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Title: The Ocean Cat's Paw
       The Story of a Strange Cruise

Author: George Manville Fenn

Illustrator: W.S. Stacey

Release Date: May 8, 2007 [EBook #21358]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OCEAN CAT'S PAW ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Ocean Cat's Paw, the Story of a Strange Cruise, By George Manville
Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________

Here we have a full-length book by an excellent author at the very top
of his powers.  The time is set at the end of the Napoleonic War, and
continues into the ensuing peace.

The young hero is first found fishing in a Dartmoor stream, when he is
interrupted by the arrival of a young Frenchman, who, it turns out, has
just escaped from Dartmoor, where the prisoners-of-war were being kept.
Rodd helps him to hide from pursuit.

Rodd is living with his uncle, who is a doctor, but who also is a
researcher in Natural History.  He receives a Government grant to buy a
ship and travel about in it collecting specimens.  On the first trip the
weather turns nasty and they have to take shelter in a French port.

Later in the voyage they meet up with a strange brig, which they realise
they had seen while in France.  But she is in difficulty, having been
holed below the waterline in an engagement.  At this point they discover
that her officers include the boy we met in Chapter One, and his father,
the Count.  The hole is repaired by the skill of the British seamen.

There's lots more to the story, and we won't spoil it for you, but we do
full-heartedly recommend it to you.  The problem in transcribing the
book was tearing oneself away from it, for meals, rest, and other
duties.

________________________________________________________________________

THE OCEAN CAT'S PAW, THE STORY OF A STRANGE CRUISE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE
FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

RODD THE PICKLE.

"Here's another, uncle."

This was shouted cheerily, and the reply thereto was a low muttering,
ending with a grunt.

It was a glorious day on Dartmoor, high up in the wildest part amongst
the rugged tors, where a bright little river came flashing and sparkling
along, and sending the bright beams of the sun in every direction from
the disturbed water, as an eager-looking boy busily played the trout he
had hooked, one which darted here and there in its wild rush for
freedom, but all in vain, for after its little mad career it was safely
brought to bank, and landed.  There was no need to use the light net
which hung diagonally and unnecessarily across its owner's back, for the
glittering little speckled trout was only about the size of a small
dace, though it fought and kicked as hardily as if it had weighed a
pound, and indulged in a series of active leaps as it was slipped
through the hole in the lid of a creel, to drop into companionship with
half-a-score of its fellows, which welcomed the new prisoner with a
number of leaps almost as wild as its own.

The utterer of the grunt, a stoutly-built man who might have been of any
age, though he could not have been very young, judging from his bristly
greyish whiskers, was also busily occupied, but in a calmer, more
deliberate way.

He had no creel slung from his shoulder, but a coarse clean wallet that
was rather bulgy, its appearance suggesting that it was carried because
it contained something to eat, while its owner held in one hand, slung
by a stoutish lanyard, a big, wide-mouthed glass bottle half full of
water, and in the other hand a little yellow canvas net attached to a
brass ring at the end of a stick, the sort of implement that little boys
use when bound upon the chase and capture of the mighty "tittlebat."
And as his younger companion shouted and landed his little mountain
trout, the net was being carefully passed under water, drawn out and
emptied upon the fine lawn-like grass, and what looked like a little
scrap of opalescent jelly was popped into the wide-mouthed bottle.

"You got one too, uncle?" shouted the boy, who was higher up the stream.

"Yes; some very nice specimens down here.  Are you getting plenty of
sport, Rodd?"

"Yes, uncle," replied the boy, who was carefully examining his tiny
artificial gnat before beginning to whip the stream again.  "They are
rising famously; but they are awfully small.  I shall get a dish,
though, for supper."

"Uncle," as he was called, grunted again, and went on searching amongst
the water-weeds with his net, his tendency being with the stream, while
the boy, who did not scruple about stepping into the shallows from time
to time, went on whipping away upward towards where one of the tors rose
in a chaotic mass of broken, lichen-covered, fragmentary granite,
apparently hiding in the distance the source of the little bubbling and
sparkling stream.

Sometimes, as the boy struck in unison with the rise, he missed his
fish, at others he hooked and held it till it broke away, and then again
he transferred another to his creel, as intent upon his sport as his
uncle was upon his pursuit, but still adding and adding to the contents
of the creel for quite an hour.  Then, in an interval when the fish had
ceased to rise, the boy began to look downward, finding to his surprise
that he was quite alone and close up to the towering mass of time-worn
granite, many of whose blocks sparkled in the summer sun with crystals
of quartz, and specks of hornblende, and were rendered creamy by the
abundant felspar which held the grains together in a mass.

"I wonder what's become of Uncle Paul," muttered the boy.  "Have I lost
him, or has he lost me?  What stuff!  One's only got to go down the
stream, and he's sure to be there somewhere, dipping for his
what-do-you-call-'ems--hydras and germs and buds, and the rest of them.
But oh, what a jolly morning it is, and what a jolly place Dartmoor is
now the sun shines!  Not very jolly yesterday, though, when the wind was
sweeping the rain across in clouds and you couldn't see the tops of the
tors for the mist.  Oh, but it is beautiful to-day.  I do feel jolly!"

The boy let his light tapering rod fall into the hollow of his arm,
swung round his creel to the front, and, raising the lid, peered down at
his speckled prizes lying upon a bed of newly-picked bracken fronds.

"Why, there must be fifty," he cried.  "There, I won't stop to count.
I'll catch a few more, and guess at fifty.  That'll be enough for a nice
lot for tea and some more for to-morrow morning's breakfast.  Uncle Paul
does enjoy a dish of trout.  Humph!  So do I.  I suppose it's this
beautiful fresh air up among the tors, and the tramping.  It was a good
long way up here from the cottage.  I suppose it's that makes me feel so
jolly hungry.  Oh, look at that now!  Uncle would carry the wallet, and
he's got all the sandwiches.  Never mind; I'll catch a few more of the
little beauties, and then toddle back to meet him."

But the boy did not begin to fish directly, but stood gazing round at
the glorious prospect of hill and dale and miniature mountain, here grey
and sparkling, there flushed as if with the golden sheen of blossoming
furze, while the lower slopes were of the magnificent purple of the
abundant heath.

"Beautiful!" cried the boy ecstatically.  "I am glad that we came up
here to stay.  So is dear old uncle.  He's revelling in the specimens he
gets, and we shall have another jolly night with the microscope.  He'll
give me a lecture upon all the little Latin beggars he pops into his
bottle, and another for being so stupid in not recollecting all their
cranky names.  Never mind; it is jolly.  Pity it isn't later, for then
there'd be plenty of blackberries and whorts.  I dare say there'd be
lots of the little tiny button mushrooms, too, in the lower parts among
the soft grass.  But what's the use of grumbling?  Uncle says that I am
never satisfied, and that I am always restless, and I suppose it's
because I am a boy.  Well, I can't help being a boy," he mused
thoughtfully.  "I might have been a girl.  Well, girls are restless too.
I say, what's that?"

He shaded his eyes again and gazed at a speck of something that looked
bright scarlet in the distance, and then not very far away he made out
another, and again another speck or blotch of bright red.  "Now, I
wonder what's growing there," muttered the boy.  "I don't remember
anything scarlet growing and blowing.  Poppies?  No, I don't think they
are poppies.  They are at the edges of the cornfields, and there are no
cornfields up here."

He fixed his eyes more intently upon the scarlet specks, and then burst
out laughing.

"Well, they are not poppies," he said aloud.  "Poppies don't move, and
those are moving, sure enough.  There, one of them has gone behind that
block of stone.  Pooh, how stupid!  Why, of course!"

He jerked himself round to look in another direction, so sharply that
his creel swung out for a moment from the strap, and came back against
his hip with a bang, as he stood with his back to the sun, gazing at a
distant grey, gloomy-looking pile of stone building, and then nodded his
head with satisfaction.

"Poppies, indeed!  My grandmother!  That's what they are.  Soldiers from
over yonder.  Part of the guard from the great prison, I suppose.  Oh,
poor beggars!  How miserable, when you come to think of it--shut up
yonder in that great gloomy place, for I don't suppose they let them
come out much without soldiers to watch them--and all for doing nothing.
Doing nothing!  Mustn't say that, though, before Uncle Paul, or he'll
go into a rage and begin preaching about Bony and the war, and going on
about the French.  Hullo!"

The boy started, for there was a dull thud, apparently from the prison,
miles away, followed by a loud echo which seemed to come from close at
hand, making him turn again as if to look for the spot from which it
came, and seeing it too, for the report of the gun had as it were struck
against the face of the tor above him, and then glanced off to strike
elsewhere.

"How queer echoes are!" he muttered.  "Yes, and how queer I feel--all
hollow.  That's made me think about it.  I suppose that means twelve or
one o'clock dinner-time.  Oh, how stupid to go right away from uncle
like this!  I wish he'd come.  But I won't go till I have made my fifty
trout."

Turning his attention now to the stream, he began whipping away again,
and finding that the little trout were rising as well as ever, with the
result that Rodney Harding once more forgot everything else in his
pursuit and went on up-stream nearer and nearer to the great tor, till
at last he found himself in a little hollow amongst the rocks where the
river had widened into a pool, hollowed out as it were at the base of a
great cliff.

"Why, this is the end of it," he said, pausing to look round and upward
at the towering pile of rocks.  "No, it isn't.  It must be the
beginning--the source, I suppose they call it.  Yes, the stream begins
here, comes right from under that cliff.  Why, it's like a little cave
out of which the water streams."

He stopped short and threw his fly once or twice without effect, and
then, moved by curiosity, waded into the shallow rippling water, which
rose a little way above his boots, but as it began to invade his
trousers he rolled them up to his knees, before wading onward till he
was stopped by the piled-up cliff face where the water came gliding out
and rippled about his legs.

"Why, it ought to be quite cold," he muttered, "instead of which it is
warm."

Then, standing up his rod so that the top rested among the stones, he
stooped down, bending nearly double before he could pass in beneath a
rough stony natural arch and slowly force his way along a narrow passage
for a few feet, before stopping short where the water nearly reached his
knees.

"Oh, I say!  I am not going to break my back short off at the hips by
squeezing in here," he grumbled.  "Besides, it's all dark; and what's
the good?  Here, I know!  This isn't the source.  This tor is only a
piled-up heap of stones, and I dare say if I go round I shall find the
little river coming in on the other side, and this is where it comes
out.  Well, let it.  Here, I want my lunch."

He made his way back into the sunshine where all was bright and clear
again, and, taking his rod, stepped out to the edge of the pool, where
the dry sand felt pleasant and comfortable to his feet, and there he
went on fishing again with more or less success, till he passed out of
the little amphitheatre to where the rocks fell away on either side,
half hidden by the heath and furze.

"Must have got fifty by this time," muttered the boy.  "Now just one
more to make sure, and then I'll be off, and--Ugh!  Who are you?  How
you made me jump!"

The Ocean Cat's Paw--by George Manville Fenn



CHAPTER TWO.

AFTER FRENCH PRISONERS.

There was some reason in Rodney Harding's words, for as he turned from
the little river he had come suddenly face to face with a thin
gaunt-looking lad of about his own age, very shabbily dressed and almost
ragged, who was gazing at him fiercely, and stood with one hand as if
about to strike.  Recovering himself on the instant, Rodney, obeying his
first impulse, began to loosen the bottom joint of his rod ready to use
it as a weapon--a defence against the expected attack--but in an instant
the strange new-comer dropped his hand to his side, turned quickly away
to look outward across the moor, and then cried wildly, his voice
sounding strange of accent, and husky as if from exhaustion--

"No, no, don't hit!  I am so weak and so helpless.  Help me.  Tell me,
which way can I go?  They are close after me, and I can run no farther.
Help!"

The poor wild-looking creature ended by sinking upon his knees amongst
the heath, and raising his hands with a piteous gesture, while his
imploring looks were quite sufficient to move the young fisherman's
heart.

"Why, who are you?" he cried.  "You are not a beggar."

"No, no!  I confess.  Oh, _mon ami_--I beg your pardon--sir!  I forgot.
I confess everything.  It was for liberty; we were escaping, but the
guard--the soldiers!  They have been hunting us down like dogs."

"A French prisoner?" cried the boy.

"Ah, _oui_--yes, monsieur.  It is my misfortune.  But the soldiers.  We
have been separated."

"Who's `we'?" said Rodney sharply.

"My father and I.  I don't know which way he has gone.  They have taken
him perhaps, and now it is no use; I may as well give up, for I can go
no farther."

He sank sideways amongst the heath and fern.

Rodd looked at him in horror, for the poor fellow seemed as if he was
about to faint with weakness and misery, while he kept giving utterance
to hysterical gasps as he was plainly enough struggling hard to avoid
bursting into a passion of weak girlish tears.

"Here, I say, don't do that!" cried Rodd, stooping and catching him by
the arm to shake him violently.  "You don't know that the soldiers have
caught your father."

"No, but I feel sure that they must have done so," cried the poor
fellow, rising a little and gazing wildly in the speaker's eyes, while
Rodd's energy seemed to galvanise him into action.

"Well, suppose they have?  They'd only take him back into the prison
again, would they?"

"I--I don't know," faltered the lad.  "I heard firing, and they may have
shot him down and taken him."

"Yes--may, may, may!" cried Rodd angrily.  "But I don't believe our
soldiers would be such brutes.  It's only Frenchmen that do such things
as that."

"What!" cried the lad, struggling to his feet.  "How dare you speak so
of our brave fellows!  I appealed to you for help, and you insult me.
Do you think if you were in France and flying for your life with your
father--"

"Haven't got one," said Rodd shortly.  "Died before I was born."

"Do you think then that if you alone had appealed to me for help I would
have treated a poor escaping prisoner like this?"

"Oh, come, I say, don't go on like that.  Any one would think you were a
great girl.  How can I help you?  I daren't.  What would my uncle say if
he knew I'd helped a French prisoner to escape from his guards?  You
shouldn't, you know.  It isn't right nor fair.  Just because you have
got into trouble, that's no reason why you should drag another fellow
down too.  Look here, what are you running away for?"

"Why?" cried the lad bitterly.  "Because I am a prisoner, and I wanted
to see my poor father free."

"Well, look here," said Rodd huskily; "I am very sorry, you know, and
I'd help you if I could, but it's against the law, and--I say!  Quick!
Don't speak aloud.  I can hear some one coming.  Yes, it's the soldiers,
I think."

"Oh!" cried the French lad wildly, and he gazed about him with every
nerve quivering, his whole aspect being that of some hunted beast with
the dogs close upon his track.

"Don't get up," cried Rodd.  "I tell you, I mustn't help you; it's
against the law; but if I were in your fix I know what I should do.  Not
afraid of the water, are you?"

"What, swim for my life?  Nonsense!  In a stream like this!"

"No, no.  Wade into that hole opposite yonder, and hide there till the
soldiers are gone."

"But they'd be sure to look there."

"Not they!  They'd be afraid of spoiling their breeches and gaiters and
washing out the pipe-clay."

"Ready for you to betray me to them," whispered the lad bitterly.  "No;
I'll surrender like a man."

"Oh!" growled Rodd, between his teeth.  "If you weren't such a poor,
weak, helpless-looking chap I'd hit you on the nose.  How dare you speak
to me like that?"

He raised his hand as if to strike, but there was a ring in his words
which had thrilled the fugitive, who to Rodd's astonishment caught the
hand in his, and quick as thought pressed it to his lips, and then
dashed into the water and splashed his way to the mouth of the hole.
The next moment the disturbed stream was the only trace left, for the
fugitive had disappeared.

The young fisher stood gazing blankly at the low dark mouth of the hole,
listening with every nerve on the strain for some sound from the
hiding-place to strike his ear; but there was none.  From behind,
though, there came a loud voice, shouting--

"Here, this way; up by the stream!"

In an instant Rodd was full of action.  Turning his back to the hole
across the pool, he began to whip the surface with such effect that at
the third cast there was a quick rise and he was fast in by far the
biggest trout he had caught that day, though small enough all the same;
and with knit brows he was playing it carefully just as a redcoat,
followed by three or four more, came up at the double to the exit end of
the pool and halted to stare at him wonderingly.

"Hi, young fellow!" shouted the leader, whose stripes betokened the
sergeant.  "What are you doing here?"

Rodd, whose heart was thumping against his ribs from excitement, did not
so much as raise his eyes from the surface of the pool, but with teeth
set, lips pursed up, and brows heavily knit, kept on playing his fish,
paying not the slightest heed to the speaker and his companions.

"Fishing, eh?" said the sergeant, who, in spite of his important errand,
could not take his eyes from the darting trout.  "I say, we are after an
escaped prisoner, and he came somewhere up here.  Which way has he
gone?"

Rodd did not take his eyes from the frantic darting of the fish, but
gave line in silence as it flashed through the water to the far side of
the pool, while the soldiers grounded arms and looked on with the
deepest interest.

"Prisoners escaped," said the sergeant loudly, as he, too, still gazed
at the rushings of the trout--"Frenchman--came up this way--Yes, a big
'un, youngster--Mind!  You'll lose him!--One was quite a lad, and--Well
done!  You have got him yet!--We saw him run up this way, and--Well
done!--You have handled a fly-rod before--Did you see anything of him?"

"Eh?  What?" said another voice sharply, and a fresh comer suddenly
appeared upon the scene in the shape of Uncle Paul, who stared in
astonishment at the group as he stepped into the little amphitheatre
from behind the rocks.

His appearance acted like magic upon the soldiers, who brought their
muskets to the carry, while the sergeant sprang to attention and
saluted.

"After escaped prisoners, sir.  Asking the young gentleman if he had got
one of them up here."

"Pooh!  Nonsense!  Absurd!" cried the gentleman addressed, just as Rodd
brought his fish to land and went down on one knee to grip it in his
left hand.  "Prisoners, no!" literally barked the fresh comer, setting
down his bottle and net, and taking off his straw hat to wipe his
streaming face with a big yellow and red bandanna handkerchief.  "Here,
Rodd, boy," he cried, with a chuckle, "empty your pockets and then open
your creel and show the sergeant how many prisoners you have caught.
Hot up here, my lad!" he continued, and the sergeant and men grinned.
"Thirsty?"

"Yes, sir," said the sergeant, grinning; "pretty tidy.  We have had a
precious good run."

"Well, there's plenty of beautiful water.  Shall I lend you my
drinking-cup?"

"Thankye, sir," said the sergeant.

"Thankye, indeed!" said the bluff speaker, with a chuckle, and he thrust
his hand into his pocket.  "There you are; there's a shilling for you to
get some cider.  I dare say you know where better than I can tell you.
No, we have seen no prisoners."

"Thank you, sir!  You are a gentleman," said the sergeant.  "Didn't want
to interfere with the young gent's sport, but we had got our duty to do.
Left face, my lads!  Forward!"  And the next minute the military party
were on the tramp, to pass through the entrance to the little
amphitheatre and disappear, just as Uncle Paul was lowering himself
gently down upon a huge boulder stone and dragging round the wallet
which hung from his right shoulder.

"Phew!" he gasped.  "Pretty job I have had to find you, Pickle!  I took
a short cut, as I thought, and it proved a long one.  I have had a
round.  Aren't you hungry, boy?"

"Starving, uncle," replied the lad, as he dropped the fish into the
creel, hooked his fly on to one of the rings, and tightened the line.
"But let's come out here on to the heath.  It will be more soft and
comfortable to sit down."

"Bah!" barked Uncle Paul.  "I am not going to stir again till I have had
something to eat and a rest.  There, lay your rod down.  Bother the
soldiers!  There was another party of them out yonder, shouted at me to
stop, and because I didn't, made as if they were going to fire.  Yes,
they had better!  But I had to stop; and then they began questioning me
about their escaped French prisoners, and wanted to know who I was and
where I was going, and I thought that they were going to make me a
prisoner and march me off yonder, only I showed them my card and asked
them if I sounded like a French prisoner.  They were civil then, and I
gave them a shilling.  That's two shillings I have fooled away out here
on this moor, where I should have said it wasn't possible for a man to
spend a farthing.  Come on; help yourself," and he held out the wallet
for his companion to take one of the big sandwiches it contained.

"I think we had better go on outside, uncle," said the boy.  "There's
more breeze out there, and the rocks don't reflect the heat."

"Do you?" said Uncle Paul, with his mouth full.  "There's quite wind
enough in here to keep me alive, and I am so hot I don't want to go out
to be blown on and catch cold.--My word, the old lady didn't forget the
mustard!  Come, eat away, Pickle.  Let's start fair, or you will soon be
a sandwich behind.  My word, what an appetite this air does give one!"

"Yes, uncle," said the boy, who, in spite of an effort to control
himself, could not help darting an anxious glance from time to time at
the opening between the rocks.

"Capital sandwiches, Pickle," continued the uncle, eating away with the
most intense enjoyment.  "One doesn't want any other pickle with these.
What does the old proverb say--Hunger's sweet sauce.  Hullo! what are
you getting up for?"

"Oh, I am going on eating, uncle," replied the boy.  "I was only going
to walk to the end and see how far the soldiers had gone."

"Hang the soldiers, sir!" cried the elder irascibly.  "I wish they'd
keep in their barracks instead of coming hunting their prisoners all
over this beautiful countryside.  Sit down and go on eating."

The boy resumed his place, and began making half-moons in the edge of
his sandwich and trying to munch hard; but somehow his appetite was
gone, and before he was half through the second sandwich he watched his
opportunity, slipped it into his pocket, and as his uncle turned round
to look at him he leaned forward and helped himself to a third from the
wallet.

"Ah, that's better!  Eat away, boy.  We have got a long walk back, and
you will have plenty of appetite for a good high tea.  Hang the
prisoners as well as the soldiers.  If I had known that this great cage
full of Bony's French frogs was up here I don't believe I should have
come--that is, unless I thought that Nap himself was a prisoner here
too, when I might have been tempted to come and have a grin at the wild
beast in his cage.  Eh, what?  What did you do that for?"

He looked curiously at his nephew, who, after a glance across the pool,
had involuntarily stretched out one hand to grip his elder's arm.

"Do you hear me, sir?" he cried sharply.  "Why did you pinch my arm like
that?"

The boy, whose face had looked rather white the moment before, flushed
scarlet, and stammered out something confused and strange.

"Why, hullo, boy!" cried his uncle sharply, and he leaned forward in
turn and caught the lad by the wrist.  "Why, what's the matter with you?
Haven't been overdoing it in the sun, have you?  Here, take my cup and
have a glass of water."

"No, no, uncle; I am quite right.  There's nothing the matter with me.
It's--it's--it's--"

"It's what?" said Uncle Paul sharply, as he gazed full in the boy's eyes
and held tightly by his wrist.  "Well, it's what?"

"Perhaps I am a bit tired, uncle.  I have been working very hard, and I
turned faint and hungry a little while ago."

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.  "Then do as I tell you.  Drink a cup of
that clear cold water."

"That's better," he continued, a few minutes later.  "Now eat another
sandwich.  No nonsense, sir!  Do as I tell you!"

The boy sighed and helped himself to another of the double slices and
their contents, and for the next few minutes no word was spoken, the
pair sitting opposite to one another and munching or ruminating steadily
away, the younger feeling as if every mouthful of which he partook would
choke him.

"Hah!" said Uncle Paul, at last; "it is a drawback to this beautiful
place.  The colours of the heath are glorious, and the views from up
here are grand.  I got some good specimens too, ready for our
microscopic work to-night; and that was a nice trout you caught.  How
many did you get, boy?"

"Only one, uncle," said the boy vacantly.

"What!"

"I didn't see the other, uncle."

Uncle Paul drew a deep breath and fixed the boy with his eyes, as he
said quietly--

"I asked you how many trout you got, Pickle."

"Oh, about fifty, uncle.  Creel's half full."

"Ah!  Then we will have some for high tea to-night, and some for
breakfast in the morning, and give our landlady the rest.  Nice woman
that; full of stories about the prisoners, and Bony and his wretched
scum.  Ugh!  The very name of the rascal raises my bile, and--There, I
think I had better take you home and give you a dose."

"Yes, let's go on back now, uncle," said the boy eagerly, "but indeed,
indeed I don't want a dose."

"Humph!  Then pray why did you grip hold of my arm again like that, and
stare across yonder over my shoulder as if you could see a raven hiding
in one of the holes?"

"Oh no, uncle," cried the boy, with a forced laugh.  "I couldn't see
anything."

"Ha, ha!" ejaculated Uncle Paul.  "Now, look here, Pickle; you and I
have always had a sort of tacit agreement that we'd play fair together,
and that there should be a mutual confidence."

"Yes, uncle, of course," cried the boy, whose face was burning.

"Very well, then, you are breaking truce.  You are not playing the game,
sir."

"Uncle!"

"Pickle!  Now then, sir, out with it.  You have seen those French
prisoners."

"Uncle!"

"Yes, sir.  Why did you pinch my arm--twice?  Now then, honour!"

"I--I--You were talking about Bonaparte."

"Well, what of that?"

"I was afraid he'd hear you, uncle."

"What!" cried the other, and his mouth opened wide.  "Bony!  Here?"

"No, uncle, of course not, but one of the young prisoners.  He was
escaping."

"And you--you have turned traitor to your King, and been hiding a
prisoner of war from his guard!  Why, you young scoundrel!  You lied to
that sergeant, and said you hadn't seen them."

"I didn't, uncle!" cried the boy hotly.  "It was you."

"Eh?  What?" roared the elder.  "You dare to!  Eh?--Ah--so I did!  But
then I didn't know."

"No, uncle, and if you had seen and heard the poor lad as I did, I am
sure you wouldn't have betrayed him."

"Betray!  It isn't betraying, sir, to give up a prisoner of war."

"I felt as if it would be, uncle, under such circumstances," said Rodd,
who began noting that his uncle had lowered his voice, and that his
angriest words had been uttered in a whisper.

"Look here, my boy," he said now quite softly, "I knew that there was
something up, or you would have been wolfing more than your share of
those sandwiches.  I saw you keep squinting at that hole over yonder.
So you have hid him away there?"

"No, uncle," said Rodd; "I did nothing, but just as the soldiers were
coming up, and he'd been begging and praying me to save him, I just said
that that would be a good place to hide."

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.  "It was very wrong, my boy--very wrong;
but look here, Pickle, is the poor fellow badly wounded?"

"No, uncle; only exhausted.  He looked just like that hunted deer we saw
the other day."

"Hah!" said Uncle Paul, nodding his head.  "Humph!  Well, you know, my
boy, it isn't the thing, and we should be getting into no end of trouble
if it were known.  It's against the law, you know, and if you had caught
him and held him you would have got a big reward."

Rodd got up and laid his hands upon his elder's shoulders as he looked
him fixedly in the eyes.

"I say, uncle," he said, "you have been questioning me.  It's my turn
now."

"Yes, Pickle; I'll play fair.  It's your turn," said Uncle Paul.  "What
is it you want to say?"

"Only this, uncle.  Would you have liked me to earn that reward?"

"Hah!  I say, Pickle, my lad, would you like any more sandwiches?"

"No, uncle."

"Then isn't it about time we began to make for home?"

Uncle Paul rose and led the way down-stream, gazing straight before him,
and though he must have seen, he took no notice of the fact that Rodd
did not throw the strap of his creel of fish over his shoulder, but left
it by the side of the stone, along with the wallet, through whose gaping
mouth a second packet of big sandwiches could still be seen.



CHAPTER THREE.

MRS. CHAMPERNOWNE'S PAN.

Mr Robson, when he came up from Plymouth for a natural history
expedition into Dartmoor, did not select a hotel for his quarters, for
the simple reason that such a house of accommodation did not exist, but
took what he could get--a couple of tiny bedrooms in the cottage of a
widow whose husband had been a mining captain on the moor; and there
after a long tramp they returned on the evening after the adventure, to
find their landlady awaiting them at the pretty rose-covered porch,
eager and expectant and ready to throw up her hands in dismay.

"Why, where are the fish?" she cried--"the trout?"

"Eh?" said Uncle Paul.

"The fish, sir--the fish.  I've got a beautiful fire, and the lard ready
in the pan.  I want to go on cooking while you both have a good wash.
You told me that you would be sure to bring home a lot of trout for your
supper, and I haven't prepared anything else."

"Bless my heart!  So I did," said Uncle Paul.  "Here, Pickle, where are
those trout?"

Rodd gave his uncle a comical look, and stood rubbing one ear.

"Ah, uncle," he cried, "where are those trout?"

Uncle Paul screwed up one eye, and he too in unconscious imitation began
to rub one ear.

"Ah, well; ah, well," said the landlady, "I suppose you couldn't help
it.  I have had gentlemen staying here to fish before now, and it's been
a basketful one day and a basket empty the next.  Fish are what the
Scotch call very kittle cattle.  Never mind, my dear," she continued to
Rodd.  "Better luck next time.  Fortunately I have got plenty of eggs,
and there's the ham waiting for me to cut off some more rashers."

As she spoke the woman hurried into her kitchen, from which sharp
crackling sounds announced that he was thrusting pieces of wood under
the kettle, and as she busied herself she went on talking aloud so that
they could hear--

"Did you hear the gun fire, sir, somewhere about one o'clock?"

"Yes," grunted Uncle Paul.  "Dinner-time, and we ate your sandwiches,
Mrs Champernowne.  They were delicious."

"I am very glad, sir.  But, oh dear no, that wasn't the dinner-bell.
That meant that some of the prisoners had escaped.  Poor fellows!  I
always feel sorry for them."

"Mrs Champernowne!" cried Uncle Paul, and Rodd, who was in his room
with his face under water, raised it up, grinning, for he knew his
uncle's peculiar ways by heart, and he went on listening to what was
said.

"Oh, yes, sir," cried the landlady, with her voice half-drowned by a
sudden flap and a sizzling noise which indicated, without the appetising
odour which soon began to rise to Rodd's nostrils, that their landlady
had vigorously slapped a thick rasher of pink-and-white ham into the hot
frying-pan; "I know what you think, sir, and what you told me only last
night about being a loyal subject of King George, and these being our
natural enemies, whom we ought to hate."

_Ciss_! went the ham, and Rodd felt as if he should like to shout "Hear,
hear!"

"But I can't help remembering what I hear at church about forgiving our
enemies; and I am sure you would, sir, if you knew what I do about those
poor fellows, torn away from their own people and shut up behind prison
bars, and all for doing nothing."

Just then there was a little spluttering noise as if the pan were
chuckling.

"For doing nothing!" shouted Uncle Paul, and a sound from his room
suggested that he had set down the washhand jug with a bang.  "The
scoundrels who invaded our shores?"

_Ciss_! said the pan.

"That they didn't, sir!" cried the landlady.  "They didn't even try; and
even if they had there were all our brave fellows round the coasts who
would soon have stopped them."

"Hear, hear!" cried Rodd, very softly, for he was speaking into his
sweet-scented towel, whose scent was that of fresh air and wild thyme.

