lost to sight.

No sooner was the door closed than Dick exclaimed, “Don’t give in, father. I’d sooner go to prison, or Botany Bay, or be sent to sea, or be hung, for that matter, rather than that you should yield up your rights and be turned out of this farm.”

“I will not give up the farm if I have a right to keep it, but if the law is against me, go I must; still, I would not have you suffer, Dick, unless you deserve it, and if it is proved that you were poaching, and that you threatened to shoot the young lord, you must, as the bailiff says, take the consequences, though it would well-nigh break my heart to see you punished. But I have not much fear on the score either way. It is my belief that the marquis does not know much about the matter of the farm, and from beginning to end it is all the doing of Mr Gooch. What he cares for is to please his master, and as he knows that his lordship has a fancy for extending the park, he wants to get me to turn out, and now that he thinks he has got hold of you, he fancies that he can frighten me to do so. In regard to your affair, Dick, when the marquis hears of the provocation you received, I don’t think he will be hard upon you.”

The farmer made these remarks to tranquillise as far as he could the mind of his wife. Perhaps he did not feel so confident himself. So Dick at all events thought. The family soon afterwards separated for the night.

Dick went to his room, but could not sleep. The storm itself, though it whistled and howled around the cottage, would not have kept him awake. He thought over all that had happened, what he himself had said, and how Lord Reginald had looked and replied. “Whatever the gamekeeper may say, that other young fellow is against me, and if they take me before the magistrate, Mr Jackson will be upon his oath, and compelled to corroborate the midshipman’s statement. It all depends on what they choose to do. There is no doubt I did threaten to shoot Lord Reginald, and I felt wonderfully inclined to do it, too. There’s only one way I can see to get out of it and save father, and that is to take advantage of Ben Rudall’s offer and to keep out of the way until the affair is blown over; I won’t tell father or mother or they may be wishing to stop me; but I’ll write a letter just to wish them and Janet good-bye for a short time, without saying where I am going, for that would spoil the whole thing. Ben says I shall like the life on board the lugger; so I shall, though I would not have gone if there had not been this good reason. I cannot fancy that either father or mother will be really sorry when they find that I am safe out of the way.” So said Dick to himself, and having come to this resolution, he at length fell asleep.

It was not a wise one, for it was like falling out of the frying-pan into the fire. There was a very remote risk of his being summoned before the magistrates, and if summoned, of his being committed for trial, whereas, in addition to the dangers of the sea, if captured on board the lugger, he would to a certainty be condemned as a smuggler and be sent to jail, if even worse did not come of it. For a lad to be sent to jail in those days was a fearful punishment, for there was no separation of prisoners, and should Dick go there he would be herded with ruffians of every description, and could scarcely fail to come out again without being very much the worse for his incarceration. Just then, however, he only thought how he could best keep out of the way of Mr Gooch, and thus prevent him from inducing his father to yield up his rights, which he might do, notwithstanding his resolutions to the contrary, should he be thus able to save his son from punishment.

Dick awoke just as the light of the early dawn made its way into the room. The storm had ceased, and the clouds were fast disappearing, giving promises of a fine day. He had been a good penman at school, so that he had no difficulty in writing his letter. He had bade an affectionate good night to them all, and he would not run the risk of being hindered in his project by remaining for breakfast. His letter was brief.

“Dear father,” it ran, “don’t give up the farm. I shall be all safe, though I don’t want you or any one else to find me until the matter is settled, but I have made up my mind that they shall not make a cat’s paw of me. Love to mother and Janet. So no more from your affectionate son, Dick.”

Leaving the letter on the table, with a bundle of clothes and a few other articles in his hand, he slipped silently downstairs, thankful to find that his father was not yet stirring. Filling his pocket with some bread and cheese from the larder, he hurried out by the back door, which was not likely to be opened for some time, and made his way by by-paths in the direction of Keyhaven. He felt, it must be confessed, somewhat like a culprit escaping from justice. Every now and then he looked back to ascertain if he was followed; then again he ran on. He wished, if possible, to avoid meeting any one who might question him as to where he was bound at that early hour. The labourers would be going to work, but a considerable portion of the country through which he passed was still uncultivated. Twice when he saw people coming, he turned aside and hid himself behind a hedge until the men had passed. He thus reached Ben Rudall’s cottage, without, as he supposed, being seen by any one who knew him. Ben was not at home; but Susan asked him to come in and sit down.

“He has been out nearly all night, Master Richard, but I am hoping to see him back safe every minute,” she said. “He got notice that the Nancy was standing in for the coast, and went out to lend a helping hand. I don’t mind telling you, as I know that you are not one of those who side with the revenue people, or would go and give information—”

“Which would injure any of my friends,” put in Dick. “No, indeed, I would not. To say the truth, your husband promised me a trip on board the Nancy, which I have come to accept.”

“He’ll be main glad, for he has agreed to go himself the next trip, and he told me that he thought the lugger would be away again to-night or to-morrow at furthest. She’s not likely to be long away, though, and I don’t mind his going as much as I used to do. Sometimes he has been from home for six weeks or two months at a time, either looking out for a cargo or waiting for a good chance to run across and land one on the English coast.” Mrs Rudall did not hesitate to describe the doings of the smugglers to Dick, though she would have been wonderfully reticent to a stranger; yet she showed her anxiety by frequently going to the door and looking round the corner in the direction she expected her husband to appear. “Here he comes! here he comes!” she cried at length, and Ben, with a sou’wester on his head, a thick flushing coat on his back, and his legs encased in high boots, made his appearance.

“All right, Susan!” he said, as he reached the cottage. “We’ve done the job neatly, and the goods are twenty miles inland by this time. We’d a famous night for it, couldn’t have had a better, got the revenue men away on the wrong scent, and had the coast clear long enough to land a dozen cargoes. If we get such another night for the next run, we shall do well.”

“I am thankful,” said poor Susan, who thought more of her husband’s safety than probably of his share of the profits. “Now, come in; here’s a visitor you’ll be glad to see.”

Ben put out his hand and shook Dick’s, but before asking questions he kissed his children, who came jumping up round him.

“Now, let’s have breakfast, for I am main hungry, and I dare say our friend here is,” he exclaimed. “Have you taken my advice, and made up your mind for a trip on board the Nancy?” he asked, turning to Dick.

Dick replied in the affirmative, and described the visit Mr Gooch had paid them the previous evening.

“The sooner you get on board and out of his way the better, for they’ll not think of looking for you there, and before to-morrow morning the Nancy will be away again across the Channel,” said Ben. Breakfast was just over, and Ben was smoking his pipe in front of his cottage door, when, looking to the southward, he exclaimed, “There she comes; she is a beauty!” and he pointed to a fine lugger, which, under all sail, having rounded Hurst Point, was standing towards Yarmouth.

Ben having put up a few articles, led the way down to his boat, accompanied by Dick, and followed by his elder children, one carrying a boat-hook, another the oars, while he himself bore the boat’s mast and sails on his broad shoulders. The children stood on the beach, watching them as they pulled away. The breeze being favourable, Ben soon stepped the mast and hoisted the sail, when he came aft with the mainsheet, and told Dick to steer.

“You should never lose the chance of learning to be handy in a boat,” he observed; “you don’t know when it may come in useful. You are very well as it is, but you are not like one born to it. Howsumdever, you’ll pick up something on board the Nancy, and we shall have you turning out a prime seaman one of these days.”

Dick really steered very well, and Ben every now and then gave him an approving nod. Being perfectly familiar with the surrounding scenery, he scarcely noticed it, occupied as his thoughts were just then by the position in which he was placed. Away to the right were the white Needle rocks, their pointed heads standing high up out of the sea, with chalky cliffs rising high above them; wide, smooth downs extending eastward; below which were cliffs of varied colour, with a succession of bays and rocky reefs; while ahead were the picturesque heights of Freshwater, covered by green trees, amid which several villas and cottages peeped out. Further east still, appeared the little seaport town of Yarmouth, with its old grey castle and grey stone houses, their gardens extending down to the water; on the starboard quarter was Hurst beach, with its massive round castle and tall, red lighthouse; while to the northward, extended a wood-covered shore, on which could be distinguished numerous residences, some of considerable size, and the town of Lymington running up the side of a steep hill.

Ben was proud of his boat, though to the outward eye there was nothing to admire, as the paint with which she had once been bedecked had been worn off, her sails were patched, and her rigging knotted in several places.

“I look at what she can do!” he observed; “and a better sea-boat or a faster is not to be found between Hurst and Spithead. It must blow a precious hard gale before I should be afraid to be out in her night or day.”

That she was fast was proved by the speed with which she ran across the Channel. In a short time she was alongside the lugger, which had brought up close in shore, her crew evidently fearless of the revenue men, two or three of whom stood watching her.

All on board knew Ben, and gave him a hearty welcome. “I have brought a fresh hand, Jack!” he said, addressing the skipper in a familiar tone. “I have long promised him a trip, and as it happens, it is as well that he should keep out of the way of the big-wigs over there.” Ben then briefly explained the danger Dick was in for threatening to shoot the son of the Marquis of Elverston.

This announcement gained him a warm reception from the smugglers, who, engaged in lawless pursuits themselves, were naturally inclined to approve of such an act, and would possibly have looked upon him with still greater respect had he fired as he had threatened.

“Glad to see you, my lad,” said John Dore, putting out his hand. “Make yourself at home on board the Nancy. We’ll give you work when work has to be done, and now, if you’re tired, you can turn into my berth and go to sleep till the evening, when, unless the wind shifts round to the southward, we shall be at sea again.”

“The best thing you can do,” observed Ben. “I must go to Keyhaven to get a hand to take my boat back and look after her while I am away.”

Dick, wishing to escape the notice of any one who might visit the lugger from the shore, accepted the skipper’s offer. As he had closed his eyes but a very short time during the previous night, he was soon fast asleep.

Chapter Four.

Under way—Life on board the Nancy—Off the French coast—Shipping the contraband goods—Run for England—A strange sail—The chase—Escape of the lugger—Landing the cargo—Revenue officers—Coolness of Dore—“Yield, in the king’s name.”—A little too late—Dick questioned.

When Dick awoke, he knew by the motion of the vessel and the sounds he heard that she was under way. The Nancy was a craft of nearly a hundred tons, decked all over, with three short, stout masts, the after one leaning over the taffrail, with a long out-rigger. On each of the masts a large lug was carried, and above them could be set flying topsails, and when before the wind studding-sails could be rigged out. She could also hoist an enormous squaresail. To set these sails, she carried a numerous crew of tried seamen; promptitude and decision being required in the dangerous work in which she was engaged. Her armament consisted of six short guns and a long nine-pounder, which could be trained either fore or aft, to bring to a merchantman endeavouring to escape, or to knock away the spars of an enemy chasing her. Besides these guns, she had an ample supply of cutlasses, pistols, and boarding-pikes, to enable her crew to repel an attack made by boats or from a hostile craft which might run alongside her. She was truly an Arab of the seas, with every man’s hand against her, and her hand against every man. The captain, by means best known to himself, had obtained a privateer’s licence, and in that character he appeared when in English waters, though her real employment was more than suspected by the revenue officers, who were on the look-out to catch her. In this they had invariably failed, owing to the vigilance of her crew, and to the exact information they received from their agents on shore. Dick, turning out of the skipper’s bunk, went on deck.

He was greeted by Ben Rudall. “You are safe enough now, lad, from the constables who may be hunting for you through the country; and glad I am to have you on board the Nancy. When we get back you must remain stowed away until we are at sea again, and in a short time they’ll get tired of looking for you.”

“I hope they won’t revenge themselves on my father,” said Dick; “that’s what’s troubling me now!”

“No fear of that, for he is not answerable for what you do, any more than you are for his acts, and as he doesn’t know where you are, he can’t tell them.”

“I wish, however, that I could let mother and Janet know that I am all safe; they may be fretting for me,” said Dick.

“Never you fear, they’ll guess that,” said Ben, trying to set Dick’s mind at ease on the subject. “It doesn’t do to think about home or anything of that sort when we are out on a cruise. Cheer up, lad! cheer up!”

A fresh breeze was blowing from the north-west. The stars were shining brightly out of a clear sky, and the lugger, close hauled, was passing the Needle rocks, which could be dimly seen rising out of the dark water like huge giants on the lee beam, while astern were visible the lights on Hurst point now brought into one. The lugger having rounded the western end of the Isle of Wight, the helm was put up, the yards squared away, the flying topsails and big squaresail set, and she stood across Channel, bounding lightly over the dancing seas. A craft with a fast pair of heels alone could have caught her. Her hardy crew remained on deck, for all hands might at any moment have been required for an emergency, either to shorten sail, or to alter her course, should a suspicious vessel appear in sight. All night long the lugger kept on her course, steering westward of south.

“I say, Ben, how do the Frenchmen treat us if we go on shore, seeing that we and they are fighting each other?” asked Dick.

“Never you fear; we shan’t go on shore, except it may be at night, in company with friends. You will soon see how we manage things,” was the answer.

The lugger made such good way, that when morning dawned, the coast of France was seen close aboard. No vessels of any description were in sight. As she got closer in, the French flag was hoisted, and other flags were got ready for making signals. Dick heard the skipper talking to three men whom he had not before observed, and whom he now discovered to be Frenchmen. He asked Ben who they were.

“One of them is to act as captain, the other two as his mates. They will go on shore and arrange about getting our cargo shipped. They won’t take long, as it will be all ready. If we have another favourable night, we may run it, and it will be up in London before a week is over.”

A bright look-out was kept in every direction. As no suspicious sail appeared, the Nancy stood on. The signal which she made was answered from the shore.

“All right,” said Ben; “no fear of interruption for the present.”

The topsails were lowered, and under the foresail and mizzen she glided on into a small harbour between rocks of sufficient height to hide her short masts from the view of any craft passing outside. The crew of the Nancy appeared on deck, dressed as much as possible like French seamen, while they wisely kept their tongues quiet, so that their true character might not be suspected.

The two Frenchmen went on shore, while the third remained on board to answer any questions which might be put to them. Dick observed that the lugger lay in such a position that she could easily slip out again, should danger threaten. The crew seemed perfectly at their ease, laughing and talking when below, as if their situation was one to which they were well accustomed.

The day passed away; still no cargo was forthcoming, nor did the Frenchmen re-appear. This made Dick fear that the authorities might have discovered the true character of the Nancy, and in spite of their precautions the smugglers might be taken in a trap. He did not, however, express his apprehensions, and neither Ben nor any of the men appeared troubled on the subject. At night the crew lay down on the deck with their pistols in their belts, and their cutlasses and boarding-pikes by their sides, each man at his station so that the cable might be cut and the sails hoisted at a moment’s notice. It showed Dick that his fears were not altogether without some foundation. Nothing, however, occurred during the night, and the following day passed away much as the first had done.

Dore, however, grew impatient, and a boat was sent to watch outside the harbour in case any enemy might be stealing along the coast to prevent the Nancy’s escape. At length, some time after it grew dark, a boat came off from the shore, bringing the two Frenchmen, who reported that the cargo was ready and would shortly be on board. All hands stood prepared for hoisting it in. Several boats were quickly alongside, and with wonderful rapidity bales of silks, laces, and ribbons, and kegs of spirits and tobacco were transferred to the Nancy’s hold. As soon as they were stowed away, the anchor was got up, and the boats going ahead towed her out of the harbour, the Frenchmen wishing her “Bon voyage,” and a speedy return.

Dick breathed more freely when the sails were set, and the Nancy gliding swiftly over the smooth water, the dark outline of the French coast grew more and more indistinct. “How soon shall we get back to England?” he asked of Ben, by whose side he naturally kept when on deck.

“That depends on what may happen,” answered Ben. “We shall have to wait for a dark night, and to take care that the coast is clear before we run in. It may be to-morrow, or it may be a week hence. We have done very well as yet, but there’s many a slip between tin cup and the lip, as I have found to my cost more than once.”

Dick had to rest satisfied with this answer. There were plenty of people on board ready to talk to him, but their conversation was not of an improving character. Their chief delight seemed to be to abuse the royal navy as well as the revenue laws, and those engaged in preventing their infringement. Dick was not accustomed to look too deep into matters, and thought that what they said was very right. It did not occur to him that the same men would greatly have objected to free trade, which would completely have deprived them of their present illegal way of gaining a livelihood; and though there might have been some truth in what they said about the navy, they were wrong in the sweeping condemnation they pronounced against the service. There were some abuses still existing, but many had been removed; and there were not a few commanders of king’s ships who did their best to advance the welfare of their crews, and were at all times kind and considerate to those placed under them, as had been shown by numerous instances of devotion on the part of the men to their officers. The remarks of his associates, however, gave Dick an unmitigated horror of the navy, while he learned to look upon smugglers as a much-injured body of men, who were unjustly interfered with while engaged in endeavouring to gain their daily bread. At length, growing sleepy, he was glad to go below and lie down on one of the lockers in the little after cabin.

Next morning the lugger lay becalmed. While the breeze lasted, the smugglers had been in good humour, but as the watch below turned out, they swore and grumbled at finding their craft lying idle on the smooth surface of the ocean. No sail was in sight, and as long as the calm continued they could not come to harm; but an enemy might bring down a breeze which would enable her to get close up to them before their sails were filled. This was what they dreaded. All their seamanship and courage would not avail if she was a vessel too powerful for them to cope with.

Hour after hour passed away, and still the Nancy lay floating idly, and carried down Channel by the ebb tide, and swept up again by the flood. An anxious look-out was kept for signs of a coming breeze. Evening was approaching. From whatever quarter the wind might come, it might bring up an enemy. English or French were equally to be dreaded. The skipper paced the deck, making short turns, telescope in hand, every now and then sweeping the horizon with it, and casting an eye on the dog-vanes which hung unmoved by a breath of air. At last he kept his glass longer than usual turned to the eastward.

“There’s no doubt about it!” he exclaimed. “Those are the royals of a big ship of some sort; she’s got a fresh breeze, too, or we shouldn’t have risen them so fast above the horizon.”

Dick could only see a white spot on which the sun was shining, but it appeared to be increasing in size and growing higher and higher. The gaze of most of those on board were turned towards her. That she was either an English or a French cruiser was the general opinion. Some thought that she was a frigate, others a corvette; for no merchantman, at that period, would have come down Channel alone. One thing was certain, that she was steering directly for the lugger.

“What chance have we of escaping her?” asked Dick of Ben.

“Many a chance, lad,” answered his friend. “If she’s English she may not send a boat on board to examine us, and we shall pass for a privateer, or we may get the breeze in time to slip out of her way to the northward, or to keep ahead of her and give her the go-by during the night. If she’s French, we must put the Frenchman in command, show our French papers, and bamboozle the mounseers, or if the worst comes to the worst, tumble the crew of their boat overboard and try to get away.”

“But suppose they fire into us?” said Dick, who though often thoughtless was alive to the true state of the case.

“We must run the chance of that, my lad,” answered Ben, “though my idea is that yonder craft is an English corvette, and although she may be a pretty fast sailer, when once the Nancy gets the breeze, we shall show her a clean pair of heels.”

Dick sincerely hoped that such would be the case. He had not reckoned on the chance of being captured as a smuggler, or made prisoner by the enemy, or shot by either the one or the other. The crew were at their stations, ready to trim sails the moment the slightest breath of air should reach them. The topsails had before been set. The squaresail and studding-sails were got up ready to hoist at an instant’s notice. Still the lugger lay motionless, and the corvette, for such she was pronounced to be, came rapidly on, under every stitch of canvas she could carry. She was soon within a mile of the lugger, when some cat’s paws were seen playing over the water; the dog-vanes blew out and then dropped, the canvas flapped lightly against the masts. The skipper swore, and the crew swore, until once more they saw the sails bulging out slightly.

“Hurrah! here it comes at last! We’ll keep out of that fellow’s way,” cried Captain Dore, eyeing the stranger. The lugger began gathering way. “Port the helm, Tom. We’ll stand to the northward, and shall soon see whether he wishes to speak us. If he does, we’ll take leave to disappoint him.”

The yards were braced up on the starboard tack, and the lugger stood on the course proposed, so that the corvette, should she continue on as she was now steering, would pass astern. Dore kept his eye fixed on her.

“She’s a fancy to know more about us,” he remarked, as he observed the stranger also keeping up to the northward. “Her shot can’t reach us yet, and we shall soon see, now we have got the breeze, which is the faster craft of the two.”

As Dick looked over the starboard quarter, he saw the sails and dark hull of the corvette, lighted up by the rays of the setting sun, making her appear so much nearer than she really was, that he wondered she did not fire a shot to make the lugger heave to. He had no cowardly fears on the subject, but he again thought that he should have acted more wisely had he stowed himself away safely on shore, instead of coming on board the lugger. The corvette looked so powerful, that it seemed to him that a single broadside from her guns, would send the Nancy with all on board to the bottom. He observed, however, that Dore walked the deck with as calm an air as usual, all the time, however, narrowly eyeing the king’s ship, ready to take advantage of any change which might occur.

“We shall have darkness down upon us soon, and then we will show yonder fellow a trick or two. He wants to jam us up against the English coast; but we are not to be so caught,” he observed to his mate, Ned Langdon.

The breeze had freshened considerably, and was now blowing so strong, that the lugger could, on a wind, with difficulty carry her topsails, which were still set. The corvette had handed her royals, presently she took in her topgallant sails. She had lately been gaining on the lugger. Dick, with the rest of his companions, seldom had his eyes off her; the darkness was increasing, and her outline was becoming less and less distinct. Presently he saw a bright flash dart from her bows, and the roar of a gun reached his ears. The shot, however, had fallen short. The smugglers laughed.

“You may blaze away, but you won’t do us much harm!” observed Dore.

Another and another shot followed. The commander of the cruiser evidently wished to make the lugger heave to. If he had before had doubts of her character, he must now have been thoroughly satisfied as to what she was, and would become more eager to capture her.

“Stand by, my lads, to make sail!” cried Dore. “Keep up the helm, Tom, and hoist away on the squaresail!”

The lugger was put before the wind, running considerably faster than she had hitherto been doing through the water. The corvette must have observed her change of course, as she also kept away, and once more her topgallant sails were loosed. It was too dark to observe how the masts stood the pressure.

“I only wish that they would set the royals; with this breeze there would be a good chance of the spars being carried away,” said Dore.

It was very doubtful whether the corvette was gaining on the lugger. Though the advancing night gradually shrouded her more and more in gloom, she could still be discerned, her canvas rising up like a dark phantom stalking over the ocean. The crew of the lugger stood at their stations, ready at a moment to obey their captain’s orders. He kept his eye on the topsails, though if blown away the accident would not be of much consequence. The masts were tough, and bent like willow wands.

“They’ll hold on as long as we want them now,” observed Dore. Again and again he looked astern. Presently he shouted, “Lower the topsails! Starboard the helm, Tom! Haul away at the starboard braces!” and the lugger, on the port tack, stood close hauled to the southward.

The sharpest eyes on board were turned in the direction their pursuer was supposed to be. Some time passed away.

“There she is!” cried Ben. “Although we see her, she doesn’t see us, as we are stern on, and much lower in the water than she is.”

