In the King's Name: The Cruise of the "Kestrel"

George Manville Fenn

"In the King's Name"

Chapter One.

On Board the “Kestrel.”

Morning on board the Kestrel, his Britannic majesty’s cutter, lying on and off the south coast on the lookout for larks, or what were to her the dainty little birds that the little falcon, her namesake, would pick up. For the Kestrel’s wings were widespread to the soft south-easterly breeze that barely rippled the water; and mainsail, gaff topsail, staysail, and jib were so new and white that they seemed to shine like silver in the sun.

The larks the hover-winged Kestrel was on the watch to pick up were smuggling boats of any sort or size, or Jacobite messages, or exiles, or fugitives—anything, in fact, that was not in accordance with the laws of his most gracious majesty King George the Second, whose troops had not long before dealt that fatal blow to the young Pretender’s hopes at the battle of Culloden.

The sea was as bright and blue as the sea can look in the Channel when the bright sun is shining, and the arch above reflects itself in its bosom. The gulls floated half asleep on the water, with one eye open and the other closed; and the pale-grey kittiwakes seemed to glide about on the wing, to dip down here and there and cleverly snatch a tiny fish from the surface of the softly heaving sea.

On the deck of the little cutter all was in that well-known apple-pie order customary on board a man-of-war, for so Lieutenant Lipscombe in command always took care to call it, and in this he was diligently echoed by the young gentleman who acted as his first officer, and, truth to say, second and third officer as well, for he was the only one—to wit, Hilary Leigh, midshipman, lately drafted to this duty, to his great disgust, from on board the dashing frigate Golden Fleece.

“Man-o’-war!” he had said in disgust; “a contemptible little cock-boat. They ought to have called her a boy-o’-war—a little boy-o’-war. I shall walk overboard the first time I try to stretch my legs.”

But somehow he had soon settled down on board the swift little craft with its very modest crew, and felt no small pride in the importance of his position, feeling quite a first lieutenant in his way, and for the greater part of the time almost entirely commanding the vessel.

She was just about the cut of a goodsized modern yacht, and though not so swift, a splendid sailer, carrying immense spars for her tonnage, and spreading canvas enough to have swamped a less deeply built craft.

The decks were as white as holystone could make them, the sails and the bell shone in the morning sun like gold, and there was not a speck to be seen on the cabin skylight any more than upon either of the three brass guns, a long and two shorts, as Billy Waters, who was gunner and gunner’s mate all in one, used to call them.

Upon this bright summer morning Hilary Leigh was sitting, with his legs dangling over the side and his back against a stay, holding a fishing line, which, with a tiny silvery slip off the tail-end of a mackerel, was trailing behind the cutter, fathoms away, waving and playing about in the vessel’s wake, to tempt some ripple-sided mackerel to dart at it, do a little bit of cannibalism, and die in the act.

Two had already been hauled on board, and lay in a wooden bucket, looking as if they had been carved out of pieces of solid sea at sunrise, so brilliant were the ripple marks and tints of pink and purple and grey and orange and gold—bright enough to make the gayest mother-o’-pearl shell blush for shame. Hilary Leigh had set his mind upon catching four—two for himself and two for the skipper—and he had congratulated himself upon the fact that he had already caught his two, when there was a sharp snatch, the line began to quiver, and for the next minute it was as though the hook was fast in the barbs of a silver arrow that was darting in all directions through the sea.

“Here’s another, Billy!” cried the young man, or boy—for he was on the debatable ground of eighteen, when one may be either boy or man, according to one’s acts, deeds, or exploits, as it used to say in Carpenter’s Spelling.

Hilary Leigh, from his appearance, partook more of the man than the boy, for, though his face was as smooth as a new-laid egg, he had well-cut, decisive-looking Saxon features, and one of those capital closely-fitting heads of hair that look as if they never needed cutting, but settle round ears and forehead in not too tight clustering curls.

“Here’s another, Billy,” he cried; and a stoutly built sailor amidships cried, “Cheer ho, sir! Haul away, sir! Will it be a mess o’ mick-a-ral for the lads to-day?”

“Don’t know, Billy,” was the reply, as the beautiful fish was hauled in, unhooked, a fresh lask or tongue of silvery bait put on, and the leaded line thrown over and allowed to run out fathoms astern once again.

Billy Waters, the gunner, went on with his task, rather a peculiar one, which would have been performed below in a larger vessel, but here the men pretty well lived on deck, caring little for the close stuffy quarters that formed the forecastle, where they had, being considered inferior beings, considerably less space than was apportioned to their two officers.

Billy’s work was that of carefully binding or lashing round and round the great mass of hair hanging from the poll of a messmate, so as to form it into the orthodox pigtail of which the sailors of the day were excessively vain. The tail in question was the finest in the cutter, and was exactly two feet six inches long, hanging down between the sailor’s shoulders, when duly lashed up and tied, like a long handle used for lifting off the top of his skull.

But, alas for the vanity of human nature! Tom Tully, owner of the longest tail in the cutter, and the envy of all his messmates, was not happy. He was ambitious; and where a man is ambitious there is but little true bliss. He wanted “that ’ere tail” to be half a fathom long, and though it was duly measured every week “that ’ere tail” refused to grow another inch.

Billy Waters had a fine tail, but his was only, to use his own words, “two foot one,” but it was “half as thick agen as Tom Tully’s,” so he did not mind. In fact the first glance at the gunner’s round good-humoured face told that there was neither envy nor ambition there. Give him enough to eat, his daily portion of cold water grog, and his ’bacco, and, again to use his own words, he “wouldn’t change berths with the king hissen.”

“Easy there, Billy messmet,” growled Tom Tully; “avast hauling quite so hard. My tail ain’t the cable.”

“Why, you don’t call that ’ere hauling, Tommy lad, do you?”

“’Nuff to take a fellow’s head off,” growled the other, just as the midshipman pulled in another mackerel, and directly after another, and another, for they were sailing through a shoal, and the man at the helm let his stolid face break up into a broad grin as the chance of a mess of mackerel for the men’s dinner began to increase.

“Singing down deny, down deny, down deny down,
Sing—”

“Easy, messmet, d’yer hear,” growled Tom Tully, straining his head round to look appealingly at the operator on his tail. “Why don’t yer leave off singing till you’ve done?”

“Just you lay that there nose o’ your’n straight amidships,” cried Billy, using the tail as if it was a tiller, and steering the sailor’s head into the proper position. “I can’t work without I sing.”

“For this I can tell, that nought will be well,
Till the king enjoys his own again.”

He trolled out these words in a pleasant tenor voice, and was just drawing in breath to continue the rattling cavalier ballad when the young officer swung his right leg in board, and, sitting astride the low bulwark, exclaimed—

“I say, Billy, are you mad?”

“Mad, sir? not that I knows on, why?”

“For singing a disloyal song like that. You’ll be yard-armed, young fellow, if you don’t mind.”

“What, for singing about the king?”

“Yes; if you get singing about a king over the water, my lad. That’s an old song; but some people would think you meant the Pretend— Hallo! look there. You look out there forward, why didn’t you hail? Hi! here fetch me a glass. Catch hold of that line, Billy. She’s running for Shoreham, as sure as a gun. No: all right; let go.”

He threw the line to the gunner just as a mackerel made a snatch at the bait, and before the sailor could catch it, away went the end astern, when the man at the helm made a dash at it just as the slight cord was running over the side.

Billy Waters made a dash at it just at the same moment, and there was a dull thud as the two men’s heads came in contact, and they fell back into a sitting position on the deck, while the mackerel darted frightened away to puzzle the whole shoal of its fellows with the novel appendage hanging to its snout.

“Avast there, you lubber!” exclaimed Billy Waters angrily. “Stand by, my lad, stand by,” replied the other, making a dart back at the helm just as the cutter was beginning to fall off.

“Look ye here, messmet, air you agoin’ to make my head shipshape, or air you not?” growled Tom Tully; and then, before his hairdresser could finish tying the last knot, the lieutenant came on deck.

For when Hilary Leigh ran below, it was to seize a long spyglass out of the slings in the cabin bulkhead, and to give his commanding officer a tremendous shake.

“Sail on the larboard bow, Mr Lipscombe, sir. I say, do wake up, sir; I think it is something this time.”

The officer in question, who was a hollow-cheeked man of about forty, very sallow-looking, and far from prepossessing in his features, opened his eye, but he did not attempt to rise from the bunker upon which he was stretched.

“Leigh,” he said, turning his eye round towards the little oval thick glass window nearest to him, “You’re a most painstaking young officer, but you are always mare’s-nesting. What is it now?”

“One of those three-masted luggers, sir—a Frenchman—a chasse marée, laden deeply, and running for Shoreham.”

“Let her run,” said the lieutenant, closing his eye again; the other was permanently closed, having been poked out in boarding a Frenchman some years before, and with the extinction of that optic went the prospect of the lieutenant’s being made a post-captain, and he was put in command of the Kestrel when he grew well.

“But it is something this time, sir, I’m sure.”

“Leigh,” said the lieutenant, yawning, “I was just in a delicious dream, and thoroughly enjoying myself when you come down and bother me about some confounded fishing-boat. There, be off. No: I’ll come this time.”

He yawned, and showed a set of very yellow teeth; and then, as if by an effort, leaped up and preceded the young officer on deck.

“Let’s have a look at her, Leigh,” he said, after a glance at a long, low, red-sailed lugger, about a couple of miles ahead, sailing fast in the light breeze.

He took the spyglass, and, going forward, looked long and steadily at the lugger before saying a word.

“Well, sir?”

“French lugger, certainly, Leigh,” he said, quietly; “fresh from the fishing-ground I should say. They wouldn’t attempt to run a cargo now.”

“But you’ll overhaul her, sir, won’t you?”

“It’s not worth while, Leigh, but as you have roused me up, it will be something to do. Here, call the lads up. Where’s Waters? Waters!”

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied that worthy in a voice of thunder, though he was close at hand.

“Load the long gun, and be ready to fire.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

There was no beating to quarters, for the little crew were on deck, and every man fell naturally into his place as the lieutenant seemed now to wake up to his work, and glanced at the sails, which were all set, and giving his orders sharply and well, a pull was taken at a sheet here and a pull there, the helm altered, and in spite of the lightness of the breeze the Kestrel began to work along with an increase of speed of quite two knots an hour.

“Now then, Leigh, shall we ever have her, or shall we have to throw a shot across her bows to bring her to?”

“Let them have a shot, sir,” cried the young officer, whose cheeks were beginning to flush with excitement, as he watched the quarry of which the little falcon was in chase.

“And waste the king’s powder and ball, eh? No, Leigh, there will be no need. But we may as well put on our swords.”

Meanwhile, Billy Waters was busy unlashing the tail of Long Tom, as he called the iron gun forward, and with a pat of affection he opened the ammunition chest, and got out the flannel bag of powder and smiled at a messmate, rammer in hand.

“Let’s give him his breakfast, or else he won’t bark,” he said, with a grin; and the charge was rammed home, the ball sent after it with a big wad to keep it in its place, and the men waited eagerly for the order to fire.

Billy Waters knew that that would not come for some time, so he sidled up to Hilary, and whispered as the young man was buckling on his sword, the lieutenant having gone below to exchange a shabby cap for his cocked hat, “Let me have your sword a minute, sir, and I’ll make it like a razor.”

Hilary hesitated for a moment, and then drew it, and held it out to the gunner, who went below, and by the time the young officer had had a good inspection of the lugger, Billy came back with his left thumb trying the edge of the sword.

“I wouldn’t be too hard on ’em, sir,” he said, with mock respect.

“What do you mean, Billy?”

“Don’t take off too many Frenchies’ heads, sir; not as they’d know it, with a blade like that.”

“Are we gaining on her, Leigh?” said the lieutenant.

“Just a little, sir, I think; but she creeps through the water at an awful rate.”

The lieutenant looked up at the white sails, but nothing more could be done, for the Kestrel was flying her best; and the water bubbled and sparkled as she cut her way through, leaving an ever-widening train behind.

There was no chance of more wind, and nothing could be done but to hold steadily on, for, at the end of half an hour, it was plain enough that the distance had been slightly reduced.

“However do they manage to make those luggers sail so fast?” exclaimed the lieutenant impatiently. “Leigh, if this turns out to be another of your mares’ nests, you’ll be in disgrace.”

“Very well, sir,” said the young man quietly.

And then to himself: “Better make some mistake than let the real thing slip by.”

The arms were not served out, for that would be but a minute’s task; but an arm chest was opened ready, and the men stood at their various stations, but in a far more lax and careless way than would have been observed on board a larger vessel, which in its turn would have been in point of discipline far behind a vessel of the present day.

The gulls and kittiwakes rose and fell, uttering their peevish wails; a large shoal of fish fretting the radiant surface of the sea was passed and about a dozen porpoises went right across the cutter’s bow, rising and diving down one after the other like so many black water-boys, playing at “Follow my leader;” but the eyes of all on board the Kestrel were fixed upon the dingy looking chasse marée, which apparently still kept on trying hard to escape by its speed.

And now the time, according to Billy Waters’ judgment, having come for sending a shot, he stood ready, linstock in hand, watching the lieutenant, whose one eye was gazing intently through the long leather-covered glass.

“Fire!” he said at last. “Well ahead!”

The muzzle of the piece was trained a little more to the right, the linstock was applied, there was a puff of white smoke, a heavy deafening roar; and as Hilary Leigh gazed in the direction of the lugger, he saw the sea splashed a few hundred yards ahead, and then dip, dip, dip, dip, the water was thrown up at intervals as the shot ricochetted, making ducks and drakes right across the bows of the lugger.

“Curse his impudence!” cried the lieutenant, as the men busily sponged out and began to reload Long Tom; for the lugger paid not the slightest heed to the summons, but sailed away.

“Give her another—closer this time,” cried the lieutenant; and once more the gun uttered its deep-mouthed roar, and the shot went skipping along the smooth surface of the sea, this time splashing the water a few yards only ahead of the lugger.

“I think that will bring him to his senses,” cried the lieutenant, using his glass.

If the lowering of first one and then another sail meant bringing the lugger to its senses, the lieutenant was right, for first one ruddy brown spread of canvas sank with its spar into the lugger, and then another and another, the long low vessel lying passive upon the water, and in due time the cutter was steered close up, her sails flapped, and her boat which had been held ready was lowered, and Leigh with three men jumped in.

“Here, let me go too,” exclaimed the lieutenant; “you don’t half understand these fellows’ French.”

Hilary flushed, for he fancied he was a bit of a French scholar, but he said nothing; and the lieutenant jumped into the boat. A few strokes took them to the dingy lugger, at whose side were gathered about a dozen dirty-looking men and boys, for the most part in scarlet worsted caps, blue jerseys, and stiff canvas petticoats, sewn between the legs, to make believe they were trousers.

“Va t’en chien de Français. Pourquoi de diable n’arrêtez vous pas?” shouted the lieutenant to a yellow-looking man with whiskerless face, and thin gold rings in his ears.

“Hey?”

“I say pourquoi n’arrêtez vous pas?” roared the lieutenant fiercely.

“I ar’nt a Dutchman. I don’t understand. Nichts verstand,” shouted the man through his hollow hands, as if he were hailing some one a mile away.

“You scoundrel, why didn’t you say you could speak English?”

“You never arkst me,” growled the man.

“Silence, sir. How dare you address an officer of a king’s ship like that!”

“Then what do you go shooting at me for? King George don’t tell you to go firin’ guns at peaceable fisher folk, as me.”

“Silence, sir, or I’ll put you in irons, and take you on board the cutter. Why didn’t you obey my signals to heave-to?”

“Signals! I never see no signals.”

“How dare you, sir! you know I fired.”

“Oh, them! We thought you was practisin’, and hauled down till you’d done, for the balls was flying very near.”

“Where are you from?”

“From? Nowheres. We been out all night fishing.”

“What’s your port?”

“Shoreham.”

“And what have you on board? Who are those people?”

Those two people had been seen on the instant by Hilary Leigh, as they sat below the half-deck of the lugger, shrinking from observation in the semi-darkness. He had noticed that, though wearing rough canvas covering similar to those affected by a crew in stormy weather, they were of a different class; and as the lieutenant was in converse with the skipper of the lugger, he climbed over the lowered sail between, and saw that one of the two whom the other tried to screen was quite a young girl.

It was but a momentary glance, for she hastily drew a hood over her face, as she saw that she was noticed.

“Jacobites for a crown!” said Hilary to himself, as he saw a pair of fierce dark eyes fixed upon him.

“Who are you?” he exclaimed.

“Hush, for heaven’s sake!” was the answer whispered back; “don’t you know me, Leigh? A word from you and they will shoot me like a dog.”

At the same moment there was a faint cry, and Hilary saw that the young girl had sunk back, fainting.

Chapter Two.

A Strict Search.

“Sir Henry!” ejaculated Hilary Leigh; and for the moment his heart seemed to stand still, for his duties as a king’s officer had brought him face to face with a dear old friend, at whose house he had passed some of his happiest days, and he knew that the disguised figure the Jacobite gentleman sought to hide was his only daughter, Adela, Hilary’s old playmate and friend, but so grown and changed that he hardly recognised her in the momentary glance he had of her fair young face.

“Hush! silence! Are you mad?” was the reply, in tones that set the young man’s heart beating furiously, for he knew that Sir Henry Norland was proscribed for the part he had take in the attempt of the Young Pretender, and Leigh had thought that he was in France.

“Who are they, Mr Leigh?” said the lieutenants striding over the lumber in the bottom of the boat.

“Seems to be an English gentleman, sir,” said Leigh, in answer to an agonised appeal from Sir Henry’s eyes.

“I am an English gentleman, sir, and this is my daughter. She is very ill.”

“Of course she is,” cried the lieutenant testily. “Women are sure to be sick if you bring them to sea. But look here, my good fellow, English gentleman or no English gentleman, you can’t deceive me. Now then, what have you got on board?”

“Fish, I believe,” said Sir Henry.

“Yes, of course,” sneered the lieutenant; “and brandy, and silk, and velvet, and lace. Now then, skipper, you are caught this time. But look here, you scoundrel, what do you mean by pretending to be a Frenchman?”