"Well, well, that's right," shouted Uncle Paul; "but they wanted to."

_Whish-ish_, went the pan, and there was a good deal more spluttering,
and in his mind's eye Rodd saw the great rasher turned right over, to
begin sizzling again.

"And I don't believe that, Dr Robson," cried the landlady sturdily.
"Don't you know that the poor fellows over yonder never get good honest
shillings given to them and are enlisted of their own free will like our
lads at home, but they are dragged away and are obliged to fight; and it
was all owing to the angry jealousy and covetousness of that dreadful
man, Bony, who has been the cause of all the trouble."

"Hah!" roared Uncle Paul, in a voice that almost shook the diamond-paned
casement.  "Say no more, Mrs Champernowne.  You are quite right, and I
admire your sympathies.  Madam, you are a lady!"

"Oh, really, Dr Robson--"

"I repeat it, madam, you are a lady, and I applaud everything you have
said.  But what about that gun?"

"Oh, dear me, yes, sir; I was just going to tell you, but you put it all
out of my head.  It was the alarm gun to tell everybody that prisoners
had escaped, so that all the people on the moor could join the soldiers
in scouring the place as they called it, and hunting the poor Frenchmen
down for the sake of the reward.  Yes, I'd reward them if I had my way!
Hunting their poor fellow-creatures, who are only trying for their
liberty!"

"H'm!  Ha!" grunted Uncle Paul, and there was a huckabacky sound about
his words.

There was another furious hissing from the pan, followed by a fresh
slap, for a second great rasher had been thrust in _vice_ number one
nicely cooked and just placed in the hot dish that had been intended for
trout.

"Did they catch them, Mrs Champernowne?" shouted Uncle Paul.

"I haven't heard, sir," was the reply; "but dear, dear, they are pretty
well sure to, for there's not much chance for the poor fellows.  Oh, it
makes my heart bleed when I hear sometimes that one of them has been
shot down by the soldiers."

Rodd went on tip-toe across the creaking floor to open his door a little
farther, listening with strained ear, for his bright young imagination
pictured the thin pale youth, wild-eyed and breathless, out of his
hiding-place and running for liberty across the open moor, and hearing
again the distant reports of the muskets.

"But that doesn't often happen, sir, for between you and me and the
post, seeing that the prisoners are only soldiers, after all, I don't
believe that though they have their orders, our men ever try to hit
them; and very glad I am."

"Ah, ah, ah, Mrs Champernowne, that isn't loyal, you know, that isn't
loyal to his Majesty the King and your country."

"I can't help that, Dr Robson, and I am not speaking, sir, as a
subject, but as a woman and a mother who has a brave stout boy in our
good King's Guards.  Now suppose, sir, that you were a mother."  Uncle
Paul grunted audibly.

"And had a boy the same as I have, and Bony Napolyparty had taken him
prisoner.  How would you like him to be shot down?"

Rodd literally jumped in his alarm, for there was a tremendously wild
cissing from the pan and a horrible suggestion therewith that Mrs
Champernowne had been turning the rasher with so much energy that she
had thrown the cooking slice on to the fire itself instead of into its
native pan, while a sudden gush as of hot burning fat came up the little
stairs.

But the pleasant sizzling sounds began again directly, and Rodd, who was
ravenously hungry, consequent upon the bad part he had played over the
sandwiches beneath the tor, sighed in relief as he realised that the
widow's energetic treatment had only splashed a little of the fat over
the side of the pan.

As Rodd listened for a continuation of the political discussion, in
which it seemed to him that Uncle Paul had got the worst of it, for
neither the widow nor he spoke for the next three or four minutes, and
the pan had it all its own way, there was some creaking of the boards as
the naturalist stumped about, and when he did speak it was evident that
he thought it wise to change the subject.  And it was the inner man who
now spoke--

"Our tea-supper nearly ready, Mrs Champernowne?"

"Oh yes, sir.  The second rasher's about done.  How many eggs shall I
cook?"

"Oh, one, or perhaps two, for me," shouted Uncle Paul.

"Oh, I say!" muttered Rodd.

"Better cook eight or ten for my nephew," cried the doctor dryly.
"He'll eat like a young wolf."

"What a shame!" muttered Rodd.  "I'll serve him out for this."

"Fried, of course, sir?" came from the kitchen.

"Murder, woman, no!" roared Uncle Paul.  "Fry!  That is wild
west-country ignorance, madam!  Are you not aware, madam, that the
action of boiling fat upon albumen is to produce a coagulate leathery
mass of tough indigestible matter inimical to the tender sensitive
lining of the most important organ of the human frame, lying as it does
without assimilation or absorption upon the epigastric region, and
producing an irritation that may require medical treatment to allay?"

"Dear, dear, dear, dear me, no, sir!  Really, you quite fluster me with
all those long words.  Who ever heard that fried ham and eggs were bad
for anybody?"

"Then I tell you now, madam," shouted the doctor, "that--"

"Don't you take any notice, Mrs Champernowne," shouted Rodd.  "It's
only uncle's fun."

"Wuff!" went Uncle Paul, with a snap like that of an angry dog.  "Wuff!"

"Fried, please, Mrs Champernowne; four for uncle and three for me."

"Umph!" grunted the doctor, and a few minutes later he and his nephew,
hunger-sharpened and weary-legged, were seated facing one another in the
widow's pleasant little parlour, hard at work, and risking all the
direful symptoms upon which the elder had discoursed, and thoroughly
enjoying hearty draughts of Mrs Champernowne's fragrant tea.

There was silence in the kitchen, following the final hissings and
odours emitted by the hard-worked pan, but a great deal of business went
on in the little parlour, the first words that were spoken being by
Uncle Paul, who growled out--

"Here, I suppose you had better tell the old lady to put on another
rasher of ham to fry."

"For you, uncle?" said Rodd archly.

"No, sir, for you.  You traitorous young dog, leaving all those
beautiful trout up on the moor to be devoured by the enemies of your
country!"

"Well, they can't eat them raw, uncle."

"Why not, sir?  They are only so many ravening savages, ready to breathe
out battle and slaughter if they got free."

"That poor boy didn't seem much of a savage, uncle," said Rodd quietly;
and after a sidelong glance to see whether he dared say it, the boy
continued tentatively, "I wish the poor fellow had been here to have
this ham."

"What!" roared his uncle fiercely.  "Bah!  You wouldn't have left him a
mouthful.  Wolf--raven!"

"Yes, I would, uncle.  I'd have left him all."

"Umph!" grunted Uncle Paul, taking up a very thin, old, much-worn silver
table-spoon and looking at it with the eye of a connoisseur.  "H'm!  Ha!
Queen Anne."

"She's dead, uncle," said the boy.

"Well, I know that, don't I?" growled Uncle Paul, as he tilted the empty
dish, and carefully scraped all the golden brown fat and gravy to one
side, getting together sufficient to nearly fill the spoon, and then
making as if to put it upon his own plate, but with a quick gesture
dabbing it down upon Rodd's.

"Fair play, uncle!" shouted the boy.

"Bah!" grunted the doctor.  "Cut me a thin slice of bread, all crumb,
Pickle.  Thunder and lightning!  I have got the best share, after all;"
and then, with his face puckered up into a pleasant smile, he inserted a
fork into the newly-cut slice of home-made bread, and began passing it
round and round the dish until it had imbibed the remains of the liquid
ham and the golden new-laid eggs, when he deposited it upon his own
plate with a triumphant smile which seemed to Rodd to make him look
five-and-twenty years younger.

"Shall I fill another cup of tea for you, uncle?" cried Rodd; and by the
way, they were breakfast cups.

"No, no, Pickle; I--I--er--well, say half."

At that moment the door was opened, and, looking hot and out of breath,
their landlady entered.

"I hope you haven't been waiting for anything, gentlemen," she cried,
giving the table a comprehensive glance.  "I am so sorry.  I will cook
another rasher or two directly."

"Madam, no," said Uncle Paul didactically.  "What does the great classic
author say?"

"Really I don't know, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, with a perplexed
look wrinkling up her pleasant face.  "But it won't take many minutes."

"Enough, madam, is as good as a feast.  This has been a banquet, eh,
Pickle?  I never enjoyed anything half so much before in my life.  The
ham was tenderness itself, the eggs new-laid--the bread--the butter--the
tea--eh, Pickle?"

"Delicious, uncle."

"The fat of the land, Mrs Champernowne," continued the doctor; "the
riches of these smiling pastures.  Now if your friend Napoleon Bonaparte
had come with his locusts to devastate the land, his hordes such as we
have seen safely imprisoned yonder--"

"Yes, sir," interrupted Mrs Champernowne eagerly; "that's what I came
to tell you.  I thought I might just run over to my neighbour's, whose
master has come back from the hunt, and I thought that you would like to
hear.  Those two French prisoners have got right away."

"Hooray!" shouted Rodd, springing from the chair, and to Mrs
Champernowne's astonishment catching her round the waist and waltzing
her about the room.  "Three cheers for the poor prisoners!  Hurrah!
Hurrah!  Hurrah!"

And Uncle Paul pushed back his chair, puckered up his forehead, stared
hard at his nephew, and grunted out--

"Humph!"

"Oh, my dear, don't!  Pray don't!" panted Mrs Champernowne, whom Nature
had made middle-aged, round and plump.  "You are taking away all my
breath.  But my neighbour's master says that he thinks they have made
for Salcombe, where they will perhaps get aboard one of the orange boats
and be put back in their own country."

"Hah!" said Uncle Paul, leaning back in his chair to take hold of his
bunch of seals and haul up by the broad watered silk ribbon the big
double-cased gold watch that ticked away from where it reclined warm and
comfortable at the bottom of his fob.

  "Confound their politics,
  Frustrate their knavish tricks!"

"That was a very fine tea, Mrs Champernowne.  Now, Pickle, my boy, I
think it would be very nice to go and sit for half-an-hour in the arbour
under the roses, while I kill the green fly--the aphides, Mrs
Champernowne--which increase and multiply at a rate which is absolutely
marvellous.  Pickle, my boy, I hope you will never grow up as weak and
self-indulgent as your uncle.  Fill me my long clay pipe."



CHAPTER FOUR.

OH, SUMMER NIGHT!

Mrs Champernowne's arbour was a very homely affair, consisting of four
fir poles to form as many corners, and a few more nailed and pegged
together to form gables.  Nature built all the rest with roses and
honeysuckle and some vigorous ivy at the back, the roses spiring up, the
honeysuckle creeping in and out among the long strands and holding them
together, while the ivy ran rapidly up the back till it could grow no
higher, and then began to droop down till it had formed itself into a
thick curtain which kept out the wind.

There was a very rustic table in the middle, formed by nailing two
pieces of plank on to a tree stump, and a couple of seats, one on each
side, pierced with holes that had once upon a time been made by ship
carpenters' augers, when the wood was built up over the ribs of some
stout ship which long years after was bumped to pieces by the waves upon
the rocks and then cast up upon the southern shore, to be bought up and
carted all through the county.

Yes, it was a very rustic place, but it suited its surroundings, and
Uncle Paul looked supremely happy as he sat there slowly smoking his
pipe and gazing dreamily before him at the beautiful landscape
stretching far, and the garden of the one cottage within reach only a
short distance away from the plot of ground where by the help of the
neighbour sufficient potatoes were grown for the widow's use.  "What a
silent, peaceful evening, Pickle," said Uncle Paul.  "Look yonder in the
east; the moon will be up soon, and then it will be night, and we have
done no work.  How do you feel, my boy?"

"Tired and stupid, uncle.  My legs ache right down to the ankles."

"No wonder, hopping about amongst those granite boulders.  My back's a
bit stiff too.  There, let's go into the parlour, light up, and then you
shall fetch down the microscope."

"Oh, not yet, uncle!--I say, have another pipe."

"A vaunt, you young tempter!  Trying to lead me astray into idleness!
No, let's get in.  We have been playing all day; now let's go and get a
bit of work done before we lie down to sleep."

"But I say, uncle, do you think that Napoleon will ever start another
war in France?"

"Who knows, boy?  His goings-on have brought nearly everything to a
standstill, and there has been war enough to last for a hundred years."

"Yes, uncle; but do you think that Napoleon and the war put a stop to
your expedition that you were to make in a vessel of your own?"

"Of course I do, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, smoking very slowly now, with
his eyes shut, so as to make the little incandescent mass at the bottom
of his bowl last for a few minutes longer.  "Government promised me and
my friends to make a grant for the fitting out of a small vessel, and
for the payment of a captain and crew, and it was voted that we should
have it; but do what we might, my friends and I could never get the
cash, and it has always been put off, put off, on account of the
expenses of the war."

"But, uncle--" began Rodd.

"No, you don't, sir," said Uncle Paul, with a soft chuckle.  "None of
your artfulness!  You are trying to lead me on to prattle about Bony, so
as to avoid my lecture upon the fresh-water polypes I have taken to-day.
Get out, you transparent young scrub!  In with you, and fetch down the
case, and light the two candles on the parlour table.  Nice innocent way
of doing it.  Think I couldn't see through you, sir?  Be off!"

A few minutes later Uncle Paul's pipe was cooling on the parlour
chimney-piece, kept almost upright by the waxy end leaning against a
glass tube which had been formed into a sort of ornamental rolling-pin
to be suspended over the fire, and to be much treasured by its owner.

It was not a very aesthetic piece of art or ornamentation, being only
composed of coloured flowers carefully cut out of a piece of chintz,
before being gummed upon the inside of the glass tube.  This was then
filled up with salt, and the ornament was complete.

The candles were burning brightly after each application of the
snuffers; the polished mahogany microscope case stood on a side-table,
and the brass tube that had been taken out was ready to receive one of
the many slips of glass, some of which had little cup-like hollows
ground out of one side ready for receiving a tiny drop of water and one
or other of the specimens, the result of the past day's search.

Uncle Paul was on one side of the table with his big glass bottle; Rodd
sat on the other, with his chin resting in his hands, trying to listen
to his uncle's discourse, and with his eyelids drooping down now and
again.

"Bother the flies and moths!" said Uncle Paul testily.  "Who's to work
with them circling round and round the candles, trying to singe
themselves to death?  What's that white one, boy?"

"Ghost moth, uncle," replied Rodd sharply, his uncle's question seeming
to rouse him up to attention.

"Good boy!  Well named.  Trying hard to make a ghost of itself too.
Why, there's a great Daddy Longlegs now!  Here, you'll have to shut the
window."

"Oh, don't, uncle!  It will make the room so hot."

"Umph!  So it will.  Very tiresome, though, when one's trying to work.
Now then, let me see; let me see.  I want to examine this hydra, but I
must put on a lower power, and--Oh, dear, dear, dear!  Gnats!  Moths!
Tipulae and--Really, really, Pickle, that lamp gives no light at all;"
and Uncle Paul leaned forward, took a pin out of the edge of his
waistcoat, and began to prick at and try to raise the wick of the
reflecting microscope lamp.

Then there was a little catastrophe, for after a most vigorous
application of the pin the wick seemed to resent it as if it were some
kind of sea worm, and drew back out of reach into its little brass cell.

"There, now I've done it!" said Uncle Paul.  "Did you ever see anything
so tiresome in your life, Pickle?"

"Yahah!" sighed the boy slowly.

"Why, what are you doing?  Yawning!" cried Uncle Paul.  "You are about
the sleepiest chap I ever knew.  There, I am afraid I shall have to wait
for to-morrow morning's sunshine.  Clear away, or help me.  Let's put
everything on a side-table, and I'll tell Mrs Champernowne that she
isn't to touch what she sees there."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy, with something like alacrity, as the table
was cleared and the candles re-snuffed, the effect of opening and
shutting the snuffers seeming to act upon Rodd and making him yawn
widely, while quite involuntarily Uncle Paul did the same.  "Now then,"
said Uncle Paul.

"Aren't we going to bed, uncle?" said Rodd eagerly.  "Bed?  Nonsense!
Because we are in a country place where people like going to bed almost
in the middle of the day and getting up in the middle of the night, do
you think we need follow their example?  Absurd!  I want to talk to you
about some of the wonderful things I captured to-day.  The waters on the
moor swarm with the most beautiful limpid specimens."

Rodd sighed softly, and put his hand before his mouth to stop a yawn.

"Oh, by the way," said Uncle Paul, "did you change your trousers when
you went up to wash?"

"No, uncle; they didn't want it."

"Weren't they damp?"

"No, uncle; I only got my shoes wet, and they were pretty well dry when
I got home.  Besides, you had got my other trousers in the big
portmanteau in your room."

"Well, you could have come and fetched them.  Always be careful to
change damp things.--Come in!"

There had been a soft tap at the door, and Mrs Champernowne appeared.

"I beg pardon, sir, but what would you like for breakfast in the
morning?"

"Breakfast, Mrs Champernowne?  Nothing."

"Oh, I say, uncle!" said Rodd sharply.  "We seem to have eaten enough
this evening to last us for twenty-four hours."

"Oh no, sir," said the landlady.  "Excuse me, but our moorland air will
make you think very differently to-morrow morning."

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.

"You see, sir, I did think that you'd bring home enough trout this
evening to do for your breakfast too, and I am afraid there's nothing
but ham and eggs.  Would you mind them?"

"I'll tell you to-morrow morning, madam," said Uncle Paul.

"Then if you wouldn't mind, sir--I don't want to hurry you and the young
gentleman--but it's my time, and if you will excuse me I'll say
good-night."

"Good-night, Mrs Champernowne; good-night, and pleasant rest to you,"
said Uncle Paul heartily, "and--Yes?  You were going to say something?"

"If you wouldn't mind, sir, being sure that the candles are well out."

"Oh, of course; of course."

"And it's a very hot night, sir."

"Yes, madam; we have found that out."

"So if you'll be kind enough to shut and slip the bolt of the front door
I'll leave it for you to do so when you go up to bed."

"Certainly, Mrs Champernowne, certainly.  Once more, good-night."

Their landlady smiled benevolently on both, and the next minute they
heard the little old staircase creaking beneath her tread, this being
followed by the cracking of the boards in the little room over the
kitchen, the visitors both listening till all was silent again.

Somehow as Rodd sat opposite to his uncle, his head seemed to be
unusually heavy, and he rested more and more upon his two thumbs, which
he had placed for support beneath his chin.

There was a faint pinging sound, the trumpeting of a gnat flitting about
the room, and then the deep boom of a beetle somewhere outside the open
window.  There was a hot delicious odour, too, floating in over the
flowers in the garden, a portion of whose scent the warm air seemed to
be taking up to mingle with that which it had swept off the moor.

And then as Rodd listened and gazed across the table between the two
candles, whose tops were growing tiny brown mushrooms as they silently
asked to be snuffed, it seemed to the boy that his uncle's face looked
dim and misty, and then that it swelled and swelled and began to float
up like a faintly seen balloon, till it died right away.  And all was
still but the _um-um-um_ of the great beetle or chafer which had passed
in through the window, and began circling round just below the
whitewashed ceiling, against which its wings brushed from time to time
with a faint fizz, till all at once Rodd started up, for his uncle
exclaimed--

"Why, Pickle, what are you about?"

"I--I--nothing, uncle," said the boy hastily.  "Why, I believe, sir, you
were going to sleep!"

"Oh, I am quite wide awake, uncle," cried the boy.

"Humph, yes--now.  You see, my boy, these hydras are most extraordinary
things, and to-morrow morning in the bright sunshine we will get the
microscope to work, and I'll show you how they--"

_Burr_--_burr_--_burr_--_hum_--_hum_--_hum_--_um_--_um_.

Was that Uncle Paul talking in a low tone with his voice getting farther
and farther away, or was it that big chafer spinning round and round the
room?  Now it nearly died out, and then it grew louder again and seemed
to double into a duet, just as if the great stag beetle had whisked in
at the casement and had joined in the nocturnal valse, the duet seeming
to be intended to lull the naturalist and his nephew to sleep in the
soft musky sweetness of that delightful summer's night.

How long it lasted, who could say, but all at once there was a sudden
start, and Uncle Paul's hand came down with a thump upon the tablecloth
after he had knocked over one of the candlesticks, making so much noise
that, wide awake now, Rodd made a dash and stood the candlestick up
again, before snatching the candle from where it lay singeing the
lavender and red-check cotton table-cover and beginning to deposit a big
spot of grease.

"Bless my heart, Pickle!" cried Uncle Paul.  "I believe I was going to
drop asleep."

"I am afraid I was asleep, uncle," replied the boy.  "You were saying
that hydras--that hydras--er--er--er--something about hydras."

"Yes, yes, yes, but never mind.  Perhaps we had better go to bed, and
I'll finish what I was saying in the morning.  There, light the two flat
candlesticks, and we will have a good long snooze.  That's right; put
out the others.  No, no; use the extinguisher!  Don't blow them out, or
there will be such a smell."

Then--

"Shall I shut the window, uncle?"

"Oh, no, I don't think you need.  The place is like an oven.  Heigho--
ha--hum!  Yes, I am sleepy.  Come along.  Good-night, my boy.  I am
going to sleep with my chamber window wide open, and you'd better do the
same."

"But I say, uncle, we shall hardly want our candles.  Look at the moon.
It is almost as light as day."

All the same they took the candles up with them, the stairs creaking
again beneath their tread as if uttering a protest against them for
their forgetfulness in not attending to their hostess's request to close
and bolt the door; but they were too sleepy to do anything more than
slip off their things on reaching their rooms, while almost directly
after, the moon was shining in right across Rodd's snowy white bed, the
pillow being in the darkness, which also formed a black bar across the
foot, so that only the boy's hands and breast lay in the light.

One moment after laying his head down in that black velvety darkness
Rodd Harding was wide awake and thinking that all outside the window was
silver, a broad streak of which came straight over him to die away in
the wall on his left; the next, he was far away in the land of dreams,
wandering over the moor, his confused visions taking the form of
escaping prisoners flying before soldiers in scarlet coats.

And then after a blank pause which seemed to have lasted only a few
minutes, Rodd opened his eyes upon the bright silvery light once more,
to find that it struck across from the window in the opposite direction,
for he was wide awake, listening to a soft tap, tap, tap, evidently
administered by a knuckle upon his door.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE MILK IN THE COCOA-NUT.

"Yes, all right, Mrs Champernowne; get up directly.  I say, what's
o'clock?"

"Oh, I don't know, my dear," came in agitated tones, "but would you come
to the door and speak to me a minute?"

There was a bump on the floor as Rodd sprang out of bed, and then--

"What is it?" whispered the boy, who was moved by his caller's evident
distress.  "Don't say uncle's ill!"

"No, no, my dear, but I am in great trouble.  You--you didn't shut the
front door."

"Oh!" ejaculated Rodd.

"And--and, my dear, there have been thieves and robbers in the night.
They have stripped my little larder, and I don't know what they haven't
taken besides.  Do, pray, make haste and dress, and come down and help
me!  I am in such trouble, I don't know what I shall do."

"All right; I'll make haste and come down," cried Rodd, feeling guilty
all over, and then trying to excuse himself by shuffling the blame on to
the right shoulders.  "It was uncle she asked," he muttered, as he ran
round to the other side of the bed for the chair upon which he had hang
his clothes when he undressed.  "Why, hallo!"

He stood staring at the chair for a moment or two, and then ran round
the foot of the bed, opened the door two or three inches, and called in
a subdued tone so as not to awaken his uncle, though if he had been
asked why, he could not have told, beyond saying that he felt then that
it was the right thing to do--

"Mrs Champernowne!  Mrs Champernowne!"

"Yes, my dear," came from the foot of the stairs.  "Oh, you have been
quick!"

"No, no, I haven't," cried Rodd pettishly.  "Here, I say, have you taken
away my trousers?"

"Gracious me, no, my dear!  What should I want with your trousers?"

"Take them down to brush perhaps," muttered the boy to himself, as he
ran back to the other side of the bed and raised the counterpane.
"Haven't slipped off and gone under," he muttered, and then as a fresh
thought struck him he clapped his hands to his forehead and stood
staring before him.  "The thieves!" he exclaimed.  "They haven't been in
here and taken all my clothes?"

He was silent for a few minutes, as he stared vacantly about the room.

"They have, though!" he cried.  "Here, Mrs Champernowne!--Boots and
all.  Oh, I can't tell her.  Here, I must get my other suit out of the
portmanteau.  I won't wake uncle, because it's so early.  Why, it can be
only just sunrise; and he'd sit up and laugh at me.  Oh, bother!"

Rodd ran round to the door again, opened it about an inch, and listened.

"She's in the kitchen," he muttered to himself, and slipping out on to
the little landing he raised the latch of his uncle's door, glided in,
and made for the big portmanteau that lay unstrapped beneath the window.

Raising the one half quickly, he twisted the whole round so that the two
halves might lie open upon the whitely-scrubbed boards as silently as he
could; but one corner caught against the leg of the dressing-table,
jarring it so violently that a hair-brush fell on to the floor with a
bang, and Uncle Paul sprang up in bed.

"Hullo, you sir!  What are you doing there?" he cried.

"Getting out my other suit, uncle," said the boy quickly.

"What for?  Don't do that!  We are going over the moor again to-day."

"But I must, uncle," cried Rodd.

"Mush!"

"Yes.  Oh, I shall be obliged to tell you.  It was all your fault,
uncle; you didn't fasten the door as Mrs Champernowne told you, and
there have been thieves in the night."

"Been grandmothers in the night!" cried Uncle Paul contemptuously.

"It's true, uncle, and they came up into my room while I was asleep and
took away all my clothes--boots and all."

"You don't mean that, Pickle!  Here, I say, where are mine?"

Rodd sprang to his feet from where he was kneeling by the portmanteau,
and ran round to the side of the bed, just as his uncle turned and faced
him.

"Every blessed thing gone, boy.  Why, Rodney, my lad, we have fallen
into a den of thieves--robbed, and we may thank our stars we haven't
been murdered!"

"Why, it's horrid, uncle!  Didn't you hear them, then?"

"Hear them, no!  I heard nothing till you knocked something off on to
the floor.  Here, stop a moment, boy!  My purse!  It was in my trousers
pocket."

"Then it's gone, uncle," cried Rodd.

"Ah!  Horror!  My gold watch and seals!"

"Well, they weren't in your trousers, uncle."

"No, boy; I remember winding it up and laying it on the chimney-piece."

"It isn't there, uncle."

"My gold presentation watch, that I wouldn't have lost for five hundred
pounds!  Call up that wretched woman."

"Uncle, I can't!"

"Do as I tell you, sir!  She's in league with the thieves."

"But, uncle!"

"Oh yes, I forgot.  There, don't stand staring there like a bull calf
that has lost its mother.  Turn that portmanteau upside down.  Put on
some things yourself, and throw me some more.  You can dress quicker
than I can, for you haven't got to shave.  Look sharp, and then run for
the village constable."

"Why, there isn't one, uncle," grumbled Rodd, as he began to scramble
into his other clothes.

"No, of course there isn't, sir.  A miserable one-eyed place with only
two cottages in it, and I dare say that old woman's in the other,
sharing the plunder?  What a fool I was to come!"

"No, you weren't, uncle, and Mrs Champernowne isn't sharing the
plunder, for she came and woke me up to say that the thieves had been
and carried off everything there was down-stairs.  I say, uncle, it was
all your fault."

"Don't you dare to say that to me again, sir!" roared Uncle Paul.  "It
is insolent and disrespectful.  Oh, hang the woman's door!  Why didn't
she bolt it herself?  Why, I'd got twenty guineas in that purse, besides
a lot of silver.  There, there's somebody knocking at the door!  Who's
there?"

"Please, sir, it's me.  They've taken the bread and the butter, and a
piece of freshly-boiled ham that I meant for you to have cold."

"And pray who's _they_, madam?" shouted Uncle Paul, who was in
difficulties with buttons.

"Well, sir, I was thinking it must be the smugglers.  They've been here
several times before, when they have been crossing the moor with cargo;
but it couldn't be them, for they always leave a little box of tea or a
bit of silk, to pay for what they take.  It must have been thieves,
sir--thieves."

"Yes, madam; and they have taken my purse and gold watch too, besides
two suits of clothes.  There, go on down.  We'll join you soon.  I want
to think what's to be done."

The stairs creaked as Mrs Champernowne descended, and just then
something caught Rodd's eye--something bright and shiny, against the
leaves of a big old gazetteer lying upon the side-table.

Rodd uttered an ejaculation.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.

"Something more gone?" cried the Doctor.

"No, uncle; there's your watch.  And here's your gold pencil-case too,"
continued the boy, as he raised the corner of the book.  "Why, they have
been turning the watch-ribbon into a marker, and somebody has been
writing here on the fly-leaf."

"Thank goodness!" grunted Uncle Paul.  "That's something saved out of
the fire.  Never mind the writing.  But they have taken our clothes."

"It's in French, I think, uncle, but I can't quite make it out."

"French!" cried Uncle Paul fiercely.  "Why, of course!  How stupid!  I
might have known.  We have been attacked in the night by a gang of old
Napoleon's scum.  That man's bound to be the curse of my life.  Don't
stand staring there, boy.  Can't you see?"

"No, uncle," said the boy sturdily.  "What nonsense!  Napoleon couldn't
have invaded England in the night to come and steal our clothes."

"Bah!  Idiot!  Can't you see it's some of those scoundrelly French
prisoners who escaped yesterday?  That vagabond of a boy perhaps that
you pampered off and were feeding with our good English provisions.  Now
you see the consequences.  The ungrateful rapparee--Oh no, but that's
Irish, and he'd be French."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy thoughtfully, for his uncle's fulminations
fell blankly upon his ears as he stood trying to puzzle out some of the
pencilled words upon the fly-leaf of the book.

"Here's _pardon_, uncle, and something else I can't make out, and
_changer_.  Why, that means exchange!  Yes, and lower down here's _sous_
something, only it's written over `John Champernowne' and `his book';
but that's in ink.  What does _oreiller_ mean, uncle?"

"Bolster," said Uncle Paul.  "No: pillow," and he turned involuntarily
towards the bed, where, unperceived before, a scrap of something red
peered from beneath the clean white pillow-case.  "Under the pillow,"
said Uncle Paul, and stepping to the side of the bed he snatched up the
soft down cushion deeply marked by the pressure of his head.

Catching up what lay beneath, he uttered a loud ejaculation and tapped
it sharply against the bed-post.

"What have you got there, uncle?"

"Pickle, my boy, it's my twenty guineas that we thought they'd stolen.
What in the name of forceps and lancets did they tie them up in this old
silk rag for?  It's a bit of a pocket-handkerchief."

"Why, uncle," cried Rodd, laughing, "it isn't going to be so bad, after
all.  Somebody's been having a game with us."

"Game, eh?  Queer sort of a game, Pickle," cried Uncle Paul; and with
very little effort he tore open the silk envelope and poured out a
little heap of bright gold coins upon the bed.  "Napoleons, by all
that's wonderful!" he cried.  "Exchange!  I begin to see now, boy.  He's
taken my good gold money, whoever he is, and left this French trash.
Here, give me that book.  Mind--don't drop my watch."