Dick looked with all his might. He could just discern some object moving along over the water, but so indistinctly that he could not be certain it was a ship. Still, the commander of the corvette might suspect that the lugger had changed her course, and changed his also.

“All right!” cried Dore, after watching the phantom-like stranger in the distance, until she totally disappeared. “She’ll not catch us this cruise.”

The lugger was put about, on the starboard tack, and once more stood towards the English coast.

“Shall we be in to-morrow morning?” asked Dick.

“No, no,” answered Ben. “Whatever happens, we shall make the coast at night, when the revenue men can’t see us. We have friends on the look-out, who will make signals to show us when and where to run in. The weather is too fine at present, so that we shall have to dodge about and wait for a dark night, with thick rain or fog; but we don’t much trust fogs, they may lift suddenly and show our whereabouts to those we do not want to see us. However, we must run some risks. We want to land our goods in quiet, but if any one interferes with us, we of course must fight to defend our property. All right and square, you will understand, but if there’s bloodshed, it is the fault of those who wish to take it from us.”

Dick did not ask himself whether Ben was right or wrong. He forgot that one party were breaking the laws, the other performing their duty in protecting them.

Next morning, when Dick came on deck, he found the lugger hove to, with the blue line of the English coast to the northward. Though the shore could be seen, the vessel herself was too far off to be discerned from thence. Most of the crew were below, but the watch on deck, vigilant as ever, were turning their eyes in every direction, so that, should a suspicious sail appear, they might at once shape a course which would enable them to avoid her. Dick, who had been accustomed to an active life, began to grow weary at having nothing to do. He walked the deck with his hands in his pockets, talking to the men, or he sat below listening to their yarns, which were generally not of a very edifying character.

The greater number of the crew passed their time, either sleeping or playing at cards or dice. Sometimes, for a change they turned to and cleaned their muskets and pistols, or burnished up their cutlasses. It was a relief when a stranger appeared whom it was thought better to avoid. The lugger making sail stood to the southward. She returned to her former position, however, as soon as the suspicious craft had passed. This occurred twice during the day. At night she stood close in to the coast, to look out for signals, but none were seen, and before the morning she again took up her former position at a sufficient distance to be invisible from the shore.

For several days the same sort of proceeding took place. Two or three times she made all sail, it being supposed that she was chased, and once she had a narrow escape from a French cruiser, who probably took her for an English privateer. The wind continued moderate, and the sky clear, and Dore began to swear and to wish for some real honest Channel weather. At last the wind shifted, first to the southward and afterwards to the south-west, from which direction a thick bank of mist was seen coming up, and the lugger, directly she was shrouded by it, made sail for the English coast. Although there was no fear of her being seen from any distance, she still ran the risk of falling into the lion’s jaws, to avoid which a sharp lookout was kept, and all hands stood ready to trim sails in case it should be necessary.

The night was coming on, and it was soon dark enough to suit their requirements. She now frequently hove to, to sound as well as to watch for any signal from the shore. At length a light was seen, faint and dim through the mist, another was shown a short distance from it, and then a third appeared, when all three in an instant disappeared. The lugger stood on, sail was shortened, and the anchor dropped. Scarcely had she brought up when half a dozen boats dashed alongside.

“Be smart, my lads!” cried Dore. “If we are quick about it, we may run the whole of the cargo before the revenue men are down upon us.”

Not another word was spoken; every one knew exactly what he had to do. The lugger’s crew hoisted out the bales and kegs, and the men who had come off stowed them away in the boats. The lugger’s own boat was not idle. Having loaded her, Ben and Dick, with three other men, jumped in and pushed for the shore. The surf was pretty heavy, but without accident they reached the beach, where a large party of people were collected, with a number of pack horses and carts. The boats were at once surrounded, and their cargoes quickly taken out of them and placed either in the carts or on the backs of the horses. The work was carried on with the greatest rapidity, and by the time Dick and his companions had launched their boat, the whole had begun to move off, and before the lugger was reached, not a single person was to be seen on the beach.

On their return to the Nancy, the boat was hoisted in and preparations began for making sail. The operation required care, for should she cast the wrong way, she might drive on shore. The skipper himself took the helm. The hands went to their stations. The instant the anchor was away the sails were sheeted home, and the lugger, casting, as desired, to port, stood off from the dangerous coast, close-hauled. She had not got many cable lengths from the beach when two boats dashed alongside. A number of armed men sprang on board.

“We’ve caught you, my fine fellows,” exclaimed an officer. “Yield, in the king’s name!”

“Happy to see you, gentlemen,” answered Dore, with the greatest coolness. “You are welcome to look over our craft, and if you find anything contraband on board—for that I suppose is what you are after—we’ll yield fast enough.”

The officer was evidently nonplussed, but he was still not inclined to take the smuggler’s word. He allowed the lugger, however, to stand further out, until she could heave to with safety, when he ordered the foresail to be backed. He, with several of his men, then went below, Dore ordering Dick and another lad to carry a couple of lanterns, that the officer might see his way. The search, as Dore well knew would be the case, revealed nothing on which the revenue could lay hands—not a bale nor keg of spirits, nor even a few pounds of tobacco.

“Circumstances certainly were suspicious. You have cleaned her out completely,” said the officer, turning to Dick, and as he did so eyeing him narrowly. “Where was the cargo run?”

Dick was very nearly replying, “Not long ago,” and thus confessing that the cargo had been run, but recollecting in time that the smugglers might object to such an answer, he said—

“I am merely a passenger on board, sir, and it is not my business to answer questions.”

“What’s your name, my lad?” asked the officer.

Dick was on the point of replying, when Ben, who had heard the question, stepped up. “It is your business, Mr Lieutenant, to overhaul this craft and see that there are no smuggled goods on board, and when that business is over you have nothing more to do. That youngster’s name may be Jack Robinson, or it may be Tom Jones, but whatever it may be is no business of yours.”

The officer put several questions to others of the crew, but neither from them nor from the captain could he elicit any of the information he required. They were perfectly civil to him, and offered not the slightest opposition to his going through every part of the vessel, and joked with the boats’ crews, several recognising old shipmates. They shook hands, patted each other on the back, and appeared on the most friendly terms. Yet the case would have been very different had the Nancy’s cargo been on board. There would then have been a death struggle, the one to defend, the other to take possession of the craft, and they would have fought until one or the other had been defeated.

“Well, Captain Dore,” said the lieutenant, “you have been too smart for us this time, but we intend to catch you some day or other.”

“Maybe the Nancy will be sunk by an enemy’s cruiser before then. You seem to have an idea, lieutenant, that we are smugglers. I didn’t think fit to gainsay you before, but if you’ll step back into my cabin I’ll show you my privateer’s licence, which will prove to you that we are engaged lawfully, making war against the French trade,” answered Dore.

“Well, well, whichever you are, I won’t longer detain you; but before I go I wish to have a word with the youngster I saw on board, the son of a respectable farmer living out Milford way.”

“We detain no one on board against his will, except he has signed articles. If the lad is the person you suppose, and is willing to go, go he may, provided you can promise that no harm can come to him.”

“I wish to prevent him getting into harm,” said the lieutenant, and he sent one of his men to find Dick, who was soon afterwards brought aft.

Dick was in two minds about going. When the lieutenant told him of the anxiety of his father and mother, he was on the point of accepting the offer. Just at that moment Ben stepped up.

“You’d better not,” he whispered, “for the officer may mean you well, but remember there are others who want to get you into their power, and you will repent it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Dick. “I have come on board this vessel of my own free will, and would rather stay where I am. If you will see father and mother, and tell them I am all right, I will be obliged to you.”

“You see, sir, that the lad doesn’t want to go, and as you have found nothing on board to enable you to detain this vessel, I must beg you to let us make sail, for we are drifting in shore closer than is safe.”

Again the lieutenant appealed to Dick. Dore, however, suspected that if the lieutenant got him into his power he might induce him to come forward to prove that the Nancy was engaged in smuggling, and that he should then be deprived of his privateer’s licence, so, giving a hint to his men, they surrounded Dick and carried him forward.

As the lieutenant had performed his duty, he ordered his men into the boats and they pulled away for the shore, while the Nancy stood out to sea.

Chapter Five.

At the hall—Refusal of Lord Reginald’s gift—Lady Elverston and her daughters—Troubles of the farmer’s wife—Preparations for rejoining the Wolf—Lieutenant Hilton—Information received of an intended landing—Lord Reginald and Voules join the revenue party—Fight with the smugglers—Success of the king’s party—An encounter between the young lord and Richard Hargrave—Dick’s defence—Lord Reginald hurt—Escape of the farmer’s son—Unfavourable opinion of Dick at the hall—The marquis and Voules—The midshipmen rejoin the Wolf.

Lord Reginald and his messmate greatly enjoyed their stay at Elverston Hall. Parties of all sorts were got up for their amusement, and guests were invited to meet them—Voules taking good care to sing the praises of his friend.

He employed his time, much to his own satisfaction, in paying court to Lady Elverston, and endeavouring guardedly to win his way into the good graces of the younger ladies. They were always ready to listen to him while he was talking of their brother, whose faults they either had not discovered, or were willing to overlook. To them, at all events, he was always affectionate and courteous, whatever he might be to others.

The rest of the household were not altogether so well satisfied with his dictatorial, overbearing manners, though they acknowledged that he might be a very brave officer, who would some day prove an ornament to his profession; but the wish was general, if not expressed, that he would soon go off again to sea.

Though still feeling angry with Dick for the impertinent and bold way in which he had spoken to him, he did not forget his promise to replace the dog he had shot; and as soon as he could find a suitable animal he despatched it by a groom to Farmer Hargrave’s daughter, sending, at the same time, a note expressing his regret at the accident. It arrived just as Mr Gooch had left the cottage, and the interview the farmer had had with the bailiff had not been calculated to soothe his feelings. Mr Gooch had again threatened him with legal proceedings, and had accused him of sending his son out of the way to avoid the consequences of his misdeeds. Farmer Hargrave, of course, denied this, asserting that he did not know where his son was.

He was standing at the door when the groom, leading the dog, arrived, and delivered his message from Lord Reginald.

“Tell my lord that my daughter doesn’t require a dog. None can replace the poor brute that was killed, of which she was very fond. So I beg you’ll take it back, and say I am much obliged to him for his intentions,” he said.

“I don’t think my lord will be well pleased to hear this, Farmer Hargrave,” answered the man. “He thought he was doing your daughter a great honour in sending her a dog, but he didn’t do it on account of your son, I’ve a fancy.”

“The very reason why I refused to receive the animal,” answered the farmer. “I have nothing more to say; and the least said the soonest mended.”

“Am I to take this message, then?” asked the groom.

“Yes; I have no other to send. Good day to you,” said the farmer, turning round as if about to enter his house.

The man led off the dog, observing to himself, “The young lord will be in a pretty way when he hears this; it won’t be the better for the farmer or Master Dick. That young fellow will get into more trouble if he doesn’t mend his manners.”

Lord Reginald, who had just returned with Voules from a ride, was standing in front of the house when the groom appeared, leading the dog.

“I thought I ordered you to take that dog to Farmer Hargrave?” exclaimed the midshipman.

“So I did, my lord, but Farmer Hargrave won’t have him, and says he doesn’t want any gifts from your lordship.”

“Impudent fellow!” observed Voules. “The father must be as great a barbarian as that precious son of his.”

“Did you give him my message properly?” asked Lord Reginald.

“Yes, my lord, word for word, and I advised Farmer Hargrave to take the dog, but he would not on any account.”

“Then his daughter must go without the animal. I sent it to her, not to him,” said Lord Reginald, turning to Voules. “This sort of thing is really provoking; the people about here are next door to savages. I was rather inclined to pity the old Hargraves on account of their blind daughter, but I shall persuade my father to do as Gooch advises. His house and barns are a great eyesore from the dining-room windows, and we shall be able to add several acres to the park if he could be removed.”

“Whether he is right or no, he ought, for the sake of pleasing the marquis, to be ready to give up his farm,” said Voules, “and if he won’t do so of his own accord, he should be compelled. I have no idea of the commonalty venturing to set themselves up against the aristocracy in the way they have done since the French Revolution.”

Lord Reginald had been induced by a right motive to send the dog, and the refusal of the farmer to receive it again raised his angry feelings against Dick. “If I come across the young fellow, I’ll punish him for his own and his father’s impertinence!” he exclaimed.

The incident, slight as it may appear, prevented him for some days enjoying, as he might otherwise have done, the pleasures of home. Lady Elverston had fulfilled her promise of speaking to the marquis.

“I would not, of course, act unjustly towards Hargrave,” he answered; “but Gooch, who has consulted the lawyer, tells me that I have a perfect right to turn him out; besides which I have offered him an ample sum to go, but he has refused to receive the compensation, and insists on standing up for what he calls his rights. I, of course, cannot be thwarted by a man at my own gates, and have given authority to Gooch to proceed as he thinks necessary for my interests.”

“But we consider the farm-house, the stacks, and the buildings, picturesque objects in the distance, and we could not desire to have near us more respectable, worthy people than the Hargraves,” urged Lady Elverston.

“He is an obstinate fellow, and a Republican at heart, and will to a certainty vote against our son, should John stand for the next Parliament,” answered the marquis. “However, I promise you I will act with perfect justice; but you could not wish me to submit to the insolence of a fellow of his description.”

Poor Lady Elverston, though not convinced that her husband was right, was unable to say anything more. She saw that he had been strongly biased against the farmer, and she was naturally displeased with the way his son had behaved to Lord Reginald. Her compassionate feelings for Janet, however, were not altered. In the afternoon, accompanied by Lady Julia, she took a drive in her pony carriage. In passing Farmer Hargrave’s house she stopped to see Janet, wishing also to ascertain the reason for the objection Mr Hargrave had to giving up his farm, and hoping to induce him to yield with a good grace to the wishes of the marquis.

The ladies found Janet and her mother seated in the parlour. A smile played over the countenance of the blind girl when she heard the voice of the marchioness.

“Very kind, my lady, very kind in you to come and see us, and mother wants so much to talk to your ladyship about the matter of the farm,” she said, after the ordinary inquiries had been made and answered.

Lady Elverston was glad of this opportunity of entering on the subject, and she begged to hear what Mrs Hargrave had to say.

“My husband, my lady, doesn’t desire to oppose the wishes of the marquis, but as every Englishman should—as your ladyship will agree—he stands on his rights, and as he has a long lease of this property, which his fathers for many generations held before him, he refuses to be compelled to give it up. You see, my lady, Mr Gooch has been here and threatened that the law will force him if he refuses, and when my good man told him that the law could not compel him, the bailiff said that he would bring up our son Richard before the justices for threatening to shoot Lord Reginald, which I cannot believe he ever did, even though he was vexed at his lordship killing his dog. My husband, my lady, is a determined man, and neither I nor any one else can induce him to change his mind if he thinks he is doing what is right.”

“I certainly would not ask him to do what he thinks is wrong,” said Lady Elverston, “and I am quite sure that the marquis did not give authority to Mr Gooch to use any threats. Lord Elverston told me this morning that he was willing to offer any reasonable compensation to your husband for quitting the farm, and he would probably give him ample time to find another equally suitable.”

“I was sure, my lady, that the marquis would not have allowed the bailiff to make use of the threats he did; and if you will speak again to his lordship and induce him to make a fair offer to my husband, though it would well-nigh break our hearts to move, I will try and get him to accept it.”

Lady Elverston, who suspected that the marquis had been deceived by Mr Gooch, promised again to speak to him; though well aware that he was as obstinate as the farmer, she did not say that she was certain of success. Lady Julia in the mean time was talking in her gentle way to Janet, and promised to call for her the first sunny day to take her out for a drive in the pony-carriage. Her ladyship then inquired for Dick, and expressed a hope that he would harbour no ill feelings towards her son.

“I pray that he won’t, my lady; he has ever been a good and faithful son to us, though somewhat headstrong at times, but he has not a revengeful spirit, and I am sure he would not wish to harm Lord Reginald. We are in sad trouble about him, for Mr Gooch frightened him so by his threats, that he has gone away, we don’t know where.”

“Have you no clue to his hiding-place?” asked Lady Elverston. “I should much like to have some conversation with him, and I trust that I might soften any lingering ill feeling—should such exist in his breast—towards my son.”

“I shall never forget your kindness, whatever happens, my lady,” said Mrs Hargrave.

After some further conversation, the marchioness took her departure, accompanied by Lady Julia, still, however, in considerable doubt whether she had done much to settle the vexed question.

The time of the two midshipmen’s stay at Elverston Hall was drawing to a close. Voules had received a letter from a messmate, saying that the Wolf was nearly ready for sea. He flattered himself that he had not let the grass grow under his feet; that he had established himself in the good graces of Lord and Lady Elverston; and he had even the vanity to suppose that he had made some progress in those of Lady Julia. He was gentlemanly in his manners, and Lord Reginald always spoke of him as “a capital fellow,” and seemed to regard him with affection.

Lord Reginald himself, accustomed to an active life, was, however, beginning to grow somewhat tired of his stay on shore; though attached to his family, he was perfectly ready to go back to his ship. He had experienced, indeed, lately some difficulty in finding amusement for himself and companion. He and Voules had made the acquaintance of the lieutenant of the neighbouring coastguard station, who, having seen a great deal of service, and being a merry fellow, with a fund of anecdote, was an amusing companion. Lieutenant Hilton had several times been invited to dine at the hall, an honour he highly appreciated, although it cost him a long trudge there and back, over a somewhat wild region, with the risk of encountering some of the lawless characters of the neighbourhood, who looked upon him as their worst foe. He had one day been dining at the hall; the gentlemen having indulged freely in the bottle, as was too common in those times, were about to join the ladies in the drawing-room, when a servant entered to inform Lieutenant Hilton that a person wished to see him immediately on important business.

“He has probably brought information that a run is to be made to-night, and if so, Hilton, we’ll accompany you to see the fun,” said Lord Reginald. “Don’t go off without us, remember. We’ll mount you, and we will ride together, with any one else who likes to come.”

Lieutenant Hilton hurried out to see the messenger. He returned to say that Lord Reginald was right in his conjectures, and that there was no time to be lost, as a suspicious lugger had been seen off the coast, and that as the night promised to be dark, there was no doubt she would try to run her cargo before the morning.

The other gentlemen declined the proposed expedition, and Voules would gladly have remained behind, but he could not venture to allow Lord Reginald to go without him, especially as he himself had proposed assisting the revenue, should an opportunity occur. Very unwillingly, therefore, he went to his room to prepare for the ride, instead of passing the evening, as he had hoped, in the society of Lady Julia.

The marquis, although he would rather his son had not undertaken what might prove a hazardous expedition, could not object, as he had expressed his resolution by every means in his power to put down the smugglers. The horses were soon ready, and the lieutenant and the two midshipmen, led by the mounted exciseman who had brought the information, set off by a road which would lead them to the westward of Milford. The excise officer informed the lieutenant that a messenger had been despatched to obtain the assistance of a party of dragoons stationed at Lymington, and that a small body of sea-fencibles, belonging to the district, were hurrying on towards the expected scene of action. With the aid of the lieutenant’s own men, a sufficient force would thus, it was hoped, be collected to seize the goods should they be landed, while the boats on the station were despatched to try and capture the lugger herself before she had completely discharged her cargo. The exact spot where it was intended the lugger should run her cargo was unknown, but it was supposed that it would be somewhere between Hurst and Christchurch. The cliffs here are of considerable height, rising above a narrow beach, and, continually crumbling away, exhibit numerous fossil remains. In some places they are broken by narrow gullies, which, sloping up gradually from the shore to the downs above, afford easy pathways up which both men and loaded animals can climb without much difficulty.

Since information had first been received of the intended run from a treacherous confederate of the smugglers, preparations for their capture had been carried on with the greatest possible secrecy and rapidity. It was important to prevent the smugglers’ associates on shore from discovering that the revenue men were approaching.

Lieutenant Hilton having reached his station, summoned eight of his own men to accompany him. Here the midshipmen were provided with pistols and cutlasses. Their services were likely to be of use, as it was certain the smugglers would muster in large numbers. The horses were left at the station, while the lieutenant and his party proceeded to the spot where the sea-fencibles were posted, waiting for any information they might receive to guide their future proceedings.

It was in a hollow, surrounded by trees and brushwood, and about half a mile or so from the sea-shore. The night, as had been expected, was very dark, the wind a moderate breeze, blowing from the north-west. Not a word was spoken above a whisper, for fear lest their position should be discovered by any passing associates of the smugglers. The latter had given it out that the run was to be made on the other side of Christchurch head, and to induce them to suppose that this was believed, a party of revenue men had started off in that direction, taking care that their movements should be observed. It was hoped by this that the smugglers would be deceived, and would attempt the run at the spot named in the private information which had been received.

“This is dull work!” whispered Voules to Lord Reginald. “I thought we should be up and doing long ago.”

“Dull enough! I vote we set off by ourselves, to try and find out what the smugglers are about,” answered Lord Reginald.

“I should recommend riding back to the hall, and letting our friends here follow their own devices,” said Voules; “but it would not do, now that we have once put ourselves under Hilton’s command, to desert him.”

Their patience was to be further tried. At last, one of the scouts who had been set to watch the direction taken by those who were sure to assist in the landing, came in with the intelligence that he had traced them midway between the hamlets of Barton and Ash, and that he had seen suspicious lights both on shore and at sea. The latter were, it was guessed, shown on board the lugger, which was exchanging signals with the spotsmen on shore, leaving little doubt as to where the goods would be run. As the distance to the spot was considerable, there was no time to be lost, for not only might the lugger’s cargo be landed, but carried far away into the interior before the revenue men could get there. There was a danger, however, should they arrive too soon, of their being discovered by the smugglers, who would in that case put off to sea again and wait for a more favourable opportunity.

The road followed by Lieutenant Hilton and his party led some distance from the shore. They proceeded as fast as they could move, forming a compact body, that they might run the less risk of being seen. The commander of the sea-fencibles arranged the plan of proceeding. He, with his men, would go to the westward, while the lieutenant was to attack the smugglers on the opposite side, and the excisemen were to guard the upper part of the hollow or gully which led down to the water, so as to catch any of the smugglers who might be making their way up it to escape. This plan was arranged as they went along.

On reaching the neighbourhood of the spot, they halted, and scouts were sent out to ascertain if the smugglers had collected where they had been expected. In a short time the scouts returned, stating that a large body of men were on the beach, and one of them added that he had nearly been discovered by a party with pack animals proceeding down the gully which led to the same part of the shore. Lord Reginald was on the point of exhibiting his satisfaction by giving a loud shout, when Voules stopped him.

“On my lads!” said the lieutenant in a low voice; and he led his men by a narrow path which wound down the cliff to the west of the village of Barton, while the rest of the party, by a wide circuit, made their way to the opposite side.

It was agreed that Lieutenant Hilton should fire off a couple of pistols in rapid succession, as the signal for attacking the smugglers, and that both parties were to rush on them simultaneously, while the men at the top of the gully should stop them from making their escape in that direction.

Lord Reginald was eager for the attack, but Voules, as he made out the numbers in which the smugglers mustered, heartily wished that he had remained to enjoy the society of the ladies at the hall.

