[Illustration: "_On the deck of a French man-o'-war. _" Page 186. ] AS WE SWEEP THROUGH THE DEEP [Illustration: "_The figure glided towards him. _" Page 66. ] T. NELSON AND SONS London, Edinburgh, and New York AS WE SWEEP THROUGH THE DEEP _A Story of the Stirring Times of Old_ BY DR. GORDON-STABLES, R. N. , _Author of "Hearts of Oak, " &c. _ T. NELSON AND SONS _London, Edinburgh, and New York_ 1894 CONTENTS. I. POOR JACK, 9 II. "HE NEVER SAID HE LOVED ME, " 20 III. AN INTERRUPTED PROPOSAL, 27 IV. THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE, 33 V. "NOW THIS GOOD BLADE SHALL BE MY BRIDE, " 43 VI. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE, 54 VII. "WENT GLIDING AWAY LIKE A BEAUTIFUL GHOST, " 61 VIII. ON BOARD THE SAUCY "TONNERAIRE, " 70 IX. "A SPLENDID NIGHT'S WORK, TOM!" 78 X. IN THE MOON'S BRIGHT WAKE, 87 XI. THE PHANTOM FRENCHMAN, 94 XII. A BATTLE BY NIGHT, 103 XIII. A HAPPY SHIP, 111 XIV. MUTINY, 123 XV. BEFORE CADIZ, 129 XVI. JACK AND THE MUTINEERS, 138 XVII. IN A FOOL'S PARADISE, 145 XVIII. "WOULD HE EVER COME AGAIN?" 152 XIX. THE BATTLE OF CAMPERDOWN, 162 XX. NELSON AND THE NILE, 171 XXI. WILLIE DIED A HERO'S DEATH, 180 XXII. STILL WATERS RUN DEEP, 189 XXIII. "IT'S ALL UP, MR. RICHARDS, IT'S ALL UP!" 197 XXIV. BY THE OLD DIAL-STONE, 206 [Illustration] _As We Sweep through the Deep. _ CHAPTER I. POOR JACK. "As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow, While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. " CAMPBELL. "Just two years this very day since poor Jack Mackenzie sailed away fromEngland in the _Ocean Pride_. " Mr. Richards, of the tough old firm of Griffin, Keane, and Co. , Solicitors, London, talked more to himself than to any one withinhearing. As he spoke he straightened himself up from his desk in a weary kind ofway, and began to mend his pen: they used quills in those good oldtimes. "Just two years! How the time flies! And we're not getting any younger. Are we, partner?" Whether Mr. Keane heard what he said or not, he certainly did not replyimmediately. He was standing by the window, gazing out into thehalf-dark, fog-shaded street. "Fog, fog, fog!" he grunted peevishly; "nothing but fog and gloom. Beennothing else all winter; and now that spring has all but come, why it'sfog, fog, fog, just the same! Tired of it--sick of it!" Then he turned sharply round, exclaiming, "What did you say about Jackand about growing younger?" Mr. Richards smiled a conciliatory smile. He was the junior partnerthough the older man--if that is not a paradox--for his share in thefirm was not a quarter as large as Keane's, who was really Keane by nameand keen by nature, of small stature, with dark hair turning gray, active, business-like, and a trifle suspicious. Mr. Richards was delightfully different in every way--a round rosy facethat might have belonged to some old sea-captain, a bald and rosyforehead, hair as white as drifted snow, and a pair of blue eyes thatalways seemed brimming over with kindness and good-humour. "I was talking more to my pen than to you, " he said quietly. "But what's given you Jack on the brain, eh?" "Oh, nothing--nothing in particular, that is. I happened to turn to hisaccount, that is all. " "Bother him. Yes, and but for you, Richards, never an account should_he_ have had with _us_. " "Well, Jack gets round me somehow. He is not half a bad lad, with hisdash and his fun and his jollity. Ay, and his ways are very winningsometimes. He does get round one, partner. " "I don't doubt it, Richards. Winning enough when he wants to get roundyou and wheedle cash out of you. I tell you what, partner: Jack's gotall his father's aristocratic notions, all his father's pride andimprovidence. Ay, and he'd ruin his dad too, if--if--" "If what, partner?" "Why, if his dad weren't ruined already. " "Come, come, Keane, it isn't quite so bad as that. " "Pretty nigh it, I can assure you. And I can't get the proud old Scotto retrench. Why doesn't he let that baronial hall of his, instead ofsticking to it and mortgaging it in order to keep up appearances andentertain half the gentry in the county? Why doesn't he take afive-roomed cottage, and let his daughter teach the harp that sheplays so well?" "O partner! Come, you know!" "Well, 'O partner' as much as you like; if old Mackenzie's pride wereproper pride, his daughter would take in washing sooner than the familyshould go deeper in debt every day. But the crisis will come; somebodywill foreclose. " "You won't surely, partner?" "Bother your sentiment, Richards. He owes me over forty thousand pounds. Think of that. I declare I believe I'd be a better landlord than Mackhimself. Forty thousand pounds, Richards, and I don't see any way ofgetting a penny, except by--" "Except by foreclosing?" Richards sighed as he bent once more over his desk. He had been familylawyer to Mackenzie before he joined the firm of Griffin, Keane, andCo. , and dearly loved the family, or what was left of it. He tried to work but couldn't now. Presently he closed the ledger with abang and got down off his stool. "I say, Keane. " he said, "I see a way out of this. Look here. You havenobody to leave your wealth to except dear little Gerty--" "Well?" "Well, Jack is precious fond of her; why not--" "He, he, he! ho, ho, ho!" laughed Keane. "Why, Richards, you're in yourdotage, man! I've a _baronet_ in view for Gerty. And Jack is a _beggar_, although he does swing a sword at his side and fight the French. " Richards went back to his stool quiet and subdued. "Poor Jack!" hemuttered. * * * * * "Just two years this very day, Gerty dear, since poor Jack sailed awayfrom England in the _Ocean Pride_. " Flora Mackenzie bent listlessly over the harp she had been playing asshe spoke, her fingers touching a chord or two that seemed in unisonwith her thoughts. The two girls, Gerty Keane and she, who were seldomseparate now, by day or night, sat in Flora's boudoir, which had twogreat windows opening on to a balcony and overlooking the grand oldgardens of Grantley Hall, Suffolk. Grant Mackenzie, a sturdy oldone-armed soldier, was the proud owner of the Hall and all the wide, wooded landscape for miles around. Jack, now far away at sea, was hisheir, and with his sister Flora, the only children the general had. Thefine old soldier had been in possession of the property only about adozen years, yet I fear he had inherited something else--namely, thelordly fashions of his Highland ancestry. That branch of the ClanMackenzie to which he belonged was nothing unless proud. So long as itcould hold its head a little higher than its neighbours it was happy, and when poverty came then death might follow as soon as it pleased. There was every appearance of unbounded wealth in and around GrantleyHall. The house was a massive old Elizabethan mansion, half buried inlofty lime and elm and oak trees, approached by a winding drive, and along way back from the main road that leads through this beautiful shirefrom north to south. Everything was large connected with the Hall and estate. There were nofiner trees anywhere in England than those sturdy oaks and elms, no morestately waving pine trees, and no more shady drooping limes than thosethat bordered the broad grass ride which stretched for many a mileacross the estate. On the park-like lawn in front of the house--if thisancient quaint old pile could be said to have a front--the flower-bedswere as big as suburban gardens, the statuary, the fountains, and eventhe gray and moss-grown dial-stone were gigantic; and nowhere else inall this vast and wealthy county were such stately herons seen as thosethat sailed around Grantley and built in its trees. The entrance-hallwas spacious and noble, though the porch was comparatively small; butif divested of its banners and curtains and emptied of its antiquefurniture, its wealth-laden tables, on which jewelled arms and curiosfrom every land under the sun seemed to have been laid out for show, its oaken chests, its sideboards, its organ and many another musicalinstrument ancient and modern, the drawing-room was large enough to havedriven a coach-and-four around. The bedrooms above were many of them so lofty that in the dead, dullwinter two great fires in each could hardly keep them warm. The room in which the girls sat was the tartan boudoir. The walls weredraped with clan tartans, and eke the lounges and chairs; while theheads of many a royal stag adorned the walls, amidst tastefullydisplayed claymores, spears, shields, and dirks, and pistols. "Just two years, Gerty. How quickly the time has fled!" "Just two years, Flora. Strange that I should have been thinking aboutJack this very moment. But then you were playing one of Jack's favouriteairs, you know. " Flora got up from her seat at the harp. A tall and graceful girl shewas, with a wealth of auburn hair, and blue dreamy eyes, and eyelashesthat swept her sun-tinted cheeks when she looked downwards. She got up from her seat, and went and knelt beside the couch on whichGerty was lounging with a book. "Why strange, sister?" she asked, taking Gerty's hand. Gerty was _petite_, blonde, bewitching--so many a young man said, andmany a rough old squire as well. She was no baby in face, however. Although of the purest type of Saxon beauty--without the square chinthat so disfigures many an otherwise lovely English face--there was fireand character in every lineament of Gerty Keane's countenance. She answered Flora calmly, candidly, quietly--I am almost inclined tosay, in a business way that reminded one of her father. "Dear Flo, " she said--and her eyes as she spoke had a sad and far-awaylook in them--"it would be unmaidenly in me to say how much I shouldlike to be your sister in reality. It may not be strange for me tothink of Jack; we have liked each other, almost loved each other, sincechildhood. " "Almost?" said Flora. "Listen, Flo. I _may_ love Jack, but there is one other I love evenmore. " "Sir Digby, Gerty?" "No, dear Flo, but my father. I love him more because he has fewfriends, and because others do not love him. I would do anything forfather. " "You would even marry Sir Digby?" "Perhaps. " "O Gerty! poor Jack will break his heart. " She buried her face in the pillow for a few moments. She was strugglingwith the grief that bid fair to choke her. When she looked up againthere was nothing but softness in Gerty's face, and tears were coursingdown her cheeks--tears she made no effort to wipe away. Poor Jack! * * * * * "Just two years to-day, Tom, since you and I sailed away from dear oldEngland in the _Ocean Pride_. " "And hasn't the time flown too?" said Tom. "Ah! but then we've been so busy. Just think of the many actions we'vefought. " "True, Jack, true! What a lucky, ay, and what a glorious thing for youngfellows like us to be in a ship commanded by so daring a sailor as SirSidney Salt!" "Yes, Tom, yes. And think of the haul of prize-money we shall have whenwe once more touch British ground. " "O Jack, I _am_ surprised. Money! A Mackenzie of _the_ Mackenzies to bemercenary! Jack, Jack!" Jack and Tom were keeping their watch--that is, it was Tom's watch, andJack had come on deck to bear him company and talk of home. Under every stitch of canvas, with a bracing beam wind that filled everysail, jib, and square, and stay, the bold frigate _Ocean Pride_ wasskimming across the Atlantic like a veritable sea-bird. She was boundfor the lone Bermudas, and the night was a heavenly one. So no wonderthat, as the two young sailors leaned over the bulwarks and gazed at themoonlit water that seemed all a-shimmer with gold, their thoughts wentback to their homes in merry England. "Listen, Tom; don't call me mercenary, bo'. Did you ever hear thoselines of Burns, our great national bard?-- 'O poortith cauld and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye; But poortith cauld I well could bear, If it werena for my Jeannie. ' Yes, Tom; I love the sweetest lass ever wooed by sailor lad. Does shelove me? Was that what you asked, Tom? She never said so, bo'; but ah! Iknow she does, and as sure as yonder moon is shining she is thinking ofme even now. But sit here on the skylight till I tell you, Tom, wherethe 'poortith' comes in. " And sitting there, with the moonlight streaming clear on both theirearnest young faces, and on their snow-white powdered hair, Jack pouredinto the ear of his friend a story that was at once both sorrowful andromantic. Tom listened quietly till the very end, then he stretched out his softright hand and clasped his friend's. "Poor Jack!" he said. "Ay, _poor_ Jack indeed! And now I'll go below. I want to think andmaybe dream of home and Gerty. " CHAPTER II. "HE NEVER SAID HE LOVED ME. " "The feast was over in Branksome Tower, And the ladye had gone to her secret bower. * * * The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight and page and household squire Loitered through the lofty hall, Or crowded around the ample fire. "--SCOTT. "Look your best, and act your best. " That was all the letter said, andit was signed "Your affectionate father, Henry Keane. " It was the eve of a great party, to be held next day at Grantley Hall, in honour of the coming of age of the only son of General GrantMackenzie, about a month after the incident described in last chapter. Gerty sat alone in her room, just as the shadows of this beautifulevening in spring were beginning to deepen into night. She held theletter crumpled in her hand. "Poor Jack!" she mentally observed. "His coming of age, and he not here!What a mockery! And dear Flora too. Oh, if she were but aware thathardly anything in this great house belongs to her father--allmortgaged, or nearly all. It is well, perhaps, she is kept in the dark. Her proud heart would be crushed in the dust if she but knew even apart. But poor Jack--is it possible, I wonder? he _might_ come. Oh, whatjoy just to see his dear old face again once in a way! But ah, dear me!it may be better not. Besides, Jack never said he loved me. Oh, but hedoes. It is mean of me to compound with my feelings. No; I shall facethe whole position. Father never asked me to marry Sir Digby Auld. Nay, he knows his daughter's spirit too well. For the love I bear father Iwould do anything, so long as no command were issued. Poor Jack! Poorfather!--well, and I may add, poor Sir Digby! He is so good and gentle. Ah me! my life's bark seems drifting into unknown seas, and all isdarkness and mist. What can I do but drift? Oh yes, I can hope. I am soyoung, and Jack is not old. We shall both forget; I am sure we shall. Moore says-- 'There's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream. ' The poet is right. But then it does not last. In the unknown seas intowhich my bark is drifting all will be brightness and sunshine. Digbywill be always kind, and father will be happy and gay. The people willlove him, dear lonesome father! Away from the bustle and din and fogs ofLondon, his life will enter a new lease. And Jack will visit us often, and together he and I will laugh over our childhood's amours. Digby istoo good to be jealous. I wonder if Jack will marry; I had never thoughtof that. Oh dear, oh dear! my victory over self will not be such an easyone as I had imagined. I hope Jack won't marry that hateful Gordon girl, nor any of those simpering Symonses. But, after all, what does it matterto me whom Jack marries? I begin to think I am very mean after all; Ihate myself. Positively I--" "Come in. " "Sir Digby has called, Miss Keane, and desires to see you for a moment. He is in the tartan boudoir. " "Tell him, Smith, that I am sorry I cannot leave my room--that I have aheadache--that--stay, Smith, stay. Say that I shall be down in a fewminutes. " "Yes, Miss Gertrude. " "It is best over, " she murmured to herself as Smith left. She touched the bell, and next minute she was seated before a tallmirror, at each side of which burned a star of candles, and her maid wasdressing her hair. "Mary, " she said, as she rose and smoothed out the folds of her bluesilk dress, "do I look my best?" "Oh, Miss Keane, you look 'most like a fairy--the low-bodied blue, andthe pink camellia in your hair. You are so beautiful that if _I_ were aknight I should come for you with a chariot and six, and carry you awayto my castle, and have a real live dragon o' purpose to guard you--Iwould really, miss. " "Do you think, Mary, I could act well?" "Oh, Miss Keane, how you do talk! Actors is low. Miss Gerty, always lookyour best; but acting--no, no, miss, I won't have she. " And Mary tossed her head regardless of grammar. Mary was a little Essex maid that Miss Keane had had for years, and hadsucceeded in spoiling, as children are spoiled. "Ah dear, " said the girl, "and to think that to-morrow is Jack's comingo' age, and he won't be here! You don't mind _me_ a-callin' of him Jack, does ye, Miss Gerty? Heigh-ho! didn't he used to chuck me under the chinjust, the dear, bright boy? 'Mary, ' he says once, 'when I comes of age Imeans to marry you right off the reel. ' And I took him in my arms andkissed him on what Tim would call the spur o' the moment. Then Jack upswith a glass o' ale--it were in the kitching, miss--and he jumps on to achair and draws his navy dirk. 'Here's the way, ' he cries, 'that theytosses cans in the service. And I'll give you a toast, ' he says. 'Idrinks 'To the wind that blows, And the ship that goes, And the girl as loves a sailor, Hip, hip, hooray!' But run away, Miss Gerty. Only _no_ acting, mind. Oh dear, oh dear! Iwish poor Jack would come. " * * * * * "Ah, Jack, my bo', " cried Tom, meeting his friend on the quarter-deckjust after divisions, "let me congratulate you. You've come of age thisvery morning. Tip us your flipper, Jack. Why, you don't look very gayover it after all. Feeling old, I daresay--farewell to youth and thatsort of game. Never mind; I'm going to see the surgeon presently. OldM'Hearty is a splendid fellow, and he'll find an excuse for splicing themain-brace, you may be sure. Why, Jack, on such an eventful occasion allhands should rejoice. Ah, here comes the doctor!--Doctor, this is Jack'sbirthday, and he's come of age, and--" [Illustration: _"Tom, I shall not survive this battle. "_ Page 26. ] "Sail in sight, sir!" It was a hail from the mast-head--a bold and sturdy shout that was heardfrom bowsprit to binnacle by all hands on deck, and that even penetratedto the ward-room, causing every officer there to spring from his seatand hurry on deck. The captain, Sir Sidney Salt, came slowly forth from his cabin. A daringsailor was Sir Sidney as ever braved gale or faced a foe. Hardly overthe middle height, with clean shaven face and faultless cue, his agemight have been anything from thirty to forty; but in those mild blueeyes of his no one, it was said, had ever seen a wrathful look, not evenwhen engaged hand-to-hand in a combat to the death on the blood-slipperybattle-deck of a French man-o'-war. "Run aloft, Mr. Mackenzie, " he said now, "and see what you make ofher. " In five minutes' time, or even less, young Grant Mackenzie stood oncemore on the quarter-deck, and the drum was beating to arms. No one would break with a loud word the hushed and solemn silence thatfell upon the ship after the men, stripped to the waist, had stood totheir guns; and as barefooted boys passed from group to group, scattering the sawdust that each one knew might soon be wet with his ownor a comrade's life-blood, many an eye was turned skywards, and many alip was seen to move in prayer. Jack and Tom stood together. The former was pale as death. "Tom, " hewhispered, "I had a terrible dream last night. I shall not survive thisbattle; I do not wish to. Tell her, Tom, tell Gerty I died sword inhand, and that, false as she is, my last thoughts were--" "Stand by the larboard guns!" Jack and Tom flew to their quarters, and in the terrible fight thatfollowed neither love itself nor thoughts of home, except in the mindsof the wounded and dying that were borne below, could find a place. CHAPTER III. AN INTERRUPTED PROPOSAL. "None without hope e'er loved the brightest fair, But love can hope when reason would despair. " Perhaps never was youthful maiden less prepared to listen to theaddresses of a would-be wooer than was Gerty Keane when she entered thetartan boudoir that evening at Grantley Hall. She was little more than achild even now, only lately turned seventeen; and before Jack went awayto sea--now two years and a month ago--I believe that most of thelove-making between them had been conducted through the media ofbon-bons and an occasional wild flower, though it ended with farewelltears, a lock of bonnie hair, and a miniature, both of which Jack hadtaken away with him, and, like a true lover, worn next his heart eversince the parting. Gerty's cheeks were flushed to-night, her eyes shone, her very lips wererosier than usual. Sir Digby Auld sprang up as nimbly as his figure would permit, andadvanced to meet the girl with outstretched hands. The baronet wasverging on forty, but dressed in the height of youthful fashion; he wasa trifle pompous, and he was likewise a trifle podgy. As a shopkeeper or clerk there would have been nothing very attractiveabout Digby, but as a baronet he was somewhat of a success. There wasnothing, however, in his fair, soft, round face or washed-out blue eyescalculated to influence the tender passion in one of the opposite sex;only he was excessively good-natured, and it is very nice of a baronetto be excessively good-natured and condescending, especially wheneverybody knows he may become a lord as soon as another noble lordchooses to die. Everybody knew also of Sir Digby's passion for GertyKeane, and for this very reason used to say sneering and ill-naturedthings behind the baronet's back; for people were not a whit better inthose "good old times" than they are now. Whenever Sir Digby sailed into a drawing-room that happened to possess asprinkling of marriageable girls of various ages, from sixteen to--saysixty, he sailed into an ocean of smiles; but if Gerty were there, heappeared to notice no one else in the room. Whenever Sir Digby sailedout again, their tongues began to wag, both male and female tongues, butparticularly the latter. But on the particular evening when Sir Digby Auld solicited an interviewwith Gerty, he had dressed with more than his usual care, and wore hissoftest, oiliest smile. "O Gerty, " he cried, "I'm _de_lighted beyond measure! How beautiful youlook to-night! No star in all the firmament half so radiant as youreyes; no rose that ever bloomed could rival the blush on your cheek!" Sir Digby had practised this little speech for half-an-hour in front ofthe glass while waiting for Gerty. The girl didn't seem to hear him; or if she did, she did not heed. Heled her passive to a seat, and drew his own chair nearer to hers thanever he had sat before. There was a sad kind of expression in Gerty's face, and a far-away lookin her bonnie blue eyes. If Mary, her maid, had only held her silly tongue, Gerty might have beenalmost happy now. But Mary hadn't held her tongue, but conjured upJack, and he was before her mental eyes at this very moment just as shehad seen him last, the young and handsome lieutenant, going away tofight for king and country with a heart burning with courage and valour, yet filled with love for her--and with hope. Ah yes! that was the worstof it. They were not betrothed, and yet--and yet when he returned andfound her engaged to another, it would break his heart. Yes, that wassimply what it would do. What was Sir Digby saying? Oh, he had beentalking for ten minutes and more, yet not one word had she heard. Norhad she even turned towards him. She did so at last, blushing andembarrassed at what she deemed the rudeness of her inattention. Digby misinterpreted her. "Yes, yes, " he cried rapturously; "I read my happy fate in those deardowncast eyes and in that tell-tale blush. You love me, Gerty; you loveme, all unworthy as I am. Then behold I throw myself at your feet. " Sir Digby was preparing to suit the action to his words; but this wasnot so easy to do as might be imagined, for this gay Lothario hadlately suffered from a slight rheumatic stiffness of the joints. He hadalready bent one knee painfully, and it had emitted a disagreeable crackwhich certainly tended to dispel a portion of the romance from thesituation, when sturdy footsteps were heard outside, and next moment theround, rosy face of Richards, of the firm of Griffin, Keane, and Co. , appeared smiling in the doorway. Gerty sprang up, leaving her lover to recover the perpendicular as besthe might. She rushed towards the old man and fairly hugged him. "Confound it all!" muttered Sir Digby. "I'm afraid, " said Richards, "I've interrupted--" "Oh, don't mention it, dear, dear Mr. Richards. What Sir Digby was aboutto tell me wasn't of the slightest consequence. That is, you know, Imean--it will keep. " Sir Digby Auld bit his lip. Richards nodded to him. "I've such news for you, Gerty dear. A long, long letter from Bermuda. Jack's ship--" "Oh, do sit down and tell me all. --Sir Digby, you will forgive us, won'tyou? You're so good! Sit near us and hear it all. --Yes, Mr. Richards;I'm listening. " That she was. What a glad look in her face! what a happy smile! Withlips half parted and eyes which shone with an interest intense, shenever took her gaze from Mr. Richards' beaming countenance till he hadfinished speaking. The letter was from a friend of his, and told of the arrival at Bermudaof Jack's ship, and all Jack's doings on shore; and how the _OceanPride_ was ordered home; and how, if things turned out well, and shewasn't captured by a Frenchman five times her size, she might beexpected back in a fortnight. "O dear, dear Mr. Richards, I'm so happy; I mean, you know, that Florawill--" "Yes, yes; Flora, of course, you sly little puss. There! never blush; Iguess I know your secret--Jack, eh?