“Frenchman? Frenchman?” said the skipper with a look of extreme stupidity. “You said I was a Dutchman.”

“You lie, you scoundrel. Here, come forward and move that sail and those nets. Now no nonsense; set your fellows to work.”

He clapped his hand sharply on the skipper’s shoulder, and turned him round, following him forward.

“Take a man, Mr Leigh, and search that dog-hole.”

Hilary Leigh was astounded, for knowing what he did he expected that the lieutenant would have instantly divined what seemed patent to him—that Sir Henry Norland was trying, for some reason or another, to get back to England, and that although the lugger was commanded by an Englishman, she was undoubtedly a French chasse marée from Saint Malo.

But the lieutenant had got it into his head that he had overhauled a smuggling vessel laden with what would turn into prize-money for himself and men, and the thought that she might be bound on a political errand did not cross his mind.

“I’ll search fully,” said Leigh; and bidding the sailor with the long pigtail stay where he was, the young officer bent down and crept in under the half-deck just as the fainting girl recovered.

As she caught sight of Hilary she made a snatch at his hand, and in a choking voice exclaimed:

“Oh, Hilary! don’t you know me again? Pray, pray save my poor father. Oh, you will not give him up?”

The young man’s heart seemed to stand still as the dilemma in which he was placed forced itself upon him. He was in his majesty’s service, and in the king’s name he ought to have called upon this gentleman, a well-known Jacobite, to surrender, and tell the lieutenant who he was.

On the other hand, if he did this unpleasant duty he would be betraying a dear old companion of his father, a man who had watched his own career with interest and helped him through many a little trouble; and, above all, he would be, as the thought flashed upon him, sending Adela’s father—his own old companion’s father—to the scaffold.

These thoughts flashed through his mind, and with them recollections of those delightful schoolboy days that he had passed at the Old Manor House, Sir Henry’s pleasant home, in Sussex, when boy and girl he and Adela had roamed the woods, boated on the lake, and fished the river hard by.

“No,” he muttered between his teeth; “I meant to be a faithful officer to my king; but I’d sooner jump overboard than do such dirty work as that.”

There was an angry look in the young girl’s eyes; and as Hilary read her thoughts he could not help thinking how bright and beautiful a woman she was growing. He saw that she believed he was hesitating, and there was something scornful in her gaze, an echo, as it were, of that of her grey-haired, careworn father, whose eyebrows even seemed to have turned white, though his dark eyes were fiery as ever.

There was no doubt about it; they believed that he would betray them, and there was something almost of loathing in Adela Norland’s face as her hood fell back, and the motion she made to place her hands in her father’s brought her head out of the shadow into the bright morning light.

“Thank ye, ma’am,” said Hilary in a rough, brisk voice; “I was just going to ask you to move. You’d better come in, Tom Tully, there’s a lot of things to move. P’r’aps this gentleman will stand outside.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” growled Tom Tully, as Hilary darted one meaning look at the proscribed man.

“Look here, sir,” continued Hilary, as he heard the lieutenant approaching, “you may just as well save us the trouble by declaring what you have hidden. We are sure to find it.”

“Got anything, Mr Leigh?” said the lieutenant briskly.

“Nothing yet, sir. Have you?”

“Not a tub, or a package.”

“If you imagine, sir, that this boat is laden with smuggled goods you may save yourselves a great deal of trouble, for there is nothing contraband on board, I feel sure.”

“Thank you,” said the lieutenant politely, and with a satirical laugh; “but you’d hardly believe it, my dear sir, when I tell you that dozens of skippers and passengers in boats have said the very same thing to me, and whenever that has been the case we have generally made a pretty good haul of smuggled goods. Go on, my lads; I can’t leave a corner unsearched.”

Sir Henry gave his shoulders a slight shrug, and turned to draw his daughter’s hood over her head.

“You’ll excuse my child, gentlemen,” he said coldly. “She is very weak and ill.”

“Oh! of course,” said Hilary; “we’ve searched here, sir; she can lie down again.”

Adela uttered a low sigh of relief, and she longed to dart a grateful look at the young officer, but she dared not; and knowing that in place of looking pale and ill a warm flush of excitement was beaming in her cheeks, she hastily drew her hand closer over her face, and let her father place her upon a rough couch of dry nets.

“Heaven bless him!” muttered Sir Henry to himself; “but it was a struggle between friendship and duty, I could see.”

Meanwhile the lugger was ransacked from end to end, three more men being called from the cutter for the purpose. Tubs were turned over, spare sails and nets dragged about, planks lifted, bunks and lockers searched, but nothing contraband was found, and all the while the skipper of the lugger and his crew stood staring stupidly at the efforts of the king’s men.

“Labour in vain, Leigh,” said the lieutenant at last. “Into the boat there. Confound that scoundrel! I wish he was overboard.”

The lieutenant did not say what for, but as soon as the men were in the boat he turned to the skipper:

“Look ye here, my fine fellow, you’ve had a narrow escape.”

“Yes,” said the man stolidly, “I thought you’d have hit us.”

The lieutenant did not condescend to reply, but climbed over the side into the cutter’s boat, and motioned to Leigh to follow, which he did, not daring to glance at the passengers.

“Are you quite done, officer?” growled the skipper.

No answer was given, and as the boat reached the side of the cutter the sails of the lugger were being hoisted, and she began to move quickly through the water at once.

“Lay her head to the eastward,” said the lieutenant sourly; “and look here, Leigh, don’t you rouse me up again for one of your mare’s nests, or it will be the—”

“Worse for you,” Hilary supposed, but he did not hear the words, for the lieutenant was already down below, and the young officer took the glass and stood watching the lugger rapidly growing distant as the cutter began to feel the breeze.

A curious turmoil of thought was harassing the young man’s brain, for he felt that he had been a traitor to the king, whose officer he was, and it seemed to him terrible that he should have broken his faith like this.

But at the same time he felt that he could not have done otherwise, and he stood watching the lugger, and then started, for yes—no—yes—there could be no mistake about it, a white handkerchief was being held over the side, and it was a signal of amity to him.

Quite a couple of hours had passed, and the lugger had for some time been out of sight round the headland astern, when all at once the lieutenant came on deck to where his junior was pacing up and down.

“Why, Leigh,” he exclaimed, “I did not think of it then; but we ought to have detained that chasse marée.”

“Indeed, sir; why?”

“Ah! of course it would not occur to you, being so young in the service; but depend upon it that fellow was a Jacobite, who had persuaded those dirty-looking scoundrels to bring him across from Saint Malo, or some other French port, and he’s going to play spy and work no end of mischief. We’ve done wrong, Leigh, we’ve done wrong.”

“Think so, sir?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it. I was so intent on finding smuggled goods that I didn’t think of it at the time. But, there: it’s too late now.”

“Yes, sir,” said Leigh quietly, “it’s too late now.”

For he knew that by that time the fugitives must be in Shoreham harbour.

Chapter Three.

The Lieutenant’s Bargain.

Three days of cruising up and down on the lookout for suspicious craft, some of which were boarded, but boarded in vain, for, however suspicious they might appear at a distance, there was nothing to warrant their being detained and taken back into port.

Hilary used to laugh to himself at the impudence of their midge of a cutter firing shots across large merchantmen, bringing them to, and making them wait while the cutter sent a boat on board for their papers to be examined.

It gradually fell to his lot to perform this duty, though if it happened to be a very large vessel Lieutenant Lipscombe would take upon himself to go on board, especially if he fancied that there would be an invitation to a well-kept cabin and a glass of wine, or perhaps a dinner, during which Hilary would be in command, and the cutter would sail on in the big ship’s wake till the lieutenant thought proper to come on board.

The men sang songs and tied one another’s pigtails; Hilary Leigh fished and caught mackerel, bass, pollack, and sometimes a conger eel, and for a bit of excitement a little of his majesty’s powder was blazed away and a cannonball sent skipping along the surface of the water, but that was all.

Hilary used sometimes to own to himself that it was no wonder that Mr Lipscombe, who was a disappointed man, should spend much time in sleeping, and out of sheer imitation he once or twice took to having a nap himself, but twice settled that. He had too much vitality in his composition to sleep at abnormal times.

“Hang it all, Billy Waters,” he said one day, after a week’s sailing up and down doing nothing more exciting than chasing fishing-luggers and boarding trading brigs and schooners, “I do wish something would turn up.”

“If something real don’t turn up, sir,” said the gunner, “I shall be certain to fire across the bows of a ship, from its always being my habit, sir, and never hit a mark when I want it.”

“Here, hi! hail that fishing-boat,” he said; “I’ve fished till I’m tired, and can’t catch anything; perhaps we can get something of him.”

He pointed to a little boat with a tiny sail, steered by its crew of one man by means of an oar. The boat had been hanging about for some time after pulling off from the shore, and its owner was evidently fishing, but with what result the crew of the cutter could not tell.

“He don’t want no hailing, sir; he’s hailing of us,” said Billy.

It was plain enough that the man was manoeuvring his cockleshell about, so as to get the cutter between it and the shore, and with pleasant visions in his mind of a lobster, crab, or some other fish to vary the monotony of the salt beef and pork, of which they had, in Hilary’s thinking, far too much, he leaned over the side till the man allowed his boat to drift close up.

“Heave us a rope,” he said. “Got any fish?”

“Yes. I want to see the captain.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see. I want the captain. Are you him?”

“No; he’s down below.”

“I want to see him. May I come aboard?”

“If you like,” said Hilary; and the man climbed over the side.

He was a lithe, sunburnt fellow, and after looking at him for a few moments with a vague kind of feeling that he had seen him before, Hilary sent a message below, and Mr Lipscombe came up with his hand before his mouth to hide a yawn.

“Are you the captain?” said the man.

“I command this ship, fellow. What is it?”

“What’ll you give me, captain, if I take you to a cove where they’re going to run a cargo to-night?”

“Wait and see, my man. You take us there and you shall be rewarded.”

“No, no,” said the man laughing; “that won’t do, captain. I’m not going to risk my life for a chance of what you’ll give. I want a hundred pounds.”

“Rubbish, man! Ten shillings,” said Lipscombe sharply.

“I want a hundred pounds,” said the man. “That there cargo’s going to be worth two thousand pounds, and it’s coming in a fast large French schooner from Havre. I want a hundred pounds, or I don’t say a word.”

A cargo worth two thousand pounds, and a smart French schooner! That would be a prize indeed, and it made the lieutenant’s mouth water; but he still hesitated, for a hundred pounds was a good deal, perhaps more than his share would be. But still if he did not promise it they might miss the schooner altogether, for in spite of his vigilance he knew that cargoes were being run; so he gave way.

“Very well then, you shall have your hundred pounds.”

“Now, captain?”

“Not likely. Earn your wages first.”

“And then suppose you say you won’t pay me? What shall I do?”

“I give you my word of honour as a king’s officer, sir.”

The man shook his head.

“Write it down,” he said with all the low cunning of his class. The lieutenant was about to make an angry reply, but he wanted to take that prize, so he went below and wrote out and signed a memorandum to the effect that if, by the informer’s guidance, the French schooner was taken, he should be paid one hundred pounds.

Lipscombe returned on deck and handed the paper to the fisherman, who took it and held it upside down, studying it attentively.

“Now you read it,” he said to Hilary; who took it, and read it aloud.

“Yes,” said the fellow, “that’s it. Now you sign it.”

Hilary glanced at his superior, who frowned and nodded his head; and the young man went below and added his signature.

“That’ll do,” said the man smiling. “Now look here, captain, as soon as I’m gone you sail right off out of sight if you can, and get her lying off the point by about ten o’clock—two bells, or whatever it is. Then you wait till a small lugger comes creeping off slowly, as if it was going out for the night with the drift-nets. I and my mates will be aboard that lugger, and they’ll drop down alongside and put me aboard, and I’ll pilot you just to the place where you can lie in the cove out of sight till the schooner comes in. If I come in my little boat the boys on shore would make signals, and the schooner would keep off, but if they see us go as usual out in our lugger they’ll pay no heed. But don’t you come in a bit nigher than this. Now I’m off!”

Lieutenant Lipscombe stood thinking for a few minutes after the man had gone, stealing over the side of the cutter farthest from the shore, so that when his boat drifted by it was not likely that his visit on board would have been seen.

Then turning to Hilary:

“What do you think of it, Leigh?”

“It may be a ruse to get us away.”

“Yes, it may be, but I don’t think it is. ’Bout ship, there!” he shouted; and the great boom of the mainsail slowly swung round, and they sailed nearly out of sight of land by sundown, when the helm was once more rammed down hard, the cutter careened round in a half circle, and as the white wings were swelling, they made once more for the coast.

It was about nine o’clock of a deliciously soft night, and the moist sweet air that came off the shore was sweetly fragrant of flowers and new-mown hay. The night was cloudy, and very dusky for the time of year, a fact so much in their favour, and with the watch on the alert, for the lieutenant would not call the men to quarters in case the informer did not come, he and Hilary leaned over the side, gazing at the scattered lights that twinkled on the shore.

An hour and a half had passed away, and the time, which a church clock ashore had struck, ten, seemed to have far exceeded this hour, when, as they all watched the mist which hung between them and the invisible shore, a light was suddenly seen to come as it were out of a bank of fog, and glide slowly towards them, but as if to go astern.

The cutter had a small lamp hoisted to the little masthead, and the lieutenant knew that this would be sufficient signal of their whereabouts, and so it proved, for the gliding light came nearer and nearer, and soon after a voice they both recognised hailed them.

“Cutter ahoy!”

“Ahoy!”

The light came on nearer and nearer, and at last they could dimly make out the half-hoisted sails of a small fishing lugger, which was run cleverly enough close alongside, her occupants holding on by boathooks.

“Mind what you are doing there,” cried the lieutenant sharply; “jump aboard, my man.”

“All right, captain.”

“Go down and get my sword, Leigh,” whispered the lieutenant; “and put on your own.”

It was as if just then an idea had occurred to him that there might be treachery, and the thought seemed to be communicated to Hilary, who ran down below, caught up the two swords from the hooks where they hung upon the bulkhead, and was on his way up, when the lieutenant came down upon him with a crash, there was the rattling on of the hatch, the trampling of feet, and a short scuffle, and as Hilary leaped over his prostrate officer, and, sword in hand, dashed up at the hatch, it was to find it fastened, for they had been cleverly trapped, and without doubt the cutter was in the smuggler’s hands.

Chapter Four.

In Command.

Hilary Leigh was only a boy, and he acted boyishly at that moment, for in his rage and mortification he first of all struck at the hatch with his fist, and then shouted to the people on deck.

“Here, hi! you sirs, open this hatch directly.”

But as he shouted he knew that his order was absurd, and tucking the lieutenant’s sword under his arm he buckled on his own before leaping down to where his leader lay.

“Are you much hurt, sir?” he asked; but there was no answer.

“I’ve got a orfle whack side o’ the head, sir,” growled Tom Tully.

“So’ve I, sir,” said another man.

“Serve you right too, for not keeping a good lookout,” cried Hilary savagely; “here, it’s disgraceful! A king’s ship taken by a set of smuggling rascals. Look alive, there, my lads. Here, you marines, be smart. Where’s Billy Waters?”

“Here, sir,” cried that worthy.

“Serve out the arms smart, my man. Two of you carry the lieutenant into the cabin. Steady there! He isn’t dead.”

For two of the men had been seen, by the dim light of a horn lantern, to seize their commanding officer in the most unceremonious way, to lug him into the cabin.

By this time the ’tween decks of the cutter was alive with dimly-seen figures, for in a vessel of this description the space devoted in a peaceful vessel to the storage of cargo was utilised for the convenience of the comparatively large crew.

“Heave those hammocks out of the way,” cried Hilary next; and this being done, he stood there with twenty well-armed men awaiting his next orders—orders which he did not give, for the simple reason that he did not know what to do.

It was a ticklish position for a lad of his years, to find himself suddenly in command of a score of fighting men, one and all excited and ready for the fray, as, schooled by drill and discipline, they formed themselves into a machine which he was to set in motion; but how, when, and where?

There was the rub, and in the midst of a dead silence Hilary listened to the trampling of feet overhead.

It was a curious scene—the gloomy ’tween decks of the cutter, with the group of eager men standing about awaiting their young officer’s orders, their rough, weatherbeaten faces looking fierce in the shadowy twilight, for the lanterns swinging fore and aft only seemed to make darkness visible; and as the trampling went on, evidently that of men wearing heavy fisher-boots, the steps were within a few inches of the heads of the crew.

“Pair o’ pistols, sir,” said a low, gruff voice; and Hilary started, for the gunner had come up quite silently. “Shall I shove ’em in your belt, sir?”

“Yes,” said Hilary sharply; and the gunner thrust the barrels of the two heavy, clumsy weapons into the young officer’s sword-belt, where they stuck in a most inconvenient way.

“Both loaded, sir, and cocked,” said the gunner quietly. Hilary nodded, and stood thinking.

It was an awkward time for quiet thought, for he knew that the men were anxiously awaiting some order; but, for the reasons above given, no order came, and the force of his position came with crushing violence upon the young officer’s head.

He knew that the lieutenant was to blame for not being prepared for an attack, however little it might be anticipated; but at the same time he would have to share the lieutenant’s disgrace as second officer—the disgrace of a well manned and armed king’s ship falling into the hands of a pack of smugglers.

He knew, too, that if he had proposed taking precautions, Lieutenant Lipscombe would have laughed at him, and refused to take his advice; but he would have felt more at rest if he had made the suggestion.

But the mishap had happened, and according to the old proverb it was of no use to cry over spilt milk. What he felt he had to do now was to find a cow and get some more.

But how?

By the sounds on deck it was evident that the cutter had been seized by quite a strong party, and it was no less certain that they would not have made so desperate a move if they had not some particular venture on the way. What Hilary felt then was that he must not only turn the tables on the attacking party, but try and make a valuable capture as well.

But again—how?

He could not answer the question, but as he tried to solve the difficulty the feeling was strong upon him—could he manage to do this before the lieutenant recovered?