“We are likely to get more kicks than ha’pence, and little honour, at all events,” he muttered to himself.

From where they lay concealed, they could observe the boats coming on shore with the lugger’s cargo. The lieutenant watched until he considered that the larger portion had been landed. He directed Lord Reginald and Voules, with three men, to guard the foot of a pathway leading up the cliff, by which possibly some of the smugglers might attempt to make their escape. The outlaws had been carrying on their undertaking in perfect silence. Not a sound had been heard, when the report of the two pistols echoed among the cliffs. It was the signal for a general uproar. The revenue men dashed forward from both sides towards the party on the beach, who began shouting and swearing vehemently. Then came the flash of firearms, and the clash of cutlasses. The smugglers fought desperately. Some were hurriedly loading the horses, hoping to escape with a portion of the goods by land, others were engaged in throwing the packages back into the boats, and endeavouring to shove off, and regain the lugger. The revenue officers, knowing that this would be attempted, rushed forward to prevent them. Here some of the hottest fighting took place. As they could not escape through the gully, no attempt was made to stop them from entering it. Before long, however, the smugglers discovered how they had been entrapped, when those who had gone off came running back with the disastrous intelligence. All attempts to save the goods were abandoned. Each man thought only how he could best make his escape. Some endeavoured to climb the cliffs, others rushed beneath them, to the westward. One party made a dash for the pathway guarded by Lord Reginald and Voules. So furious was their onslaught, that Voules was knocked over, and while their men had each an opponent, two other smugglers rushed past Lord Reginald. He fired, but whether his bullet took effect or not, he could not tell; by the flash, however, he thought that he recognised the features of Dick Hargrave, whose companion, wresting the young lord’s sword from his grasp, dashed on up the path, and both were soon lost to sight in the darkness. Lord Reginald made a vain attempt to follow the fugitives, but, unable to see his way, was glad to rejoin his companions.

“I know the young rascal, and have now proof positive that he is a smuggler!” he exclaimed. “Voules, did you see him?”

But Voules, who had been lying on the sand where he had been thrown, some feet below, only just then began to recover. Several seconds elapsed before he was again able to take part in what was going forward. The other smugglers, who had tried to escape up the path, were secured.

The fighting continued, however, for some time longer, till, one after the other, the smugglers were knocked down and captured, four being killed, and a large number wounded, while two of the revenue men lost their lives, and several others were severely hurt. Dore, with the few people still remaining on board the lugger, waited in the hopes of the boats getting off, but when they knew by their not returning that their friends must have been taken, the cable was cut, and the Nancy stood out to sea. She had, however, proceeded but a short distance when two revenue boats dashed alongside, and her diminished crew, being unable to make any effectual resistance, she was captured, with the remainder of the contraband goods on board, more than sufficient to condemn her.

Lieutenant Hilton was very well pleased with the result of the enterprise. Seldom had so large a capture been effected. He had, however, still a difficult task to perform, as he had scarcely men sufficient to guard the prisoners, whose desperate character he knew full well, while he had the additional duty of conducting the packhorses.

The smugglers at first appeared to submit quietly enough, but that was no proof that they would continue to do so, should they find an opportunity of escaping.

As there were not more than three lanterns among the whole party, it was difficult to ascertain whether the prisoners were properly secured. At any moment, they might break loose and effect their escape. They had, indeed, every motive for doing so. They had not only been captured smuggling, but had weapons in their hands, opposing the king’s authority, and one and all of them might be tried for the death of the two revenue men who had fallen. All who had been taken were now brought together and placed under the cliffs, watched by a strong guard, while the bales and kegs, which lay scattered about in all directions, were collected and packed on the horses.

The order to march was given. The pack animals went first, followed by the captured smugglers, who uttered curses, deep if not loud, on their hard fate. Then came the men told off to carry the wounded who were too much hurt to walk. Lord Reginald and Voules brought up the rear. The killed were left above high water mark on the beach, until a party could be sent to carry them to Barton churchyard, where the revenue man and smuggler were destined to lie side by side.

The party at length reached the top of the cliff, and directed their course towards the high road running between Christchurch and Lymington. They had proceeded about a mile, when a number of armed men, springing out from behind the hedges on either side, suddenly attacked the conductors of the pack-horses, which they endeavoured to carry off. The prisoners, taking advantage of the confusion, attempted to escape, and there appeared every probability that some would succeed.

“Cut down the fellows, if they try to get off!” cried Voules, and the other officers repeated the order.

At that moment the clattering sound of horses’ hoofs coming along the road was heard. A cry arose, “The dragoons are upon us!” The men who had made the last daring attempt to recover the goods took to flight. Two were captured by the soldiers, who went in pursuit, but the rest effected their escape.

Mr Hilton gladly handed over the prisoners to the charge of the military, while he accompanied Lord Reginald and Voules back to the station where they had left their horses.

“I wish that you would remain here until the morning,” said the lieutenant, when they reached it. “There are a number of rough characters allied with the smugglers, who, should they fall in with you, may take it into their heads to revenge themselves by shooting you.”

“I am not afraid of them,” answered the young lord. “Voules and I together are able to tackle a dozen such fellows. Thank you for your invitation, but our friends at the hall will be anxious to know what has happened, and I want to tell my father how admirably you have managed affairs.”

The lieutenant, finding that the midshipmen could not be induced to remain, ordered the horses to be brought out, and Lord Reginald, saying that he would the next morning send a groom for the animal the lieutenant had ridden, being well acquainted with the way, set off with Voules for the hall.

“As there is no fear of our losing the road, even in the dark, we may as well take a short cut,” he observed, after they had gone some distance. “We shall save a mile or more, and have the advantage of turf. The moon, too, will soon be up, and we shall be able to gallop a good part of the distance.”

Voules had nothing to say against this proposal, though he would have preferred the high road.

“This lane will lead us on to the heath, and as the sky is clear, there will be light enough, even before the moon rises, besides which our horses know the way as well as I do,” said Lord Reginald.

They rode down the lane at a more steady pace than they had hitherto been going, for it was full of ruts, and somewhat narrow and winding. It conducted them on to a wild heath, beyond which could be discerned the outskirts of the New Forest, the trees in some places projecting over the heath like the advance guard of an army, while in others wild glades opened out extending far into the interior. Towards one of these glades Lord Reginald directed his course.

“By keeping a little to the right it will lead us to the high road again,” he observed. “There’s the moon just rising above the trees. We shall be able to push along now, without fear of rushing into a hedge.”

Crossing the heath by a tolerably well-defined footpath, they entered the forest, and were galloping along a grassy glade, on which their horses’ hoofs produced scarcely a sound, when Lord Reginald uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Halloa! I see a fellow ahead. Where can he be going?”

“Probably one of the smugglers, who managed to make his escape,” answered Voules.

“Whoever he is, we will stop him and ascertain why he is out at this time of night. Stop, you fellow!” cried Lord Reginald; “we want to speak to you.”

The person, who apparently had not before heard them coming, only increased his pace; on seeing which the young lord spurred on his horse.

The stranger, who might possibly have escaped by darting in among the trees, instead of making the attempt, finding that his pursuers were gaining on him, stopped and faced them, holding a thick stick, which might properly have been called a club, in his hand.

“Throw down that bludgeon and come here,” said Lord Reginald.

“Not while I am spoken to in that tone,” answered the stranger. “I have as much right to be out in this forest as you have.”

“You must tell us who you are, and where you are going!” cried Lord Reginald, riding up to him.

The stranger lifted up his club, exclaiming, “Hands off! If you attempt to touch me, you must take the consequences.”

Just then a gleam of light from the rising moon shone on the stranger’s face.

“I know the rascal!” cried Lord Reginald; “it’s that young Hargrave. Not the first time we have met tonight. You are one of the fellows who made their escape from the excisemen; but you are not going to do so from us; so yield at once! Come, help me, Voules!” and the young lord, spurring forward his horse, attempted to seize Dick by the shoulder.

The latter sprang back, and, whirling round his club, struck Lord Reginald a blow on the arm which effectually prevented him from using it, and before Voules could lay hold of him, Dick had rushed off among the trees, which quickly concealed him from view.

In vain Lord Reginald, in spite of the pain he was suffering, urged his horse after him. The stems of the trees, growing thickly together, prevented him from following, and Dick was soon safe beyond the pursuit of the horsemen.

“This is provoking; but we will have him yet!” cried Lord Reginald.

“I am afraid the villain has broken your arm!” exclaimed Voules.

“It seems something like it from the pain I am suffering,” answered Lord Reginald; “however, the sooner we can get home to have it looked to the better.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Voules; “I am deeply grieved. I would have shot the young savage had I thought he would have had the audacity to strike you.”

“No, no; I should have been sorry if the fellow had been killed,” said Lord Reginald. “All I wanted was to take him prisoner, and send him off with the rest to sea, for I suppose that will be the lot of all who are fit to serve. However, as we are not likely to see more of him for the present, I shall be glad to get home. This arm of mine hurts me fearfully.”

They again put their horses into a gallop, and continued on until they reached the end of the glade, which led out on the high road. Lord Reginald bore the pain manfully; indeed, it was surprising that he did not faint and fall from his horse. The trotting along the road was even worse than the gallop, and at last he had to tell Voules to stop and walk. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when they reached the hall. They found Lord and Lady Elverston, with Lord John, sitting up for them.

“Most thankful to see you back,” said Lord Elverston, who came out to meet them; “we were too anxious to go to bed. One of the grooms had brought word that there had been a desperate fight between the revenue men and the smugglers, and that there had been a number of killed and wounded. Good Heavens! what is the matter? You look very pale. Are you hurt?”

“Yes, but not in the fight,” answered Reginald, as he entered the drawing-room and sank into a chair. He then described the encounter with Richard Hargrave.

“The young ruffian must be punished,” exclaimed the marquis. “It is evident that he is leagued with the smugglers, and this last outrage shows his desperate character. Do you feel much pain?”

“Very much; indeed, I fear that my arm is broken,” answered Lord Reginald.

On hearing this Lady Elverston came to his side. “My dear boy, I trust not,” she said; “you must go to bed, and let Mrs Cross and me examine your arm.”

“If it is broken we must send off for a surgeon immediately,” said the marquis.

“I would rather have some supper first. I dare say so would Voules, for we both of us felt very hungry as we came along, and I hope after all, no bone is broken.”

The tray was at once brought up, and though Voules did ample justice to the viands it contained, Lord Reginald, after making several ineffectual attempts to eat, had to confess that the pain overpowered him, and he allowed himself to be led off to his room by his mother and brother.

Mrs Cross, the housekeeper, was soon in attendance, having evidently, by the way her dress was put on, with her night-cap on her head, just risen from her slumbers. The young lord was quickly undressed, when, on his arm being examined, Mrs Cross declared it as her opinion that no bone was broken; and all that was required were fomentations and rest.

“I am sorry to hear so bad a character of young Hargrave. His mother and blind sister are at all events good people, and it will grieve them sorely,” observed Lady Elverston to her husband, who answered only with the significant exclamation of—

“Humph! Perhaps so.”

The pain was somewhat relieved by the fomentations applied by the housekeeper, who offered to sit up with the young lord; and though he declared that he should do very well without assistance, he was glad at length to accept her offer.

Voules came in just before going to bed, to express his deep concern.

“I shall do very well in a day or two,” said Lord Reginald, “and it won’t prevent me from joining my ship.”

Notwithstanding his assertion, he was very feverish during the night, when he was constantly uttering expressions which showed the animosity he felt against Dick Hargrave, complaining that he was the cause of the pain he was enduring. This was reported the next morning by Mrs Cross to the marchioness.

“It is a shame, my lady, that so bad a lad should be allowed to be at large. I hope my lord will have him taken up and sent off to Botany Bay, or anywhere out of the way, for if he meets Lord Reginald again, I don’t know what will come of it.”

Next morning the doctor, who had been sent for, arrived, and greatly relieved the minds of Lord and Lady Elverston by assuring them that their son’s arm was not broken.

“No thanks to the young ruffian who inflicted the blow,” observed the marquis; “we must have him apprehended, for such an outrage must not be allowed to go unpunished.”

The doctor directed Lord Reginald’s arm to be fomented, and observed that he must carry it for a few days in a sling, assuring him that he need not fear any serious consequences.

“Then it will not prevent him from joining his ship?” observed the marquis, who had his reasons for wishing that the midshipmen should not remain longer at Elverston.

“Not if he can perform his duty without going aloft, or using his arm for the present,” replied the doctor.

Lord Elverston said he would write to the captain on the subject.

“In that case his lordship may join his ship immediately,” observed the doctor, who seemed to understand the marquis’s wishes.

Voules, who had been present during the discussion, was far from satisfied with the doctor’s decision. He had hoped that the injury Lord Reginald had received would serve him as an excuse for remaining until the frigate was on the point of sailing, as he himself was in no hurry to leave Elverston Hall.

The marquis, however, had observed his attentions to Lady Julia, and although he gave his daughter credit for discretion, he thought it was as well to send the young gentleman away. Having a pretty good knowledge of the world, he had taken the measure of Toady Voules more accurately than his son had done, and had seen through him. When Lord Reginald, faithful to his promise, had begged his father to use his influence at the Admiralty to get Voules promoted, the marquis replied that he should be happy to serve any friend of his, but for certain reasons he could make no promise, and that he must know more about the young gentleman before he could recommend him to their lordships.

“But he is really a capital fellow,” said Lord Reginald. “He sticks like a leech to me, and I can always depend upon him.”

“Leeches suck blood,” answered the marquis, laughing. “I don’t think you have well considered the simile.”

“I mean that he is always ready at hand when I want him to do anything I require,” answered Lord Reginald. “He is the most convenient fellow I ever met.”

“Well, well, I will remember your wishes,” said the marquis.

Lord Reginald saw that he must not press the point further. Voules looked very melancholy at the thought of leaving Elverston. He was in an especially bad humour too, for though Lady Julia treated him as she had always done, he began to suspect that he had made no great way in her good graces. The utter indifference she showed when he talked of going away, convinced him of this, and although to the last the family treated him, as Lord Reginald’s friend, with the utmost kindness, no one expressed the hope that they might soon again have the pleasure of seeing him.

A couple of days having passed, the midshipmen were ready to obey the order to rejoin their ship. A Yarmouth pilot vessel having been engaged to convey them to Portsmouth, they set sail in her from Keyhaven. Taking a favourable tide, with a fair wind, they might easily get there in six hours, whereas the journey by land would have occupied nearly a couple of days. The crew of the pilot vessel, as they stepped on board, looked at the midshipmen askance, evidently having heard of the part they had taken in the capture of the smugglers, many of whom were their relatives and friends. The captain, however, treated them with the greatest civility, but took good care not to answer any questions they put to him concerning the smugglers, leaving them to suppose that he was ignorant of the existence of such persons, and was not even aware that there was any smuggling on that coast.

Of Dick Hargrave nothing had been heard, but a warrant had been taken out for his apprehension, and people were on the watch to capture him should he make his appearance, or should his place of concealment be discovered. A fresh breeze quickly carrying the cutter up to Portsmouth, Lord Reginald and Voules once more found themselves on board the Wolf, which had hauled away from the dockyard, ready to go out to Spithead.

Chapter Six.

The second trip of the Nancy—Particulars of the landing—How it fared with Dick and Ben—Wandering in the forest—In hiding—Nearly caught—Seized by a pressgang—Kindness of the landlady at the Admiral Benbow—Ben Rudall a prisoner—On board the tender—Off Cowes—The Wolf—Mr Bitts, the boatswain—Dick recognises Lord Reginald and Voules—An attempt to make an exchange.

When Dick Hargrave sailed the second time on board the Nancy, he forgot the saying that “the pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last,” or that few who follow a lawless occupation escape from suffering in the end. Of course, he should have been influenced by a far higher motive, but he had not been taught to look upon smuggling in the same light which an honest man does nowadays. Even his father regarded it with a lenient eye, though he had ever refused to take a share in the proceedings of the smugglers by permitting his horses to be used in transporting the goods when landed on the coast. Dick had a tolerably pleasant life on board the Nancy, as Dore and the crew always treated him kindly.

The lugger, as before, ran into the quiet little harbour in which she was wont to take her goods on board, and had a narrow escape from a French cruiser; but had got free by the very common device of lowering all her canvas during the night and allowing her pursuer to pass her. Without further cause for alarm, she made the English coast. Dick, though he liked the life well enough, had no wish to continue in it; he wanted to see his parents and Janet, and to relieve their anxiety about him. He had resolved, therefore, to quit the Nancy, and to go on shore with Ben, who did not intend to make the next trip in her. It was settled, therefore, that he and Ben were to pull in one of the boats engaged in landing the cargo, and that afterwards they were to assist in escorting the goods safe into the interior. After they had once got away from the coast, there was but little danger of their being captured.

“All right,” said Ben to Dick, as the lugger stood in to the westward of the Shingles; “the revenue men have been told that there is to be a run made this very night, Portland way, and they will all have gone off there and left the coast clear for us, so that there is no fear as to our getting the goods safe on shore.”

There seemed every probability that Ben’s prognostications would prove true. The night was dark, and the wind sufficiently off shore to enable the Nancy to stand close in. The expected signals were seen. The anchor was dropped, the boats lowered, and immediately afterwards, others came off from the shore, bringing the satisfactory intelligence that everything was clear for the run. The vessel was rapidly unloaded. The greater part of her cargo had been discharged, and was already on the beach, when the reports of Lieutenant Hilton’s pistols were heard, and the smugglers found themselves beset on both sides by their enemies. Dick and Ben were already on shore, and were engaged in loading the packhorses.

“You get out of it, Dick,” said Ben, “either climb the cliff or run along the beach; you’ve nothing to fight for.”

Dick hesitated; he felt that it would be cowardly to desert his companions.

Ben, though not thus influenced, suspected his motive. “Come, lad,” he said; “there’s a path not far from this, and the chances are there is no one to stop us going up it; I’ll show thee the way.” Saying this, he dashed forward quickly, followed by Dick.

He was disappointed in one respect—the path was guarded, but knocking over the first person who opposed him, who happened to be Mr Voules, and wrenching the cutlass out of Lord Reginald’s hand, he dashed on. Dick, who kept close behind him, had a narrow escape of being shot, and felt pretty sure that Lord Reginald, whom he recognised, had seen him.

Continuing on a short time, they were satisfied that they were not pursued, and might proceed homewards with little risk of further interruption. Still, Ben could not resist the temptation of trying to ascertain the fate of his companions. It appeared to him that they had been attacked by a comparatively small party, and that could a number of determined men be collected, they might effect a rescue. He and Dick made their way, therefore, to a farm-house, in which it had been arranged that the heavier part of the goods should be stowed, until they could be conveyed away to a distance. Here he found several persons, to whom he gave the first intelligence of the disaster. They instantly hurried off to collect other men from all directions. As it was well known what road the party with the captured goods would take, they intended to form an ambush to surprise them, but the smugglers, not having time to do this, made their attack in a less favourable position, with the result which has been seen.

Dick again escaped, but what became of Ben he could not tell, though he hoped that he also had got off. Much as he had wished to see his father and mother, he now almost dreaded to meet them. His intention was to reach home by daybreak, and having seen them again to go off and hide himself in a woodman’s hut in the forest, or in some other place, where he could remain until the search after him had ceased. It was not likely indeed, that much trouble would be taken, unless Mr Gooch, for the sake of influencing his father, tried to get him into his power.

With this intention he was making his way towards home, his thoughts so occupied that he did not hear the approach of Lord Reginald and Voules until they were close upon him. He would gladly have avoided an encounter, but at the same time he determined not to be taken prisoner when he saw that such was the young lord’s intention. What happened has been described. On escaping from Lord Reginald, he soon reached a thick bush, behind which he could conceal himself with little chance of being discovered. He there lay perfectly quiet until he heard the two horsemen ride off.

“I am thankful I had not my gun with me, or I might have been tempted to use it,” he said to himself. “Why should that young lord persecute me? He had no business to come and help the revenue men, and it could do him and that other fellow no good to make me a prisoner, except to boast of what they had done. If I go home now they will accuse poor father and mother of harbouring me, and I shall bring them into trouble. I wonder, after all, if Ben got off. If I thought that he did, I’d go to his cottage. He would hide me there until these two fellows have gone back to their ship, and the rest have got tired of looking for me. If poor Janet could see, I’d go home and let her alone know that I had come, and she would hide me away. As she can’t help me, poor girl! I don’t know what to do.”

Such were some of Dick’s meditations. Overcome with fatigue, he lay down to rest a little, and, as was very natural, fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was broad daylight. It would not now do to venture down to Keyhaven. He would too probably meet some of the revenue men, who would to a certainty capture him. Home he dared not go; his only alternative was to remain in the forest until the return of night, when he could traverse the country with less risk of encountering any one. He was very hungry, but he was equally afraid of going to any cottage to beg for a crust, lest he should be recognised. Not far off was a pool, of which there were many in the forest, where he quenched his thirst. Hips and haws were now ripe, there were plenty around could, he eat enough to satisfy the cravings of hunger. There were tench, too, in some of the pools—fine, fat fish, which he might catch, as they lay under the bank, with his hands, but he had no means of lighting a fire to cook them. He walked about listening, lest he might be surprised by any one coming; then, growing weary, he again sat down under his bush. He was very hungry and very unhappy. Sometimes he thought he would go home in spite of the risk he would run, and try to see his mother alone. He might easily hide in one of the out-buildings, and steal in when his father had left the house, but then, knowing that he had been recognised by Lord Reginald, who would, he supposed, inform against him, he feared that he might be discovered by those who would be sent to search for him, though his mother, he felt sure, would do her best to conceal him.

“I had better not,” he said to himself; “it shall only get father and mother into trouble; if they don’t know where I am, they cannot say. I’ll go down to Susan Rudall’s; she’ll stow me away, if I can reach her cottage without being seen. No one will think of looking for me there.”

Dick, when on board the lugger, had been rigged out thoroughly as a young sailor. The dress, as he thought, was a sufficient disguise, should he meet any one in the gloom of the evening. His hunger made him very eager to reach Susan’s as soon as possible. Soon after the sun had set, therefore, he started for Keyhaven, going along by the by-paths, and keeping himself concealed as much as possible among the trees and brushwood. He calculated that it would be perfectly dark by the time he got to the village, and that he might enter Susan’s cottage without being perceived. For some time, meeting no one, he became bolder, and made his way along the lanes with less caution than he had before used. He had just turned an angle of the road, when he saw in the distance several persons coming towards him. He darted back, hoping that he had not been seen, and, getting through a hedge, he lay down in a dry ditch.

Though perfectly concealed, he was almost afraid to breathe, lest he might be heard by the people passing. They had been too far off when first seen to enable him to ascertain who they were, and he dared not look through the hedge, lest they should perceive him. His heart beat quickly as he heard their footsteps approaching; he felt like a criminal escaping from justice. Though constitutionally brave, the consciousness that he had acted wrongly in many respects made him a coward. The men were only, as far as he could judge, labourers returning home after their day’s work. He heard them talking of the attempted run of contraband goods, the capture of the Nancy and her crew, as well as of the number of people assisting in the landing who had been taken.