--Ah, Sir Digby, you and I are tooold to understand the tender passion, aren't we?" "Yes--that is, no. You better speak for yourself, sir. I--I--I believe Ihave an appointment--I--Good evening, Miss Keane. " Sir Digby Auld's exit was not an impressive one. With an amused look on his face, Richards watched him till the closeddoor shut out the view; then he stretched out his sturdy legs, threwhimself back in his chair, and laughed until the rafters rang. CHAPTER IV. THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE. "The deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave. " "Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. " The good ship _Ocean Pride_ was a twenty-gun frigate, with a crew ofnearly three hundred as brave fellows as ever waved cutlass or pulledlanyard for the honour and defence of their native land. In January1793, when the great war broke out between Britain and France, she washomeward bound from the West Indies and South America, where she hadbeen cruising, and had hardly reached Portsmouth ere she received ordersto take in additional stores and proceed forthwith to sea again. Noleave was granted to men or officers. The sick were simply bundled onshore, additional men shipped, and she was off again withineight-and-forty hours of her arrival in port. For the _Ocean Pride_ was a crack cruiser for those brave days, in whichseamen were sailors and seamanship a fine art. Sir Sidney Salt was not only brave, but daring almost to a fault. Hebelieved most thoroughly and completely in the supremacy of Britishseamen to French; but discipline and drill he looked upon as hismainstays, fore and aft. His success had proved that he was correct insystem, not once but often during the past twelve months; for more thanone of the enemy's ships, larger even than his own, had been destroyedor taken by the _Ocean Pride_ and her gallant crew. Boat actions hadbeen fought also: she had been engaged with batteries; her men had cutout prizes from under the very guns of these; and they had fought onshore too, side by side with marines and soldiers. "It would be but the fortune of war, " said Sir Sidney to his commanderas they stood together on the quarter-deck, "were this frigate, that isnow bearing down so boldly on us, to destroy us. " The commander grasped his sword with his left hand, and his featureswere grimly set as he made reply, -- "True, sir, true. It would be but the fortune of war. Well, she maydestroy us; she shall never take us. " "Boldly spoken, Miller. It would indeed be a disgrace to lower our flagto a ship of about our own size, and that ship a Frenchman. But see howboldly she carries herself. Top-gallant sails down; all trim fore andaft; guns run out; and hark! was that a cheer?" "Yes, sir; a French one. " "Ha, ha, ha! Well, they shall hear a British one anon. Depend upon it, Miller, that frigate has a consort, and she is not far off at thismoment, and--" A puff of white smoke, with a point of fire in its centre, was now seencurling round the enemy's bows, and the roar of the cannon interruptedthe captain's speech, and next moment a shot came ricochetting acrossfrom wave-top to wave-top, and passed harmlessly by on the starboardside. "The fellow is beginning to be afraid already, " said Miller, laughing. "Yes; and depend upon it that shot was meant to keep his courage up. But if he thinks we are to have a long-range duel he is miserablymistaken. Set the fore-soldier, Miller. We'll walk to windward of him ifwe can. " The _Ocean Pride_ was now more closely hauled, and seemed for a time tobear away from the foe. The movement evidently puzzled the Frenchman. Was John Bull sheering off? Would he presently put round on the othertack and show them a clean pair of heels? Shot after shot came tearing over the water, and when one went cleanthrough the _Pride's_ rigging and was not even responded to, theexcitement on board the Frenchman grew frantic. The two vessels were now barely a quarter of a mile from each other, when suddenly round came the _Pride_ till she was almost dead before thewind, and began bearing down upon the _Désespéré_--for that proved to beher name--like a whirlwind, and almost right before the wind. The battlewas about to begin in deadly earnest. And none too soon; for at that moment a cry of sail in sight was heardfrom the maintop-mast cross-trees. "That's her consort, " cried Sidney Salt. "Now, men, " he shouted, "besteady and cool; I need not say be brave. We may soon be engaged againsttwo, unless we gain the day before that frigate's consort puts in anappearance. " A brave British cheer was the only reply to the captain's short butpithy speech. The cheer was feebly answered by the enemy, who from heruncertain movements was evidently puzzled at the apparent change in SirSidney Salt's tactics. It seemed to those on board the _Pride_ thatcontrary orders had been issued; for she first luffed, as if to beat towindward and fight the British frigate beam to beam. Perhaps the courageof her commander suddenly failed him, and he came to the conclusion thathe ought to ward off the real tug of war till his consort came up. Anyhow, just as a shot carried away a piece of her jib-boom sheattempted to wear and fill, and in doing so missed stays. Now came Sir Sidney's chance, and quick as arrow from bow he tookadvantage of it. In less time almost than it takes me to describe it, hehad cut across the enemy's stern, and the well-aimed broadside thatraked the _Désespéré_ from aft to fore, almost completely placed her atthe mercy of the British frigate. The wheel was shot away, the rudder awreck, the mainmast went by the board, and both dead and wounded layupon the decks. There were still men on board her, however, and brave ones too, to manand fight her guns; and as the _Désespéré_ paid off, seemingly of herown accord, the _Pride_ received her starboard broadside just as she putabout to close with her assailant. This broadside was fairly effective:it silenced a gun, killed three men, and wounded five. The _Désespéré_ had got round far enough to save herself from beingraked a second time. Broadsides were given and received; but as soon asthe _Pride_ had tacked again, it was evident she meant forcing thefighting in the good old English fashion first introduced by bold Hubertde Burgh. Down came the _Pride_. She would not be denied. One wild cheer, one moreterrible broadside as her guns almost touched those of the enemy, thengrappling irons were thrown, and the vessels literally lashed together. "Away, boarders!" "Hurrah, lads!" The last shout came from bold young Grant Mackenzie, as sword in hand, and followed by the men who had so bravely fought his guns, he sprangnimbly across the bulwarks and leaped down amongst the foe. To describethe _mêlée_ that followed would be impossible--the shouts of victory andshrieks of pain, the cracking of pistols, the clashing of sword andcutlass, the shivering of pikes, the rattle of musketry from the tops. It was all like a terrible dream to every one concerned in it; for eachBritish sailor or marine seemed to fight but for himself. Then therewere the final stampede, the hauling down of the flag, and the surrenderof the wounded captain to Sir Sidney Salt. All must have passed in sevenminutes or less. The loss on both sides was terrible to contemplate. Twenty of our bravelads would never fight again, thirty more were wounded, while in killedand wounded the enemy's loss was well-nigh one hundred. There was no time to lose now, however. The enemy's consort was but fiveor six miles off, and coming down hand over hand. So the Frenchmen werespeedily disarmed. The dead were left where they lay, the wounded andprisoners hurried on board the _Pride_. Then a train was laid to the_Désespéré's_ magazine, and just as all sail was hoisted on board theBritish frigate, the time fuse was lighted. The _Pride_ must fly now; tofight another ship, lumbered as she was with wounded and prisoners, would have been insanity. On comes the enemy's consort. Away flies the _Ocean Pride_. The men onthe British ship still stand to their guns; for if they are overhauled, they mean to fight and fall. But see, the two French frigates are now abreast, and the consort haulsher main-yard aback, and an armed boat leaves her side. Nearer and nearer she rows. Those that behold her on board the _Pride_hold their breath. They know she is rowing to destruction. It is awful, and even brave Sir Sidney turns a little as the boatreaches the doomed ship, and the men are seen clambering up her sides. At that dreadful moment a huge cloud of smoke, balloon shaped, riseshigh above the _Désespéré_, a sheet of flame shoots into the air, andyards, and masts, and spars, and men are seen high above all. A soundfar louder than thunder shakes the _Pride_ from stern to stern. SirSidney presses his hand to his eyes and holds it there for a time. Whenhe takes it away at last the _Désespéré_ has gone. A few blackened sparsbob here and there on the waves, and the cloud rolls far to leeward, butthe silence of death is over all the scene. * * * * * Tom Fairlie sat late that night beside poor Jack's couch. Jack's browwas bound in blood-wet bandages, his eyes were closed. "O doctor, " said Tom anxiously, as his eyes sought those of SurgeonM'Hearty, "is there _no_ hope? Surely Jack will live?" "Jack's in God's good hands, lad, " was the solemn reply, "and I am buthis servant. " The surgeon went slowly away, nor turned to look again. "Poor Jack! poor Jack!" cried Tom; "and on his birthday too!" He bent over the hardly breathing form, and tears welled through hisfingers. He had never known till now how much he loved his shipmate. Would Jack die? His wounds were very grievous. "He is in God's goodhands, " the doctor had said. Tom Fairlie was a thorough English sailor--no better and no worse thanthe average. He attended church on Sunday, and was always on thequarter-deck when the bell rang for prayers; but the actual praying, Ifear, he usually left to the parson himself. If asked, Tom would havetold you that it was the parson's duty to make it all right with theGreat Commander above in behalf of himself and shipmates; but now itoccurred to Tom that he might himself personally address the Being inwhose hands poor Jack lay. God was good. Dr. M'Hearty had said so, andthe doctor knew almost everything. He hesitated for a few moments, though. It seemed like taking the parson's duty out of his hands. Was itimpertinence? He looked at Jack's poor, white, still face--looked justonce, then knelt and prayed--prayed a simple sailor's prayer that isn'tto be found anywhere in a book, but may be none the less effectual onthat account. When Tom rose from his knees Jack's eyes were open. "I've been sort of praying for you, Jack. I feel relieved. Seems to methe Great Commander is going to throw you a rope and pull you throughthe surf. " Jack's lips were moving as if in feeble reply. But his mind waswandering. "The blue flower, Gerty--cull that. Oh, not the other! How dark it is!Gerty, I cannot find you. Dark, dark, dark!" And poor Jack relapsed once more into insensibility. [Illustration: "_I've been sort of praying for you, Jack. _" Page 43. ] CHAPTER V. "NOW THIS GOOD BLADE SHALL BE MY BRIDE. " "The bosom in anguish will often be wrung That trusts to the words of a fair lady's tongue; But true are the tones of my own gallant steel-- They never betray, and they never conceal. I'll trust thee, my loved sword, wherever we be, For the clang of my sabre is music to me. " QUARTER-MASTER ANDERSON. It was not until Sir Digby Auld had quite gone that Gerty came to hersenses, and realized the position she had placed herself in. The comicalside of the situation struck her at the same time, and for a few momentsright merrily did she join the laugh with her old friend, Mr. Richards. But she grew suddenly serious next minute. "What have I done?" she cried; "and how _can_ I tell father?" "You droll, provoking little puss!" said Richards. "Come and sit on myknee here, as you always have done since you were a weary weehop-of-my-thumb. " "And will you tell me a story?" Gerty was smiling once more. "Then itwill just seem like old, old times, you know. " "Yes, of course. Once upon a time, then--oh, ever so long ago, becauseno such things as I am going to tell you about could happen in ourday--once upon a time there lived, in a lonely house by the side of adeep, dark forest, a lonely man, to whom the fairies had once given amagic feather, plucked from the wing of a fairy goose; and whenever hetouched paper with this quill, lo, the paper was turned into gold! So heamassed great wealth; but no one loved him when he went abroad, because, though he had gold, he had no titles and he was sharp of speech. Only hehad one beautiful daughter, more fair than a houri of paradise; and sheloved her father very much--more even than she loved the roses in June, or the wild birds that sang in the forest, or the stars that shone sobrightly on still, clear nights in winter. "And this daughter was beloved by a youth who was surpassingly fair andbrave and comely; but, ah me! he was poor, and so the father despisedhim. "But one day there came from out of the dark depths of the forest aprince in a splendid chariot, with six milk-white steeds, and the soundof many trumpets blowing. This prince was stiff and somewhat old, yet hesaid to the father: 'Give unto me your daughter, that I may wed her, andshe shall be my queen; then shall you be loved and honoured too, for youshall have titles as well as wealth. ' "But the daughter loathed the elderly suitor. Nevertheless, that shemight see her father happy and titled, she gave the prince her hand, andher father dowered her munificently, and--" "Go on, Mr. Richards. " "Well, of course they lived happy ever afterwards. " "No, no, no, Mr. Richards; that isn't quite the end. " "Well, if I must tell you, I must. For a time, then, there was no onemore loved and honoured than Sylvina (for that was her pretty name), andher father, too, was invited to the court of the prince. But the fame ofSylvina's beauty and charms spread far and near, and hundreds visitedthe prince who had never before been seen at his castle. Especially didthere come gay young sparks, with downy moustachelets to twirl, andswords that tinkled at their heels; and so attentive were these crowdsof gallants that Sylvina never had time even to think, else herthoughts might have gone back to her true lover, whom she had forsakenin his poverty and sorrow, and whose white, distracted face often evenyet haunted her dreams at night, just as she had seen it for a momentthat day as she walked to the altar with the prince. "But to the prince the young sparks were beyond measure attentive. Theyseemed delighted of an evening to see him snug in his high-backed chairby the fire; and one would run and bring his slippers and warm them, another pulled off his shoes, while a third brought his wine, and afourth his hubble-bubble. Then they sang lullabies to him and patted hisshoulder till he fell asleep; then-- "But the prince awoke at last in every sense of the word. 'No longer, 'he cried, 'will I keep an open house that young sparks may payattentions to my wife. I will issue no more invitations, give no moreparties; Sylvina's father must return to his lonely house by the forest. I and my bride will live but for each other. ' "He spoke thus because the green demon Jealousy had aroused him. "So the prince dismissed nearly all his servants; and in his house bythe forest Sylvina's father was more lonesome now than ever. Sylvinahad been a dutiful daughter, and she tried hard to be a dutiful wife;but nothing that she did was properly construed by her old husband. Ifshe laughed and was gay, he called her giddy; if she seemed sad, he toldher she was pining for her 'pauper lover;' if she showed him markedaffection, he thought she was but cajoling to deceive him. Ah dear, ahdear, how miserable she was! for her ways were not his ways, because hisage was not hers. " Richards paused again. "And the poor lover whom Sylvina deserted?" said Gerty. "Tell me abouthim. Did he pine and die?" "Oh no. But here comes Flora. I'll finish the story another day, Gerty. " "Why, this _is_ a pleasure!" cried Flora. "Who could have thought offinding you here? I say, Gerty, let us keep Mr. Richards to ourselvesalone for the rest of the evening. My work is all complete, and fatheris busy in his room. Supper in the boudoir here!--Not a word, Mr. Richards; you have no say in the matter at all. " Then Flora rang thebell. And a long delightful three hours the girls and their friend spent too. It is almost needless to say that the chief subject of conversation wasJack, or that Sir Digby Auld was not spoken of or thought of even once. "Heigh-ho!" said Richards, as he stood in his room that night, "heigh-ho! and I have come down to break bad tidings to Flora and herfather. How ever can I do it! A lawyer ought to have no heart, but Ihave one. Worse luck! worse luck!" The party next day at the Hall was a very gay affair, and never didGeneral Grant Mackenzie seem in better spirits, nor Gerty and Flora lookmore bewitching or feel more happy. Mr. Keane, too, unbent himself, andwas far less crisp and frigid than any one had ever seen him. Keane didnot perhaps look a bit more happy than he felt, though he would not havetold his thoughts to any one, as he wandered to and fro in the grand oldbeautifully-lighted rooms or out into the spacious gardens andflower-laden conservatories. Everything had of late years conspired toplay into his hands. He had amassed money; he had spent but little. Gerty was good, _so_ good, for she had promised to marry SirDigby--promised her father, that is; the other promise would come. Thenthis splendid hall was _his_--Keane's--unless in a short time theeasy-minded, happy-go-lucky general managed to clear his feet. "Clearhis feet, indeed!" thought Keane; "how could he? No; the place would behis. Then he could hold up his head in the county. And as for Sir Digby, why, he could be easily managed after marriage. He was a trifle wild, hehad been told, but he believed he was wealthy, and he would--someday--be a lord. " Every one loved the general and his beautiful but unassuming daughter. There was no word of her being engaged to any one as yet, though such anengagement might take place at any time. She was indeed a queenly girl. Now suitors are usually a little afraid of queenly girls--not that thereare very many about, but though they may dispense their favours in kindwords and smiles, they do not flirt, and though warm-hearted deep downin their soul-depths, there is no surface love to squander or to beruffled with every breath that blows. Such girls as Flora GrantMackenzie love but once, and that love is real and true. Flora's princewould doubtless come. _She_ was in no hurry. But the girl was very happy on this her brother's birthday, and afterall the guests had gone she spent the usual quiet half-hour with herfather in his room in loving chat and converse, just as she had doneevery night since, long, long ago, her mother had died. "Good-night, dear, " he said as he kissed her. "Affairs are not quite soflourishing with me as I would like; but we'll trust in Providence, won't we? Things are sure to take a turn. " "Yes, dear father. Good-night: God bless you!" * * * * * Many of the wounded, both among our own people and the French prisonerson board the _Ocean Pride_, died and were buried as the ship sailed on;but the strength of Jack's Highland constitution asserted itself, and hewas at last pronounced by M'Hearty to be out of danger, very much to TomFairlie's delight. His wounds had been very grievous--a sabre-cut on the skull and a spentbullet that had injured his left arm. When the ship reached Portsmouth and the country rang with the news ofSir Sidney's bright little action, when the papers gave a list of thedead and wounded and extolled Jack's bravery, and when privateinformation from headquarters informed the general that his son would begazetted post-captain, then the old Highlander's cup of bliss seemedfull. "Look at that, " he cried, with the joy-tears in his eyes; "read thatletter, Flora dear. My boy, my brave boy! I shall go right away toPortsmouth and meet him, and you shall come and nurse him. My brave, good lad! What care we for money, Flo? The Mackenzies have theirswords!" On the arrival of the _Ocean Pride_ in port, Jack had been sent to shorequarters for a time, and Tom determined to share his rooms. Jack was very cheerful, for he had almost forgotten his dream. Now Mr. Keane had determined to play his cards as well as he knew howto. The baronet had become indisposed, but the astute lawyer had invitedhim down to his little place in the country, and he had taken Gerty hometoo. At the time of the _Pride's_ arrival in Portsmouth there was noengagement between Gerty and Sir Digby. All that she had really promisedher father since Richards had told her that fairy story was that shewould try to learn to love Sir Digby all she could, and when a littleolder would marry him; so Keane was content. This, however, did not prevent him sending a confidential clerk down tointerview Jack. And the following is the bomb-shell Saunders the clerk, obeying orders, fired:-- "Mr. Keane just sent me down to ask about you and convey all sorts ofkind messages. Especially did he bid me assure you that he had notspoken to your father about the little account, and that he is in nohurry for the money. Indeed, the approaching marriage of his daughter isat present absorbing all his attention. "Why, what is the matter, Captain Mackenzie?" continued the clerk, noticing the staggering effect his words had on poor Jack. "Nothing, nothing much. A little faint, that is all. Leave me now, Mr. Saunders. Tell Mr. Fairlie I would speak with him. " Tom ran in. He found Jack lying helpless on the sofa, white andtrembling. But he soon recovered sufficiently to speak. "My dream, my dream, Tom; it has all come true. " Tom Fairlie sat long beside his friend, giving him all the comfort hecould think of, and that really was not a great deal. Things might notbe quite as the clerk had represented them. Gerty _could_ not be socruel. From all he--Jack--had told him, he seemed to know herthoroughly. Jack must see her and learn his fate from her own lips. This and much more said Tom Fairlie. [Illustration: "_This good blade shall be my bride. _" Page 58. ] But for a time never a word said Jack. He rose from the couch at last, and going quietly to the corner, took uphis sword and drew it. "Tom, " he said boldly, "pardon me if I seem to act stagy, I am _not_acting. We Mackenzies are a wild and headstrong lot, and too proud, Iown, by far. We cannot help our nature. But here in your presence I vowthat now this good blade shall be my bride; that I'll be true to her, and she as true as steel to me. " "Bravo, Jack!" cried M'Hearty, bursting into the room; "I've heard itall. And now, my lad, I bring you good tidings. I've run all the wayfrom the port-admiral's office to be the very first to shake hands withPost-Captain Jack Mackenzie. " CHAPTER VI. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. "O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning. " BURNS. General Grant Mackenzie was a somewhat impulsive man. It is the natureof the Celt to be impulsive. His nervous system is far more finelystrung than that of the plethoric or adipose Saxon, and it vibrates tothe slightest breath of emotion. Mind, I talk of the ideal Celt--be heIrish or Scotch--and General Grant Mackenzie was an ideal Celt. Andsitting here with my good guitar on my knee, I cannot help comparing anature like his to just such a beautiful stringed instrument as this. What a world of fine feeling lies herein; what a wealth of poetry, whatsadness, what tenderness--ay, and what passion as well! Behold, on thismusic-stand lies a big old book--a book with a story to it, for itbelonged to my unfortunate ancestor Symon Fraser of Lovat, who wasbeheaded on Tower Hill. It is Highland music all, and sweet to me areits mournful laments as breathed by my sad guitar; but--I turn aleaf--and here is a battle-piece. Ha! the instrument hath lost itssadness, or only here and there come wailing notes like moans of thewounded amidst the hurry, the scurry, the dashing, and the clashing ofthis terrible tulzie. Can't you see the claymores glitter? Can't you seethe tartans wave, and nodding plumes among the rolling smoke? Oh, I can. Seems as if the guitar would burst its very strings; but, the battle isover--cry of vanquished, shout of victor, all are hushed. And now comesthe ghostly music of the coronach: they are burying the dead. And theinstrument appears to sob, to weep, till the sweet low song of grief incadence dies. A nature like that of Grant Mackenzie, then, or of his son--for bothseemed cast in the same mould--needs a well-trained, well-balanced mindto guide and restrain it; for there are few occasions indeed in thisworld when one dares lay bare his soul and feelings even to his bestfriends. The day after M'Hearty's visit to Jack, the young post-captain, with hisfriend Tom Fairlie, was just finishing breakfast, when in dashed thegeneral. Next minute his son was pressed against his breast just as ifhe had been a child. Jack had spilt his tea and knocked over a chair in his hurry to get tohis father; but what did that matter? So there they stood looking ateach other for a moment, the tears in both their eyes. Maybe the old general was a trifle ashamed of such weakness, for nextmoment he burst into a merry laugh. "Why, Jack, my brave boy, " he cried, "there are only two arms betweenthe pair of us. But yours will get well; mine, alas, is in the grave!" Flora came up now, and Jack seemed delighted to see her. "And here, " he said, "here, Flora, is the best friend I have in theworld--Tom Fairlie. --Nay, never blush, Tom, my brother. --He it was, Flora, who helped to take me below after I got hit; and when even thesurgeon--grand old fellow M'Hearty! father, you shall know him--gave meup, Tom stuck to me, and he has been nursing me ever since as if I werea child. Ah, Flora, there is no friendship on earth so true, and nolove either, as that man bears for man. " Jack looked at his sister as he spoke, and that glance told her he knewall. "Father, I had almost forgotten to tell you of my espousal. " "Espousal, Jack! You astonish me; it can't be true!" "Oh, but it is. " He picked his sword off the couch as he spoke and held it out to hisfather. "Let me present my bride, " he said, laughing. The general himself could laugh now. "So pleased, so pleased! But, 'pon honour, you young rascal, you prettynearly took your old father's breath away. Married! bless my soul, talkabout that thirty years hence; and blame me, Jack, but that itself mightbe too soon. "So you knocked the French about a bit? Well done, Jack; and well done, Lieutenant Fairlie. " "Oh, " said the young sailor, laughing, "they always call me Tom. " "Well, Tom, " said the general, holding out his hand, "you and my bravelad fought nobly; but bless my heart, he wouldn't be a true Mackenzie ifhe couldn't fight. So you gave it to the Froggies hot, eh? I knew youwould. Second only to the British army is the British navy, lads. " "And second only to the British navy, father, is the British army. " "Bravo! _esprit de corps_. Well, I like it. But I've news for you, Jack. Why, your old father, you young dog you, is going to take command again. Ha, ha! sword arm all right, and head-piece in glorious form. " "O father, I'm so delighted!" "Yes, boy, and there is one thing I look forward to--ay, and prayfor--and that is for you and me, Jack, to be in the same field ofbattle, and drubbing the French as only British sailors and soldierscan. " "Father, you've made me happy. --Why, Tom, this all but reconciles me tothe loss of the love--" Jack stopped, looking a little confused. "Love--love? Why, Jack, my lad, what is this? Love of whom, boy?" "Oh, only a pet spaniel, father. No, not dead. Lost though; enticedaway--with a bone, I suppose. " "Just the way with spaniels, Jack. Glad it's no worse. But 'pon honour, Jack, though you're not old enough to know it, womankind are preciouslittle better. I _know_ 