The excitement produced by this idea was such that it drove away all thoughts of peril and danger, and he could think of nothing but the dash and daring of such an exploit.

As he thought, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly, and he whispered an order to the men:

“Close round.”

The crew eagerly pressed up to him, and he spoke.

“We’ve got to wipe out a disgrace, my lads—hush! don’t cheer, let them think we are doing nothing.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” came in a low growl.

“I say, my lads, we’ve got to wipe out a disgrace, and the sooner the better. One hour ought to be enough to get on deck and drive these scoundrels either overboard or below. Then I think there’ll be some prize-money to be earned, for they are sure to be running a cargo to-night. Silence! No cheering. Now then, to work. Waters, how are we to get up the hatch?”

“Powder, sir,” said the gunner laconically.

“And blow ourselves to pieces.”

“No, sir, I think I can build up a pile of hammocks and fire half-a-dozen cartridges atop of it, and blow the hatch off without hurting us much below.”

“Try it,” said Hilary shortly. “You marines, come aft into the cabin and we’ll get the ventilators open; you can fire through there.”

The four marines and their corporal marched into the cabin, where a couple kneeled upon the little table, and two more stood ready to cover them, when the folly of attempting to blow off the hatch became apparent to Hilary; for he saw that he would do more harm to his own men than would warrant the attempt.

“Get axes,” he said.

This was done, and the gunner brought out a long iron bar used in shifting the long gun, but he muttered a protest the while that there was nothing like the powder.

“Silence there,” cried Hilary. “Waters, pass that bar to Tully, and you with your men go forward and keep the fore-hatch. If they open it and try to come down to take us in the rear when we begin to break through here, up with you and gain the deck at all costs. You understand?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“I’ll send you help if you get the hatch open. Go on!”

The gunner and half-a-dozen men went forward and stood ready, while at a sign from the young officer the dimly-seen figure of Tom Tully took a couple of steps up the cabin-ladder, and there he stood with the bar poised in his bare arms ready to make his first attack upon the wooden cover as soon as the order reached his ears.

Just then a rattling noise was heard, and the hatch was evidently about to be removed. The next moment it was off, and the light of a lantern flashed down, showing that half-a-dozen musket barrels had been thrust into the opening, while about them flashed the blades of as many swords.

There was a dead silence below, for Hilary and his men were taken by surprise, and though the hatch was now open there was such a terrible display of weapons in the opening that an attempt to rush up seemed madness.

“Below there!” cried a harsh voice; “surrender, or we fire.”

“Is Hilary Leigh there?” cried another voice, one which made the young man start as he recognised that of Sir Harry Norland.

“Yes, sir, I am here,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“Tell your men to surrender quietly, Mr Leigh, and if they give their word not to attempt rescue or escape they will have two of the cutter’s boats given to them, and they can row ashore.”

“And what about the cutter, Sir Henry?” said Hilary quietly.

“She is our lawful prize,” was the reply.

“And no mistake,” said the rough, harsh voice, which Hilary recognised now as that of the apparently stupid skipper of the chasse marée.

“Come up first, Mr Leigh,” said Sir Henry; “but leave your arms below. I give you my word that you shall not be hurt.”

“I cannot give you my word that you will not be hurt, Sir Henry, if you do not keep out of danger,” cried Hilary. “We are all coming on deck, cutlass in one hand, pistol in the other. Now, my lads! Forward!”

Madness or no madness he made a dash, and at the same moment Tom Tully struck upwards with his iron bar, sweeping aside the presented muskets, half of which were fired with the effect that their bullets were buried in the woodwork round the hatch.

What took place during those next few moments Hilary did not know, only that he made a spring to mount the cabin-ladder and got nearly out at the hatch, but as Tom Tully and another man sprang forward at the same moment they hindered one another, when there was a few moments’ interval of fierce struggling, the sound of oaths and blows, a few shots were fired by the marines through the cabin skylight, and then Hilary found himself lying on the lower deck under Tom Tully, listening to the banging down of the cabin-hatch.

“Are you much hurt, sir?” said one of the men.

“Don’t know yet,” said Hilary, as Tully was dragged off him. “Confound the brutes! I’ll serve them out for this. Is any one killed?”

“I ain’t,” growled Tom Tully, with his hand to the back of his head. “But that there slash went half through my tail, and I’ve got one on the cheek.”

Tom Tully’s wound on the cheek proved to be quite a slight cut, and the other man was only stunned, but the injury to his pigtail was more than he could bear.

“Of all the cowardly games as ever I did come acrost,” he growled, “this here’s ’bout the worst. Think o’ trying to cut off a sailor’s pigtail! It’s worse than mutiny!”

“Hold your tongue, you stupid fellow!” cried Hilary, who could not help feeling amused even then. “Why, don’t you see that your tail has saved your head?”

“Who wanted his head saved that way?” growled Tom Tully. “It’s cowardly, that’s what it is! I don’t call it fair fighting to hit a man behind.”

“Silence!” exclaimed Hilary; and as the trampling went on overhead he tried to make out what the enemy were doing.

He was startled to find Sir Henry on board, but though he looked upon him as a friend, he felt no compunction now in meeting him as an enemy who must take his chance. Betraying him when a fugitive was one thing, dealing with him as one of a party making an attack upon a king’s ship another.

A chill of dread ran through him for a moment as he thought of the possibility of Sir Henry’s daughter being his companion, but a second thought made him feel assured that she could not be present at a time like this.

“And Sir Henry would only think me a contemptible traitor if I surrendered,” he said to himself; and then he began to make fresh plans.

He stepped into the cabin for a moment or two, to find that the lieutenant was lying in his bed place, perfectly insensible, while the marines, with their pieces in hand, were waiting fresh orders.

The difficulty was to give those orders, and turn which way he would there was a pair of eyes fixed upon him.

He had never before understood the responsibility of a commanding officer in a time of emergency, and how great a call there would be upon him for help, guidance, and protection. One thing, however, he kept before his eyes, and that was the idea that he must retake the cutter, and how to do it with the least loss of life was the problem to be solved.

In his extremity he called a council of war under the big lantern, with Billy Waters, the corporal of marines, and the boatswain for counsellors, and took their opinions.

“Well, sir, if it was me in command I should do as I said afore,” said Billy Waters cheerfully. “A lot o’ powder would rift that there cabin-hatch right off; and them as guards it.”

“Yes, and kill the lieutenant and half the men below,” said Hilary. “What do you say, corporal?”

“I think bayonets is the best things, sir,” replied the corporal.

“Yes,” exclaimed Hilary, “if you’ve got a chance to use them. What do you say, bo’sun?”

“Well, your honour, it seems as how we shall get into no end of a pickle if we let these here smugglers capter the Kestrel, so I think we’d best go below and scuttle her. It wouldn’t take long.”

“Well, but, my good fellow, don’t you see that we should be scuttling ourselves too?” cried Hilary.

“Oh! no, sir, I don’t mean scuttle ourselves. I only mean the cutter. She’d soon fill. We’d go off in the boats.”

“How?”

The boatswain did not seem to have taken this into consideration at all, but stood scratching his head till he scratched out a bright thought.

“Couldn’t we let them on deck know as we’re going to scuttle her, sir, and then they’d sheer off, and as soon as they’d sheered off we wouldn’t scuttle her, but only go up and take possession.”

“Now, Jack Brown, how can you be such a fool?” cried Hilary, impatiently. “They’re sharp smugglers who have seized the Kestrel, and not a pack of babies. Can’t you suggest something better than that?”

“Well, sir, let’s scuttle her, and let them know as she’s sinking, and as soon as they’ve sheered off stop the leaks.”

“Oh! you great bullet-head,” cried Hilary angrily. “How could we?”

“Very sorry, sir,” growled the man humbly; “I don’t know, sir. I can trim and bend on sails, and overhaul the rigging as well as most bo’suns, sir, but I never did have no head for figgers.”

“Figures!” cried Hilary, impatiently. “There, that’ll do. Hark! What are they doing on deck?”

“Seems to me as if they’re getting all sail set,” growled the boatswain.

“And they’ll run us over to the coast of France,” cried Hilary excitedly. “We shall be prisoners indeed.”

He drew his breath in between his teeth, and stamped on the deck in his impotent rage.

“There!” he said, at last, as the crew stood impatiently awaiting the result of their consultation. “It’s of no use for me to bully you, my lads, for not giving me ideas, when I can find none myself. You are all right. We’ll try all your plans, for the scoundrels must never sail the Kestrel into a French port with us on board. Waters, we’ll blow up the hatchway—but the fore-hatchway, not the cabin. Corporal, you and your lads shall give them a charge with bayonets. And lastly, if both these plans fail Jack Brown and the carpenter shall scuttle the little cutter; we may perhaps save our lives in the confusion.”

It was a sight to see the satisfied grin that shone out on each of the rough fellows’ faces, upon finding that their ideas were taken. It was as if each had grown taller, and they smiled at each other and at the young officer in a most satisfied way. Hilary did not know it; but that stroke of involuntary policy on his part had raised him enormously in the estimation of the crew; and the little council being dissolved, it was wonderful with what alacrity they set to work.

For the gunner’s plan was at once adopted, and in perfect silence a bed of chests was raised up close beneath the fore-hatchway, whose ladder was cautiously removed. On this pile were placed hammocks, and again upon these short planks, so that the flat surface was close up to the square opening that led from the forecastle on deck.

“You see, sir, the charge won’t leave much room to strike sidewise,” said the gunner, as he helped to get all ready, ending by emptying the bags of powder that formed four charges for the long gun. These he rolled up in a handkerchief, tied it pretty tightly, and before putting it in place he made a hole in it, so that some of the powder would trickle out on to the smooth plank.

This being done, he laid a train from it to the end of the plank, made a slow-match with some wet powder and a piece of paper, and finished by raising the planks by stuffing blankets under them at Hilary’s suggestion, till the powder charge was right up in the opening of the hatch, surrounded by the coamings, and the planks rested up against the deck.

“If that there don’t fetch ’im off, I’m a Dutchman,” said Billy Waters. “Here, just you keep that there lantern back, will you,” he cried to the corporal of marines; “we don’t want her fired before her time.”

“Yes, that will do,” cried Hilary. “There, stand by, my lads, and the moment the charge is fired make a dash for it with the ladder, and up and clear the deck whether I lead you or no.”

There was something in those words that the men could not then understand, but they did as the gunner declared all to be ready.

“Hush! silence, my lads,” cried Hilary. “Away aft, and all lie down. Now, Waters, give me the lantern.”

“I’ll fire the train, sir. I’m gunner,” said the man.

“No, no,” replied Hilary, “that is my task.”

“But, if you please, sir, you might get hit, and then—”

“Silence, sir! I’ll fire the train,” cried Hilary, sternly. “Away aft with the men; and look, Mr Waters, my good fellow, if I go down I trust to you to retake the cutter.”

“All right, sir,” said the gunner. “Well, sir, if you will do it, here’s my last words: open your lantern and just touch the end of the paper, then close and run aft. One touch does it; so go on, and good luck to you!”

The young officer nodded and took the lantern, while the gunner joined the men as far aft as they could go. There was something very strange and unreal to him as he took a couple of steps or so forward, and listened to the noise of men above, hesitating for the moment as he thought of the life he was about to destroy, and mentally praying that Sir Harry Norland might not be near. Then duty reasserted itself, and, not knowing whether he might not be about to destroy the vessel, and with it his own life, he slowly opened the door of the lantern.

What was it to be—life and liberty, or death and destruction? He could not say, but feeling that he ought to stick at nothing to try and retake the cutter, he held the flame of the wretched purser’s dip in the lantern to the powder-besmeared paper, and there was on the instant an answering burst of tiny sparks.

Chapter Five.

A Missing Enemy.

As the slow-match began to sputter Hilary drew back, closed the door of the lantern, and walked backwards aft, towards where the men were gathered. The desire was strong upon him to run and rush right into the far corner of the cabin; but he was a king’s officer, and the men looked up to him for example, so he told himself that he could not show the white feather.

Fortunately he was able to keep up his dignity and retreat in safety to where the men were crouching down, and, joining them, he too assumed a reclining position upon the deck, and watched the sparkling of the piece of paper in the darkness of the forepart of the cutter.

Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle, with plenty of scintillation; like some little firework made for their amusement, but no sign of the train being fired.

On deck there was an ominous silence, as if the smugglers had received warning of the coming danger, and they too were watching for the explosion.

More sparkling and more bright flashes of light, and yet the train did not catch. Never had moments seemed to Hilary so long before, and he felt sure that the slow-match had not been connected with the train, as it must have fired before now.

Then as he waited he wondered what would be the effect of the explosion, and whether it would do more harm than blow off the hatch. He hoped not, for Sir Henry’s sake; and there were moments during that terribly lengthy time of watching when he hoped that after all the plan had failed, for it seemed too terrible, and he would gladly have run forward and dashed the light aside.

They were lightning like, these thoughts, for it really was but a question of very few moments before there was a flash, a hissing noise, a bright light, and then it was as though they had all been struck a violent blow with something exceedingly soft and elastic, and at the same moment there was a dull heavy roar.

Simultaneously the lower deck was filled with the foul dank choking fumes of exploded gunpowder, the thick smoke was blinding, and the men crouched in their places for the moment forgetful of their orders till they heard the voice of Hilary Leigh shouting to them to come on, and they leaped to their feet and followed.

It was a case of blindman’s-buff; but the quarters below were narrow, and after a little blundering the two men who had charge of the ladder forced aside some of the heap of chests, hammocks and planks, placed the steps in position, and, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, the young officer sprang up. The gunner followed, and in less than a minute the whole crew were over the shattered coamings of the hatchway and on deck, ready to encounter the enemy.

The change from the stifling fumes below to the soft night-air was delightful, and the men leaped along the deck after their young leader, their cutlasses flashing in the faint light cast by the lanterns swung aloft and astern; but no enemy was to be seen.

They dashed aft right to the taffrail, and back along the starboard side, and away to the bowsprit; but the deck was without an enemy.

“Why, they’re gone!” cried Hilary, in astonishment, as he now realised the meaning of the silence over his head when he was awaiting the explosion. “Here, hi! Waters, Brown, what does this mean? Quick! go to the helm, Brown!” he shouted; “we’re going through the water at an awful pace. Quick! quick! down—down hard!” he roared. But it was too late; the wheel was lashed, and before the slightest effort could be made to check the cutter’s way, she glided, with heavy sail set, over half a dozen long rollers, and then seemed to leap upon the beach, which she struck with so heavy a thud that the little vessel shuddered from stem to stern, and pretty well the whole crew were thrown upon the deck.

The causes of the enemy forsaking the cutter were plain enough now. They did not want her, and if they did it would have been without the crew, who would have been a cause of risk and trouble to them. If they could put her hors de combat it would do just as well, and to this end all the sail had been hoisted and sheeted home, the wheel lashed, and with the unfortunate cutter running dead for the beach the party who had seized her had quietly gone over the side while Hilary and his men were plotting their destruction, and knowing full well they had nothing to fear till next tide floated her off—if ever she floated again—they proceeded to carry out their plans.

The men struggled to their feet once more as the great sail flapped, while a wave that seemed bent on chasing them struck below the cutter’s taffrail, and the spray leaped on board.

Fortunately for them it was calm and the tide fast falling, or the gallant little Kestrel would have flown her last flight. As it was, it was open to doubt whether she would ever spread her long wings again to skim the sea, for the rising tide might bring with it a gale, and before she could be got off her timbers might be torn into matchwood.

It was a rapid change from danger to danger. But a few minutes back they risked sinking the vessel by the explosion of gunpowder, believing her to be in the hands of the enemy who had cleverly compassed her defeat, and now they were cast ashore.

Hilary Leigh was seaman enough, however, to know what to do without consulting the boatswain, and giving his orders rapidly he stopped the heeling over and beating of the Kestrel upon the sand by relieving her of her sail, in the midst of which he was startled by the voice of Mr Lipscombe.

“Good heavens, Mr Leigh!” he exclaimed, angrily, “what does this mean? I go and lie down for a few minutes, leaving you in charge of the cutter, and I come up and find her ashore. Brown, Waters! where are you, men? Have you been mad, asleep, or drunk? Oh, my head! Good gracious, why, what’s this—blood?”

He staggered, and seemed about to fall, but Hilary caught his arm.

“I am glad to see you better, sir,” he cried; “but had you not better lie down?”

“Better?” he said—“better?”

“Yes, sir; don’t you remember?”

“Remember? Remember?” he said, staring.

“Yes, sir, the smugglers; they knocked us down and took possession of the ship.”

“Yes, of course, yes,” said the lieutenant eagerly. “I remember now. Of course, yes, Leigh. But—but where are they now?”

“That’s just what I should like to know, sir,” said Leigh, sharply; “we’ve got rid of them, but they ran the little Kestrel ashore.”

Chapter Six.

Exploring.

Fortunately for the little Kestrel the morning breeze was soft and the sea as smooth as a mirror, and all the crew had to do was to await the tide to float them off from where they were lying high and dry, with the keel driven so deeply in the sand that the cutter hardly needed a support, and the opportunity served for examining the bottom to see if any injury had been sustained.

Lieutenant Lipscombe appeared with a broad bandage round his head, for his head had been severely cut in his fall, and the pain he suffered did not improve his already sore temper.

For though he said nothing, Hilary Leigh could see plainly enough that his officer was bitterly annoyed at having been mastered in cunning and so nearly losing his ship. He knew that to go into port to repair damages meant so close an investigation that the result might be the loss of his command. So, after an examination of the injuries, which showed that the whole of the coamings of the hatchway were blown off and the deck terribly blackened with powder, the carpenter and his mate were set to work to cut out and piece in as busily as possible.

“Nothing to go into port for, Leigh, nothing at all. The men will soon put that right; but it was very badly managed, Leigh, very. Half that quantity of powder would have done; the rest was all waste. Hang it all! what could you have been thinking about? Here am I disabled for a few minutes, and you let a parcel of scoundrels seize the cutter and run her ashore, and then, with the idea of retaking her, you go and blow up half the deck! My good fellow, you will never make a decent officer if you go on like this.”