“It will go hard with some of them,” observed one of the speakers; “they’ll bring it in ‘murder,’ maybe, as two of the king’s officers were killed, if they can prove who fired the shots. Whether of not, Botany Bay is the best they can expect, and many a year before they can see their wives and families again.”

“A reward is offered for catching the chaps who escaped,” said another.

What more was said Dick could not hear; he was thankful that he had not been seen by the men, or they would probably have detained him for the sake of the reward. He waited until they had got some distance, and then, creeping along the hedge, he again got into the lane, and ran on as before, looking out ahead so that he might not come suddenly on any other persons. Hungry and tired, he at length got close to Keyhaven. To pass through the village without being seen would be difficult. He heard voices, as if people were still about, and lights shone in the windows of the cottages in sight. Had he not been so hungry, he would have again hidden under a hedge until later in the evening; but eager to obtain something to eat, he hurried on, hoping by good chance to reach Susan’s cottage without being observed. He was passing the Rodney’s Head, when several persons issued from the door.

“Hullo! make that fellow heave to, and see who he is,” said a voice; and two men came rushing after him.

The words made Dick start off as fast as his legs would carry him. The men, however, followed. He might still, he hoped, escape, and reach Susan’s cottage. It was before him, but should he be seen to enter, it would afford him no shelter. If he could get round it, however, he might double back, making his way along on the other side of the village. He was unusually weak from long fasting, and found his strength failing him. His foot struck against a piece of an anchor fast in the ground, and down he fell. Before he could rise his pursuers were upon him.

“You made a good run for it, my lad, but you are caught notwithstanding,” said one of the men. “No use in kicking up a shindy, so come along with us and make the best of it, as many another lad has done.”

“Who are you? What are you going to do with me?” asked Dick.

“We are men-of-war’s men, and are going to make you serve his Majesty, as we are doing,” was the answer, as Dick was led back to the village inn.

“Won’t you let me go and see my friends first, or let me send them a message to say where I am gone?”

The men laughed. “You can send a message when you are safe on board the tender. You’ll be sent off there presently, with a few other fine fellows we have laid hands on. Don’t be cast down, lad, you’ll like the service well enough when you get into our ways; and if you don’t, like many others, you’ll have to grin and bear it.”

Dick made no answer; he was in for it, and it was useless to complain. The disappointment, however, did not take away his appetite. He quickly felt his hunger pressing him as at first. “I wish that you’d let me have a crust of bread and a piece of cheese, for I have not put anything into my mouth for many a long hour.”

“Mrs Simmons will soon find that for you, and a glass of ale, too, my lad,” answered the seaman. “Maybe, if you’ve no shiners in your pocket, you’ll find some friend inside who will treat you.”

On reaching the inn door, Dick saw a large party of seamen under an officer who had just mustered them outside, while several remained within, guarding persons with handcuffs on their wrists and seated on the benches. Two or three of them looked very disconsolate, but the rest were endeavouring to keep up their spirits by laughing and joking and talking to each other, or with their captors. Among the former, Dick, to his sorrow, saw his friend Ben Rudall, who, however, did not appear to recognise him. The landlady looked far from pleased at the guests she was compelled to entertain. Dick caught her eye.

“Do give me something to eat, Mrs Simmons!” he exclaimed. “I’m pretty nigh starved.”

“Bless me, Richard Hargrave! is that you? You shall have what little I have in the house; but it will be a sad night to those at home when they hear that you are taken.”

“I wish that you’d send up and tell them, and get it broken gently to my mother and Janet,” said Dick, as Mrs Simmons placed bread and cheese, and a piece of cold bacon before him, with a mug of ale.

“Be smart, my lad, and stow that food away,” said the seaman, who stood by with a pair of handcuffs. “You’ll get some breakfast on board the tender to-morrow morning.”

“Maybe; but I should be starved to death before to-morrow morning, if you don’t let me eat this,” answered Dick, munching away with all his might. He had never eaten so fast, for he expected every moment that the seaman would lose patience and clap the handcuffs on him. He was allowed, however, to swallow the contents of the plate as well as the ale.

“I’ll pay you, Mrs Simmons, some day when I come back; and thank you in the mean time,” said Dick, when he had finished his hasty meal.

“You are welcome to it, my boy,” said the landlady, “and who knows but that you’ll one day come back a captain.”

The sailor laughed as he clapped the handcuffs on Dick’s wrists. Directly afterwards the officer ordered the prisoners to be brought out, as the boat had arrived from the tender to carry them on board.

Ben Rudall, who had hitherto been silent, finding that he was at once to be carried off, rose to his feet and lifting up his manacled hands addressed the officer, “It is hard lines for me, sir, to be dragged away from my wife and family, without so much as saying good-bye to them. They live not many doors off, down the lane; won’t you just let me go down and kiss the children? Maybe you are a father yourself, and you wouldn’t like to be carried away from your young ones without saying a few last words to cheer them up.”

“It can’t be done, my man,” answered the officer, turning away. “If I grant you the favour, all the rest will be wanting to go and wish their wives and children farewell, and a fine account I should have to give of them! Bring the prisoners along!” he shouted to the seamen.

“You’ll tell poor Susan what has happened,” said Ben, as he passed the landlady. “Tell her to keep up her spirits. I’ll be back home as soon as I can.”

“Trust me, Ben,” said kind-hearted Mrs Simmons; “I’ll see your wife to-morrow morning, and tell her what you say.”

The officer, losing patience, ordered his party to move on. The men-of-war’s men kept close around their captives, who would, they knew, attempt to escape if there was the slightest chance of their doing so, or they thought it possible that the smugglers’ associates might endeavour to rescue them. The boat, however, was reached without any attempt of the sort being made, and the prisoners were compelled to step on board.

Some of the more daring resisted, hoping that perhaps even then assistance might come to them, but a seaman’s pistol held at the heads of the refractory ones compelled them to obey, and in another minute they were all seated in the boat, which at once pulled away for the tender.

Dick found himself seated next to Ben.

“A bad job this, my boy; I never thought you and I should be hauled away like this,” whispered Ben. “If they hadn’t put our wrists in irons we’d be overboard and soon stowed away where they wouldn’t find us in a hurry.”

Dick did not say he thought that it was owing to Ben he was brought into his present condition. He merely answered, “I wouldn’t try to escape if I could. If a man-of-war is as bad as you say, I shall be dead in a short time, and it won’t much matter to any one.”

“Silence there, men!” shouted the officer, who overheard Ben and Dick talking. “Give way, lads!”

The boat was soon alongside the tender, a large cutter, which lay off the mouth of the creek. The captured men were compelled to mount her side, two stout fellows standing by to lift them up by the collars of their jackets, as they were unable to use their hands, when they were at once sent down into the hold of the vessel, over which a sentry with a loaded musket kept guard.

It was a large, gloomy place, lighted by a single ship’s lantern, which hung from one of the beams. Dick could see that it already contained about twenty people, most of them rough, seafaring men, seated with their backs against the side, or stretched on the deck. Some were talking in low, grave tones, others were endeavouring to forget themselves in sleep. A few looked up and nodded as they recognised acquaintances, but not many words were exchanged between them. Dick saw several persons whom he knew, but the greater number had been captured by the pressgang on other parts of the coast. Dick, though no longer hungry, was very tired, and seeing a vacant spot, threw himself down with his back against the after bulkhead.

“I have found out all about it,” said Ben, who some time afterwards seated himself by his side. “It is all owing to that young lord and his father. The marquis, I hear, wrote over to Portsmouth some time ago to have this pressgang sent down here to make a clean sweep of all the seafaring men they could lay hands on. If they had come a few days sooner, they would have stopped the Nancy from attempting the run, and we should have got off again; but as ill luck would have it, they arrived just in time to catch us, and the other poor fellows who had come on shore. I wish that I could lay hands on that Lord Reginald; I’d pay him off.”

“Little chance of that,” observed Dick; “he’ll soon be safe on board the Wolf, and we shall be sent off, maybe, in some ship to the other end of the world. I don’t care where I go; but it seems to me what we have now to do is to make the best of it. I have been thinking over the matter since I have been staying here, and of course, as the king wants men to fight his battles, and as it is my luck, good or bad, to become one of them, I’ll do my best and try to keep clear of the cat-o’-nine-tails which you used to tell me about.”

“You’ll be precious lucky if you are able to do that, my lad,” growled Ben. “Howsumdever, as we’re in for it, I don’t want to make you think things are worse than they are. You’ll soon find out what’s what.”

“I suppose I shall,” answered Dick, who was becoming very sleepy, and in spite of the noises going on around him—the loud talking—the tramping of feet overhead—the movement of the vessel, which had got under way, and his uncomfortable position, he was soon in happy forgetfulness of all his troubles.

The cutter, after proceeding some distance, met with a strong head wind, and was soon pitching her bows into the fast rising seas. Dick was awakened by finding himself slipping away to leeward, and presently afterwards the vessel shipped a sea, the heavy spray from which came down through the main hatchway, and gave an unpleasant shower-bath to those below it, and Dick had to scramble as best he could out of the water which collected to leeward. The cutter, under close-reefed mainsail, stood on, heeling over to starboard for some time; then she went about, and directed her course towards the north shore. Once more she tacked in the direction she had before been going. The smugglers grumbled and swore, expressing very little confidence in the seamanship of the dockyard maties. At length, however, they heard the order to take in the jib. The vessel came on an even keel, the anchor was let go; she had brought up in Cowes Roads.

“If this wind holds, we shan’t see Portsmouth harbour to-day,” said Ben. “I suppose they can’t intend to keep the irons on our wrists, now they have got us all safe. If we stop here for the night, I have a great mind to try and get away. I have many friends on shore, and some of them are sure to come off to learn what this craft is about. If I get the chance, I’ll slip overboard and swim to one of their boats. What do you say, Dick; will you come?”

“We haven’t got the chance yet,” answered Dick; “if I get off where should I go? I cannot return home, and I should just have to starve or beg, or take to some worse course. No, no; you may try it if you wish, but I’ll stay here and learn what a man-of-war is like.”

Ben made further vain attempts to induce Dick to join him. Their conversation was interrupted by several men coming from forward with a supply of biscuits and cold salt beef and a grog tub, which, with a number of tin mugs, was placed in the centre of the deck. The latter seemed to afford infinite satisfaction, and the prisoners, in much better humour than before, laughed and talked and joked as if they had no cares in the world. A strict watch was still, however, kept over them, as, from their desperate character, it was suspected that they would not fail to try and take advantage of any opportunity which might offer of getting free.

For upwards of three days the cutter lay at Cowes, the captured men being narrowly watched, though tolerably well fed and not ill treated. The time passed heavily away. Growling and swearing was the order of the day. Dick heard some of the smugglers vow that, if taken on board a man-of-war, they would sooner blow the ship up than remain in her; that all ships were alike—perfect hells afloat; and that it would be better to be shot or hung at once than to endure the existence they would have to lead on board. Of one thing he himself was certain, that he was heartily sick of being kept down in the cutter’s hold. He felt eager to get free, even though he might have to exchange it for one of the much-abused king’s ships.

At length, the weather moderating, the cutter got under way and stood for Spithead, where several men-of-war rode at anchor. While the cutter lay hove to, a boat with a lieutenant from one of them came alongside. The officer, on stepping on board, ordered the men to be mustered. Dick watched him, and thinking from his countenance that he must be a good-natured, kind man, hoped that he himself might be among those he was about to select for his ship. The lieutenant spoke to the men one by one, asking them various questions, and finally chose a dozen of the best hands, who were forthwith ordered to get into his boat.

Dick was greatly disappointed on finding that Ben and he were not taken. The commander of the cutter then received directions to run into Portsmouth harbour, and to take the remainder of the prisoners on board another ship, which lay there ready to receive them. Various surmises were offered as to what ship she might be. Neither Dick nor Ben could gain any information.

“It matters very little; they’re all alike,” growled Ben.

On entering the harbour the question was soon settled. A fine frigate lay at anchor off the dockyard, with her sails bent, and with every appearance of being ready for sea. The cutter brought up close to her, and a signal being made, she at once sent a boat alongside.

“Now, lads, tumble up!” cried the lieutenant. “You have got to serve his Majesty, and I would advise you to put a good face upon the matter, and show that you are honest Englishmen, ever ready to do your duty and fight for your country. You’ll come back with your pockets full of prize money, and be glad you went.”

Dick listened. “That’s what I want to do,” he said to himself; “and I will if I can.”

Some of the old hands—Ben among the rest—were not influenced in the same way.

“All very fine!” he growled out; “but the proof of the pudding is in the eating. We shall get more scars on our backs from the cat than guineas in our pockets, I’ve a notion.”

The boat was soon alongside, and Dick with his companions were ordered up on deck, where they stood grouped together until the first lieutenant came to take down their names, and enter them on the ship’s books. It was the first time Dick had ever been on board a man-of-war. He gazed round with astonishment at the extent of the white decks, the size of the highly polished guns, the height of the masts, the ropes neatly flemished down, and the order which everywhere prevailed.

“She’s a fine ship, at all events; and if it wasn’t for father and mother and Janet, I should not be sorry to have come,” he thought.

The first lieutenant, an active, kind-eyed looking officer, spoke to the men much in the same way as the commander of the cutter had done. When he came to Dick, he inquired whether he had been to sea before.

“Only on board a lugger, sir,” answered Dick.

“Well, my lad, I do not inquire what you were doing on board her; but I tell you, as you look a smart lad, that if you do your duty you will be sure to get on, and soon obtain a good rating.”

Dick touched his cap, as he had seen some of the men doing when they spoke to an officer, and replied, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“That’s right, my lad,” observed the first lieutenant, as he turned away to attend to some other duty.

Although on deck strict order and discipline prevailed, Dick on going below found a very different scene, and it was some time before he got accustomed to the uproar, the men in hoarse voices bawling to each other, and laughing and joking and playing all sorts of tricks, some rushing here and there, others seated in groups, amusing themselves in a variety of ways.

“At all events, there can’t be much to make them unhappy, for they seem to be a merry set of fellows,” thought Dick, as he was standing by himself, watching what was going forward. An officer, with a silver chain and whistle round his neck, coming by, asked him his name. Dick told him, and replied to a few other questions. The officer passed on.

“Who’s that?” asked Dick of another lad who happened to be standing near.

“That’s Mr Bitts, the boatswain.”

“He seems a fair-spoken gentleman,” observed Dick.

“Gentleman! I don’t think he calls himself a gentleman; but he has a good deal to do with us, and it is wise to stand well with him, for he can use that rattan he had in his hand pretty smartly.”

Shortly afterwards Mr Bitts came back. Touching Dick on the shoulder, he said, “I want a boy, and I have applied for you. You’ll understand you are to attend on me, so look out and do your duty.”

Dick, on inquiring of the other lad, found he was to be the boatswain’s servant, which, although not an office of much honour, had its advantages, if he could manage to please his master. Dick soon found that his duties were not very onerous, and provided he was smart and active, Mr Bitts appeared to be satisfied. Altogether, when the hammocks were piped down, and he was allowed to turn into the one allotted to him, which the boatswain ordered one of the men to show him how to sling, he was tolerably well pleased with the prospect before him. As he was not placed in any watch, he had the advantage of sleeping through the whole night.

When the hammocks were piped up the next morning, he turned out refreshed and ready to do anything required of him. He had lost sight of Ben, who having found several acquaintances on board, and being engaged in talking with them, did not trouble himself about him.

The next day, the captain coming on board, the crew were mustered, when all the men as well as the officers had to come on deck. Dick was thinking what a fine body of men they appeared, when his eye, glancing aft, fell on two of the midshipmen, one of whom had his arm in a sling, and he at once recognised Lord Reginald and Mr Voules. The former seemed to know him, for he saw the young lord turn to the other midshipman and say a few words, and then look again towards him. Dick had not before inquired what ship he was on board, but he now found that he belonged to the Wolf.

“I hope we shall not come across each other, and I’ll do my best to keep out of his way,” he said to himself. “He’ll not forget, however, how he came to have his arm in a sling, and maybe he’ll try to pay me off; if he does, I’ll show him that I won’t stand bullying aboard, any more than I would on shore.”

Captain Moubray, having made a short address to his crew, reminding them of the renown they had already gained, and expressing his confidence that they would keep up their credit, ordered the boatswain to pipe down.

Dick, according to his resolution, kept clear of Lord Reginald.

“It is lucky for you, my lad, that I had applied for you, as the midshipmen have asked for you to be the boy of their mess,” said Mr Bitts, when Dick was attending on him that evening. “That young lord and Mr Voules wanted me to swap you for Tom Dolter, but I took Tom’s measure some time ago, and let me tell you, my lad, that you may bless your stars. It’s not pleasant to serve a dozen masters, though, if I hadn’t held out, that young lord and Mr Voules would have had their way.”

Dick had good reason to be thankful at his escape. Next day the frigate went out to Spithead, took her powder on board, and blue-peter was hoisted, as a signal that she was about to sail.

Chapter Seven.

Defiant looks—The spirit of ill-will increases—Some “very kind intentions”—Dick’s persecutors—In the midshipmen’s mess—Paddy Logan and Toady Voules—The last look at Old England—The first encounter—Mr Bitts to the rescue—Ideas of revenge—A sail on the lee bow—Preparing for action—A fierce battle—The Wolf victorious—Bravery of Dick—Hard work to keep the prize afloat—Bound for Plymouth with the prize.

The frigate’s sails were loose, the crew at the capstan tramped round to the merry sound of the fife, the boatswain’s pipe was heard shrilly repeating the orders he received; the sails were sheeted home, the anchor came to the bows, was catted and fished, and the Wolf, with canvas widespread to the breeze, glided majestically through the waters of the Solent. Dick wisely kept as much as possible out of the way of Lord Reginald. When they occasionally came in sight of each other, he did not fail to remark the angry look the young lord cast at him, while he himself could not help glancing at the other’s arm, still in a sling.

“That young ruffian’s insolence is unbearable!” exclaimed Lord Reginald, on one occasion, turning away and addressing Voules, whom he happened to meet. “I wish that he had been caught on shore, when he would have been sent off to prison, and we should not have been troubled with him here. I was half inclined to denounce him as a fugitive from justice when I first saw him on board; but as we wanted hands, I thought that the captain would not thank me.”

“We’ll pay him off somehow or other,” answered Voules. “I’ll find the means to do it, and he’ll wish he had been sent to prison before he stepped on the Wolf’s decks.”

“I say, Oswald, what’s happened to your arm?” asked Charles Ludlam, the senior mate of the berth, in which most of the members of their mess happened to be collected.

“A blow I received on it,” answered Lord Reginald, not being willing to explain matters.

“He got it while attempting in a very gallant way to seize a fellow who was suspected of being a smuggler,” observed Voules, coming to his friend’s rescue. “You may depend upon it that Oswald would have caught him if it had not been for that.”

“Faith! What business had he to be trying to seize a smuggler?” asked Paddy Logan, who was no admirer of Lord Reginald, and still less of Voules.

The latter was somewhat puzzled how to reply. “In support of the law which you Irish fellows delight in breaking,” he at length answered.

“Do you dare to cast reflections on the honour of Irishmen?” exclaimed Logan, firing up. “Naval officers are not expected to be excisemen. Of course the fellow had every right to defend himself.”

“I cast no reflections on the honour of Irishmen, but you yourself show your readiness to take the part of a lawless character,” answered Voules. “Besides, the young scoundrel had previously grossly insulted Oswald and me.”

“Then he was influenced by private motives rather than public spirit,” observed Ludlam, who was fond of speaking the truth, even though it might be unpalatable to his hearers. “Still, Oswald, I am sorry you are hurt, and hope that you will be wiser in future.”

“I shall always be found ready to defend my own rights whether against my equals or plebeians,” answered Lord Reginald, haughtily. “I consider that I acted properly, and do not require to be pitied by you or any other person, merely because I happen to get an inconvenient blow on the arm.”

“Mayn’t any one else pity you?” asked Tommy Shackel, the smallest midshipman on board, who was apt to take a malicious pleasure in seeing his seniors have a scrimmage among each other.

“Hold your tongue, Master Jackanapes!” exclaimed Voules; “Oswald knows best what he likes and dislikes.”

“I only asked a question,” said Tommy, in his squeaky voice; “and I put it to Oswald, and not to you.”

“How dare you speak to me in that fashion?” exclaimed Voules, about to give the small midshipman a box on the ear.

“You’d better let him alone!” cried Paddy Logan, jumping up. “I appeal to Ludlam, who allows no bullying in the berth. Because you have had the honour of staying at Elverston Hall, you fancy you can exhibit your airs to us, but you are mistaken, my boy, as much as Oswald was when he first joined.”

Voules retorted, and Paddy and he would soon have come to blows, had not Ludlam interfered, and by the exercise of the authority he maintained in the berth, restored order.

This scene took place on the first evening that the members of the berth all met together.

The frigate was now standing down between the mainland and the wooded shores of the Isle of Wight. Calshot Castle—then held as a fortress, with a governor and a garrison—was seen on the right. On the left hand was the little town of Cowes, surrounded by woods, among which, here and there, a few cottages peeped out. Then Lymington became visible on the Hampshire shore, and, beyond it, the long shingly beach of Hurst. Many eyes on board were turned in that direction. Lord Reginald and Voules, using their spy-glasses, thought that they could catch a distant view of the hall, while forward, Dick Hargrave, Ben, and several other men were turning their gaze on well-known spots. Dick felt more sad than he had done since he came on board. He was thinking how anxious his father, mother, and poor Janet would be about him; even should Mrs Simmons have conveyed his message to them, they would only know that he had been carried off in the tender, and would remain ignorant of the ship on board which he had been sent. He had not written, for he possessed neither pens, ink, nor paper, and would have found it a difficult matter to indite an epistle with the uproar going on around him. Poor Dick gazed on until the tears came to his eyes. Though it was greatly owing to his own fault that he was being carried away from home and those he loved, he was not the less to be commiserated. While he thus stood, scarcely conscious of what was going on around him, Lord Reginald, who had been sent forward with a message to the third lieutenant on some duty, passed him.

“What makes you stand idling there, boy?” exclaimed the midshipman, looking at him as if he had never seen him before, giving him a blow with the end of a rope. “You have no business on deck; go and attend to your duty below.”

Dick’s first impulse was to raise his arm to defend himself. It was with difficulty he could refrain from retaliating.

“I have no duty that I know of to attend to, and I have a right to look towards yonder shore, which neither you nor I may see for some time to come,” he answered. “What! You are a sea lawyer, are you?” exclaimed Lord Reginald, angrily, Dick’s words adding intensity to the vindictive feelings he already entertained towards him.

“I’ll report you to the first lieutenant, and he’ll soon find means to make you mend your manners.”

Dick was going to reply, when he saw Voules coming along the deck, and he had the discretion to hold his tongue, knowing that the worst interpretation would be put on whatever he said. This was the commencement of hostilities on board the frigate between the young lord and the farmer’s son. Scarcely a day passed that they did not come in contact with each other, when Lord Reginald never lost an opportunity of abusing the ship’s boy, or striking him, if he had the least excuse, with a rope’s end. Dick bore the ill treatment manfully, and endeavoured to the best of his power to do his duty. Though treated kindly by the boatswain, with the ordinary feelings of a yeoman’s son he would not willingly have rendered menial service to any one, but as it was his duty he did not complain, and did his utmost to please his master. Mr Bitts had, by some means or other, discovered how Lord Reginald behaved to Dick, but had not actually seen him struck. The boatswain was not a man to allow any one to interfere with his prerogatives. He at length, however, saw the young lord, who did not observe him, strike Dick across the shoulders with a rope’s end, and order him off to perform some duty or other.