"I have got it safe, uncle," replied the boy, handing the big book to
his uncle.

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.  "Not quite such a scoundrel as he might
have been, whoever it is that wrote it.  Exchange, eh?  But there's been
no exchange about our clothes.  Humph!  All in French, of course.  If he
had been a gentleman, and he couldn't understand plain English, he would
have written it in Latin.  Bah!  How I do hate that pernicketty French!
Let's see--let's see.  Oh yes, here it all is.  Ask pardon for two poor
prisoners trying to escape--um, um, um--years of misery.  Generous
Englishman--some day--_remerciments_.  Ah, it's all scribbled horribly--
in the dark, I suppose.  Oh, he's signed it, though, Pickle.  `Des Saix,
Comte.'  Oh, there are two of them, then.  The other's signed his name
too--quite a different hand.  `Morny des Saix, Vicomte.'  H'm!  Well, I
suppose they are gentlemen."

"Noblemen, uncle."

"Bah!  Noblemen wouldn't do a thing like that!"

"What are those other words, uncle, under the last name?"

"Um--um--um!  `May God bless you for what you did to-day.  Your friend
till death.'  Why, Pickle, you ought to have been able to read that
yourself."

"I did, uncle, but I wanted to be sure that I was right.  Why, that must
have been the boy I helped to escape."

"Yes, and he dodged us home, and as good as robbed us."

"Oh, uncle!  Shame!"

"How dare you, sir!  What do you mean by it, Rodney?  Do you forget who
I am, sir?"

"No."

"And pray who am I then, sir?"

"Dear old Uncle Paul, who has got out of bed the wrong way this
morning!"

"H'm--ha!  Well, I suppose you are right, Pickle.  I did feel in an
awful temper; but I don't feel quite so bad now that I have found my
watch."

"And pencil-case, uncle."

"Ah, yes, my boy.  That was the gift of a very grateful old patient."

"And then there are all those gold napoleons, uncle."

"Bah!  Trash!  Base counters, good for nothing, like the ugly head
that's upon them," cried Uncle Paul irascibly.

"But I say, uncle; it might have been worse."

"But the clothes, my boy!  The scoundrels!  They'll go masquerading
about in our things, and escaping, I'll be bound.  But stop a minute.
What did he say about exchange?"

"Oh, that meant about the money."

"Hullo!  There's that wicked old woman again!--Well, Mrs Champernowne,
what is it now?"

"The wood-shed, sir."

"Well, I don't want the wood-shed.  Light the fire yourself."

"You don't understand me, sir.  I went round there to get some kindling,
and there's quite a heap of old clothes there that these wicked people
have left behind."

Uncle Paul chuckled, for he was beginning to beam again.

"I say, Pickle, that accounts for the milk in the cocoa-nut.  They must
have taken our things down into the old lady's wood-shed, and turned it
into a dressing-room."

"Yes," cried Rodd; "and that young Viscount is quite welcome to mine."

"Most generous, I am sure, sir," cried Uncle Paul sarcastically, "but
would you be kind enough to tell me who pays the bills for your
clothes?"

"Why, you do, uncle, of course.  But I say, uncle, I do hope they'll
escape; don't you?"

"Wha-a-at!"

"You do, uncle, only you pretend that you don't."

"Pretend!"

"Yes.  Poor fellows!  How horrible!  To have to stoop to such a scheme
as that to get away!  But after all, uncle, it's glorious and brave.
What an escape!  Oh, how I should like to meet that poor fellow again!"

"What, to give him up to the soldiers?" said Uncle Paul sarcastically.

"Give him up to the soldiers!" cried the boy indignantly.  "Why, I'd
sooner put on his old clothes, and tell them a lie!"

"What!" cried Uncle Paul.

"Well, I'd pretend to be him so as to cheat them, and make them take me
instead."



CHAPTER SIX.

WHAT DOES THAT SERGEANT WANT?

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul, as they descended at last, to hear the fire
crackling in the kitchen, and the bright old copper kettle singing its
morning song.

It was a lovely morning, with the sweet scents of the garden and moor
floating in at the little parlour window, and as Uncle Paul took what
his irreverent nephew called a good long sniff, he slowly and
ostentatiously, moved thereto by the sight of the clean white cloth and
the breakfast things, hauled up his great gold watch and examined its
face.

"Twenty-five minutes, thirty-seven seconds, past six, Pickle.  Rather
early for breakfast.  Well, I suppose we must take things as they are;
but I am very, very sorry that they took away my old coat; it was a
great favourite.  And those things of yours, sir, are much too good to
go climbing about tors and wading in streams.  I wish that Count had
knocked at my door like a gentleman and asked me, as he should.  He
should have had this suit instead.  I'd a deal rather he had it than my
old shooting jacket."

"Ha, ha!"

"What are you laughing at, sir?"

"Uncle Paul eating his words."

"What, sir?"

"You mean, uncle, that if Count de Saix had come and knocked at the door
and asked you to help him, you'd have called me up and sent me to the
prison for the soldiers."

"Now look here, Rodney, that's impudence, sir, and--Ah!  There's the
microscope, and the slides and the glasses.  Have they been disturbed?"

"No, uncle.  Just as we left them.  I almost wonder they didn't carry
off all those hydras."

"_Hydrae_.  Be careful about your Latin plurals.  But look here, do you
want me to box your ears?"

"No, uncle."

"Then don't give me any more of your impertinent allusions.  Hum--hum--
hum!  Half-past six.  Very early for breakfast.  But I begin to feel a
little _appetitlich_, as the Germans call it; don't you?"

"Oh no, uncle," said Rodd, very mildly.  "You said last night that we
had eaten enough to last twenty-four hours."

"Now, look here, Rodney, you had the impudence to tell me a short time
ago that I'd got out of bed the wrong way.  I am afraid it's you, sir,
that have done that, and if you don't take care we shall be having a
very serious quarrel.--There!  Run, quick!  That kettle's boiling over."

But Rodd was half-way to the kitchen, and had snatched the kettle off
before his uncle had finished speaking, warned of what was happening as
he had been by the first angry hiss.

"It's all right, uncle," he cried.  "No harm done!"

"But what's become of that old woman?  She ought to be here now, seeing
about our breakfast."

"Here she comes, uncle," and through the window they could see their
hostess hurrying back with a big basket from the direction of the
neighbour's cottage, and the next minute they heard her setting her load
upon her white kitchen-table.

"Oh, I didn't know you were down, gentlemen," she cried, as she hurried
into the parlour.  "I have been over to my neighbour's to see if she
could help me now that I am in such a fix."

"Well, could she?" said Uncle Paul.

"Oh yes, sir.  As luck had it, she was baking yesterday, and she had
plenty of butter and eggs, besides a small ham which had just been
smoked."

"Oh, come," said Uncle Paul, "we shall be able to keep you alive for a
few days longer, Pickle; and I suppose you will soon be able to let us
have breakfast, Mrs Champernowne?"

"Oh yes, sir, very quickly.  I shall only want time to fry the ham."

Uncle Paul gave an involuntary sniff, as if the aroma of the fragrant
brown had floated to his nostrils.

"But you can't tell, sir, how sorry I am that such a thing should have
happened to gentlemen staying in my house;" and the poor woman looked
appealingly to uncle and nephew, and back.

"Don't you say another word about it, madam," replied Uncle Paul.  "You
make us a nice clear cup of coffee to take away the taste of the night's
adventures."

"I will indeed, sir, and I won't say another word, only thank you for
taking it so patiently and, if I might make the observation, in such a
lamb-like way."

Rodd turned round very quickly, walked to the window, and began to
whistle softly.

"I went over this morning to my neighbour's, sir, as you may see by the
basket."

"Yes, madam," said Uncle Paul, who was staring hard at his nephew's back
and scratching one ear vigorously.

"I told her all about it, of course, sir, and her master was there
having his breakfast before he went out peat-cutting, and if you'll
believe me, sir, he did nothing but laugh, and said he knew it was the
prisoners, sure enough, and he had the impudence to say that it was a
great blessing that they came to my cottage instead of to his, and lucky
for the prisoners too, for they'd got a better fit."

"Ah, yes, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul, pulling out his watch and
frowning very hard in its face; "but do you think your neighbour's ham
will be as good as yours?"

"Oh yes, sir--better, I expect, for it was a lovely little pig when it
was fatted up and killed last Christmas; one of those little fat,
short-legged, dunkey ones with turn-up snouts.  My husband used to say
they were the Chinese breed, and that was why the ham and bacon always
went so well with China tea.  You may depend upon that ham, sir, being
beautiful."

"Very singular fact, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul blandly.  "Then
perhaps you wouldn't mind cutting the rashers a little thicker.  I am
rather ashamed of my nephew's appetite; but then you see he's only a
hungry, growing boy."

Uncle Paul took out his watch again, and this time their landlady took
the hint, and hurried into the kitchen, from which delicious odours soon
began to escape, and in the midst of the examination upon the
window-sill, where the bright sun lit up the lenses of the microscope,
the magnified hydrae, with their buds and wondrous developments, were
set aside, to be superseded by the morning meal.

"Ah, yes," said Uncle Paul, thoroughly mollified now by Mrs
Champernowne's preparations, "there are worse disasters at sea, Pickle,
and I'd worn that old coat off and on for a good many years."

"You couldn't have worn it off and on, uncle," said Rodd dryly.

"Look here, sir; if your mother, my dear sister, had had the slightest
idea that you would have grown up into such an impertinent,
two-edged-tongued young scrub, I don't believe she'd have died and left
you in my charge.  I suppose you meant that to be very witty, sir.
Please understand that I was only speaking figuratively.  Now we will
just spend about an hour over those specimens, and then, as it is so
beautiful and fine, we will be off on to the moor again.  You will take
your fishing-rod, of course?"

"Oh yes, uncle."

"Then turn up the bottoms of those trousers before we start."

"No, uncle; I shall put my leggings on over these," said Rodd coolly,
"and I should advise you to do the same."  Both Uncle Paul's ears seemed
to twitch, and he scratched one as if it itched; but he said nothing,
for just then Mrs Champernowne tapped at the door, to enter smiling,
with a packet of letters.

"Postman, sir," she said, placing the letters upon the table.  "You
won't mind me speaking another word, sir?" she said.

"Oh no, Mrs Champernowne," said her visitor, rather gruffly.  "What is
it?"

"I think you told me, sir, that the prisoners did not take any of your
valuables, your money, or anything of that sort?"

"No, Mrs Champernowne," cried Rodd eagerly.  "They took uncle's money,
but they left a lot of French napoleons instead."

Uncle Paul made a snatch at a very big blue letter, and darted a furious
look at his nephew.

"I am very, _very, very_ glad, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, "and, poor
things, they are to be pitied, after all."

She backed smilingly out of the room, and Uncle Paul held the big blue
letter, which was doubly sealed with red wax, edgewise at his nephew, as
if he were going to make a sword-cut at him.

"Now, look here, Rodney," he said; "it has been dawning upon me for a
long time past that I have indulged and spoiled you, with the result
that you are growing into a most impertinent young rascal.  Have the
goodness for the future, sir, to allow me to speak for myself.  When I
require your conversational assistance, I will ask you for it."

"Yes, uncle, and--"

"Well, sir, what?"

"Aren't you going to open that big letter, uncle?  I want to know what's
the news."

"What is it to you, sir?" cried Uncle Paul, who had been opening a very
keen-looking, peculiarly-shaped, ivory-handled knife.  "Have the
goodness to let my business be my business.  I have a very great mind to
put this letter,"--and as he spoke he carefully cut round the
seals--"and the other missives away in my writing-case until I am
alone--" Here Uncle Paul unfolded a letter upon the top of which was
stamped the Royal Arms, and smoothed it out upon the tablecloth--"and
read it in peace, without being pestered by an impertinent boy.  Bless
my heart!  Why, Pickle, my boy!  Hark here!  It's a letter from the
Government.  Jump up and shout, you young dog!  Hang Bony and all his
works!  It's all right at last."

"Why, what is it?" cried the boy excitedly, as his uncle went on eagerly
reading the bold round hand that formed the formal contents.

"Hark here!  `His Majesty's advisers see their way to recommend that the
long-deferred grant for the sea-going natural history expedition to the
West Coast of Africa to be carried out by Dr Robson at his earliest
convenience be made, and that the grant to the full amount will be paid
in to Dr Robson's bank as soon as formal application has been
received.'  There, sir, what do you think of that?  At last!  At last!
Pickle, my boy, they say that everything comes at last to the man who
waits, and here it is."

"Oh, Uncle Paul!" cried the boy, with sparkling eyes.  "I am so glad--so
glad!"  And as he spoke he dashed at the reader, to catch him tightly by
the two sides of the collar of his coat.

"Mind my clean cravat, Pickle."

"Bother your clean cravat, uncle!" shouted the boy.  "Look here, sir;
you always promised me that if ever that money came and you went on that
expedition, you'd play fair."

"What do you mean, sir, by your playing fair?"

"You said, uncle," cried the boy, sawing the collar he held to and fro,
"that I should be very useful to you, and could help you no end over the
netting and dredging and bottling specimens, and that you'd take me with
you."

"Ah," cried Uncle Paul, "that was when you were a nice, good, obedient
boy, and hadn't learnt to say sharp impertinent things, and didn't go
about setting free escaped prisoners and getting your uncle robbed."

"Gammon, uncle!  I see through you, and--I say, what does that sergeant
want?"  For there was the tramp of heavy feet, and the non-commissioned
officer who had been at the head of the squad of men they had met,
marched past the cottage window.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

HE SAYS.

"Eh?  What?" exclaimed Uncle Paul excitedly.

"You don't mean that he is coming here?"

"He is, uncle," replied the boy nervously, and his colour began to go
and come.

"Tut, tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated Uncle Paul.  "This looks serious, my
boy.  Well, I don't know.  Perhaps he's only heard of the visit that has
been paid here."

"I beg pardon, sir; here is Mr Windell, one of the sergeants of the
prison guard.  Could he see you for a few minutes?"

"Well, I'm rather--Yes, yes, show him in, Mrs Champernowne.  Rodney, my
boy, you sit still and hold your tongue.  I don't know what this man
wants; but you leave it to me."

Rodd nodded his head, and fancied that he felt relieved, but he did not,
for his heart was beating faster than usual, and he was suffering from a
strange kind of emotion.

"Good-morning, gentlemen," said the sergeant, saluting stiffly as he was
shown in.

"Good-morning," said Uncle Paul stiffly.  "Do you wish to see me?"

"Yes, sir; only about a little matter upon the moor yesterday.  After we
left you I did not feel satisfied about those prisoners."

"Indeed?" said Uncle Paul coldly.

"No, sir.  The governor yonder likes to have things thoroughly done, so
about three hours afterwards I went over the ground again."

"Yes," said Uncle Paul, without taking his eyes from the sergeant's
face.

"And there I found out something else."

Uncle Paul was silent, and Rodd's heart went on now in a steady
_thump_--_thump_--_thump_--_thump_.

"Thought I'd come on, sir," said the sergeant, turning back to the door,
going outside, and returning with Rodd's creel, which he slowly opened
and took from within, neatly folded up, the canvas wallet.  "Belong to
you gentlemen, don't they?"

"Yes," said Uncle Paul slowly; "those are ours.  Well?"

Rodd's heart now seemed to stand quite still till the sergeant replied
to his uncle's query.

"That's all, sir; that's all," said the sergeant, and Rodd's heart went
on again.  "You had left them behind, and I thought I'd bring them on."

"Thank you," said Uncle Paul quietly.  "Very good of you, and I am much
obliged."

"Don't name it, sir.  Going to have another fine day, and hope the young
gentleman here will have plenty more sport.  There's a lot of trout up
there, only they are terrible small.  Good-morning, gentlemen."

"Good-morning, sergeant," said Uncle Paul quietly, and Rodd's mouth
opened a little and then shut, but no sound came.  "Wait a moment,
sergeant," continued Uncle Paul, thrusting his hand into his pocket and
feeling about amongst some five-and-twenty or thirty coins, all of which
felt too small, for he wanted a larger one; but feeling that, he took
hold of three together, when something made him stop short with his hand
half out of his pocket, and he thrust it back again.  "Dear me," he
said, quickly now, "I really have no change."

"Oh, there's no need for that, sir," said the sergeant.

"Yes, yes," said Uncle Paul.  "Rodd, my boy, have you half-a-crown in
your pocket?"

"I think so, uncle," said the boy quickly; and then his face looked
blank.  "No, uncle; I haven't anything at all," he cried in dismay.

"Oh, pray don't mind, sir," said the sergeant, moving to the door.
"Good-morning, sir; good-morning.  I don't want paying for a little
thing like that."

"Stop, please," said Uncle Paul hurriedly.  "Rodd, my boy, go and ask
Mrs Champernowne if she'll be kind enough to lend me half-a-crown."

Rodd hurried out, feeling exceedingly hot, and with a peculiar moisture
in the palms of his hands, returning directly afterwards with the
required coin, though the unexpected demand had made their landlady open
her eyes rather widely.

"There, that's right, sergeant," said Uncle Paul, "and I am sure my
nephew is much obliged.  He wouldn't have liked to lose that creel."

"Thank you, sir.  Very glad I found it.  Good-morning once more."

The man saluted both, giving Rodd a very peculiar look which seemed to
go through him, and then turning upon his heels, he marched out of the
room and shut the door, while Uncle Paul sank back in his chair, took
out a clean red and yellow silk handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.

"Rodney, my boy," he said, "I felt as if we had been doing something
underhanded, and nearly brought out three of those napoleons to pay that
man."

"Oh, uncle," said the boy huskily; "it would have been like telling him
that the poor fellows had been here."

"Yes, my boy, and that you had been helping them to escape."

"Oh!" ejaculated Rodd, and he darted to the window.  "No," he gasped,
with a sigh of relief.  "He's gone."

"Well, we knew he'd gone, boy."

"Yes, uncle, but I was afraid that he'd stop talking to Mrs
Champernowne, and she would tell him about their coming here.  But he
didn't stop, and he has gone right away."

"Hah!" ejaculated Uncle Paul.  "Well, you see how near we have been to
getting into trouble with the authorities; for of course they are very
strict over such things as these.  There, now I must write an important
letter to send off in acknowledgment of that despatch; so you be off now
for about half-an-hour, and go and play like a good boy."

"Yes, uncle," said Rodd, rather grumpily; and he went slowly out, with
the intention of getting somewhere on to the high ground where he could
watch the sergeant's red coat till he was out of sight.  "I wish Uncle
Paul wouldn't talk to me like that," he muttered, as he went out of the
garden gate.  "Go out and play like a good boy!  It does make me feel so
wild!  He'll be saying good little boy next, and I am past sixteen; and
he wasn't doing it to tease me either, for he was quite serious, what
with the prisoners, and the sergeant coming like that.  Bother him!  He
looked at me as he went away just as if he suspected that I'd left the
sandwiches and the fish where that poor fellow could get them.  Here, I
mustn't let him see that I am following him.  I'll go round by that
other track and get up behind those stones.  Then I can see the whole
way to the prison.  Oh, he didn't know anything, or else he'd have
spoken out.  But that's the worst of doing what you oughtn't to.  You
always feel as if everybody suspects you.  Well, I didn't want to do any
harm, and Uncle Paul didn't think it was very wrong, in spite of his
grumbling about the French.  If he had he wouldn't have called me
Pickle.  It would have been Rodney, and his voice would have sounded
very severe, for he can be when he likes.  Spoiled and indulged me!
That he hasn't!"

The ascent was so steep by the track he had chosen that the boy was soon
high above the cottages, hurrying along by a ridge of stones which led
up to what looked like a young tor, so situated that it sheltered the
two cottage gardens, and the enclosed field or two where the neighbour's
cow was pastured, from the north and east wind, and also acted as a lew
for Mrs Champernowne's bees, which could reach their straw hive homes
comfortably without being blown out by the wanton breezes which
travelled across the moors.

Rodd was pretty well out of breath when he reached the little tor, and
so he drew in a fresh supply as he dropped upon his knees and crawled
round the last stone to his proposed look-out, feeling certain he would
be able to see the sergeant's bright scarlet coat with its white belts,
as he marched straight away for the prison.

He did see him, but not so far off as he had anticipated, and the sight
took his breath completely away again, for as he crept round he became
conscious of a peculiar scent that was not wild thyme but tobacco, and
before he realised what it was, he came plump face to face with their
late visitor, who was seated upon the soft close turf with his back
against a stone, basking in the sunshine, and evidently enjoying a rest.

"Here we are again, then, sir!" he cried, in his sharp military way.  "I
thought I'd just sit down here for a bit on the chance that you might
come up and like to have a word or two to say to me."

He looked very hard at Rodd as he spoke, and the boy felt his face burn,
while the next moment there was a sensation as if the cool wind were
fanning his hot cheeks.

"Come out to speak to me, didn't you, sir?" said the sergeant.

Rodd was silent for a few moments, for his throat felt dry, while he
passed his tongue over his lips to moisten them.

"No," he said, at last, with an effort.  "I came up here to see if you
had gone, and watch you back to the prison."

The sergeant laughed softly, and thrust one finger into the bowl of his
pipe, before sending out a fresh cloud of smoke.

"Ah," he said, "I am not surprised.  Well, here we are.  Do you want to
say anything to me?"

Rodd opened and shut his lips again, but no words came till he made an
effort, and then said, with his utterance sounding very dry--

"You want to speak to me?"

"Right, sir.  Yes, I do.  You remember when I came upon you up yonder by
that pool?"

Rodd nodded and frowned.

"Well, I suppose you noticed that there was a hole at the bottom of
those rocks across there, where the little stream came out?"

"Yes," said Rodd, with his brow puckering up.

"Well, yesterday evening, as I said to your uncle, I went over the
ground again to see if I could find any track of those escaped
prisoners."

Rodd nodded shortly.

"Well, I took off my gaiters and shoes and stockings and waded across
the pool, and nearly doubled myself up to get into that hole; and after
I had gone a little way I found that there was quite a dry cave there
with streaks of light coming down from above between the piled-up
stones."

Rodd nodded again.

"Just in the highest part where the water did not reach, some one had
lit a fire with bits of ling and dry peat.  It was still warm--at least,
the ashes were, and somebody had been busy cooking trout there, grilling
them, thriddled on a stick of hazel; and very curious it was too, for
somehow or other, the water, instead of running down, had been running
up backwards like, and carried with it that there fishing-basket of
yours, and the wallet, and laid them upon that nice dry sandy place
close up to the fire along by which there were ever so many heads of
those little fish, and their backbones.  Rum, wasn't it?  Do you think
an otter could have done that?"

"No," said Rodd, after a few moments' pause; and he spoke sharply and
angrily.  "No, I don't think that."

"More don't I," said the sergeant dryly, and he half closed his eyes and
sent a faint little curl of smoke into the air.  "Now, young gentleman,
what do you think would happen if I was to go yonder to the governor at
the prison, and say that I believed you had helped the King's enemies to
escape?  You didn't, of course, eh?"

Rodd moistened his lips again, and his frank young face looked very much
puckered and wrinkled as he pulled himself together and looked almost
defiantly at his questioner, who exclaimed--

"Well, you heard what I said."

The boy nodded.

"Well, speak out.  You didn't, of course?"

Rodd drew a deep breath, moistened his lips again, and then out the
words came.  "Yes," he said, "I did!"

"Hah!" said the sergeant, as he fixed the boy with his keen grey eyes
and spoke to him as if he were one of his recruits.  "Well, I like that.
Spoken like a man.  My old mother used to say, `Speak the truth, Tom,
and then you needn't be afraid of any man.'  Look here, youngster, I am
only a soldier, and you are a young gentleman, or else you wouldn't be
visiting and making holiday here; but do you mind shaking hands?"

"Yes," said Rodd hotly, "I know: I suppose I have done wrong, and you
have got your duty to do; so go and do it."

"Here," cried the sergeant, "grip, boy, grip!  I like you for all this
more and more.  I had my duty to do, and I did it as far as I could; but
I was too late.  The prisoners had escaped, and we have heard this
morning, the news being brought by a miserable-looking sneak of a fellow
who had come to the governor to ask for the reward for not taking them,
that they got down to Salcombe very late last night and boarded one of
the orange boats in the little harbour, where I expect they had friends
waiting for them, for the schooner sailed at once, and I dare say they
are within sight of a French port before now.  Yes, I had my duty to do,
me and my lads, but the prisoners escaped, same as I would if I had been
in a French prison, shut up for doing nothing, and because our two
countries were at war.  There, I am not going to blame you now it's all
over, as you own to it like a man.  They both came to you, I suppose,
for a bit of help, and you gave it to them.  But when I was on duty I
should have nailed you if I had caught you in the act.  There, that'll
do.  Thought I should like to tell you about it, and hold you like at
the point of the bayonet, and see what you'd say.  I know it's precious
hard to tell the truth sometimes, and it must have been very hard here.
But you did it like a man.  But I say: you never thought that basket and
wallet would tell tales when you left those poor beggars a mouthful to
eat; and I hope if there's any more war to come and I'm took, and make a
good try to slip away--I hope, I say, that I shall come upon some brave
young French lad who will do as good a turn to me as you did to those
poor fellows, who were making a run for freedom, and to get out of the
reach of our bayonets and guns."

Rodd thrust his hand into his pocket, and flushed up now more than ever,
for the sergeant caught him by the wrist.

"No, no, my lad," he cried; "none of that!  I didn't come here to get
money out of you.  I was a boy once myself.  Only a common one, but
pretty straightforward and honest, or else I don't suppose I should have
won these three gold chevrons which I have got here upon my arm.  Well,
I wouldn't have taken pay then for doing a dirty action, fond as I was
of coppers with the King's head on; and I wouldn't do it now.  So don't
you make me set up my hackles by trying to offer me anything for this.
Besides, I've got a whole half-crown your uncle gave me, and I am not
even going to ask you whether he had a finger in this pie."

"No, he hadn't--he hadn't indeed," cried Rodd warmly.  "On my honour,
sergeant, I did it all."

"All right, my lad, I'll take your word; but just you take my advice.
The law's law, and they're pretty sharp about here, so if you hear the
gun fire and the soldiers are out after any poor fellows who have
escaped, don't you get meddling with 'em again.  Time I was off back."
And without another word the sergeant sprang up and strode away, leaving
Rodd watching him for a time and admiring the man's upright carriage and
bold elastic step, till happening to cast his eyes in another direction,
he found himself looking down upon Mrs Champernowne's cottage, and,
with letter in hand and straw hat on head, Uncle Paul, looking in all
directions as if in search of his missing boy.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE SALCOMBE BOATS.

"I am very, very sorry, sir," said Mrs Champernowne.  "Of course I am
only a poor widow, and I let my apartments to gentlemen who come down
fishing or to take walks for their health over the moor.  But your stay
down here has been something more than that.  It has been a real
pleasure to me ever since you and the young gentleman have been here.
And not only am I very sorry that you are going away, but it has quite
upset me to hear that you are going sailing away over the stormy seas,
searching for all kinds of strange things in foreign abroad."

"Oh, come, come, Mrs Champernowne," cried Uncle Paul, as he saw the
poor woman lift up her apron and put one corner to her eye.  "There
oughtn't to be anything in a naturalist's expedition to upset you."

"Ah, you don't know, sir," said Mrs Champernowne, speaking to Uncle
Paul, but shaking her head sadly at Rodd all the while.  "I have had
those who were near and dear to me go sailing away quite happy and
joyful like, just the same as you and Mr Rodney might, and never come
back again, for the sea is a very dangerous place."

"Oh, perhaps so, and of course there are exceptions," said Uncle Paul;
"but as a rule people do come back safe."

"I don't know, sir," said the old lady, shaking her head sadly.  "The
sea is very unruly sometimes.  Hadn't you better take my advice, sir,
and stop here?  The moor's very big, and surely if you and the young
gentleman look well you'll be able to find plenty of things to fill your
bottles, without going abroad."

"Can't be done, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul smiling.  "Dartmoor
isn't the West Coast of Africa, nor yet the Cape of Good Hope, so, much
as we have enjoyed being here, we shall have to say good-bye, and live
in hopes of coming to see you again some day, for I haven't half worked
out the moor, nor yet a hundredth part."

"I am very, very, very sorry," said the old lady again, "but no doubt,
sir, you know best.  When do you think of going, sir?"

"To-morrow morning, Mrs Champernowne.  We can't let the grass grow
under our feet, can we, Rodd?"

"No, uncle," was the reply; and the next morning the portmanteau was
packed, the fishing-rod and naturalist's nets tied up in a neat bundle,
a light spring cart was drawn up at the door, and uncle and nephew were
soon on their way to the cross roads to take their chance of finding
room upon the Plymouth coach, which came within a few miles of the
widow's cottage.

They were fortunate, as it happened, and that evening they were safely
back at Uncle Paul's home, a pleasant little country house on the high
grounds overlooking the glorious harbour dotted with vessels, which
included several of the King's men-of-war, and within easy reach of the
docks.

"Ah," cried Uncle Paul that evening, as he strolled out into his garden,
in company with Rodd, who was carrying a telescope that looked like a
small cannon; "that was a fine air up on the moor, my boy, but nothing
like this.  Take a good long deep breath.  Can't you smell the salt and
the seaweed?  Doesn't it set you longing to be off?"

"Well--yes, uncle," replied the boy, smiling and screwing up his face
till it was all wrinkled about the eyes; "but I begin to be a bit
afraid."

"Afraid, sir?  What of?"

"That I shan't turn out such a good sailor as I should like to be."

"Why, what do you mean?  Now, look here, Rodd; don't you tell me that
you want to back out of going upon this trip."

"Oh no, uncle," cried the boy eagerly.  "I want to go, of course!"

"But what are you afraid of?"

"Well, you see, uncle, coasting about with you in a fisherman's lugger
for a few days, and always keeping within sight of land, is one thing;
going right away across the ocean is quite another."

"Well, sir, who said it wasn't?" cried Uncle Paul.  "What then?"

"Suppose I turn ill, uncle?"

"Well, sir, suppose you do.  Am I not doctor enough to put you right
again?"

"Oh, I don't mean really ill, uncle.  I mean sea-sick; and it would seem
so stupid."

"Horribly; yes.  You'd better be!  Pooh!  Rubbish!  Nonsense!  You talk
like a great Molly.  Now, no nonsense, Rodney.  Speak out frankly and
candidly.  You mean that now it has come to the point you think it too
serious, and you want to shirk?"

"I don't, uncle; I don't, indeed, and I do wish you wouldn't call me
Rodney!" cried the boy earnestly.

"I shall, sir, _as long as I live, if you play me false now_."