“Well, that’s grateful, certainly,” thought Hilary; and the desire came upon him strongly to burst out into a hearty laugh, but he suppressed it and said quietly:

“Very sorry, sir; I tried to do all for the best.”

“Yes; that’s what every weak-headed noodle says when he has made a blunder. Well, Leigh, it is fortunate for you that I was sufficiently recovered to resume the command; but of all the pickles which one of his majesty’s ships could be got into, this is about the worst. Here we are as helpless as a turned turtle on a Florida sandspit.”

“Well, sir, not quite,” replied Hilary smiling; “we’ve got our guns, and the crew would give good account of—”

“Silence, sir! This is no laughing matter,” cried the lieutenant angrily. “It may seem very droll to you, but if I embody your conduct of the past night in a despatch your chance of promotion is gone for ever.”

Hilary stared, but he had common sense enough to say nothing, while the lieutenant took a turn up and down the deck, which would have been a very pleasant promenade for a cripple with one leg shorter than the other; but as the cutter was a good deal heeled over, it was so unpleasant for Lieutenant Lipscombe, already suffering from giddiness, the result of his wound, that he stopped short and stood holding on by a stay.

“Most extraordinary thing,” he said; “my head is always perfectly clear in the roughest seas, but ashore I turn as giddy as can be. But there; don’t stand staring about, Leigh. Take half-a-dozen men and make a bit of search up and down the coast. See if you can find any traces of the smuggling party. If you had had any thought in you such a thing might have been proposed at daybreak. It will be hours before we float.”

“Yes, sir, certainly,” exclaimed Leigh, rather excitedly, for he was delighted with the idea. “Shall I arm the men, sir?”

“Arm the men, sir! Oh, no: of course not. Let every man carry a swab, and a spoon stuck in his belt. Goodness me, Mr Leigh, where are your brains? You are going to track out a parcel of desperadoes, and you ask me if you shall take the men armed.”

“Very sorry, sir,” said Hilary. “I’ll try and do better. You see I am so sadly wanting in experience.”

The lieutenant looked at him sharply, but Hilary’s face was as calm and unruffled as the sea behind him, and not finding any chance for a reprimand, the lieutenant merely made a sign to him to go, walking forward himself to hurry on the carpenter, and then repassing Hilary and going below to his cabin.

“Skipper’s got his legs acrost this mornin’, sir,” said Billy Waters, touching his hat. “Hope you’ll take me with you, sir.”

“I should like to have you, Waters, and Tom Tully. By the way, how is he this morning? He got hurt.”

“Oh, he’s all right, sir,” said the gunner grinning. “He got a knock, sir, but he didn’t get hurt. Nothin’ hurts old Tom. I don’t believe he’s got any feeling in him at all.”

“Now, if I propose to take them,” thought Hilary, “Lipscombe will say they sha’n’t go. Here he comes, though. I shall catch it for not being off.”

He made a run and dropped down through the damaged hatchway, alighting amidst the carpenter’s tools on the lower deck, ran aft to his cabin, obtained sword and pistols, and then mounted to the deck to find the lieutenant angrily addressing Waters and Tully.

For no sooner had Hilary disappeared, and the gunner made out that the chief officer was coming on deck, than he turned his back, busied himself about the breeching of one of the guns, and shouting to Tom Tully:

“Going to send you ashore, matey?”

“No,” growled Tully; “what’s on?”

“Oh! some wild-goose hunt o’ the skipper’s. I don’t mean to go, and don’t you if you can help it. There won’t be a place to get a drop o’ grog. All searching among the rocks.”

“Gunner!”

“Yes, your honour.”

Billy Waters’ pigtail swung round like a pump-handle, as he lumped up and pulled his forelock to his angry officer.

“How dare you speak like that, sir, on the deck of his majesty’s vessel? How dare you—you mutinous dog, you? Go forward, sir, and you, too, Tom Tully, and the cutter’s crew, under the command of Mr Leigh, and think yourself lucky if you are not put under punishment.”

“Very sorry, sir. Humbly beg pardon, sir,” stammered the gunner.

“Silence, sir! Forward! Serve out cutlasses and pistols to the men, and I’ll talk to you afterwards.”

Billy Waters chuckled to himself at the success of his scheme, and after a word or two of command, Hilary’s little party, instead of jumping into the cutter and rowing ashore, dropped down over the side on to the sands, and went off along the coast to the west.

“What’s going to be done first, sir?” said the gunner.

“Well, Waters, I’ve just been thinking that we ought first to try and find some traces of the boats.”

“Yes, sir; but how? They’re fur enough away by now.”

“Of course; but if we look along the shore here about the level that the tide was last night I daresay we shall find some traces of them in the sands, and that may give us a hint where to search inland, for I’ll be bound to say they were landing cargo somewhere.”

“I’ll be bound to say you’re right, sir,” said Waters, slapping his leg. “Spread out, my lads, and report the first mark of a boat’s keel.”

They tramped on quite five miles over the sand and shingle, and amidst the loose rocks, without seeing anything to take their attention, when suddenly one of the men some fifty yards ahead gave a hail.

“What is it, my lad?” cried Hilary, running up.

“Only this here, sir,” said the man, pointing to a long narrow groove in the sand, just such as might have been made by the keel of some large boat, whilst a closer inspection showed that the sand and shingle had been trampled by many feet.

“Yes, that’s a boat, certainly,” said Hilary, looking shorewards towards the cliffs, which rose like a vast ramp along that portion of the coast.

There was nothing to be seen there; neither inlet nor opening in the rock, nor depression in the vast line of cliffs. Why, then, should a boat be run ashore there? It looked suspicious. Nothing but a fishing lugger would be likely to be about, and no fishing lugger would have any reason for running ashore here. Except at certain times of the tide it would be dangerous.

“It’s the smugglers, Billy,” cried Hilary eagerly; “and there must be some way here up the rock. Hallo! what have you got there?” he exclaimed, as the gunner, true to his instinct, dropped upon his knees and scraped the sand away from something against which he had kicked his foot.

“Pistol, sir,” was the reply; and the gunner brushed the sand off the large clumsy weapon, and wiped away the thin film of rust.

“And a Frenchman,” said Hilary, examining the make.

“Frenchman it is, sir, and she ar’n’t been many hours lying here.”

“Dropped by some one last night,” said Hilary. “Hurrah! my lads, we’ve struck the scent.”

Just then Tom Tully began to sniff very loudly, and turned his head in various directions, his actions somewhat resembling those of a great dog.

“What yer up to, matey?” cried Waters. “Ah! I know, sir. He was always a wunner after his grog, and he’s trying to make out whether they’ve landed and buried any kegs of brandy here.”

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Hilary; “they would not do that. Come along, my lads. One moment. Let’s have a good look along the rocks for an opening. Can any of you see anything?”

“No, sir,” was chorused, after a few minutes’ inspection.

“Then now let’s make a straight line for the cliff, and all of you keep a bright lookout.”

They had about a couple of hundred yards to go, for the tide ran down very low at this point, and as they approached the great sandstone cliffs, instead of presenting the appearance of a perpendicular wall, as seen from a distance, all was broken up where the rock had split, and huge masses had come thundering down in avalanches of stone. In fact, in several places it seemed that an active man could climb up to where a thin fringe of green turf rested upon the edge of the cliff; but this did not satisfy Hilary, who felt convinced that such a place was not likely to be chosen for the landing of a cargo.

No opening in the cliff being visible, he spread his men to search right and left, but there was no sand here; all was rough shingle and broken débris from the cliff with massive weathered blocks standing up in all directions, forming quite a maze, through which they threaded their way.

“There might be a regular cavern about somewhere big enough to hold a dozen cargoes,” thought Hilary, as he searched here and there, and then sat down to rest for a few minutes, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, when it suddenly occurred to him that they had been hours away from the cutter, and that if he did not soon make some discovery he had better return.

“And I don’t like to go back without having done something,” he thought. “Perhaps if we keep on looking we may make a find worth the trouble, and—what’s that?”

Nothing much; only a little bird that kept rising up from a patch of wiry herbage at the foot of the cliff, jerking itself up some twenty or thirty feet and then letting itself down as it twittered out a pleasant little song.

Only a bird; but as he watched that bird, he did not know why, it suddenly went out of sight some twenty feet or so up the rock, and while he was wondering it came into sight again and fluttered downwards.

“Why, there must be a way through there,” he cried, rising and gazing intently at the face of the rock, but seeing nothing but yellowish sandstone looking jagged and wild.

“No, there can’t be,” he muttered; “but I’ll make sure.”

Climbing over three or four large blocks, he lowered himself into a narrow passage which seemed to run parallel with the cliff, but doubled back directly, and in and out, and then stopped short at a perpendicular mass some twenty feet high.

“Leads nowhere,” he said, feeling very hot and tired, and, turning to go back disappointed and panting, he took another look up at the lowering face of the cliff to see now that a large portion was apparently split away, but remained standing overlapping the main portion, and so like it that at a short distance the fracture could not be seen.

“There’s a way round there for a guinea,” thought Hilary, “but how to get there? Why, of course, one must climb over here.”

“Here” was a rugged piece of rock about fifty feet back from the cul de sac to which he had reached, and placing his right foot in a chink and drawing himself up he was soon on the top with a rugged track before him to the face of the cliff; but as he took a step forward, meaning to investigate a little, and then summon his men, a low chirping noise on his right took his attention, and going cautiously forward he leaned towards a rock to see what animal it was, when something came like a black cloud over his head and he was thrown violently down.

Chapter Seven.

Hilary Leigh finds himself in an Undignified Position.

“That’s a boat-cloak, and the brute’s sitting on me,” said Hilary Leigh to himself as he vainly struggled to get free and shout for help. He did utter a few inarticulate noises, but they were smothered in the folds of the thick cloak, and he felt as if he were about to be smothered himself. Getting free he soon found was out of the question, so was making use of the weapons with which he was armed, for his wrists were wrenched round behind his back and his elbows firmly lashed. So were his ankles, and at the same time he felt the pistols dragged out of his belt and his sword unhooked and taken away.

“Well, I’ve discovered the smugglers’ place and no mistake,” he thought; “but I might just as well have left it alone. Oh, this is too bad! Only last night in trouble, and now prisoner! I wonder what they are going to do?”

He was not long left in doubt, for he suddenly felt himself roughly seized and treated like a sack, for he was hauled on to some one’s back and borne along in a very uncomfortable position, his legs being banged against corners of the rock as if he were being carried through a very narrow place.

This went on for a few minutes, during which he was, of course, in utter darkness, and panting for breath. Then he was allowed to slide down, with a bump, on to the rock.

“They’re not going to kill me,” thought Hilary, “or they would not have taken so much trouble. I wish I could make Billy Waters hear.”

He tried to shout, but only produced a smothered noise, with the result that some one kicked him in the side.

“That’s only lent, my friend,” thought Hilary. “It shall be paid back if ever I get a chance. What now? I am trussed; are they going to roast me?”

For just then he felt a rope was passed round him, and a slip-knot drawn tight under his arms. Then there was a sudden snatch, and he was raised upon his feet, steadied for a moment by a pair of hands, the rope tightened more and more, and he felt himself being drawn up, rising through the air, and slowly turning round, one elbow rasping gently against the rock from time to time.

“Well, I’m learning some of their secrets,” thought Hilary, “even if they are keeping me in the dark. This is either the way up to their place, or else it’s the way they get up their cargoes.”

“Yes, cargoes only,” he said directly, as he heard indistinctly a gruff voice at his elbow, some one being evidently climbing up at his side. “I hope they won’t drop me.”

In another minute he was dragged sidewise and lowered on to the rock, a change he gladly welcomed, for the rope had hurt him intolerably, and seemed to compress his chest so that he could hardly breathe.

“Well, this is pleasant,” he thought, as he bit his lip with vexation. “The lads will have a good hunt for me, find nothing, and then go back and tell Lipscombe. He will lie on and off for an hour or two, and then go and report that I have deserted or gone off for a game, or some other pleasant thing. Oh, hang it all! this won’t do. I must escape somehow. I wish they’d take off this cloak.”

That seemed to be about the last thing his captors were disposed to do, for after he had been lying there in a most painfully uncomfortable position for quite an hour, every effort to obtain relief being met with a kick, save one, when he felt the cold ring of a pistol muzzle pressed against his neck under the cloak, he was lifted by the head and heels, some one else put an arm round him, and he was carried over some rugged ground, lifted up higher, and then his heart seemed to stand still, for he felt that he was going to be allowed to fall, and if allowed to fall it would be, he thought, from the top of the cliff.

The feeling was terrible, but the fall ridiculous, for it was a distance of a foot on to some straw. Then he felt straw thrown over him—a good heap—and directly after there was a jolting sensation, and he knew he was in a cart on a very rugged road. The sound of blows came dull upon his ear, and a faint hoarse “Go on!” And in spite of his pain, misery, and the ignorance he was in respecting his fate, Hilary Leigh began to laugh with all the light-heartedness of a lad, as he mentally said:

“Oh, this is too absurd! I’m in a donkey-cart, and the fellow who is driving can’t make the brute go.”

Chapter Eight.

Lieutenant Lipscombe lays down the Law.

“Say, lads, I’m getting tired of this here,” said Tom Tully, bringing himself to an anchor on a patch of sand; “I’m as hot as I am dry. Where’s our orsifer?”

“I d’no,” said another. “Ahoy! Billy Waters, ahoy–y–y!”

“Ahoy!” came from amongst the rocks; and the gunner plodded up wiping his face, and another of the little party came at the same time from the other direction.

“Where’s Muster Leigh?” said Tom Tully.

“Isn’t he along of you?” said Waters.

“No, I ar’n’t seen him for ever so long.”

Notes were compared, as the hailing brought the rest of the party together, and it was agreed on all sides that Hilary had gone in amongst the rocks close by where they were standing.

“I know how it is,” growled Tom Tully, “he’s having a caulk under the lee of one of these here stones while we do all the hunting about; and I can’t walk half so well as I used, after being shut up aboard that there little cutter.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t go to sleep,” said the gunner. “He’s close here somewhere. I hope he’s had better luck than we, for I ar’n’t found nothing; have you?”

“No, no,” arose on all sides.

“Why, there ain’t nothin’ to find,” growled Tom Tully. “I wish I was aboard. You’re chief orsifer when he ar’n’t here, Billy Waters. Give the order and let’s go back.”

“What, without Mr Leigh?” said the gunner; “that’s a likely tale, that is. Here, come on lads, and let’s find him. Ahoy!”

“Ahoy!” came back from the rocks.

“There he is,” said one of the men.

“No, my lads, that’s only the ecker,” said Billy Waters. “Hark ye—Ahoy!”

“Ahoy!” came back directly.

“Hoy—hoy—hoy–y–y!” shouted the gunner again.

“Hoy—hoy–y–y!” came back.

“Mis’ Leigh, ahoy!” roared the gunner.

“Leigh—hoy!” was the response.

“Told you so, my lads; he ar’n’t about here. Let’s go further on. Now then, Tom Tully, we must have off some o’ that there tail if it’s so heavy it keeps you anchored down. Get up, will you?”

The sailor got up unwillingly, and in obedience to the gunner’s orders they began now, in place of searching for traces of the smugglers, to look for their missing officer, scattering along, as fate had it, farther and farther from the spot where he had disappeared, no one seeing a face watching them intently through the thin wiry strands of a tuft of grass growing close up under the cliff.

The heat was now intense, for the sun seemed to be reflected back from the face of the rocks, and the men were regularly fagged.

They shouted and waited, and shouted again, but the only answer they got was from the echoes; and at last they stood together in a knot, with Billy Waters scratching his head with all his might, and they were a good half mile now from where Hilary had made his discovery and stepped into a trap.

“Well, this here is a rummy go,” exclaimed the gunner, after looking from face to face for the counsel that there was not. “Let’s see, my lads; it was just about here as he went forrard, warn’t it?”

“No,” growled Tom Tully; “it were a good two-score fathom more to the east’ard.”

“Nay, nay, lad; it were a couple o’ cables’ length doo west,” said another.

“I think it were ’bout here,” said Tom Tully; “but I can’t find that there track o’ the boat’s keel now. What’s going to be done?”

“Let’s go aboard again,” growled Tom Tully. “I’m ’bout sick o’ this here, mates.”

“But I tell yer we can’t go aboard without our orsifer,” cried the gunner. “’Taint likely.”

“He’d go aboard without one of us,” growled Tom Tully, “so where’s the difference?”

“There’s lots o’ difference, my lad. We can’t go aboard without him. But where is he?”

“Having a caulk somewhere,” said Tully gruffly; “and I on’y wish I were doing of that same myself. If we stop here much longer we shall be cooked like herrings. It’s as hot as hot.”

“I tell you he wouldn’t desert us and go to sleep,” said the gunner stubbornly. “Mr Leigh’s a lad as would stick to his men like pitch to a ball o’ oakum.”

“Then why don’t he?” growled Tom Tully in an ill-used tone. “What does he go and sail away from conwoy for?”

“He couldn’t have got up the cliffs,” mused the gunner; “’cause there don’t seem to be no way, and he couldn’t have gone more to west’ard, ’cause we must have seen him. There ain’t been no boats along shore, and he can’t have gone back to the cutter. I say, my lads, we’ve been and gone and got ourselves into a reg’lar mess. What’s the skipper going to say when he sees us? You see we can’t tell him as the youngster’s fell overboard.”

“No,” growled Tom Tully; “’cause there ar’n’t no overboard for him to fall. I’m right, I know; he’s having a caulk.”

“Tell yer he ain’t,” roared Waters fiercely; “and if any one says again as my young orsifer’s doing such a thing as to leave his men in the lurch and go to sleep on a hot day like this, he’ll get my fist in his mouth.”

“Sail ho!” cried one of the men; and looking in the indicated direction, there was the cutter afloat once more, and sailing towards them, quite a couple of miles away, and as they looked there was a little puff of white smoke from her side, and a few seconds after a dull report.

“Look at that now;” cried Billy Waters, “there’s the skipper got some one meddling with my guns. That’s that Jack Brown, that is; and he knows no more about firing a gun than he do ’bout Dutch. There was a dirty sort of a shot.”