Mr Bitts immediately came forward and confronted the midshipman, with an angry glare in his keen eyes, for although Mr Bitts was not a man of many inches, he was a determined person, with huge whiskers, a firm mouth, large forehead, and broad shoulders. “Are you aware, Lord Reginald Oswald, that you are infringing the rules of the service? That boy belongs to me, and I’ll let you know that neither your lordship nor any one else shall dare to ill-treat him.”

Lord Reginald looked somewhat astonished at this unexpected address. He was too proud to apologise, as he might have done and so settled the matter. “The fellow was idling,” he answered, haughtily, “and I am not expected to know what boys you consider belonging to yourself. If I find him or any one else neglecting his duty I shall see that he attends to it.”

“I shall report you, Lord Reginald Oswald, if I find you interfering again with that boy, or any other over whom you have no authority,” retorted the boatswain.

“You may stand well in the opinion of the captain and some of the officers, but others, let me tell you, hold you at a much cheaper rate.”

“This insolence is unbearable!” muttered Lord Reginald; but he recollected that, although he was the son of a marquis, the boatswain was his superior officer in the service, and that he should be guilty of insubordination should he continue the dispute. He walked away, therefore, with feelings more embittered than ever against Dick Hargrave. Soon afterwards, meeting Voules, he told him what had occurred.

“I don’t know what will become of the discipline of the ship, if the warrant officers venture to interfere in the way old Bitts has done,” observed Voules. “We must pay him off some day; but as to that fellow Hargrave, he is beneath your notice. I wish that we could have got him as our mess boy; we would soon have tamed his spirit. However, I won’t let slip any opportunity of punishing him as he deserves.”

Voules was as good as his word, every time the opportunity occurred, though he took very good care that Mr Bitts should not see him ill-treating Dick. He told Lord Reginald what he had done, apparently taking a pleasure in nourishing the resentment the young lord felt against the farmer’s son. It was but natural that Dick himself should feel ill-will towards his persecutors. He did not complain to Mr Bitts, of whom he stood not a little in awe, but he frequently did so to Ben Rudall, who ground his teeth and clenched his fists as he listened.

“We’ll pay the chaps off one of these days,” he muttered. “You’ve heard tell, Dick, of the mutiny at the Nore, when the men rose and took the whole fleet from their officers, and would not give in until the Admiralty granted their terms. To be sure, a few of them were run up to the yardarm, but the men won’t stand bullying now any more than they did in those days. If officers don’t know how to behave themselves they must be taught. I wouldn’t advise you to give the young lord tit for tat, or turn round when he next hits you, and use the rope’s end on his back, but I should be wonderfully inclined to try it on, and let them hang me afterwards if they like.”

Dick listened eagerly to what Ben said—the advice was too much in accordance with his own feelings.

Voules had spoken of him to the first lieutenant and to some other officers, and described him as a young ruffian who had been leagued with smugglers, and was now the associate of men of the worst character on board.

Dick was accordingly strictly, if not harshly treated, and though he had at first been well-disposed to do his duty, he became every day more and more discontented, and ready to retort upon those whom he looked upon as tyrants.

The frigate had been ordered to cruise in the Channel off the French coast, and a sharp look-out was kept night and day for an enemy.

“We shall soon see how these young gentlemen behave if we get alongside of mounseer. They can hold their heads high enough now, but when the Frenchman’s shot come whizzing about their ears, they’ll duck them fast enough,” said Ben.

“Is there a chance, then, of our having a battle?” inquired Dick. “I should like to be in one, just to see how things are managed.”

“If Captain Moubray is the sort of man I have heard him described, he’ll do his best to look out for an enemy,” replied Ben.

Still, day after day passed by and no suspicious sail was met with. At length, one evening, soon after dark, the Wolf was standing in towards the French coast. Having passed the Island of Groix, she continued on until several shots were fired at her from a fort, which, however, did no damage. She put about, and a short time afterwards, the wind being East-North-East, the look-out aloft shouted—

“A sail on the lee bow!”

The stranger was now seen to be running west by south. The Wolf immediately made all sail, and as she got nearer, two muskets were fired towards the chase, which appeared to be a large ship, to bring her to. Instead of so doing, however, the Frenchman, for such she undoubtedly was, set all the sail she could carry, endeavouring to escape. This seemed strange, for as far as could be judged, she was a larger ship than the Wolf.

“Will she get away?” asked Dick, who was standing near Ben Rudall at one of the bow-ports on the maindeck, through which they could dimly see the chase rising like some phantom giant stalking over the deep.

“Not if we continue to overhaul her as we are now doing,” answered Ben.

“Will she fight?” inquired Dick.

“Ay, and fight hard, too, just as a rat does when caught in a corner. It’s a way those Frenchmen have, though why she runs now is more than I can tell. Maybe some of us will be losing the number of our mess. I should not care if I was among them myself. It’s a dog’s life I lead on board here; but I am thinking of poor Susan. If I am hit, it will be hard lines with her; she and the young ones will have to bear up for the work’us, for there’s no one will care for the smuggler’s wife, as they call her.”

“But I hope you won’t be killed, Ben,” said Dick; “there’s no reason why you should be more than any one else.”

“Well, well, I’m not afraid,” answered Ben; “the enemy’s shot are in no ways particular, and I should not be so very sorry if one of them was to take off the head of that Lord Reginald or Toady Voules, as his messmates call him.”

“I could not bring myself to wish either one of them such a fate as that,” observed Dick, who had not altogether forgotten his mother’s instructions and Christian principles.

“I have no reason to love either the young lord or his toady, and I should not weep my eyes out if they were to be killed—they’d only get their deserts; and for my own part, I would like to see them both knocked over by the same round shot,” growled Ben, between his teeth.

The frigate was now approaching the chase. The drum beat to quarters, and the crew hurried up from below, most of them stripped to the waist with handkerchiefs round their heads and loins. The glare of the fighting lanterns, hung up on the beams along the deck, cast a glow on their muscular figures, the breaches of the guns and other salient points, while all the rest were cast in the deepest gloom.

Ben went to his gun, and Dick was ordered below to the magazine to bring up ammunition. Though much bigger than any of the other lads so employed, as he had been only a short time at sea, he had to perform the humble duty of a powder monkey. He would far rather have been engaged in working one of the guns.

The Wolf was carrying all the canvas which could be packed on her, studding-sails on either side and royals aloft. The chase also, under all sail, was still doing her utmost to keep ahead, but the Wolf, being the fastest ship of the two, gained rapidly on her. The men stood at their guns, waiting eagerly for the moment that the order to fire should be given, laughing, however, and cracking their usual jokes. The officers went their rounds, to see that all necessary preparations had been made.

Dick was seated on his ammunition tub on the maindeck, when Lord Reginald and Voules, who had each a certain number of guns to look after, passed him.

“I say, Oswald, that young smuggler looks pale enough now,” observed Voules, in a voice sufficiently loud for Dick to hear him. “We must keep a sharp look-out on him, or he’ll be running below to stow himself away in the hold.”

“Trust me for that! those ruffians ashore are the greatest cowards afloat,” answered the young lord, as he passed on.

Dick heard him. “I’ll show him that I am no coward,” he said to himself.

Ben also, who was stationed at one of the guns it was Dick’s duty to serve, heard the remark. “‘Cowards!’ does he call us?” he muttered. “He and Mr Toady will be the first to show the white feather, I’ve a notion.”

Shortly afterwards the sounds of two guns were heard. One shot, glancing along the Wolf’s bow, sent the splinters flying off it, while the other was seen to ricochet over the smooth water. The enemy had fired her stern chasers. The Wolf, without yawing, could not reply. She stood on, therefore, eager to come up with the chase. The latter was seen directly afterwards taking in her studdingsails and royals. The British crew cheered as they saw this. There was no longer any doubt that the enemy was ready to fight. The order was now given to take in all the studdingsails. The royals were next handed; the crew, who had left their quarters for the purpose, immediately hurrying back to their guns. Both frigates were still rapidly running through the water. Suddenly the chase put down her helm and luffed up on the starboard tack, intending to rake the Wolf, which was now coming up on her weather quarter.

“Hard a-starboard!” shouted Captain Moubray, and the Wolf was brought up on the opposite tack, thus avoiding the raking fire, and receiving the enemy’s shot on the starboard side. “Well done!” cried the captain. “Now hard a-port!”

The ship once more came up to the wind, and just clearing the French frigate’s starboard quarter, shot up right abreast of her to windward. Both thus in near proximity, poured their broadsides into each other, and the battle became hot and furious. The British crew ran their guns in and out, the frigate’s shot dealing death and destruction along the decks of her antagonist. It was just the position English sailors like the best. Dick saw several of his shipmates knocked over, and one poor boy, with whom he had just been talking, fell close to his side. He knelt down to help him, but not a movement was perceptible. He took his hand; it fell on the deck. The boy was dead.

Dick’s tub was soon exhausted of its contents, and he hurried below to the magazine to get it refilled. He lost not a moment, but was again at his station.

“They shan’t say I’m skulking,” he muttered. “I wonder what Lord Reginald is doing.”

Dick might have seen the young lord, in spite of the shot crashing on board and sending the splinters flying about in all directions, killing or wounding several near him—the colour in his cheeks somewhat heightened, perhaps—attending to his duty and cheering on his men, and when the captain of a gun was killed, taking his place and laying hold of the tackles to haul it in for reloading.

For some time the two frigates ran off before the wind; as tacks and sheets and yards were shot away, gradually decreasing their speed. In consequence of the injuries the French frigate had received, the Wolf shot slightly ahead, when the former attempted to cross her stern, for the purpose of raking her, or gaining the wind, but not having room for this manoeuvre, she ran her jib-boom between the British ship’s main and mizzen rigging.

The third lieutenant, calling several of the men, attempted to lash it there, while the Wolf poured in a fire which swept across the Frenchman’s bows, but half those engaged in the effort, while hanging in the rigging, were shot, and the lieutenant himself fell badly wounded to the deck. Immediately afterwards the ships separated and stood on as before, exchanging furious broadsides. Dick saw Ben still working away at his grin, as eager as the rest of the crew, having evidently forgotten all about his gloomy anticipations of losing the number of his mess.

For upwards of two hours the ships had been engaged, and no perceptible advantage had been gained by either. At length the Wolf again forged ahead. Captain Moubray did not neglect the much-wished-for opportunity, but ordered the helm to be put hard a-starboard, and, while thus passing across the hawse of the French frigate, poured in a broadside which swept her decks fore and aft, killing and wounding many of her crew, and inflicting serious damage on her masts and rigging. Again the Wolf’s helm was put hard a-port, which brought the enemy a little before her starboard beam, when again the ships ran on with the wind about a point on the starboard quarter. Still it remained doubtful which would gain the victory. The British officers and crew had, however, made up their minds not to give in while a stick was standing; but the most indomitable bravery cannot always overcome the chances of war.

While Captain Moubray, with the master by his side, was eagerly watching every movement of his antagonist, to take advantage of what might occur, a shot from her struck the mizzenmast, already severely wounded. With a fearful crash down it came on deck, inboard, killing one of the men at the wheel, which it much damaged, and severely injuring many others, while it encumbered the whole quarterdeck with its rigging, spars, and sails. They could hear the crew of the French ship cheer as they saw what had happened.

“You may ‘hulloo’ as long as you like, mounseers, but we’ll be giving you as good before long,” cried Ben; several of his shipmates echoing his words.

They were right, for scarcely had the Frenchmen’s cheers ceased, than down also fell their mizzenmast with a tremendous crash, evidently doing much damage. Almost immediately afterwards the mainmast followed, though the foremast still stood, enabling her to continue the action.

The boatswain and his crew hurried to clear the wreck, while the carpenter endeavoured to repair the damaged wheel. The two ships again lay abreast of each other, though at a greater distance than before. The Wolf, however, did not, in consequence of the accident, slacken her fire, and she and her opponent were gradually sheering closer together, when the latter was seen to put her helm hard a-starboard, so as to lay the Wolf on board. The order was now received from the captain to load the maindeck guns with double shot and the carronades with grape.

“She will strike us on the bow,” observed Captain Moubray to the master, “and as she is sure afterwards to rebound, the quarters of the two ships will be brought together. She intends to board us. Boarders, be prepared to repel boarders!” he shouted. At the same time the word was passed along the decks, not again to fire until the order was received from the captain.

The two ships drew closer and closer together, until the bows met with a loud crash, and although the Frenchmen at the same time let fly a broadside, the English gunners, obedient to their orders, refrained from firing in return. As was expected, the bows rebounded from each other; the quarters of the two ships almost immediately came together. The quarter of the French ship was seen crowded with men, ready to spring on board the Wolf.

“Now, my lads, give it them!” cried Captain Moubray, and his word was passed along the decks.

The big guns sent their balls, and the carronades their showers of grape, into the very midst of the Frenchmen. Fearful must have been the effect among the crowded masses, and cries and groans resounded through the night air.

Four guns only replied to the last broadside, showing the havoc and confusion it had caused. At the same moment flames burst forth from the Frenchman’s deck. The English worked their guns with redoubled vigour. Scarcely had the fire disappeared from one part of the French ship, than it broke forth in another. Her shrouds and running rigging had been cut away, and her remaining mast was tottering. Still the Frenchmen fought on, though they could scarcely, it seemed, have hoped for victory.

Once more the ships separated, still continuing to exchange broadsides, though many of the Frenchman’s guns had been silenced. Still, from the number of men seen on her decks, they might hope to gain the victory by boarding. To guard against such a contingency was now Captain Moubray’s chief care. Again the bows of the two ships met, when the outer arm of the Wolf’s best bower anchor, entering the foremost main-deck port of the French frigate, held her fast.

Though the English continued to pour broadside after broadside into their enemy, no signal of surrender was shown. Every moment it seemed as if the foremast of the latter, already tottering, would go by the board, and probably fall on the deck of the Wolf.

“We must put an end to this!” cried Captain Moubray. “Boarders, follow me!”

He sprang forward, several of his officers and those to whom he had given the word, pressing round him, all eager to be the first on the enemy’s deck. Among them was Lord Reginald, who, regardless of danger, burned to distinguish himself. The gallant boatswain led another party, hastily collected on the main-deck. Richard Hargrave, on hearing the boatswain’s summons, and finding that ammunition was no longer required on his side, left his station and joined them. Two stout planks had been thrust through the Frenchman’s second bow port. By this means the boatswain’s party forced their way, for the gun which filled the port, having been dismounted, allowed them ingress.

With cheers and shouts the British seamen, led by the captain, leaping down on the Frenchman’s deck, with pistols flashing and cutlasses hewing and hacking, quickly drove their enemies aft. As they reached the main hatchway, many of the latter, unable to resist the impetus of the onslaught, sprang down below, where they were met by the boatswain’s party, who, sweeping along the fore part of the deck, quickly cleared it. Still a determined band resisted. A marine was on the point of running his bayonet into the breast of Lord Reginald, when the captain cut down the man. In vain the Frenchmen attempted to resist. Foot by foot they were driven back, until the cry rose from an officer on the quarter-deck of “We surrender.” At the same time he lifted a lantern above his head, as a signal which all might understand.

“Lay down your arms, then!” cried Captain Moubray, “and no more blows shall be struck.”

The boatswain, with Richard Hargrave and others, were still using their cutlasses with deadly effect, the shouts and cries of the Frenchmen, as they endeavoured to withstand them, preventing all other sounds from being heard.

Before advancing towards the French commanding officer, to receive his sword, Captain Moubray sent Lord Reginald and a party of men below to stop the slaughter. He sprang down in time to see Dick Hargrave and two other men engaged in a fierce combat with three Frenchmen, who, ignorant of what had taken place above, were still holding out.

“You mutinous rascals!” exclaimed Lord Reginald to Dick and his companions; “didn’t you hear the captain’s orders to desist from fighting? The frigate has struck, and is our prize.”

Then shouting to the Frenchmen in their own language, he told them what had occurred, when immediately dropping the points of their weapons, they sprang back, to be out of reach of the British seamen’s cutlasses.

“I am not a mutinous rascal,” exclaimed Dick, turning to Lord Reginald; “I didn’t know that the Frenchmen had given in.”

“How dare you speak to me in that way?” exclaimed the young lord, even at that moment not forgetting his enmity towards Dick. “Look out for the consequences!”

He then shouted to Mr Bitts, and in another minute the fighting, which had gone on for so many hours, altogether ceased. Both decks presented a terrible spectacle. In all directions lay the bodies of dead and dying men. Many had already passed away, others were writhing in agony, while the surgeon’s attendants, regardless of what was going on around, were employed in carrying below those to whom assistance might be of use. One lieutenant alone stood on the quarter-deck. Captain Moubray, advancing among the bodies of his late foes, inquired for the French captain. The lieutenant pointed to a form which lay near the wheel, covered with a flag.

“The captain of the Thesbe—the ship I yield to you—lies there,” he answered, presenting the hilt of his sword. “There lies the first lieutenant, and there the second, and I, the third, am in command.”

“I return your sword to as brave a man as I can ever hope to meet. You have fought your ship with the greatest gallantry. Englishmen cannot desire to encounter more noble foes,” said Captain Moubray, returning the sword, which the lieutenant, taking, sheathed with a deep sigh.

Indeed, out of a crew of between four and five hundred men, upwards of a hundred had been killed, and nearly the same number wounded, while the frigate’s hull was fearfully shattered, her bulwarks were torn away—she was a mere wreck.

Captain Moubray, returning to his ship, sent a prize crew on board under the command of Mr Jager, the second lieutenant, who had with him Lord Reginald, Voules, and Paddy Logan, and forty men, Richard Hargrave being among the number.

It was no easy matter to clear the ships, so firmly had the Wolf’s anchor hooked on through the Thesbe’s port. It was at last, however, freed. Scarcely had the two ships separated, than down came the Thesbe’s foremast, narrowly escaping falling across the bows of the Wolf.

In an action lasting the best part of six hours, the Wolf herself had suffered severe damage. The third lieutenant, the second lieutenant of marines, a midshipman, and ten seamen were killed, and nearly fifty officers and men wounded.

She had lost her mizzenmast, and her other masts and several of her yards were injured. Her sails and rigging were cut to pieces. So numerous were the shot-holes in her hull, that the carpenter and his mates were unable to stop them until she had three and a half feet of water in her hold. A portion of her diminished crew was sent to the pumps, while every officer, man and boy, was employed in fishing the masts and spars, knotting and splicing the rigging, and shifting the sails. The two ships lay close together, drifting with the tide. The prize was won, but it was a question whether she would be kept. They were close in with the French coast; and should any other of the enemy’s ships be in the neighbourhood, it was certain that they would be sent to look after the combatants. Mr Jager and his prize crew had work enough to do to keep the Thesbe afloat, to heave the dead overboard, to attend to the wounded. The surgeons laboured away all night in amputating arms and legs, and binding up the limbs of those most injured. Not only was the cockpit crowded, but every cabin was full of wounded men. The greater part of the prisoners were of course removed on board the Wolf, but a few were retained to assist in working the pumps and attending to the wounded.

While the carpenters were engaged in stopping the shot-holes—through which the water was rushing with a rapidity sufficient in a short time to carry the prize to the bottom—it was impossible to attempt repairing other damages.

When morning broke, a shattered, blood-stained hull lay floating, with her victor watching near her. An anxious look-out was kept for any sail which might appear. Should a single frigate be seen, Captain Moubray and his officers resolved to fight their ship and defend their prize to the last.

No one thought of resting. Mr Bitts piped his call, until, as Paddy Logan observed, “it seemed mighty curious that he had any wind left in his body.”

The frigate’s crew laboured on, until many were ready to drop with fatigue. All knew that not a moment was to be lost. Another contingency might occur, besides the appearance of an enemy of superior force; a northerly gale might spring up, and drive the disabled frigates on the French coast. Happily, the masts of the Wolf were secured, the rigging repaired, and fresh sails bent, and the wind coming from the southward, she took her prize in tow, and shaped a course across the channel for Plymouth.

Chapter Eight.

On board the prize—Ben gives bad advice—A strange line-of-battle ship—Friend or foe?—The Wolf and her prize reach Plymouth—Not allowed to go ashore—Peter Purkiss—Dick deserts—Homeward bound—Visit to the smuggler’s wife—Reception at the farm—Dick recognised by Lord Reginald and Voules—Fear of being retaken—Dick leaves home—Captured and sent on board a cutter.

The Wolf, with a fair breeze, having her prize in tow, shaped a course for Plymouth. The wind though favourable was light, and should it continue so, it would be some time before she could reach her destination. It was fortunate, however, that the sea was smooth, as it enabled the carpenters the more easily to get at the numerous shot-holes in the sides of the prize, and to stop the water coming in, which it had been doing at a rapid rate, making it necessary to keep the pumps constantly going. This was hard work for the prize crew, for the few Frenchmen left on board, though they did not refuse to go to the pumps, worked listlessly, and very soon knocked off, declaring that they could work no more. The British seamen had therefore to work away until they could stand no longer.

Lieutenant Jager, commanding the prize, had sent Lord Reginald and Voules to see that the crew at the pumps were persevering in their labours. Among them his eye fell on Ben Rudall and Richard Hargrave, who had both been working away for some time until their arms ached.

“Spell oh!” cried Ben.

“Spell oh!” echoed Dick, in order that some other men might come and help them.

“Keep at your work, you idle rascals!” cried Lord Reginald.

“I am not an ‘idle rascal,’” answered Ben, leaving the pump and folding his arms; “I have been working for two hours, and can work no longer until I have had some rest.”

Dick, who could really work no longer, and was wellnigh ready to drop to the deck, also knocked off, though he said nothing.

Lord Reginald’s anger was aroused in a moment. Seizing a rope, he struck Dick across the shoulders. “Go back, both of you!” he exclaimed; “we can have no skulking on board here.”

“I am not skulking,” answered Dick, again seizing the pump handle and working away as hard as his strength would allow.

“Do you dare to answer me?” exclaimed the young lord, striking Dick.

Ben stood still, fixing his eye on the midshipman, who, though he flourished the rope, did not strike him, and Ben, with a look which showed the ill feelings aroused in his bosom, returned to the pump.

Lord Reginald stood by, watching them until the whole gang, utterly unable to work longer, were relieved by fresh hands.

“Let me see that you fellows keep at it longer and better than the last have done,” he said.

“That’s what we get for working our lives out,” growled Ben, as he and his shipmates staggered forward and threw themselves down to rest. “It’s just as well he did not strike me, or something might have come of it. If I were you, Dick, I wouldn’t stand it; I’d give him as good in return. He can but hang one, and that would be better than leading a dog’s life on board this ship.”