"Oh, uncle, what a shame!" cried the boy passionately.  "Play you false!
Who wants to play you false?  I only wanted to tell you frankly that I
felt a bit afraid of not being quite equal to the sea.  I want to go,
and I mean to go, and you oughtn't to jump upon me like this, and call
me Rodney."

The boy stood before the doctor, flushed and excited, as he continued--

"You talk to me, uncle, as if you thought that I was a regular coward
and afraid of the sea."

"Then you shouldn't make me, sir.  Who was it said afraid?  Why, you
have been out with me for days together, knocking about, in pretty good
rough weather too."

"Yes, uncle, but that was all within sight of land."

"What's that got to do with it?  It's often much rougher close in shore,
especially on a rocky coast, than it is out on the main."

"I wish I hadn't spoken," cried Rodd passionately.

"So do I, sir."

"I couldn't help thinking I might turn very sick for days, and get
laughed at by the crew and called a swab."

"Oh," said Uncle Paul, laughing, "you talked as if you were afraid of
the sea, and all the time, you conceited young puppy, you mean that you
are afraid of the men."

"Well, yes, uncle, I suppose that that really is it."

"Humph!  Then why didn't you say so, and not talk as if you, the first
of my crew that I reckoned upon, were going to mutiny and give it all
up?"

"Give it up, uncle?" cried the boy.  "Why, you know that I am longing to
go."

"Ah, well, that sounds more like it, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, looking
sideways at the boy through his half-closed eyes.  "Then I suppose it is
all a false alarm."

"Of course it is, uncle," cried Rodd.

"Well, we may as well make sure, you know, because once we are started
it won't be long before we are out of sight of land, and there'll be no
turning back."

"Well, I don't want to turn back, uncle."

"Then you shouldn't have talked as if you thought you might.  Are you
afraid now?"

"Not a bit, uncle.  I am ready to start to-morrow morning."

"Ah, well, you won't, my boy, for there's everything to do first."

"Everything to do?"

"Of course.  It's not like taking a few bottles and pill-boxes and a net
or two to go up on the moor.  Why, there's our ship to find first, and
then to get her fitted with our nets and sounding-lines and dredges and
all sorts of odds and ends, with reserves and provisions for all that we
lose.  Then there's to collect a crew."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of fellows down by the Barbican or hanging about
down there who will jump at going."

"Don't you be so precious sanguine, my fine fellow.  This will be all so
fresh that the men won't be so ready as you expect.  The first thing a
seaman will ask will be, `Where are we bound?  What port?'"

"Well, uncle; tell them."

"Tell them what I don't know myself unless I say Port Nowhere on the
High Seas!  It will be all a matter of chance, Pickle, where we go and
what we do, and I may as well say it now, if any one gets asking you
what we are going to do, your answer is included in just these few
words--We are going to explore."

Rodd nodded in a short business-like way.

"All right, uncle; I'll remember," he cried promptly.  "Then you are
going to hire a ship and engage a crew?"

"Well," said Uncle Paul thoughtfully, "we are landsmen--I mean landsman
and a boy--but we may as well begin to be nautical at once and call
things by the sea-going terms.  No, my boy, I am not going to engage a
ship--too big."

"Why, you won't go all that way in a lugger, uncle?"

"Bah!  Rubbish!" cried Uncle Paul shortly.  "Here, give me hold of that
glass."

He took the telescope, drew out the slide to a mark upon the tube which
indicated the focus which suited his eye, and then as he began slowly
sweeping the portions of the harbour which were within reach he went on
talking.

"Isn't there anything between a lugger and a ship, sir?  You know well
enough if you talk to a sailor about a ship he'd suppose you meant a
full-rigged three-masted vessel."

"Yes, of course, uncle.  And a barque is a three-master with a mizzen
fore-and-aft rigged."

"That's better, my lad.  But what do you mean by fore-and-aft rigged?"

"Well, like a schooner, uncle."

"Good boy!  Go up one, as you used to say at school.  Well, what do you
think of a large schooner for a good handy vessel that can be well
managed by a moderate crew?"

"Oh, I should think it would be splendid, uncle; and she'd sail very
fast."

"That depends on her build and the way she is sailed, my boy.  But
that's what I am thinking of having, Pickle."

"But with a good crew, uncle."

"Yes; I want the best schooner and the best crew that are to be had, my
boy."

"But it will cost a lot of money, uncle."

"Yes, Pickle; but I am proud to say that the Government has not been
mean in that respect, and if what they have granted me is not enough, I
shall put as many hundreds as are required out of my own pocket to make
up the deficiency, so that in all probability I shan't have a penny to
leave you, Pickle, when I die."

"When you die!" cried the boy scornfully.  "Who wants you to die?  And
who wants you to leave me any money?  I say, Uncle Paul, who's talking
nonsense now?"

"How dare you, sir!"

"Then you shouldn't say such things, uncle.  Talking about dying!  There
will be plenty of time to talk about that in a hundred years."

"Well, that's a very generous allowance, Pickle, and if we get such a
schooner as I want, with a clever crew, and you work hard with me, why,
we ought to make a good many discoveries by that time.  A hundred years
hence," continued Uncle Paul thoughtfully, as he apparently brought his
telescope to bear upon a sloop of war whose white sails began to be
tinged with orange as the sun sank low; but all the time he was peering
out through the corners of his eyes to note the effect of his words upon
his nephew.  "But let me see--a hundred years' time.  Why, how much
older will you be then, Pickle?"

"Why, just the same as you would, uncle; a hundred years older than I am
now.  Pooh!  You are making fun of me.  But I say, uncle, be serious.
How are you going to manage to get your schooner?"

"Set to work, and lose no time, my boy.  But I am rather puzzled at the
present moment, and I am afraid--"

Uncle Paul lowered the glass as he spoke, and turned his eyes
thoughtfully upon his nephew, who had uttered a low peculiar sound.

"Of being sea-sick, uncle?"  Uncle Paul smiled.

"I suppose that's what you call retaliation, young gentleman.  Well, no,
sir, I'm not afraid of that--at least, not much.  I remember the first
time I crossed the Channel that I was very ill, and every time I have
been at sea since I have always felt that it would be unwise to boast;
but I think both you and I can make our voyage without being troubled in
that way.  But we won't boast, Pickle, for, as they say, we will not
holloa till we are out of the wood.  Let me see; isn't there an old
proverb something about a man not boasting till he taketh off his
armour?"

"I think so, uncle, but I cannot recollect the words."

"Well, I don't want any armour, my boy, but I do want a well-found
schooner--a new one if I can get it; if not, one that will stand a
thorough examination; and I don't know that such a boat's to be got just
now it's wanted.  There are plenty of ramshackle old things lying about
here, but I want everything spick-and-span ready for the extra fitting
out I shall give her.  Copper-fastened, quick-sailing, roomy, and with
good cabin accommodation so that we can have a big workshop for the men
who help us, and a sort of study and museum for ourselves.  Now, Pickle,
where shall we have to go to find such a craft?  Portsmouth--London?
What about Southampton?"

"Southampton.  Yes.  Some fine yacht, uncle."

"No, boy.  She'd be all mast and sails.  Do well for a coaster, but I
want an ocean-going craft, one that will bear some knocking about.  A
cargo boat whose hold one could partition off for stores.  Now then?"

There was silence for about a minute, and then Uncle Paul spoke again.

"There, out with it, boy, at once.  Don't waste time.  Say you don't
know."

"But I think I do know, uncle," cried the boy.

"Eh?  What?  Where?  Tchah!  Not you!"

"But what about one of those boats the French prisoners escaped in?"
cried Rodd eagerly.

"Eh?  What?  One of those trim orange boats that go on the Mediterranean
Trade, that they build at Salcombe?"

"Yes, uncle.  Don't you remember that one we were looking at a few
months ago, that came in here after the storm, to get a new jibboom?"

"Why, of course I do, Pickle!" cried Uncle Paul eagerly.  "Think of
that, now!  Why, I might have been fumbling about with a hammer for
months and not found what I wanted, and here are you, you impudent young
rascal, proving that you are not quite so stupid as I thought, for you
hit the right nail on the head at once."



CHAPTER NINE.

CAPTAIN CHUBB.

The next day was spent in Plymouth, and letting the idea of a visit to
Salcombe rest in abeyance for a time, Uncle Paul called on different
shipping agents, made inquiries in the docks, looked over two or three
small vessels that he was assured would be exactly the thing he wanted,
and which could be handed over to him at once if decided on; and at
last, utterly wearied out, he returned home with Rodd very much
impressed by the feeling that it was much easier to say what he
required, than to get his wants supplied.

He was a little better after they had had a good hearty tea meal, but
there was a great deal of truth in Rodd's mental remark that Uncle Paul
was as cross as two sticks.  Rodd quite started, feeling as he did that
he must have spoken aloud, and Uncle Paul have heard his words, for the
doctor turned upon him sharply, stared him full in the face, and
exclaimed--

"Now, look here, sir; didn't I explain to each of those agents exactly
the sort of vessel I wanted before they gave me their orders to go and
view the craft where they lay in dock or on the mud?"

"Yes, uncle, you told them exactly," replied Rodd.

"Do I look like an idiot, Rodd?"

"No, uncle.  What a question!"

"Then how dare the scoundrels deal with me as if I didn't know what I
was about!  I said a schooner as plain as I could speak."

"You did, uncle."

"And one sent me to see that ramshackle old brig that looked as if it
might have been a tender out of the Armada, and the two others sent me
to see a barque that would want twice as big a crew as I should take,
and the other to look over that abominable old billy-boy that you
couldn't tell bow from stern, which so sure as she bumps upon a sandbank
would melt away like butter.  Thinking of nothing else but making a bit
of commission, ready to sell one anything; but I am not going to be
tricked like that.--Yes, what do you want?  What is it?"

For the neat handmaid who attended on the doctor's wants had tapped at
the door, and receiving no answer from her master, whose voice she could
hear declaiming loudly, opened the door and walked in, with--

"Somebody wants to see you, sir, if you please."

"Then tell somebody I don't please," said the doctor shortly.

"Yes, sir," said the maid, going.

"No, stop!  I don't want to be rude, even if people have put me out.
What does Mrs Somebody want?"

"Please, sir, it isn't a Mrs, it's a Mister," said the girl.

"Go and see him, Rodd," said the doctor shortly.  "I expect it's
somebody wants subscriptions, and I haven't got any."

"Please, sir," interposed the maid, "the--er--gent--person--said he'd
heard say that you wanted a captain."

Uncle Paul grunted, frowned, and then in a surly tone exclaimed--

"Well, there, show him in."

The next minute the maid re-opened the door, showing in a heavy,
sun-tanned, middle-aged man, who thrust the cap he carried into the
yawning pocket of a dark blue pea-jacket, stared hard at the doctor,
glanced at Rodd, and then turning sharply on his heels he stood with his
back to the latter, stiff, squared, and sturdy, looking as the boy
thought like a hop-sack set on end, and stared at the maid where she
stopped, literally fixing her with his eyes for a few moments, before,
quite startled at the fierceness of his gaze, she darted out, closing
the door loudly.

"Business.  Private!" literally growled the visitor.

"Well, what is it?" said the doctor shortly.

"'Eard you wanted a skipper, and come up."

"Well," said Uncle Paul, looking very hard at his unprepossessing
visitor, while Rodd felt as if he wanted to laugh, but held the desire
in check, "I may want one by and by, and a crew too; but I must have a
ship first."

"What sort?"

"Well, you are pretty blunt," said the doctor.

"Yes," said the visitor, with a nod; and he waited, but turned his eyes
from the doctor and looked very hard at the nearest chair.

"Ah, yes," said the doctor.  "Sit down, Captain--Captain--"

The doctor waited for an answer, but the only answer made was by a
movement, his visitor taking two steps towards the chair, and plumping
down so heavily that the brass casters creaked.

The doctor glanced at his nephew, and then at the stranger, who seemed
to be frowning at him with all his might.

"Er--what did you say your name was, captain?"

"Didn't say," said the visitor huskily.  "Wanter know?"

"Well--yes," said the doctor.  "I don't see how we are to transact
business without."

"Chubb, Jonathan."

"Well, Captain Chubb?"

"Plymouth."

"Oh, I see; Captain Chubb, of Plymouth," continued the doctor.

"Right.  Go on."

"Well, I gave you to understand that I wanted a ship before I engaged a
captain."

"Skipper; not R.N."

"I see; but I wished to be polite," said the doctor.

"Skipper," grunted the man.

"Where have you sailed?" asked the doctor.

"Everywhere."

"Ah!  Then you have had plenty of experience."

The visitor nodded, and the doctor was going to speak again, but the
visitor interposed with a sidewise nod in the direction of Rodd, and
said--

"Your boy?"

"Well, yes, in a way," replied the doctor.

The captain grunted.

"Boys always are," he said, and Rodd turned upon him angrily.

"I said in _a_ way, not in _the_ way," muttered the doctor.

"'Most the same," growled the captain.  "A boy, the boy, means boy.
What sort of a ship?  First, where do you want to go?"

"I don't quite know myself," replied the doctor, "so we will say as you
did, everywhere."

"Right," said the captain.  "What for?"

"Why do you ask?" replied the doctor, rather tartly.

"Had four offers.  Wouldn't take them."

"Why?" asked the doctor.

"Smuggling contraband."

"Oh, I see," said the doctor quickly.  "Well, it's nothing of that
sort."

"When do you sail?"

"As soon as I can get a ship."

"Plenty lying about waiting for cargo.  Take your choice."

"That seems to be easier said than done, captain, for I am hard to
please."

"So'm I," said the visitor, staring hard at Rodd, beginning with the
crown of his head and then looking him slowly down where he sat till he
reached the carpet by Rodd's right foot, and then making his eyes cross
over, he began at the toe of the boy's left foot and slowly looked him
up to where he had started at the top of the boy's forehead, where a
tickling sensation had commenced, consequent upon the starting out of a
faint dew of perspiration.

"I'm glad to hear it," said the doctor, "for I want a well-found craft,
new or nearly so, built of the best materials."

"Good; ought to be.  What sort?"

"Well, I should like a large schooner, fast and with plenty of room
below."

"Cargo?" grunted the captain.

"No.  Provisions, etcetera," said the doctor, who was beginning to feel
annoyed.

"Ho!" came in a grunt, and then after a keen look at Rodd's uncle, he
uttered the one word, "Weepens?"

"Weepens?" said the doctor.

"Yes.  Long Tom and small-arms."

"Oh, arms.  Yes, I should certainly have one of those big swivel guns
amidships, and a couple of smaller ones, as well as muskets, cutlasses
and boarding pikes."

So far the captain's features seemed as if they had been carved out of
solid mahogany, but now they began to relax; his lips parted, and he
showed a small even set of beautifully white teeth, while his eyes
looked brighter to Rodd and seemed to twinkle; but he remained silent.

"Well," said the doctor, "what are you laughing at?"

He checked the word which had nearly escaped his lips, because he
thought it would be rude, and he did not say grinning.

"Cat," said the man solemnly, and to Rodd's great discomposure he turned
to him and winked.

"Cat?" said the doctor sharply.

"Ay, ay!  Out of the bag."

"I don't understand you," said the doctor warmly.

"Won't do for me, master.  Not in my way."

"Well," said the doctor, "I am afraid I must say you are not in my way."

"Poor beggars!"

"Well, really, my good man," began the doctor, "I am a bit of a student,
and take a good deal of interest in natural history.  Cats may be poor
beggars, but that is no business of mine."

"Yes, if you are going to sail.  Think of your crew."

"I am thinking of my crew, and I want to engage one," said the doctor.

"Men hate black cats.  Unlucky."

"I have heard of that superstition before, Captain Chubb," said the
doctor, "but that seems to be quite outside our business now.  As a
captain--or skipper--I should have thought you would have been above
such childish notions."

"Am," said the man.  "T'other won't do for me.  I've seen it all.  Won't
get a skipper from this port."

"Why?" said the doctor indignantly.  "I am ready to give an experienced
captain good payment."

"Want commission."

"Oh, nonsense!  I couldn't pay on commission."

"Nowt to me.  That's what a skipper would want.  Ought to be ashamed of
yourself."

"Well, of all--" began the doctor; but the skipper did not let him
finish.

"Too bad," he said, growling; "and to take a boy like that!"

"My good fellow," said the doctor, "if I choose to take my nephew with
me upon a natural history expedition--"

"Natural history expedition!  Catching blackbirds!  Oh, I say!"

He shook his head slowly at the doctor, whose face grew so red with
wrath as he turned towards Rodd, and looked so comical, that the boy
could not contain himself, but bent his face down into his hands and
burst into a roar of laughter.

"You are a nice 'un," grunted the captain, shaking his head now at Rodd.
"You'll grow into a beauty!"

It was the boy's turn to look angry now, and he glanced from the captain
to his uncle and back.

"Look here, youngster," cried the captain; "Guinea Coast, eh?"

"Possibly," said the doctor.

"Bight of Benin?"

"Maybe," said the doctor, the short speech seeming contagious.

"Ketch the fever?"

"Probably," said the doctor.

"Both on yer."

"Well, sir, I shall risk that," continued the doctor.

"Both on yer off your heads, seeing niggers.  Rattling their chains."

"Are you mad, man?" cried the doctor.  "Yes."

"I thought so."

"Makes me.  Call yourself a Christian!  Give it up, and do something
honest."

"Well, of all--" cried the doctor again.

"Good five guineas better than five hundred got by buying and selling
your fellow-creatures," continued the captain, who was growing quite
fluent.  "Go to Bristol with you!  Won't do for me."

"Mr--I mean, Captain Chubb," began the doctor, "allow me to tell you
that you have done nothing but insult me ever since you have been here."

"Honesty," grunted the captain.

"Honesty is no excuse for rudeness, sir.  Now have the goodness to go."

"Going," said the captain, rising.  "But you are a bad man.  To take
that boy with you too!  Shame!"

"Will you have the goodness to tell me what you mean, sir?"

"No good to bully, sir.  I know.  Off on the slave trade."

"What!" cried the doctor.

"But look out.  King's cruiser will nab you.  Sarve you right."

He moved stiffly, and took two steps towards the door, but stopped and
turned sharply upon Rodd, clapped his big hairy hand on the boy's
shoulder, and gripped it fast.  "He's a bad 'un, boy.  Don't go."  Rodd
glanced at his uncle, who was staring with bewilderment, while he, who
during the last few minutes had seen clearly what their visitor meant,
burst into another roar of laughter and gripped the skipper by the
jacket, as he turned to the doctor.

"No, no," he stuttered.  "No, no; don't go, captain!  Uncle Paul, can't
you see?  He thinks you are going to the West Coast to buy slaves!"

"Well!" cried Uncle Paul, his voice sounding like ten ejaculations
squeezed into one--"Well!"



CHAPTER TEN.

AT CROSS PURPOSES.

Captain Chubb stood looking back at Uncle Paul, then at Rodd, then back
at Uncle Paul.

After that he gave a slow, puzzled scratch at his shaggy head as if hard
at work trying to make out a mystery, before turning once more to Rodd.

"I say, youngster," he cried, "you don't mean that, do you?--Warn't I
right?"

"Right?  No!" cried Rodd, laughing more heartily than ever.  "The idea
of Uncle Paul going out with a slaver!"

"Did you mean that, Captain Chubb?" said Uncle Paul, beginning
indignantly, and then softening down as he caught sight of his nephew's
mirthful face.

"Allus says what I mean," grunted the captain.  "Then I was all wrong?"

"Wrong, yes," said Uncle Paul.  "We were all at cross purposes."

"Ho!" ejaculated the captain, and he took off his cap that he had put on
with a fierce cock, turned it over two or three times in his hands, and
then looking into it read over the maker's name to himself, as if fully
expecting that that would help him out of his difficulty.

"Say, squire," he said; "I didn't mean to be so rude."

"No, no, of course not," cried Uncle Paul.  "There, there; sit down
again.  It was all a mistake.  Perhaps we shall understand one another
better now."

"Well, I don't know," grunted the skipper.  "Better go perhaps."

"No, no, man; I'm not offended.  You thought I was a blackguardly
ruffian who wanted to trap you into commanding a slaving craft for me,
so that I could engage in that horrible trade of baying and selling my
fellow-creatures; and you spoke out like a man.  Here, shake hands,
Captain Chubb.  I honour you for your outspoken manly honesty."

"Mean it?" grunted the skipper, hesitating.

"Mean it, yes," said Uncle Paul, "and I hope this will be the beginning
of our becoming great friends."

"Humph!" grunted the captain, and extending his heavy hand he gave Uncle
Paul a shake with no nonsense about it, for though Rodd's uncle did not
wince, he told the boy afterwards that it was the most solid shake he
had ever had in his life.

Rodd fully endorsed it, as he knew directly after exactly what the
skipper's salute meant, for Captain Chubb, after releasing the uncle's
hand, extended what Rodd afterwards said was a paw, to the lad himself.

"Well, now then, Captain Chubb."

"Very sorry, sir, I'm sure.  Thought I saw broken water and a shoal.
Hadn't I better go?"

"No, no, captain," cried Uncle Paul.  "I am beginning to think you are
just the man I want."

"Ho!" said the skipper.  "Mebbe.  Let's see."

"Well," continued Uncle Paul, "I want a vessel, a schooner.  Do you know
of a likely one that could be purchased and made ready at once for a
trip down the West Coast?"

Captain Chubb looked hard at the speaker, then at Rodd, with the effect
of making the boy feel as if he must laugh, for there was something so
thoroughly comical in the stolid face, that nothing but the dread of
hurting the visitor's feelings kept him from bursting into a roar,
especially as, after fixing him with his eyes, the skipper seemed to be
taking careful observations, looking up at the ceiling as if in search
of clouds, at the carpet for sunken rocks, and then, so to speak,
sweeping the offing by slowly gazing at the four walls in turn.

"Schooner," he said at last gruffly.

"Yes," said Uncle Paul; "a smart, fast-sailing schooner."

"Well-found," grunted the skipper.

"Of course, and with a good crew."

"_And_ a good crew," growled the skipper.

"Yes.  Can you show me where I can get such an one?"

"No.  Look-out."

He picked up and put on his cap again, took it off, and looked in the
lining, and then gave his right leg a smart slap.

"Dunno as I don't," he roared.  "What do you say to a horange boat?"

"Orange boat?" cried Rodd.  "Why, uncle's been thinking of one of
those!"

"Well, why not?" said the captain; "a Saltcomber?"

"Yes," cried Rodd.

"Well-built, fast, plenty of room below for cargo or what not, plenty of
provisions and water, but no guns."

"That's just the sort of vessel I want," cried Uncle Paul.  "Do you
think one's to be had over there?"

"Sure on it.  See one last week as they was just getting up her standing
rigging."

"What, a new one?" cried Rodd.

"Ay.  Fresh launched, and being made ready for sea."

"Capital!" cried Uncle Pad.  "Who does she belong to?"

"Ship-builder as yet."

"And what would be her price?"

"Dunno.  All depends," grunted the captain.  "Most likely as much as the
builder could get; but if a man went with the money in his pocket, or
say in the bank, ready to pay down on the nail, he could get a smart
craft that would do him justice at a fair working price.  What do you
say to coming over and having a look at her?"

"Yes.  How are we to get there?  By coach?"

"Tchah!" ejaculated the skipper.  "Who's going in a coach when he can be
run over in one of our luggers?  You say the word, and I have got a
friend with a little fore-and-after as only wants him and a hand and
mebbe me to give a pull at a sheet.  He'd run you over in no time."

"By all means, then, let's go," said Uncle Paul, to Rodd's great
satisfaction.

"Well, yes," growled the skipper.  "But who's a-going with you?"

"My nephew," said Uncle Paul.

"Ah, yes; and I suppose he's a good judge of such a craft, and could
vally her from keel to truck.  Don't seem a bad sort of boy, but he
won't do.  Nay, squire, you want somebody as you can trust.  A'n't you
got an old friend, ship-owner or ship's husband--man who's got his head
screwed on the right way, one you knows as honest and won't take a
hundred pounds from t'other side to sell the ship for them?"

"Well, no; I'm afraid I don't know such a man," said Uncle Paul.

"Have to find one," grunted the skipper.  "Won't do to buy a ship with
your eyes shut.  Got yourself to think of as well as your money.  You
don't want to engage a skipper and a crew of good men and true, and
drownd them all at sea."

"Well, no," said Uncle Paul dryly; "our ambitions don't lie in that
direction, do they, Rodd?"

"No, uncle, but no man would be such a wretch as to sell you a ship that
wasn't safe."

"Not unless he got the chanst," said the skipper, frowning.  "I know
some on them, and what they have done, and I don't want to command a
craft like that.  Been at sea too long."

"Well, then," said Uncle Paul, "you must have had great experience, and
could judge whether a schooner's good or not."

"Dessay I could," said the skipper, "but I aren't perfect."

"But you ought to be a good judge," said Uncle Paul.

"Mebbe, but I wouldn't go by my own opinion if it was my trade instead
of yourn."

"But look here," cried Uncle Paul, "I should like you to see the vessel
and act for me."

"Tchah!  Not likely, squire.  What do you know about me?"

"Well, not much, certainly," said Uncle Paul, "and I should want a
character with you as to your being a good seaman."

"Of course; and if you didn't like me, and I warn't up to my work, why,
you could get rid of me.  But that's a very different thing to buying a
ship."

"Yes," said Uncle Paul, "but what about the ship-builder?  Is he an
honest man?"

"Oh yes, I think so."

"Couldn't he give good references?"

"Well, yes.  Old established; built a lot of craft.  Dessay he'd find a
few to say a word for him."

"And I suppose I could have the opinion of some well-known ship valuer?"

"Yes," grunted the skipper, "but he's only in trade.  You want to know
what some old sailor says."

"Such as you," cried Rodd.

The skipper looked at the boy and smiled.

"Well, mebbe," he said, "but I don't want the job."

"Well, we'll talk about that another time," said Uncle Paul.  "What I
want is for you to help me by going over with us to have a look at the
schooner."

"Ah!" said the skipper.

"And you may as well give me a reference or two to somebody who knows
your abilities--somebody well-known in Plymouth, a ship-owner, somebody
for whom you have sailed.  Will you do this?"

"Ay," said the skipper.

"Well, whose name will you give me?  To whom shall I apply?"

"Anybody.  Everybody in Plymouth."

"That's rather wide," said Uncle Paul.

"Wider the better," said the skipper.  "You ask the lot what they thinks
of Captain Chubb."

As he spoke the skipper rose and put on his cap, but took it off again
quickly.

"Time to-morrow will you be ready to start?" he said.

"At your time," said Uncle Paul promptly.

"Say nine?" asked the captain.

"Certainly; nine o'clock to-morrow morning," replied Uncle Paul.

"Good.  I will be off the landing-place at the Barbican with a boat.
Night, sir.  Night, youngster.  Natural history expedition, eh?  And I
thought you was going blackbirding!  Haw, haw, haw!"

This last was intended for a derisive laugh at himself, but it sounded
like three grunts, each louder than the last.

The next minute the skipper was outside, and his steps were heard
growing distant upon the gravel path.

"Well, what do you think of our captain, eh, Rodd?"

"I think he's a rum 'un, uncle; but he isn't our captain yet."

"No, my boy, but if I have my way he will be, and if I hear that he's a
skilful navigator, for I want no further recommendation.  The way in
which he, an old experienced hand, one who would be able to see at a
glance how thoroughly I should be at his mercy if he were a trickster
whose aim was to make as much money out of the transaction as he could,
proved that he was as honest as the day and ready to lay himself open to
every examination, that alone without his display of honest indignation
when he suspected me of being about to engage in that abominable
traffic--there, I want no more.  As these sea-going people say, Pickle,
Captain Chubb is going to hoist his flag on board my schooner, for as
far as I can judge at present he seems to be the man in whom we shall be
able to trust."



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THROUGH THE STORM.

"It's enough to make a man say he'll throw up the whole affair," cried
Uncle Paul, running his fingers in amongst his grizzly hair and giving
it a savage tug.

"Uncle!  Why, what's the matter now?"

"Yes, you may well say what's the matter now!  Everything's the matter.
The worry's almost maddening."

"What, is there anything fresh, uncle?"

"There, don't you take any notice, boy.  I get regularly out of heart.
There's always something wrong.  It's as if we were never to be off.
All these weary, weary months gone slowly dragging on."

"Why, uncle, they seem to me to go like lightning," cried Rodd.

"Oh, yes, of course.  You are a boy, with plenty of time before you.  I
am getting an old man, and with little time to spare to do all the work
I want to.  I seem to get not a bit farther."

"Why, you do, uncle.  It's astonishing what a lot we have done.  Let's
see; it's just fifteen months since you bought the schooner."

"Fifteen, boy?  You mean fifty."

"Fifteen, uncle; and she was nothing like finished then."

"No, and as soon as the men knew that she was sold, I believe they made
up their minds to spin the job out as long as they could."

"Oh, but, uncle, they did it all very beautifully; and see what a lot of
alterations you had made."

"Had made, indeed!  Wasn't I led on into having them done by that old
scoundrel Chubb?"

"No, uncle.  He always consulted with you first, and advised this and
that so as to make the vessel better."

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.

"Then see what a lot you had done, fitting up the work-room, and the
bottles and tanks, and getting in the dredging apparatus.  It does seem
a long time to you, but see what a lot there was to do.  You know you
were never satisfied."

"I was, sir!  Don't you get accusing me of such things, Rodney.  You
grow more impertinent every day.  Now put a regular check upon yourself,
sir.  If you are like this as a boy I don't know what you are going to
be when you grow to be a man."

"Well, uncle, I won't say another word about it."

"Ah!  No sulking, sir!  I command you to go on speaking at once."

"Very well, uncle; but you did say that you would have everything of the
best, and that nothing should be left undone, to hinder the expedition
from being successful."

"Did I say so, Rodd?"

"Why, yes, uncle, over and over again."

"Well, well, I did mean it.  But I am getting quite out of heart.  Every
day it seems as if there is something fresh to throw us back.  Now it's
stores; now it's something else wants painting; now one of the crew
wants a holiday, just at a time too when things are so nearly ready that
I might want to start at any moment."

"Well, I shall be glad when we do get off now, uncle," said the boy
thoughtfully.

"Then you had better give up thinking about it, boy.  It looks to me
like another six months before we can be ready."

"Oh no, uncle!  Captain Chubb said to me yesterday that if I wanted to
get anything else to take with me I must get it at once."

"Then don't you believe him, Rodd.  He's a dilatory old impostor.  I
don't believe he means for me to go at all.  By the way, did you have
the men up and give them that big medicine chest?"

"Yes, uncle; the day before yesterday."

"Oh, and were those little casks of spirits got into the store-room?"

"Yes, uncle.  I saw the men get them on board myself."

"That's right.  But look here, Pickle; were you with them all the time?"

"Yes, uncle.  You told me to be, before you went up to London."

"That's right, Rodd.  But--er--did you--did you hear the men make any
remark about them?"