“That’s a signal, that is, for us to come aboard,” growled Tom Tully.

“Well, nobody said it warn’t, did they?” cried Waters, who was regularly out of temper now.

“No,” growled Tom Tully, “on’y wishes I was aboard, I do.”

“Then you ain’t going till you’ve found your orsifer, my lad.”

“Hah!” said Tom Tully, oracularly. “Shouldn’t wonder if he ar’n’t desarted ’cause the skipper give him such a setting down this morning.”

“Now just hark at this here chap,” cried the gunner, appealing to the others. “He’d just go and do such a dirty thing hisself, and so he thinks every one else would do the same. Tom Tully, I’m ’bout ashamed o’ you. I shouldn’t ha’ thought as a fellow with such a pigtail as you’ve got to your headpiece would say such a thing of his orsifer.”

“Then what call’s he got to go and desart us for like this here, messmet?” growled Tom Tully. “I don’t want to say no hard things o’ nobody, but here’s the skin off one o’ my heels, and my tongue’s baked; and what I says is, where is he if he ar’n’t gone?”

That was a poser; and as after another short search there was a second gun fired from the cutter, and a boat was seen to put off and come towards them, there was nothing for them but to go down to the water and get into the boat, after Billy Waters had taken bearings, as he called it, of the place where the young officer had left them, setting up stones for marks,—which, however, through the deceptive nature and similarity of the coast in one part to another, were above half a mile from the true spot,—and suffer themselves to be rowed aboard.

“The skipper’s in a fine temper,” said one of the crew. “Where’s Muster Leigh?”

“Ah! that’s just what I want to know,” said Waters, ruefully. “He’ll be down upon me for losing on him—just as if I took him ashore like a dog tied to a string. How did you get the cutter off?”

“Easy as a glove,” was the reply. “We just took out the little anchor and dropped it over, and when the tide come up hauled on it a bit, and she rode out as easy as a duck. But he’s been going on savage because Muster Leigh didn’t come back. Has he desarted?”

The gunner turned upon him so fierce a look, and made so menacing a movement, that the man shrank away, and catching what is called a crab upset the rower behind him, the crew for the moment being thrown into confusion, just as the lieutenant had raised his spyglass to his eye and was watching the coming off of the boat.

“What call had you got to do that, Billy?” cried the man, rubbing his elbows. “There’ll be a row about that. Here, give way, my lads, and let’s get aboard.”

The men made the stout ashen blades bend as they forced the boat through the water, and at the end of a few minutes the oars were turned up, laid neatly over the thwarts, and the bowman held on with the boathook while the search party tumbled on board, the sides of the cutter being at no great height above the water.

The lieutenant was there, with his glass under his arm, his head tied up so that one eye was covered, and his cocked hat was rightly named in a double sense, being cocked almost off his head.

“Disgraceful, Mr Leigh!” he exclaimed furiously. “You deserve to be court-martialled, sir! Never saw a boat worse manned and rowed, sir. I never saw from the most beggarly crew of a wretched merchantman worse time kept. Why, the men were catching crabs, sir, from the moment they left the shore till the moment they came alongside. Bless my commission, sir! were you all drunk?”

He had one eye shut by the old accident, as we have intimated, and the injury of the previous night had so affected the other that he saw anything but clearly, as he kept stamping up and down the deck.

“Do you hear, sir? I say were you all drunk?” roared the lieutenant.

“Please your honour,” said the gunner, “we never see a drop of anything except seawater since we went ashore.”

“Silence, sir! How dare you speak?” roared the lieutenant. “Insubordination and mutiny. Did I speak to you, sir? I say, did I speak to you?”

“No, your honour, but—”

“If you say another word I’ll clap you in irons, you dog!” cried the lieutenant. “A pretty state of affairs, indeed, when men are to answer their officers. Do you hear, there, you mutinous dogs! If another man among you dares to speak I’ll clap him in irons.”

The men exchanged glances, and there was a general hitching up of trousers along the little line in which the men were drawn up.

“Now then, sir. Have the goodness to explain why you have been so long, and why all my signals for recall have been disregarded. Silence, sir! don’t speak till I’ve done,” he continued, as one of the men, who had let a little tobacco juice get too near the swallowing point, gave a sort of snorting cough.

There was dead silence on board, save a slight creaking noise made by the crutch of the big boom as it swung gently and rubbed the mast.

“I call upon you, Mr Leigh, sir, for an explanation,” continued the lieutenant. “Silence, sir! Not yet. I sent you ashore to make a search, expecting that your good sense would lead you to make it brief, and to get back in time to assist in hauling off the cutter which you had run ashore. Instead of doing this, sir, you race off with the men like a pack of schoolboys, sir, larking about among the rocks, and utterly refusing to notice my signals, sir, though they have been flying, sir, for hours; and here have I been obliged to waste his majesty’s powder, sir, and foul his majesty’s guns, sir.”

Here, as the lieutenant’s back was turned, Billy Waters shook his great fist at Jack Brown, the boatswain, going through sundry pantomimic motions to show how he, Billy Waters, would like to punch Jack Brown, the boatswain’s head. To which, waiting until the lieutenant had turned and had his back to him, Jack Brown responded by taking his leg in his two hands just above the knee and shaking it in a very decisive manner at the gunner.

“And what is more, sir,” continued the lieutenant, “you had my gunner with you.”

Billy Waters, who had drawn back his fist level with his armpit in the act of striking an imaginary blow at the boatswain, stopped short as he heard himself mentioned, and the lieutenant continued his trot up and down like an angry wild beast in a narrow cage and went on:

“And, sir, I had to intrust the firing of that gun to a bungling, thick-headed, stupid idiot of a fellow, who don’t know muzzle from vent; and the wonder is that he didn’t blow one of his majesty’s liege subjects into smithereens.”

The lieutenant’s back was now turned to Billy Waters, who as he saw Jack Brown’s jaw drop placed his hands to his sides, and lifting up first one leg and then the other, as if in an agony of spasmodic delight, bent over first to starboard and then to larboard, and laughed silently till the tears ran down his cheeks.

“I say, sir—I say,” continued the lieutenant, pushing up his bandage a little, “that such conduct is disgraceful, sir; and what is more, I say—”

The lieutenant did not finish the sentence then, for in him angry excitement he had continued his blind walk, extending it more and more till he had approached close to where the carpenter had sawn out several of the ragged planks torn by the previous night’s explosion, and as he lifted his leg for another step it was right over the yawning opening into the men’s quarters in the forecastle below.

Chapter Nine.

Blind Proceedings.

It would have been an ugly fall for the lieutenant, for according to the wholesome custom observed by most mechanics, the carpenter had turned the damaged hatchway into a very pleasant kind of pitfall, such as the gentle mild Hindoo might have dug for his enemy the crafty tiger, with its arrangements for impaling whatever fell.

In this case Chips had all the ragged and jagged pieces of plank carefully stuck point upwards, with a couple of augers, a chisel or two, and a fair amount of gimlets and iron spike-like nails, so that it would have been impossible for his officer have fallen without receiving one or two ugly wounds.

Just in the nick of time, however, Jack Brown, the boatswain, darted forward and gave the lieutenant a tremendous push, which sent him clear of the opening in the deck, but in a sitting position under the bulwark, against which his head went with a goodly rap.

“Mutiny, by Jove!” he roared, in astonished fury. “Marines, fix bayonets! Run that scoundrel through.”

“Beg your honour’s pardon,” began Jack Brown, offering his hand to assist the astonished commander to rise.

“It’s a lie, sir! How dare you say it was an accident?” cried the lieutenant, struggling up and readjusting the handkerchief tied round his injured head, and his cocked hat over that. “It’s mutiny, sir, rank mutiny. You struck your officer, sir, and you’ll be shot. Corporal, take this man below. In irons, sir, in irons.”

“But your honour would have gone through the hole squelch on to the lower deck,” growled Jack Brown in an injured tone.

“Silence, sir,” roared the lieutenant. “Corporal, do your duty.”

“All right, corpy, I’m coming,” said the boatswain, as the marine laid his hand upon his arm. “But the skipper may fall overboard and drown hisself next time, afore I gives him a helping hand.”

“Mutiny! mutiny!” cried the lieutenant. “Do you hear, Mr Leigh? The ship’s crew are in open mutiny, and uttering threats. Fetch my pistols, sir,” he cried, drawing his sword. “Cut down the first man who utters another word. Do you hear, Mr Leigh? Quick! my pistols!”

“If you please, your honour,” began Billy Waters, pulling his forelock and giving a kick out behind.

“Si–lence!” roared the lieutenant. “Here, marines, come on my side. I’ll cut down the next man who dares to speak. Have you got the pistols, Mr Leigh?”

Of course there was no answer.

“I say, have you got my pistols, Mr Leigh?” cried the lieutenant again.

Still there was silence, and in his fury the lieutenant thrust the bandage up from over his inflamed eye, and tried to see what was going on.

Truth to speak, he was as blind as an owl in broad sunshine; but in his irritable frame of mind he would not own it, even to himself, and pushing the bandage higher he tilted off his cocked hat, which fell with a bang on the deck, and in trying to save his hat he struck himself on the jaw with the hilt of his sword, and dropped that in turn, to fall with a ringing noise on the whitened planks.

“Confusion!” he exclaimed as the corporal picked up hat and sword in turn, and handed them to the irate officer, whose temper was in no wise sweetened by this last upset. “Ha! thank you, Mr Leigh, you are very polite all at once,” he cried sarcastically, as he stared at the corporal, who stood before him drawn up stiff as a ramrod, but representing nothing but a blurred figure before the inflamed optic of the lieutenant. “Well, sir! Now, sir! perhaps you will condescend to give some explanation of your conduct. Silence, there! If any man of this crew dares to speak I’ll cut him down. Now, Mr Leigh, I call upon you for an explanation.”

No answer, of course.

“Do you hear what I say, sir?”

The corporal did not stir or move a muscle.

“Once more, sir, I demand why you do not explain your conduct,” cried the lieutenant.

The corporal drew himself up a little tighter, and his eyes were fixed upon the bright blade quivering in the lieutenant’s hand.

“Speak, sir. It’s mutiny by all the articles of war,” roared the lieutenant, taking a step forward, seizing the corporal by the collar, and presenting at his throat the point of the sword.

“Mind my eyes, your honour,” cried the corporal, flinching; “I ain’t Mr Leigh.”

“Where is he then?” cried the astonished lieutenant.

“Your honour won’t cut me down if I speak?” said the corporal.

“No, no,” said the lieutenant, lowering the point of his sword; “where is Mr Leigh?”

“Ain’t come aboard, sir.”

“Not come aboard? Here, Waters!”

The gunner trotted forward, pulled his forelock and kicked out his right leg behind.

“Where is Mr Leigh?”

The gunner pulled his forelock again, kicked out his left leg, and as he bobbed his head, his pigtail went up and came down again flop between his shoulders as if it were a long knocker.

“I say, where is Mr Leigh? You mutinous scoundrel, why don’t you speak?”

“Honour said you’d cut me down if I did.”

“Rubbish! Nonsense! Tell me, where is Mr Leigh?”

“Don’t know, your honour.”

“Don’t know, sir? What do you mean?”

“Please your honour, we’d found tracks, as we thought, of the smugglers’ lugger, and then Mr Leigh lost us. No; I mean, your honour, we lost him. No, he lost— I say, Tom Tully, my lad, which way weer it?”

Tom Tully grunted, gave his trousers a hitch, and looked at the lieutenant’s sword.

“Well, sir, do you hear?” cried the lieutenant; “how was it?”

“Stow all cuttin’s down,” grumbled Tom Tully, putting his hand behind so as to readjust the fall of his pigtail.

“Will—you—speak—out—you—ras–cal?” cried the lieutenant.

“Don’t know, your honour,” growled Tom Tully; “only as Muster Leigh went off.”

“There, I thought as much!” cried the lieutenant. “Deserted his men, and gone off.”

“Please your honour, I don’t think as—”

“Silence!” cried the lieutenant, so fiercely that Billy Waters gave up the young officer’s defence, and shut his teeth together with a loud snap like that of a trap.

“All hands ’bout ship!” cried the lieutenant. “He’ll be coming back presently, and signalling for a boat to fetch him off, but he shall come on to Portsmouth and make his report to the admiral.”

The great mainsail swung over to the other side, and the breeze favouring, the squaresail was set as well, and the Kestrel, so late helpless on shore, began to skim over the surface of the water at a tremendous rate, while the lieutenant, having given his orders as to which way the cutter’s head should be laid, went down to the cabin to bathe his painful eye, having told one of the men to bring him some warm water from the galley.

The man he told happened to be Tom Tully, and as he stood by, ready to fetch more if it should be wanted, the bathing seemed to allay the irritation, so that the commander grew less angry, and condescended to ask a few questions. Then he began to think of the Kestrel having been ashore, the state of her deck about the fore-hatchway, and the late encounter, all of which he would have to minutely describe to the admiral if he ran into harbour to report Hilary Leigh’s evasion.

Then, as he grew more comfortable, he began to think that perhaps, after all, the young man had not run off. Furthermore, as he owned that he was an indefatigable young officer, he came to the conclusion that perhaps Leigh might have discovered further traces of the smugglers, and, if so, it would be wrong to leave him in the lurch, especially as a good capture might be made, and with it a heap of prize-money.

“And besides, I’ll give fifty pounds to run up against that scoundrel who led me into that trap.”

A little more bathing made the lieutenant see so much more clearly, mentally as well as optically, that he went on deck and repeated his former orders of “’Bout ship,” with the result that the Kestrel was once more gently gliding along off the cliff-bound stretch of land where Hilary Leigh had fallen into strange hands.

Chapter Ten.

In the Dark.

Hilary’s burst of merriment was of very short duration. There is, no doubt, something very amusing to a young naval officer in the fact of his being made a prisoner, and carried off in a donkey-cart; but the pleasure is not of a lasting kind.

At the end of a few moments Hilary’s mirth ceased, and he grew very wrathful. He was exceedingly hot and in no little pain, and in addition his sensations were such that he began to wonder whether he should live to reach his destination, where ever that might be, without being stifled.

For the folds of the cloak were very tight about his head, and the straw on which he lay let him settle down into a hole, while that above shook down more closely and kept out the air.

For a few minutes a horrible sensation of dread troubled him, and he uttered a hoarse cry; but, making a struggle to master his fear, he grew more calm, and though he was exceedingly hot and the effort was painful, he found he could breathe, and after a final effort to relieve himself of his bonds he lay still, patiently waiting for his release.

The road seemed to grow rougher and rougher, and he felt that he must be going along some out-of-the-way by-lane, full of tremendous ruts, for sometimes one wheel would be down low, sometimes the other; and every now and then the cart seemed to stick fast, and then followed the sound of blows.

Whenever there came this sound of blows the cart began to echo back the noise with a series of tremendous kicks; for it soon became evident that this was no patient, long-suffering donkey, but one with a spirit of its own, and ready to resist.

On again, and then another stick-fast.

Whack! whack! whack! went a stick, and clatter, clatter came the donkey’s heels against the front of the cart, in such close proximity to Hilary’s head that he began to be alarmed for the safety of his skull, and after a good dead of wriggling he managed to screw himself so far round that when the next assault took place with the stick and battering with the donkey’s heels the front boards of the cart only jarred against Hilary’s arm.

Another term of progress, during which the road seemed better, and they appeared to get along some distance before there was another jerk up and another jerk down, and then a series of jumps as if they were going downhill; and then the cart gave a big bump and stuck fast.

The driver shouted and banged the donkey, and the donkey brayed and battered the front of the cart, and once more, in spite of his pain and discomfort, Hilary lay under the straw and laughed as he pictured accurately enough the scene that was taking place in that narrow lane.

For he was in a rutty, little-used track, in a roughly-made, springless cart, drawn by a big, ragged, powerful jackass, which every time the cart stuck, and his driver used the light ash stick he carried, laid down his ears, bared his teeth, and kicked at the front of the cart, which was rough with indentations and splinters, the result of the prowess of the donkey’s heels.

On again—stop again—jolt here—jolt there—more blows and kicking, and Hilary still lying there half stifled beneath the straw; but his youth and abundant vitality kept him up, so that he lay listening to the battles between the donkey and his driver; then he thought of his men, and wondered whether they had made a good search for him; then he began to think of the lieutenant, and wondered what he would say when the men went back and reported his absence; lastly, he began to wonder whether Mr Lipscombe would come with the Kestrel and try to find him.

“Not much good to come with the cutter,” he thought as drew a long breath; “he would want a troop of light horse if I’m being taken inland, as it seems to me I am.”

Then he began to wonder what would be done with him, whether Sir Henry Norland knew of his capture. Perhaps it was by Sir Henry’s orders.

“Well, if it is,” he said, half aloud, “if he don’t behave well to me he is no gentleman.”

He began musing next about Adela, and thought of how she had altered since the old days when Sir Henry was a quiet country gentleman, and had not begun to mix himself up with the political questions of the day.

“Oh!” said Hilary at last, “this is horribly tiresome and very disgusting. I don’t know that I should have much minded being made prisoner by a French ship, and then sent ashore, so long as they treated me well; but to be kidnapped like this by a beggarly set of smugglers is too bad.”

“Well,” he thought, “I don’t see that I shall be very much better off if I make myself miserable about my condition. I can’t escape just at present; they are evidently not going to kill me. That’s not likely. Why should they? So I shall just make the best of things, and old Lipscombe must grumble as long as he likes.”

Phew! It was very hot, and he was very weary. The kicking of the donkey and the sound of the blows had ceased to amuse him. He was so sore with the jolting that he told himself he could not get any worse. And still the cart went on, jolt, jolt, till a curious sensation of drowsiness came over him, and before he was aware that such a change was approaching he dropped off fast asleep, to make up for the wakefulness and excitement of the past night, the long and arduous walk of that morning, and the exhaustion produced by the jolting and shaking to which he had been subjected at intervals for the past two hours. During that time he had striven very hard to guess in which direction he was being taken, and wished he had known a little more of the locality inland, his geographical knowledge being confined to the points, bays, cliffs, villages, churches, and ports along the coast.