“He might flog you round the fleet, which would be something worse than hanging,” observed an old man-of-war’s man, who had overheard Ben. “You wouldn’t like that. I’ve a notion, mate, that it’s wiser to grin and bear it, and hope for better times.”

“I do hope for better times,” said Ben, addressing Dick, when no one else was within hearing. “I’ll tell you what, lad; I’d advise you to give them leg-bail, if you have the chance. That’s what I’ve made up my mind to, as soon as we get into port; they’re sure not to keep a strict look-out, and, as usual, crowds of people will be coming on board to visit the ships. Tom Harris was right; keep your temper, as you did just now. To strike an officer, even though he strikes you first, is a serious matter, and I was wrong in advising it. But though, if you desert and are caught, you run the risk of a flogging, the chances are you’ll escape, for they’ll not take the trouble of sending after you if you can once get off into the country.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Dick. “I can’t bear being struck by that young lord, or by any one else; and if he treats me as he has done before, I cannot answer for keeping my temper.”

The conversation was put an end to by the whole gang being ordered back to the pumps. The carpenters were gradually getting the leaks stopped, and before night the crew were able with less difficulty to keep the water under. Fresh hands were sent on board to attempt getting up jurymasts, in case the Wolf should be compelled to cast off the prize. It was still doubtful whether they would reach the port in safety. An enemy might at any moment appear, and not only retake the prize, but themselves. A single frigate would prove a serious antagonist to the Wolf in her present battered and disabled condition.

During the night the breeze increased slightly, and the two frigates made better progress. Lord Reginald had told Voules of Hargrave’s impudence, as he called it, and the midshipman had reported it to Mr Jager.

“If we have mutinous behaviour among our own crew, we shall have the Frenchmen rising upon us,” observed the lieutenant. “You must keep an eye, Voules, on those fellows, and put down that spirit of insubordination.”

“A flogging would do that lad Hargrave good,” observed Voules, “and that old smuggler richly deserves one also.”

Voules, believing that it would please Lord Reginald, kept a watchful eye on both Dick and Ben, hoping that they would give him the opportunity of reporting them.

Twice finding Dick moving slowly, as he considered about his duty, he started him with a rope’s end. Several of the other men, knowing that he was no longer under the protection of the boatswain, took the opportunity of bullying him in a variety of ways. Ben did not interfere, his object being evidently to disgust him with the service. Fortunately for Dick, however, his persecutors had no time to annoy him when below, for, fatigued with their work, the moment they turned in they fell asleep. All hands, indeed, were employed from morning until night in clearing the ship of water, getting up jurymasts and repairing the worst damages, so that there might be a chance of keeping her afloat should bad weather come on. Hitherto but little progress had been made. All the sail which the Wolf could carry was set. The prize was at length able to help herself by hoisting a small amount of canvas. A very sharp watch was kept for the appearance of any strange sail.

At length, early on the second morning, the look-out from the masthead of the Wolf shouted, “A sail in the south-west!”

The first lieutenant went aloft to have a look at her. On his return to the deck, he reported that she was a large ship, standing on a course which would soon bring her up to them. It was difficult, at that distance, to say whether she was a frigate or a line-of-battle ship.

“We must steer as we are,” observed Captain Moubray. “Whatever she is, we must fight her.”

He then hailed the prize, directing Lieutenant Jager to get all the guns he could ready for use, so that he might be able to take a part in the fight, should it be necessary. He was, however, to do his best to escape, while the Wolf engaged the stranger.

The French officers on deck eagerly watched the ship coming up. As her topsails rose above the horizon, various opinions were expressed about her. Some thought that she might be the leading ship of a French squadron; others that she was a British man-of-war. As, however, she drew nearer, no other vessels were seen astern of her. One after the other the officers went aloft, to try and discover her character. She was soon pronounced to be a seventy-four, at least. The Frenchmen became highly elated, having fully persuaded themselves that she was a French line-of-battle ship.

“Never mind, my friend,” said one of them, “you have treated us well; we hope soon to have an opportunity of showing our gratitude.”

“Much obliged to you,” answered the first lieutenant, to whom the observation was made. “It is not settled beyond doubt that yonder ship belongs to your nation. There is something about the cut of her canvas which tells me that she is an English line-of-battle ship. If she’s an enemy, we intend to fight her, and, if we can, enable our prize to escape.”

“Morbleu!” exclaimed the Frenchman. “One might suppose that you rarely capture a prize, you seem so anxious to retain the one you have now got.”

On board the prize, all the preparations which could possibly be made were carried out. Such guns as were uninjured were loaded, fresh tackles rove. Her hard-worked crew recovered their spirits, and even Ben, for a time, ceased to growl. Still, considering the battered state of both ships, there seemed every probability, should the stranger turn out to be an enemy, that they must fall into her hands; and that a French prison would be their destination, instead of the triumphant reception they expected to meet at home, and the prize-money with which they hoped to fill their pockets.

“It would be a great bore if that fellow does turn out to be a Frenchman,” observed Voules to Lord Reginald. “I was in hopes that you would be able to get leave to pay another visit to Elverston Hall. It would be a great pleasure to accompany you.”

“Of course, my dear fellow, I shall be delighted, as my father gives me leave to bring any friends I like; though it appeared to me that you got rather tired at last, or you wouldn’t have taken to dangling after the ladies in the curious fashion you did.”

“Tired! Oh dear no! their delightful society was sufficient attraction. I was never happier in my life.”

“Well, the honest truth is, my brother John told me that he thought you spent too much of your time with them, and he made one or two other remarks which I don’t wish to repeat. You’ll take the hint, should you go there again. However, instead of that, we may possibly have to spend the next few months at Verdun, or some other delectable place in France. I suppose they won’t shut us up in the Bastile, or treat us as Napoleon did Captain Wright?”

“Oh, don’t talk of that!” cried Voules. “We must hope that yonder ship will prove to be a friend; for though the captain may resolve to fight her, should she be an enemy, we must inevitably suffer severely, even if we escape capture.”

As the stranger drew nearer and nearer, the excitement on board increased. The countenances of the Frenchmen at length, however, began to look blank. Then, as the glorious flag of England blew out from the peak of the stranger, a cheer rose from the deck of the Wolf, which was taken up by that of the prize.

Signals were exchanged. The British ship made her number, the Triumph, seventy-four, Captain Sir Thomas Hardy, one of the noblest officers in the British service. Drawing nearer, and directing the frigate to cast off, he took the prize in tow, and all three ships proceeded together, as had previously been intended, to Plymouth. Having arrived at the mouth of the harbour, the Wolf once more took charge of her prize, while the Triumph again stood out to sea on her cruise. Cheers saluted the Wolf as she proceeded through the narrow entrance to Hamoze, and scarcely had she dropped her anchor than numberless boats were alongside, containing people of all ranks, eager to hear an account of her victory. As soon as the prisoners and wounded had been sent on shore, the decks of the prize were crowded with visitors, and the Frenchmen lost no credit when it was seen to what a state she had been reduced before they yielded.

Ben found several old friends, with whom he had many long talks, though what they were about Dick did not hear. The prize agents took charge of the captured frigate, and her crew returned on board their own ship. Battered as was the prize, she sold for a good sum, and was bought in by the Government. Then came pay day, and many a golden guinea jingled in the victors’ pockets, though with most they did not jingle there long. Leave being given to as many as could be spared to go on shore, scarcely had the poor fellows landed than they were set upon by harpies of every description, whose object was to extract the said golden guineas, which Jack—not knowing what to do with—was willing enough to throw away. Some of the brave heroes might have been seen driving about in a coach and four, crowding the vehicle inside and out, with bottles and mugs on the roof, cheering as they went. Others might have been met with parading the streets, bedecked with pinchbeck watches and chains, which they had purchased under the belief that they were pure gold; seldom without a companion of the other sex on their arm, dressed out in the finery their money had bought. The dancing saloons and grog shops were crowded, few troubling themselves as to how the seamen were employed, provided that they returned on board in due time with empty pockets, ready to fight the battles of Old England, and win more prize-money, to be expended in the same senseless fashion.

The crew of the Wolf had been turned over to a hulk, while the dockyard people took possession of her to repair the numerous damages she had received, with orders to proceed with all possible despatch.

General leave had of course not been granted, for many of the crew who had lately joined could not, it was considered, very justly be trusted: the smugglers, the jailbirds, the pressed men, and the boys. A certain number of old hands, together with the ever-faithful marines, were retained on board to watch them. Grumbling was of course the order of the day.

Ben, being among those who could not obtain leave, was loud in his complaints. He vowed that leave he would have, though it might be French leave. “It is hard that a steady man, who never got drunk, and always did his duty from the time he stepped on board, should not be allowed to go on shore to send off his prize-money to his wife!” he exclaimed.

People still came off in considerable numbers every evening, to see the victorious frigate; and although when the workmen were about they could not go on her deck, they could see her from the hulk.

“Now is your time, Dick,” said Ben, one evening when the decks were more than usually crowded. “Here’s an old chum of mine alongside, Peter Purkiss; he’ll take us ashore and will rig us in smock-frocks and gaiters, to look for all the world like countrymen. You slip first into his boat, and as soon as it’s dark I’ll follow; we’ll then start away out of the town, and by the morning we shall be a long stretch off, my boy; no fear of being caught then.”

Dick hesitated; he had often thought that if properly treated he should like the service. The step his evil counsellor advised would be fatal to all his best aspirations.

“Do as you like,” said Ben; “depend upon it that Lord Reginald won’t rest until he has seen you and the cat make acquaintance.”

At that moment Dick caught sight of the young lord talking to Voules. They did not observe him, but he thought that there was something sinister in the expression of their countenances. “They shan’t catch me, as they fancy they will,” he said to himself. He no longer hesitated. Several persons were descending the side; going down to the main-deck, he slipped through a port into the boat Ben had pointed out.

“Where is your shipmate Ben?” asked the old boatman.

“He said that he was coming as soon as it was dark,” answered Dick.

Several other people from the shore got into the boat, and ordered old Peter to land them without delay. Dick every moment expected to be discovered and to hear a hail ordering him back, but no one had observed him, and he was soon landed.

“Now, lad,” said the old man, “I’ll take you to my house, as I promised. Ben will no doubt come next trip. You must be smart, though, lest we should meet any of your officers.”

As it was growing dusk Dick hoped not to be seen, and soon reached a house not far from the water’s edge. The boatman, taking him into a small room, produced a carter’s frock and gaiters, with a billycock hat and a large red handkerchief to tie round his throat.

“Put on these duds, and keep close until I come back, when you and Ben may start together,” said old Purkiss, as he left him to return to his boat.

“Maybe he’ll find it a harder matter to slip away than I did,” said Dick to himself, “and if he doesn’t come, I shall look foolish. Still, I have no fancy to go back and be bullied by that Lord Reginald and his toady Voules.”

Dick waited some hours; at last old Purkiss came back.

“Poor Ben’s in for it,” he said. “He was just slipping down the side when the master-at-arms laid hands on him, and I’m afraid he’s in limbo and very little chance of getting out of it until the ship goes to sea. Whether or not he thought something of the sort might happen, I don’t know, but he gave me these ten guineas which he wants you to take to his wife. It won’t do, however, for you to stay longer here, unless you wish to go back and be flogged to a certainty for attempting to desert. I’d advise you to cut and run this very night. Now, lad, fair play’s a jewel. I am helping you off, and I expect to be paid for what I’m doing, as well as for the clothes I got for you. A five-pound note will satisfy me, though it wouldn’t if you were not a chum of my old shipmate Ben.”

Dick paid the money without hesitation, for he knew that old Purkiss might have fleeced him, had he been so disposed, of every sixpence in his pocket.

“Now we are clear,” said the old man, who prided himself on his honesty, “and I want to give you a piece of advice, which mind you stick to. Don’t show your cash to any one, or you’ll be robbed and murdered maybe. I’ll give you change for a guinea in sixpences and coppers; don’t show too many of them either; better by far pay in coppers for the food you want, and sleep under haystacks or in barns until you reach home. You may get a lift in a cart or waggon, but don’t let anybody know you’ve been on board a man-of-war. Just say you’ve been down to see an old friend, Peter Purkiss, and that’s true for the most part, and that you are going home again to your father and mother. Now, lad, it’s time to be off. I’ll put you in the way out of the town, and when once you are in the country strike away north-east. You’ve got Dartmoor to cross, and as it’s a wildish tract, I’d advise you to get a lift if you can until you are over it. If you can’t get a lift, don’t attempt to cross it at night, or you may lose yourself.”

Peter, who was a good-natured old fellow, though his morality was not of the strictest order, gave Dick a hearty supper, then, taking a thick stick in hand, started off with him, walking at a rapid pace until they reached the confines of Plymouth—a much smaller town in those days than it is at present. Dick then, having received directions from the old man as to the road he was to take, commenced what he had made up his mind would be a long tramp homewards.

He was strong and active, and had not been long enough at sea to lose his shore legs. The night being clear, he was able to see the road, and he knew by the position of the Great Bear, which he always kept on his left hand, that he was going in the right direction. The dread he felt of being overtaken by a pressgang, or by the seamen of his own ship, whom he thought might be sent in pursuit, made him walk all the faster. It was with difficulty indeed at first that he restrained himself from breaking into a run; but he guessed rightly that he would thus be more likely to be stopped by any one who might meet him, and he restrained himself, continuing on only at a rapid walk. Every now and then, however, he turned his head over his shoulder, fancying that he heard footsteps, expecting to find himself seized and carried back to be ignominiously flogged—a fate he well knew would be in store for him, should he be caught. He was not, however, very well contented with himself. He was perfectly aware of the light in which the crime of desertion was regarded; and that he was abandoning all hopes of rising in the service, for which he had always had a liking, notwithstanding the way Ben had abused it. He had sufficient discernment to distinguish the good, true-hearted seamen from the bad, and he had observed that the former were well treated and looked on with respect by their officers. Then the recollection of the way Lord Reginald and Toady Voules had behaved to him would occur. “If it hadn’t been for them, and others like them, I should have been happy enough on board, and willing to do my duty,” he exclaimed. “I should have got on very well with Mr Bitts, for he was always kind in his way, and wanted to make a seaman of me; and I should have been one, for he was ready to show me how to do everything I wanted to learn. However, it’s all past now, and I must go back to the plough. I must take care, though, that Mr Gooch doesn’t hear of my being at home again, or he will be down upon me. I suspect that father will be afraid of that, and will be sending me off to a farm away from home, so that, after all, I shall not be with him and mother and Janet. I’ve half a mind even now to go back again—but then there’s this flogging, and Lord Reginald would be down upon me more than ever; and what would Ben say? and old Purkiss would get it for helping me off.”

Such were some of Dick’s meditations as he trudged on during the night, making good about four miles an hour, so that he was nearly thirty miles away from Plymouth when morning broke. He still walked on until he came to a roadside inn, where, feeling very hungry, he stopped for breakfast. While the landlady was cooking some eggs and bacon, he fell asleep, with his head on the table.

“What ails you, lad?” said the woman, as she placed the smoking hot dish near him, and shook him by the shoulder. “It’s not the time o’ day people who have had a night’s rest take to sleeping.”

“But I haven’t had a night’s rest,” answered Dick, rousing himself. “I have been walking on all the morning; but I am more hungry than sleepy, so I thank you for the eggs and bacon, and would be glad of a jug of ale to wash them down.”

The landlady, still looking at him somewhat suspiciously—detecting, perhaps, the seaman’s shirt below his frock—placed the ale before him. From the questions she put to him, Dick thought that she guessed who he was, and deemed it prudent to again set off. Recollecting Peter’s advice, he produced sixpence to pay for his breakfast, and then at once took his leave. For another hour or more he trudged on, until he became so weary that he could scarcely move. He saw a haystack a short distance from the road, inviting him to rest beneath it. Hardly had he thrown himself down on the lee side, away from the public path, than he was fast asleep.

It was late in the afternoon before he awoke, when he continued his journey, stopping only at the first inn he came to that he might obtain some food. He at length reached Exeter, but as he saw seamen moving about and ships in the distance, he was afraid of stopping there, and, passing through it, he again found himself in the country.

Many a weary mile he trudged on. What might be in store for him he could not tell, but anything would be better than going back. Puzzling questions were often asked him, and he ran, on several occasions, great risk of being detected. His sun-burnt countenance and seaman’s roll, which he had already acquired, often nearly betrayed him.

As he approached his home, the anxiety to get safely to his journey’s end increased. At length, passing through Christchurch, he recognised the familiar scenery of his native district. The high white cliffs of the Isle of Wight, the Needle rocks below them, and the tall lighthouse of Hurst, with its cheese-like castle, bathed in a rich glow from the rays of the setting sun. He sat down on the top of the cliff, and considered—while he ate some bread and cheese he had obtained at his last stopping-place—in which direction he should bend his steps. Longing as he did to go home, he was anxious to fulfil Ben’s commission by delivering the money entrusted to him for Susan. He decided to do this first.

“She’ll be longing, poor woman! to hear of her husband; and it won’t make much difference to father and mother whether I get home an hour or two later.”

Having come to this resolution, he hurried on, wishing to reach Keyhaven soon after dark, as he had no desire to be seen by any one. He reached Susan’s cottage.

“Who’s there?” asked a voice from within, in reply to his knock.

“Open the door, and I’ll tell you,” he answered.

Susan herself admitted him, though he would scarcely have known her, so pale and wan did she look. She did not know him, and he had to tell her who he was. She then began to make inquiries about “her good man.”

Dick had no very satisfactory account to give. All he could say was that Ben had intended to desert and come home, but that in all probability he had been caught and kept on board. “He did not forget you, however,” said Dick, presenting ten guineas to the poor woman.

At the sight of the money Susan’s countenance brightened. “Bless him! he was always kind and ready to give when he had it; but it is the last, I much fear, I shall ever get from him!” she exclaimed, and then burst into tears.

“I hope not,” said Dick. “The ship will be paid off some day, and then he will be able to come home, with plenty more in his pocket. I have sometimes wished that I had stopped, but he advised me to run with him; and it might have been better if I had been caught, and he got away.”

“It cannot be helped, Dick,” said Susan, inclined to take the matter very philosophically; “though when the ten guineas are gone—and they can’t last for ever—I don’t know what I shall do. If it hadn’t been for them, I should have been in the workhouse next week.”

“I must tell my mother about you,” said Dick; “maybe she’ll send some food for you and the children.”

“Your mother will be a long way off, Dick. You haven’t heard, maybe, that they are going to leave the farm next week, and have taken one the other side of Christchurch. Your father, after all, accepted Lord Elverston’s offer, though it was what my good man always said he would not do if he was in his place, and the farm is to be taken into the park. It was a sore trial to your father and mother, but after you went they seemed not to care what became of them.”

“And Janet! Have you heard how she is?” asked Dick, eagerly.

“She’s better than she was, and it is said she’s at the bottom of the matter.”

“How’s that?” asked Dick, somewhat astonished.

“Why, Lady Elverston, who is a very kind lady—and even those who don’t like my lord confess that—was very often at your cottage, and one day she told your mother that she thought Janet’s sight might be restored. She promised to take her up to London to a doctor of some sort, who makes blind people see, they say. So it is all arranged, and after that your father gave in. As soon as they move to their new home, Janet is to go up with my lady.”

Dick could scarcely believe what he heard, and was now, naturally enough, in a greater hurry than ever to get home. He promised, if he could manage it, to come back and see Mrs Rudall again.

In better spirits than he had been for some time, he set off on his walk home. He had not much fear of being recognised, since Susan had failed to know him. He therefore took the shortest road. Seeing a light beaming through the window, he guessed that his father and mother were still up. The door, however, was bolted. He knocked loudly, crying out, “Let me in! let me in!”

“Oh, that’s Dick!” he heard Janet exclaim.

The door was hastily opened, and in another minute he was in his mother’s arms.

“Where do you come from?” asked his father, somewhat sternly. “You have given us all a great fright about you since we found that letter which you left in your room; and the rumours we heard did little to allay it.”

Dick expressed his contrition, declaring that he had acted for the best, and then gave, as briefly as he could, an account of himself up to the present time.

“No man must do evil that good may come of it, and in this case I don’t see that any good has come of it,” said his father. “You leagued yourself with smugglers and got pressed in consequence, and now you have run from your ship, perhaps to be seized and carried back as a deserter.”

“But I must take care not to be seized, and am ready to stop and work with you, father. I deserted because I was forced to serve against my will, though I found the life on board not so bad as I expected, and if it hadn’t been for the bullying I got from Lord Reginald and that other midshipman, I would have remained where I was.”

Mrs Hargrave and Janet now took Dick’s part, and his father was ultimately pacified, though, as he said, it went against the grain to have a son of his called a deserter, however ill he might have been treated. Dick found that the account Susan had given him about Janet was correct; that she was shortly to accompany Lady Elverston to London, to be put under a celebrated oculist, and to undergo the operation of couching.

“Bless her ladyship’s heart for her kindness!” said Mrs Hargrave.

“We have not many days to remain here, and I must have you stay in-doors, lest you should be seen by any who have an ill will against you, Dick,” observed his father.

“I don’t think they would know me any more than Susan Rudall did when I paid her a visit,” answered Dick. “I’d rather not be boxed up in the house, if I can help it. I should soon fall sick after being accustomed to the sea air so long.”

“Better remain in-doors at home than be locked up in a prison,” observed his father. “It is a sad thing for me to have to say it, but remember, Dick, you have made yourself liable to that, and it will be wiser for you to remain in hiding until we go to our new farm and people have forgotten all about you.”

Dick did not longer argue the point, but he made no promises. His mother, observing how weary he was, and that he could scarcely keep his eyes open, suggested that he should go to bed, and gladly acting on the advice he staggered off to his room, which remained exactly as he had left it.

Dick took a day to recover from his fatigue and, after that, shut up in his room, be began to find the time pass heavily away. His mother was engaged in household affairs, and in preparing for the removal, while his father was absent from home until late in the evening, having to make more than one trip to the new farm. Janet came and sat with him frequently. She was in good spirits at the anticipation of recovering her sight, about which she was very sanguine. Still Dick pined for fresh air. “You ought to get out,” he said to Janet, “instead of sitting all day shut up here. I’ll chance it; put on your shawl and bonnet; we are not likely to meet any one, and if we do they’ll not interfere with us.”

Janet, without further consideration, forgetting her father’s warning, agreed, and she leaning on Dick’s arm, they took their way down a green lane in which she especially delighted, and which turned off near the house. She knew that scarcely any one passed that way, as she had frequently gone along it alone, with her dog to guide her. Tempted by the pleasantness of the evening, they went on for some distance, through a forest glade.

“We ought to be going back,” said Janet at length, “for I feel the air damp, though you don’t find it out, Dick, and I know that the sun must have set.”

“There will be plenty of light for me to see my way home,” answered Dick; “but we will turn, as you wish it.”

They had not got far on their way back, when Janet felt Dick give a start, and she heard the sound of horses’ approaching at a quick pace.

“What do you see?” she asked.

Dick did not answer; he was looking about to find some place of concealment. Had he been alone he could easily have hid himself, but he could not leave Janet. The horsemen approached rapidly. Dick tried to walk on in an unconcerned manner. In another minute they were up to him, and he saw Lord Reginald and Mr Voules. He felt sure that they recognised him, for he saw the latter turn to the young lord and make some remark, though, possibly on Janet’s account, he did not speak sufficiently loud to allow what he said to be heard. They both, however, stared very hard, and then passed on, allowing Dick and his sister to proceed on their way.