"No, uncle; but I saw them smell the bung-holes and look at one another
and laugh."

"Humph!" said the doctor, smiling.  "By the way, I think I'll go on
board now and have a look round.  There are several things I want to see
to, those casks and kegs among the rest."

"They were all put just as you gave orders, uncle."

"Yes; but I want to test the spirits all the same.  Here, we may as well
go on board at once."

"Very well," cried the boy eagerly.  "Is there any little thing we can
take with us?"

"No, my boy.  As far as I am concerned, I think I can say everything is
ready."

It was not long before the doctor and his nephew were down at the
landing-place and being rowed across the harbour to where a beautifully
trim full-sized schooner lay moored to one of the great buoys; and on
coming alongside they were hailed by Captain Chubb, whose face seemed to
shine with animation as he helped his chief on board.

"Morning, sir!" he cried.  "I was just wishing that you would come on
board."

"Bah!" exclaimed Uncle Paul.  "What wants doing now?"

"Nothing.  Not as I know of."

"Oh, are you sure?" said Uncle Paul sarcastically, "Sartin, unless you
have got some more bottles or cranky tackle to be stowed away, sir."

"Oh, indeed," said Uncle Paul shortly.  "You don't mean to say you have
done at last?"

"Me, sir?  Why, I was ready six months ago, only you had always got some
new scheme you wanted fitted in."

"Ah, well, never mind about that now," cried Uncle Paul.  "Then we may
set sail any day?"

"'Cept Friday, sir.  The men wouldn't like that.  To-night if you like."

"Ah, well, we won't go to-night," said the doctor.

"Only give your orders, sir," said the captain shortly.  "Like to take a
look round now?  Fresh provisions are all on board."

"Oh no," said Uncle Paul, "I know it all by heart."

"Looks a beauty now, don't she, sir?"

"Oh yes, she looks very well.  Here, Rodd, come down with me into the
work-room."

The doctor strode off aft at once, the captain following slowly with the
boy; and as their chief descended the cabin stairs Captain Chubb cocked
his eye at his young companion.

"Bit rusty this morning," he whispered.

"Yes; uncle's getting out of patience," whispered back Rodd.

"No wonder," said the captain.  "Well, 'tarn't my fault.  I never see
such a doctor's shop and museum as he's made of the craft."

"Now, Rodney!" came from below sharply.

"Coming, uncle!" cried the boy, snatching at the brass rail, which, like
every bit of metal about the beautiful vessel, shone as brightly as if
it were part of a yacht.

The doctor was standing at the foot of the stairs with his hand upon a
door, which he had just unlocked, and he led the way into a well-lit
portion of the vessel which had originally been intended for the stowage
of cargo, but which was now fitted up with an endless number of
arrangements such as had been deemed necessary for the carrying out of
the expedition.

One portion was like a chemical laboratory.  Upon dresser-like tables
fitted against the bulkhead were rows of railed-in bottles and jars, and
beneath them new bright microscopes and other apparatus such as would
gladden the heart of a naturalist.  But the doctor gave merely a cursory
glance at these various objects, with whose arrangement he had long been
familiar, and made his way to where, set up on end upon a stout bench,
were about a dozen specially made spirit casks, each fitted with its tap
and a little receptacle hung beneath to catch any drops that might leak
away.

"Here, I want to test these," said the doctor; "and, by the way, ask
Captain Chubb to step down."

There was no need, for almost at the same moment the captain's heavy
step was heard upon the metal-covered cabin stairs.

"Anything I can do, sir?" he asked, in his gruff way.

"Yes, look here, captain," said the doctor, and he took a bright glass
measure from where it hung by its foot in a little rack, safe from
falling by the rolling of the vessel; "I was just going to test these
spirits, and I thought I should like you to be here."

"Hah!" said the captain.  "I've thought a deal about all them little
barrels put so handy there, ready on tap, and it's the only thing I
don't like, Dr Robson."

"Why?" said Uncle Paul shortly.

"Why, it's just like this, sir.  I have picked you out as sober a crew
as ever went on a voyage, but sailors are sailors, sir, and I don't
think it's right to be throwing temptation in their way."

"But this, my workshop, where I bottle my specimens, will always be kept
under lock and key."

"Nay!" snorted the captain.

"But I tell you it will," cried Uncle Paul.  "Nobody will have any
business here but my nephew and me."

"That's what you mean," said the captain, "but how about times when you
are busy, or forget and leave it open?  Can't warrant always to keep it
shut."

"Well," said Uncle Paul, with a curious smile, "I have thought of that,"
and going to one of the little casks he turned the tap and let about a
couple of tablespoonfuls of liquid that looked like filtered water flow
into the little glass measure, covering the bottom to about an inch in
depth.  "There," said the doctor, holding up the glass to the light;
"just taste that, captain."

"Nay.  I don't mind a drop of good rum at the proper season, but I don't
care about spirits like that."

"I only want you to taste it," said the doctor.  "It's too strong to
drink."

"I know," said the captain.  "Burns like fire."

"Just taste, but don't swallow it."

"Nay--Well, I'll do that.  But it looks like physic."

The speaker just dipped his fore-finger into the liquid, and touched his
lips, to cry angrily--

"Why, it's pison!"

"No," said the doctor; "proof alcohol for preserving my specimens.  If
by accident any of the men taste that they won't want any more, will
they?"

"Don't know," said the captain.  "Maybe they'd water it down."

"Fill that measure with water, Rodd," said the doctor.

The boy took the glass to a big stone filter covered with basketwork,
and filled the measure to the brim.

"Now try it, captain," said the doctor.

This time with a scowl of dislike, the captain raised the glass to his
lips, but set it down again quickly and hurried to a little leaden sink
in one corner of the laboratory.

"Worse than ever, doctor."

"Well, do you think the men will water that down?"

"Not they!  One taste will be quite enough."

"You don't think I need label those casks `Temptation,' do you?"

"Nay, sir.  If you want to be honest to the lads, I should put `Pison'
upon them in big letters."

"I would," said the doctor dryly, "but, as you say, sailors are sailors,
and I don't think they'd believe it if I did."

"What have you put in it, sir?"

"Ah! that's my secret, Captain Chubb."

"Well, I hope none of the lads will touch it; but it's sperrits, you
know.  Won't answer for it that if one of them was helping you to bottle
up some of them things as we shall fish up when we gets into the
Tropics, he wouldn't be trying a sip."

"I shouldn't be surprised either," said the doctor, "but if he did he
wouldn't do it again."

The skipper looked at him sharply.

"Don't mean that, do you, sir?" he cried.

"Indeed, but I do," replied the doctor.

"Going too far," growled the skipper.  "Look here, doctor; I've fell
into all your ways like a man, and have helped to drill the chaps into
handling your tackle, which is outside an able seaman's dooties; but I
don't like this 'ere a bit."

"I can't help that," said the doctor, bristling up.  "I shall of course
tell them that they must not touch this stuff, of which no doubt I shall
use a great deal, and it will be in direct opposition to my orders if
they give way to the temptation."

"Right enough," said the skipper, "but seamen's weak--like babies in
some things--and a good skipper has to be like a father to them, to keep
them out of mischief.  Don't know no better, doctor.  You do, and it's
too strong, sir; it's too strong."

"Then let them leave it alone," said the doctor hotly.

"That's right, sir, but maybe they won't.  Don't mean to say that I am
stupid over them, but when I get a good crew I like to take care of
them.  Here, I'm getting out of breath.  Can't make long speeches.  Cut
it short."

"Then say no more about it," said the doctor.

"Nay, it won't do.  Taking out a good crew of smart lads.  Want to bring
them all back, not leave none of them sewed up in their hammocks and
sunk in the sea with a shot at their heels.  Look here, sir; how many of
them there kegs have you doctored?"

"All of them.  Why, my good fellow, you don't think I have put poison
in, do you?"

"Said you had."

"Pooh!  Nonsense!  My boy Rodd and I tried experiments to see how nasty
we could make the spirits without being dangerous.  There's nothing
there that would hurt a man; only you mustn't tell them so."

"Oh-h-h!  That's another pair of shoes, as the Frenchies say;" and the
skipper went up on deck.

"Thick-head!" growled the doctor.  "Did he fancy I was going to kill a
man for meddling?  Bah!"

"He did, uncle.  He doesn't know you yet."

"Well, I suppose not, my boy, but I am beginning to think that we are
getting to know the crew pretty well by heart.  Well, all we want now is
a favourable wind, then we will hoist our sailing flag; and then--off."

"For how long, uncle?"

"Ah, that's more than I can say, Rodd, my boy.  We'll see what luck we
have, and how the stores last out.  We'll get started, and leave the
rest."

Two days later the start had been made, with everything as ready as the
combined efforts of the doctor's and Captain Chubb's experience could
contrive, and with his face all smiles Dr Robson stood beside Rodd,
watching the receding shore as they, to use the skipper's words, bowled
down Channel.

"Good luck to us, Pickle, my boy!" cried the doctor.  "It's been a long
weary time of preparation, but it has been worth it.  We have got a
splendid captain--a man in whom I can thoroughly trust, and a crew of as
smart, handy, useful fellows as I could have wished for."

"Yes, uncle; and haven't they taken to all the arrangements about the
tackle!"

"Yes, Pickle.  They have all proved themselves not only eager and
active, but as much interested as so many boys.  Splendid fellows; and
old Chubb knows how to handle them too.  Fetch my glass up, Pickle.
Let's have a look at the old country as long as we can."

Rodd darted off to the cabin hatch, but he staggered once or twice, for
the schooner as she rose and fell kept on careening a little over to
leeward, and in passing one of the sailors--a fine bluff-looking young
fellow--the man smiled.

"Here, what are you grinning at, Joe Cross?" cried Rodd, who, after many
months of intercourse with the crew, was fully acquainted with all, and
knew a good many of their peculiarities.

"Oh, not at you, Mr Harding, sir.  It was a little bit of a snigger at
your boots."

"What!" cried Rodd.

"Just a little guffaw, sir.  You see, the deck's as white as a holystone
will make it, and your boots is black, and black and white never did
agree.  It's beginning to get a bit fresh, sir, and if I was you I'd
striddle a bit, so as to take a bit better hold of the deck with your
footsies.  I shouldn't like to see you come down hard."

"Oh, I shan't come down," said Rodd confidently; but as he was speaking
the schooner gave a sudden pitch which sent the boy into the sailor's
arms.

"Avast there!" cried the man.  "Steady, sir!--Steady it is!  There, let
me stand you up again on your pins.  You mustn't do that, or you'll have
the lads thinking you're a himmidge, or a statty, a-tumbling off your
shelf."

"Thank you.  I am all right now," said Rodd.  "My boots are quite new,
and the soles are slippery."

"I see, sir, but it wasn't all that.  You see, our Sally's been tied up
by the nose for so many months in harbour yonder, that now she's running
free she can't hold herself in.  Ketch hold of the rail, sir.  That's
your sort!  There she goes again, larking like a young kitten."

"I didn't know she'd dance about like this on a fine day," said Rodd
rather breathlessly.

"Bless your heart, sir, this arn't nothing to what she can do.  See how
she's skipping along now.  Aren't it lovely?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," said Rodd; "but if it's like this in fine
weather, what's it going to be in a storm?"

"Why, ever so much livelier, sir.  She'll dance over the waves like a
cork.  She's a beauty, that's what she is.  Mustn't mind her being a bit
saucy.  There's nothing that floats like a Salcombe schooner, and I
never heard of one as sank yet."

"Yes, uncle; back directly!" cried the boy; and he made his way onward
to the cabin stairs without mishap, and re-appeared directly afterwards
with the doctor's big telescope under his arm, to make his way as well
as he could to where Uncle Paul was standing forward at the side with
his left arm round one of the stays.

"Walk straight, boy--walk straight!" cried the doctor, laughing.  "What
made you zigzag about like that?"

"Didn't want to come down on the deck and break the glass, uncle," said
Rodd rather sulkily.  "The schooner oughtn't to dance about like this,
ought she?"

"Oh, yes.  It's no more than the lugger used to do when we have been out
fishing."

"Oh, yes, uncle; and she's so much bigger too.  Besides, we were sitting
down then, and here one has to stand."

"You can sit down if you like," said Uncle Paul.

"What, and have the sailors laugh at me?  That I won't!  I want to get
used to it as soon as I can."

"Then go and get used to it," said Uncle Paul.  "You can't do better.  I
should like to do the same, but a man can't hop about at fifty, or more,
like a boy at fifteen."

"Why, uncle, I am nearly eighteen."

"Then go and behave like it, boy.  Look at the sailors.  They keep their
feet well enough, without seeming as if they are going to rush
overboard."

"Oh, I shall soon get used to it, uncle," cried Rodd.

But instead of improving that day his progress about the deck was
decidedly retrograde, for as the time went on and the Channel opened
out, the wind from the north-west grew fresher and fresher, and the
captain from time to time kept the men busy taking in a reef here and a
reef there.

Topgallant sails came down; flying jib was hauled in; and towards
evening, as she span along as fast or faster than ever, not above half
the amount of canvas was spread that she had skimmed under earlier in
the day.

Every now and then too there was a loud smack against the bows, and a
shower of spray made the deck glisten for a few minutes; but it rapidly
dried up again, and as the schooner careened over and dashed along, Rodd
stood aft, looking back through the foam to see how the waves came
curling along after them, as if in full chase of the beautiful little
vessel and seeking to leap aboard.

The sun had gone down in a bronzy red bank of clouds, and after being
below to the cabin tea Rodd had eagerly hurried on deck again, to find
that the sea around was beginning to look wild and strange.

Whether he made for Josiah Cross, or Joe, as he was generally called,
came up to him, Rodd did not know, but as he stood with one arm over the
rail he soon found himself in conversation.

"Are we going to have a storm?" he said.

"Well, I dunno, sir, about storm.  More wind coming."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know, sir?" cried the man.  "Why, if you come to that, I don't
know.  Seem to feel it like.  I don't say as it will.  Wind's nor'-west
now, and has been all day, but I shouldn't wonder if it chopped right
round, and then--"

"There'll be a storm," said Rodd eagerly.

"Well, I don't say that, sir; but like enough there will be more wind
than we want to use, and we might have to put back."

"What, now that we have started at last?" cried Rodd.

The man nodded.

"Oh, that would be vexatious," cried Rodd, "to find ourselves back in
Plymouth again!"

"There, you wouldn't do that, my lad," said the man.  "If we did have to
put back, I should say the skipper would run for Penzance.  But there,
the wind hasn't chopped round yet, and it's just as likely to fall as it
gets dark and we will get our orders to hoist more sail."

But the sailor's first ideas proved to be right, and not only did the
wind veer round, but it increased in force and became so contrary and
shifty that during the night it began to blow a perfect hurricane, and
gave Captain Chubb a good opportunity of proving that he was no
fine-weather sailor.

It proved to be a bright night, being nearly full moon, with great
flocculent silvery and black clouds scudding at a tremendous rate across
the planet, while one minute the schooner's rigging was shadowed in
black upon the white, wet deck, at another all was gloom, with the wind
shrieking through the rigging, and the _Maid of Salcombe_ proving the
truth of the sailor's words, as she was literally dancing about; like a
cork.

"Hadn't you better come below, Rodd?" said the doctor.

"No, uncle; don't ask me.  I couldn't sleep, and I want to look at the
storm.  It's so grand."

"Grand?  Well, yes," said the doctor; "but we could have dispensed with
its grandeur, and it seems very unlucky that after all these weeks of
glorious weather it should have turned like this.  Ah, here's Captain
Chubb.  Well, captain," he continued, "where are we making for?  Mount's
Bay?"

"No.  Give it up.  Nasty rocky bit about there, so I laid her head for
Plymouth; but we shan't get in there to-night."

"Where then?" asked the doctor.  "Wouldn't it be better to run for the
open sea?"

"No," said the skipper shortly.  "This wind's come to stay, and we must
get into port for a bit.  We don't want to get into the Bay of Biscay O
with weather like this.  It's going to be a regular sou'-wester."

"What port shall we make for, then?" asked the doctor, while Rodd caught
all he could of the conversation, as the wind kept coming in gusts and
seemed to snatch the words and carry them overboard in an instant.
"Havre," grunted the captain laconically.  There was silence for some
time, for it became too hard work to talk, but in one of the intervals
between two gusts, a few words were spoken, the doctor asking the
skipper if he was satisfied with the behaviour of the schooner.

"Oh yes," He grunted; "she's right enough."

"You are not disappointed, then?"

"No.  Bit too lively.  Wants some more cargo or ballast to give her
steadiness; but she'll be all right."  All the same this was an
experience very different from anything that Rodd had had before, and it
was not without a severe buffeting that in the early dawn of the morning
Captain Chubb had succeeded in laying the little vessel's head off
Havre, so that, taking advantage of a temporary sinking of the wind, he
was able to run her safely into the French port, and this at a time when
it was a friendly harbour, the British arms having triumphed everywhere,
the French king being once more upon the throne, and he who had been
spoken of for so long as the Ogre of Elba now lying duly watched and
guarded far away to the south, within the rockbound coast of Saint
Helena.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

PRIVATE EARS.

The schooner was run safely into port, but just before she cleared the
harbour mouth, down came a tremendous squall of wind as if from round
the corner of some impossible solid cloud behind which an ambush of the
storm had been lying in wait for the brave little vessel.

Down it came all at once, just when least expected, and in a few seconds
as it struck the little vessel, rushing, in spite of the small amount of
canvas spread, rapidly for the shelter, every one on deck snatched at
the nearest object to which he could cling.  The schooner bravely
resisted for a while, careening over and then rising again, and then
down she went with her masts almost flat upon the foam, and then lying
over more and more as Rodd clung hard with one hand and involuntarily
stretched out the other to his uncle as if to say good-bye.  For he felt
certain as the water came surging over the leeward rail that the next
minute their voyage would be ended, and the _Maid of Salcombe_ be going
down.

It was one horror of breathlessness in the shrieking wind, while the
storm-driven spray cut and lashed and flogged at the crew.

"It's all over," gasped the boy, in his excitement, though somehow even
then there was no feeling of fear.

Another minute as she still dashed on, plunging through the waves, the
vessel began to right again, the masts rising more and more towards the
perpendicular, and the water that seemed to have been scooped up in the
hollows of the well-reefed sails came streaming back in showers upon the
deck.

Another minute and Rodd began to get his breath again, panting hard and
feeling as if some great hand had been grasping him by the throat and
had at last released its hold, while as the schooner now skimmed on,
every furlong taking her more into shelter, the squall had passed over
them and went sweeping along far away over the town ahead, and the boy
felt a strong grip upon his arm.

Rodd turned sharply, to face Cross the sailor, who held on to him with
his left while he used his right hand to clear his eyes from the spray.

"All right," he said, with his lips close to the boy's ear, so as to
make himself heard, while Rodd winced, for as the man leaned towards him
he poured something less than a pint of salt water from off his
tightly-tied-on oilskin sou'-wester right into his eyes.

Rodd nodded without attempting to speak, and the sailor laughed.

There was something so genial and content in the man's looks, that it
sent a thrill of satisfaction through the boy's breast, telling as it
did that they were out of danger, while, as they rapidly glided on, the
shrieking of the wind through the rigging grew less and less and the
motion of the schooner more and more steady as the harbour was gained.

"Say, my lad," said Cross, "I thought we was going to make our first
dive after specimens, and the _Saucy Sally_ seemed to be holding her
breath as she stuck her nose down into it and then jibbed and threw
herself over sideways as if she knowed there wasn't depth enough of
water for the job."

"Hah!" gasped Rodd hoarsely, for he had been taking in spray as well as
wind, and he had now nearly recovered the power of breathing easily and
well.  "Why, Joe, I thought we were sinking."

"Nay, my lad; not us!  The _Sally_ was too well battened down, and
couldn't have sunk; but I was getting a bit anxious when it looked as if
we was going to miss the harbour mouth and go floating in ashore lying
down as if we had all gone to sleep."

"Yes, it was horrible," said Rodd, with a sigh of relief.  "But what
would have happened if we had missed the mouth and gone ashore?"

"Why, what does happen, my lad, when a ship does that?  Bumps, and a
sale arterwards of new-wrecked timber on the beach.  But here we are all
right, and instead of being ashamed of ourselves we can look the
mounseers full in the face and tell 'em that if they can manage a better
bit of seamanship than the skipper, they had better go and show us how."

Joe Cross said no more, for Captain Chubb was roaring orders through a
speaking trumpet, the last bit of canvas was lowered down, and before
long the schooner was safely moored in the outer harbour as far away as
she could safely get from the vessels that had taken refuge before them,
some of them grinding together and damaging their paint and wood, in
spite of their busy crews hard at work with fenders and striving to get
into safer quarters, notwithstanding the efforts of the heavy gusts
which came bearing down from time to time.

The nearest vessel was a handsome-looking brig which they had passed as
they glided in, noting that she was moored head to wind to a heavy buoy.
As they passed her to run nearer into shelter Rodd had noticed the name
upon her stern, the _Jeanne d'Arc_, which suggested immediately the
patriotic Maid of Orleans.

He had forgotten it the next moment, the name being merged with the
thought that while the schooner had had so narrow an escape of ending
her voyage, the brig had been lying snugly moored to the buoy.  But now
as they glided on it became evident that the brig had broken adrift, for
all at once, as she lay rolling and jerking at her mooring cable, the
distance between her bows and the huge ringed cask seemed to have grown
greater, and from where Rodd stood he could see the glistening
tarpaulins of her crew as they hurried forward in a cluster, and Captain
Chubb bellowed an order from where he stood astern, to his men.

"Aren't coming aboard of us, are they?" thought Rodd, as, heard above
the wind during a comparative lull, Captain Chubb was roaring out fresh
orders to his crew; for he had fully grasped the danger, and the men
were ready to slip their cable moorings and glide farther in under bare
poles.

But fortunately this fresh disaster did not come to pass, for as the
brig bore down upon them there was a rush and splash from her bows, an
anchor went down, checking her progress a little, then a little more, as
she still came on nearer as if to come crash into the schooner's bows,
and Captain Chubb raised his speaking trumpet to his lips to bid his men
let go, prior to ordering them to stand by ready to lower their own
anchor in turn when at a safe distance, when the brig's progress
received a sudden check, her anchor held, and she was brought up short
not many yards away.

"Smart," said Captain Chubb, "for a mounseer;" and he looked at Rodd as
he spoke, before tucking his speaking trumpet under his arm and then
giving himself a shake like a huge yellow Newfoundland dog to get rid of
the superabundant moisture.  "Well, squire," he continued, as he came
close up, "what should you do next?"

Rodd looked at him as if puzzled by the question.  Then putting his
hands to his mouth he shouted back--

"I should get farther into the harbour, in case that brig broke away
again."

"Of course you would," said the captain, with a grim smile.  "Now, don't
you pretend again that you aren't a sailor, because that was spoken like
a good first mate.  But we will wait for a lull before we let go, for I
don't want to lose no tackle.  But the gale aren't over yet."

"But we are safe, captain?" said the boy.

"Yes," grunted the captain.  "Better off than them yonder," and he
pointed to a good-sized vessel which had been running for the harbour,
but in vain, for she had been carried on too far and was swept away, to
take the shore a mile distant.

The lull foretold by Captain Chubb enabled him to slip from his moorings
and get the schooner into a sheltered position which he deemed
sufficiently snug and far enough away from the brig, whose captain did
not manifest any intention of coming farther in.

As they were parting company Rodd was standing right forward close to
Cross, who stood spelling out the name of the brig they were leaving
behind.

"_Jenny de Arc_" he grunted to Rodd.  "That's a rum name for a smart
brig like that.  Wonder what she is.  I never see'd Jenny spelt like
that afore.  That's the French way of doing it, I suppose."

Rodd took upon himself to explain whose name the brig bore, and the
sailor gave vent to a musical growl.

"Shouldn't have knowed it," he said; "but as I was a-saying, I wonder
what she is.  Looks to me like what they calls a private ear."

"Why, that's a man-of-war, isn't it, Joe?"

"Well, a kind of a sort of one, you know, sir.  One of them as goes off
in war times to hark in private for any bit of news about well-laden
merchantmen, and then goes off to capture them."

"But what makes you think that, Joe?" asked Rodd.  "Why, look at her
rig, sir.  See what a heap of sail she could carry.  I don't hold with a
brig for fast-sailing, but look at the length of them two masts, and see
how she's pierced for guns.  She has shut up shop snug enough on account
of the storm, but I'll wager she could run out some bulldogs--I mean,
French poodles--as could bark if she liked.  Then there's a big long gun
amidships."

"I didn't see it," said Rodd.  "Maybe not, my lad, but I did."

"Well, but a merchantman might carry guns to defend herself, Joe."

"Ay, she might, sir; but she wouldn't, unless she was going on a job
like ours and wanted to scare off savages; and that aren't likely, for I
should say we are the only vessel afloat as is going on such a fishing
expedition as ours.  And then look at her crew."

"What about her crew?" said Rodd.  "It seemed to be a very good one so
far as I could see."

"A deal too good, sir.  Who ever saw a merchantman with such a crew as
that?  Didn't you see how smart they were in obeying orders and getting
down that anchor?"

"Why, no smarter than our crew," said Rodd rather indignantly.

"Smarter than our crew, Mr Rodd, sir!  I should think not!" cried the
sailor.  "Why, they are French!  Still it was very tidy for them.  I
should like to know, though, what they are.  I do believe I'm right, and
that she is a private ear.  Not been watching us, has she?  Seems rather
queer."

"Why should she be watching us?"

"Why should a private ear be watching any smart schooner, except to make
a prize of her?"

"Oh, but that's in time of war," cried Rodd.  "Ay, sir, but your private
ears aren't very particular about that.  This is near enough to war time
still, and if I was our skipper I should keep a good sharp eye on that
craft.  But he knows pretty well what he's about.  His head is screwed
on the right way.  But I say, Mr Rodd, how should you like a bit of the
real thing, same as we used to have when I was in a King's ship?"

"What, a naval action?"

"Oh, you may call it that, sir, if you like.  I mean a bit of real
French and English, and see which is best man."

"Oh, nonsense!  That's all over now, Joe."

"I don't know so much about that, sir."

"But we are in a friendly port, Joe, and no French ship would dare
attack one of ours."

"No, sir, I know they daren't do it," said the man stubbornly; "but if
they could catch us asleep they might have a try.  But there, don't you
be uncomfortable.  There's too much of the weasel about our skipper, and
he'll be too wide awake to let any Frenchman catch him asleep."

"Ah, you are thinking a lot of nonsense, Joe," said Rodd.  "The war is
all at an end, and Napoleon Bonaparte shut up in prison at Saint Helena.
There'll be no more fighting now."

"Well, sir, I suppose you are right," said the man, with something like
a sigh; "but you see, like some of my mates, I have seen a bit of
sarvice in a King's ship, and we have got our guns on board, and we have
just now been lying alongside--I should say bow and stern--of a
Frenchman so as we could slew round and rake her; and it sets a man
thinking.  But there, I suppose you are right, and there will be no
fighting for us this voyage."

"Of course there won't be.  We are friends now with France."

"Yes, sir, and the French pretends to be friends with us; but all the
same if I was the skipper I should double my night watch and be well on
the look-out for squalls.--Ay, ay, sir!"

Joe Cross answered a hail from the skipper, and was directly after busy
at work helping his mates to make all snug aloft, for the wind had sunk
now into a pleasant soft gale which seemed to suggest fine weather; but
Captain Chubb shook his head and frowned very severely as he looked out
to windward.

"Nay, my lad," he said, "we have made our start and got as far as here,
but it don't seem to me like getting away just yet, for there's a lot of
weather hanging about somewhere, and as we are in no hurry and are snug
in port, I am not going to run the risk of losing any of my tackle while
the wind is shifting about like this.  If I was you I should go in for a
general dry up, and maybe you and your uncle, if the rain holds off,
would like to go and have a look round the town."

The skipper moved away, and Rodd went to the side to have another look
at the French brig, and then, not satisfied, he went below to fetch the
small spy-glass, finding his uncle busy re-arranging some of his
apparatus in the laboratory, and as he did not seem to be required, the
boy took the small telescope from where it hung and made his way back
again on deck, where he focussed the glass and began to scan the brig,
scrutinising her rig and everything that he could command, from trucks
to deck, making out the long gun covered by a great tarpaulin, and then
bringing the glass to bear upon such of the crew as came within his
scope.

And as he watched the well-built, smartly-rigged vessel with such
knowledge as he had acquired during his life at the great English port,
he made out, though fairly distant now, that there seemed to be
something in Joe Cross's remarks, so that when he closed his glass to go
down below, he began to dwell on the possibility of the smart brig being
indeed a privateer, and this set him thinking of how horrible it would
be if she did turn inimical and make an attempt at what would have been
quite an act of piracy if she had followed the _Maid of Salcombe_ out to
sea and seized her as a prize.

"Why, it would break uncle's heart, after all his preparations for the
expedition," mused the boy; "and besides it would be so treacherous.
But Captain Chubb would not give up, I am sure.  I never thought of it
before, but he must have thought a good deal more about an accident such
as this happening when he was taking such pains to drill and train the
men.  What did he say--that as we were going along a coast where the
people were very savage and spent most of their time in war and
fighting, we ought to be prepared for danger, in case we were attacked.
Was he thinking of the French as well as the savages when he said this?
Perhaps so.  If one of his men thought so, why shouldn't he?  Well, I
will ask him first time I get him alone.  Hullo!  What are they doing
there?  Somebody going ashore from the brig."

Rodd could see with the naked eye the lowering down of a ship's boat
over the brig's side, and that made him quickly focus his glass again,
and while he was busy scanning the boat as it kissed the water and the
oars fell over the side, Joe Cross came up behind him and made him
start.

"Well, sir," he said, "what do you make of her now?"

"Nothing, Joe," said the boy, "only that it seems a very nice brig."

"Very, sir, and well-manned.  Look at that."

"What?" asked the boy.

"That there boat they've lowered down, and how she's manned.  She's no
merchantman.  Look at the way they are rowing.  Why, they're like
men-of-war's men, every one.  I don't like the looks of she, and if the
old skipper don't get overhauling her with them there eyes of his I'm a
Dutchman; and that's what I ain't."

"Ah, you make mountains of molehills, Joe," said Rodd.

"Maybe, sir; maybe.  But I suppose it's all a matter of eddication and
training to keep watch.  There, you see, it's always have your eyes
open, night or day.  For a man as goes to sea on board a man-of-war,
meaning a King's ship, has to see enemies wherever they are and wherever
they aren't, for even if there bean't none, a chap has to feel that
there might be, and if he's let anything slip without seeing on it, why,
woe betide him!  There y'are, sir!  Look at that there boat.  You have
hung about Plymouth town and seen things enough there to know as that
there aren't a merchant brig."