'em well, Jack; I know 'em. A bone will enticethem too, particularly a bone with a bit of meat on it. " * * * * * Jack Mackenzie was not a young man who cared for much nursing. Had Gertybeen his nurse it would doubtless have been all so different. However, it was very pleasant for Jack to while away the next month or two downat Grantley Hall, and to be treated like an interesting invalid and madea hero of by old maids and young ones too. The curate of the parish hadnot a chance now. Then the country was so lovely all around the Hall. Though lacking thegrandeur and romance of our Scottish Highlands, the land of the broads, with its wealth of wild flowers, its dreamy, quiet lakes, its wavingreeds, its moors, and its birds, throws a glamour over one inspring-time that no true lover of nature can resist. Jack's arm was well in a month, and he was waiting for service. He didnot mind waiting even a little longer, and most assuredly Tom Fairliedid not, nor M'Hearty either, who was also a guest at the Hall. Richardsalso had come down to spend a week or two. He and M'Hearty becameinseparables. A great old tub of a boat belonged to Mackenzie, and this lay on anadjoining broad or lake. Tom and Jack fitted it out as a kind ofgondola, and many a pleasant hour did the young folks spend together onthe water, sometimes not returning till stars were reflected from thedark bosom of the lake or the moonbeams seemed to change it into moltengold. A pleasant time indeed--a time that flew all too quickly for poor TomFairlie. One evening, when hanging up his hat in the hall, Jack's father took himby the hand and led him silently into the library. "Father, father, " cried Jack, "what has happened?" "A bolt from the blue, my boy; a bolt from the blue. " CHAPTER VII. "WENT GLIDING AWAY LIKE A BEAUTIFUL GHOST. " "They bid me forget her--oh, how can it be? In kindness or scorn she's ever wi' me; I feel her fell frown in the lift's frosty blue, An' I weel ken her smile in the lily's saft hue. I try to forget her, but canna forget, I've liket her lang, an' I aye like her yet. " THOM, _the Inverury Poet_. Richards, the kindly old solicitor, with Jack and his sister Flora andthe general--these formed the group in the solemn, dark-panelled libraryof Grantley Hall on that beautiful summer's evening. The light of thewestering sun stole in through the high stained windows, and castpatches of light and colour on the furniture and on the floor. Mackenziehad already told his son all the story of his troubles, and while he hadyet been talking, the curtains in the doorway were drawn back, andFlora appeared, leaning on the arm of her good friend Richards. The general had lifted up a deprecating hand. "No need, no need. " This from the family lawyer. "Flora already knowsall. And bravely has she borne the tidings. Ah, my good sir, Flora is atrue Mackenzie. " "But you might have told me long ago, " was all she had said as sheseated herself on a low stool by her father's knee. "O father, I couldhave borne it, and could have comforted you, now that poor mother hasgone!" There was silence for a time, broken by Flora's low sobbing; broken, too, by the sweet, mellow fluting of a blackbird in the gardenshrubbery. General Mackenzie was the first to speak. "Children, " he said, "I have been for many a day like one living in adream, call it if you will a fool's paradise. But I have awakened atlast to the stern realities of life. It is better, perhaps, as it is, for we now know the very worst. You will believe me when I say that if Ihave hidden the truth from you, it was because I feared to vex you, orrender you unhappy, while yet there was hope. But now, " he added, "allis over, all is lost, or seems to be. " "Nay, nay, my good old friend, " cried Richards; "you must not reallytake so gloomy a view as that of the matter. " "This grand old house, " continued the general as if he had heard himnot, "this estate, with all its beauty of domains, that was presented tomy ancestors by Charles the First himself, with its lands and its lakes, its gardens and its trees, and which was prized by my father almost asmuch as our ancient home in the Highlands of Scotland, has been wasted, has been frittered away, through my intrinsic folly. " "Sir, sir, " said Richards, "you are too hard on yourself now. " "Nay, my good friend, nay; that I cannot be. You have ever been faithfulto our family; but I repeat it before you, and before my only son anddaughter here: the estates are lost through my own folly, and throughthe imbecility, the madness, Richards, of my pride. Now in a month'stime, if I do not pay off the mortgage, Keane, your partner, willforeclose. " It was at this moment that Jack sprang up from his seat as though aserpent had stung him. He took a few rapid strides up and down thefloor, then, his calmness in some degree restored, he confronted thegeneral. "Did you say Keane would foreclose, father--Keane?" "I said Keane, boy--Griffin, Keane, and Co. The old man Keane is my onlycreditor. But why should the knowledge of this affect you so?" "Because, father--and oh, forgive me, for I ought to have told youbefore--because the heartless old man has been playing for your estates;he has won, and he has in a manner ruined you. But his daughter Gertyhas been playing a crueller game than even his: she has won my heart, and having won it, having torn it from me, she has trampled it bleedingunder foot. I can never love again. " "My boy, my poor boy, is this indeed so? How great is your sorrow andsuffering compared with mine! Bah! let the estate go. I could feel happynow without it could I but believe that you would forget the heartlessminx who has dared to gain your love then spurn it. You _will_ forgether?" "Never, father, never; that is impossible. Sword in hand on thebattle-deck I shall seek surcease of sorrow, but forget little GertyKeane, never, never, never!" The young man covered his face with his hands, and his form heaved withsuppressed emotion, and even the kindly-hearted Richards could but lookon in silence. Not a word of consolation could he adduce that had thepower to assuage grief so deep as this. No one spoke for many minutes--sorrow is oftentimes too deep forwords--but higher and higher in the calm, still gloaming rose theblackbird's notes of love, sounding half hysterical in the very fulnessof their happiness and joy. General Mackenzie rose slowly from his chair, and approaching his sonplaced a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Dear Jack, " he said slowly, "we each have something left us, a namethat has never yet been tarnished; our clansmen have ever been found inthe battle's van, or 'In death laid low, Their backs to the field, their feet to the foe. ' We have that name, Jack boy; we have that fame. We have our unsulliedswords. Jack lad, we _shall_ forget. " "Father, we shall try. " And hand met hand as eye met eye. The two had signed a compact, andwell they knew what that compact was. * * * * * Jack Mackenzie sat alone in his bedroom that night long after his fatherand every guest had retired. The casement window was wide open, so thatthe sweet breath of the June roses could steal in, and with it the weirdtremolo of a nightingale singing its love-lay in an adjoining copse. Themoonlight was everywhere, bathing the flower-beds, spiritualizing thetrees, lying on the grass like snow, and casting deep shadows from thequaint figures of many a statue, and a deeper shadow still from themossy dial-stone. So intent was Jack in his admiration of the solemn beauty of the scene, that he saw not his chamber door slowly opening, nor noted the figurerobed from head to feet in white that entered and glided towards him. Was it a spirit? If so, it was a very beautiful one. The face was very white in themoonbeams, the eyes very sad and dark, and darker still the wealth ofwaving hair that floated over the shoulders. "Jack!" Jack started now, and looked quickly round. Then a happy smile spreadover his face as he arose and led his sister to a seat by his side. "So like old, old times, Flora, " he said. "So like old, old times, Jack, " said she. He wrapped her knees in a great old Grant-tartan plaid. "I knew you were still up, and that you were not happy, so I came toyou. But, Jack--" "Yes, dear. " "Smoke. " "May I?" "You must. " "Still more like olden times, Flora. " Jack lit up his pipe, and then he took his sister's hand. "I'm glad, " he said, "that I never had a brother. " "And I, " she said, "am happy I never had a sister. " "We are all in all to each other, are we not, Flo?" "All in all, Jack; especially _now_. " "Ah yes; now that I have lost Gerty. Ah, siss! you nor any one else inthe wide world can ever tell how dearly I loved, and still love, thatfaithless girl. " "And she, Jack, will break her heart that she cannot marry you. That iswhat I came to tell you, Hush, Jack, hush! I know all you would say;but you do not understand women, and least of all do you understandGerty. _I_ do, Jack; yes, I do. " "Sissy, " said the young man earnestly, "the cruellest thing mortals canbe guilty of is to arouse the dying to feeling again, when thebitterness of death is almost past. _You_ would not be so unkind. Youdid not come here to raise hopes in my heart that would be as certainlydoomed to disappointment as that blooming flowers shall fade. " "No, Jack, no. I only came because I wanted to pour balm, not hope, intoyour bleeding heart. I came to tell you all Gerty Keane's story, thatyou may not think the very, very worst of her. Listen, Jack. " The young man sat in silence for quite a long time after his sister hadfinished the story of Gerty Keane, and of her fondness for her lonesome, friendless, and unlovable father; sat gazing out upon the moonlitlandscape, but seeing nothing; sat while the nightingale's lilt, plaintive and low or mournfully sweet, bubbled tremulously from thegrove, but hearing nothing. And in the shadow of the old-fashionedarm-chair snuggled Flora, her eyes resting lovingly, wistfully on herbrother's sad but handsome face. At last he sighed and turned towards her. "Flora, " he said, "I'm goingto try to forgive Gerty. I'm going to live in hope I one day may be ableto forgive. Just tell her from me I wish her that happiness with anotherwhich fate has decreed it shall never be my joy to impart. Tell her--butthere! no more, Flora, no more. " "Spoken like my own brother; spoken like a true and brave Mackenzie. Kiss me, Jack. I'm glad I came. " He held her hand a moment there, the moonbeams shining on both. "But, Flora, " he said, "you too have a little story. " "Ye--es, Jack. " Her head drooped like a lily. "And, siss, it--is connected with--don't tremble so, Flora--with Tom?" The moonbeams shone on Jack alone now; his sister had stolen into theshadow to hide her blushes. "Good-night again, " she whispered, and so went gliding away like abeautiful ghost. CHAPTER VIII. ON BOARD THE SAUCY "TONNERAIRE. " "O'er the wide wave-swelling ocean, Tossed aloft or humbled low-- As to fear 'tis all a notion-- When duty calls we're bound to go. "--DIBDIN. The _Tonneraire_ lay at anchor just off the Hoe in Plymouth Sound, aspretty a craft as any sailor need care to look at. Plymouth was anamphibious sort of a place even in those days; and there was not alandsman who had ever been in blue water that, having once caught sightof the saucy _Tonneraire_, did not stop to stare at and admire her as hecrossed the Hoe. Some, indeed, even sat quietly down and lighted uptheir pipes, the better to consider the bonnie ship. Long and low anddark was she, and though a frigate, the poop was not high enough tointerfere with her taking lines of beauty. She carried splendid spars, and from their tapering height it was evident she was built either tofight or to chase a flying Frenchman. But her maintop-gallant masts wereat present below, for the ship was not quite ready for sea. She seemedimpatient enough, however, to get away. The wind blew pretty high, rightin off the Channel, and the frigate jerked and tugged at her anchorslike a hound on leash that longs to be loose and away scouring theplains in search of game. Everything on board was taut and trim andneat: not a yard out of the square, not a rope out of place, the decksas white as old ivory, the polished woodwork glittering like glass, thebrass all gold apparently, the guns like ebony, and the very lanyardspipeclayed till they looked like coils of driven snow. Post-Captain Mackenzie was walking to and fro on the poop-deck allalone, but casting many an anxious glance shorewards, or upwards at theevening sun that soon would sink over the beautiful wooded Cornishhills. "There's a boat coming out yonder now, sir, " said the signalman. "Ah! is there, Wilson? Well, pray Heaven it may be the first lieutenant, and that he may have had luck. " Twenty minutes afterwards, Tom Fairlie, lieutenant in his Majesty'snavy, but acting-commander under Captain Mackenzie, was alongside in thefirst cutter. He was not alone, for several other officers were withhim, and among them our old friend M'Hearty. Jack welcomed the latter, figuratively speaking, with open arms, then went to his private cabin, accompanied by Tom, who had been on shore on duty since early morning. "Sit down, Tom. Now we're off the quarter-deck there is no need forceremony. You look tired and starved. Help yourself to wine and biscuitsthere before you say a single word. " Tom poured out a glass, smiling as he did so. "Ah!" cried Jack, "I know you have good news. " "Ay, Jack, lots of it. I've been everywhere and I've done everything, and I've had good luck in the whole. " "Wait a moment, Tom. --Steward!" "Ay, ay, sir. " "I'm engaged for the next half-hour unless any one desires to see me onduty. --Now, Tom, I shall light my pipe. Follow my example. It wants anhour to dinner, and you are my guest to-night. No one else save our twoselves and M'Hearty, I believe. " "Well, Jack, " said Tom Fairlie, after he had smoked in silence for a fewmoments, "first I went to the port-admiral's office and saw SecretaryByng. He knows everything. Told me your father was gazetted, and wouldsail with his command in a few months' time. " "Glorious news, Tom. How pleased father will be!" "Byng told me further that we must get men to fill up our complement, and fifty over, by hook or by crook. " "Fifty over! that means fighting, Tom. Go on. " "The hook and crook means pressment, Jack. " "Well, well, I don't like it; but it is all for the good of the service. Heave round, Tom. " "Then I went to the post-office. Sly dog, am I? Well, perhaps. A letterfrom Flora, and one for you. " Jack tore his open. "Why, she has gone to live with dear old Father Spence at Torquay, Tom. " "Yes, Jack, till the war is over. Then, if God but spares us all, Ishall be your brother. " "Dear girl, " said Jack. "Ah, Tom, what a noble courage she possesses!You and I can meet the foe face to face and fight well; but that isunder excitement. But dear Flora needed more courage than ours to leaveGrantley Hall so bravely as she did. Never a tear, Tom, never a tear;and I even saw my father's eyes wet. Ah well. It is the fortune of war. Heigh-ho!" "Cheer up, Jack. Somehow, my friend, I think that Grantley Hall willcome back to the Mackenzies yet. " "Ah, never, Tom, never! The dear old place where Flora and I spent ourchildhood, only to think it should come at last into the clutches of theplausible skinflint Keane; the father, though, of--but go on, Tom, goon. " "I next saw two gentlemen of the 'sailors' friend' persuasion. " "Crimps? Scoundrels!" "Well, anyhow, they are good for forty between them. " "Bravo! Things are looking up. What a capital fellow you are, Tom! But, stay; let me reckon. We still want twenty more. " "And these, Jack, shall be no mere top hampers, I can assure you. I have arranged to lay hands on fifteen at least of thoroughdare-any-things--fellows who look upon fighting as mere fun, and canface the billows as well as tackle a foe. " "You interest me. Proceed. " "What say you to pirates, then?" "Come, come, Tom. " "Well, they are the next thing to it. They are sea-smugglers. I metOne-legged Butler to-day, the king of coastguardsmen; and if we lend himnets, he will land the fish. " "You mean seamen and cutlasses. Well, he'll have them; and I'll trustthe matter all to you. " "Nay, Jack, nay; the second lieutenant must be left in charge, and _you_must come. Flora must see you. " "Flora?" cried Jack. "Yes; we are to cut out the smuggler in Tor Bay. " "I'm with you, Tom. Well, we shall meet at dinner. _Au revoir. _" * * * * * One-legged Butler was quite a character in his way. He had been in theservice in his very young days, and had lost a limb while fightingbravely for king and country. But for this stroke of bad luck he mighthave been an admiral, and there is little doubt he would have been abrave one too. Appointed to the revenue service, he soon proved that, in addition to cunning, tact, and bravery, he possessed detectivequalities of no mean order. His timber toe, as the sailors called hiswooden leg, was no drawback to him. Timber toes in those stirring timeswere as common as sea-gulls in every British sea-port; and Butler'spowers of disguising himself, or making up to act a part in order togain information, were simply marvellous. On the day Tom Fairlie made his acquaintance, he had been singing "TomBowling" on the street in front of a public-house, and our Tom had goneup to give him a penny. Like the Ancient Mariner, he had held Tom withhis glittering eye; and a very few moments' conversation was sufficientto arrange for one of the cleverest and most daring little adventuresthat ever supplied a man-o'-war with gallant "volunteers, " as pressedmen were often ironically termed in those days. They were a very merry party at dinner that day around the captain'stable. Not a large one, however; only Jack Mackenzie himself, his friendTom Fairlie, M'Hearty, one "middie, " and bold Captain Butler, all goodmen and true; and the servant who waited at table was one to be trusted. Despite the fact that he was a Spaniard, he was most faithful, so thatthe conversation could take any turn without danger of a word beingrepeated either forward or to the servants below in the ward-room. In talking and yarning right quickly passed the evening in the captain'scabin; but everywhere fore and aft to-night both officers and crew werehearty. They had already bidden farewell to friends and home, soon theircountry too would fade far away from sight, and then--the glories ofwar. Ah! never mind about its horrors; what brave young British sailorever thought of these? CHAPTER IX. "A SPLENDID NIGHT'S WORK, TOM!" "Ah! cruel, hard-hearted, to press him, And force the dear youth from my arms; Restore him, that I may caress him, And shield him from future alarms. " DIBDIN'S _Pressgang_. It was near to the hour of sunset, on an autumn evening about a weekafter the cozy dinner-party in the cabin of Captain Jack Mackenzie ofthe _Tonneraire_. The tree-clad hills and terra-cotta cliffs around TorBay were all ablur with driving mist and rain, borne viciously along onthe wings of a north-east gale. Far out beyond the harbour mouth, betwixt Berry Head and Hope's Nose, the steel-blue waters were fleckedand streaked with foam; while high against the rocks of Corbyn's Headthe waves broke in clouds of spray. As night fell, the wind seemed to increase; the sky was filled withstorm-riven clouds; and the "white horses" that rode on the bay grewtaller and taller. Surely on such a night as this every fishing-boat would seek shelter, and vessels near to the land would make good their offing for safety'ssake. There were those who, gazing out upon the storm from the green plateauabove Daddy's Hole, where the coastguard station now is, thoughtotherwise. Daddy's Hole is a sort of inlet or indentation in the rock-wall, whichrises so steeply up to the plain above that, though covered with grass, it seems hardly to afford foothold for goats. No man in his senses wouldventure to descend from above in a straight line, nor even by zigzag, were it not for the fact that here and there through the smooth greensurface rocks protrude which would break his fall. Shading their eyes with their hands in the gathering gloom, with facesseaward, stood two rough-looking men, of the class we might callamphibious--men at home either on the water or on shore. "It can't be done, " said one. "No, capting, it can't. " "Can't?" thundered the other; "and I tells yew, Dan, the skipper o' the_Brixham_ knows no such a word as 'can't. ' He's comin'. Yew'll see. Hawkins never hauled 'is wind yet where a bit o' the yellow was tow bemade. Us'll drink wine in France to-morrow, sure's my name isScrivings. " Dan shook his head. "W'y, yew soft-hearted chap, for tew pins I'd pitch yew ower the cliff. " But as "Capting" Scrivings laughed while he spoke, and shook his friendroughly by the shoulder, there was little chance of the terrible threatbeing fulfilled. "And min' yew, Dan, " he added, "if us lands this un all right, us'll berich, lad--ha! ha! Besides, wot's Hawkins got tow be afear'd of? The_Brixham_ can cut the winkers from the wind's eye, that she can. Tackand 'alf tack though buried in green seas, Dan. Never saw a craft towsail closer tow a wind. Here's tow bold Hawkins and the brave_Brixham_!" The toast was drunk from a black bottle which the "capting" handed toDan. "'Ave a pull, chap; yew needs it to brace yewr courage tow thesticking-point. " * * * * * Captain Butler prided himself on the seaworthiness and fleetness of hiscutter, the saucy little _Moonbeam_. Not that she had been much to lookat, or much to sail either, when he took her over; for in those good oldtimes the Admiralty was not a whit more generous with paint and coppernails than it is now. But One-legged Butler was a man of some means, whomight have driven his coach on shore had he not been so fond of thebrine and the breeze. So he had the _Moonbeam_ seen to at his ownexpense--not without asking and receiving permission, of course, for hewas a strict-service man. Her bows were lengthened and her rig alteredand improved; she was made, in fact, quite a model of. And Captain Butler was justly proud of the _Moonbeam_. So highly did heregard her that he would not have marked her smooth and spotless deckwith his timber toe to obtain his promotion, and therefore his servanthad orders to always keep the end of that useful limb shod with softestleather. Nothing that ever sailed got the weather-gauge on the _Moonbeam_. Except the _Brixham_. That smuggling sloop landed many a fine bale of silk, hogshead of wine, and tobacco galore, all along the south coast; but never had beencaught. She was a fly-by-night and a veritable phantom. Thrice Butlerhad chased her. He might as well have attempted to overhaul a gull onthe wing. But to-night One-legged Butler meant to do or die. He knew she was goingto venture into Tor Bay, and lie off at anchor under the lee of thecliffs. He could have boarded her in boats perhaps; but that would nothave suited Butler's idea of seamanship. It must be neck or nothing--afair race and a fair fight. The _Brixham_ carried a dare-devil crew, however, and Hawkins fearednothing. The _Moonbeam_ would have her work cut out; but then all themore glory to the bold fellows on board of her; for these were the dayswhen adventure was beloved for its own sake alone. * * * * * When, on the night previous, twenty brave blue-jackets from the_Tonneraire_ were told off for special service and sent aboard thelittle _Moonbeam_, which sailed a few hours after just as the moon wasrising over the Hoe, they had no idea what was in the wind. From theirarmature of cutlasses and pistols, they "daresayed" there was a littlebit of fighting to be done, and rejoiced accordingly, for Jack dearlyloves a scrimmage. The wind blew high, even then tossing the cutterabout like a cork, although she carried but little sail. By nextforenoon, however, she had passed Tor Bay, and lay in semi-hiding nearHope's Nose. There was the risk of the vessel's presence beingdiscovered and reported to Scrivings and his gang; but there always arerisks in warfare. As soon as it was dusk a portion of the men were landed. Then the_Moonbeam_, although it blew big guns, set herself to watch for the foe. Hour after hour flew by, and the moon, glinting now and then through arift in the clouds, whitened the curling waves, but showed no signs ofthe _Brixham_, or of anything else. It was an anxious time. At twelve o'clock grog and biscuits were served out. The men never hadtime to swallow a mouthful--of biscuit, I mean. No doubt they drank thegrog, for those were the days of can-tossing, a custom now happily butseldom honoured. Yes, there she was! It could be none other save daring Hawkins in the_Brixham_. Small look-out was being kept to-night, however, on the smuggler. The _Moonbeam_ swept down on her as hawk swoops down on his prey, andalthough Tor Bay is wondrous wide, and the _Brixham_ was nearly in thecentre of it, the cutter was on her in a surprisingly short time. Fine seamanship, fine steering, to sheer alongside and grapple, despitethe fact that the sea had gone down, and the waves were partially underthe lee of the hills. If ever man was surprised, that man was Smuggler Hawkins. But heanswered the call to surrender with a shout of defiance. After this it was all a wild medley of pistols cracking, cutlassesclashing, cries--yes, and, I am sorry to say, a few groans; for bloodwas shed, and one man at least would never sail the salt seas more. Butif blood was shed, the seas washed it off; for the fight took place withthe spray driving over both vessels, white in the moonlight. A prize crew was left on the _Brixham_, and in less than twenty minutesboth craft were safe at anchor in Torquay harbour. Meanwhile, the party who had been landed near to Hope's Nose had madetheir way inland, bearing somewhat to the east to make a detour, bothfor the purpose of getting well in the rear of the smugglers'cottage--where Tom Fairlie, who was in command, knew the smugglers wereto be found--and because the night was still young. When Scrivings left the outlook with Dan on watch, he betook himself tothis cottage, in order to complete arrangements for landing the cargo, every bale and tub of which they had meant to haul up from Daddy's Holeto the plains above, then to cart them away inland. But he found his ten men ready, and even the horses and carts inwaiting. They were hired conveyances. The smugglers found no difficultyin getting help to secure their booty in those days, when many even ofthe resident gentry of England sympathized with contraband trade. Sothere was nothing to be done but to wait. It was a lonely enough spot where the little cottage stood among rocksand woodland. Lovely as well as lonely and wild; though I fear itsbeauties alone did nothing to recommend the place to the favour of"Capting" Scrivings and his merry men. The night waned. The moon rose higher and higher. The men in the bothy, having eaten and drunk, had got tired at last of card-playing, andnearly all were curled up and asleep. The sentry had seated himself on a stone outside, and he too wasnodding, lulled into dreamland by the sough of the wind among the solemnpines. The wind favoured Fairlie's party, who, as stealthily as Indians, crepttowards the cottage from the rear. The sentry was neatly seized and quickly gagged, and next moment thelieutenant, sword in hand, his men behind him, had rushed into thedimly-lit bothy. "Surrender in the king's name! The first who stirs is a dead man!" It was beautifully done. Not a show of resistance was or could be made, and in less than an hour Tom Fairlie, with his crestfallen prisoners, had reached the harbour, where they were welcomed by a hearty cheer, which awakened the echoes of the rocks and a good many of theinhabitants of the village of Torquay. [A] [A] The town now shows a bolder front. And now Captain Jack Mackenzie shook hands right heartily with hisfriend Tom Fairlie. "Splendid night's work, Tom, " he said. "A thousand thanks! Now the saucy_Tonneraire_ may be called ready for sea. " Splendid night's work was it? Well, we now-a-days would think thisimpressment cruel--cruel to take men away from their homes andavocations, perhaps never to see their country more. Yet it must beadmitted that smugglers like these, who had so long defied the law, richly deserved their fate. CHAPTER X. IN THE MOON'S BRIGHT WAKE. "Now welcome every sea delight-- The cruise with eager watchful days, The skilful chase by glimmering night, The well-worked ship, the gallant fight, The loved commander's praise!"