“Who are those persons?” asked Janet.

Dick told her, but, not wishing to alarm her, observed, “If they knew me, they didn’t think it worth while to interfere. I don’t suppose any harm will come of it.”

Janet, however, became very anxious. “As they are officers of the ship you ran away from, they’ll think it right to take you. Oh, Dick! you must try and hide where they can’t find you. It would be dreadful to have you carried off again!”

“Don’t tell father and mother, then; it will frighten them, and I’ll see what’s best to be done. Both these fellows hate me, and I don’t suppose they will let me remain in quiet. They were afraid of attempting to seize me, for they knew well that they would have found it a tough job.”

It did not occur to Dick that he enjoyed his safety at the moment from being in company with his blind sister, as Lord Reginald, at all events, was unwilling to interfere with him.

Janet, in her eagerness to get home, almost dragged Dick along, and he felt her arm tremble as she thought of the danger to which he was exposed. According to his wish, she said nothing to her mother of the encounter. Mr Hargrave was not expected home until late. Dick had been thinking of what he should do. As soon as he had had supper, Janet having gone to her room, he jumped up, saying—

“Mother! that young lord and his friend are at the hall, and they have seen me. They may not trouble themselves about me, but I’d rather not trust them. I’ll go off and hide somewhere; and if they send here, you can say that you don’t know where I am. Tell father that I am sorry, very sorry, that he should be troubled so much about me; but it cannot be helped now. Those two midshipmen will be joining their ship soon. It won’t be long before she’s ready for sea again, and then I may go back to the new farm without fear. No one in that neighbourhood will know me, and I’ll promise to work hard and make amends to you and father, and keep clear of smugglers in future.”

Mrs Hargrave was naturally much grieved, but she had no other proposal to offer. She knew the angry feelings which existed between her son, and the young lord, and thought it best that they should not again run the risk of meeting.

“But where do you intend going?” she asked.

“That’s the very thing I don’t want you to know, mother,” he answered. “You can now say honestly that I left home, and that you have no idea where I went to. Good-bye, give my love and duty to father.”

Mrs Hargrave embraced Dick with tears in her eyes. He ran in to wish Janet good-bye.

“I have told mother all about it,” he said. “Keep up your spirits! no harm will come to me. I need only keep away for a week or two, and as soon as the ship sails, I shall be all safe.”

Janet was not so satisfied as her brother appeared to be on that point. She threw her arms round his neck, and burst into tears.

“Cheer up, cheer up!” said Dick, “I know I am a brute to have made you all so unhappy, but when I come home again I intend to turn over a new leaf.”

Janet held his hand. An indefinite fear of what might happen seized her. He tore himself away, half inclined to be angry with her and his mother, for making so much fuss about the matter, and rushed outside the house. He soon turned off the high road and hurried on along a path in the direction of Keyhaven.

“I’ll get Susan Rudall to stow me away. She’ll be grateful to me for bringing her the money, and, as I’ve got a few guineas in my pocket, I can pay her well for keeping me, and it will be an advantage to her,” he said to himself. “I must take care that no one sees me going into her cottage, and I don’t suppose the young lord or that fellow Voules will think of looking for me there.”

The night was dark, but Dick, who knew the way, ran on, stopping every now and then to listen if any one was approaching. He had got close to Keyhaven, when it became necessary to use more caution, as people who knew him might probably be about, and should an inquiry be set on foot they might state that they had met him. He had almost reached Susan’s cottage when, turning up an angle of the road, he found himself close to several men who were coming up it. He stopped, he could not go on without passing between them. Acting on the impulse of the moment, he turned and ran back, hoping to find some place where he might conceal himself until they had passed.

“Stop that fellow, whoever he is!” shouted a voice, in an authoritative tone.

A couple of men darted forward, and before Dick had got many paces away he found himself seized by the shoulder.

“Halloa, my fine fellow! who are you? and what are you about?” asked one of the men.

“I am going to visit a neighbour,” answered Dick, trying to free himself.

“You must come back to our officer first, and give an account of yourself,” said the first speaker, whom Dick recognised as a man-of-war’s man.

Resistance was useless, and he made no further attempt to escape. The officer and the rest of the men soon came up, and Dick repeated the account he had given of himself.

“Very fine!” was the answer; “but you must come up to the station, and if Lieutenant Hilton knows you he will be able to state how far what you tell us is true.”

Dick, making no answer, walked on between his two captors. From what he could make out, the men belonged to a revenue cutter, which had dropped anchor off Hurst that evening, in consequence of information received of some smuggling work likely to take place in the neighbourhood.

“My ill luck!” thought Dick. “If it hadn’t been for that I should have got down to Susan’s without difficulty, and now, because I am known to have been on board the Nancy, they’ll accuse me of being concerned in this matter, of which I never so much as heard, until this moment.”

Dick was perfectly right in his conjectures. Lieutenant Hilton, who had just returned from visiting the neighbouring posts, no sooner set eyes on Dick, than he exclaimed, “Why, that’s young Hargrave, the very fellow Lord Reginald Oswald was speaking to me about, not an hour ago, a deserter from the Wolf, a desperate young ruffian, by all accounts. I’ll hand him over to you Mason, to carry on board your cutter, but you must take good care that he doesn’t escape.”

The commander of the cutter laughed. “I’ll clap him in irons, and he’ll be clever if he gets his wrists out of them,” he answered.

Dick was led down to the beach by the cutter’s crew, who at once pulled on board. Being hauled up the side without ceremony, he was handed down below, and a pair of handcuffs were placed on his wrists.

“You’ve had a long run on shore, my lad, and it is to be hoped you enjoyed yourself,” said the seaman who was fastening them on. “I wouldn’t stand in your shoes for something, let me tell you. You’ve heard tell of Tim Macarthy, who three times ran from his ship, and got hanged. You must look out that the same doesn’t happen to you if you play that trick again.”

Dick made no reply; his spirit was so utterly broken that he could have burst into tears, had he not made a strong effort to restrain himself.

“They shan’t see me play the woman, if I can help it,” he said to himself; “but if ever I have the chance I’ll make that Lord Reginald pay for it. If he hadn’t informed against me, the chances are I should have got off. He and his messmate hadn’t the courage to stop me by themselves, and so they must needs gallop off and tell that lieutenant that they had seen me. What a fool I was to go down to Keyhaven, instead of striking away inland, where I should have been safe from them. Now, I suppose I shall be flogged and branded as a deserter, and perhaps be hung, as that fellow says. I shouldn’t care if I had changed my name, I should not like to bring disgrace on my father and mother. It would break their hearts to know such had been my fate.”

These, and if possible, still more gloomy thoughts passed through Dick’s mind, until, leaning his head against the side of the vessel, near which he had been placed, he fell off into a troubled slumber.

Chapter Nine.

Treatment of the prisoners—Chased by a privateer—The pressed men armed—The fight—Dick’s gallantry—Capture of the lugger—Prize crew sent on board—Attempt of the Frenchmen to take the cutter—Dick Hargrave’s presence of mind—Reception on board the frigate—Nearly flogged—Ben Rudall’s statement—The captain’s dilemma—Dick’s gratitude.

Dick was not the only occupant of the cutter’s hold. There were several other men—some pressed, others released from prison on condition of serving on board the fleet; and these for security were kept down below, until they were placed on board the ships for which they were destined. Besides them there were a few volunteers, mostly young men, who had joined at the places at which the cutter had touched.

Daylight was streaming down the hatchway when Dick awoke. The cutter was still at anchor. He knew that although he was so near home there was no chance of his friends learning where he was, and of their trying to obtain his release. His father he would rather not see. He made out, from the conversation going on around him, that the cutter was bound down to Plymouth, with men for the Wolf, to replace those who had been killed and wounded. If he had any wish, it was that the vessel would get under way. He was eager to face the worst, and get it over as soon as possible. A dull stupor at length came over him, and for long he sat neither asleep nor awake, without thinking. He could hear the tramp of feet overhead; still the vessel remained stationary. He was aroused when the breakfast was served out to him and the other prisoners. He ate mechanically, exchanging only a few words with those near him, and then went off into the same state as before. At length he heard feet descending the companion ladder, and looking up, he saw the officer who had captured him holding a lantern in his hand, accompanied by two persons, whom he recognised as Lord Reginald and Mr Voules.

“Is that the young fellow, my lord, who deserted from the Wolf,” asked the officer.

“No doubt about it,” answered Lord Reginald. “I’m glad you have caught him.”

“I should have known him from among a hundred,” said Voules, “though he has got out of his sea rig. Take care that he doesn’t get away from you. I should be sorry if he escapes the flogging he’ll get on board!”

“You see I have him fast enough at present,” answered the officer, pointing to the handcuffs on Dick’s wrists, “He may be very clever, but he’ll not get out of those in a hurry.”

The midshipmen looked round, but could identify no other prisoners as deserters from their ship.

“I shall not sail until the tide makes to the westward; so if your lordship intends to honour me by returning in the cutter to Plymouth, you will have time to go back to Elverston and get your traps,” Dick heard the lieutenant observe as they ascended the companion ladder; but the reply did not reach his ears. As the cutter remained stationary, he had good reason to fear that the two midshipmen would take a passage in her, and that he should be subjected to their taunts and ill-treatment, and have no chance of being set at liberty, which he might otherwise have had when they once got to sea. Whether or not he was right in his conjectures he could not tell. He heard several persons come on board; then the anchor was hove up, and the cutter got under way. He would have given much to have sent a message on shore, but he had no opportunity.

A fresh breeze carried the cutter along at a good rate. Before nightfall she was off Portland. Hitherto neither Lord Reginald nor Voules had come below.

“I only hope they’ll not show themselves, for it will be a hard matter to keep a quiet tongue in my head if they speak to me,” thought Dick. “It will be all the same, though, for I shall be flogged to a certainty when I am on board again, and I should like to give them my mind first.”

Though below, Dick could judge pretty accurately what the cutter was about. She was evidently making little or no way, for he could hear not the slightest sound of a ripple against her side. She lay, indeed, becalmed, in West Bay, between Portland and The Start. It was night, and the men round him were asleep, as their loud snores in various tones told him. He would have had no inclination to talk, however, had they been awake. The only other sounds which reached him were the occasional footsteps of the watch on deck, as they paced over his head, or the creaking of the jaws of the mainboom and gaff, and, now and then, the flap of the mainsail. In vain he tried to get one subject out of his head—the thought of the flogging. Not that he dreaded the pain he should suffer one-tenth part so much as he did the disgrace. His father’s heart would well-nigh break should he hear of it. The stout English yeoman was as proud in his way as was the Marquis of Elverston.

“It is he—he, that Lord Reginald, who has brought me to this!” he muttered, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. “If ever I have the chance I will be revenged on him! I must, I could not help it.” Dick conjured up a fearful picture—the young lord in his power, his hand upon his throat. He forgot that it was through his own folly that he had enabled Lord Reginald to treat him in the way he had done. Had he kept free of the smugglers, had he not been tempted to desert, Lord Reginald, when exhibiting his ill feeling, would have been seen by all to be in the wrong.

The cutter made no way during the night, and though she drifted to the westward with one tide, the flood carried her as far back again; so that when morning broke The Start and Portland Bill were almost at equal distances from her. Dick dozed off while the crew were washing decks. He was only fully aroused when, as before, breakfast was brought down for the prisoners. After some time, sounds of laughter and frequent footsteps reached his ears, and he guessed that the commander with his young passengers were walking the deck after their breakfast. Presently he heard the former order the steward to hand him his spyglass.

“What is she, Mr Mason?” asked Lord Reginald.

“A large lugger, at all events. She may be a Jersey privateer, or she may be French. As she is bringing up a fresh breeze from the eastward, we shall know more about her soon.”

“Suppose she is French, shall you attack her?” asked Voules, in a tone which showed no great satisfaction at the thoughts of such an event taking place.

“She is more likely to attack us, as she probably carries six or eight guns and one long nine-pounder. Such is the armament of most of those craft, and twice as many hands as we can muster, while we have only got our four small carronades, which are of very little use except at close quarters.”

“Then I suppose we shall have to run for it,” said Voules; “there’ll be no honour or glory in fighting her.”

“I shouldn’t like to have to run from an enemy unless she was very much larger than yonder craft appears to be,” exclaimed Lord Reginald.

“As to that, my lord, we must do our best not to be taken, and shall have to fight for it. We have hands enough to work our guns, but if she runs us aboard, her numerous crew will tell fearfully in her favour.”

“But you have a good many prisoners below; I suppose they could be trusted to help us?” said Lord Reginald.

“I shouldn’t like to put cutlasses into their hands; they might turn against us,” observed Voules.

“No fear of that,” answered the lieutenant; “they are Englishmen, and if they see an enemy will fight fast enough. I shall trust them, at all events, and as soon as I can make out whether yonder lugger hails from Jersey or not, I will have them on deck and arm them.”

Dick, as he heard this, heartily hoped that the stranger might prove an enemy. The rest of the prisoners, he judged, from the remarks they made, were much of his way of thinking.

“The mounseers won’t make any difference between us and the crew, if we’re taken,” observed one of the men.

“Right there, mate; better have a jolly stand-up fight than be sitting down here all day, doing nothing,” remarked another.

The officers had gone aft, and Dick could not hear what was said. In a short time, however, he knew that the cutter was moving by the rippling against her side.

Presently she heeled over slightly, showing that the breeze was freshening, and he heard the order to set the squaresail and square-topsail. There was little doubt, then, that the commander was following the advice given by Mr Voules, making the best of his way to the westward. He would do that under ordinary circumstances. It was still uncertain whether the lugger which had brought up the breeze was a friend or an enemy.

He had heard the order to hoist the ensign, and some time afterwards a voice called out, “That’s a French craft, I’ll take my davy, though we can’t see her colours.”

Again some time elapsed, when a gun was heard, but the sound was so faint that Dick thought the vessel which fired it must be at a great distance. Presently Mr Mason came down into the hold.

“Lads,” he said, looking round, “you are all Englishmen, though you are pressed against your will to serve his Majesty. I put it to you, whether—as I think it likely we are somewhat over-matched—you’ll fight to preserve this vessel and to save yourself being carried to a French prison. I have come down to give you your liberty, as I am sure that you will all make the same answer, and if cutlasses are put into your hands, that you’ll fight as bravely as any men on board. We shall then, I have no fear, lick the lugger, and carry her as a prize into Plymouth harbour.”

A hearty cheer was given. “We’ll thrash the mounseers; no fear about that,” answered the men; Dick joining as warmly as any one.

The men’s handcuffs were soon taken off. Dick, on finding himself free, sprang to his feet and grasped the cutlass which was put into his hands. On reaching the deck he found the cutter was prepared for action. Two of the guns were trained aft, boarding-pikes were placed along the bulwarks. An arm-chest stood open, containing pistols, hand-grenades, swords, and cutlasses, while a number of muskets lay on the companion hatch.

The two midshipmen, with pistols in their belts and cutlasses at their sides, stood watching the lugger, which under press of sail was coming up astern. She was evidently a much faster craft than the cutter, though the latter was a stout vessel of her class. The lugger now began to fire her long gun; the shot, though failing to strike, pitched sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other side of the cutter.

“Why don’t we try and knock away some of her spars?” observed Lord Reginald.

“Little use firing our pop-guns,” answered the commander; “our shot won’t reach her as yet.”

Presently the long gun sent its missile through the cutter’s squaresail. Another shortly afterwards made a second hole, but did no other damage.

“Those fellows know how to handle their gun. We shall see how they behave when we get them within range of ours. Stand by, Beal, to give it them,” he said to the gunner, who had brought a match from the galley fire.

The guns were fired almost simultaneously. What effect their shot produced could not be seen, though Beal declared that one, if not both, struck the lugger. They did not, however, stop her way. She fired her long gun in return. It was well aimed, for down came the squaresail, the halliards shot away. The lugger’s crew were heard cheering.

“Shout away, my fine fellows!” cried Beal; “we’ll make you sing a different note if you come alongside.”

Hands were instantly ordered to repair the damage. It took some time, however, to bend fresh halliards and hoist up the yard. During the interval, the lugger had gained considerably on the cutter, but this enabled the latter to fire her stern chasers with more effect. The men worked vigorously, loading and firing almost as fast as the lugger’s crew did their long gun. Still, with short guns the aim was uncertain, and of the many shots fired, comparatively few did any damage to the enemy. Mr Mason’s object was to get to the other side of The Start, when probably the firing might attract the attention of some man-of-war near the mouth of Plymouth harbour, which might come out to the rescue. He was determined, however, to fight to the last, rather than yield his vessel. The Frenchman’s object was evidently to knock away some of the cutter’s spars, to get alongside as soon as possible, trusting to obtain the victory by boarding her, well aware of the small crew she was likely to carry; probably, also, supposing that she conveying specie or valuable stores to Plymouth, as was frequently done, instead of sending them by land. Most of the damage inflicted on the cutter was therefore aloft. Her sails already showed many holes. Her starboard backstay had been shot away, her topmast was wounded, though it still stood. Mr Mason now made preparations for what he saw was inevitable.

“When the cutter boards, my lads, remember we must not only drive back the boarders, but follow them into their own vessel and take her. Even if we wished it, should we lose any of our spars, we could not get away from her. It is pretty certain that her guns are heavier than ours. Lord Reginald, I’ll get you to stand by the helm with half a dozen hands to manage the cutter in case we are separated, and all the rest of you will board with me. Lads, I’ll depend upon you to carry that craft. I know what privateersmen are like, when they see cold steel in their faces. They’ll come on boldly enough at first, but when once beaten back, they’ll turn tail like hounds, and skulk for shelter below.”

The cheers which rose from the throats of the crew, joined in heartily by Dick and the rest of the pressed men, gave promise of victory, in spite of the odds which might be against them. The firing was continued by both vessels as fast as the guns could be loaded, the lugger gradually gaining on the chase.

The lieutenant ordered as many hands as were required, to drag over the two stern guns to the side on which the lugger might come up; while the other two were loaded with musket-balls ready to fire into her.

At length, a shot aimed high by the lugger struck the cutter’s topmast. The spar held on for a minute, but a stronger puff of wind filling the sail, with a loud crash it gave way, and down came the gaff-topsail and square-topsail. The mainsail and squaresail still, however, stood. The lugger now came up hand over hand. The two stern chasers were once more fired. The lugger was steering for the cutter’s starboard quarter. In a few minutes the guns were dragged over to the starboard side and run through the two after ports, while the other remaining gun was hauled up with equal rapidity to the same side.

“Lower away the squaresail; down with the helm. Now fire, lads!”

Four guns were simultaneously discharged, raking the lugger fore and aft. The next instant the helm was again put up, or the lugger would have run into her stem on. Instead of this, striking on the counter, she ranged up alongside. A large body of men were seen grouped on the forecastle armed with pikes and cutlasses. The moment the sides of the two vessels touched, with loud shouts, led by one of their officers, they leaped on board, many to meet their doom, for before they reached the deck they were cut down by the stalwart arms of the British seamen. Others followed, but, met with a bristling array of pikes and cutlasses in their faces, they dared not spring from their own bulwarks. The men aft, under the command of Lord Reginald, had been keeping up a warm fire of musketry, when the lieutenant, turning his head, saw a party of the enemy kept in reserve, about to board the cutter aft. He instantly sprang towards the threatened point, followed by several who had gallantly been keeping the first party of boarders in check. Among them was Dick Hargrave and several of his companions. Leading the French boarders was a big fellow with huge bushy whiskers, and a red handkerchief tied round his head. With a sword of a size which few men could have wielded, he made a desperate slash at the lieutenant, which would have brought him to the deck, had not Dick sprang forward and, interposing his cutlass, dealt the next instant such a blow on the sword arm of the giant, that the fellow’s weapon dropped from his hand.

“Thank you, my good fellow, I saw what you did,” said the lieutenant. “Now lads, we will drive these Frenchmen below, as we promised them. All of you follow me!” and, led by the lieutenant and Dick, the English crew threw themselves on the lugger’s deck, trusting rather to their cutlasses and stout arms than to any other weapons.

Voules, with those who had remained on the cutter’s forecastle, now gained a footing on the fore part of the lugger’s deck. Her crew fought bravely, but besides their big officer, many of them were cut down. Inch by inch the lieutenant and his men made their way forward, until the quarter-deck was cleared, the Frenchmen being either killed or wounded, or driven down the main-hatchway or overboard. One of their officers alone remained alive, and, seeing that all hope of gaining the victory was lost, he shouted out “We surrender!” Dick, who knew the meaning of the cry, repeated it in English, and running aft to the peak halliards, quickly hauled down the Frenchman’s ensign.

“Well done, my lad!” cried Lieutenant Mason. “I’ll not forget you.”

The Frenchmen, who had hitherto kept their cutlasses in their hands, threw them on the deck, asking for quarter for themselves and their companions below. Their officer, coming aft, surrendered his sword. Those below now being called up one by one, were transferred to the cutter’s hold, and Mr Voules, with eight men, including Dick Hargrave, was sent on board the lugger to navigate her into Plymouth.

“You will keep close to me, Mr Voules,” said Lieutenant Mason, “for I have as many prisoners on board as I can well manage, and should they be disposed to rise upon us they might succeed if we don’t keep a bright look-out.”

The French privateersmen were indeed a very rough-looking set of fellows. By the way they had fought they showed that they were capable of daring and doing any act of violence. Although nearly twenty had been killed or wounded, they still far outnumbered the cutter’s crew, now reduced by three killed and five wounded, as well as by those sent on board the lugger.

The two vessels were soon separated, though they kept as close as they could together. Voules and his men had enough to do, heaving the dead overboard and attending to the wounded, while they had to wash down the bloodstained decks. Some of the rigging, too, required knotting and splicing, and several shot-holes had to be plugged in the vessel’s side. It was the first command Voules had ever enjoyed, and he walked the deck with his spyglass under his arm, issuing his orders in an authoritative tone. At last his eye fell upon Dick, who was engaged in some work which it appeared he was not doing according to the midshipman’s notion of the way it ought to be done.

“What are you about there, you lubberly hound?” he shouted out, springing up to him with a rope’s end. Dick leaped out of his way, and the uplifted rope fell on the back of another man, who turned round with a look of no little astonishment.

“I beg pardon, sir, but you hit somewhat hard,” said the man. “I’ll splice this here rope for the lad, for if he’s not quite up to it, he knows how to use his cutlass, at any rate. If it hadn’t been for him, our commander would be among those poor fellows who have lost the number of their mess in this here fight.”

“Belay the slack of your jaw, fellow!” exclaimed Voules, turning away.

The man thrust his tongue into his cheek as he caught the eye of another seaman standing near him.

Dick kept out of the midshipman’s way as much as he could, though he continued actively engaged as before. His spirits rose with the feeling that he was at liberty, and that he had gained Lieutenant Mason’s good opinion. “I wish that I had been allowed to remain on board the cutter. I could serve under her commander, and do my duty. But when I get on board the frigate, all will be changed, I fear,” he said to himself; “however, I must not think about that. I must do my duty as well as I can now, and maybe he’ll speak a word for me, though I have little to expect from such fellows as Mr Voules and his friend.”