"Well, she doesn't look like a merchant's shore boat, certainly," said
Rodd, with his eyes still glued to the end of the telescope.

"Right, sir," cried Joe Cross.  "Well, then, sir, as she aren't a
merchant brig's boat, and the brig herself aren't a man-of-war, perhaps
you will tell me what she is?  You can't, sir?"

"No, Joe."

"No more can I, sir; but if we keeps our eyes open I dare say we shall
see."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

IN THE FRENCH PORT.

In spite of the knocking about by the storm, the schooner was none the
worse, and in the course of the day as the weather rapidly settled down
and the western gale seemed to have blown itself out, while the sailors
had been busy swabbing the rapidly drying planks, and, the wind having
fallen, shaking out the saturated sails to dry, Uncle Paul strolled with
his nephew up and down the deck, waiting till the skipper seemed to be
less busy before going up to him.

"Well," said Uncle Paul; "are we damaged at all?"

"Not a bit," was the gruff reply.  "It's done her good--stretched her
ropes and got the canvas well in shape."

"But how do you feel about the schooner?"

"As if she was just what we wanted, sir.  Given me a lot of confidence
in her."

"Then as the weather is settling down you will sail again to-night?"

"No; I want to get a little more ballast aboard, and this is all a
little bit of show.  We shall have more weather before long.  I shan't
sail yet."

The work being pretty well done--that is, as far as work ever is done in
a small vessel--Rodd noticed that some of the men had been smartening
themselves up, and after hanging about a bit watching the captain till
he went below, Rodd saw them gather in a knot together by the forecastle
hatch, talking among themselves, till one of the party, a heavy,
dull-looking fellow, very round and smooth-faced and plump, with quite a
colour in his cheeks, came aft to where Rodd and his uncle were standing
watching the busy scene about the wharves of the inner harbour, and
discussing as to whether they should go ashore for a few hours to look
round the town.

"I am thinking, Pickle, that after such a bad night as we had, we might
just as well stay aboard and rest, and besides, as far as I can see
everything's muddy and wretched, and I fancy we should be better
aboard."

"Oh, I don't know, uncle.  We needn't be long, and it will be a change.
But here's the Bun coming up to speak to you."

"The what!" cried Uncle Paul.

"That man--Rumsey."

"But why do you call him the Bun?"

"Oh, it's the men's name for him," said Rodd, laughing.  "They nicknamed
him because he was such a round-faced fellow."

"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, making a tug at his forelock.

"Yes, my man; you want to speak to me?"

"Yes, sir; the lads asked me to say, sir, that as it's been a very rough
night--"

"Very, my man--very," said Uncle Paul, staring.

"They'd take it kindly, sir, if you'd give about half of us leave to go
ashore for a few hours."

"Oh, well, my man, I have no objection whatever," said Uncle Paul.  "As
far as I am concerned, by all means yes."

"Thankye, sir; much obliged, sir," said the man eagerly, and pulling his
forelock again he hurried forward to join the group which had sent him
as their spokesman to ask for leave.

Rodd turned to speak to his uncle, and caught Joe Cross's eye instead,
wondering at the man's comical look at him as he closed an eye and
jerked one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the group forward
as they began whispering together, and then, thrust forward towards the
side by his companions, the Bun began to signal towards the Frenchmen
hanging about the nearest landing-place, where several boats were made
fast to the side of the dock.

Just at that moment the skipper came up from below, saw what was going
on at a glance, strode towards the group, which began to dissolve at
once, the Bun being the only man whose attention was taken up by a
boatman who was answering his signal.  Just while the signaller was
making his most energetic gestures he leaped round in the most startled
way, for the skipper had closed up and given him a very smart slap on
the shoulder.

"Now, Rumsey, what's this?" he cried.

"Boat, sir.  Going ashore, sir."

"Who is?" said the skipper, frowning.

"Us six, sir."

"Us six!  Why, you're only one."

"Yes, sir.  These 'ere others too, sir."

"What others?" cried the captain, and Rumsey, looking anxiously around,
found for the first time that he was alone.

"The lads as was here just now, sir--six on us."

"Oh, indeed!" said the skipper sarcastically, and raising his cap he
gave his rough hair a rub.  "Let me see; when did I give you leave to go
ashore?"

"No, sir; not you, sir.  Dr Robson, sir."

"Oh, I see," said the skipper.

This was all said loud enough for Rodd and Uncle Paul to hear, and Rodd
began to grin as he looked at his uncle, whose face assumed a perplexed
aspect, one which increased to uneasiness as the captain came up to them
at once.

"Just a word, sir," he said.  "Did you order these men to go ashore?"

"Oh no," cried Uncle Paul.  "One of them came up to me, asking if I had
any objections to their going ashore, and I said, not the least.  I
supposed, of course, that they had got leave from you."

"Of course, sir.  Bless 'em for a set of artful babies!  They aren't
learned discipline yet.  You, Rumsey, go and tell your messmates that if
they try that game again with me they'll stand a fine chance of not
going ashore for the rest of the voyage."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell them, sir," cried the man hurriedly; and he
shuffled off as hard as he could to find those who had left him in the
lurch.

"Here, you, Joe Cross," continued the captain, "you signal to that
Frenchy boatman that he is not wanted."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried Cross, hurrying to the side, where he began
gesticulating angrily, in spite of which the boatman persisted in coming
alongside and in voluble French declaring that he was ordered to come
and would not go back until he was paid.

Meanwhile a little explanation was going on between the skipper and
Uncle Paul.

"Don't want to be bumptious, sir," said the former, "but there's only
room on board a craft for one captain.  Those fellows jump at any chance
to get ashore, and when they are there, there's no knowing when you'll
get them on board again, besides which, they wouldn't be careful, and
French and English don't get on very well together after all that's gone
by.  Here, Cross, tell that jabbering Frenchman if he isn't off, he'll
have to go back with a hole through the bottom of his boat.  No, stop.
Go and find Mr Craig.  Tell him to set those six men something to do."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the sailor, hurrying off.

"There, it was all my fault, captain," said Uncle Paul, smiling.  "I
won't offend again.  Here, Rodd, my boy, give that poor fellow a
shilling for his trouble."

Rodd hurried to the side, hailed the man, and held out the coin, telling
him in very bad French what it was for; but the fellow shook his head,
held up four fingers, and began shouting "_Quatre_!" so loudly that the
skipper heard.

"Cat, indeed!" he shouted.  "Just what I should like to give him.  Here,
come away, Mr Rodd; he shan't have anything now."

But Rodd did not obey at once.

"One or nothing," he cried to the man, in French.

"_Quatre!  Quatre_!" shouted the man.

Rodd shook his head and was turning away, but the boatman swarmed up the
side, and reaching over the rail, shouted "_Quatre_!" again, till the
skipper made so fierce a rush at him that he lowered his feet quickly
down into his boat, catching the shilling that Rodd pitched to him, and
then hurriedly pushing off for the landing-place.

"Oh, it's all right, Dr Robson," said the skipper, "only you must leave
all this shore-going to me.  I know my lads; you don't."

Just then Craig, the mate, came up on deck, looking very sour at having
been awakened from a comfortable sleep, and did not scruple about
setting the delinquents to work upon some very unnecessary task, to the
great delight of their messmates, who, headed by Joe Cross, gave them
pretty freely to understand what their opinion was of the scheme to get
a run ashore.

It was towards evening that, after a hasty meal, partaken of in peace in
the still waters of the harbour, tempted by a few gleams of sunshine,
and for Rodd's gratification, Uncle Paul and Rodd were rowed ashore in
the same boat as the skipper, who had business with the English Consul
about his papers, the understanding being that the boat was to go back
and meet them at nine o'clock.

"That's as long as we shall want to stay, Rodd," said Uncle Paul.

"Yes, sir," said the skipper; "and if I were you I'd turn in early for a
good night's rest, for I'm thinking we shall have dirty weather again
to-morrow, and there's no knowing how long it will last."

"But it looks so bright to-night," cried Rodd.

"Just here, sir," cried the skipper, "and it may be fine enough to tempt
me off in the morning; but I don't feel at all sartain, and to-morrow
night we may be having another knocking about."

They separated at the landing-place, and for the next two hours Rodd was
making himself acquainted with the principal streets of the old seaport,
time going very rapidly and the night coming on.

It was growing pretty dark, and after making two mistakes as to their
direction, Rodd declared that he knew the way, and his uncle yielding to
his opinion, the boy led on, till, turning a corner sharply, they almost
came in contact with a couple of French officers walking in the opposite
direction, the one a tall, stern, elderly-looking man, talking in a low
excited tone to his young companion, whose attention was so much taken
up as he deferentially listened to his elder, that he started back to
avoid striking against Rodd, who also gave way.

It was now almost dark, and the next moment the French officers had
passed on, as Uncle Paul exclaimed--

"Yes, I believe you are right, Pickle.  You are.  Those are ships'
lights hoisted up to the stays.  Well, don't you see?"

"Yes, uncle, but--"

The boy said no more, and Uncle Paul laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" he cried.  "Why don't you speak?  Those are the
lights in the harbour."

"Yes--yes.  Yes, uncle, I see," said the boy hastily; "but--er--but--
er--"

"Why, what's the matter with you?  Don't feel done up?"

"No, uncle," replied Rodd hurriedly.  "I was only puzzled; it seemed so
strange."

"You mean you seem so strange," said the doctor, laughing.

"Yes, uncle, I feel so."

"Well, come along, and let's make haste aboard.  I don't want to keep
the captain waiting.  We have lost so much time by missing our way.
It's past nine, I'm sure."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy, speaking more like himself; "it must be.
But I felt so startled in coming suddenly upon those two officers."

"Why, there was nothing to startle you, my boy."

"No, uncle, I suppose not; but somehow I felt that I had been close to
that one who nearly ran up against me before, and when he said
`_Pardon_'--"

"I didn't hear him say `_Pardon_,'" said Uncle Paul.

"But he did, uncle, just in a low tone so that I could hardly hear him,
and then I felt sure we had met before."

"Nonsense!" cried Uncle Paul.  "Look here, my boy, how much sleep did
you have last night?"

"Sleep, uncle!" cried the boy, in a voice full of surprise.

"Why, none at all.  Who could sleep through that storm?"

"I'll answer for myself," said the doctor; "I could not.  Well, you were
completely tired out, and are half dreaming now.  Come along; let's find
the boat and get on board for a light supper and a good night's rest."

"Yes, uncle," said Rodd quietly; "but take care; we are on the wharf.  I
can make out the shipping plainly now;" and as he spoke a familiar hail
came out of the darkness, while as they answered the captain strode
towards them.

"Thought you were lost, gentlemen.  Been waiting half-an-hour.  Take
care; the boat's down here;" and striding along the top of the harbour
wall the skipper led the way to the descending steps, where the boat was
waiting, and they were rowed aboard.

An hour later Rodd was plunged in the deepest of deep sleeps, but
dreaming all the same of the storm and of getting into difficulties with
some one who was constantly running against him and whispering softly,
"Pardon!"



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE SUSPICIOUS CRAFT.

"Oh, I say, Uncle Paul, isn't it horrible?" cried Rodd the next morning.

Breakfast was just over, and Captain Chubb had gone on deck, while the
wind was howling furiously as if in a rage to find its playthings, some
two or three hundred vessels of different tonnage, safely moored in the
shelter of the harbour, and out of its power to toss here and there and
pitch so many helpless ruins to be beaten to pieces upon the shore.

Down it kept coming right in amongst them, making them check at their
mooring cables and chains, but in vain, for their crews had been too
busy, and the only satisfaction that the tempest could obtain, was to
hearken to the miserable dreary groans that were here and there emitted
as some of the least fortunate and worst secured ground against each
other.

"Isn't it horrible, uncle?" shouted Rodd, for the rain just then was
mingled with good-sized hailstones, and was rattling down upon the deck
and skylight in a way that half-drowned the lad's voice.

"Miserable weather, Pickle; but never mind.  We must settle down to a
good morning's work in the laboratory."

"Oh no, not yet, uncle; we don't seem to have started.  It will only be
a makeshift."

"But we might put things a little more straight, boy."

"Oh no, uncle; they are too straight now, and I want to go on deck."

"Bah!  It isn't fit.  Wait till the weather holds up."

"Oh, I shall dress up accordingly, uncle.  But I say, where does all the
rain come from?  It must be falling in millions of tons everywhere."

"Ah, you might as well ask me where the wind comes from.  Study up some
book on meteorology."

"Oh yes, I will, uncle; but not yet."

"Very well; be off."

Rodd hurried out of the cabin, and five minutes later came back rattling
and crackling, to present himself before his uncle, who thrust up his
spectacles upon his forehead and stared.

"There," cried Rodd; "don't think I shall get wet.  I wish I'd had it
the other night.  It's splendid, uncle, and so stiff that if I like to
stoop down a little and spread my arms, I can almost rest in it.  I say,
don't I look like a dried haddock?"

"Humph!  Well, yes, you do look about the same colour," grumbled the
doctor, for the boy was buttoned up in a glistening oilskin coat of a
buff yellow tint; the turned-up collar just revealed the tips of his
ears, and he was crowned by a sou'-wester securely tied beneath his
chin.

"I say, this will do, won't it?"

"Yes, you look a beauty!" grunted the doctor; "but there, be off; I want
to write a letter or two."

Rodd went crackling up the cabin stairs, clump, clump, clump, for he was
wearing a heavy pair of fisherman's boots that had been made waterproof
by many applications of oil--a pair specially prepared for fishing
purposes and future wading amongst the wonders of coral reef and strand.

The deck was almost deserted, the only two personages of the schooner's
crew being the captain and Joe Cross, both costumed so as to match
exactly with the boy, who now joined them, to begin streaming with water
to the same extent as they.

They both looked at him in turn, Cross grinning and just showing a glint
of his white teeth where the collar of his oilskin joined, while his
companion scowled, or seemed to, and emitted a low grumbling sound that
might have meant welcome or the finding of fault, which of the two Rodd
did not grasp, for the skipper turned his back and rolled slowly away as
if he were bobbing like a vessel through the flood which covered the
deck and was streaming away from the scuppers.

As the skipper went right forward and stood by the bowsprit, looking
straight ahead through the haze formed by the streaming rain, Rodd was
thrown back upon Joe Cross, with whom, almost from the day when the man
had joined, he had begun to grow intimate; and as he went close up to
him, the sailor gave his head a toss to distribute some of the rain that
was splashing down upon his sou'-wester, and grinning visibly now, he
cried--

"Why, Mr Rodd, sir, you've forgot your umbrella."

"Get out!" cried Rodd good-humouredly.  "But I say, Joe, how long is
this rain going to last?"

"Looks as if it means to go on for months, sir, but may leave off
to-night.  I say, though, that's a splendid fit, sir.  You do look fine!
Are you comfortable in there?"

Rodd did not answer, for he was trying to pierce the streaming haze and
make out whether the brig was visible.

For a few moments he could not make it out, but there it was, looking
faint and strange, about a hundred yards away.

"That's the brig, isn't it, yonder?" he said at last.

"Yes, sir, that's she, and they seem to have got her fast now; but she
wouldn't hurt us if she broke from her moorings, for the wind's veered a
point or two, and it would take her clear away."

Rodd remained silent as he stood thinking, he did not know why, unless
it was that the vessel with the tall, dimly-seen tapering spars bore a
French name, and somehow--again he could not tell why, only that it
seemed to him very ridiculous--the shadowy vessel associated itself with
the two French officers he had encountered in the darkness of the
previous night, when he heard one of them after brushing against him
murmur the word "Pardon!"  And he found himself thinking that if the
vessel had been swept up against the schooner when her anchor was
dragging, it would have been no use for her crew to cry "Pardon!" as
that would not have cured the damage.

"Well, sir, what do you make of her?" cried the sailor, putting an end
to the lad's musings.

"Can't see much," said Rodd, "for the rain, but she seems beautifully
rigged."

"Yes, sir, and she can sail well too--for a brig--but I should set her
down as being too heavily sparred, and likely to be top-heavy.  If she
was going along full sail, and was caught in such a squall as we had
yesterday, and laid flat like the schooner, I don't believe she'd lift
again.  Anyhow, I shouldn't like to be aboard."

"No, it wouldn't be pleasant," said Rodd; "but I say, I can't see
anything of that long gun you talked about."

"No wonder, sir.  You want that there long water-glass, as you called
it--that there one you showed me as you was unpacking it.  Don't you
remember?  Like a big pipe with panes of glass in it as you said you
could stick down into the sea and make out what was on the bottom.  You
want that now."

The man passed his hand along the brow edge of his sou'-wester to sweep
away the drops, and then took a long look at the deck of the brig.

"No, sir; can't make it out now; but I see it plainly enough this
morning, covered with a lashed down tarpaulin as if to hide it, and I
knew at once.  I can almost tell a big gun by the smell--I mean feel it
like, if it's there."

"But do you still think she's a privateer?"

"Well, I don't say she is, sir, for that's a thing you can't tell for
sartain unless you see a ship's papers; but she is something of that
kind, I should say, and--Ay, ay, sir!--There's the skipper hailed me,
sir.  I say, Mr Rodd, sir, do mind you don't get wet!"

This was as the man rolled away sailor fashion, and emitting a crackling
whishing sound as he made for the vessel's bows, where he received some
order from his captain which sent him to the covered-in hatchway of the
forecastle, where he slowly disappeared into a kind of haze, half water,
half smoke, for several of the water-bound crew had given up the chewing
of their tobacco to indulge in pipes.

But Rodd was in a talkative humour, and made his way to the skipper,
saluting him with--

"I say, Captain Chubb, how do you manage to do it?"

"Do what, my lad?"

"Why, say for certain what the weather's going to be."

There was a low chuckling sound such as might have been emitted by a
good-humoured porpoise which had just ended one of its underwater
curves, and thrust its head above the surface to take a good deep breath
before it turned itself over and dived down again.

"Second natur', youngster, and that's use.  Takes a long time to learn,
and when you have larnt your lesson perfect as you think, you find that
you don't know it a bit."

"But you did know it," said Rodd.  "You said that the storm would come
on again, when it was beautiful and fine yesterday evening; and here it
is."

"Well, yes, my lad, if you goes on for years trying to hit something you
must get a lucky shot sometimes."

"Oh yes, but there's something more than that," said Rodd.  "When I have
been amongst the fishermen in Plymouth, and over in Saltash, I have
wondered to find how exact they were about the weather, and how whenever
they wouldn't take us out fishing they were always right.  They seemed
to know that bad weather was coming on."

"Oh, of course," said the skipper.  "Why, my lad, if you got your living
by going out in your boat, don't you think the first thing you would try
to learn would be to make it your living?"

"Why, of course," cried Rodd.

"Ah, you don't mean the same as I do.  I mean, make it your living and
not your dying."

"Oh, I see."

"You wouldn't want," continued the skipper, "to go out at times that
might mean having them as you left at home standing on the shore looking
out to sea for a boat as would never come back."

"No," said the boy, with something like a sigh.  "I know what you mean.
Ah, it has been very horrible sometimes, and all those little
churchyards at the different villages about the coast with that regular
`Drowned at sea' over and over and over again."

"Right, my lad.  Things go wrong sometimes; but that's what makes
sailors and fishermen get to learn what the moon says and the sun and
the clouds, and the bit of haze that gathers sometimes off the coast
means.  Why, if you'd looked out yesterday afternoon when the wind went
down and the glint of sunshine come out, there was a nasty dirty look in
the sky.  You wait a bit and keep your eyes open, and put that and that
together, and as you grow up you'll find that it isn't so hard as you'd
think to say what the weather is going to be to-morrow.  You'll often be
wrong, same as I am."

"Ah! then I shall begin at once," cried Rodd eagerly, as he looked
sharply round.  "Well, it can't go on pelting down like this with hail
coming now and then in showers.  Showers come and go."

"Right!" said the skipper, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Oh!" cried Rodd sharply.

"Hullo!  Why, you don't mean to say that hurt?"

"Hurt!  No," cried Rodd, shaking his head violently.  "You shot a lot of
cold water right up into my ear."

"Oh, that will soon dry up.  Well, what do you say the weather's going
to be?"

"The storm soon over, and a fine day to-morrow."

"Done?" asked the skipper.

"Oh yes; but mind, that's only a try."

"Then it's my turn now, youngster, so here goes.  I say we shall have
worse weather to-morrow than we have got to-day."

"Oh, it can't be!" cried Rodd.

"Well," cried the skipper, chuckling, "we shall see who's right."

"Oh, but I don't want for us to have to stop here in this French port."

"More don't I, my lad, so we think the same there.  You going to stop on
deck?"

"Yes, till dinner-time," cried Rodd, and just then the haze of rain out
seaward opened a little, revealing the brig with its tall spars and web
of rigging.

This somehow set the boy thinking about the escape from accident when
they came into port, and then of the encounter ashore, and he began
talking.

"It's no use to go down below.  It's so stuffy, and I want to chat.  I
say, captain, what do you think of that brig?"

"Very smartly built craft indeed, my lad--one as I should like to sail
if I could do as I liked."

"Do as you liked?" asked Rodd.

"Yes; alter her rig--make a schooner of her.  But as she is she's as
pretty a vessel as I ever see--for a brig.  Frenchmen don't often turn
out a boat like that."

"What should you think she is?" asked Rodd.  "A merchantman?"

"No, my lad; I should say she was something of a dispatch boat, though
she aren't a man-of-war.  I don't quite make her out.  She's got a very
smart crew, and I saw two of her officers go aboard in some sort of
uniform, though it was too dark to quite make it out."

"But if she's a man-of-war she would carry guns, wouldn't she?" asked
Rodd.

"Well, I don't think she's a man-of-war, my lad," replied the skipper;
"but she do carry guns, and one of them's a big swivel I just saw
amidships.  But men-of-war, merchantmen, and coasters, we're all alike
in a storm, and glad to get into shelter."

"Yes, it is a fine-looking brig.  Is she likely to be a privateer?"

"Eh?  What do you know about privateers?"

"Oh, not much," said Rodd.  "But going about at Plymouth and talking to
the sailors, of course I used to hear something about them."

"Well, yes, of course," said the skipper thoughtfully, as he too swept
the drops from the front of his sou'-wester, and tried to pierce the
falling rain.  "She might be a French privateer out of work, as you may
say, for their game's at an end now that the war's over.  Yes, a very
smart craft."

"But do you think she's here for any particular purpose?"

"Yes, my lad; a very particular purpose."

"Ah!" cried the boy rather excitedly.  "What?"

"To take care of herself and keep in harbour till the weather turns
right.  Why?  What were you thinking?"

"I was wondering why she came in so close after us, and then anchored
where she is."

"Oh, I can tell you that," said the skipper, chuckling.  "It was because
she couldn't help herself."

"Then you don't think she was watching us?"

"No-o!  What should she want to watch us for?"

"Why, to take us as a prize, seeing what a beautiful little schooner it
is."

"Bah!  She'd better not try," said the skipper grimly.  "Why, what stuff
have you got in your head, boy?  We are not at war with France."

"No-o," said Rodd thoughtfully; "but her captain might have taken a
fancy to the _Maid of Salcombe_, and I've read that privateers are not
very particular when they get a chance.  And the war's only just over."

"No.  But then, you see, my lad, even if you were right, that brig
wouldn't have a chance."

"Why, suppose she waited till we had sailed, and followed till she
thought it was a good opportunity, and then her captain led his men
aboard and took her?"

"Oh, I see," said the skipper dryly.  "Well, my lad, as I say, she
wouldn't have a chance.  First, because she couldn't catch us, for give
me sea room I could sail right round her."

"Ah, but suppose it was a calm, and she sent her boats full of men on
board to take us?"

"Well, what then?"

"What then?  Why, wouldn't that be very awkward?" asked Rodd.

"Very, for them," said the skipper grimly.  "What would my boys be
about?"

"Why, they'd be taken prisoners."

"I should just like to see her try," said the skipper.  "If the boats'
crews of that brig were to get a lodgment aboard my craft, how long do
you think it would take our lads to clear them off?"

"Oh, I am sure our crew would be very brave, but I should say that
brig's got twice as many men as we have."

"What of that?" said the skipper contemptuously.

"Well, then," said Rodd argumentatively, "she's got her guns, and might
sink us."

"And we've got our guns, and might sink her," growled the skipper.
"Look here, my lad; why did I give my lads gun drill and cutlass and
pike drill, while you and the doctor were taking in your tackle and bags
of tricks?"

"Why, to defend the schooner against any savages who might attack us
when we are off the West Coast or among the islands."

"Right, my lad.  Well, as Pat would say, by the same token couldn't they
just as well fight a pack of Frenchies as a tribe of niggers?  Bah!
You're all wrong.  It's quite like enough that yon brig may have been
fitted out for a privateer, though I rather think she wouldn't be fast
enough.  But that game's all over, and we are all going to be at peace
now we have put Bony away like a wild beast in a cage and he can't do
anybody any hurt.  There, you needn't fidget yourself about that.  All
the same, I don't quite understand why a craft that isn't a man-of-war,
but carries a long gun amidships and has officers in uniform aboard,
should be taking refuge in this port.  I dunno.  She looks too smart and
clean, but it might mean that she's going to the West Coast,
blackbirding."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Rodd.  "Why, that's what you thought about us,
Captain Chubb."

"So I did; so I did, my lad," said the skipper good-humouredly.  "You
see, I am like other men--think I am very wise, but I do stupid things
sometimes.  Well, I'll be safe this time, and say I don't know what she
is, and I don't much care.  But I am pretty sure that she aren't after
us, and I dare say, if the truth's known, she don't think we are after
her.  There, squint out yonder to windward.  That don't look like fine
weather, does it?"

"No; worse than ever!" cried Rodd.

"That's so, my lad, and you may take this for certain; we shan't sail
to-day, and you won't see another vessel put out to sea.  Take my word
for it."

"That I will, Captain Chubb!" cried the boy earnestly, and the skipper
nodded his head so quickly that the water flew off in a shower.

But, as some wag once said, the wisest way is to wait till after
something has happened before you begin to prophesy about it.

Captain Chubb had probably never heard about the wisdom of this
proceeding in foretelling events, for it so happened that in spite of
the storm increasing in violence for many hours, his words proved to be
entirely wrong.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

AN EXCITING TIME.

About mid-day there was a sudden lull.  The wind blew nearly as hard as
ever, but the clouds were broken up, allowing a few gleams of sunshine
to pass through, and soon after the sky seemed to be completely swept;
the streaming wharves and streets began to show patches of dry paving,
and nearly every vessel near was hung with the men's oilskins, Rodd
being one of the first to shed his awkward garments and come out looking
more like himself.

There was such a transformation scene, and all looked so bright in the
sunshine, that the boy took the first opportunity to ask the skipper
what he thought of it now.

"Just the same as I did before, my lad," he replied bluntly.  "Here,
it's only mid-day, and mid-day aren't to-night, and to-night aren't
to-morrow morning.  Just you wait."

"Oh, I'll wait," said Rodd, "but I think we ought to start off as soon
as we can, and get right away to sea."

"Do you?" said the captain gruffly.  "Well, I don't."

After dinner Uncle Paul had a few words with the skipper, and then shook
his head at his nephew, who was watching them inquiringly.

"No, my lad," he said, "it won't do; the captain says there's more bad
weather coming; but we'll go and have a look round the town if you
like."

Rodd did like as a matter of course, and with the sun now shining
brightly as if there were no prospect of more rain for a month, they
were rowed ashore, Rodd noticing as they went that the crew of the brig
seemed to be very busy, a couple of boats going to and fro fetching
stores of some kind from the nearest wharf, but what he could not make
out.

Then came a good ramble through the busy place, where everybody seemed
to be taking advantage of the cessation of the storm, and Rodd noted
everything to as great an extent as a hurried visit would allow.

There was plenty to see, the forts, one each side of the harbour, and a
couple more on the higher ground, displaying their grinning embrasures
and guns commanding the harbour and the town, while soldiery in their
rather shabby-looking uniforms could be seen here and there, and
sentries turned the visitors back upon each occasion when they went
near.

"Rather an ugly place to tackle, Rodd, from the sea, but I suppose our
fellows wouldn't scruple about making an attack if there were any need.
But here, I think we had better get back on board."

"Oh, not yet, uncle.  I haven't half seen enough."

"But I am getting sick of this tiresome wind," said Uncle Paul.  "One
can't keep on one's hat, and it is just as if these gusts were genuine
French, and kept on making a rush at us from round the corners of the
streets as if they wanted to blow us into the harbour."

"Yes, it is rather tiresome," replied Rodd.  "But I should have liked to
have had a look inside one of those batteries."

"Pooh!  What do you want to see them for?"

"Why, just because they are French, uncle."

"Nonsense!  You have seen all ours on the heights of Plymouth, and they
are a deal better-looking than these.  We have a good way to walk, so
let's go down at once.  There, look yonder."

"What at, uncle?"

"What at?  Why, at the clouds gathering there in the wind's eye.  You
see Captain Chubb's right, and we shall have the rain pouring down again
before long."

Rodd laughed as if he did not believe it, but making no farther
opposition, they began to descend towards the harbour; but before they
were half-way there the wind had increased to a furious pitch, the sea
became a sheet of foam, and with wonderful rapidity the clouds had
gathered overhead, till a black curtain was sweeping right over, and a
few heavy drops of rain began to fall.  Then down came a drenching
shower, and they were glad to run for refuge to the nearest shelter,
which presented itself in the shape of a great barrack-like building
that seemed to be built about a square, and at whose arched entrance a
couple of sentries with shouldered muskets were pacing up and down.

As Uncle Paul and Rodd approached at a trot, with the intention of
getting under the archway, both sentries stopped short, and one of them
held his weapon across breast high, scowling fiercely, and barred their
way.

"Here, it's all right," cried Rodd.  "We only want to shelter out of the
rain for a few minutes;" and he pressed forward.  "Come on, uncle.
Never mind him!"

"_Halte la_!" cried the sentry.

But Uncle Paul's hand went to his pocket, and drawing out half-a-crown
he pointed quickly at the falling rain and the archway under which they
now stood, taking out his handkerchief the while, and beginning to brush
off the drops which bedewed his coat.

The man glanced at the coin, then at his brother sentry, and both looked
inward at the square behind them.  The exchange of glances was very
quick, and then the first sentry opened one hand, but kept it very close
to his side, again looking inward to see that he was not observed,
before grumbling out--

"_Eh bien!  Restez_!"  And then as if perfectly unconscious of the bribe
he had received, he resumed his slow pace up and down under the shelter
of the great archway.

It was all a matter of minutes, but long enough for the wind and rain to
have gathered force, and while the former raved and shrieked, down came
the latter in a sheet, or rather in a succession of sheets which made
the roadways seem as if full of dancing chess pawns, and the gullies
turn at once into so many furious little torrents tearing down the
slopes towards the harbour.

"Nice, isn't it, uncle?" said Rodd merrily.