--_Old Song. _ It was not without a tinge of sorrow at his heart that Jack Mackenziestood on his own quarter-deck and saw the chalky cliffs of Englandfading far astern, as the gloom of eventide fast deepened into night. Hewas not the one to give way to useless grief, but he could not helpcontrasting the hope and joyfulness with which he had last left homewith his present state of mind. He was not a post-captain thencertainly, but he had that--or thought he had--for which he would gladlynow take the epaulettes from off his shoulders and fling them in thesea--namely, the love of the only girl he ever thought worth living for. But she-- Well, no matter; that was past and gone. His love hadbeen all a dream, a happy dream enough while it lasted, while hisheart had been to her a toy. But then his father, his good oldcareless-hearted father. Wrecked and ruined! That he was in difficultiesJack had known for years, but he never knew how deep these were, northat they had so entwined themselves around the roots of the oldhomestead, that to get rid of the former was to tear up the latter andcast all its old associations to the four winds of heaven. Dear oldhomestead! Somehow Jack had dreamt he would always have it to go home toon every return voyage, always have his father there to welcome himback, always-- "Hallo!" said a voice at his side, "what is all this reverie about, Jack?" Tom laid his hand gently, half timidly on his arm as he spoke. Halftimidly, I say, because it would not do for even the men to note ashadow of familiarity on poop or quarter-deck betwixt a commander andhis captain. Jack smiled somewhat sadly. "I daresay, Tom, " he replied, "it was very wrong, but I was justbreathing one last sigh for lost love and home. Oh, I don't care forGrantley Hall so much; but then there is sister, and poor father, and itseems rather hard he should take service again. There is just enoughsaved out of the wreck for them to live on. " "Yes; and you'll win a fortune yet, mayhap an earldom, Jack--" "Stay, Tom, stay. I care nothing for earldoms, and if I win enough tolive on I'll be content. One thing I do mean to win for Flora'ssake--honour and glory. " "Keep your mind easy about Flora, " laughed Tom. "I'm going to win allthe honour and glory she is likely to want. " "I'd quite forgotten, Tom--brother. " "That's better. And, Jack, I know you'll get more ambitious as we go on. Now mind you, you're not so badly off. That wound was a lucky hit. Justlook around and beneath you. Ever see a finer frigate? Look at herbuild, her spars, her rigging, everything taut and trim andship-shape--the very ship seems proud of herself, considering theindependent way she goes swinging over the waves on the wings of thisdelightful breeze; swinging over the waves, bobbing and bowing to themas if they were mere passing acquaintances, and she proud mistress ofthe seas. Then, Jack, let me recall your attention to the fact that wehave five-and-forty bonnie black guns and three hundred and twenty boldblue-jackets to man and to fight them; and that _you_--you luckydog--are monarch of all you survey. Ah, brother mine, there is many asailor mo'sieur afloat on the seas at this moment 'twixt here andAmerica who well might tremble did he but know the fate that is in storefor him when the _Tonneraire_ crosses his hawse. " "You bloodthirsty man!" "No, no, no. I've got one of the softest hearts ever turned out of dock, but it is all for king and country, you know. Behold how our good shipgoes sweeping through the deep! Look, my captain bold, we are coming upto the convoy hand-over-hand. It was a good idea giving them half aday's start, for some of them, I daresay, we'll find are lazy lubbers. " "Well, " said Jack, as we shall still call him, "we must do our best tokeep them together. I would not like, however, for my own part, to goout in protection of many convoys. " "Nor will we; this is only a kind of trial trip. But if you are afraidyou won't have any fighting to do, you may be agreeably disappointed, as the Irishman said. " Jack Mackenzie laughed. "What a fire-eater you are, Tom! I wasn't thinking of fighting. But if Ihave to fight, I'd rather these merchantmen were a hundred miles away. Fighting in convoy must make one feel as does the father of a family, whom he has to defend against an aggressor while the children clingtightly to his legs. " From the above conversation it will be gathered that the _Tonneraire_had sailed at last, and was in charge of a merchant fleet bound forAmerica. This was considered a very responsible task in these warlikedays, when the cruisers of the enemy were here, there, and everywhere inour ocean highways, watching a chance to seize our unprotected ships. The _Tonneraire_ had been chosen for her strength and her fleetness, andthere was no doubt that under so able a young and dashing commander shewould fulfil her mission, and make it warm for any Frenchman who soughtto attack the ships. There they were now sailing as closely together as possible, becausenight would soon fall, and they could only be distinguished by theirlights. A cruise of this sort was seldom, if ever, free from adventure, and it entailed much anxious care and forethought on the part of thecaptain of the war-vessel convoying them. A good thing this for JackMackenzie. No cure for sorrow in this world except honest work. He wasreally, too, in a manner of speaking, a probationer. To do his dutystrictly, wisely, and well on this voyage would certainly entitle him tono step, not even perhaps to praise; but to neglect it, or even to beunfortunate, would cause him to incur the displeasure of the Admiraltyand hinder his advancement. But a whole week went on, and though no Frenchman appeared on the scene, Jack and his fleet had encountered a gale of wind that had driven themconsiderably out of their course; and when one morning, about eightbells, a cry of "Land" was raised, he knew he must be in theneighbourhood of the Azores or Western Islands. He was not altogether sorry for this; it would give him a chance oftaking in fresh water and of adding to the store of fresh provisions nowalmost exhausted. For ships in those days were vilely found, and the mencalled contractors were held in general detestation by every ship in theservice. [Illustration: "_Sailing across the moon's bright wake was a French man-o'-war. _" Page 93. ] The merchantmen under Jack numbered fourteen in all, and were ofdifferent classes--brigs, barques, and full-rigged ships; but longbefore sundown they were all securely anchored in front of San Miguel, and Captain Mackenzie, in full uniform, accompanied by CommanderFairlie, had gone on shore to pay his respects to the Portuguesegovernor. San Miguel was not so densely populated as it is now, but very quaint asto its town, and very romantic and beautiful as to its scenery allaround. The governor dwelt in a villa on a garden-terraced hill in theoutskirts. He was very pleased to see the officers, but deferredbusiness till next day. It was, however, while smoking in the veranda after dinner, and gazingdreamily away across the moonlit ocean, that Jack suddenly sprang up, and, clutching Tom's arm, pointed seawards. Slowly sailing across the moon's bright wake was a French man-o'-war. CHAPTER XI. THE PHANTOM FRENCHMAN. "If to engage we get the word, To quarters we'll repair, While splintered masts go by the board, And shots sing through the air. " DIBDIN. Beautiful island of San Miguel! on whose shores, wherever they slope insheets of sand towards the sea, the white waves play and sing; whosegigantic rocks, frowning black and beetling above the water, are fondlylicked by mother ocean's tongue as dog salutes a master's hand. Island, surrounded by seas that towards the far horizon seemunfathomably blue, yet near around are patched in the sunshine withopal, with green, and with azure, and tremble like mercury under themoon and the starlight. Island of fountain-springs, that shoot their white and boiling sprayfarther skywards than ever spouted Nor'land whale. Island of mountains, high and wild, whose summits seek to withdraw fromearth away, and hide their proud heads above the clouds, when stormsrage far beneath. Island of green and lonesome glens, where bright-winged birds chant lowtheir love-songs to their listening mates, and where many a strange, fantastic fern nods weeping o'er the hurrying streams. Island of scented orange-groves, of waving palms, of dark dwarfpines--black shapes in many a cloud of green--of the rose, the camellia, the oleander, the passion-flower. Island of wild flowers, that grow andwanton everywhere, that have their home in the woods, that carpet theearth with colour, that clothe the rocks, that hang head downwards inmasses over many a foaming cataract, that climb the trees and reposelike living, sentient beings among the branches, wooing the bees, attracting the butterflies, and tempting the gay, metallic-tinted mothsto expand their cloaks in the sunshine, and fly clumsily to theirembrace. Island of seeming contentment, where even human beings live but to idleand to lounge and to love. Beautiful, beautiful island! Yes; but an island on which our heroes must not linger, for twice duringthe night a dark shape glided across the moon's bright wake, and thoseon watch on board the _Tonneraire_ knew it was the waiting, watchingfoe. But when day broke no foe was to be seen. Captain Mackenzie stayedtherefore only long enough to take in extra stores, water, and fruit, and to permit his fleet to do likewise; then the signal was made, "Upanchor, and to sea!" In silence the anchors were weighed on board the man-o'-war; butaccompanied on the merchant-vessels by the never-failing song, with itsfrequent abrupt conclusion, without which merchantman Jack finds itimpossible to carry on a bit of duty. "Hee--hoy--ee! Hee hoy! Pull, and she comes! Hoy--ee--ee! Hoip!" * * * * * All that day the young captain of the _Tonneraire_ kept his fleet welltogether. Not an easy task, for although the wind was by no means high, and was moreover favourable, being north-east by east--the coursesteered about north-west, the convoy bearing up for Halifax and the Gulfof St. Lawrence--still the sailing powers of the vessels variedconsiderably. The strength of an iron chain equals the strength of itsweakest link, and the speed of a fleet of merchantmen is measured bythat of its slowest sailer. While at San Miguel, Jack had tried toimpress this upon the minds of his various skippers. He held a meetingof these on board a large full-rigged ship, and told them their mottomust be, "Keep together, " as the danger of an attack was imminent. Slowsailers must carry stun'-sails when they found themselves gettingbehind, while the fast must take in sail. They admitted this. "It is as plain as the nose on my face, " said one intelligent skipper, who had a huge red bulbous proboscis you could have almost seen in thedark. "We've got to play up to you, Captain Mackenzie, just as the smallfry plays up to a great hactor on the stage. " This was all very well, but then they did not do it, so that the rate ofspeed was slow; ships and barques having to haul their fore or mainyards aback at times to wait for the lazy brigs who either couldn't orwouldn't set stun'-sails. And at eventide, while the sun was going in alacework of golden cloud, and looking so red that he appeared to beashamed of the fleet, the vessels were scattered all over three squaremiles, and Jack Mackenzie, not now in the best of tempers, had tocollect them as a collie pens his sheep. It was dark enough after the somewhat brief twilight had given place tolight--to light and to _lights_, for signal-lanterns hung aloft on everyship; so all appeared safe and snug enough. But what had become of the Frenchman? He had not been seen all day. Wasit indeed but a phantom that had been seen in the moon's bright wake? A good watch was kept both 'low and aloft; and Jack went down to dinnerat the sound of the bugle. As he passed near the midshipmen's berth, quite a buzz of happy voicesissued therefrom. Jack paused for a few seconds to listen. It was not sovery long since he himself had been a middy. No responsibility had hethen, any more than rested on any of these bright young hearts atthat moment. How they laughed and chaffed and talked, to be sure!Interspersed in the hubbub were now and then snatches of merry song, andnow and then the notes of a somewhat squeaky and asthmatical violin, invariably followed by some one shouting, "Stop that awful fiddle!" "Hit'im in the eye with a bit o' biscuit!" or "Grease his bow!" Then adeeper bass voice, evidently Scotch, and just as evidently a juniorsurgeon's, saying, "Let the laddie practise. --Fiddle away, my boy; I'llthrash all hands if they meddle with ye. " Jack went away laughing to himself. Little those boys--who not longsince left home and Merrie England--know or care that ere another hour, perhaps, the decks of the _Tonneraire_ may be slippery with blood. Ah! all the care was his--was the post-captain's. Uneasy lies the headthat--hallo! He had just entered the ward-room, and found all thefellows there quite as happy as the middies. They were at dessert, forthey dined earlier than their captain. M'Hearty was seated at the headof the table, and was spinning a short but funny yarn, to which hismessmates' laugh was ready chorus. Tom was vice-president; thelieutenants, the purser, and officers of the marines were ranged alongthe tables, red jackets and blue, forming a pretty contrast; the tablewas laden with fruit and flowers from the island they had that morningleft, while glasses and cruets sparkled on a tablecloth white as snow. Jack took all this in at a glance as he entered with a preliminary tap, which was not heard in the delicious hubbub. He almost sighed to thinkthat he had to go away and dine all by himself alone. On seeing the captain, every one rose, nor would they be seated until heconsented to sit down. "Just sit down, Captain Mackenzie, " said M'Hearty, with a merry twinklein his eye, "and have a glass of wine while your soup is getting cold. " "If the president bids me, I must obey, " said Jack, seating himselfbeside Tom. "It must be but for a moment. There are older men thanmyself here--our worthy Master Simmons, for example. I came to take yourviews about that Frenchman. He is evidently a battle-ship, probably aseventy-four. I say fight him; but considering this is my firstcaptaincy--" But he was interrupted. Every man rose to his feet. It wasa strange council of war, because every man held aloft a glass of wine. The words, "Fight him!" ran round the table like platoon firing. Therewas determination in every eye and in every voice, from the deep bass ofthe gray-bearded master down to the shrill treble of the rosy-cheekedfledgeling marine-officer Murray, a mere boy, who would certainly haveseemed more in place in the cricket-field than on the battle-deck. "I'm going now, " said Jack. "Thank you all. --Excuse me, won't you, Dr. M'Hearty? I think the soup is cold enough by this time. But we'll makeit hot for the enemy. " "Hurrah!" The moon was later in rising that night, being on the wane. It was the first lieutenant's watch from eight till twelve. Nothingtranspired until about seven bells, when Jack and Tom Fairlie werewalking slowly up and down the poop. The moon was now well up, buthidden by a mass of cumulus cloud. Presently she would burst into view, for the clouds were sailing slowly along the horizon, and near hand wasa rift of blue. Instinctively as it were, both officers stopped to gaze in thatdirection. In a few seconds the moon shot into the field of blue, andher light flashed over the sea. It flashed upon the phantom Frenchman, as Tom Fairlie called her; but soquickly had she come into view that the sight was startling in theextreme. She was not crossing the moon's wake this time, however, butbearing down upon the _Tonneraire_, as if about to attack her. The man at the mast-head had seen her at the same time, and hisstentorian shout of, "Enemy on the starboard quarter!" awoke thesleeping ship to instant life as effectually as if a fifty-pounder hadfired. All hands to quarters. R--r--r--r--r--r--r--r rattled the drum. It rattled once; the heaviestsleeper started and rubbed his eyes. It rattled twice; every man was onhis legs and dressing. Thrice; and three minutes thereafter every manstood by his gun, and the cockpit hatches were put down. The ship wasready for action. Would she come on? would the Frenchman fight? Alas! no. Already shebegan to assume larger proportions as she showed broadside on. Above thewind, that now blew more gently from the north, the very flapping of hersails and loosening of her sheets could be heard as she came round, andin less than an hour she had almost disappeared in the uncertain light. CHAPTER XII. A BATTLE BY NIGHT. "What art thou, fascinating War, Thou trophied, painted pest, That thus men seek and yet abhor, Pursue and yet detest?"--DIBDIN. Day after day Jack's fleet held on its course, and the weathercontinued unbroken and fine. Day after day the phantom Frenchman hoveredsomewhere about, afraid perhaps to try conclusions with that rakish, spiteful-looking British frigate, or perhaps but biding her chance. Twice or thrice Jack put about, sailed back and challenged her, with ashot, to fight if she dared. There never came the slightest responsefrom Johnny Crapaud--she seemed indeed a phantom. And at night those on board the _Tonneraire_ could not help thinking thephantom was ever near them, even when it was too dark to see her. I donot think, however, that it kept many of the officers awake at night, although it must be confessed Jack was ill at ease. If it were possiblefor the enemy to steal near enough in the pitchy dark portion of thenight, the first intimation of her presence might be a raking broadsidethat would sweep the decks fore and aft; then farewell the _Tonneraire_. There are few things more difficult to bear than what Scotch people soexpressively term "tig-tire, " or excessive tantalization. There came aday when Jack called his chief officers together in his own cabin. "Gentlemen, " he said, "I've had enough of that French fellow. Why shouldhe follow us night and day, like the shadow of the evil one, and yetrefuse to fight? I mean to carry war into the enemy's camp, or rather onto his quarter-deck, if you think my plan feasible. Remember, I amhot-headed and young. " Jack then unfolded his plans, and they were generally approved, thoughthe old master was somewhat doubtful of their success. "However, " he growled, "I'll take the wheel. Better, perhaps, after all, that we should take the initiative; for, blow me to smithereens, ifthat tantalizing Froggie ain't spoiling my appetite!" There was a general laugh at this, and the council broke up. Next day it blew little more than a seven-knot breeze, and the sunsparkled on the waters like showers of diamonds. The Frenchman marvelledmuch to see not only the British frigate, but all the merchant fleetclose together, and with main or fore yards aback. The truth is, CaptainMackenzie was issuing his orders by boat. About an hour afterwards Johnny Crapaud smiled grimly to himself to seethe _Tonneraire_ fill her sails and tack out to offer him battle. "The fool!" said Johnny. "When the gale of wind shall come, then I shallfight. Till then, _non_, _non_!" So he filled and bore southwards next; and as Jack had no desire for arace, he returned to his fleet. He had done all he wanted to: he had putJohnny on the wrong scent. That night, at sunset, clouds gathered up and quite obscured the sky. Johnny rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Soon, " he said, "it will blow what perfidious England calls big guns. Then--ah--_then_!" It blew big guns far sooner than he had expected. The night was intensely dark, but the half-moon would rise about fourbells in the middle watch. When Johnny Crapaud looked towards the fleet, lo! the vessels had extralights all, and lights were streaming from every port. "Ha! ha!" he grinned. "They rejoice; they dance. They think they havemade me fly. When the gale blows, then they will dance--to differentmusic. " The watch kept on board the French seventy-four was not extra vigilant. Especially did no one think of looking astern. Had any one on theoutlook done so, then just about a quarter of an hour before moonrise hemight have seen a dark shape coming hand-over-hand across the water fromthe direction in which "fair France" lay--fair France that many a poorfellow on Johnny's ship would never see again. It was the _Tonneraire_. She had made a detour with every stitch ofcanvas set, and was now almost close aboard of the enemy. Ah! at last they perceive her; and the noise on board the enemy isindescribable--the shrieking of orders, the rattle of arms and cordage, the trampling of feet, the stamping and unlimbering of guns. Butagainst her stern windows, which are all ablaze with light, the_Tonneraire_ concentrates her whole starboard broadside. The effect isstartling and terrible. Confusion prevails on board the enemy--almostpanic, indeed; and this lasts long enough for the frigate to sail backon the other tack. Jack's object is to cripple her, and with this objectin view he concentrates his larboard broadside again in the stern of theseventy-four, and her rudder is a thing of the past. Away glides the _Tonneraire_. _She_ is the phantom now. She loads herguns, and is coming down with the wind again--like the wind, too--whenthe seventy-four gets in her first broadside. It does but little harm. It does not stop the onward rush of the swift bold frigate even for amoment; and Jack's next broadside is a telling one, for the Frenchman'ssails are not only ashiver, but aflap, awry, anyhow and everyhow; andjust as the moon throws her first faint light athwart the waves, oncemore the helpless merchantmen tremble to hear the thunder of twentycannon. For the _Tonneraire_ has crossed the enemy's hawse, and rakedhim fore and aft. Now down comes the Frenchman's foremast; and shortly after, a wildtriumphant shout echoes from stem to stern and stern to stem of braveyoung Jack's ship, for the enemy has surrendered. A French seventy-four striking her flag to a British frigate of fortyguns! Yes; but far more daring deeds than that which I now recordhappened in the dashing days of old. Captain Jack Mackenzie would have gone right straight on board theenemy, but the master cautioned him. "Nay, nay, sir, " he said. "There is such a thing as French treachery; Ihave known it before. Wait till the moon gets higher, and we will boardin force. Remember, they may have about five hundred men still alive onthat ship. " Jack took the advice thus vouchsafed; but in half-an-hour's time the_Tonneraire_ rasped alongside the seventy-four, and a rush was made upthe sides of the battle-ship. But all was safe. And stark and stiff on his own poop lay the French captain, andalongside him more than one of his officers. The decks were a sad sightin the glimmering moonlight, for splintered timbers and arms layeverywhere, and everywhere were dead and wounded. More by token, from the uncertain, heavy-swaying motion of the vessel, it was evident she had been badly hit 'twixt wind and water, and wasalready sinking. All haste was therefore made to save the men. Those ofthe ship's boats that were not smashed were lowered, and furtherassistance was sent for from the merchant fleet, and none too sooneither. A few minutes after the last man--and that was Jack Mackenzie, whopersonally superintended everything--had left the ill-fated Frenchman, her decks blew up with a dull report, the water rushed in from allsides, and just as the sun threw his first yellow beams upwards throughthe morning clouds, the great ship shuddered like a dying thing, andshuddering sank. Such is war; why should we desire it? But side by side with tragedy do we ever find something akin to theridiculous or comic. It was Tom Fairlie himself who was despatched to the merchant fleet tobeg them to send all the boats they could to rescue the wounded andprisoners from the sinking war-ship. Almost the first vessel he boardedwas that commanded by the skipper who owned the bulbous nose. And here astrange and a wonderful sight met his gaze. Arranged in double rank onthe quarter-deck were about twenty or more sailors, each armed with agun and bayonet, the skipper himself at their head drilling them. "Shoulder-houp!" he was shouting as Tom leaped down from the bulwark. The most comical part of the business was this: every one of the honestskipper's sailor-soldiers had a white linen shirt on over his dress, andas the men's legs were bare to the knees, they all looked as near tonaked as decency would permit. While Tom stopped to laugh aloud, CaptainBulbous hastened to explain. "Were comin' to your assistance, I was, in half-a-minute. Stuck on themshirts so's they should know each other from the French. See? Do lookcurious, though, I must admit. What! the fight all over? Well, I _am_sorry. " Before eight bells in the morning watch the prisoners were distributedall over the fleet, with the exception of the wounded, who were underthe charge of Dr. M'Hearty on board the saucy _Tonneraire_. CHAPTER XIII. A HAPPY SHIP. "On Friendship so many perfections attend That the rational comfort of life is a friend. " DIBDIN. In the early part of the present century the poet Dibdin wrote withgreat feeling and spirit concerning the "generous Britons and thebarbarous French. " There is no doubt about it, the French in those dayswere far more cruel to their prisoners than ever we were to ours. And so the wounded on board the _Tonneraire_ were absolutely astoundedat the kind treatment they experienced under good M'Hearty and hisassistants. The surgeon himself looked in face--or figure-head--as roughand weather-beaten a sailor as ever trod a plank, but in heart he was astender as any woman. More than one of his poor patients wrung the doctor's red hands, and, with tears rolling over their sallow cheeks, prayed Heaven to bless himfor his goodness and sympathy. But this was not all, for even the men were good to the prisoners. Manya morsel of tobacco did they give them on the sly; and if a Jack-tarobserved that one was asleep in his hammock, he would sign to hisfellows to make as little noise as possible. It is no wonder, therefore, that the "Froggies, " as they were called, nearly all recovered fromtheir wounds. Two or three, however, succumbed, and these were buriedwith as much ceremony as if they had been British sailors. The sameimpressive and beautiful service was repeated by the grating where thebody lay; the same solemn silence prevailed while it was being read; andI am not sure that some of our Jacks did not even shed a tear--on thesly, that is, for your true sailor ever tries to hide two things, hisgrief and his tender-heartedness--as with dull plash the body droppedinto the sea. * * * * * Contrary winds and storms delayed the voyage. Nearly a whole month flewby, and still the little fleet had not yet reached the longitude ofNewfoundland. But to his credit be it told, Jack and his officers hadmanaged to keep them all well together, and had not lost one. The _Tonneraire_ was a very happy ship, the primary reason being thatJack Mackenzie, though a thorough upholder of the sacredness of duty, was really kind and thoughtful at heart. He knew the value in theservice of strict obedience to command. I have heard it said that aman-o'-war sailor or a soldier is a mere machine. He is not even that, he is only part of a machine; but he has the honour to be part andportion of one of the grandest machines that ever were perfected--theupholder of our national honour, the defender of British hearths andhomes, and the protector of tender women and helpless babies. We man-o'-war sailors, and ye soldiers, carry on war, it is true, and wehit just as hard as we know how to--and war is a fearful game at thebest; but, dear civilians, do not forget that we constitute the onlyinstitutions that can render peace possible, and your homes happy andsafe, machines though we be. But how would it be if strict, unthinking, unhesitating obedience werenot exacted from every man and officer in the service to the commands ofhis superior officers? Why, on the day of battle the army or navy wouldbe a mere squabbling mob, worse even than the British Parliament. I may mention here that it was his cheerful obedience to orders, hisgood-natured smiling alacrity--minus officiousness, mind you--hisunselfishness and his bravery, that gained for Jack Mackenzie the proudposition he now held. Young men who mean to enter the service should read that last sentenceof mine over again, ay, even get it by heart. I digress, you say? So I do. Well, I was saying that the _Tonneraire_ was a happy ship. All theofficers, both junior and senior, agreed. The chief lights of the seniormess were Tom Fairlie, always good-humoured and cheerful; honestM'Hearty, rough and genial; young Murray, the boy marine officer, merryand innocent; and Simmons the master, who _would_ have his growl, whowas all thunder without the lightning, but a very excellent old fellow, when young Murray didn't tease him _too_ much. Between M'Hearty, Fairlie, Murray, and Jack himself a strange sort of a compact was made. It was Murray who proposed it one lovely moonlight night, when the fourwere together on the poop. Young Murray had cheek enough for anything. He was the second son of a noble lord, and would himself be a lord oneday--probably. Not that his rank in life made him any the cheekier, butI suppose it was born in the boy. He cared little or nothing for theetiquette or punctilios of the service when it suited him not to. Forexample, he one day actually linked his arm through that of an admiralon the quarter-deck. Everybody was aghast; but the good old admiralmerely smiled. He knew boys and liked them. But that night on the quarter-deck Murray said openly and innocently toJack: "I like you, sir--fact, I wish you were my brother; and you too, Fairlie, though you're a fool sometimes; and you, M'Hearty, thoughyou're often absurdly rough. I wish we could be together for years andyears and years, in the same ship, you know, and all that sort ofthing. " "Well, why not?" said M'Hearty. "Let us try; eh, captain?" "I'm agreeable, " said Jack. "And I, " said Fairlie. "Hurrah!" cried Murray. So the compact was made. The men forward, taking the cue from their officers, were just asjolly. Those were terrible days of flogging. For a look or a glance, a manmight be tied up and receive four dozen lashes with the terrible "cat. "It was a brutal punishment. But M'Hearty was dead against it; Jack too;and so the grating was never rigged on board the _Tonneraire_. Well, despite dirty weather and head winds, the fleet finally sailedinto the mouth of the St. Lawrence river without ever losing a stick. Atthe Canadian capital, Jack and his officers, ay, and the men as well, had what the Yankees call "a real good time of it. " Jack became quite ahero among the ladies, young and old. Yet he did not let that elate him. His heart was not his own--as yet, though he might get over his grieffor his lost love Gerty. But having refitted, there was nothing left but to put to sea again. The _Tonneraire_ cruised all down by the American coast and to the WestIndies. Before reaching Jamaica she was attacked by two Frenchline-of-battle ships. What they were doing here they themselves bestknew. They were badly wanted just then on the other side of the sea. Nowthis was a chance to test the sailing powers of the _Tonneraire_. Discretion is sometimes better than valour. Valour is sometimes folly. Jack ran. Nelson himself did so once or twice. You and I, my bold youngreader, are not going to stand a blow from a big fellow without hittingback; but if the big fellow brings his big brother, then we may as welltake the opportunity of going shopping, or somewhere. Jack Mackenziewent shopping, so to speak, and the _Tonneraire_ won the race. I wish I had space in my story to tell you something about Jamaica, andthe lovely West India Islands, first discovered by Columbus. I amstrangely tempted to. I will. I _won't_. I shall. I _shan't_. Belay!I've won. * * * * * At the time of which I am writing--the latter end of 1796--there was avery pretty naval combination formed, with a view to crush the might ofBritain. The French, who had a navy nearly as powerful as our own, gotthe Dutch and Spaniards to join them, and felt certain that we should godown to Davy Jones by the run, and never more-- "Sweep through the deep While stormy winds do blow. " Instead of saying "got the Dutch and Spaniards to join them, " I shouldhave written, "formed an alliance with these nations against us, "because we determined that, with Heaven on our side, we should prevent ajunction of the fleets. So brave Scotch Duncan shut the Dutch up in theTexel like a lot of rats. They had not the pluck to come out and fighthim. Well, Duncan would have blown them sky-high, as he eventually did. There was a French fleet at Brest, and the Spaniards farther south, andhad they all got together--but then they didn't. You know the positionof a game of draughts when you have one of your enemy's crowned heads ineach corner, and he cannot move without danger. That is blockade, andthat is how we held and meant to hold the French, Spaniards, and Dutchtill we should smash them time about, and then sing, "Britannia, thepride of the ocean, " or some bold equivalent thereto. The Spaniards had their lesson first. It was well for Jack Mackenzie that he arrived off Cadiz in his swift_Tonneraire_[B] about a week before the great battle of St. Vincent. Ido not mean to describe this fight at any length; every school-boy knowsall about it. I merely wish to remind the reader of some of its chiefevents, because to me it has always seemed such a blood-stirringbattle. The haughty Don had a fleet of twenty-seven sail of the line andtwo frigates. Some of his ships, like the _Santissima-Trinidad_, wereperfect _montes belli_--thunder-bergs. Fancy a four-decker carrying onehundred and thirty guns! and the Spaniards had six that carried onehundred and twenty; while we had only two of one hundred guns, the_Victory_ and _Britannia_. [B] Fictitious name, the reader of history will note. On the 1st of February Lord St. Vincent, then Sir John Jervis, was inthe Tagus with only ten ships; but as the great fleet of the Don sailedfrom Carthagena to effect a junction with the French fleet at Toulon, Jervis set sail after them. He meant to spoil some of the paint-workabout that fine Spanish fleet. It was very brave of him, and quiteBritish. Luckily on the 6th he was joined by Admiral Parker with fiveships, and on the 13th--hurrah!--by Commodore Nelson himself. Strangelyenough, Nelson on the previous night seems to have sailed right throughthe Spanish fleet. St. Valentine's Day 1797 will ever be memorable in the naval annals ofthis country, for, in a driving mist and fog, our fleet that morningforgathered with the might of Spain off Cape St. Vincent. The majesticappearance of the ships of the Don could not but have impressed ourofficers and men, but it did not awe them. The bigger the ship thelarger the target, our Nelson used to say. Our fleet advanced in two beautiful lines. The Spaniards somehow had gotdivided into two groups--one of nineteen ships, the other group somedistance to leeward--and these two made haste to unite. But Jervisspoiled that move by getting between them and attacking the main body. After the battle had fairly commenced, and each ship of ours had herorders, Nelson noted an attempt on the part of Don Josef de Cordova topass round Jervis's rear and join the other portion of the fleet; anddespite the fact that he was disobeying orders--"They can but hang me, "he said to Captain Miller--he slipped back and threw his ship, the_Captain_, right athwart the mighty _Santissima-Trinidad_, thus drivingthe Don's fleet back. It was, as the reader knows, this daring action onthe part of Nelson that decided the battle. But how terribly the fightraged after that; how pluckily Nelson, with his vessel a wreck, boardedand captured ship after ship; how the hell of battle raged for threelong hours, let history tell, as well as speak of cases of individualheroism. Suffice it for me to say that the battle was won and the Donwas thrashed, among the captured ships being the mighty _Trinidad_herself, the Spanish admiral's castle. The _Tonneraire_ suffered severely. Sixty poor fellows would never againsee their native land, and many more were wounded. Young Murray was among the severely wounded, but Jack himself, and Tomas well, escaped without a scratch. "Oh dear me, dear me!" said M'Hearty, running up for a few moments fromthe heat and smoke of the stifling cockpit, "I am thirsty. " Poor M'Hearty! he wasn't a pretty sight to look at, begrimed with smokeand blood. But he just had a drink, and a big one, and went back oncemore to his terrible work. But the good doctor was washed and dressed and smiling again when hecame to the captain's cabin that evening while the stars were shining, to report, "Everything tidy, and all going on well. " "And poor Murray?" said Jack. "He'll be all right--a bullet clean through the chest. That's nothing toa young fellow like him. " "Well, stay and dine, " said Jack. "Willing, sir. What a glorious day we've had! But I can assure you, Captain Mackenzie, I'd rather have had my head above the hatches, nowand then, anyhow. " "Be content, " said Jack, laughing; "it might have been blown off, youknow. " CHAPTER XIV. MUTINY. "To be a hero, stand or fall, Depends upon the man; Let all then in their duty stand, Each point of duty weigh, Remembering those can best command Who best know to obey. "--DIBDIN. It is terrible to think and to remember that about this time our countrywas in the greatest danger of being conquered and lost through mutiny. Of all evils that can befall a navy this is surely the worst. There was a mutinous spirit in the fleet of Sir John Jervis after thebattle of St. Vincent, which the gallant knight used all his endeavoursto quell. He was a brave and most energetic officer, and not only did hehave the good of his country at heart, but he spared no effort to renderthose who served under him happy and comfortable. I do not refer to theofficers only, but to the men as well. One would not be far wrong insaying that he knew almost every man in the fleet. He loved his people, and liked to have them happy, going among them, and even suggestinggames and amusements. Those were the days of tossing cans, and ofSaturday nights at sea, and the drinking of the healths of wives andsweethearts. So long as the men kept sober, Jervis rather liked this, and was never better pleased than when, on the last evening of the week, he heard the voices of the men raised in song, or the squeaking of themerry fiddle and gleesome flute. But Sir John would have discipline, etiquette, and dress. Jack Mackenzie was never more honoured nor pleased than when he andM'Hearty were asked to dine with the admiral on board the flagship, the_Victory_. Sir John was jovial, nay, even jolly. Jack was shy, but hehad to talk, and much to his own surprise soon found himself as much athome in the admiral's society as he would have been in that of his ownfather. As for M'Hearty, nothing put that good fellow out, and at the admiral'srequest he gave a very graphic account indeed of his doings in thecockpit on the day of the battle. Sir John laughed heartily when thedoctor wound up seriously with the words, "But, dear Sir John, I _was_thirsty. " To have seen this admiral to-night, no one would have believed that hehad that day signed the death-warrant of the ringleader of the mutineerson board the _Marlborough_. But so it was, and to-morrow he should die. It was on board the _Marlborough_ that the mutiny had found a hot-bed. It was on board the _Marlborough_ that Sir John determined this manshould be hanged, hoisted up by the hands of his own messmates, whom hisseditious eloquence had seduced from duty's path. It was a stern resolve. The captain of the _Marlborough_ had come onboard to beg that the man might be executed in some other ship. Hismessmates, he averred, would never hang him, but would break at once outinto open mutiny. This officer was dismissed to his ship with one of theseverest reprimands ever administered to any captain in his majesty'sservice. Down below, in a darksome cabin of the cockpit of the _Victory_, Jackwent to see an old shipmate of his, a boatswain who had been with himin the _Ocean Pride_. He was wounded, but recovering, and was delightedto have a visit from one he had known as a mere boy. And not far from this gloomy cabin was the cell in which the unhappy manwas confined who next morning early should pay the penalty for hisinsubordination. Jack just caught one glimpse of his gray unhappy face, in which his dark eyes gleamed like living coals. That face haunted himin his dreams throughout the livelong night. He saw that face again next morning, as the man was being taken to theship to be hanged _by his messmates_. The same gray, cadaverous hue, thesame dark and stony stare. "Had he a wife, " Jack wondered, "or a sisterthat loved and cared for him, or prattling children who would never seetheir sailor 'daddy' more?" Oh, the sadness of it! The whole fleet witnessed that punishment from rigging and decks. Everyprecaution was taken to insure its being carried out. Captain Campbellof the _Blenheim_ superintended. Launches armed with carronades wereranged near the _Marlborough_, and the orders they had were to open fireat once upon the rebellious ship if the men refused obedience, or daredto open a port, and, if need be, to sink her with all hands, in presenceof the fleet. But see! the trembling wretch stands out upon the cat-head, the awfulrope around his neck. The end is rove through a block in the fore-yardarm, and taken down and round the deck, so that every man may help topull. Bang! A great gun is fired from the flagship. The sound thrills throughevery heart, and every eye is turned towards the _Marlborough's_cat-head. The rope trembles, is tightened, and finally--there is an end. The mutiny is nipped in the bud, and the fleet is saved. But thus it must ever be. Mutiny is a monster that must be crushed bythe iron heel of force, ere yet it is fully hatched. * * * * * Jack was not sorry when all was over and the boats returned to theirrespective ships. To relieve his mind he went to see Murray. The poorboy smiled feebly, and held out his white worn hand to clasp that ofJack. "I've been thinking of home, and my little sweetheart, sir. " "Have you a little sweetheart?" "Yes; look!" He took out a miniature from his breast--one of the sweetest young facesJack had ever seen. "That is why I don't want to die, sir. " Jack heaved a sigh. But after this all the spare time he had he passedby the side of young Murray's cot. And now came the terrible bombardmentof Cadiz. CHAPTER XV. BEFORE CADIZ. "For honour, glory, and the laws, Is native courage given; And he who fights his country's cause, Fights in the cause of Heaven. "--DIBDIN. It may be doubted whether the awful bombardment of Cadiz was a necessityof war. A bombardment is always a cruel undertaking, and often seemspositively cowardly. But Sir John had one particular reason of his own, independent of exigency, for this cannonade. There was still asmouldering fire of disaffection among the seamen of the fleet, and hetherefore determined to keep the sailors busy. Busy with a terriblebusy-ness surely, for day and night, night and day, the firing went on, while many a daring cutting-out expedition was organized; and in some ofthese, deeds of heroism were accomplished that the British nation maywell be proud of, even till this day. In one of these, during a boataction, Nelson himself was overpowered, and narrowly escaped beingslain. But for his coxswain, who twice or thrice interposed his own bodybetwixt the swords of the assailants and the commodore, the battle ofthe Nile would never have been fought. [C] [C] This man was for his gallantry promoted to be a gunner, and not long afterwards was killed at his gun. In the cutting-out expeditions and boat actions, in or near to theharbour, and in repelling attempts to run the blockade from the town, our officers, even our captains, fought side by side with their men. The marines were particularly gallant and courageous. Sir John Jervisdelighted to honour this gallant body of men. They certainly deserved tobe petted and made much of; but the admiral had another reason for histreatment of them. He thought he might possibly have eventually to playthem off against the seamen in case of revolt. Surely, upon the whole, this year 1797 was one of the most eventful inthe whole history of this long and bloody war. A dark cloud seemedhanging over our native land, which at any moment might burst into astorm that would end in our utter collapse, if not destruction. And theshadow of this cloud was in every heart. Nor is this to be wondered at. The people were positively an-hungered, the children were crying forbread. Far away in the north, the crops had all but failed, and famineand death stared the people in the face. Britain's best blood was beingdrained off to the wars; her sturdiest sons--those who ought to havestayed at home to work for the women and children--were "weeded away. "Money seemed to have taken unto itself wings and flown off; and inFebruary the Bank of England itself came down with a crash, and closedits doors. Even those who in wild disorderly mobs did not preach anarchyor cry for bread, called aloud for "Peace. " Peace, indeed! what wouldpeace have meant at such a time but dishonour and ruin. No, no! peacecould not again hover on her white wings over our distracted country formany a day. To make matters worse, Ireland was ripe for rebellion, andour British forces by land had been unsuccessful; for we had been beatenand thrashed by the French in Holland. Is it not a pretty picture? But the darkest hour had yet to come. I have already told you about thecombination formed against us. Well, had the Dutch fleet been able tojoin forces with the French, this brave Britain of ours would no longerhave ruled the ocean, and all the horrors of invasion, massacre, andrapine would have been added to our other troubles. We were dependingupon our Channel fleet to avert the last and overwhelming calamity, whenall at once, to the horror of every one, this fleet mutinied and refusedto go to sea. They even seized their officers, and though they lifted nohand against them, they disarmed them, and either made them prisoners orallowed a few, among whom were medical officers, to go on shore. The men demanded increase in pay and other allowances; and it must beconfessed that, upon the whole, they had their grievances. It was notbefore several anxious weeks had gone by that the differences weresettled. It was the good old admiral Lord Howe who himself brought the king'sfree pardon to the men, and the Act of Parliament granting them theirjust demands. He was a very great favourite, and looked upon as quite afather to the fleet. Then on the 17th of May the ships put to sea. [Illustration: "_Up and down the streets, carrying red flags, his fellows marched. _" Page 133. ] We must remember that seamen in the royal navy in those old days had agood deal to complain of. The pay was inadequate, the food was oftenunfit for human consumption, leave was seldom given in port, anddiscipline was often maintained by the cat-o'-nine-tails, the servicesof which might in nine cases out of ten have been dispensed with. Just a word or two about the mutiny at the Nore, and I have done, forever I trust, with so shocking a subject. The men here were far moreinsolent and overbearing in their demands. The president of themutineers--fancy calling a mutineer a president!--was, worse luck, aScotsman from Perth, of the name of Parker. He indeed ruled it for atime with a high hand, and was virtually admiral of the fleet atSheerness, up and down the streets of which, carrying red flags, hisfellows marched, in order to secure the sympathy of civilians. At this time, it will be remembered, Admiral Duncan was blockading theTexel, hemming in the Dutch fleet so that they might not join theFrench. Was it not a terrible thing that with the exception of twoships--the _Venerable_ (the flagship) and the _Adamant_--his fleetshould desert him, sail across the water and join the scoundrel Parkerat the Nore? Poor Scotch Duncan! When even the men of the flagship showed signs ofrevolting, he drew them around him, and in a voice which seemed almostchoked with rising tears addressed them in words that were at oncesimple and touching. His concluding sentences were somewhat asfollows:-- "Often and often, men, it has been my pride with you to look into theTexel on a foe which dreaded to come out to meet us. But my pride ishumbled now indeed; and no words of mine can express to you the anguishand sorrow in my heart. To be deserted by my fleet in the presence ofthe enemy is a disgrace that is hard, hard to bear, for never could Ihave deemed it possible. " That speech settled Jack as far as the flagship was concerned; forBritish sailors really have soft, kind hearts. It is as true even tothis hour what Dibdin wrote about Jack as it was in the dashing days ofold:-- "'Longside of an enemy, boldly and brave, He'll with broadside on broadside regale her; Yet he'll sigh to the soul o'er that enemy's grave, So noble's the mind of a sailor. "Let cannons roar loud, burst their sides let the bombs, Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle, The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes, And laughs at the storm and battle. "To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer, He's gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave, And this is a true British sailor. " President Parker of the "Republic Afloat" formed a cordon across themouth of the Thames, and intercepted all traffic. But he did not burn along peat stack, to use a Scotticism; for the nation was enraged at him, and one by one his ships went back to their allegiance. He was seized, and after a three days' trial was condemned and executed, cool andintrepid to the very last. The battle of St. Vincent--by no means a crowning victory--did much tocheer the drooping hearts of the people of England. It was an earnest ofwhat was to follow, and probably did more to restrain the crawling demonRevolution than anything else could have done; for Britain ever lovedher ships and her sailors. But none knew the state of our country at this time better than Sir JohnJervis, nor how much depended upon the success of our arms at sea. Itwas for this reason that he threw himself so thoroughly heart and soulinto the great game of naval warfare, and became the pivot around whichthe whole fleet lived and moved. There were many petty officers, and men too, among the ships who werefully aware that we were fighting against fearful odds. But a sailor isso constituted that he never lets care trouble him. Jack Mackenzie wasa very great favourite with his men. He knew the way to their hearts. Itwas not his young friend Murray's bedside only that he visited. Therewas not a wounded or a sick man in the whole ship who did not see him atleast once a day, and he freely distributed wine, jellies, and manyanother dainty from his own mess to comfort and sustain the sick. Jack spliced the main-brace sometimes too. One Saturday evening hereturned from a very daring and extra-well-carried-out brush with theenemy's river craft, in which his gallant fellows had cut out a barquefrom the very harbour's mouth, without the loss of a man. As soon as hehad refreshed himself somewhat with a bath and change of clothes, hevisited young Murray, whom he found doing well, and hopeful now that hewould live to see his little sweetheart once again. Then he saw the sickmen, after which he gave orders to splice the main-brace. Walking forward some hours after this, you might have heard such songsas "Tom Bowling" rolled up from near the forecastle, or Dibdin's"Saturday Night at Sea. " "'Twas Saturday night: the twinkling stars Shone on the rippling sea; No duty called the jovial tars, The helm was lashed a-lee. The ample can adorned the board: Prepared to see it out, Each gave the lass that he adored, And pushed the can about. " Jack