The breeze continued, The Start was passed, the Eddystone light came in sight. No one on board the vessels turned in. The whole crew on board the lugger could only just manage her sails, while that of the cutter were required to keep a watch on the prisoners. The two vessels kept close together, Voules every now and then hailing the cutter, to learn if all was right on board her. The lugger had twice to shorten sail, or she would have run ahead. Dick, as he walked forward, kept his eye on the cutter. The idea had come into his head that the Frenchmen might rise on their captors. He had formed a higher estimate of their courage than had most of his shipmates. The lugger was now about twenty fathoms off on the cutter’s quarter. Voules, who had become very hungry, telling the man at the helm to keep the vessel as she was going, dived below, in the hopes of finding something to eat. Two or three of the men, following his example, had gone below, with the same object in view. Dick, who was standing on the lugger’s forecastle, with his eye turned towards the cutter, suddenly saw a flash, though there was no report. This was immediately followed by shouts and oaths.

“Starboard!” he cried out to the man at the helm; “there’s something going wrong on board the cutter.”

The lugger was just then feeling the breeze, and forging ahead. This brought her bows close to the cutter’s side. Dick could see that a struggle was going on around the main hatchway, up which a number of figures were forcing themselves. His cries brought the lugger’s men forward. To lash the two vessels together was the work of a moment, and then he, with five of his shipmates, leaped down on the cutter’s deck. Their arrival turned the scales in favour of the crew, who, surprised by a sudden uprising of the French prisoners, were struggling hard to keep them down, several having incautiously unbuckled their cutlasses while engaged in repairing the rigging. Lieutenant Mason and Lord Reginald were aft, at supper. So sudden and silent had been the rising, that they had only just before reached the scene of action when the lugger ran alongside. “Thank you, Voules; you came in the nick of time,” cried Lieutenant Mason, when the Frenchmen were forced below.

Voules made no reply. He had been busily engaged in the lugger’s cabin, and was not aware of what had taken place until all was over.

“It was this here lad, sir, who did it,” exclaimed the seaman who had received the blow aimed at Dick’s shoulders; “he see’d what was happening. If it hadn’t been for him, no one else would have found it out.”

“Thank you, Richard Hargrave; that is the second time to-day you have rendered me good service,” said Lieutenant Mason.

“Richard Hargrave!” said Lord Reginald; “he is the last person I should have thought likely to do anything worthy of praise.”

“Depend upon it, your lordship will find there is something in that lad, if he has the opportunity of proving it,” observed Lieutenant Mason.

No lives had been lost in the outbreak. Order was quickly restored, the lashings cast off, and the lugger’s crew returning to her, the two vessels pursued their course as before. The Frenchmen now saw that all hope of escape was gone, and quietly submitted to their fate.

The night was sufficiently light to enable the cutter and her prize to make their way up Plymouth harbour. Before the day broke they were both safe at anchor in Hamoze, close to where the Wolf lay.

Soon after sunrise Lieutenant Mason, with the two midshipmen he had brought for the frigate, went alongside her. Captain Moubray, who was on board, at once desired to see him. Having given an account of the capture of the lugger and described the good conduct of the pressed men, and especially mentioned Richard Hargrave, he added, “He saved my life, sir, in boarding the lugger, and afterwards, when the Frenchmen were on the point of breaking out of the hold, he brought the lugger alongside just in time to enable us to drive them below without bloodshed. He had, I understand, deserted from the frigate, but as he was in the first instance pressed, I trust that you will pardon him, and judge rather by the way he has lately behaved than his past conduct.”

“I’ll take the account you give into consideration, Mr Mason,” answered the captain. “To prevent desertion, it is absolutely necessary to punish those who are retaken; but I should be very unwilling to do so in this instance. I will see this Richard Hargrave, and if I can overlook his offence without injury to the discipline of the ship, I will gladly do so.”

With this promise, Lieutenant Mason was obliged to remain satisfied. It was all he could do to show his gratitude to Dick for saving his life. He had, however, several duties to perform—to get rid of his prisoners, and to hand the lugger over to the prize agents. On paying his respects to the admiral, he received many compliments on his gallantry, and a promise that his conduct would be duly reported. He then mentioned Dick Hargrave’s conduct. “Very praiseworthy,” observed the admiral. “I am glad you have spoken of him to Captain Moubray, who will doubtless see that he is rewarded, and keep an eye on him in future.”

Dick, soon after he got on board, fell in with Ben Rudall. Ben looked very downcast.

“Sorry to see you back, Dick,” he said. “What has happened? Did you manage to get home and see my old woman, and give her the money? or did they catch you afore, and take it from you?”

Dick briefly explained all that had happened, and gave an account of the action with the lugger, and how the lieutenant had spoken of him.

“That’s good luck for you. It may save you from what I got. I thought I was safe off, but I was brought back, and had a taste of the cat in consequence.”

Dick received a very different greeting from what he had expected. The news of his behaviour had spread from mouth to mouth, and he was looked upon by his messmates in a far better light than formerly. Seamen are always ready to acknowledge merit, and his attempt to desert was overlooked, especially when it was known among the men that he had been put up to it by Ben Rudall. He was naturally somewhat nervous as to how he might be treated by the captain, not being aware that Lieutenant Mason had spoken in his favour, for he had no hope that Lord Reginald or Voules would have mentioned his conduct on board the cutter.

At length his name was called along the decks. He hurried aft. The master-at-arms, who had been looking for him, told him that he was wanted on the quarterdeck. He screwed up his courage to brave the worst. He found the captain and first lieutenant standing aft, as he approached, hat in hand.

“Richard Hargrave, you entered some time back on board this ship, and deserted. You made no attempt to return of your own accord, and were retaken. You know the punishment, and discipline requires that it should be inflicted,” said the captain in a stern voice.

“I was pressed against my will, sir; and I did my duty in the action with the French frigate which we took. But I wanted to see my mother and blind sister, and I ran, and can’t deny it. Now I’ve been brought back, I’ll try to do my duty. That’s what I’ve got to say, sir.”

“Have you nothing more to say?” asked the captain.

“Yes. When I was set free, I did duty on board the cutter, and helped to take the French lugger. The commander says I saved his life; and afterwards, when I was on board the prize, it was through me that the lugger was brought alongside the cutter, and the Frenchmen, who were rising on her crew, were overpowered.”

“You acted well, then, on both occasions?” said the captain.

“Yes; I did what I thought was my duty,” answered Dick.

“Still, you do not deny that you deserted, and had no intention of returning?” observed Captain Moubray.

“I cannot deny it, sir,” said Dick.

“You know that desertion is always punished by flogging?” said the captain.

“Yes,” answered Dick; “if it were not for the disgrace I shouldn’t mind it.”

“It is a greater disgrace to desert your ship,” said the captain; “but discipline must be maintained, although, considering your gallant conduct on board the cutter, I would gladly overlook your crime.”

Just as Dick was expecting to hear his sentence pronounced, he was conscious that some one, who had come up, was standing by his side, and glancing round, he saw Ben Rudall.

“Beg pardon, Captain Moubray, for speaking, but I makes bold in this here case to come for’ard, as I knows more about the desertion of this lad than any one else,” said Ben, giving a pull at his hair. “I put him up to it, as I had been the cause of his being taken, and as I knowed that he is the only son of his father and mother, they would be main glad to have him back again; and I had made up my mind to go too, as I have a wife and children at home waiting for me, but I was taken and brought back.”

“Then you merit the punishment more than he does,” said the captain.

“That’s just it, sir; and I axes the favour of being flogged instead of him. My hide is tough, and can bear it; but his is young and tender, and ain’t been accustomed to hard blows.”

The captain looked greatly puzzled. He was struck by Ben’s magnanimity, if so it could be called, in being ready to sacrifice himself, and was therefore unwilling to punish him; yet the crime of inciting another to desert was greater even than the act of desertion, and he felt, as the man had acknowledged it, that he ought to be punished as a warning to others.

The first lieutenant relieved him of his dilemma by observing that, “That man has already been flogged for attempting to desert, and I may venture to think that it would not do to punish him again for the same crime.”

“You are right, Mr Curling. The discipline of the ship will not suffer, should I overlook this lad’s offence in consideration of the gallantry he has displayed.”

“I feel sure of it, sir. It would do more harm to punish than to pardon him.”

“Go forward, my man,” said the captain, addressing Rudall. “I have heard what you say about this lad, and let it be known among the men, that although he is let off this time, I will not again pardon any attempt at desertion, whatever may be the excuse offered.”

Ben, pulling a lock of his hair, obeyed the captain’s orders, and went forward, exhibiting very little trace of the lawless, vaunting smuggler he had appeared to Dick on board the Nancy.

“And now, Richard Hargrave,” said the captain, addressing Dick, “you made a bad commencement by committing a grave crime, but you have shown that you are capable of performing your duty well and gallantly. Your late conduct atones in a great measure for your previous behaviour; and as you know what your duty is, I would urge you to perform it, in spite of the bad example or advice of such associates as may try to lead you into evil. Remember that the eyes of the officers will be upon you, and I shall be glad to hear a favourable report of your conduct.”

Dick, grateful to the captain for pardoning him, and especially for the last encouraging words which he had spoken, could with difficulty refrain from bursting into tears. His breast heaved, a choking sensation came into his throat, and he was unable to utter a word beyond “Thank you, sir; thank you, sir;” and making the usual salute, he turned round and hurried below.

Chapter Ten.

An East Indian convoy—Toady Voules turns nurse—Fair run to the Cape—Fear of privateers—Carelessness—A strange signal—Midnight attack—Timely assistance—Treachery—Lord Reginald in command of the prize—Treatment of the Maria’s crew—Discontent—A stern chase is a long chase—Obstinacy of the young lord—Voules’s advice neglected—A calm—Bursting of the hurricane—Wreck of the privateer—Washed ashore.

A few days after Lord Reginald Oswald and Richard Hargrave returned on board the Wolf, she went out of harbour and came to an anchor in Cawsand Bay, where she, with another frigate, surrounded by a fleet of merchantmen which they were to convoy to the East Indies, lay waiting for a fair wind.

Dick had never seen so many ships together. To his eyes they presented a grand sight, as with colours flying and sails loosened from the yards, they were prepared to obey the signal for getting under way. He felt proud of belonging to one of the ships which had charge of so many fine vessels, many of them capable, it seemed to him, of coping with even the enemy’s men-of-war. The wind suddenly came round to the northward. The Wolf fired the signal gun, the anchor was hove up, her canvas was let fall and sheeted home, and she glided out of the Sound, followed in rapid succession by the merchant vessels; the Ione, the other frigate, bringing up the rear and acting as whipper-in to the fleet, which, as they spread out on their course down the British Channel, with their snowy canvas extended below and aloft, seemed increased in number. The signal midshipmen had work enough to do in watching the merchant vessels, and in hoisting and hauling down the bunting as the requisite signals were made, while both frigates were continually firing their guns to hasten on the laggards, or to make the faster sailing ships shorten sail.

Rapid voyages were not expected to be made in those days, for the more nimble-heeled had to wait for the slower-sailing craft, while the men-of-war had to keep the whole of the vessels under their charge in sight, and as close together as circumstances would allow.

The midshipmen had assembled for dinner in their berth on the day the fleet sailed, with the exception of those on duty.

“Faith, Ludlam! I thought you’d have been our new third, rather than Oswald, who hasn’t been in the service half as long as you have, and isn’t as good a seaman by a long score,” said Paddy Logan.

“It’s my ill luck; I’ve not got a marquis for a father, and must submit,” answered Ludlam, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s a crying shame, I say. Oh! you should have seen him come on board last night, with his new-fledged honours thick upon him, in the shape of an epaulet on his left shoulder. How he strutted about the deck, with a shaggy Newfoundland pup running after him! and how he shook hands with Curling and Jager, giving a nod to the master and old ‘cheese-parings,’ as if he considered them scarcely worth his notice, though he did condescend to offer the tips of his fingers to Renton, our new lieutenant of marines, and to Dr O’Brien! I say, old Voules, I thought he was going to cut you altogether; but perhaps he’ll honour you by giving that yelping pup of his into your charge to dry nurse. You’ll not have many opportunities of paying court to him if he treats you in the fashion he does others.”

“I pay court to Lord Reginald Oswald! never did such a thing in my life,” answered Voules, blushing to the forehead. “But you are mistaken, Paddy, as to the way he treated me. If you had seen him afterwards, you would have said that he was as friendly as ever, only now, as he has become a gun-room officer, he is of course obliged to keep up a certain amount of reserve.”

“Reserve! do you call it?” cried Tommy Shackel. “He glanced at me as if he had never seen me before, and when I went up to him, and put out my hand, he drew back with a look of astonishment at my audaciousness, I suppose, as he thought it.”

“You fellows shouldn’t speak of Lord Reginald in the way you are doing,” exclaimed Voules. “I consider he was an ornament to our mess while he remained in it, and it is but natural that his father the marquis should get him promoted as soon as he was eligible. As a friend of mine, I cannot allow him to be spoken of disrespectfully.”

There was a general laugh at this remark.

“Faith! an’ who’s speakin’ disrespectfully of him?” asked Paddy Logan. “Sure, we’re only saying that he’s inclined to give the cold shoulder to those he looks upon as his inferiors in rank. And the belief is, Voules, that he’s going to throw you overboard, notwithstanding all the court you paid him.”

“I say I never did pay him court,” said Voules, emphatically. “He did me the honour to select me as his friend, and I fully believe that he intends to treat me as a friend in future.”

“‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating!’” answered Paddy. “As I said, Voules, to show his affection, I have no doubt he’ll make you dry nurse to that pup of his. Faith! what an honour it will be!”

At this last remark, Voules was nearly boiling over with rage, but just then, as the whole mess was against him, he saw that it would not do to give away to his feelings, and Paddy Logan continued—

“When you last accompanied Oswald—I mane his lordship—to Elverston Hall, you thought instead of joining us again, you would have got your promotion, as you always boasted that the marquis had promised to obtain it for you.”

“I boasted of no such thing!” cried Voules, scarcely able longer to restrain himself. “I merely said that the marquis had promised to give me his interest as soon as his son had been promoted. Before many months are over, I expect to get my step and be appointed to some ship on the East Indian station.”

As may be supposed, his messmates watched him whenever he was speaking to Lord Reginald, to observe the terms he was on. Voules was evidently himself not very confident about the matter. Instead of taking his arm and walking up and down the quarter-deck, on the larboard or lee side, as he had been accustomed to do, he approached the lieutenant with the usual mark of respect shown by an inferior to a superior officer, always addressing him as “My lord,” and looking highly pleased on all occasions when spoken to. It was asserted in the berth that there must have been some difference between them, or that Voules had offended the young lord, but what it was no one could exactly tell. However, by his humble conduct, Voules won his way back into the good graces of Lord Reginald, who did not find either of his brother officers or the lieutenant of marines or purser very genial companions. The two lieutenants were middle-aged men, who had gained their present position by long service and hard work, and they looked with a jealous eye on one who had been placed on the next ratline below them, over the heads of many older men than himself. The marine officer was a married man, rather grave and saturnine, and the purser had Republican tendencies, though he did not exhibit them except in the expression of his feelings towards lords and big-wigs in general.

Thus Lord Reginald was induced to seek the society of Voules and his former messmates more than he otherwise might have done. As Paddy had surmised, Lord Reginald did actually tell Voules that he should be much obliged if he would look after his pup Neptune, and the toady was frequently seen carrying its food to the dog, washing and brushing it, and attempting to teach it various tricks. Before long a drawing appeared, with Voules dressed as a nurse, a mob cap on his head, a bowl of pap by his side, from which, spoon in hand, he was feeding the puppy on his knees, while a figure, which could not fail to be recognised as that of Lord Reginald, was standing by, saying, “You make a capital nurse, and I shall be happy to recommend you to a similar situation.”

It was handed about among the members of the mess, until somehow or other it reached the gun-room. When Lord Reginald saw it, he laughed heartily, and declared that he must show it to poor old Toady.

He occasionally dined in due course with the captain. On such occasions his rank enabled him to speak more familiarly than any of the other officers would have done, with the exception perhaps of the first lieutenant. Captain Moubray was not the man to have allowed him to take the slightest liberty on duty. Lord Reginald had seen Dick Hargrave, with the other men from the cutter, come on board, and as he eyed the young sailor the ill feelings with which he had before regarded him regained their ascendancy in his bosom. Dick would willingly have kept out of his way, but in the course of duty they were constantly brought together, when he saw by the glances the third lieutenant cast at him, and the tone of his voice, that he was as much disliked as ever. His own proud spirit was aroused. He could not help often returning glance for glance, though he kept his lips closed to prevent himself saying anything which could be taken hold of. Lord Reginald never addressed him by name, but frequently shouted at him, and bestowed epithets of which—“You lazy hound!”

“You skulking rascal!” were among the least offensive.

Dick bore this as other men had to bear it from their officers in those days, and although from any one else he would have been very indifferent to such treatment, he felt little inclination to brook it from one whom he considered had so wronged him.

It must not be supposed that Lord Reginald fancied that he was acting in a revengeful spirit towards Richard Hargrave. He considered that he had formed a correct opinion of Dick, whom he looked upon as a daring young ruffian, and that Captain Moubray had acted unwisely in not punishing him for deserting the ship. He ventured, even, after introducing the subject of desertion, to express his opinion of Richard Hargrave, Ben Rudall, and other men of extremely doubtful characters whom he classed together. “They come from my part of the country,” he observed, “and are all smugglers to the backbone, ready for any sort of outrage. At one time my father lived in dread of having his house burnt down by them, so fearful were the threats of vengeance they uttered in consequence of his determination of putting a stop to their illegal practices. That young Hargrave was a poacher as well as a smuggler, and nothing but strict discipline can keep him in order.”

The captain bit his lip, for he could not fail to see at what the third lieutenant was driving. “They cannot poach or smuggle here, and the daring and hardihood they have exhibited in their illegal calling may be turned to good account,” he answered. “They are the fellows to send on any dangerous or difficult undertaking, and we may feel very sure that they will not show the white feather.”

“Young Hargrave is a desperate ruffian, notwithstanding, and I wouldn’t trust him,” muttered Lord Reginald.

“He has shown his ruffianism by acting very gallantly on two occasions, I understand,” observed the captain. “I wish we had a couple of hundred young fellows on board of the same description. After a few months’ training they become prime seamen, and will fight their guns to the last.”

Under ordinary circumstances, during a long voyage, time would have hung heavily on the hands of the officers, but with a large convoy to look to, there was plenty to do at all hours of the day and night. Not only had the merchantmen to be watched, but a bright look-out had to be kept for strange sails, especially for any daring privateers, who, tempted with the prospect of obtaining a rich booty, might pounce down on some unfortunate trader during a dark night and carry her off. This had actually been done on several occasions, and Captain Moubray endeavoured to impress upon the masters of the vessels under his charge the importance of sailing in due order together, and keeping a strict watch at night. The convoy hove to off Saint Helena, to obtain fresh provisions and water. The line was passed without any enemy having been encountered, when, falling in with the south-east trade wind, they got well to the southward, after which with a fair breeze they stood to the eastward on their passage round the Cape of Good Hope. It was considered advisable not to put into Table Bay, to avoid the risk of information being given to the enemy of their whereabouts. Unusually fine weather had hitherto been enjoyed, and the ships keeping well together at length entered the Indian Ocean.

Although the masters of the merchantmen generally strictly obeyed orders, there were one or two who caused more trouble than all the others put together, by sometimes carrying too much sail and getting ahead of the convoy, sometimes too little and lagging astern, knowing that they could always regain their position. This occurred especially at night, when the skippers, wishing to save their crews the trouble of making sail, would wait until daylight to do so.

One evening a strange sail had been seen to the northward, and Captain Moubray had ordered the Ione to go in chase and ascertain her character, while he shortened sail so as to bring the Wolf on the weather quarter of most of the ships. At dark the Ione had not returned, though Captain Moubray ordered a look-out to be kept for her, expecting every moment to see her signal. At the same time, of course, a constant watch was kept on the various vessels of the convoy, which could be seen like so many dark shadows gliding over the ocean to leeward, each carrying a light to show its position.

It was blowing a fresh breeze from the north-west, but there was not much sea on. The captain frequently came on deck, inquiring whether the Ione had yet shown her number. The same answer had been returned that no light had been seen to windward. He was pacing the quarter-deck with his night-glass in his hand, when the sound of a gun, which seemed to come up far away from the southward, reached his ears.

“What can that be?” he asked of the first lieutenant, who just then joined him.

“That’s more than I can positively say,” answered Mr Curling. “It must be a signal from one of the convoy, something must have happened to her, and she wishes to draw our attention.”

While he was speaking the sound of another gun came up from the same direction.

“We will run down and see what’s the matter,” said the captain; “but you need not turn the hands up at present.”

The helm was put up, the yards squared away, and the frigate, allowing the sternmost of the merchantmen to pass her, ran down in the direction whence the sound of the firing had come, and where, a long way off, a light could be seen, showing the whereabouts of the vessel supposed to be in distress. Several times the sound of a gun was heard, and the frigate, as she drew nearer, returned the signal. All eyes were directed towards the light, when flashes were seen, the rattle of small arms was heard over the clashing of cutlasses, and some declared that they could distinguish the shouts and cries of men engaged in mortal combat.

“There can be no doubt as to what is passing. Turn up the hands, Curling. There seems to be either mutiny on board the ship, or some other vessel has run her aboard. If we attempt to go alongside with this sea on, we shall too probably sink both together, while if we fire into one, we may injure our friends. We must board her in the boats. We will stand on, shorten sail, heave the ship to, then lower them and let them drop alongside.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the first lieutenant, and immediately issued the necessary orders.

So fiercely engaged all the time were the two vessels, that no signal was made by the English merchantman to show that she was aware help was at hand. The captain’s orders were quickly executed, and the frigate now being on the weather bows of the two ships, the boats were lowered and placed under the command of the second and third lieutenants, Mr Bitts, Voules, Paddy Logan, and another midshipman, with a party of marines, going in them. They had not far to pull, for the vessels going ahead, the boats dropped alongside the English merchantman, which was to windward.

Led by Mr Jager, Lord Reginald and Mr Bitts quickly clambered up her side, and reached her deck, where a fierce struggle was taking place, the enemy having boarded and almost overcome her crew, who, however, though many of their number had fallen, were still struggling manfully. They cheered as they discovered the timely assistance which had arrived.

Mr Jager and his party furiously attacking the enemy, soon turned the tide of war and drove them back to the starboard bulwarks, where the bravest in vain attempted to defend themselves. Those who could manage it leapt back on board their own vessel, others making the attempt were cut down, and not a man of the remainder escaped, all being killed or desperately wounded by the onslaught of the Wolf’s crew.

The Frenchmen were in the mean time attempting to cast off the grappling irons, but in the darkness and confusion they were unable to succeed.

“Follow me, my lads! We must board the enemy. It will not do to let her get away,” cried the lieutenant.