"Nice!" grumbled Uncle Paul.  "I don't know what I was thinking about to
give way to you in such treacherous weather.  Why, it's worse than ever.
How are we going to get back to the schooner?"

"Oh, it will soon be over, uncle, and if it isn't we must get to know
where the nearest place is from that sentry, and make a rush for it to
get some tea, and wait there till the shower is over."

"Shower!" said Uncle Paul.  "It looks to me like a night of storm coming
on, and as if we shan't get back to the schooner to-night."

"Well, it doesn't matter, uncle," cried the boy coolly.  "There's sure
to be a good hotel, and Captain Chubb will know why we haven't come
back.  As soon as there's a bit of a lull we will make a run for it, and
we shall be able to get a lesson in French."

"Bah!" said Uncle Paul impatiently.  "How the wind comes whistling
through this archway!  We shall be getting wet even here."

The two men on guard were evidently of the same opinion, for they turned
to their sentry boxes and began to put on their overcoats, after
standing their muskets inside.

But before this was half done, each snatched up his piece again and
faced the entrance, for all at once there was the clattering of hoofs in
the cobbled paved street, and a cavalry officer, followed at a short
distance by a couple of men, dashed up to the front and turned in under
the archway, drenched with rain, the officer saying something sharply to
one of the sentries.

The man replied by pointing to a doorway at the back of the great
entrance, while the officer swung himself from his horse, threw the rein
to one of his men, and then lifting his sabre-tache by the strap he gave
it a swing or two to throw off the water from its dripping sides, and
then opened the great pocket to peer inside as if to see that its
contents were safe.

The next moment, as if satisfied, he let it fall to the full length of
its slings, gave a stamp or two to shake off the water that dripped from
him, and then raised his hands to give a twist to the points of his wet
moustache.  He scowled fiercely at Rodd the while, and then marched
towards the doorway with the steel scabbard of his sabre clinking and
clanking over the stones.

"Pretty good opinion of himself, Pickle," said Uncle Paul quietly.

"Yes, uncle; but what a pair of trousers--no, I mean long boots--no, I
don't; I mean trousers.--Which are they, uncle?" added the boy, who was
rather tickled by the size and the way in which they were finished off
at the bottoms with leather as if they were jack-boots.

"Wait till he comes out, Pickle, and ask him," said the doctor dryly.

"No, thank you, uncle; my French is so bad," said the boy, with his eyes
sparkling.  "But, my word, they must have been galloping hard to escape
the rain!  Look at those poor horses.  They are breathed."

Rodd had hardly spoken when they became fully aware that they had taken
refuge in the entrance to the town barracks, for the notes of a bugle
rang out, echoing round the inner square of the building, and seeming to
be thrown back in a half-smothered way from wall to wall, while the wind
and rain raged down more fiercely than ever.

"Something must be the matter," said Rodd, with his lips close to his
uncle's ear.

"Seems like it, boy.  That officer must have brought a dispatch."

The object of the bugle was shown directly, for in spite of the rain the
interior of the barracks began to assume the aspect of some huge wasps'
nest that had suddenly been disturbed.

Soldiers came hurrying out into the rain, hurriedly putting on their
overcoats; the great arched gateway filled up at once with men seeking
its shelter, and the sentry who had received his half-crown came to
roughly order the English intruders to go elsewhere; but it was only
outside militarism, for he said in a low hurried tone in French--

"Run outside to the end of the barracks.  Grand cafe."

"Come along, uncle.  Never mind the rain," cried Rodd, catching at his
uncle's wrist, as he fully grasped the sentry's meaning; and stepping
outside the archway they ran together, or rather, were half carried by
the shrieking wind, for some thirty or forty yards, almost into the
doorway of a large lit-up building, for already it seemed to be almost
night.

"Never mind the rain, indeed!" grumbled Uncle Paul.  "Why, I'm nearly
soaked.  Oh, come, we have got into civilised regions, at all events;"
for a couple of waiters, seeing their plight, literally pounced upon
them and hurried them through the building into a great kitchen where a
huge fire was burning and the smell of cookery saluted their nostrils.

The attentions of the waiters of what was evidently one of the principal
hotels of the town were very welcome, and a glance teaching them that
their visitors were people of some standing, they made use of their
napkins to remove as much of the superabundant moisture as was possible,
and then furnished themselves with a fresh relay to operate upon their
backs.

"Queer, isn't it, uncle?  I am quite dry in front.  My word, how the
rain did come down!"

"Messieurs will dine here?" said one of the waiters smilingly.

"_Oh, oui, pour certain_" replied Uncle Paul.  "If you don't mind,
Pickle."

"Mind, uncle?  Oh, yes, of course.  I am horribly hungry."

"You always are, my boy.  Well, we must make the best of a bad
business," continued the doctor, as, nodding to the waiter, he moved a
little closer to the fire and turned his back, an example followed by
Rodd.

"It makes a dreadful time, monsieur," said the smiling waiter.  "Will he
choose, or trust his servant to prepare a dinner upon the field of which
the English milor' will be proud?"

"You speak capital English," said the doctor, rather sarcastically.

"I have been many times in public in London."

"Ah, that's right.  Then give us a snug little dinner while we dry
ourselves.  But what's the meaning of all that upset at the barracks
next door?"

"It is not quite that I know, sir," said the man eagerly; "but two
officers came in upon the instant to put their cloaks where they should
not water themselves so much, and I hear them say, a dispatch come
quickly for monsieur the Governor to seize upon a ship.  Oh, faith of a
man!  Hark at that!"

For there was a sudden crash and an echoing roar, while some of the
utensils in the great kitchen clattered together, and a piece of
earthenware fell from a shelf upon the stone floor, to be shivered to
atoms.

"_Tonnerre, eh_?" said the doctor.

"_Non, non, monsieur_" cried the man, relapsing into his native tongue
for a moment.  "It is what you English gentlemen call a great gun from
the fort; and look, look!  The poor _cuisiniere_ much alarm, as you call
it."

For just then, as if catching the contagion from the shrieking of the
storm, one of the cook-maids threw herself back into a chair and began
to scream.

It was a busy scene for a few minutes while the frightened hysterical
woman was hurried out, while with the storm seeming to increase in
violence, and amid the trampling of armed men outside, who were hurrying
from the barracks, the two English visitors gradually picked up scraps
of information which explained the excitement that in spite of the storm
was going on outside.

"Messieurs would like to see," said the friendly waiter.  "They will
come up-stairs to the long _salle_ whose windows give upon the harbour."

"But what's the matter?" cried Rodd.  "Is there a wreck?"

"A wreck, sare?" said the waiter, shaking his head.  "No, I know not
wreck."

"Has a ship come ashore and is breaking up?"

"Ha, ha!  No, no, no, no, no, no, no!  You would say _naufrage.  Non,
non, non_!  It is a sheep in the harbour; a foreign spy.  They say it
has come to set fire to the town."

"Then they have chosen a very bad night for it," said Uncle Paul,
laughing.

"Monsieur is right.  Nosing would burn.  But the enemies of la France,
my great country, not stop to think of zat."

"Oh, but that must be a rumour, Rodd," said Uncle Paul uneasily.  "Why,
surely they are not going to fancy that our English schooner is a spy
and an enemy!"

The waiter's ears were sharp, and he cried at once--

"English!  Oh non, monsieur.  You are from the little two-mast.  It is
not you.  It is some enemy of the King whose sheep is in the harbour,
and great dispatches have come to the Governor that she is to be seized.
Ah, there again, monsieur!  Anozzer gun from the fort."

It was plain enough to hear, for the windows of the big badly-lit room
into which the man had conducted them clattered in their frames, while
the dull, heavy report was preceded by a vivid flash as of lightning.

"Ha, ha!  You see.  The sheep will not get away, for at the forts they
are alert and will sink her if she try."

"Oh, but no vessel could try to put out in a storm like this, Rodd,"
said Uncle Paul.

"No, sare," continued the waiter excitedly; "the boats will go out with
the soldiers and take the sheep."

"She is a man-of-war, I suppose?"

"Yes, sare.  Not very big, but an enemy; but if she fight they will
shoot from all the forts and sink her."

"But how do you know all this?" said Rodd.

"Many soldiers, horsemen, came galloping up to bring dispatches to the
Governor.  There, sare; you will look from the window," continued the
man, using a clean serviette that he took from under his arm to rub the
steamy window-panes, for the cold blast of the storm had caused the warm
air inside to blur the glass with a thick deposit of vapour.  "There,
sare," continued the man; "zat is ze sheep."

"Oh, it's too thick to see for the rain."

"Yes, sare; but you see out zare in ze arbour ze two lights."

"Nonsense man!" cried Uncle Paul, half angrily.  "That is the English
schooner--ours."

"Oh, non, non, non, monsieur!  Away to ze _gauche_--ze left hand.  Ze
sheep with two high, tall mast, that we all see here when she come in ze
storm yesterday.  We all here with ze officer of ze regiment see you
come in through ze storm, and ze enemy sheep, a stranger, come after,
and ze officer say she will run you down and sink you in ze harbour!"

"Oh, that one!" cried Rodd excitedly.

"Ah, I see, monsieur knows.  You see her lights swing in the wind--two;"
and the man held up a couple of fingers.

"Yes, I see where you mean," cried Rodd; "but she has only one light."

"Ah, ha!  Monsieur is right.  Zare is only one.  Ze vind storm has blow
out ze uzzer.  Look, now zare is no light at all.  Ze sheep put im out."

The violence of the rain was now abating, but the wind beat against and
shook the window-panes and shrieked as it rushed by.  It was evening,
and a few minutes before it had been dark as night, but with the
cessation of the rain the heavy forms and light rigging of the many
vessels gradually became more and more visible, while fresh lights began
to come into view, but in every case not moving and swinging about like
those in the rigging of the safely moored ships, but gliding about from
various directions as if they were in the sterns of boats that had put
off from the harbour side.

"Messieurs see?" said the waiter excitedly.  "Two boats come now from
the fort on ze uzzer side.  Look, look!  Ze lights shine on ze soldiers'
bayonet.  They go to take ze sheep."

As the man was speaking the brig that had previously taken up so much of
Rodd's attention stood out more clearly.  Her riding lights were indeed
gone, but there was a peculiar misty look forward, and it was now Rodd's
turn to speak excitedly about what he saw.

"Why, uncle," he cried, "she's moving!  They've slipped their cable and
hoisted the jib!"

"Nonsense, boy!  Not in a storm like this."

"I don't care, uncle; she has.  Look; you can see her gliding along."

"Impossible!"

"It isn't, uncle.  Look, you can see them plainly now; two boats full of
men, and they are rowing hard, but getting no nearer to the brig.  Here,
I want to see; let's get right down to the harbour."

"What, to get wet again?" cried Uncle Paul.

"It doesn't rain now a drop.  There's nothing but wind; and look, look;
the people are running down now in crowds, and there goes a company of
soldiers at the double.  Oh, there's going to be something very
exciting, uncle, and we must see."

"But the dinner, boy, the dinner!  What is this to us?"

"Dinner, uncle!" cried the lad indignantly.  "Who's going to stop for
dinner when there are boats out yonder full of men going to board and
take a ship?"

"Humph!  Well," grunted Uncle Paul, "I suppose it would be rather
exciting, and we shall be able to see; but I don't know, though.
There'll be firing, and who knows which way the bullets will fly?"

"Oh, they; won't hit us, uncle.  Come on."

Uncle Paul was rapidly growing as excited as his nephew, while the
waiter, if it were possible, was as full of eagerness as both together,
and forgetting all his duties and the dinner that he had ordered to be
prepared, he cried--

"Ze rain is ovare; you come vith me.  I take you out ze back way and
down ze little rue which take us to the quay."

That was enough for Rodd, and the next minute they were following the
waiter down the big staircase through the great kitchen once more, which
was now quite deserted, and out into a walled yard to a back gateway,
beyond which, mingling with the roaring of the wind, they could hear the
trampling of many feet.

"Zis way; zis way!" the bare-headed waiter kept crying, as he put his
serviette to quite a new use, battling with the wind as he folded it
diagonally and then turned it into a cover for his head by tying the
corners under his chin.

"Here, I say," cried Rodd, as the man kept on at a trot; "I want to get
to the harbour."

"_Oui_, _oui_; zis way!" panted their guide, who nearly put the visitors
out of patience by turning off two or three times at right angles and
apparently taking them quite away from where they wished to go.  "Zis
way!  Zis way!" he kept on crying, till at last the trio were alone,
others who had been hurrying onward having taken different directions.

Bang went another gun from the fort, a report which seemed to be sent
back instantly from the harbour walls, apparently close at hand.

"Yes, zis way; zis way!" shouted the man.  "I show you before zey sink
ze sheep."

And now he suddenly turned into a narrow alley formed by two towering
warehouses so close together that there was not room for two people to
walk comfortably abreast; but "Zis way, zis way," shouted the guide,
"and you shall be zere upon ze field--_sur le champ, sur le champ_.  Ah
ha!" he cried directly after, as he suddenly issued from out of the
darkness of the alley into the comparative light of a narrow wharf
encumbered with casks, just beyond which was the dripping stone edge of
the great harbour, and below them boats, barges, and lighters swinging
from the great rusty iron rings and mooring posts of the quay.

"Vat you say to dat?" cried the waiter, turning round to face his
companions, beginning loudly and ending in a choking whisper, for he had
met a gust of wind face to face which stopped him for the moment from
taking his breath and forced him to turn his back and make a snatch at
the corner of one of the warehouses.  "Faith of a good man!" he panted.
"The vind blow me inside out!  Aha!  What did I say?"

"Capital!" panted Rodd, almost as breathlessly as the waiter, at whom
upon any other occasion he would have burst out into a roar of laughter,
so grotesque was his appearance with the white napkin tied under his
chin.  "Oh, this is a splendid place!"

"Here, you look out, Pickle," cried Uncle Paul.  "Lay hold of something,
or we shall be blown right off."

"All right, uncle.  Why, if one of those gusts sent us into the harbour
we should be drowned."

"Come a little farther this way, then, and if the wind is too much for
us, why we shall only go down into this barge."

At that moment, as they looked across and downward towards the mouth of
the harbour, there were the flashes of bright light to illumine the
gloom of the evening, and the reports of a ragged volley of musketry
coming from one of the two boats which they could now make out being
rowed hard after the brig, as it glided rapidly along in the direction
where the watchers now stood.

Then for a short space it passed out of sight behind a group of four
vessels which were safely moored.  Then it was out again, and as the
lookers-on excitedly watched, they made out dimly that the vessel
answered her helm readily and was gliding round in a tack for the other
side of the harbour, while the two boats in pursuit altered their
direction, the men rowing with all their might, as if to cut the brig
off during her next tack.

There was another ragged volley, this time from the second boat; but if
they were firing to bring down the steersman, it was in vain, for the
brig sailed swiftly on, gaining a little way, as she made for the mouth
of the harbour.

This was far distant yet, and her chances of reaching it even in the
shelter of the harbour, with such a gale blowing, were almost nil.

"She'll do it, though, uncle," shouted Rodd, with his lips close to
Uncle Paul's ear.

"Yes, my boy, I expect she will," was the reply; "but they've got some
daring people on board, and I shouldn't like to be the man at the
wheel."

"Ah, why don't they shoot?  Why don't they shoot?" cried the waiter.
"She is an enemy, and--"

The rest of his speech was unheard, for another flash cut the darkness,
followed by the thud of a big gun, the shot coming as it were instantly
upon the waiter's question; but it had no effect upon the brig, which
came nearer and nearer to the pier-like wharves of the harbour, glided
round again with the two stay-sails rilling upon the other tack, and
then went off once more.

"She'll get away, uncle," cried Rodd excitedly, "and I don't know what
they are, but one can't help admiring such a brave deed."

There was another report, this time from quite another direction.

"That must be from the fort up behind the town, Rodd," cried Uncle Paul.
"It's too thick to see any splash, but they must be in earnest now, and
will not be firing blank charges.  It looks as if they mean to sink her
if she doesn't stop."

"They've got to hit her first, uncle," cried Rodd excitedly.  "Oh, I
can't help it, uncle," he continued, with his lips close to his uncle's
ear so that the waiter should not catch his words, "but I do hope they
won't."

"Well, my boy, I can't help feeling the same, though she's neither enemy
nor friend of ours, and we don't know what it all means; for I don't
suppose," he said, with a half-laugh, "that she has got Napoleon
Bonaparte on board."

Uncle Paul had not taken his nephew's precaution, and as a heavy gust
was just dying out, the excited waiter caught a part of his speech.

"Ha, ha!" he cried.  "You sink so?  You say le Petit Caporal is on
board?"

"No, no," cried Uncle Paul; "I didn't say so."

"No, sare; you think so, and zat is it.  He has escape himself from ze
place where you English shot him up safe, and he come in zat sheep to
burn down ze town.  But ah-h-h, again they will sink him.  Faith of a
man, no!" he cried angrily, for there was a shot from another battery,
this time nearer the harbour mouth.  "They cannot shoot straight."

For onward glided the brig, making tack after tack, and zigzagging her
way through the narrow entrance of the harbour, at times partly
sheltered by the great pier to windward, then as she glided farther out
careening over in spite of the small amount of reefed sail she carried,
but all the while so well under control that she kept on gaining and
leaving the two boats farther and farther behind.

"Oh, if it were only lighter!" cried Rodd, stamping his foot with
vexation.  "Why, she'll soon be out of sight."

"Before she gets much farther," said Uncle Paul gravely, "she'll be
getting within the light cast by one or other of the harbour lights, and
that will be one of her critical times."

"Why critical, uncle?" cried the boy earnestly.  "Because the men in the
fort will have a better chance of hitting her, I should say."

"Oh, I hope they won't," said Rodd beneath his breath.  "Why, it would
be horrible, uncle," he half whispered, with his lips close to his
uncle's face.  "She must have a brave captain to dare all this."

"A very brave captain," said Uncle Paul earnestly.  "But you think
she'll get away, uncle?"

"No, Rodney," said the doctor, laying his hand with a firm grip upon his
nephew's shoulder.  "She may pass through the harbour mouth without
being hit by the gunners, for it would require a clever marksman to hit
so swiftly moving an object, rising and falling as the brig does now
that she is getting into the disturbed water near the mouth."

"But suppose she passes through untouched, uncle?  What then?"

"What then, boy?  She will be out of the shelter given by the end of the
jetty.  It's too dim now to see, but once or twice I had just a glimpse
of the waves washing over the harbour light, and there must be a
terrific sea out there.  Why, you can hear it plainly even here."

"No, uncle; that's the wind."

"And waves, my boy.  Why, trying to sail out there in the teeth of such
a gale as this, it will be almost impossible for her to escape.  It
seems to me to be an act of madness to attempt such an escapade, and
cleverly as the brig is handled I think it is doubtful whether she will
ever clear the mouth.  But if she does she will catch the full force of
the storm and--"

"And what, uncle?"

"Be carried away yonder to the east somewhere and cast ashore."

"Oh-h!" sighed Rodd; and it was almost a groan.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

ESCAPE.

Three more shots were fired at intervals, as the brig kept making short
tack after tack, and with each report the flash appeared to be brighter,
indicative of the increasing darkness, while now a pale lambent light
seemed to be dawning at times and making the shape of the brig stand out
more clearly at intervals, but only to fade away again quickly, while
there were moments when the vessel quite disappeared.

"Why is that, uncle?" asked Rodd quickly, as he looked vainly now in
search of the flying craft.  "Ah, there she is again!  I began to think
she had gone down.  Why is she seen so dimly sometimes?"

"Hidden by the flying spray, I think," said Uncle Paul.

"Oh yes, of course," cried the boy.  "Ah, there she is, quite clear now,
and still going on nearer and nearer to the harbour mouth.  No--now it's
getting darker than ever.--There, now she's coming into sight again
quite clearly."

"Yes, she's getting out where the harbour lights are full upon her,"
said Uncle Paul.

As he spoke there were two more reports, almost simultaneous, and Rodd
felt a peculiar sense of pain attacking him, for at one moment when the
two guns flashed, the brig could be plainly seen; the next, as the boy
strained his eyes, all was black darkness, and he caught at his uncle's
arm with his hands trembling and an intense longing upon him to speak;
but no words would come.

It seemed like some minutes before a word was uttered, and then it was
the doctor who spoke.

"I haven't caught sight of the boats lately," he said.  "It is evident
that they have given up the chase."

"Oh, uncle, uncle," cried Rodd, "I was not thinking about them, but of
those poor fellows in the brig.  One of those last shots must have hit,
and they have gone down."

"Oh no," cried Uncle Paul; "I saw her once again.  Just now.--Yes, there
she is, tossing wildly in the waves.  She must be beyond the mouth of
the harbour, and--"

"Yes, I see her!  I see her!" cried Rodd wildly.  "No, she's gone again;
but she was pitching and tossing horribly."

"Yes," said Uncle Paul.  "It's going to be hard work for them now, for
the waves out there must be tremendous.  Well, my boy, it was a daring
attempt, and whoever they are let's hope they may escape, but--"

Uncle Paul was silent, and once more the boy uttered a low groan.

Then no one spoke, but all stood straining their eyes to try and catch
sight again of the vessel, which had seemed to be pitching wildly in the
darkness; but they looked in vain, for all now seemed to be rapidly
growing black.

The boy tried to speak, but no words would come, and even the waiter was
silent, as he stood trying to catch sight of the vessel once more; but
the darkness now was rapidly increasing, and though from time to time
they could make out the faint outline of the lights, all seemed to
become more dense and obscure, and the boy started violently as their
guide suddenly exclaimed--

"It is no use now, sare.  I sink she must have gone down."

Silence; but as Uncle Paul pressed his nephew's arm Rodd followed him
slowly without a word, while the waiter shook his head and suggested
that they should return to the _cafe_.

The boy gave one glance before stirring, and then uttered a sigh.

"Come, my boy," said his uncle; "perhaps there is no occasion to
despair.  It is quite evident that the captain of the brig knows what he
is about, and may escape."

Rodd followed his uncle without a word, the waiter going on before them
to show the devious ways along by the harbour and the old town.

As they drew near the yard Rodd felt a sense of hesitation.  "I think I
would rather get back on board the schooner, uncle," he said.

"Oh, but we couldn't do that, my boy," cried Uncle Paul.  "I gave an
order for dinner to be prepared."

"Yes, uncle, but I don't feel as if I could eat anything now."

"Why?"

"It seemed so horrible watching that vessel trying to escape under
fire."

"It was evidently not hit, my boy."

"But it was going right out into the face of this storm, and even you
thought she'd be driven ashore."

"Yes; perhaps I have been thinking the worst; but the brig's captain is
evidently a clever sailor and knows what he's about.  It is rather
jumping at conclusions to consider that he will let his vessel be
wrecked.  Yes, it was nervous work watching a vessel like that; but
there, we must hope for the best, and possibly there is no reason to
despond.  Whoever the brig belonged to had good reason for getting away,
and they have succeeded in that.  There, come along; let's have our
dinner, and think no more about it.  But hallo!  What's the matter
here?"

Uncle Paul's remark was caused by a loud angry voice scolding in French
at the waiter who had just led them to the yard door, and it was evident
that the man was in difficulties for absenting himself from his duties
after giving the order that the visitors' dinner should be prepared.

"But I have been in attendance upon the gentlemen," he protested, with
not much truth in his utterance.  "I had to take them down to the side
of the harbour to see the firing at the spy.  Is everything ready?
Because the gentlemen are anxious for their dinner."

Uncle Paul nudged his nephew, glad of the opportunity to change the
bearing of the boy's thoughts, and shortly after the good meal prepared
in the snug, warm room diverted Rodd's mind from the roaring of the
storm, which was still beating round the great hotel; and they had just
finished and were talking about going outside to see what the weather
was like, when a very familiar gruff voice saluted their ears, as the
waiter showed Captain Chubb into the room.

"Oh, here you are," he grunted.  "Come ashore to look after you.  'Fraid
you were lost."

"We are very glad to see you," said Uncle Paul.  "Sit down.  We thought
it was not safe to try and get aboard."

"Well, it aren't very," said the skipper; "but we come in the boat to
make sure you weren't both drowned, and if you'll risk it I think I can
get you round by keeping under the lee of two or three vessels."

"What do you say, Rodd?" asked Uncle Paul.  "Shall we risk it?"

"Oh, I don't think that there'll be much risk, uncle, if Captain Chubb
considers it safe.  I don't mind going with him."

The skipper gave the boy a nod and looked pleased; then nodding at Uncle
Paul he said quietly--

"As we were ashore I told the men to get a few stores down to the boat,
and that I'd meet them here.  I dare say Joe Cross will be an hour, and
by that time it will have lulled a bit, or else be a deal worse, and
we'll see."

It took very little persuasion to make the skipper partake of some of
the hotel fare, and naturally enough the conversation turned upon the
incident that had lately taken place.

"Yes," said Captain Chubb, "the skipper of that craft has got some stuff
in him, and he knew how to navigate his boat.  I could have done it if
I'd been obliged, but I should have wanted a deal of shoving before I
hoisted sail.  Storm was bad enough, and no room to tack; but what I
shouldn't have liked was being fired at by two boats' crews and three or
four forts.  I know what being fired at is, young squire," continued the
captain, giving Rodd a very peculiar look out of one eye, after closing
the other, "and you may take my word for it it aren't nice."

"What, have you been out in a man-of-war?" asked Rodd eagerly.

"Nay, my lad, but several of our fellows have, and if you ask them, they
can tell you what it's like too."

"Then you never were fired at?" said Rodd questioningly.

"Who says I warn't?  I tell you I was, though it wasn't by forts.  It
was a Revenue cutter got trying to hit me."

"What, smuggling?" cried Rodd.

"Nay!  Smuggling, indeed!  It was her skipper--Lieutenant somebody or
another--I forget his name--say Smith.  He made a blunder, same as I did
in taking you and the doctor here for slavers."

"Oh!" cried Rodd, laughing.

"Ah, it warn't anything to laugh at, my lad, with round shot coming
a-splashing right across your bows.  Certainly it was in a fog, and my
craft didn't get hit, but more than once the balls came pretty near, and
I remember thinking whether if the cutter did sink us we should all be
able to swim ashore, and I come to the conclusion that we couldn't in
our boots, for it was about nine miles."

"I should think not," replied Rodd dryly.  "But, Captain Chubb--about
that brig; do you think they'd get right away to sea?"

"I shouldn't think they'd try to, my lad."

"They seemed to be trying to."

"Not they.  Her skipper, as soon as he got outside the harbour, would
try to creep under the lee of the high ground somewhere out west.
Whether he'd do it or not is quite another thing.  Let's hope he did,
for I don't care about hearing that good men and true have been drowned
in a storm, even if they are French.  I am not like your uncle here."

"Come, I say, Captain Chubb," cried the doctor indignantly, "how dare
you say that!  Surely a thinking man can have a feeling of antipathy
against Napoleon Bonaparte and all his works without being accused of
liking to see brave Frenchmen drowned."

"Beg pardon, sir.  I suppose you are right," granted the skipper; "but I
should like to hear that that there smart brig got safe away."

"Well, I hope so too," said Uncle Paul shortly, and with a look in his
countenance that made Rodd think about some words a friend had once said
about a red rag to a bull.  "But I suppose you don't believe that vessel
had some emissaries of Napoleon on board, come to set fire to the port
of Havre?"

"Nay," said the skipper, drawing out the negative very deliberately.
"Don't see any likelihood of their doing such a thing.  What for?
Suppose they did get it alight, that wouldn't bring Bony back.  Nay, his
game's about up now, and there will be quiet again over here for a bit,
though I wouldn't venture to say for how long.  Keeping quiet isn't in a
Frenchman's nature."

"But there was evidently something very special about the vessel, or
else the French Government wouldn't have sent orders for her to be
seized."

"French Government did?"

"Yes, I believe so," replied Uncle Paul.  "We saw the officer and his
men come riding in with the dispatch."

"Nay.  Order for the Revenue to put men on board."

"Oh no," replied Uncle Paul.  "From what we saw and what we heard, it
was something much more important than that.  Why, hang it, captain,
they wouldn't have turned out the garrison and manned all the forts to
stop the progress of a smuggler, would they?"

"We wouldn't at Plymouth, sir; but there's no knowing what Frenchmen
will do.  But there, I give in.  It must have been something stronger
than that, and I am beginning to think that squire here's right, and
that yon vessel, the--the--the--"

"_Jeanne d'Arc_" cried Rodd.

"Right," snorted the skipper.  "She was something of a privateer, on
mischief bent, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if we was to hear
something more about her.  I don't know, though; if the storm blows
itself out before morning we shan't lie long here in harbour, but make
away south as fast as I can make the schooner bowl along."

"Then you think the weather will hold up soon?" said Rodd.

"Nay, I am not going to think, squire; I'll wait until I can be sure.
Anyhow, I won't fill my pipe till we get aboard."

"Then you mean to try soon?" cried Rodd eagerly.

"Why not?" replied the skipper gruffly.  "Look yonder; what do you say
to that?"

"That" was the presence of Joe Cross, who was being ushered into the
dining-saloon by the waiter, to announce that the wind had sunk a bit
and only came in squalls, between two of which he thought he could
easily run the boat alongside of the schooner.

And he did--while the next morning broke almost absolutely calm.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A QUESTION OF FEAR.

It was as if all the bad weather had been left behind, for after a
little snatch or two, as Joe Cross called them, the cruise down south
had been glorious.

The bluff, good-humoured sailor explained to Rodd what he meant by a
snatch, something after this fashion.

"You see, sir, after we started from Havre the weather seemed to be a
bit sorry for itself for being so dirty, and you know how we bowled
along down south till the wind got into a tantrum again--got out of bed
the wrong way, as you may say, and then everything was wrong.  We were
getting into the Bay, you see, where it comes quite natural to lay all
that day.  In the Bay of Biscay O!  Then Nature got all out of sorts
again.  It seemed as if she was waxy to let us have it so comfortable,
and made a snatch to drag us back again.  But the old man was one too
many for her, and kept on for them two bad days, when we sailed out of
her reach and everything was fine."

"Yes, Joe, it was fine.  All that coast of Spain and Portugal was
lovely."

"Yes, sir, and you got grumbling 'cause your uncle wouldn't give orders
for us to let go the anchor for you to go fishing."

"Well, see how grand it was, and how calm the sea used to get of an
evening before we put in to Gibraltar."

"And then you weren't half satisfied, sir.  You'll excuse me, Mr Rodd,
sir, but you do make me laugh;" and to the boy's great annoyance the man
half turned from him, leaned over the taffrail, laughed till his sides
shook, and then pulling himself up suddenly wiped his eyes.  "I am very
sorry, sir," he said.

"Doesn't seem like it," cried Rodd warmly, as he made as if to go away.