on this particular evening had M'Hearty and Tom Fairlie to dinewith him, and they were still lingering over dessert, when the stewardinformed the captain that Jones the boatswain desired to speak to him. It was an odd request at such a time, but Jones was immediatelyadmitted. His face was very serious indeed. He glanced uneasily at theservants, and interpreting the look to mean that he wished privacy, Captain Mackenzie ordered them to retire. If Jones was serious, Jack was much more so when he made his statement, which he did in straightforward British sailor's English. CHAPTER XVI. JACK AND THE MUTINEERS. "Obedience every work combines, Diffuses to each part That ardour which the mind refines, Expands and mends the heart. " DIBDIN. "It's been a-going on for some little len'th o' time, your honour, " saidJones. "Me and my messmates took little heed o't for a time, thinkin' itwere only Scrivings' bombast, 'cause ye see, sir, he's only a blessedmouth of a fellow arter all. " "Ha!" interrupted M'Hearty, "that fellow is one of your pressed men, isn't he?" "Yes, " said Jack; "the ringleader of the smugglers, and a bold, badman. " "That's he to a T, " said Jones. "Well, they're all in it, the twenty o'them. I'm no sneak, and I'm no spy, but I thought it was my duty to tellyour honour. They're preaching mutiny, and they're spreading sedition, and--and"--here Jones lost his temper, and forgot himself so far as tobring his fist down on the table with a force that made all the glassesrattle--"I'd hang the blessed lot. " Jones was thanked, told to keep dark, and, after a stiff glass of thecaptain's rum, retired. This man had done his duty. Early next morning, Admiral Sir John was surprised to receive a visitfrom Captain Mackenzie. The latter soon opened fire in true sailor fashion. "Admiral, " he said, "I've come to make an exchange. I want two of yourbest men for two of my very bad hats. " The admiral laughingly requested an explanation. "For, " he added, "youcertainly seem to me to wish the better half of the bargain. " Jack explained in a very few words. He desired, instead of bringing thewould-be mutineers to trial, to send one or two of them to every ship inthe fleet. "'Pon honour, " said Jervis, "the plan does you credit. I'd have hangedone or two of them. But this is better--indeed it is. Well, I'll takeyour two blackest hats; and I shan't forget to mention your clevernesswhen I send home a despatch. Come down to breakfast. " That very day the smugglers were scattered all over the fleet, and peaceonce more reigned in the _Tonneraire_. * * * * * In a few weeks' time the wounded on board Jack's ship were nearly allwell; and he was not sorry when one day he was sent for by the admiral, and told that he was to proceed to sea. There were many ships, bothSpanish and French, sailing to and fro on the coast carrying despatchesof great importance, because they were intended to enable the enemy tocomplete their plans. These he was to chase, and either capture ordestroy as suited him best. Before he left on this cruise, the men and officers of the _Tonneraire_were delighted to receive letters from home. Jack took his little packetwith a beating heart, and, retiring to his cabin, gave orders that hewas not to be disturbed until he should again appear. Ah, no one save a sailor knows the real delight experienced in receivingletters from home! And here was one in his father's handwriting. Why, it was dated from Ireland; and that is where the general was stationed, waiting, as he said, to give a true Highland welcome to the French assoon as they should land. It said nothing about the lost estate and thebonnie house that once was their home; but it was bold and hopefulthroughout. The general had heard of all Jack's doings, and was proud ofsuch a son. He concluded with a fatherly blessing, bidding him neverforget he was a Grant Mackenzie. Then he opened Flora's letter. Sisterly throughout. She was as happy atTorquay as she could expect to be, but longed--oh so much--to see herdear brother once more. Then she went on to talk of old times, and howhappy they would be when they were all together once again. So itconcluded, without one word about Gerty. He laid the letter down with a sigh. A strange sense of loneliness, offorsakenness, took possession of his heart. He thought he had forgottenhis false love. At this moment she seemed dearer to him than ever. He next took slowly up from the table a letter in a strange, ill-spelt, scrawly hand, and opened it mechanically. But his face brightened as hebegan to read. I append a portion of it with a few corrections:-- "MY DEAR LUV, --Which it is me as misses you. Yes, Master Jack, me and missus too, though you promised to marry me when you grew a man, and used to give me such sweet kisses. Oh, I wish I had some now! I know'd as that was only Jack's little joke. Me a servant girl, and you a big, tall, beautiful officer. But, la! the larks as we used to 'ave when putting you to bed. It makes me larf now to think of 'em; and how you wouldn't go to sleep till I lay down beside you and sung you off. Yes, missus misses you, and so do I. And poor old Sir Digby has been laid up with the gout; and poor dear missus says as how she won't marry him for two years yet to come. And old master's content because he says he knows she'll be Lady Digby by-and-by. But missus she do look so sad and peaky sometimes; only when old Mr. Richards comes she just goes wild with joy, and sits on his knee just like old times, and sometimes, poor child, goes to sleep with her head on his shoulder. But here comes missus, only she mustn't see this letter. No more at present, but remains yours till death, with luv and sweet kisses. --MARY. " Love and sweet kisses, indeed! Jack laughed aloud. Then he read Mary'sletter all over again. Then, will it be believed? he kissed it. Afterthis, can you credit it? he placed it in his bosom. What did Jack mean, I wonder? The next letter was a right hearty one, from kind old Mr. Richards. There was a deal of business in it, and a deal that wasn't; but thesentence that pleased Jack best was this: "I'm looking after Gerty. I'msaving her for _you_. Old Keane _may_ sacrifice his daughter to SirDigby, but there will be two moons in the sky that day, and another inthe duck-pond. Keep up your heart, boy. I'm laying the prettiest littletrap for Sir Digby ever you saw. Gee-ho! Cheerily does it. " Cheerily did do it. All the gloom that poor Flora's kind letter had leftin Jack's heart was banished now, and he had begun to sing. He was leaving his room, when he ran foul of Tom Fairlie. Tom was singing too, and smiling. Jack pulled him right into his cabin and shut the door. "What are you all smiles about?" said Jack. "Why are you all smiles?" said Tom. "Had a letter from Flora?" "Heard about Gerty?" Then something very funny or very joyous seemed to tickle the pair ofthem at precisely the same moment, and they laughed aloud till all theglasses on the swing-table rang out a jingling chorus. "I say, Tom, " said Jack at last, "I feel I can fight the French now. " "Precisely how I feel. Ha! ha! ha!" "Well, come and dine with me to-night--all alone. " And Tom did. CHAPTER XVII. IN A FOOL'S PARADISE. "The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu' weel; And mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel. "--_Old Song. _ In the interests of truth, I have now to record that my hero, CaptainJack Mackenzie, formed one of the most ridiculous resolutions any youngman could have been guilty of making. It is all very well buildingcastles in the air--indeed, it is rather a pretty pastime thanotherwise, and may at times be productive of good; but when it comes tobuilding for one's self, willingly and with wide-open eyes, a wholeparadise--fool's, of course--and quietly taking up one's abode therein, the absurdity of the speculation must be apparent to every one. But this is just what our Jack now set about doing. For many a longmonth back he had worked and slaved, and fought battles, and sailed hisship, and did all he could, it must be confessed, to make everybodyaround him happy, while a load of sorrow, which felt as big as a bag ofshrapnel or a kedge anchor, lay at his own heart. He now determined toget rid of this incubus, to leave it, or creep out from under itsomehow. During all these months he had tried, and tried hard, to forgethis lost love Gerty, but all in vain. Trying to forget her made mattersinfinitely worse, so now he meant to indulge himself in the sweet beliefthat she still was his, still loved him; that there was no suchindividual in the world as silly old Sir Digby; and that he, Jack, hadonly to go home, if it pleased Heaven to spare him, and claim the deargirl as his wife. He certainly did not mean to force himself to think about her, only hewould do nothing to impede the flow of happy thoughts whenever theyshowed a tendency to come stealing over his soul. These are his ownwords, spoken to himself in the privacy of his state-room. And betweenyou and me and the binnacle, reader, not to let it go any further, Ibelieve it was poor Mary's letter, with its "dear luv" and its "sweetkisses, " that was at the bottom of Jack's resolve. For had she notwritten, as plain as quill can write, the magical sentence, "Yes, missusmisses you; so do I"? It didn't matter a spoonful of tar about the "sodo I, " but there was the "missus misses you. " Ah! it was around thesesimple, euphonious words that hope hung like a garland of forget-me-not. Why did missus miss him? Mary wouldn't have said that missus missed himif missus didn't. So ran Jack's thoughts as he walked up and down thefloor of his cabin. No, Mary wasn't a girl of that sort. Missus missedhim, and there was an end of it. Missus missed him, _ergo_ missus mustsometimes think about him, and upon this belief he meant to hinge hishappiness. Missus must-- "Rat--tat--tat--tat. " "Come in. Ah, Tom, there you are! Glad you've come a little beforedinner is served. Well, we're all ready for sea, I suppose?" "Yes; as soon as you like to-morrow morning, sir. " "Well, dowse the 'sir, ' Tom, else I'll send you away without a morsel ofdinner. We're not on the quarter-deck now, you know. You're Tom, and I'mjust Jack. " A few minutes afterwards, Tom, strolling carelessly towards Jack'swriting-table, picked up a sheet of paper, and to his astonishment readas follows:-- "Missus missed thee, so do I, Drop the tear and sigh the sigh; Yet ne'er let sorrow cloud thy brow-- She loved thee once, she loves thee now. " "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Tom aloud. Jack got as red as a tomato, and rushed to rescue the manuscript. "Put it down at once, Tom! How dare you?" But Tom only laughed the more. He read Jack's inspiration from end toend, in spite of all that Jack could do. "Well, " he said when he had finished, "I knew you could fight a bit, butthis is a revelation. 'Missus missed thee'--ha! ha! ha!" It was well for Jack and Tom both that the steward and servants enteredat that moment with the dinner. Poetry soon gave place to soup, andsentiment fled on the appearance of the roast-beef. But when dessert was placed upon the table, and the servants had gone, Jack, feeling bound to open his heart to somebody, told Tom about thefool's paradise to which he meant to flit from Castle Despair, in whichhe had dwelt so long. Tom was a thoroughly practical kind of a young fellow, and now he shookhis head consideringly. "M--m--m, well, " he said, "the notion isn't half a bad one, you know, perhaps. But, Jack, doesn't it savour somewhat of the reckless? Scotsmenare all reckless, I know, especially, I believe, the Grant Mackenzies;and your idea may be good, but--a--" "Well, well, Tom, out with it, man. What _are_ you humming and hawingabout?" "Why, it's like this, you see--and, mind, I speak to you as abrother--it may be very pleasant, say, for a few friends met together totake an extra glass of wine, and spend a happy evening, but shouldn'tthey think of their heads in the morning?" "I _have_ thought of my head in the morning, Tom; I _have_ thought ofthe awakening. I do know that some day I shall see an announcement inthe _Times_ of the marriage of Sir Digby Auld and--heigh-ho! Gerty; thatthen I shall have to leave my pretty paradise, and that the flamingsword of honour will forbid my ever entering there again. But till then, Tom, till then. Bother it all, man, you wouldn't have a fellow makehimself miserable all his life, simply because he knows he has got to goto Davy Jones' locker at the finish?" "Oh no, " said Tom, gravely. "Well, then, brother mine, I mean to live in my fool's paradise as longas ever I can, and when the end comes I'll flit. " "Tom, " he continued, after a pause of about a minute, "on board the old_Ocean Pride_ I once told you the story of my love for Gerty; and I toldyou also all I knew about dear father's difficulties. We both know nowhow complete daddy's financial ruin is, but I have never yet told youthe true story of Gerty's engagement to Sir Digby Auld. I'll tell younow, and you won't think so hard of the poor girl when I have finished. " Jack Mackenzie spoke for fully a quarter of an hour withoutintermission, ending with these words: "So you see, brother, the deargirl is positively immolating herself on the altar of filial love, andwhat she considers duty. She loves the old man Keane surely more dearlythan daughter has any right to love a father; and her main ambition andobject in life is to see the lonely man happy and respected in his oldage. So, dear Tom, don't bid me leave my fool's paradise yet a while. You have _your_ happiness; I--" He paused, and sighed a weary kind of sigh. Tom was touched to the very bottom of his heart. He stretched his armacross the walnuts and grasped his friend's hand. "Poor Jack!" he said. "Live in your paradise and be happy. Would that Icould give you hopes that your lease will be a very long one. " "Besides, " continued Jack, excusing himself a little more, "with a lightheart I shall be able to drub the French more cheerfully. " Tom's eyes sparkled. "Ah yes!" he said; "and for the very same reason I too feel in thefinest of form for drubbing the French. " "And we've had no single-ship action with the Dons yet. " "Their time is coming. " "Yes, their time is coming. A man never swings a sword half so well, norsails and fights a ship so well, as when he is in love and happy: 'For mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel. '" CHAPTER XVIII. "WOULD HE EVER COME AGAIN?" "A sailor's life's the life for me, He takes his duty merrily; If bullets whistle, Jack can sing, Still faithful to his friend and king. " DIBDIN. Jack was right about love and "the creel, " or rather, I should say, theold song is right, -- "Mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel. " For the next three months the swift _Tonneraire_ was here, there, andeverywhere--except in England. She cruised much farther south, andchiefly along the coast of France, and seldom put into harbour except tocut out some merchantman, snugly ensconced, perhaps, under the guns of afort, and deeming herself in a very safe position. It was, unfortunately for her, the feeling of security that proved her ruin. Three or four several times did the _Tonneraire_ thus prove herself acrack ship. A crack ship with a crack crew and officers, remember; forthe best of ships is but a drone unless well managed. Not even a drone, indeed; for a drone is a most duty-full bee, and a most respectablemember of the apiarian republic. There is a vast deal of veryindifferent music in the very best of fiddles, and I feel quiteconvinced that had some less active officer commanded even the_Tonneraire_, he would have had little to show at the end of his cruise. In his daring cutting-out expeditions Jack had been invariablysuccessful. First and foremost he chased the vessel, and failing tooverhaul her, he bore away seawards again, as if he had given up allhope, she perhaps taking refuge under the guns of a fort. But althoughhe might sail out of sight of land, soon as the shades of evening beganto fall the _Tonneraire_ came round. Then all depended on cleverness andpluck. The _Ferdinand_ was a gun-brig that, on the morning of the 12th of June'97, had saucily fired at the _Tonneraire_, then shown her a clean pairof heels. She was near to the port of T----, so could afford to beinsolent. Jack sent a fifty-six pound shot tearing through her rigging, without doing much damage, on which the _Ferdinand_ fired again from herstern. Only a puff of white smoke, only a ten-pound shot, with a soundwithal like that of a boy's pop-gun. But it was enough. Jack's Highlandblood was up; and he said to M'Hearty, who was near him on the poop, "I'll have her, if only for her insolence. " M'Hearty laughed. It was not polite; but he couldn't help it. For thedoctor and captain of the _Tonneraire_ were the dearest friends. "You've been much livelier and happier within this last month or two, "said M'Hearty. "Tell me, sir, are you in love?" "What would you do if I were?" "Nothing, Captain Jack. I've got pills to cure melancholy; but for love, well, I never had it myself, so I shouldn't know what to do. But--mayyou be happy. " It was very dark that night when the _Tonneraire_ stole silently back. She hauled her main-yard aback, and five armed boats, under command ofTom, were despatched to cut the saucy Frenchman out. The oars weremuffled, and there was not a glimmer of light permitted to shineanywhere about the ship. The captain of marines and Murray both went in different boats, and onthis occasion M'Hearty himself. The great fellow said he wanted tostretch his legs and swing his arms about a bit. "Don't get shot, anyhow, doctor, " said Jack. "My clear Captain Mackenzie, I'm positively bulletproof. " Young Murray was in high glee. He put on white gloves for the occasion. M'Hearty left his sword on board, and his coat and hat, and positivelyentered the boat bareheaded, in his shirt sleeves, and armed with acutlass. "Nobody will see me, " he said to Jack. "I'll be bound they'll feel you, " laughed the captain of marines. This was as pretty a cutting-out action as ever I have heard of. Feeling sure of their safety, the Frenchmen were careless in theirwatch. The officers were wining and playing cards down below, whensuddenly there was a shout, and a rattle and bump and rush. Hardly hadthe bugle, that awakened echoes from the walls of the fort, sung out tosummon the crew to repel boarders, ere our fine fellows were on board. Stern was the resistance made, however, to the British tars. BigM'Hearty had boarded on the port-bow, and came flailing away aft. Heknew nothing of sword-exercise, but simply grasped the cutlass, a hugeone, by both hands, and hammered away in old Highland fashion. But aFrenchman fell at every blow. Murray fought like a little lion, but was knocked under a gun, and laylike a dead thing till all the fight was over, and long after. Yes, they were victorious. "Better go back to your cards and wine, " shouted M'Hearty, as he drovethe last officer down below. Meanwhile, will it be believed, the fort opened fire on their own brig. Tom caused every light at once to be extinguished. Then sail was set, and though the brig was struck over and over with round shot, again theymanaged to cut her out. As she got fairly under way, our fellowsreturned a cheer of defiance to the fort, and just one gun was fired byway of farewell. The capture had not been without mishap. Two of our men were killedoutright, and about ten, including Murray, were wounded. At first it was thought the sprightly young officer was dead, but soonafter being carried on board his own ship, he opened his eyes, staredwildly around him for a few moments, then sank again into insensibility. He had been merely stunned. This made the third time Murray had come to grief in action. "It was always the same, " he said, "even when I was a little fellow; Inever could fight without getting a bad black eye. Just my luck. " The brig was manned by a prize crew, half the Froggies, as our Jackscarelessly called them, being taken on board the man-o'-war. These werestarted for England a day or two afterwards, in a gun-brig of ours whichwas fallen in with homeward bound. The _Ferdinand_ was sent home, a midshipman being in charge as captain, and a happy lad was he. But long before he reached England this samegun-brig was recaptured by the French, and this same middy, prize crewand all, made prisoners. He was not so happy then! only this is thefortune of war. Jack Mackenzie used to boast that the _Tonneraire_ carried the smartestlot of midshipmen that the service could boast of. They were indeed afine lot, not midship_mites_ but midship_men_; for some indeed hadbeen, for acts of valour, promoted from gunners or boatswains. It needed all their strength and courage to fight the battle I shall nowbriefly describe. Everything, it is said, is fair in love and war. I do not know about thelove, but I am certain about the war. It is the aim and object of anyone nation carrying on war with another, not only to destroy thewar-ships of the enemy, but to sink and burn her vessels of commercewherever found. In this memorable cruise of Jack Mackenzie's, then, hewas ever on the outlook for a sail or sails. The _Tonneraire_ was asfleet as the wind. If, then, a man-o'-war, French or Spanish, was fallenin with, unless the odds seemed out of all proportion against him, Jackfought her. If she was too big he performed a strategic retreat; well, in plainer language, he ran away. But he used to send boats in and around the numerous islands on thecoast of France to reconnoitre, and frequently they found somethinglying at anchor worth attacking. When, one forenoon, Tom Fairliereturned and reported a whole convoy of merchantmen lying at anchorunder the protection of a frigate and the forts between the island ofN---- and the mainland, Jack at once held a council of war, andit was resolved to attack after nightfall. On this occasion all theboats save one were needed, and the little expedition consisted of sevenofficers, over one hundred Seamen, and fifty marines. As usual, the boarding took place after dark. I need not describe thefight; it was fierce, brief, and terrible, but finally the frigate wascaptured. At this time very little wind was blowing, and a half-moon in the skyshed a sad but uncertain light upon the blood-slippery decks. And now a council of war was held to consider what had best be done. Thedestruction of the fleet of fifteen merchantmen, who as the tide wasrunning out had grounded in shallow water, was imperative. It wasdetermined, therefore, to leave a sufficient force of men on board thecaptured vessel, in case of an attempt on the part of the foe to regaintheir ship, and to proceed forthwith to burn the fleet. Tom Fairlie leftfour of his sturdiest mids and eighty men on board the frigate, and thenleft her. In less than half-an-hour every one of the merchantmen waswell a-lit, the crews having already escaped in their boats. It was a strange and appalling sight. The flames were red and lurid, thegreen hills, the dark rocks, and the sands were lit up with a brilliancyas of noonday, while the rolling clouds of smoke, laden as thickly withsparks as the sky in a snowstorm, were carried far away southwards andseaward. But the light was dazzling, confusing; and before the boldsailors knew which way to steer, they ran aground. The tide, in tenminutes' time, left them high and dry. Guns from the forts, too, began to roar out; and to add to the terror ofthe situation, a company of soldiers was drawn up on the beach, andTom's men began to fall, uncertain though their fire was. It was a trying situation; but Tom Fairlie was as cool as an oldgeneral. He descried that troops of marines, hundreds in fact, werebeing poured into the frigate, and that she seemed already recaptured. He resolved, therefore, to desert his boats and cross the bay, where laya craft which could contain all his men. This was done at extraordinary hazard, Tom's men, though bearing theirwounded with them, keeping up a running fire till the craft was reached. Luckily the soldiers had retired, but it took his men half-an-hour toget the little schooner into deep water. It was a sad though heroic story that Tom Fairlie had to tell when inthe gray dawn of that summer's morning he rejoined his ship. Jack now made all sail southwards, to report proceedings to his admiral. He was welcomed most kindly; and although he half expected a reprimandfor losing so many boats and so many men, he received nothing but praisefor his gallantry, and a special despatch was sent home descriptive ofthe whole cruise of the _Tonneraire_. "We cannot expect to fight without losses, " said the good admiralwarmly; "and I am always pleased when my officers do their duty, as youand your brave associates have done yours. " Jack's face glowed with shy pride. It was so delightful to be thustalked to that his eyes filled with tears. The _Tonneraire_ got more boats, and was soon again on the war-path; butsomehow everybody in the mess, and even the sailors forward, sadlymissed the merry, laughing face of young Murray, for the boy was amongthe captured. Would he ever come again? CHAPTER XIX. THE BATTLE OF CAMPERDOWN. "The flag of Britannia, the flag of the brave, Triumphant it floateth on land and o'er wave, And proudly it braveth the battle and blast, For when tattered with shot it is nailed to the mast. " _Old Song. _ It was early on the morning of one of those bright and bracing days inthe beginning of October, when summer seems to return as if to saygood-bye before giving place to winter with its wild winds, its stormyseas, its driving mist and sleet. The _Tonneraire_ had sailed in towardsHavre on the previous evening. To put it in plain English, she was onthe prowl. Jack had received word from a fisherman that lying at anchorwas a very large store-ship belonging to the French, and he meant to cuther out or destroy her. But either the fisherman had deceived him orthe vessel had sailed. He found no vessel that he could make a prize of, nor any foeman worthy of his steel. Having been up half the night, Jack Mackenzie was tired, and had laindown to sleep. The ship was under easy sail, and going to the north andwest, right before the wind. Jack was dreaming about his old home ofGrantley Hall. He was walking in the garden on a bright moonlight nightwith his sister and Gerty; but the sister had gone on, up the broadgreen walk, while the other two stopped beside the old dial-stone, thefigures on which were quite overgrown with green moss and graypink-tipped lichens. "See, see, Gerty, " he was saying, as he hurriedly cleared the stone, "the old time appears again, the dear old days have come once more. Thefigures were always there though we could not see them. Our old love, Gerty, like the figures in the dial, has been obscured, but never, neverlost. " A bonnie blush had stolen over her face, and her long eyelashesswept her cheeks, as she glanced downwards