It was no slow dozing off and re-awaking—no softly passing through a pleasant dreamy state into a light sleep, for Nature seemed to say, with stern decision, that his body and mind had borne as great a strain as was good for either; and one moment he was awake, feeling rather drowsy; the next he was gone—plunged deep down in one of those heavy, dreamless sleeps in which hours pass away like moments, and the awakened sleeper wonders at the lapse of time.

Nature is very kind to her children, whether they are old or young; and during those restful times she builds up what the learned folks call tissue, and strengthens mind and muscle, fitting the said children for the wear and tear that is to go on again the next day, and the next.

Hilary awoke with a start, and so deep had been his sleep that it was some little time before he could recall what had taken place.

At first he thought he was in his berth on board the Kestrel, for it was intensely dark, but on stretching out his hands he could touch nothing, so it could not be there, where his elbows struck the side, and not many inches above his head there was the top.

No, it could not be there. Where was he then?

Asleep and dreaming, he believed the next minute; and then all came back with a leap—his capture, the swing off the cliff, the straw in the donkey-cart, and that was where he was now, only the donkey was standing still, for there was no jolting, and it had ceased to kick the front board of the cart.

He had either been asleep or insensible, he knew, and—

“Hullo! they’ve untied my arms,” he exclaimed; “and it isn’t so hot as it was. They must have taken off the cloak.”

Yes; the cloak was gone and his arms were free. So were his legs.

No; his legs were securely tied, but the straw over his head had been taken away.

He lay perfectly still for a few minutes, thinking, and with his eyes trying in all directions to pierce the thick black darkness by which he was surrounded, but without avail.

“I wonder where I am,” he thought, as, after forcing his mind to obey his will, he went over in review all the adventures that had befallen him from the time he left the ship till he was jolting along in that donkey-cart, half-suffocated in the boat-cloak and straw.

Then there came a dead stoppage. He could get no farther. He knew he must have gone to sleep, and the probabilities were that the cart had been backed into some shed, the donkey taken out, and he had been left to finish his sleep.

“I wish I knew what time it was,” thought Hilary. “How dark it is, to be sure. I wonder where the donkey is; and—hullo! where are the sides of the cart?”

He felt about, but could touch only straw; and on stretching his hands out farther, it was with no better result.

He listened.

Not a sound.

Strained his eyes.

All was blacker than the blackest night.

What should he do? Get up? Crawl about? Shout?

He could not answer his own questions; and as he lay there wondering what would be best, that strange feeling of confusion that oppresses the strongest of us in the dark when we are ignorant of where we are, came upon him, and he lay there at last with the perspiration gathering in big drops upon his brow.

Chapter Eleven.

An Unpleasant Awakening.

Did you ever suffer from that unpleasant bodily disorder—sleep-walking? Did you ever wake up and find yourself standing undressed in the cold—somewhere—you can’t tell where, only that you are out of bed and on the floor? You are confused—puzzled—and you want to know what is the matter. You know you ought to be in bed, or rather you have a vague kind of belief that you ought to be in bed, and you want to be back there, but the question directly arises—where is the bed? and for the life of you you cannot tell. You hold out your hands, and they touch nothing. You try in another direction—another, and another, with the same result, and, at last with one hand outstretched to the full extent, you gradually edge along sidewise till you touch something—wall, wardrobe, door, and somehow it feels so strange that you seem never to have touched it before; perhaps you never have, for in daylight one does not go about one’s room touching doors and walls.

Of course the result is that you find your bed at last, and that it is close to you, for you stretched your hands right over it again and again; but all the same it is a very singular experience, and the accompanying confusion most peculiar, and those who have ever had such an awakening can the better understand Hilary Leigh’s feelings as he lay there longing for the light.

“Well,” he exclaimed at last, after vainly endeavouring to pierce the darkness, and to touch something else but straw and the stones upon which it had been heaped, “if any one had told me that I should be such a coward on waking up and finding myself in the dark, I should have hit him, I’m sure I should. But it is unpleasant all the same. Oh, I say, how my legs ache!”

This took his attention from his position, and he sat up and then drew up his legs.

“Well, I must be stupid and confused,” he muttered impatiently. “Why do I sit here and let my legs ache with this rope tied round them when I might take it off?”

This was better still; it gave him something to do; and he at once attacked the tight knots, which proved so hard that he pulled out his pocket-knife, which had not been taken away. But the rope might be useful for escape! So he closed his knife, and with all a sailor’s deftness of fingers attacked the knots so successfully that he at last set his legs free, and, coiling up the rope, tucked it beneath the straw.

“Murder!” he muttered, drawing in his breath; for now that his legs were freed they seemed to ache and smart most terribly. They throbbed, and burned, and stung, till he had been rubbing at them for a good half-hour, after which the circulation seemed to be restored to its proper force, and he felt better; but even then, when he tried to stand up they would hardly support his weight, and he was glad to sit down once more and think.

The darkness was terrible now that he had no longer to make any effort, and the silence was worse. He might have been buried alive, so solemn and still did all seem.

But Hilary soon shook off any weak dread that tried to oppress him, and rising at last he found that he could walk with less pain, and cautiously leaving the heap of straw upon which he had been lying, he began to explore.

Slowly and carefully he thrust out one foot and drew the other to it, feeling with his hands the while, till they came in contact with a wall that was roughly plastered.

That was something tangible; and gradually feeling his way along this he came to an angle in the wall, starting off in another direction.

This he traced, and at the end of a few paces came to another angle. Then again another, and in the next side of what was a stone-floored, nearly square apartment, he felt a door.

There was the way out, then. The door was not panelled, but of slant bevelled boards, crossed by strong iron hinges, and—yes—here was the keyhole; but on bending down and looking through, he could feel a cold draught of air, but see no light.

“There must be a window,” he thought; and to find this he searched the place again as high as he could reach, but without avail; and at last he found his way back to the heap of straw, and threw himself down in disgust.

“Well, I sha’n’t bother,” he muttered. “I’m shut up here just as if I was in prison. I’ve been to sleep, and I’ve woke up in the dark, because it’s night; and that’s about the worst of it. I don’t see anything to mind. There’s no watch to keep, so I sha’n’t be roused up by that precious bell; and as every sailor ought to get a good long sleep whenever he can, why here goes.”

Perhaps Hilary Leigh’s thoughts were not quite so doughty as his words; but whatever his thoughts were, he fought them down in the most manful way, stretched himself out upon the straw, and after lying thinking for a few minutes he dropped off fast asleep, breathing as regularly and easily as if he had been on board the Kestrel, and rocked in the cradle of the deep.

Chapter Twelve.

A more Pleasant Awakening, with a Hungry Fit.

“Tchu weet—tchu weet—tchu weet! Come to tea, Jack! Come to tea, Jack! Come to tea, Jack! Whips Kitty! Whips Kitty! Whips Kitty! Tcho-tcho-tcho!”

Hilary Leigh lay half awake, listening to the loud song of a thrush, full-throated and joyous, whistling away to his mate sitting close by in her clay cup of a nest upon four pale greenish-blue spotted eggs; and as he heard the notes he seemed to be in the old bedroom at Sir Henry Norland’s, where he used to leave his window open to be called by the birds.

Yes, he was back in the old place, and here was the rich, ruddy, golden light of the sun streaming in at his window, and through on to the opposite wall; and it was such a beautiful morning that he would jump up and take his rod, and go down to the big hole in the river. The tench would bite like fun on a morning like this. There were plenty of big worms, too, in the old watering-pot, tough as worms should be after a good scouring in a heap of wet moss. Just another five minutes and he’d get up, and when he met Adela at breakfast he could brag about what a good one he was at early rising, and show her all the beautiful tench, and—

“Hallo! Am I awake?”

There was no mistake about it. He was wide awake now, and it was years ago that he used to listen to the birds in his old bedroom at Sir Henry Norland’s; and though a thrush was whistling away outside, and the rising sun was streaming in at a window and shining on the opposite wall, where he was now Hilary Leigh did not know, only that he was seated on a heap of straw, and that he was in what looked like a part of an old-fashioned chapel, with a window high up above his reach.

“I feel as if I had been asleep for about a week,” muttered Hilary, “and I’m so hungry that if they, whoever they are, don’t soon bring me some breakfast I shall eat my boots.”

“Why, they must have carried me in here while I was asleep,” he thought; and then, “Hallo, old fellow!” he cried, laughing, “there you are, are you?”

For just then, completely eclipsing the thrush in power, a donkey—probably, he thought, the one that brought him there—trumpeted forth his own resonant song, the song that made the savage Irishman exclaim that it was “a wonderful bird for singing, only it seemed to have a moighty cowld.” And if there had been any doubt before what donkey it was, Hilary’s mind was set at rest, for as the bray ended in a long-drawn minor howl there came two or three sharp raps, just as if the jackass has relieved his feelings with these good kicks, as was the case, up against the boards of the shed in which he was confined.

“Well, this is a rum set-out,” said Hilary, getting up, and then bending down to have a rub at his legs, which still suffered from the compression of the cord. “Hang it all! what a mess my uniform is in with this chaffy straw!”

He set to and brushed off as much as he could, and then began to inspect the place in which he was imprisoned, to find that the ideas he had formed of it in the dark were not far wrong, inasmuch as there was a plastered wall, a stone floor, an ancient-looking door with a big keyhole, through which he could see nothing, and the Gothic window with iron bars across, and no glass to keep out the air.

“Well, if any fellow had told me about this I should have said he was inventing. I suppose I’m a prisoner. I wonder what Lipscombe thinks of my not coming back. Well, I can’t help it; and he must come with some of our men to cut me out.”

“Come to tea, Jack! Come to tea, Jack! Whips Kitty! Whips Kitty! Whips Kitty!”

“Yes, I’ll come to tea,” said Hilary, as the thrush sang on; “but how am I to come? Oh! I say, I am so precious hungry. I could eat the hardest biscuit and the toughest bit of salt beef that ever a fellow put between his teeth. They might bring me some prog.”

Hilary was well rested by his sleep, and felt as active as a young goat now, so running to the door he tried it again, to find it shut fast, and no chance of getting it open. So he turned at once to the window, and looked around for something to enable him to reach it, but looked in vain, for there was nothing to be seen.

“Never mind; here goes!” he cried; and walking back to the opposite wall he took a run and a jump, and succeeded in getting his hands upon the old stone sill, but only to slip back again.

He repeated his efforts several times, but in vain; and at last finding this was hopeless, unless for the time being he had been furnished with the hind-legs of a kangaroo, he took out his pocket-knife, opened it, and began to cut a notch in the wall.

It was the soft sandstone of the district, and he was not long in carving a good resting-place for one foot; and this he followed up, cutting another niche about a foot higher.

“I’m making a pretty mess,” he muttered as he looked down; “serve ’em right for shutting me up.”

On he went carving away with the big jack-knife, which was an offering made by Billy Waters, and his perseverance was at last rewarded by his contriving a series of niches in the stone wall by whose means he climbed up sufficiently high to enable him to reach the iron bars, when he easily drew himself up to the broad sill, upon which he could sit, and with one arm through the bars, make himself pretty comfortable and enjoy the view.

His first glance, though, was at the iron bars embedded in the stone, and he came to the conclusion that, given enough time, he could pick away the cement and make his escape; but as it would be a matter of time he thought that perhaps it would be better to defer it until he knew where he was.

“Looking due east,” said Hilary, as he began taking observations; “then the sea must be to the right, over those hills; and out here to the left—my word, what a pretty place! Why, it is like a park!”

For gazing to the left, or northward, his eye ranged over the lovely undulating Sussex Weald, with its park-like, well-wooded hills and valleys, now in the first blush of their summer beauty, the leafage all tender green, and the soft meadowlike pastures gilded with the dazzling yellow of the over-abundant crowfoot.

There was a thick dew upon the grass, which sparkled like myriads of diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires in the morning sun. Here was a patch of vivid blue where the wild hyacinths were peering out from the edge of a wood which, farther in, was tinted with the delicate French-white of the anemones; the cuckoo-flowers rose with their pale lavender turrets of bloom above the hedgeside herbage, and the rich purple of the spotted orchis was on every side.

There was a cottage here, a mossy-roofed barn there, all green and yellow; and a tile roofed and sided farmhouse peered from an apple orchard all pink blossoms farther on; and dotted about were the patches like pinky snow lying thick amongst the trees, telling of golden and ruddy russet apples in the days to come.

Here and there the land dipped down sharply into woody ravines, from out of whose depths there were reflected back the brilliant flashes of the sun where the little streamlets trickled down towards one that was broader, and opened out into quite a little lake, with a hoary-looking building at one end, where something seemed to be in motion, and, making a telescope of his hands, he could just discern that it was a great wheel, from which the water was falling in splashes that glistened and sparkled in the sun. Far away the hills seemed of a pale misty blue, near at hand they were of a golden green, and as he drank in with his eyes the beauty of the scene beneath the brilliant blue sky Hilary Leigh exclaimed:

“Oh! how I could enjoy all this, if I were not so jolly hungry!”

He forgot his hunger the next moment, for he caught sight of a couple of tiny white tails seeming to run up a sandy bank, their owners, a pair of brown rabbits, making for their holes as if ashamed of having been seen by daylight after eating tender herbage all the night. Far above them the bird that gave its name to the cutter was hovering in the air, seemingly motionless at times, as it poised itself over something that tried to hide itself in the grass.

The proceedings of the kestrel interested Hilary to no small extent as he saw it stoop, rise, hover again, and end by making a dash down like an arrow, and then skim along the ground and fly away without its prey.

“Like our dash after the smugglers,” he said to himself; and then he looked closer home, to see that where he was formed part of a very ancient house, one of whose mossy-roofed, ivy-grown gables he could just make out by pressing his cheek very hard against the iron bars. Beside it was an orchard full of very old lichened trees, with patches of green moss about their boles, and beyond this there seemed to be a garden in a very neglected state, while surrounding all was a wide black moat.

“I wonder whether there’s a bridge,” thought Hilary, as he looked at the smooth dark water, dotted with the broad leaves of the yellow water-lily, and amidst the herbage of whose banks a sooty-looking water-hen was walking delicately upon its long thin green toes, darting its crimson-shielded head forward and flicking its white black-barred tail at every step.

“It’s very nice to be growing a man,” mused Hilary; “but how I could enjoy being a boy again! I’ll be bound to say there’s heaps of fish in that great moat, for it looks as deep as deep.”

It was not above twenty yards from him at the nearest end, where it curved round the place that formed his prison, and from his elevated position he could command a good view.

“There, I said so!” he exclaimed; “I can see the lily leaves moving. There’s a big tench pushing about amongst the stems. Smack! That was a great carp.”

The water moved in a series of rings in the spot whence the loud smacking noise had come, and as Hilary excitedly watched the place a faint nibbling noise reached his ear. After looking about he saw what produced the sound, in the shape of a pretty little animal, that seemed to be made of the softest and finest of black velvet. It had crawled a little way up a strand of reed, and was nibbling its way through so rapidly that the reed fell over with a light splash in the water, when the little animal followed, took the cut end in its teeth, and swam across the moat, trailing the reed, and disappearing with it under some overhanging bushes, where it probably had its hole.

“I could be as happy as a king here,” thought Hilary, “if I could go about as I liked. Why, there’s a snake crawling out in the sun on that patch of sand, and—phew! what a whopper! a ten-pounder, if he’s an ounce!” he cried, as, simultaneously with the flashing out of a shoal of little silvery fish from the black surface of the moat there was a rush, a swirl, a tremendous splash, and the green and gold of a large pike was seen as it threw itself out of the water in pursuit of its prey.

“I wonder whether they’ve got any fishing-tackle here,” he cried excitedly. “How I could enjoy a week or two at this place! Why, there’d be no end of fun, only one would want a companion. Birds’ nests must swarm, and one might get rabbits and hares, and fish of an evening.”

He stopped short, for an acute pang drew his attention to an extremely vulgar want.

“Oh, I say, what a boy I am still!” he said, half aloud. “Here I am, half starved for want of food. I’m a king’s officer taken prisoner by a pack of dirty smugglers, and I’m keeping up my dignity as a gentleman in the king’s service by thinking about chasing water-rats and fishing for carp and pike. ’Pon my word I’m about ashamed of myself. What a beautiful magpie, though!” he continued, staring out of the window; “I never saw one with so large a tail. Why, there are jays, too calling in the wood. Yes, there they go—char, char, char! One might keep ’em aboard ship to make fog-signals in thick weather. My word, how this does bring back all the old times! I feel as boyish and as bright and—Oh! I say, are you going to starve a fellow to death? I can’t stand this. Ahoy! Is there any one here? Ahoy! Pipe all hands to breakfast, will you? Ahoy!”

He placed one hand to the side of his face and shouted with all his might, and as he ceased—

“Haw–w! hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw! haw-haw! haw-haw–wk!” came from a short distance, as if in answer to his hail, followed directly by half a dozen lively kicks.

“Sweet, intelligent beast!” cried Hilary. “What, are you hungry too? Surely they have not left us to starve, my gentle friend in misfortune.”

Growing too hungry and impatient to be interested any longer by the beauty of the scene, Hilary shouted again several times, but without obtaining an answer. He startled some pigeons, though, from somewhere upon the roof, and they circled round a few times before settling down again, and beginning to sing, “Koo-coo-coo-cooo! koo-coo-coo-cooo!” over and over again.

He leaped down, went to the door, and hammered and kicked and shouted till his toes were tender and his throat hoarse; but in answer to his kicks came hollow echoes, and to his shouts the donkey’s brays, and at last he threw himself sulkily down upon the straw.

“I’m not going to stop here and be starved to death,” he exclaimed angrily; “there’s no one in the place, that’s my opinion, and they’ve stuffed me in here while they get out of the country.”

He jumped up in a fury and went and kicked at the door again, but the mocking echoes were the only response, and, tired of that, he shouted through the keyhole, ran, jumped, and clambered to the window, as he took out his knife, opened it, and began to dig at the stonework to loosen the bars, when the donkey brayed once more.