at a bouquet of blue flowersJack had given her. She was about to reply, when sharp as a pistol-shoton the quiet morning air rang out the voice of the outlook aloft, -- "Sail ahead, sir; right away on the starboard bow!" Gerty with her flowers of blue, Gerty with the bonnie blush on her cheekand the love-light in her eye, Grantley Hall, green grassy walks, dial-stone, and all vanished in a hand-clap, and next moment Jack washurriedly dressing to go on deck. She was a French sloop of war. Disappointed at his want of success onthe previous night, Jack announced to Tom Fairlie his generous intentionof blowing her sky-high. So all sail was crowded in chase. The sloop bore away before the wind. She knew, perhaps, her best coursefor safety and escape. It was very tantalizing but very exciting withal. She might have been aphantom ship, so steadily did she crack on all day long, Jack nevergetting a knot nearer, nor she a knot farther off. Stun'-sails were setand carried away, all was done that could be done; but when at last thecrimson sun sank in a pink and purple haze, all on board could see thatthe sloop had won the race. But strange things happen, and but for this sloop Jack would never havehad the honour of being at the battle of Camperdown. They had sailedvery far north; and about five bells in the morning watch, while it wasstill dark, the _Tonneraire_ found herself surrounded with mightymen-of-war. Now, if these were Frenchmen, the days and years of theswift _Tonneraire_ were assuredly numbered. But they were not. They werethe ships of Britannia, who was even then ruling the sea--the fleet ofbold Scotch Duncan, who had been refitting at Yarmouth, when he hadheard that the great Dutch fleet of De Winter had at last crawled out ofthe Texel, and was on its way south to effect a junction with theFrench, then--Heaven help Britannia! "Going to join the French fleet De Winter is, is he?" Scotch Duncan saidwhen he heard the news. Duncan never said a bad word, but on thismemorable occasion he hitched up his Scotch breeks and added, "I'll bedashed if he does. Make the signal 'Up anchor!'" Having issued thisorder, he coolly entered his state-room to lock his drawers and put awayhis papers and jewellery, for he knew the ship would be knocked about abit. As he did so he whistled "Johnnie Cope. " And now the _Tonneraire_ was hailed by the flagship, and told to fall inwith the fleet. Tom Fairlie rubbed his hands with delight, M'Hearty chuckled, and oldSimmons rumbled out some remark to the effect that he knew Duncan well, and that "you youngsters" (that was Tom and Jack) "will soon have yourfill of honour and glory. " So they did. And braver battle than Camperdown was never fought. Not only did ourfellows exhibit the greatest of courage, but gallant De Winter as well. The Dutch had about twenty ships, and we nineteen in all. Since thesuppression of the mutiny at the Nore, Duncan had regained all hisfleet; and the men seemed determined to wipe out the stain that hadblackened their characters. And right well they succeeded. You must go to history for a complete account of the battle. Suffice itfor me to say that on coming up with the enemy's fleet on the 11th ofOctober, Duncan broke right through it and got inshore. De Winter couldnot have got away had he wanted to ever so much. The great battle wasfought dangerously near to the coast indeed, for here were shoals andsands that were quite unknown to our fleet. The beach was lined withspectators, who must have been appalled at this terrible conflict ofgiants. The _Tonneraire_ was splendidly handled. Old Simmons himself took thewheel, and carried her grandly alongside a Dutchman nearly double hersize, so close that the guns touched, and seemed to belch fire anddestruction down each other's iron throats. But Jack had no intention ofstopping there to be blown out of the water by the Dutchman'sbroadsides. "Away, boarders!" It was Jack's own brave voice sounding through thetrumpet, high over the din of battle. Then, ah then! a scene ensued that it may be just as well not todescribe too graphically. Our marines and blue-jackets boarded pell-melland together, and amid the roar of cannon from other ships, theincessant rattle of musketry from the tops, the hand-to-hand fight ragedon, with shouts and groans and shrieks of execration. Hitherto nowounded man had been borne below to the cockpit, so that M'Hearty wasidle as yet. He was on the rigging with the captain, from which they hada bird's-eye view of the battle. "Look, sir, look, the captain of marines has fallen. Oh, I can't standthis!" Next moment he had leaped below. Off went his coat and waistcoat andhat. He seized a cutlass, and in a minute more was on the Dutchman'sdeck, flailing away like a perfect Wallace Redivivus. Many a head hebroke, for he literally showered his blows like wintry rain. He saved the marine captain's life, although that sailor-soldier wasseverely wounded. It is almost unnecessary to say that, under thecircumstances, Captain Jack Mackenzie forgave the gallant doctor forleaving his ship without permission. But the toughest fight of all raged around Duncan's flagship, the_Venerable_, when she tackled that of the Dutch admiral DeWinter--namely, the _Vreyheid_. Just as in days of long, long ago thechiefs of opposing armies used to delight to single each other out andfight hand-to-hand, so did bold Duncan keep his eye on the Dutchman, andas soon as the battle had commenced he went straight for her. As he boredown towards her, however, the _States-General_ presented a target thathe could not resist, for she was stern on to the _Venerable_. Murderousindeed was the broadside Duncan poured into her, raking her from aft tofore. This vessel soon after left the battle ranks, with a loss of overtwo hundred and fifty killed and wounded. [Illustration: "_Bold Jack Crawford nailed the colours to the mast. _" Page 169. ] And now the great tulzie commenced in awful earnest, for Duncan rangedhimself up against the _Vreyheid_ to the lee, while to windward ofher was the _Ardent_. But three mighty Dutchmen came down hand-over-handto the defence of their brave admiral's ship. So fearful was the fire ofthese latter that Duncan's ship would speedily have been placed _hors decombat_, had not others come to his rescue and restored the balance. Butnothing could withstand the fury of Duncan's onslaught; and at last, with every officer dead or wounded, the brave Dutch admiral hauled downhis flag. Twice during the terrible combat had Admiral Duncan's flagbeen shot away. It was then that bold Jack Crawford, whose nameindicates his Scottish origin, wrapped the colours round his waist, andproviding himself with nails and a hammer, climbed nearly to themain-truck and nailed the ensign to the mast. Duncan received De Winter's sword, and soon after the battle was overand the victory ours. A glorious day and a glorious victory, but, ah!how dearly bought. It gives us some faint notion of the pluck and go ofour navy in those fighting days of old, to learn that the _Ardent_ hadher captain and forty officers and men slain outright, and no less thanone hundred and seven wounded. The scene in the cockpit during a fight like this is one that geniusalone could graphically depict. The centre-ground of the picture is thebig table, around which the surgeons are at work, stripped to theirshirts, their faces stained, their hands and garments dripping gore. Thewhole place is filled with stifling smoke, through which the glimmeringlights are but faintly seen; but all around are ranged the wounded, thegashed, the bleeding, awaiting their turn on the terrible table. You canhear them if you cannot see them--hear them groaning, sometimes evenshrieking, in their agony; and the mournful call for "Water! water!" isheard in every lull of the fight or momentary cessation of cannon'sroar. And bending low as they move among them are the stewards andidlers of the ship, serving out the coveted draught. But down theblood-slippery companion-ladder come the bearers incessantly, carryingas gently as a Jack can their sorely-stricken messmates. Verily a sadscene! On deck war is witnessed in all its pomp and its panoply, on deckis honour and glory; the dark side is seen in the cockpit--the sorrow, the despair, the hopelessness, the agony, the death. CHAPTER XX. NELSON AND THE NILE. "With one of his precious limbs shot away, Bold Nelson knowed well how to trick 'em; So, as for the French, 'tis as much as to say, We can tie up one hand, and then lick 'em. " DIBDIN. Things in England began to look up. Those who preached revolution wereforced to hide their heads with shame after the great battle ofCamperdown. For this fight had completely restored confidence in ourcountry's powers, and for the time being the fears of invasion had fledfar away. In many a lordly hall over all the land the feast was laid, on many alofty hill the bonfires blazed; it was indeed a season of greatrejoicing. In one of the window recesses of Mr. Keane's somewhat lonesome anddreary suburban mansion, as the shadows of evening fell on the almostleafless elms around the house, sat Gerty. She was looking out into thegathering night, looking out at the slowly-falling leaves; for though abook lay in her lap, it was almost too dark to read. By her side sat abeautiful deer-hound, with his muzzle leaning on her knee, and gazing upinto her face with his brown earnest eyes, as if he knew there wassorrow at her heart. He--Jack--had given her that dog as a puppy, and no power on earth couldmake her part with him. As she turned her eyes from the window, shenoted his speaking look, and as she bent to caress him, a tear fell onhis rough gray neck. Presently there was a knock at the door, and in rushed Mary the maid. Mary seemed about half daft. She was waving aloft a copy of the _Times_, and scarce could speak for excitement. But she managed to point to acertain column. "What is it, Mary? I cannot see. " "Which it's our boy Jack as is mentioned for conspeakyewous bravery. Aren't you glad and proud?" "Glad and proud? O Mary! silly child. And I am to be the bride ofanother. Nay, father insists that I shall give Sir Digby his answerto-night at the ball. " "An' I should do it, missus; that I should. I'd put it in fine politeEnglish, but I'd put it straight, all the same. When he knelt beforeme, --'Jump up, old Granger, ' I should say. 'Right about face. Shoulderhip. Quick march. I loves another, and I cannot marry thee. '" "O Mary, " said Gerty, smiling in spite of herself, "how you talk! Hush, child; not another word. I'm bound to make my father happy, and--Iwill. " * * * * * The ball to which Gerty and her father were going that evening was SirDigby's. This gentleman possessed both a town and a country house; butif the truth must be told, he was at present absolutely living on hisfuture prospects. "Well, " he told one of his chief cronies that evening before the arrivalof the guests, "when my brother dies--and he is a terribly old buffer--Ishall drop into a nice thing. But it is just like my confounded luckthat he should linger so long. And to tell you the truth, D'Orsay, I'm abit pinched, and some of the Jews are pressing. " "Why don't you marry?" "Well, I'm going to. Ah! she's a sweet young thing, Miss Keane; andthough the father is a skinflint, he's wealthy, and I'll make him settlea bit before I give my ancient name away. Wager on that. " "Hold hard, Digby; I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't tell you. " "Didn't tell me what?" "Why, man, haven't you heard? The firm of Griffin, Keane, and Co. Isruined. 'Pon honour. South Sea biz, or something. Had it from a friend, who had it from one of the firm. It's a secret, mind. But it is true. " "Good heavens, D'Orsay, you do not tell me so? Then I too am ruined!" "What! you haven't proposed--you're not tied?" "Nay, nay; all but. That is nothing, D'Orsay--nothing; but on thestrength of this marriage I have borrowed thousands. Fleet prison is myfate if what you say is true. " "Look here, Digby, " said D'Orsay, after a pause, "you are a man of theworld, like myself. Now if I were you, I should transfer my affections. See?" "In which quarter?" "Why, there is Miss Gordon; a trifle old, to be sure, but positivelyrolling in wealth, and rolling her eyes whenever she sees you. " Sir Digby muttered something about a bag of broken bottles, but D'Orsaywent on, -- "I'd marry _her_; 'pon honour I should. " "Think of life with that old hag. " "Think of life in the Fleet, my friend. " Sir Digby winced, and for a time made no reply. "D'Orsay, " he said at last, "I am a man, and, I trust, a gentleman. I'dprefer to marry Gerty even--even--" "If she were a beggar. Bravo, Digby!" And D'Orsay laughed in the way menof the world do laugh. "I didn't say that. I--I--'pon my soul, D'Orsay, I do not know what todo. " * * * * * Miss Gordon was the belle of that ball, as far at least as dress andjewellery were concerned. She came of a noble family, too, and gaveherself all the airs common in those days to ladies of title--hauteur, dignity, and condescension by turns. But towards Sir Digby she was assoft and sweet as a three-month-old kitten. If Sir Digby Auld had meant to propose to sweet Gerty Keane that night, he never had a chance, for neither she nor her father appeared. It wasreported that he had had a fit. But this was not so. After he wasdressed, however, and the carriage waiting, he received a letter. He nosooner read it than it dropped from his hands on the floor, and heleaned back in his chair with his face to his hands. Gerty was by his side in a moment. "O father, are you ill?" she cried. "Shall I summon assistance?" He recovered himself at once. "Nay, nay, " he said; "only grief for thedeath of an old friend. " He smoothed her hair as he replied. "Gerty, wewill not go out to-night. " But the letter he picked off the floor and carefully put away in hispocket-book. * * * * * A whole half-year passed away without any events transpiring that muchconcern our narrative. Jack Mackenzie was still on the war-path, playinghavoc with the commerce of France and Spain. Indeed he had constitutedhimself a kind of terror of the seas. His adventures were not only mostdaring, but carried out with a coolness that proved they were guided bya master mind. Indeed Jack Mackenzie and all his officers knew now to avery nicety what might be done with the swift _Tonneraire_, and whatcould not. Her bold young captain did not mean to be either captured orsunk, and he was wise enough to run away whenever he found himselfovermatched. But this was not very often. One surprise, during this time, Jack and his officers had received, andit was a very happy one. While lying at anchor with Lord St. Vincent'sships, one day a boat pulled off from the flagship, and there leapedtherefrom and came swiftly up the ladder--who but young Murray himself. He saluted the quarter-deck, and he saluted Jack as he reported himself, smiling all over like the happy boy he was. "I've come on board to join, sir. Isn't it jolly, just? And I'm promotedto a lieutenancy. " M'Hearty, Simmons, and every soul in the mess were most pleased to seehim, and that evening Murray was the hero of the hour; and a very longand strange story he had to tell of his imprisonment, his harshtreatment, and his making love to the prison-governor's daughter, through whose cleverness he at last managed to escape, dressed as a_grisette_. He kept his messmates laughing till long after seven bells in the firstwatch; and it must be said that not this night only, but every othernight, Murray infused into the mess a joy and jollity to which it hadbeen all winter a stranger. * * * * * Meanwhile a greater hero than Jack Mackenzie must hold the stage for abrief spell--namely, Nelson himself. Napoleon Bonaparte, after lyingawake for a night or two, gave birth to a grand idea. Hyder Ali, in thesouth of India, hated the British as one hates a viper, and gladly wouldhave crushed our power under his heel. But he needed help. It occurredto Bonaparte to aid him, and so oust us from our Indian Empire, whichwas then being quickly built up. It was a pretty idea, and well carriedout at the commencement; for Bonny, as our sailors called him, managedto sail from France with thirty thousand veteran, well-tried troops; andhaving the good luck to elude our fleet, he called at Malta, which hequickly brought to terms, then made straight for Egypt. Here he landedfrom his fleet, which I believe had orders to return, but did not. With such men as those old troops of Napoleon's the conquest of Egyptand the Mamelukes was but a picnic, and all very pleasant for Bonny andhis merry men, though sad enough for the country on which these humanlocusts had alighted. Cairo fell, and the great warrior now set himselfto rebuild the constitution of the country and create a native army. Lord St. Vincent sent the brave one-eyed, one-armed Nelson with a fleetto destroy the French expedition. That he quickly would have done. Hespeedily would have cooked his hare, but he had to catch it first. Whereever was the French fleet? No one could tell him, and his adventures insearch of it would fill a goodly volume. It reads like one longentrancing romance. Jack Mackenzie, in his _Tonneraire_--the real name of the ship I ambound not to mention--joined this fleet, and thus was present at thegreat battle of the Nile. Poor Nelson was almost worn out with anxiety and watching; but when hearrived at Aboukir Bay and found the foe, all his courage and all hiscalmness returned, and although the sun was slowly sinking in the west, our Nelson resolved not to wait an hour even, but attack the enemy thereand then. CHAPTER XXI. WILLIE DIED A HERO'S DEATH. "Then, traveller, one kind drop bestow, 'Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; Nought ever taught the heart to glow Like the tear that bedews a soldier's grave. " DIBDIN. I cannot help thinking that if glory is to be measured by pluck andskill combined, the battle of the Nile was even a more glorious fightthan that of Trafalgar. The former battle required more physicalexertion from the men individually, and therefore was a greater strainupon their courage. How? you may ask. I will tell you; and although myview of the matter may savour of the reasoning of the medico, still Ithink you will admit I have common-sense on my side. Besides, I am asailor-surgeon; I have seen our brave blue-jackets working, and fightingtoo, under various conditions, so it cannot be said I speak altogetherwithout experience. Well, the battle of Aboukir Bay or the Nile began inthe evening, when the men were more or less jaded or tired. They had, moreover, just come off a weary voyage or cruise, and a night's goodquiet sleep would have made a wonderful difference to them both inphysique and _morale_. Trafalgar was fought by day, beginning in theforenoon. Aboukir was contested in the hottest season of the year;Trafalgar in the cool--namely, toward the end of October. Therefore, Isay, all the more honour and glory to our brave fellows; and may wefight as well and as fortunately during the next great naval war, whichcannot now be far away. I never can read or even think about that long hide-and-seek cruise ofNelson's in the Mediterranean, in search of the French expedition, without a feeling of disappointment. Why, oh why was it ordained that heshould not catch Napoleon with his fleet and his army at sea? Could hehave but sent the firebrand to the bottom of the salt ocean, whatconflagrations Europe would have been spared, what shedding of blood, what hopeless sorrow and bitter tears! But there! I am keeping the fleets waiting. For his part, Brueys, theFrench admiral, would have preferred to wait. "He means to attack, " hesaid to one of his captains, referring to Nelson, "but he cannot be madenough to attack to-night. " But Nelson _was_ mad enough. He was burning to give it to the French, and give it to them hot, for all the trouble and anxiety they had costhim. He was as eager as a wild cat to spring at the throat of his foe. Another night of waiting might have killed him. No, no, he cannot, willnot wait. "Make the signal for general action, and trust to Heaven andthe justice of our cause!" Along the bay lay the great French fleet, with shoal water behind them, supported by gunboats and bomb-vessels, the ships moored one hundred andsixty yards from each other, and with stream cables so that they couldspring their broadsides on their enemy. And their line extended for a mile and a half. Had Brueys thought that Nelson would attack that night, he would havegot under way, and thus been free either to manoeuvre or show hisheels. He did not know our Nelson. Nor could he have believed that thegreat British admiral would have done so doughty and daring a deed as toget round behind him, so to speak, betwixt the shore and his fleet, despite the sands and shoals. But Nelson did with a portion of hisfleet, and each war-ship took up position with all the precision ofcouples in a contra-dance. Oh, it was beautiful! but when the battlefairly began, and tongues of fire and clouds of rolling smoke leaped andcurled from the great guns, lighting up the dusk and gloom of gatheringnight, while echoes reverberated from shore to shore, oh, then thisthunderstorm of war was very grand and terrible! To describe the battle in detail, and all the heroic actions that tookplace that night, would take a volume in itself. But it is all history, and probably the reader knows every bit of it as well as, if not betterthan, I myself do. We must honour the French, though, for this fight. They fought well and bravely, and you know the gallant Brueys died onhis own quarter-deck, refusing to be carried below. He was a hero. So wemight say was the captain of the _Sérieuse_ frigate, who had the cheekto fire into the great _Orion_ (Sir James Saumerez) as she was sweepingpast. It was like a collie dog attacking a mastiff. Saumerez couldn'tstand it. He stayed long enough literally to blow the frigate out of thewater or on to a shoal, where she was wrecked. The _Orion_ then wentquietly on and engaged a foeman worthy of her steel. It was plucky ofthe _Bellerophon_--the old Billy Ruffian, as sailors called her--ofseventy-four guns, to attack the great _Orient_ of one hundred andtwenty, and of the _Majestic_ to range alongside the mighty _Tonnant_and coolly say, "It's you and I, isn't it?" Then one can't help feelingsorry for poor Trowbridge in the _Culloden_, because he ran ashore, andhad to remain a mere spectator while burning to have a finger in thefearful pie. But the two events of this memorable battle which I daresay dwelllongest in the minds of the young reader are the wounding of Nelson, whowas carried below, his brow gashed so terribly that the skin in a flaphung over his eyes, despite which, you will remember, he bravely refusedto have his wound dressed until his turn came; and the blowing up of thegreat ship _Orient_ with her bold Captain Casabianca and his poor boy, who refused to be taken off or give up his duty without his father'sorders. There are those who would rob us of this romantic story. I have nopatience with such gray-souled sinners. There are people in this worldwho cannot endure romance and beauty; people who would paint the sky adingy brown if they could, and smudge the glory of the summer sunsets. Ido not love such people, and I hope you don't, reader. I verily believetheir blood is green and sour, and that they do not see this lovelyworld of ours as you and I do, through rose-tinted glasses, but that tothem it must appear an ugly olive green, as it would to us if we gazedupon it through a piece of bottle glass. No; we shall keep the brave boyof the _Orient_, and still read Mrs. Hemans' delightful and spiritedverses:-- "The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but he had fled; The flame, that lit the battle's wreck, Shone round him--o'er the dead. "The flames rolled on--he would not go Without his father's word;-- That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. "There came a burst of thunder sound, -- The boy!