“Be quiet, will you,” roared Hilary, “or I’ll kill you, and eat you afterwards.”

As he said this he burst out laughing at the ludicrous situation, and this did him good, for he felt that it would be best to be patient.

So there he sat, listening for some sound to indicate the presence of a human being, but hearing nothing, longing intensely the while for some breakfast; and just as he was conjuring up visions of a country-house meal, with hot bread, delicious butter, and yellow cream, he detected in the distance the cooking of home-made bacon, and as if to add poignancy to the keen edge of his hunger, a hen began loudly to announce that somewhere or other there was a new-laid egg.

Chapter Thirteen.

Breakfast under Difficulties.

“Well, this beats everything I’ve had to do with,” said Hilary, as the hours glided by, and he began to suffer acutely. Visions of delicious country breakfasts, for which he had longed, had now given place to the humblest of desires, for he felt as if he would have given anything for the most mouldy, weevilly biscuit that ever came out of a dirty bag in a purser’s locker. He had fasted before now, but never to such an extent as this, and he sat upon his straw heap at last, chewing pieces to try and relieve his pain.

He had worked at the iron bars for a time, but had now given it up, finding that he would be knifeless long before he could loosen a single bar; besides, that gnawing hunger mastered everything else, and in place of the active the passive state had set in: with a feeling of obstinate annoyance against his captors he had determined to sit still and starve.

The probabilities are that Hilary’s obstinate determination would have lasted about an hour; but he was not called upon to carry it out, for just about noon, as he guessed, he fancied he heard a voice, and jumping up he ran to the window and listened.

Yes, there was no mistake about it. Some one was singing, and it was in sweet girlish tones.

“Ahoy! I say there!” shouted Hilary at the invisible singer, who seemed to be right away on the other side of the garden; and the singing stopped on the instant. “Is any one there?”

There was not a sound now, and he was about to cry out once more when he caught a glimpse of a lady’s dress, and a little slight figure came cautiously through the trees, looking wonderingly about.

“Hurrah!” shouted Hilary, thrusting out his arm and waving his hand, “Addy! Addy! Here!”

The figure came closer, showing the pleasant face and bright wondering eyes of Sir Henry Norland’s daughter, who came timidly on towards the building where Hilary was confined.

“Don’t you know me, Addy?” he cried.

“Hilary! you here?”

“Yes, for the present; and I’ve been kicking and shouting for hours. Am I to be starved to death?”

“Oh, Hilary!” she cried.

“Well, it seems like it. I haven’t had a morsel since yesterday morning. Get me something, there’s a dear girl—bread, meat, tea, coffee, anything, if it’s only oats or barley.”

“Wait a minute,” cried the girl, turning to go.

“You mustn’t be longer, or I shall be dead,” shouted Hilary as she ran off; and then, dropping from the window, the young fellow executed a figure out of the dance of delight invented for such occasions by Dame Nature to aid young people in getting rid of their exuberance, stopped short, pulled out a pocket-comb, and carefully touched up his hair, relieving it from a number of scraps of straw and chaff in the process.

“A nice Tom o’ Bedlam I must have looked,” he said to himself. “No wonder she didn’t know me.”

“Hil! Hil!”

“Ahoy!” he shouted, scrambling up to the window and slipping down again, to try the next time more carefully and on regaining the window-sill there was the bright, eager-looking girl beneath, with a jug of milk and a great piece of bread.

“This was all I could get now, Hil,” she said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“All!” he cried. “New bread and new milk! Oh, Addy, it’s lovely! There’s nothing I like better for breakfast, and our cow on board won’t milk and our oven won’t bake. Give us hold: I’m ravenous for the feast.”

Hilary reached one arm down and Adela Norland reached one arm up, but when they had strained to the utmost a good six feet intervened between Hilary’s hand and the slice of bread.

“Oh, I say, how tantalising!” he cried, giving a shake at the bars. “Make haste, Addy, and do something. Isn’t there a ladder?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll get a chair.”

“Two chairs wouldn’t do it,” cried Hilary, who, sailor-like, was pretty ready at ideas. “Here, I know. Get a long stick; put the bread and milk down first.”

She placed the jug on the ground, and was about to run off.

“Cover your handkerchief over them first,” cried Hilary, “or I can’t bear to sit and look at them.”

“I won’t be a minute,” cried the girl; and she ran off, leaving the young sailor in the position of that mythical gentleman Tantalus, waiting her return.

The minute had reached two when a peculiar grunting noise was heard, and, to Hilary’s horror, an exceedingly pendulous, narrow-backed pig came snuffing and rooting into sight, turning over stones with its huge pointed snout, investigating clods of earth, pushing aside pieces of wood, and all the while making an ill-used grunting squeaking noise, as if protesting against the long period that had elapsed since it was fed.

“Well, of all the ugly, hungry-looking brutes I ever saw,” said Hilary, as he gazed down at the pig, “you are about the worst. Why, you are not fit to cut up and salt for a ship’s company, which is saying a deal. Umph! indeed! Get out you ugly—Oh, murder! the brute’s coming at my breakfast! Addy, Addy, quick! Yah! Pst! Get out! Ciss! Swine! Co-chon! Boo! Bah–h–h! Oh, if I’d only got something to throw at the wretch! Quick, Addy, quick!”

His sufferings were bad enough before, but now they were agonising, for, treating the loud objurgations of the prisoner with the greatest contempt, after raising its snout sidewise and gazing up at him with one little eye full of porcine wisdom, and flapping one of its ears the while, the pig came to the conclusion that Hilary could only throw words at it such as would not injure its pachydermatous hide, and then with a contemptuous grunt it came on.

Nearer and nearer to the breakfast came the pig, twiddling its miserable little tail about, investigating here and turning over there; and more frantic grew the prisoner. He abused that unfortunate pig with every sentence, phrase, and term he could remember or invent, but the animal paid not the slightest heed.

“Au, you thick-skinned beast,” he cried; “if I were only down there with a stick!”

But he was not down there with a stick, and the pig evidently knew, though as yet he did not know of the breakfast lying on the ground so invitingly close, or it would have disappeared at once. Still, there was no doubt that before many minutes had passed it would be gone if Adela did not return, and at last Hilary pulled off a shoe, and as the animal came now in a straight line for the bread, he took careful aim and hit the intruder on the nose.

The pig uttered an angry squeal, and jumped back; but as the shoe lay motionless, it concluded that it was probably something thrown it to eat, and in this belief it approached the foot-guard, turned it over, thrust its nose right inside, and lifted it up, flung it off its snout, and proceeded to taste the leather, when, to Hilary’s horror, the bread met the ugly little pink eyes.

The pig uttered a squeal of pleasure, and dropped the shoe. Hilary uttered a yell of horror, and threw the fellow shoe, and the pig made for the bread, just as, armed with a long stick, Adela came round the corner, saw the position, and rushed at the intruder, whom a blow from the stick drove grunting away.

“Oh, I am glad you came,” cried Hilary. “You were only just in time.”

“The nasty thing,” cried the lady, picking up the bread. “Had he touched it?”

“No,” said Hilary pointedly; “she had. But pray make haste.”

“Oh, what fun!” cried Adela, sticking the point of the stick into the bread, and then, with the weight at the end making the wand bend like a fishing-rod, she held it up bobbing and bowing about to Hilary, who caught at it eagerly, and took a most frightful bite out of one side, leaving a model for the arch of a bridge perfectly visible to the young lady.

“What lovely bread!” said Hilary, with his mouth full. Another model arch made in the bread.

“I was so precious hungry.”

“I can see you were,” cried Adela laughing.

“But I say,” said Hilary, with his mouth full; “this is just like feeding a wild beast in a cage.”

“But however did you come to be here?” cried the girl.

“Can’t talk till I’ve been fed a little more,” replied Hilary. “I say, Addy, dear, how about that milk?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” said the girl; “I can’t push that up to you on the stick.”

“No,” said Hilary, munching away. “What are we to do?”

“I don’t know, Hil.”

“I do.”

He took another tremendous bite, which made the two arches into one by the destruction of the model pier, laid the bread down on the window-sill, and was about to leap down, when he remembered something.

“I beg your pardon,” he said politely; “would you mind picking up my shoes on the end of that stick, and passing them up?”

“Oh, Hilary!”

“I was obliged to shy them at the pig to save my breakfast. Thank you,” he continued, as she laughingly picked up a shoe on the end of the stick and passed it up. “Now the other. Thanks,” he added, dropping them inside his prison. “Now I want that milk.”

As Adela picked up the jug the sailor dropped back after his shoes, put them on, ran to his straw bed, munching away the while, and drew out the cord that had been used to bind his legs.

“How useful a bit of line always is!” he muttered as he climbed back to the window-sill, held on with one arm through the bars, and took another tremendous bite from the bread, nodding pleasantly the while at his old friend.

“Why, Hil, how hungry you must have been!” she said. “Let me run and get some butter.”

“How hungry I am, you mean,” he said. “Addy, dear, I feel now just like what wolves must feel when they eat little children and old women. I’ll never speak disrespectfully of a wolf again. Why, I could have eaten you.”

“Oh, what nonsense!”

“I don’t know so much about that,” he said; “but never mind about the butter; let me have some of that milk. Look here, tie one end of this cord round the handle of the jug, and then I’ll haul it up.”

He lowered down one end of the cord and watched her carefully, munching busily the while, as she cleverly tied the end to the jug handle, and then held the vessel of milk up so that he should not have so far to haul.

“Steady,” said Hilary, with his mouth unpleasantly full; and he softly drew the cord tight, but only to find that the want of balance would pull the jug so much on one side that half the milk would be spilled.

“That won’t do,” he said; “and I can’t wait for you to tie the cord afresh; besides, I don’t think you could do it right. I say, Addy, drink some of it, there’s a good girl; it would be a pity to spill any.”

Adela hesitated a moment, and then placed the jug to her lips, Hilary watching her attentively the while.

“Steady,” he cried excitedly; “steady! Don’t drink it all.”

“Oh, Hilary,” said the girl laughing, “what a greedy boy you are! You’re just as bad as you used to be over the cider.”

“Can’t help it,” he said. “There, drink a little more. You don’t know how bad I am.”

“Poor fellow!” she said feelingly; and having drunk a little more she again held up the jug, which he drew rapidly to the window, but not without spilling a good deal.

“Hah!” he exclaimed as he got hold of the vessel. “Good health.”

He drank long and with avidity; and then setting down the jug once more, partook of some bread, looking down the while at his little benefactor, and ending by saying:

“Why, Addy, what a nice girl you have grown!”

“Have I!” she said laughingly. “And what a great big fellow you have grown; and oh, Hilary,” she said, with her face becoming serious, “thank you—thank you for being so very, very kind to us the other day.”

“Yes,” he said, “and this is the way you show it. Now I’m better, and I want to know how you came here.”

“Oh, this is a very old house—a Place they call it—where papa and I have been staying for some time. Poor papa is obliged to be in hiding.”

“And who lives here?”

“Well, Hilary, perhaps I ought not to say,” she said sadly.

“Tell me, then, how far are we from the sea?”

“About eight miles.”

“Only eight miles? Well, how did I come here?”

“I don’t know. I want to know.”

“Am I a prisoner?”

“It seems like it.”

“But where’s everybody? I haven’t heard a soul about till you came.”

“They are not up yet,” said Adela, glancing over her shoulder. “They have been out all night, Hilary.”

“Oh, then, I’m in a regular smuggler’s den, I suppose. What place is this I am in?”

“The old chapel, Hilary. They say it’s haunted, and for the moment, when I saw you, I was frightened.”

“What! are there ghosts here?” said Hilary, glancing inside.

“Yes, they say one walks there sometimes.”

“I only wish he had walked here last night, and left the door open,” said Hilary. “But I say, Addy, how funny that we should meet again like this.”

“Yes, isn’t it, Hilary? And yet,” said the girl thoughtfully, “it is not funny, but sad, for the days are not so happy now as they were when we played together years ago.”

“And we’ve both grown so,” said Hilary thoughtfully. “But look here,” he exclaimed, as a sudden thought struck him. “I want to see somebody. I’m not going to be made a prisoner here in my own country. I’m not cross with you, Addy, but I must have this set right. Where is Sir Henry?”

As he asked the question a distant voice was heard calling the young girl’s name, and she turned, ran, and was out of sight in an instant.

Chapter Fourteen.

A Tempting Offer.

Hilary sat upon the window-ledge and listened, but he heard no further sound; so, coming to the conclusion that though he was extremely indignant he was also still uncommonly hungry, he drained the jug of milk, and went on steadily until he had finished his bread, after which, feeling better, he let himself down from the ledge, which was anything but a comfortable place, and began walking up and down the little chapel.

For a few minutes he was too indignant to do more than think about his position; and he kept on muttering about “A gross case of kidnapping!” “Cowardly scoundrels!” “Insult to king’s officer!” and a few more such expressions; but having partaken of food he felt easier and soon had another good look round the place.

It was only a portion of the old chapel, and had evidently been patched and used for different purposes of late years, so that its old religious character was to a great extent gone.

“I don’t think it would be so very hard to get out,” he said to himself, “if a fellow made up his mind to it, and—hallo! here’s some one coming at last.”

His quick ears had detected footsteps, followed by the unlocking of a door; then the steps passed over a boarded floor in some empty echoing room.

Then he heard voices, and the unlocking of another door, when the voices and steps sounded plainer, and he began to understand how it was that his shouts had not been heard, for the people, whoever they were, now seemed to come down along a stone passage before they stopped at and unlocked the door of his prison.

As the heavy old door was thrown open Hilary saw two things—one which made him very cross, the other which made him very glad.

The sight that roused his anger was Sir Henry Norland, in elegant half-military costume, with high riding boots and spurs; the other was a rough, ill-looking man, carrying a tray, on which was bread, a cold chicken, and what seemed to be a flask of French wine.

Certainly Hilary had just partaken of food, but a draught of milk and some bread seemed only provocatives to fresh eating in the case of a young growing fellow who had been fasting for considerably more than twenty-four hours.

“Set the tray down, Allstone,” said Sir Henry. “Don’t wait,” he continued; “I’ll lock the door after me when I come out.”

“The skipper said I was to keep charge of the young lad,” said the man, surlily.

“Keep charge, then,” said Sir Henry sharply, “but wait outside.”

The man scowled and withdrew, whereupon Sir Henry held out his hand.

“Well, Hilary,” he said, “you and I seem to meet under strange conditions.”

“May I ask, Sir Henry,” cried Hilary sharply, and without looking at the extended hand, “why I am seized, bound, and kidnapped in this disgraceful way?”

“Certainly, my dear boy,” said Sir Henry; “but let me tell you at once that I had nothing whatever to do with it.”

“Who had, then?” cried Hilary, with the blood flaming in his cheeks.

“That I cannot exactly answer; but from what I can learn it seems that you were found prying rather too closely into the affairs of some friends of mine, and they pounced upon you and carried you off.”

“Yes, and I’ll pounce upon some of them,” cried Hilary, “and carry them off.”

“When you get your liberty,” said Sir Henry with a smile.

“Yes; when I get my liberty,” cried Hilary; “and that sha’n’t be long first. Even now my commander will be searching for me.”

“Very likely, Hilary,” said Sir Henry; “but you must be very hungry. I have only just learned of your being here, and that you had not been attended to. The habits of my friends here are somewhat nocturnal, and hence they are irregular by day. Come, sit down, man, and eat. We campaigners are not so particular as some people.”

He seated himself upon the straw as he spoke, and looked up so frankly and with such friendly eyes at the young man, that Hilary was slightly softened.

“Adela is here,” he said.

“Yes, I know; I have seen her this morning, Sir Henry.”

“Seen her! Oh, yes, I see—from the window. But come, fall to.”

Hilary glanced at the chicken and the bread, and felt disposed to resent his rough treatment, especially as just then the donkey brayed loudly, and fired off a salute of kicks against the side of the shed where he was confined; but there was a specially tempting brown side to that chicken, which looked tender and seductive, and Hilary argued that he should not be able to stand long upon his dignity if he starved himself, so he seated himself tailor-fashion beside the tray, and began to carve.

“You’ll take some, Sir Henry?” he said sulkily.

“With pleasure,” was the reply; and Sir Henry allowed himself to be helped, Hilary’s carving being of a very primitive kind, but he managed to hack off a leg and a wing, and passed them to Sir Henry, who, in return, cut some bread, and poured out a glass of wine.

The chicken came fully up to its looks, and those who discussed it were very busy for some little time.

“There is only one glass,” said Sir Henry. “Will you drink first, Hilary?”

“No, Sir Henry. After you.”

“But I stand in the place of your host,” said Sir Henry smiling. “However, I will set you the example after the good old custom, so as to show you that the wine is not drugged.”

“His majesty King Charles of England!” said Sir Henry, drinking a hearty draught before wiping his lips on a French cambric handkerchief. Then he refilled the glass and passed it to Hilary.

“His majesty King George the Second of England,” said Hilary taking the glass, “and down with the Pretender!”

He said this defiantly, as he gazed full in Sir Henry’s eyes; but the latter only smiled.

“You foolish boy,” he said lightly; “how little you know what you are saying.”

“I know that I am speaking like a loyal officer of the king, Sir Henry, and that if I did my duty I should arrest you at once on a charge of high treason.”

“And get my head chopped off, eh, Hilary? Rather comical that would be, my boy, for a prisoner to arrest his visitor, and keep him in prison with him; but how would you manage to give him up to the law?”

Hilary bit his lip. Certainly it did seem laughable for him, a prisoner, to talk in such a way as that, and he felt vexed, and looked uneasily at his visitor; but he brightened up directly as he felt that he had shown his loyalty to the king he served.

“So you believe in the Dutchman, Hilary?”

“I don’t understand you, Sir Henry,” said the young man.

“I say you believe in the Dutchman—the man you call George the Second—the Pretender.”

“I do not believe in the Pretender,” exclaimed Hilary quickly.

“Don’t quibble, my boy,” said Sir Henry smiling. “You call my sovereign the Pretender, and that is what I call the man you serve. Good heavens, boy! how could you devote your frank young life to such a service?”

Hilary had finished all he wanted of the chicken, and he sat and gazed in the baronet’s face.

“Well,” said the latter, “what are you thinking?”

“I was thinking, Sir Henry, how much better it would be if we were both to speak out frankly. Now, what do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” said Sir Henry thoughtfully.

He stopped and remained thinking.

“I’ll tell you what you mean, Sir Henry, if you like,” said Hilary. “You have come here now, secure in your power, if you like to call it so, and you are going to try and win me over by soft words to join the other cause.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Sir Henry, changing his ground. “I did not say anything to make you think such a thing as that.”

Hilary saw that he had made a mistake, and he, too, withdrew his argumentative position.

“Perhaps I am wrong then,” he said.

“Presumably, Hilary. Why, my good boy, of what value would you be to us? I said what I did only out of compassion.”

This nettled Hilary, who, boylike, had no little idea of his importance in the world.

“Oh, no, my dear boy, I only felt a little sorry; and as to being in my power, really I have no power whatever here. I am, as I told you, only a visitor.”

“On the Pretender’s business,” said Hilary sharply.

“I did not say so,” replied Sir Henry quietly. “But come, suppose we two enemies, in a political sense, leave off fencing and come, down to the matter of fact. Hilary, my boy, I am very grateful to you for your reticence the other day. You saved my life.”

“I am very glad I served you, Sir Henry; but I hope I shall never be placed in such a situation again. If I am, sir, I shall be obliged to give you up.”

“From a stern sense of duty,” said Sir Henry laughing. “Well, now I want to serve you in turn, Hilary. What can I do for you?”

“Have me immediately set at liberty, Sir Henry.”

“Ah! there you ask an impossibility, my boy. You know what you are supposed to have discovered?”

“Yes.”

“And if you are set at liberty you will of course bring the Kestrel abreast of a certain part of the shore and land your men?”

“Of course.”

“Then is it likely, my dear boy, that these people here will give you the opportunity? No; I am ready to help you in remembrance of old days; and if you will give your word of honour as a gentleman not to go more than five hundred yards in any direction from this old place I dare say I can get for you that length of tether.”

“I’m to promise not to escape?”

“Most decidedly; and if you do I dare say I can manage for your life to pass far more agreeably than in your close quarters on board the cutter, with a peremptory, bullying officer.”

“Lieutenant Lipscombe is my officer, and a gentleman, Sir Henry.”

“Lieutenant Lipscombe is your officer, and he is no gentleman, Hilary Leigh,” said Sir Henry warmly. “But we will not discuss that. As I was saying, I daresay I can manage to make your life pass pretty pleasantly here. Adela will be your companion, and you can be boy and girl together again, and spend your time collecting and fishing and boating on the little river. It will be pleasant for both of you. All you will have to do will be to hear, see, and say nothing. Better still—don’t hear, don’t see, and say whatever you like. I will take care that a snug room is provided for you, and you will have your meals with us. Now what do you say?”

“What is to become of my duty to my ship?”

“A prisoner of war has no duties.”

“But I am not a prisoner of war, Sir Henry.”

“Indeed, my boy, that you are, most decidedly. You and yours make war on the gentlemen who fetch brandy and lace from the French coast.”

“And followers of the Pretender,” said Hilary sharply.

“I accept your correction, my boy—and followers of his most gracious majesty King Charles Edward.”

“Stuff!” cried Hilary.

“Every man according to his lights, my boy. But as I was saying, your people make war against these people, and they generally act on the defensive. Sometimes they retaliate. This time they have taken a prisoner—you.”

“Yes, hang them!” cried Hilary.

“No, no,” laughed Sir Henry, “don’t do that. No yardarm work, my boy. You see we do not offer to hang you; on the contrary, I offer you a comfortable happy life for a few months on parole.”

“A few months!” cried Hilary.

“Perhaps a year or two. Now what do you say?”

“No!” cried Hilary quickly.

“Think, my boy. You will be kept a very close prisoner, and it will be most unpleasant. We want to use you well.”

“And you nearly smother me; you drag me here in a wretched donkey-cart; and you nearly starve me to death.”

“On chicken and wine,” said Sir Henry smiling. “Come, Hilary, your parole.”

“No, Sir Henry,” cried the young man, “I’ll give no parole. I mean to get away from here, and I warn you that as soon as I do I’ll bring brimstone and burn out this miserable wasps’ nest; so get out of the way.”

“Then I must leave you to think it over, Hilary. There,” he continued, rising, “think about it. I’ll come and see you this evening.”

“Stop, Sir Henry,” cried the young man, leaping up in turn; “this is an outrage on an officer in the navy. In the king’s name I order you to set me at liberty.”

“And in the king’s name I refuse, Master Hilary.”

“Then I shall take it,” cried Hilary, making for the door, which he reached and flung open, but only to find himself confronted by three rough, sailor-looking fellows.

“You see,” said Sir Henry smiling. “Allstone, take away that tray. Good-bye for the present, Hilary. I will see you to-night.”

He went out of the door, which was slammed to and locked, and Sir Henry Norland said to himself:

“I like the lad, and it goes against me to make him break faith; but it must be done. My cause is a greater one than his. Once on our side, he could be of immense service. He will have to be won over somehow, poor fellow. Let’s see what a day or two’s caging will do.”

Meanwhile Hilary was angrily walking up and down his prison, wroth with Sir Henry, with himself, and with fate, for placing him in such a position, to ameliorate which he climbed up to the window-sill and gazed out at the sunny meads.

Chapter Fifteen.

Another Cruise Ashore.

Lieutenant Lipscombe made up his mind half a dozen times over that he would run into port and send in a despatch detailing Hilary Leigh’s desertion; and each time that he so made up his mind, and had the cutter’s head laid in the required direction, his eye became so painful that the cook had to supply hot water from the galley, and the worthy officer went below to bathe the injured optic.

Each time as the inflammation was relieved the lieutenant unmade his mind, and decided to wait a little longer, going on deck again to superintend the repairs Joe Smith, the carpenter, familiarly known as “Chips,” was proceeding with in the damaged deck.

There was a great deal to do and the carpenter was doing that great deal well, but at his own pace, for “Chips” was not a rapid man. If he had a hole to make with gimlet or augur he did not dash at it and perhaps bore the hole a quarter or half an inch out of place, but took his measurements slowly and methodically, and no matter who or what was waiting he went steadily on.

There was enough in the composition of “Chips” to make anyone believe that he had descended from a family in the far-off antiquity who were bears; for he was heavy and bearlike in all his actions, especially in going up or coming down a ladder, and his caution was proverbial amongst the crew.

So deliberately were the proceedings now going on that Lieutenant Lipscombe grew hot every time he went on deck, and the hotter the commander became the cooler grew “Chips.”

The lieutenant stormed and bade him make haste.

“You are disgracefully slow, sir,” he exclaimed.

“Chips” immediately found that his saw or chisel wanted sharpening, and left off to touch up the teeth of the one with a file, and the edge of the other on a stone well lubricated with oil.

The lieutenant grew more angry, and the carpenter looked at him in the calmest possible way, till in despair, seeing that he was doing no good, but only hindering progress, Lieutenant Lipscombe went aft to his cabin and bathed his eye.

“Lookye here,” said Billy Waters the day after Hilary’s disappearance, “I hope, my lads, I’m as straightforrard a chap as a man can be, and as free from mut’nous idees; but what I want to know is this: why don’t we go ashore and have another sarch for our young orsifer?”

“That’s just what I says,” exclaimed Tom Tully.

“No, you don’t, Thomas,” cried the gunner sharply. “You did nothing but grumble and growl all the blessed time we was ashore, and say as our young orsifer had cut on some games or another. I put it to you, lads; now didn’t he?”

“That’s a true word,” said one of the men, and several others agreed.

“Yes,” growled Tom Tully; “but that was when I weer hot and wanted to stow some wittles below, and my feet was as sore as if they’d been holystoned or scraped with a rusty nail. I’m ready enough now.”

“Then I think we ought to go. I don’t like the idee o’ forsakin’ of him.”

“Pass the word there for the gunner,” cried the corporal of marines. “Captain wants him in his cabin.”

Billy Waters pulled himself together, straightened his pigtail, and hauling up his slack, as he called it—to wit, giving the waistband of his trousers a rub up with one arm in front and a hitch up with one arm behind, he went off aft, and came back at the end of a quarter of an hour to announce that a fresh search was to be made for Mr Leigh, and that they were to go ashore as soon as it was dusk.

“What’s the good o’ going then?” said the boatswain. “Why not go now?”

“That’s just what I was a-thinking,” said Billy Waters; “but I s’pose the skipper knows best.”

Preparations were made and arms served round. The boat was to go under command of the gunner, and each man was supplied with a ration of biscuits, to be supplemented by a tot of grog before starting, which was to be just at dark, and the men, being all eager to find their young officer, who was a great favourite, lounged about waiting the order, a most welcome one on account of the grog; but just as the grog was being mixed in its proper proportions the gunner was sent for to the cabin, where the lieutenant was still bathing his eye.

“Has that grog been served out, Waters?”

“No, your honour; it’s just a-going to be done.”

“Go and stop it.”

“Stop it, your honour? The men’s grog?”

“Go and stop it, I say,” cried the lieutenant irascibly. “I shall not send the expedition to-night.”

Billy Waters went back and gave the order in the hearing of the assembled crew, from whom a loud murmur arose—truth to tell more on account of the extra tot of grog than the disappointment about searching for Hilary; but the latter feeling dominated a few minutes later, and the men lay about grumbling in no very pleasant way.

“I say it’s a shame, that’s what I says it is,” growled Tom Tully, “and it ought to be reported. For half a button I’d desart, and go and look for him myself—that’s about what I’d do.”

Just then Chips, who had knocked off work for the night, struck in slowly, laughing heartily the while: “Why don’t you say as you won’t go, my lads? He’s sure to send you then.”

“That’s a good ’un,” said Tom Tully.

“Ah! to be sure,” said the boatswain. “I’m a officer, and can’t do it; but if I was you, seeing as we ought to fetch young Mr Leigh back aboard, I should just give three rattling good cheers.”

“What good would that do?” said Billy Waters dubiously.

“Why, then the skipper would send for one of us to know what’s the matter. ‘Ship’s crew mutinous, sir; says they wouldn’t have gone ashore if they’d been ordered.’”

“Well?” said Billy Waters, “I don’t see that that would have been no good neither.”

“Why, don’t you see? Soon as you says that he claps on his sword, takes his pistols, and orders you all into the boat; and says he, ‘If you dare to come back without Mr Leigh I’ll string one of you up to the yardarm.’”

“That’s it,” chorussed several of the men.

“Yes,” said Billy Waters; “but suppose we do come back without him, and he do string us up—how then?”

“Ah! but he won’t,” said the boatswain. “Men’s too scarce.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have gone ashore in the boat,” said one man.

“Nor I,” “Nor I,” chorussed half-a-dozen; and then they stopped, for the lieutenant had approached unseen, caught the words, and in a fit of fury he shouted to the boatswain:

“Here, my sword—from the cabin!” he cried. “No; stop. Pipe away the boat’s crew. You, Waters, head that expedition!” And then, as if moved to repeat the boatswain’s words, he continued, “And don’t you men dare to come back without Mr Leigh.”

The men had got their own way; but though they waited patiently for the rest of the lieutenant’s order respecting the extra tot of grog, that order did not come, and they had to set off without it.

They were in capital spirits, and bent well to their oars, sending the boat surging through the water, and chattering and laughing like so many boys as soon as they were out of hearing. No wonder, for there is something exceedingly monotonous in being cooped up day after day on board ship, especially if it be a very small one; and there is no wonder at Jack’s being fond of a run ashore.

The evening was coming on very dark, and a thick bank of clouds was rising in the west, gradually blotting out the stars one by one, almost before they had had time to get well alight.

“Pull steady, my lads,” said the gunner. “Save a little bit of breath for landing.”

“All right, matey,” said one of the men; and they rowed steadily, each stroke of an oar seeming to splash up so much pale liquid fire, while the boat’s stem sent it flashing and sparkling away in an ever-diverging train.

“Now then, lads, steady,” said Billy Waters, who seemed to have suddenly awakened to the fact that he ought to be more dignified, as became the officer in command. “We don’t want to go for to let everybody ashore know we’re coming.”

There was silence then, only broken by the splash of the water from the oars, and a dismal creaking noise of wood upon wood.

“Shove a bit o’ grease agen that there thole-pin o’ yours, Tom Tully. Your oar’ll rouse all the smugglers along the coast.”

“Ar’n’t no grease,” growled Tom.

“Then why didn’t you get a bit out of a lantern afore you come aboard?”

“’Cause nobody didn’t tell me,” growled Tom, who ceased rowing and splashed the space between the thole-pins with a few drops of water, when the noise ceased.

“Steady, my lads, steady!” said Billy Waters, giving a pull at the rudder, so as to run the boat more west towards where the cliff rose high and black against the darkening sky.

“Yer see—” began Tom Tully, and then he stopped.

“Not werry far,” said the man pulling behind him.

“Well, what do you see, old Tommy?” said Billy Waters. “Give it woice.”

“Yer see,” began Tom Tully, “I’m a chap as allus gets bullied as soon as he opens his mouth.”

“Soon as what chap opens his mouth?” said the gunner.

“Why, ar’n’t I a-telling of you?—me,” growled Tom Tully.

“Well, what’s the matter now?” said the gunner.

“Well, I was a-wondering what we was going for ashore.”

“Now, just hark at this here chap!” said the gunner indignantly.

“That’s what I says,” growled Tom Tully; “directly I opens my mouth I gets a bullying. I allus gets told I’m a-grumbling.”

“Well, come now,” said the gunner, “speak out will you? What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I don’t want to speak out unless you like,” said Tom.

“Yes, come, out with it, and don’t let’s have no mutinous, onderhanded ways,” cried the gunner importantly.

“Well, what I want to know is, what we’re a-going for ashore?”

“Now just hark at him,” cried the gunner, “grumbling again. Why, ar’n’t we going to look after our young orsifer?”

“Then why didn’t we come in the daytime, and not wait until it was getting so pitch dark as you can’t see your hand afore your eyes?”

Billy Waters scratched his head.

“Well, it is getting dark, old Tommy, sartinly,” he said apologetically.

“Dark as Davy Jones’s locker,” growled Tom. “I wants to find Muster Leigh as much as anybody, but you can’t look if you can’t see.”

“That’s a true word anyhow,” said one of the men.

“It’s my belief as our skipper’s pretty nigh mad,” continued Tom, giving a vicious jerk at his oar, “or else he wouldn’t be sending us ashore at this time o’ night.”

“Well, it is late, Tommy,” said the gunner; “but we must make the best on it.”

“Yah! There ar’n’t no best on it. All we can do is to get ashore, sit down on the sand, and shout out, ‘Muster Leigh, ahoy!’”

“There, it ar’n’t no use to growl again, Tom Tully,” said Billy Waters, reassuming his dignified position of commanding officer. “Give way, my lads.”

The men took long, steady strokes, and soon after the boat glided right in over the calm phosphorescent waves, four men leaped out as her bows touched the sand, and as the next wave lifted her, they ran her right up; the others leaped out and lent a hand, and the next minute the boat was high and dry.

“Now then, my lads,” cried the gunner, “what I propose is that we try and find our landmarks, and as soon as we have hit the place where Master Leigh left us we’ll all hail as loud as we can, and then wait for an answer.”

Tom Tully growled out something in reply, it was impossible to say what, and leaving one man to act as boatkeeper, they all set off together along the shore.

Chapter Sixteen.

Attack and Defeat.

Tom Tully had marked down a towering portion of the cliff as being over the spot where they had lost sight of their young officer, and, as it happened, that really was pretty close to the place, so, trudging on in silence after giving a glance in the direction where the cutter lay, now seen only as a couple of lights about a mile from the shore, they soon reached the rocks, where the gunner called a halt.

“Now, my lads,” he said, “get all of a row, face inwards, and make ready to hail. We’ll give him one good ‘Kestrel ahoy!’ and that’ll wake him up, wherever he is. Hallo! stop that chap! There, he’s dodged behind that big stone.”

The men wanted no further inducement than the sight of some one trying to avoid them.

In an instant the quiet stolid row of men were dashing here and there among the rocks in chase of a dark figure, which, from a thorough knowledge of the ground, kept eluding them, darting between the rocks, scrambling over others; and had he had to deal with a couple of pursuers he would have escaped at once, but he had too many on his track, and fortune was rather against him, so that several times over he ran right upon one or other of the party and was nearly taken.

The activity of the young man, for such he seemed to be, was something marvellous; and again and again he made a tremendous leap, scrambled over the rocks, and escaped. The last time, however, he dropped down in a narrow place that formed quite a cul-de-sac, and right in front of Tom Tully.

“What! have I got you?” cried the great stolid fellow; and he made a dash forward, straddling out his legs as if on board ship, when, to his intense astonishment, his quarry bent down, dashed at him, ducked between his knees, struggling through, and throwing the great sailor headlong flat upon his face.

The shout Tom Tully gave brought up Billy Waters; and as the stranger recovered his feet to escape in a fresh direction, he ran right into the gunner’s arms, to be held with a grip like iron.

The man had his arms free, however, and putting his fingers into his mouth he gave vent to a piercing whistle, close to the gunner’s ear.

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Billy Waters. “Well, my lad, I sha’n’t let you go any the more for that. Here, lend a hand my lads, and lash his wristies and elbows together. We’ve got him, and we’ll keep him till we get back Muster Leigh. Now then, Tom Tully, you hold him while I lash his wristies. That’s your style. I say, he won’t get away once I— Look at that!”

Tom Tully had, as he thought, taken a good hold of the prisoner, when the man gave himself a sudden wrench, dived under the gunner’s arm, and was gone.

“Well, of all—” began Tom Tully.

“Why didn’t you hold him?” cried the gunner.

“I thought he was a man and not a slippery eel,” cried Tom Tully. “He’s for all the world like one o’ them big congers Muster Leigh caught off Hastings.”

“Yes,” cried the gunner, “but he did hold ’em when he caught ’em. Look out, my lads! he come your way.”