--oh, where was he? Ask of the winds, that far around With fragments strewed the sea, -- "With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part! But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young faithful heart!" * * * * * The battle is past and gone, a whole month has elapsed since then, andthe swift _Tonneraire_ is homeward bound with despatches. Many werekilled and wounded, among others good old Simmons, the master, who fellat Jack's side on the deck of a French man-o'-war. He would nevergrumble again; his deep bass, honest voice would be heard no more. Therewas hardly a dry eye in the ship when the kindly old man's hammock wasdropped overboard in Aboukir Bay. Yes, the _Tonneraire_ was homeward bound at last, after an absence oftwo busy and eventful years. But the saddest, probably, of all heradventures had yet to come. M'Hearty, Tom Fairlie, and young Murray werein the captain's cabin one evening towards sunset. Murray wasparticularly bright and pleasant to-night, and his laughing face andmerry, saucy blue eyes did every one good to behold. Suddenly there is a cry on deck, "Sail ahead!" and next minute the drumis beating to quarters. The _Tonneraire_ has been working against a headwind, and now down upon her, like some monster sea-bird with wingsoutspread, sweeps a huge French ship of war. The battle will be veryone-sided, but Jack will dare it. Already it is getting dusk; he musttry to cripple the monster. He manages to rake her, and a broadside ofiron hail is poured through her stern. He rakes her a second time, andthis time down thunders a mast. Well would it have been for Jack andthe _Tonneraire_ if he had now put his ship before the wind. But no, hestill fights on and on, and suffers terribly; and just as the shades ofnight deepen into blackness, he manages to hoist enough sail to staggeraway, and the Frenchman is too sorely stricken to follow. Very early next morning, before the stars had quite faded in the west, or the sun had shot high his rays to gild the herald clouds, M'Hearty, looking careworn, unkempt, and weary--for he had never been tobed--entered Jack's state-room and touched him lightly on the shoulder. Jack was awake in a moment. "Anything wrong, doctor?" he asked quickly. "Alas, sir!" replied M'Hearty, and there was a strange huskiness in hisvoice as he spoke--"alas, sir! poor young Murray is dying fast. " "Murray dying!" "Too true, sir. His wounds are far more grievous than I was aware of. Hecannot last many minutes. He wants to see you. " The boy--for he was but little more--lay in a cot in the sick-bay. Hewas dressed in his scarlet coat, and his sword lay beside him, for hehad refused to be divested of his uniform. He was in a half-sittingposition, propped up with pillows, and smiled faintly as Jack knelt byhis side and took his thin white hand in his. It was a sad scene but a simple one. There was the gray light of earlymorning struggling in through the open port, and falling on the dyingboy's face; falling, too, on M'Hearty's rough but kindly countenance, and on the figures of the sick-bay servants standing by the cot-foottearful and frightened. That was all. But an open Bible lay upon thecoverlet, and in his left hand the young soldier clasped aminiature--his little sweetheart's. "Bury it with me, " he whispered feebly. "See her, sir--and tellher--Willie died a hero's death. --Kiss me, Jack--I would sleep now. " The eyelids closed. Ah! they had closed for aye. Not a sound now save Jack's gentle sobbing, then the slow and solemntones of M'Hearty's voice as he took up the little Bible and read fromthe Twenty-third Psalm: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of theshadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod andthy staff they comfort me. " Amen! CHAPTER XXII. STILL WATERS RUN DEEP. "This little maxim, for my sake, I pray you be believing: The truest pleasures that we take Are those that we are giving. " DIBDIN. For more than twenty years, dating back from the time our storycommenced, Richards had been a partner in the firm of Griffiths, Keane, and Co. ; yet although he was almost every day in the company of Mr. Keane, he could neither love nor respect him. Perhaps had he been lesswith him he might have respected him more. But he knew him too well;knew him to be Keane by name and keen by nature--avaricious, grasping, and miserly in the extreme, and for the sake of adding to his stores ofgold, very far indeed from scrupulous. His niggardly habits hadundoubtedly hurried his wife to her grave, when Gerty was little morethan a baby, and she was left to the tender mercies of a nurse andgoverness. In the transaction of his business Richards was constantly athis partner's home, and usually stayed to dine; but for the sake of thechild Gerty, he made many and many a visit to the house after hermother's death, when he had no real business to transact. "Poor littlemite!" he thought; "she is so lonely, and she sees no one; has no one tolove save her father, to whom she is merely 'the child. '" It used to vex poor great-hearted Richards to the core to hear Keanesnap out, "Take away that child; it's troublesome. " "Nay, nay, " Richards would say, lifting the mite from the hearth-rug tohis knee, "let me have the darling a minute. " "Richards, you're a fool!" Keane would growl. And with one arm round her protector's neck, her cheeks wet with tears, the mite would gaze round-eyed and in saddened silence at her unnaturalfather. It is no wonder that she grew up to love Richards. What storieshe used to tell her! what fun he used to make for her! how he enteredheart and soul into all her games and romps, as if he himself were but aboy in reality, as he was in his heart of hearts! But the psychical mystery is how she could have come to love her fatherso. Yes, as the reader already knows, she did love him, and love him tothat extent that she was willing to sacrifice her own happiness to hisambition, and marry a man whom she loathed if she did actually notdetest. A bachelor, with no expenses worth naming, Richards had saved quite asmall fortune in his time; and when he came to find out that Keane wasgoing positively to sell his daughter to the worn-out _roué_ Sir Digby, that for his own advancement he might see her ere long a lord's wife, Richards thumped his fist down on his desk--he was alone at thetime--till even the big ink-bottle leaped an inch up from the table. "I'll save that darling child, " he had said, "if I spend every penny Ihave earned, and lose my life into the bargain. " He smiled to himself a moment after. "Everything is fair in love and war, " he said: "I'll play a game. Thecause is good. Yes, Jack Mackenzie, my open-hearted, frank, brave boy, you shall marry Gerty. I have said it--you--_shall_. " He laughed aloud next minute at his own enthusiasm. "What a capital actor I should have made!" he thought. "How beautifullyI could have done heavy fathers!" Still waters run deep, and Richards was astute, though perhaps he didnot look it. So he began at once to shuffle his cards for the game hewas about to play--a game which he rightly judged was to be one of lifeor death. For he shuddered to think of the living death to which theselfishness of her miserly, ambitious father intended condemning Gerty. "My baby, bless her sweet face, " he added, "shall never marry thatbleach-eyed old Digby. " Then he shut his ledger with a bang, and went for a walk in the park, where he could think. But the Mackenzies would lose the fine old houseand property called Grantley Hall. Keane would assuredly foreclose. Thenthe place would be Keane's or Gerty's, it was much the same. Keanereally meant it to be Sir Digby's and Gerty's, while he, Keane, shouldlive and be honoured and respected there--his son-in-law a lord. Richards thought he must try by hook or by crook to prevent his partnerfrom foreclosing, if only for the following reason: if Grantley Hallonce passed into Keane's hands, much though Gerty and Jack loved eachother, the latter, being a Mackenzie and a Scot, would be far too proudto propose marriage, seeing that in doing so his desires might bemisconstrued, and people would naturally say he was simply marrying backhis own property. The general had told his children that Keane was his only creditor. Yes, because in order to make sure of the estate, the old lawyer had boughtup all the others. He could thus come down upon the brave but recklessScottish soldier, like an avalanche from a mountain's brow. The day had almost arrived for Keane's foreclosing. The family hadalready left Grantley Hall, taking little with them save the familyjewellery, pictures, and nick-nacks. Flora had gone to Torquay, Jack wasin town, and his father preparing to resume his sword, and once morefight for his country. The eventful morning itself came round. Keane wasearly at his office. He was in an unusually happy frame of mind. Yetperhaps he had a few slight "stoun's" of conscience, for over and overagain he talked to Richards, bringing up the subject next his heart, andexcusing himself. "I had to do it--I had to do it, " he said. "Pity for the poorMackenzies. But the general was so improvident, and what could I do?" "Most improvident, " replied Richards, smiling quietly over his ledgernevertheless. As the day wore away, Keane fidgeted more and more, and often looked atthe clock. "Another hour, " he said, half aloud, "only another hour. " Richards looked at the clock too, and he often glanced uneasily towardsthe door. What was going to happen? "Only half-an-hour. " This from Keane. "You seem pleased, " said Richards dryly. Rat, tat--bang, bang, at the office door. Both men looked up; Richards with a sigh of relief, Keane with gray faceand flashing eyes. Enter a tall, good-looking clerk, hat in one hand, a bundle of papers inthe other. He was a stranger to Keane. "_Re_ the mortgage on estate of General Grant Mackenzie, I've come topay it off. " Old Keane grew grayer and grayer in face, and foam appeared on his lips. He could not speak. Richards slipped out and away. He went out, and went down the street, positively laughing aloud, sothat people turned smilingly round to look after him. And to pay this mortgage off, the honest fellow had put down the bulkof his fortune, and borrowed thousands besides. The property of GrantleyHall was now virtually his; but _he_ would not foreclose, and theMackenzies should know nothing about it, for a time at all events. Richards had played his first card, and it was a strong one. He went straight off now to see "his baby, " and to continue the fairystory which he had commenced at Grantley Hall. He saw some one else--he saw Mary. Mary was his first lieutenant. It wasshe who summoned him that evening at the Hall when he entered the roomjust as Sir Digby was about to propose. A good girl, Mary, and devoted to her "missus. " She could keep a secret, too, and she could keep Richards posted, lest Sir Digby should steal amarch upon them. But time had rolled on, as we know. There were wars and rumours of wars, disaffection at home and threatened revolution, and last, but not least, as far as our story goes, Sir Digby had been ill, and at the point ofdeath. Keane also had been abroad for his health, and with him hisdaughter, so that the evil day was postponed. Evil days have a disagreeable habit of coming, nevertheless, in spite ofall we can do. * * * * * Slowly and sadly, with rent rigging and battered hull, the _Tonneraire_staggered home. She is in Plymouth Sound at last. Letters and paperscome off to the ship. Jack Mackenzie, sitting alone by his open port, turns eagerly to a recent copy of the _Times_. Almost the first noticethat attracts his attention runs thus: "Marriage of Sir Digby Auld andMiss Gertrude"--he sees no more. His head swims. The wind seizes thepaper, as if in pity, and carries it far astern of the ship. He feels utterly crushed and broken, and head and hands droop helplesslyon the table before him. CHAPTER XXIII. "IT'S ALL UP, MR. RICHARDS, IT'S ALL UP!" "The busy crew the sails unbending, The ship in harbour safe arrived; Jack Oakum, all his perils ending, Has made the port where Kitty lived. " DIBDIN. We return now to the day before Sir Digby's ball. Richards lived in chambers, and in no great state. He never cared forit. Had you gone straight into his sitting-room from the fresh air, whatwould have struck you most would have been the smell of strong tobaccosmoke; and I believe you would have come to the conclusion that theprincipal furniture consisted of tobacco-pipes. They were of all sortsand sizes, and hung in rows and racks, and lay on shelves and on themantlepiece. Well, what did it matter? honest Richards was a bachelor, and not once in a blue moon did a lady look in to see him. But one afternoon, shortly before Sir Digby's great ball, a lady did;and that lady was Mary herself. "Which I've been dying to see you, sir, " she began. "Sit down, my dear, sit down. " Mary sat down, and proceeded, -- "It's all up, Mr. Richards, it's all up!" The poor girl was crying now bitterly. "Missus is as good as sold. She's goin' to the ball, and Sir Digby'sgoin' to propose. She told me, and Sir Digby kissed me and told me. Oh, oh, what ever shall I do?" Richards lit a huge pipe, and walked about smoking for fully fiveminutes. Then he went over and took Mary's hand, and Mary looked upinnocently in his face, and said innocently through her tears, -- "Do you want to kiss me too, sir?" "Well, I wasn't thinking about that; but there, Mary, there. Now, I'lltell you what you've got to do; and I do believe it will all come right, even yet. " So Mary and Richards had a long "confab" together, and she went backhome happy and smiling. After she had gone Richards lit another pipe, threw himself on arocking-chair, and smoked long and thoughtfully. Then he got up andtook a rapid turn or two up and down the floor. Presently he paused, andgazed curiously at himself in a mirror. "Old Richards, " he said, shaking his fist at his reflection, "I didn'tthink it was in you. You're a designing, unscrupulous old lawyer. Nevermind; it's all for my baby's sake. I'll do it. Hang me if I don't. " An hour after this, Richards had called a carriage--a luxury he indulgedin very seldom indeed. He first visited the lawyer who had transactedthe business of the Grantley Hall mortgage for him. With this gentlemanhe was closeted for some considerable time. Then he drove to afashionable tailor's, then to a jeweller's, and next to awine-merchant's, and as all those individuals showed him to his carriagewith many gracious smiles and bows, it was evident that his businesswith them had been of a very agreeable kind indeed--to them. Richardsdrove to other places which I need not name; and when he got back homeat last, he sank into his rocking-chair with a tired but happy sigh, andimmediately lit his biggest pipe. He was smiling to himself. "I've done it, " he said half aloud, "and mybaby's safe for a time. But if his rich old brother comes to therescue, my game is spoiled. Poor Jack! I wonder what he is doing at thismoment. " * * * * * On the night of the great ball, Sir Digby Auld was very much with MissGordon; and everybody said how well matched they were, which certainlywas paying no compliment to Sir Digby. He gave her many dances, and hesaid many soft and pretty things to her, which caused her to bend downher painted face and pretend to blush. In the course of the evening he forgathered with D'Orsay. D'Orsay liftedhis brows and smiled. "Getting on famously?" he said. "I've been trying; but, D'Orsay, 'pon my life I can't. And look youhere: I may be a fool, I may be mad, but to-morrow forenoon I go toKeane's and throw myself at Gerty's feet. There! the die is cast. " A servant in livery at this moment approached him. "Beg parding, sir. Two gentlemen wants to speak to you a moment in the library. " Sir Digby turned pale. "I'd come, sir, " whispered the servant; "there will be a scene else. " Sir Digby followed him out. "Sorry we are, sir, to disturb yer 'onor; but we has a warrant for your'rrest, and the carriage is awaitin' at the door. " "At whose instance?" "Richards of the firm of Griffith, Keane, and Co. " Sir Digby muttered an oath. He staggered and almost fell. D'Orsay, a quarter of an hour after this, informed the guests that SirDigby Auld had been taken suddenly ill, but that they were to continueto enjoy themselves all the same. Meanwhile the prisoner was being rapidly whirled away to the Fleet. And the letter that Keane had received that night was to the effect thatthe man who proposed marrying his daughter was a bankrupt and a beggar, and would that evening be arrested in his own house and among hisguests. Having effectually disposed of Sir Digby for a time, Richards couldafford to quietly await the turn of events. His practice had been sharp, but it was certainly justifiable. He had often hinted to his partnerKeane, nay, even told him plainly, that the baronet was but a man ofstraw. "Owes a few thousands perhaps, " Keane had replied, with anill-concealed sneer. "They all do it. A post-obit would clear that up. His brother can't live for ever. Sir Digby will be a lord, you know, onhis brother's death. " "I'll tell you what, " Richards had gone so far as to exclaim one day:"if I were you I'd pay Digby's debts for him. Ten thou. , I reckon, woulddo it. But I shouldn't marry my only daughter to a beggar!" Keane turned on him sharply. "Richards, " he said, as calmly as he could, "I knew a gentleman once whomade an immense fortune by a very simple process. " "Indeed; how?" "By minding his own business. " Then Keane cackled over his ledger. Richards said no more. But the idea of Keane, of all men, paying off afuture son-in-law's debts was too absurd. When Richards went to Keane's house a few days after Digby'sincarceration, he found his partner in the throes of packing. He wasgoing to Italy for a time with Gerty, and of course Mary would accompanyher. Months went by, and many a long delightful letter did Richards receivefrom Gerty, and from Mary too, the latter always ending with "luv andsweet kisses. " Then came a final letter. They were coming home. Alas!the ship never reached England. She was captured by a Don, and all weremade prisoners. Keane could have bought his liberty if he had cared to. He preferred to wait, and waiting--died. A few weeks afterwards poor lonely Gerty returned, and Mary. Richardsconstituted himself Miss Keane's guardian. Indeed it had been Keane'slast wishes that he should do so. And, strange to say, the rulingpassion had manifested itself strongly in death; for by the help of apriest he had written a letter to Richards, praying him, for the sake oftheir long acquaintanceship and friendship, to see that Gerty marriedSir Digby. He died, he said, peacefully, knowing she would yet be LadyAuld. "A dying man's last request, " said Richards to himself, "ought to beattended to; but--" Then he solemnly placed the letter in the fire, and it was cremated. Sir Digby made himself as comfortable as possible in the Fleet. Richardsdid not think it safe he should come out. Gerty was a strange girl. Herheart bled for the poor man, as she called him. For sake of her father'smemory, there was no denying that she might even yet sacrifice herself. D'Orsay paid many visits to Sir Digby in prison. He really acted like atrue friend, and did all he could for him. He had even gone to see hisold brother, and come back, figuratively speaking, with a finger in hismouth. "No good in that quarter, " he told Sir Digby bluntly. "Says you're aspendthrift and a ne'er-do-weel, and that he means to live for twentyyears yet; and 'pon honour, Digby, he looks as if he could. I did heartoo that he was looking out for a wife. " * * * * * "I shall go and see my hero in his dark dungeon, in his prison cell, inhis chains and misery. " These are words spoken by Miss Gordon heroically to herself in themirror one morning. She had strange ideas of the Fleet. She was astonished to find her hero in a flowered dressing-gown, smokinga Havana, which he threw into the fire when he saw her, and living in ahandsomely-furnished room. She went again and again. I do not know how she managed it, but I doknow that in a month's time Sir Digby was a free man, and married toMiss Gordon. This event took place just two days before Jack's ship staggered wearilyinto Plymouth Sound. While he still sat by his open port, gazing sadly landward, Tom Fairliecame in with a rush and a run. He too had a copy of the _Times_. "Listen, Jack, " he cried, "and I'll read something that will astonishyou. " "Don't, Tom, don't. I have already seen the awful announcement. I am abroken and crushed man!" "Broken and crushed fiddlestick!" said Tom. "Listen, listen: 'At St. Nicholas' Church, on the 5th inst. , by the Rev. Charles Viewfield, SirDigby Auld to Miss Gertrude Gordon, daughter of--'" "Hurrah!" cried Jack, springing from his seat and overturning the chair. "Hurrah for the Rev. Charlie! Tom, shake hands, my dearest and best offriends. You've made me the happiest man in the British Islands. Hurrah!" * * * * * In a week's time the _Tonneraire_ was paid off and safe in dock, and acarriage with postillions might have been seen tearing along the roadthat leads from Plymouth to Tor Bay. The carriage contained Jack Mackenzie and his friend Tom Fairlie. CHAPTER XXIV. BY THE OLD DIAL-STONE. "So heroes may well wear their armour, And, patient, count over their scars; Venus' dimples, assuming the charmer, Shall smooth the rough furrows of Mars. " DIBDIN. General Grant Mackenzie was lounging at breakfast one morning in hisprivate rooms in the big barn-like barracks of C----. At his right handsat one of his captains, with whom he was talking--languidly enough, itmust be confessed. "You are right, Moore. By Jove, you're right; and to-day I send in myresignation. Here have we been lying waiting the French for more than ayear, and the rascals won't show front. No; I shall go in for club lifein London now. " "We'll miss you, general. " "Ah, Moore, it is good of you to say so; but what _can_ a fellow do?When I rejoined the service, I expected to see some fighting. Disappointed. And now I'm parted from my daughter, and lying in this oldbarn positively getting mouldy. Besides--" "Some one to see you, sir, " said the servant. "Why, Richards, my dear old boy, who could have expected to see you?Nothing wrong, I hope?" "No, everything right--more than right. Prepare to hear news that--" He glanced at the captain. "My friend Captain Moore. No secrets from him--knowseverything. --Captain Moore, Mr. Richards, my family lawyer, and, baryourself, the best fellow in existence. " Richards bowed. "Well, Jack's come. Had terrible fighting. I hurried over to tell you. " "But not for that alone?" "Nay, friend. Now sit down, or catch hold of something. I'm going tostartle you. Your old uncle is dead. " "What, the man that disinherited me?" "The same; only--you are heir to Glen Pollok. It is all yours--a cool£10, 000 a year. " The general could not speak for a moment; then he grasped the kindly oldsolicitor's hand once more, and with tears in his eyes. "God in heaven bless you, Richards, " he exclaimed, "and his name bepraised. Poor Jack and dear Flo, they will not now be beggars!" "And, Richards, " he added, "Flora shall be wedded with all the pomp andglory due to a daughter of the proud house of Grant Mackenzie. " "Ah!" laughed Richards, "there is the old reckless Celtic bloodasserting itself again. Don't forget, my friend, that even £10, 000 ayear can be spent, and that right easily too. " "I won't, I won't; you shall be my guide. " "And then, you see, " continued Richards, "there is the mortgage to payoff on Grantley Hall. " "Grantley Hall! why, isn't that sold long ago?" Richards laughed heartily now. "O bother, " he cried. "I've let the catout of the bag, and I didn't mean to. I meant to give you such apleasant surprise. Well, well, well, -- 'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft agley. '" Then Richards told him all he had done. The tears stood in General Mackenzie's eyes. "Richards, " he said, "Icould not have believed such kindness possible. I--I--I can't sayanother word. " * * * * * The meeting between Tom Fairlie and Flora was all that lovers coulddesire. Mary positively hugged Jack. He was still her boy. I'm not sureshe did not shower upon him "luv and sweet kisses. " "But, bless me, Jack, " she said, "how tall you've got! and really youmakes poor me feel old. " Gerty met Jack with a bonnie blush. Ah! how he longed to take her in his arms and tell her all, and all shehad been to him throughout the last two long and eventful years. But no, he would not, dared not. When in a few months' time a ship was once moreat his command, he would go quietly away to sea; but he ne'er wouldspeak of love. For his old Highland pride had come to his rescue. She was rich; _he_was very poor indeed. No, it never could be. And so he told Tom, and so he told his sister. The former laughed at his scruples; the latter thought her brother wasright. * * * * * Richards and the general were at Grantley Hall and as busy as thetraditional bonnet-maker. They had a little secret between them, forneither Jack nor Flora had yet been told of the change in the fortunesof the Grant Mackenzies. It would be such a delightful surprise. And sothe two old friends worked away, as merrily as school-boys building arabbit-hutch, and in a few weeks' time the old place was put to rights, and every nick-nack and every curio and souvenir and picture replaced inthe drawing-room, just as it had been in the dear, reckless days of longago. But near the finish of the arrangements M'Hearty was invited down andlet into the delightful secret, for he it was who should bring Jack andhis sister, with Tom, Gerty, and Mary the maid, down to the old place. * * * * * "Do you know, " said M'Hearty about a week after this, as he stood withJack and his sister on the balcony of the priest's drawing-room atTorquay, "I'm dying to see old Grantley Hall just once again. " "And I too would like to see it, " sighed Jack, "if--if I thought Floracould stand it. " "Oh I think I could. " [Illustration: "_The old dial-stone. _" Page 212. ] "Well, the weather is delightful; why shouldn't we sail round?" "Agreed, " said Jack; "we shall. " They hired a yacht, not a very fast one. There were no _Thistles_ inthose days. But she was most clean and comfortable, and the party hadfavouring winds all the way round, and in due time arrived safely inLowestoft harbour. Then nothing less than a coach and postillions would suit M'Hearty. "It shan't be at your expense though, Captain Jack, " he said, "nor yourseither, Tom. Why, I have made oceans of prize-money, and an old bachelorlike me doesn't really know how to spend it. " The surprise began when they reached the lodge gate. "Why, " cried Jack, "there is some one living here. I expected to find the place in ruins. "The surprise increased when they reached the lawn, for here the generaland sly old Richards met them laughing. But when the party were usheredinto the drawing-room, and saw everything in its place as it had beenyears ago, and the general and Richards "ready to die" stifling a laugh, why, then the surprise reached a climax. "Pinch me, Tom, " cried Jack. "I'm in a dream. " What a happy first-coming that was, to be sure! but there were many moreto follow. * * * * * The autumn tints were on the trees, evening primroses and dahlias noddedby the pathways, and many a rare old flower besides. One evening Jack, with his sister and Gerty, was walking in the brightmoonlight along the broad and grassy path that swept under the limeavenue. Flora had gone on, and Jack had given Gerty his arm. Suddenly they came to the old dial-stone. And here they stopped, forJack had remembered his dream. He was Gerty's equal now in every way, and so he told her his dream, and he told her something else; told herof all his manly love that neither absence nor the vicissitudes of warcould ever banish from his heart. And much more, too, he told her thatwe need not pry into. Flora went on and on. Just once she glancedbehind. Gerty was very close to Jack. When, a whole hour after this, they entered the great drawing-room armin arm, they looked very happy indeed. There was no one there butRichards and the general. "Why, where ever have you two truants been?"said the latter. "We have been cleaning the moss off the old dial-stone, and rolling backthe scroll of time. Father, let me present to you your futuredaughter-in-law. " "My own brave boy, " said the general. "Gerty Keane. " That was all; but I do not know yet which was the happier man of thetwo--Jack's father or Mr. Richards. As for Mary, as soon as she heard the glorious news she must seek out"her boy" at once. She found him in his room, and with the best grace hecould muster he had to submit to "luv and sweet kisses" on the spot, Mary assuring him that he had made her the happiest girl in all Norfolk. * * * * * There is a good deal of similarity about weddings; but it was generallyadmitted that the double event that took place at Grantley Hall in thespring of '99--namely, the marriages of Tom and Flora, and Gerty andJack--was the gayest wedding, or rather pair of weddings, that had evertaken place in the north. I cannot say that bonfires blazed on everyhill, because there are no hills in Norfolk worthy of the name; but therejoicing far and near was universal, and with all his old Highlandhospitality and lavishness, General Grant Mackenzie, ably supported byRichards and the gallant M'Hearty, kept open house for a whole fortnightto all comers. Meanwhile, in a charming yacht, under blue skies and with favouringwinds, the happy couples were sailing round the shores of merry Englandand green Caledonia. Ah! there is many a less happy life than that of the sailor, and manyworse people than sailors; and had I my time to begin again, I shouldstill be sweeping through the deep. [Illustration: The End]