It was one evening when the calm sea as it heaved seemed in places to
glint forth all the glorious colours of a beautiful pearl shell, and the
east wind was of a different complexion to that familiar to an English
lad, for it was soft, balmy and sweet, suggestive of its having been
blowing gently for miles and miles over beds of flowers.

"Oh, don't go away in a tiff, Mr Rodd, sir.  It was only me, and you
know what I am.  I didn't mean no offence."

"Well, it was offensive," said Rodd.  "How would you like to be laughed
at?"

"Me, sir?" cried the man merrily.  "Me who has been knocking about the
sea nearly all my life, first in a west-country fishing-boat, and then
in a King's ship, and been in action!  Like being laughed at!  Why,
bless your heart, sir, it suits me down to the deck.  I like it.  Deal
better than having the old man dropping on to me about something being
wrong aloft."

"Well, I don't see that there was anything to laugh at," cried Rodd,
softening down a little, for somehow the liking he had felt for the
sturdy-looking sailor ever since he had come on board had gone on
increasing, and Rodd affected Joe's society more than that of any one in
the ship.  At least he said so to Uncle Paul, who shook his head and
with a grim smile joined issue.

"No, Pickle," he cried, "I won't have that.  You seem to make better
friends with the cook than with anybody."

"Oh, uncle," replied the boy, "you always do tease me about my
appetite."

"Never mind, Pickle," said Uncle Paul good-humouredly.  "Go on eating,
and grow."

But to return to the conversation by the taffrail.

"No, sir," said Joe Cross, "of course you don't, sir.  It'd be contrairy
to nature if you did.  We chaps can't see ourselves.  There's the old
Bun.  He's been offended over and over again because people told him he
was so fat.  He can't see it, sir."

"Oh, he must," cried Rodd, laughing.

"There aren't no must in it, sir.  He can't.  He might find it out
perhaps if he tried to get into a pair of boy's trousers--yours, for
instance; but then that aren't likely, because you won't give him the
chance, and what's more, he wouldn't want to.  You try him some day
about being too fat, and you see if he don't stare at you."

"He will, Joe, when I'm so rude to him.  But come now, you are
shuffling.  Why is it that you laugh at me?"

"Well, sir, because I like you, for one thing, and another is because
you are such an unreasonable chap."

"I?  Unreasonable?" cried Rodd hotly.  "That I'm sure I'm not!"

"Why, sir, wasn't you put out because your uncle and the old man
wouldn't sail right into the Mediterranean Sea?"

"Well, there was nothing unreasonable in that.  I am sure it would have
been very interesting."

"Not it, sir.  I've been there over and over again, and it always seemed
to me just like any other sea, only a bit rougher sometimes, and it
aren't got hardly any tide.  You wait till we get a little further on,
and you'll find plenty to make you open you eyes wider than ever you
opened them before.  I don't know a finer place for seeing wonders of
the deep than along where we are going, as you say we are to, right
along the West Coast of Afriky.  Why, you might begin fishing and
dredging directly after we had put in at Mogador, where the fish are
wonderful, and you can't drop in a line without hauling something out."

"That's good," cried Rodd eagerly; "but I am afraid uncle won't let us
have much time for ordinary fishing.  He will be more on the look-out
for curiosities."

"Ah, well, there's plenty of them too, sir--all sorts, and the farther
you gets into warmer water the more there are."

"What sort?" asked Rodd.

"All sorts, and the nearer you are to land the more you get.  Then I
suppose some time we shall come upon that there Sargassey Sea."

"Where's that?" asked Rodd.

"Right away down south, sir.  Let's see, if I remember right we falls in
with that soon after you pass the islands."

"What islands?"

"Let's see; I ought to know, sir.  The fust that comes near Europe is
the Azores; then farther south there's that there island where all the
sick people goes, Madeiry; then there's the Canaries, where the birds
come from; only they aren't all yaller like people keeps in their cages.
Most I seed there was green, and put me in mind of them little chaps as
we have at home with the yaller heads--you know, sir; them as cries, `A
little bit of bread and no cheese.'  And you see them up country,
a-twittering among the hedges."

"Yes, I know," said Rodd sharply; "but what about the Sargassey Sea?"

"Ah!  I'm thinking it was after that we come to that sea, only I aren't
quite sure, sir.  But if I recollect right, they say it shifts about
according to what sort of weather we have."

"Well, so does every sea," cried Rodd, "when the waves are running
high."

"Ah, but they don't run high here, sir.  You see, the Sargassey Sea
aren't like other seas, and I suppose it's only part of the Atlantic
after all.  It's all smooth like because as far as you can see it's all
like one great bed of floating seaweed, so thick that you can hardly
sail through it at times, and if you go out into it in a boat it's as
much as you can do to dip your oars."

"Have you been out amongst it then?" asked Rodd.

"Yes, sir, more'n once.  It was when I was in the _Prince George_ off
the West Coast of Africa, and we had got a surgeon on board there, and
him and our second lieutenant had both got it badly."

"What, West African fever?" cried Rodd.

"No, no, sir; same as your uncle's got--looking after strange things as
lives in the sea.  I was one of the crew of the second cutter then, and
in the beautiful calm weather we used to take the doctor and the second
luff out in this Sargassey Sea, which used to look sometimes as if we
were floating about in green fields."

"Oh, you mean the Sargasso Sea!" cried Rodd.  "Nay, I don't, sir; I
means the Sargassey Sea."

"Well, that's the same thing, only you spell it differently," cried
Rodd.

"Oh no, sir; that I don't.  That's a thing as I never pretended to do.
I can take my spell at the pump or at any other job; but what you call
spelling was never in my way."

"But you mean the same thing," cried Rodd.  "It isn't Sar-gass-ey; it's
Sar-gass-o."

"Ho!  Sar-gass-ho, is it, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

"All right, sir; I'm willing.  But my one was all alive with little
things, little fish and slugs and snails of all kinds of rum sorts; and
our second luff used to make us haul in great lengths of the seaweed as
was floating about, and then help him to pick 'em out into bottles till
they were quite full, and looking just as if they was pickles same as
you see in the grocers' shops in Plymouth town."

"Well, the same as you saw uncle and me do that day during the calm?"

"Yes, sir, just like that, only yours as you did were small shop and
ours was like big warehouse, though I don't think our doctor did much
good with them, because so many of them used to go bad, and our cook and
his mate used to have to throw no end away and wash the bottles."

"Ah, ours won't go bad," said Rodd confidently.  "My uncle will preserve
them differently to that."

"Oh, yes, I suppose so, sir.  You see, we've all come out this time
ready for the job; our officers on the _Prince George_ only did their
bit just for a day or two's holiday like, and our job was to look after
the mounseers' cruisers, not to catch tittlebats and winkles, and it
wasn't so very long after that we was at it hammer and tongs with a big
French frigate, making work for the doctor of a precious different kind,
and for our ship's carpenters too.  Different sort of nat'ral history
that was, sir, I can tell you, for we lost nineteen of our men and had a
lot wounded; but we took the frigate, and carried her safe into
Portsmouth Harbour."

"Ah!" cried Rodd softly, as his eyes flashed at the thoughts of the
deeds of naval daring carried out by our men-of-war.  "I wish I'd been
there!"

"You do, sir?" said Joe.  "Mean it?"

"Mean it?  Of course!  There, don't look at me like that.  I wasn't
thinking of being a man, but a reefer--one of those middies that we used
to see at Plymouth."

"Ah, it's all very fine, sir," said Joe, shaking his head, "and it
sounds very nice about firing broadsides and then getting orders to
board when the two big men-of-war get the grappling-irons on board and
you have to follow your officers, scrambling with your cutlass in your
hand out of the chains from your ship into the enemy's; and all the time
there's the roaring of the guns and the popping away of the marines up
in the tops, and the men cheering as your officers lead them on.  It's a
very different thing, sir, to what you think, and so I can tell you."

"Why, Joe," cried Rodd, almost maliciously, "you talk as if you felt
afraid!"

"Afraid, sir?" said the man, quietly and thoughtfully.  "No, sir.  No,
sir; I never felt afraid, and I never knowed one of my messmates as said
he was."

"Oh no, of course they wouldn't say so," cried Rodd, laughing.

"No, sir, that's right.  But I aren't bragging, sir.  I've been in
several engagements like that, and my messmates always seemed to feel
just as I did.  You see, they'd got it to do, sir, and we always felt
that it was only mounseers that we'd got to beat and captur' their ship;
and then as soon as we had begun, whether we was crews of guns, stripped
and firing away, or answering the orders to board, why, then we never
had time to feel afraid."

"What, not when you saw your messmates shot down beside you?" cried
Rodd.

"My word, no, sir!" cried Joe, laughing.  "We none of us felt afraid
then; it only made us feel wild and want to sarve the other side out.
No, sir," continued the bluff fallow, in a quiet matter-of-fact way, and
his voice utterly free of vaunt, "whether it's a sea-fight or things are
going wrong in a storm, we sailor fellows are always too busy to feel
afraid.  You see, I think, sir, it has something to do with the drill
and discipline, as they calls it, training the lads all to work
together.  You see, it makes them feel so strong."

"I can't say I do see," said Rodd.

"No, sir, because you haven't been drilled; but it's like this 'ere.
One man's one man, and a hundred men's a hundred men--no, stop; that
aren't quite what I mean.  It aren't in my way, Mr Rodd, sir; I never
was a beggar to argue.  The fat Bun can easily beat me at that.  This
'ere's what I mean.  One man's one man, and a hundred men's a hundred
one men.  That's if they aren't drilled and trained like sailors or
soldiers; but if they are trained, you see each one man feels as if he
has got a hundred men with him all working together, and con-se-quently,
sir, every chap aboard feels as if he's as strong as a hundred men.  Now
don't you see, sir?"

"Well, yes," said Rodd quietly; "I think I begin to see what you mean."

"Why, of course you do, sir.  Say it's heaving a boat aboard, and it
takes twenty men to do it.  Why, if they go and try one at a time, where
are you?  But if you all go and take hold together, and your officer
says to you, `Now, my lads, with a will, all together!  Heave ho!' why
then, up she comes.  Well now, I do call that rum!  Look at that, sir.
If here aren't the old man, just as if he had heard what we was talking
about, passing the word for gun drill, or else a bit of knicketty knock
with the cutlasses and pikes!"



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A STRANGE VISITOR.

Upon hearing Joe Cross's announcement Rodd eagerly turned, to find his
uncle just coming on deck to take his evening walk after a busy day with
his specimens that he had dragged and trawled from the calm sea.

The captain had just given orders to the mate to summon all hands on
deck, and one of the first proceedings was to call the men to attention,
the next to send them to the small-arms chest, from which each returned
with cutlass buckled on and carrying a boarding pike, which were placed
in a rack round the mainmast.

Rodd took his position just opposite as the men fell into line; Uncle
Paul seated himself as far off as he could get, in a deck-chair, where
he sat and frowned; and then Captain Chubb diligently put his men
through all the evolutions of cutlass drill over and over again, till he
was satisfied, when he bade them fall out for a few minutes to rid
themselves of their cutlasses.

In the interval Rodd went up to where his uncle was seated.

"I say, uncle," he said, "how the men have improved!"  Uncle Paul
grunted, and just then Captain Chubb strolled up.

"Well, sir," he said, "we shall soon have a crew now as smart as a
man-of-war's."

"So I see," grumbled Uncle Paul; "and when you have got them perfect
what are you going to do with them?"

"Ah, that remains to be seen, sir.  There's nothing like being
prepared."

"Better let the men rest after all they have done to-day.  What with
their deck cleaning and the work they have done for me, they don't want
setting to play at soldiers."

"Playing at soldiers, eh, sir?  I call it playing at sailors.  No use to
lock the stable-door after the steed's stolen.  My lads may never be
called upon to fight, but if by bad luck we are, I should like them to
be able to use their fighting tools like men."

"Oh, it isn't likely," said Uncle Paul, "in a peaceful voyage like
ours."

"Most unlikely things are those that happen first," growled the captain.

"But you worry the men with too much work, and I want them to be fresh
and ready for me to-morrow morning.  I don't want the poor fellows to be
discontented."

"Discontented, sir!" cried the skipper hotly.  "I should like to see
them look discontented!  But not they!  They like it.  Puts them in mind
of their old fighting days.  Now you shall see them go through their
drill with the boarding pikes, and see how smart I have made them.  I
say they like it, sir; and I know."

"Then I suppose," said Uncle Paul, "you will set them to work lumbering
about that great gun, pretending to load and fire it.  Why, who in the
world do you expect we are going to encounter out here on the high seas?
We are not at war with the French."

"Captain Chubb thinks we may meet with the privateer," said Rodd
merrily.

"Don't you make rude remarks, Rodney!" cried Uncle Paul angrily.  "Well,
there, captain, I suppose you will have your own way, but it seems to me
great waste of time."

"Oh no, sir," said the skipper good-humouredly.  "I suppose you mean to
run in and up some of those rivers we shall pass by and by?"

"Most certainly," cried the doctor.

"Well, and what then, sir?  You are going right out of civilisation
there, and among black tribes and warlike people who are ready for
anything, from attacking another tribe and bringing the prisoners down
the river to sell for slaves, up to taking a fancy to any smart craft
they can master, and then stripping her and burning her to the water's
edge."

"And what becomes of the crews?" cried Rodd sharply.

"Well, Mr Rodd, that's rather a hard question to answer.  If ever you
go to Liverpool or Bristol and you get asking questions amongst the
merchants there, you will find they have got some queer tales to tell.
Sorry you don't like my plans, Dr Robson, but even if we never get into
trouble we shall be none the worse for being prepared."

"Oh, I am not going to complain, Captain Chubb.  Drill away as much as
you like.  You say the men like it, and it satisfies you.  Then my boy
Rodd, here, nothing will please him better than letting him have a
canister of gunpowder to play with and pop off that gun.  So I am in a
minority, and I will give in.  There, you'd better take Rodd and drill
him too."

"I'll take you at your word, sir," said Captain Chubb, laughing, and
making Rodd start with eagerness.  "Fall in, my lads.  Pikes."

The drilling went on till it was beginning to grow dusk, and then pikes
were laid aside and orders given for the gun crew to take their places,
Rodd closing up quickly in anticipation of something coming off.

"Rather warm weather, Mr Rodd, sir," whispered Joe Cross, as, aided by
another of the crew, he proceeded to cast loose the lashings and strip
the tarpaulin off the long gun.  "If it warn't for the showers this 'ere
pocket pistol might very well do without her greatcoat.  I say, sir,
didn't I hear your uncle tell the old man that you were to have a
canister of powder just to fire her off once or twice?"

"Yes, Joe, but I think it was only to tease me."

"You ask the skipper to let you have one.  It's all very well to go on
ramming and sponging and making believe to load, but it is like having
your grog served out in an empty glass.  And if the old man grunts and
shakes his head and grumbles about waste of ammunition, you just ask him
if he'd mind you bringing one of your canisters of powder as you and
your uncle's got for your double guns.  He might let you then, if your
old man don't mind.  We could divide it into about four goes as wouldn't
make much noise, and there'd be some sense in it.  There would be
something to ram down; and the lads would like it."

"But the captain wouldn't let you fire away any cannon balls, Joe."

"Well, no, sir, I suppose not, unless we got the cook up with a
pudding-bag to hold it over the muzzle and catch them again."

"Wouldn't a straw hat be better, Joe?" said Rodd dryly.

"Well, now you talk of it, sir," replied the man, grinning, "I never
thought of that.  Perhaps it would if one of us held it lightly in his
hand and eased off a good deal when we fired.  If you didn't do that of
course the ball might go right through."

"Well, I'll ask the captain, Joe."

"Yes, sir; do, sir.  As I said afore, it would please the lads, and do
good too, for it would clean the gun's teeth, sweep away all the scales
and rust."

"Scales and rust!" cried Rodd.  "Why, it isn't an iron gun; it's brass."

"Why, so it is, Master Rodd, sir.  Why, only fancy me not thinking of
that!  But here he comes.  Try it on, sir."

"Shall I, Joe?"

"Yes, do, sir; as I said, it would please the lads.  They're just like a
lot of school-boys when they gets a chance of a change."

"And Joe Cross doesn't care a bit," said Rodd.

The man gave the speaker a comical look as he replied--

"Well, sir, you see, I was a boy once, and I was born with a lot of
human natur' in me, and I never got rid of it, and I am afraid I never
shall.  There, go on, sir," whispered Joe.  "Pitch it into him at once."

Rodd moved towards the skipper as he came up, and as the latter looked
at him inquiringly he began--

"You heard what my uncle said, captain?"

"What about, my lad?"

"Letting me have some powder to play with."

"Ay, ay!  But you don't want that?"

"Oh, I don't know.  I wish you would have a canister and let the men
load the gun properly."

"Eh?"

"It would be like practice."

"Well, that's true.  But it would be only waste of powder; and I'm not
going to waste any of the cannon balls."

"No, I don't want you to do that."

"Besides, I don't want to use either of the powder-bags, and they're
made for a regular charge."

"Beg pardon, sir," cried Cross.  "Might make small charges up with a
snuff of powder wrapped up in paper; and then I could prick and prime."

"Um-m-m!" the captain growled, and frowned, while the gun crew stood
with parted lips, looking as eager as so many boys on the Fifth of
November.  Then the captain grunted.

"There, Mr Rodd," he said, "it will be a bit of practice for the lads,
and it won't please you, of course.  You don't want to see the gun
really fired?"

"Oh, I have seen salutes fired, at Plymouth."

"Ah, so you have, of course, my lad.  But those are bangs, and this
would be a bit of a whiff."

"That doesn't matter," said Rodd.  "It will be real, and not pretending
to fire."

"Very well," said the captain, smiling grimly.  "Maybe you'd like to
fire?"

"Yes, I should," cried Rodd.  "No; let Joe Cross and the other men do
that.  I'll stand aside."

There was a little more discussion, quite in opposition to ordinary
drill, while the skipper went below and then returned with a pound
gunpowder canister painted red.

"I say, look here, Chubb," cried the doctor.  "Shall I have to move?"

"Oh no, sir; we shan't shoot you," replied the skipper grimly.  "You'll
be safe enough, unless the long gun bursts.  But she's too new and
strong for that.  Here you are, Cross.  Make that into four charges."

The speaker was in the act of passing the canister to the man, when the
look-out man from forward suddenly shouted--

"Sail ho!"

"Where away?" cried the captain.  "About five points off the starboard
bow, sir.  Leastwise, sir, it aren't a sail.  It's a big boat, bottom
upwards and just awash."

"Stop a minute," cried Rodd.  "I'll fetch our glass."

"Bring mine too, my lad," cried the captain, and Rodd raised his hand in
token of his having heard the order, as he dashed to the cabin hatch, to
return directly after and find that his uncle was forward along with the
skipper scanning the object about a quarter of a mile away.

"Catch hold, uncle," cried Rodd, and he held out the telescope with one
hand, and the captain's big mahogany tubed spy-glass, decorated with
coloured flags, with the other.

"No, focus it and use it yourself, boy.  I'll have a look afterwards."

Rodd raised the glass at once to his eye, but by this time the skipper
had caught the object, and began to growl remarks.

"Capsized long-boat," he muttered.  "No, it's a fish--sick whale, I
think.  But I don't know.  It's moving pretty well through the water.
What do you make of it, my lad?"

"It's very big and long," cried Rodd excitedly, "and it may be part of a
whale's back just showing above the water.  I don't know, though.  I
never saw a whale swimming before.  Here, I know!  I think it's five or
six porpoises swimming one after the other and close together."

"Nay!" growled the captain.  "It's something--"

"It's gone!" shouted Rodd.  "Oh, uncle, I wish you'd seen it.  It seemed
to sink down out of sight all at once."

"'Cause it didn't like to be looked at, sir," whispered Joe Cross.  "But
look out, sir," he cried eagerly.  "There it is again, a little farther
off."

"Have a look, doctor," said the skipper, passing the glass to Uncle
Paul.

"Is it a whale?" asked the doctor.

"Nay, that's no whale, sir," replied the captain.  "A whale don't go
under water like that when she sounds.  Down goes her head, and she
throws her flukes up in the air."

"Then what is it?" cried Uncle Paul, with the glass now glued to his
eye.  "It's something very big.  Yes, I can see plainly now--
blackish-grey, and shiny as if slimy.  It seems to undulate, for one
minute the back seems to be only a few feet long, then three or four
parts are above the surface at once, as if the creature were twenty or
thirty feet long."

"Yes, sir; I can see that with the naked eye.--Nay, nay, sir; you keep
the glass.  It's more in your way than mine.  Seems to me as if we have
hit a curiosity for you, only it's rather too big to tackle."

"I think it's a great snake," cried Rodd excitedly.  "I mean, a very
large eel, swimming on the top, and he keeps throwing his head about as
if he were feeding in the middle of a shoal of fish."

"Yes, it is something like that, Rodd," said the doctor; "but no conger
eel could be as large as that, and really I don't know."

"Sea-sarpint, sir," whispered Joe Cross to Rodd, and looking longingly
at the glass the while.

"Nonsense!" cried Rodd.  "Here, you have a look, Joe," and he passed the
glass to the sailor.  "Now then," he said, "what do you make of it?"

"I say sea-sarpint, sir."  The captain growled more deeply than ever.

"Sea-sarpint!" he said, in a tone of disgust.  "There, hold your tongue,
my lad.  You're a naturalist, doctor; you haven't got no sea-sarpints in
your books, have you?"

"No," replied the doctor, handing the glass to one of the men, as he
caught his longing eye.  "But this must be a very curious fish, and it
is evidently feeding.  I wish it were coming this way, so that we could
have a better view."

Joe Cross lowered the boy's glass and looked questioningly at Rodd,
giving at the same time a wag of his head in the direction of the
nearest man.

"Yes, let him have a look," said Rodd hoarsely, and as the glass was
passed the boy caught the sailor by the sleeve, and whispered, making
Joe start and gaze at him inquiringly, before stooping down and giving
his thigh a slap with his right hand.

"Ay, ay, sir!" he whispered.  "Ask the skipper."

"Ask the _captain_ what?" said the skipper sharply.

"I have been thinking, Captain Chubb," panted Rodd.  "Have the long gun
loaded with a ball, and let the men try and hit that thing.  'Tisn't
above a quarter of a mile away."

"Eh?  Have a shot at it, my lad?" said the captain, staring, and then
shading his eyes to watch the object that was gliding along, making the
water ripple strangely, while all around it was in violent ebullition,
betokening that a large shoal of fish was feeding there.  "Well, I don't
know.  What do you say, doctor?" continued the speaker.  "I don't say
that the lads could hit it, but they might."

"Certainly," said the doctor eagerly.  "Try."

There was no occasion to give orders for a ball to be fetched up.  Joe
Cross and Rodd had darted off together, plunged down the hatchway, and
were back again in an incredibly short space of time, the sailor
carrying the ball, while Rodd had snatched up three or four big sheets
of paper from off one of the laboratory lockers, and then as rapidly as
possible a good charge of powder was emptied into one of the sheets, the
gun's crew fell into place and rammed the charge home in the most
business-like manner, the ball followed, Joe Cross thrust the pricker
down into the touch-hole and primed, while another of the men ran with a
piece of slow match to the cook's galley, where the water was being
boiled for tea.

Everything was done skilfully and with speed, while all on deck were in
a state of profound excitement and dread lest the great creature should
disappear from sight and rob the spectators of their looked-for sport.

"Oh, do be quick!" cried Rodd.

"Yah-h-h!" came in a groan, for as the words left the boy's lips there
was a violent ebullition where the great serpent or whatever it was had
been playing, the beautiful ripple of the shoal of fish died out, and in
the fast-fading light of the evening the sea all around lay gleaming and
grey, as it gently heaved, with no other movement now.

"Oh, what a pity we were so long," said Rodd dismally.  "I believe we
should have hit it.  I am disappointed!"

"Well, so am I, if you come to that, Rodd, my boy," said the doctor,
"though I don't think the men could have made a successful shot.  You
see, it requires a great deal of practice to hit an object like that
with a big gun."

"Whatever it was," growled the captain, "it was feeding on that shoal of
fish, and when it made that dash it scared the lot away.  There it is
again!  You, Joe Cross, take a good long careful sight.  Don't hurry.
Slow and sure.  My word, you ought to hit that, my lad!  It's a big 'un
and no mistake.  Silence there!  Every man in his place.  Slew the
muzzle round a little more.  Ready, Cross?"

"No, sir; want to lower a little;" and as he spoke the sailor thrust in
one of the wedges a trifle.  "That's about got it, sir."

"Looks as if he'd come to stay, doctor," said the captain excitedly, as
he bent down to glance along over the gun's two sights, for the shoal of
fish had risen once more, turning the beautiful smooth sea into a
diaper-like pattern, while the strange object seemed as far as they
could make out to be making a snatching dart here and another there,
seeming to be like some whale-like creature with a long neck.

"Now she's steady, sir," whispered Joe Cross huskily, after taking the
captain's place for another sight.  "It's as near as I can get, sir.  If
you'll give me the word."

As he spoke the sailor drew back slightly, the captain cried "Fire!" and
with a heavy, sharp crack a puff of white smoke darted from the muzzle
and began to expand forward like a grey balloon, obscuring everything
from the sight of the lookers-on for about a minute, before it rose
clear, and then the darkening sea was all grey once more.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

CHUBB RE SEA-SERPENTS.

"Hah!  Very disappointing--very," said the doctor.

"Yes, it's gone, I suppose, sir.  One couldn't see where the shot hit
for smoke, but I expect it turned up the water and scared the thing
away.  Well, it's best as it is.  A great thing like that might have
grown very dangerous if it had been hit."

"Oh, we don't know that," cried the doctor.  "Well, I suppose we can do
nothing more," he continued, as, following his nephew's example, he
strained his eyes over the darkening plain.

"No," said the captain.  "Cover up that gun, my lads, and break off.
You, Cross, take charge of the gun, and well sponge her out.  You
others, pikes; fall in.  Now then, right face.  March!"

"I'm disappointed," said the doctor, as the men were marched off.  "I
should have liked to have had a closer examination of that creature.
Well, captain, what next?"

"Tea," said the skipper bluntly.

The tropics were very near, and the night began to come on rapidly, so
that the tea meal was partaken of by the light of the swinging lamp.
But before it was over the moon rose above the sea very bright and
silvery, and getting rapidly near the full, while later on as it rose
higher it was nearly as light as day.

Rodd was anxious to get on deck again, to see if by any possibility the
weird-looking object that they had seen that evening might rise to the
surface; but anxious as he was to join the sailors and question them as
to whether they had seen anything more, the conversation between his
uncle and the skipper kept him below, where he listened to their
different expressed opinions.

At last, though, he went on deck, and found all the men grouped together
forward, and whispering to themselves about the visitor they had seen.

One man said it was a sign, and another grunted, while a third turned to
Joe Cross to ask his opinion.

It was the stout heavy member of the crew who went by the name of the
Bun, and seeming the most impressed of the whole crew he asked Joe Cross
as above.

"Yes," said Cross slowly, "you are quite right, Ikey Gregg.  It's a
sign."

"What's a sign?" asked Rodd, coming up.

"The--the--Bun--Ikey Gregg says it is a sign, sir, that we see that big
squirming wormy thing, and I says he's quite right, sir.  It is a sign."

"Why, what can it be a sign of, Joe?"

"Sea's calm, sir, and that brings all the shoals of young fish up to the
top to feed, and that there thing that feeds on them come up to the top
to get a regular tuck out."

"Oh, that won't do," said Gregg the fat.  "Things like that only come up
to the top at particular times, and you mark my words, it means a
storm."

As the man finished, he turned his eyes to right and left, scanning the
beautiful silvery water before him, and then uttering a loud yell, he
dashed by his companions, made for the forecastle hatch, and without
troubling himself about the steps, leaped right down.

"What's the matter with Ikey?" said one of the men.  "Showing us how he
can jump?"

"Nonsense!" said Rodd.  "It was as if he had been scared by something.
He looked quite wild."

The boy walked close up to the rail and looked over, to see that the
whole of the water right away from the bows was apparently ablaze with
fire; but for a time he could make out nothing else, in spite of its
crystal clearness and the way in which in addition it was laced and
latticed as it were by the rays of the moon.

Seeing nothing for the moment likely to have alarmed the sailor, he was
about to turn off, but only to start the next minute, and stand clinging
with both hands to the rail, for some fifteen or twenty yards away the
erst calm, heaving sea began to be violently agitated, running as it
were with the swiftness of a mill-stream; and then something dull and
glistening and shining like a halo appeared just beneath the surface,
rising till it was quite clear of the water, and passing the schooner in
one broad pale streak.

He was too much astonished to be startled, and for a few moments the
only idea that he could form was that a good-sized vessel had careened
over on to its side and was swiftly gliding along almost level with the
water.

Then all at once something of the same moonlit glistening tint, but long
and sinuous, slowly rose up eight or ten feet above the sea; then higher
and higher till it was double that altitude, and in his excitement and
agitation he realised that it was ended or begun by a snake-like head
something after the fashion of that of a huge conger, the eyes being
many inches across and dull and heavy after the fashion seen in a
deep-sea fish.

One moment he thought it eel-like, the next that it was some serpent,
while to his utter astonishment what he took to be its neck rose higher
in a graceful swan-like shape, beautiful in curve as it was horrible in
its gleaming, pallid, slimy aspect.  One of the great eyes seemed turned
to him with a peculiar glare, while as he fixed his own upon it as if
unable to resist the attraction, he made out that from behind the curve
the elongated body of the creature rose just above the surface, carrying
out the semblance on a great scale to some swan-like half-fishy
creature, and then with a quick rush as if the water were being hurled
from it by enormously powerful fin-like paddles, the strange fish,
reptile, or whatever it was, had passed on into the hazy moonlit night
and was gone.

"Hullo here!  Anything the matter, Rodd?" cried the familiar voice of
Dr Robson, as he came quickly forward, followed by the skipper.  "Where
is it?"

"Where is it, uncle?" faltered the boy.

"Yes; that man Cross came running down to us in the cabin to say that
they had seen the sea-serpent again."

Rodd slowly raised one hand from the rail to which he had been holding,
and pointed outward over the sea.

"Well," said Uncle Paul, "what are you pointing out?  Plenty of
moonlight, and glorious phosphorescence, but where's the sea-serpent?
Where did it show again?  Why, what's the matter, boy?" he continued,
catching his nephew by the arm and taking his hand.  "Don't stand
staring like that.  Your hand's all wet, and like ice!  Have you been
frightened?"

"I--don't know, uncle, I suppose so," said the boy slowly and dreamily.
"I never saw anything like it before, and--and--it came so close to the
schooner.  I think I thought it was going to make a snatch at me and
take me under water.  But don't ask me now, please.  I don't feel quite
right.  I suppose I am cowardly; but it made Gregg run away."

"Then why didn't you," said the doctor jocularly, "if it was so horrible
as that?"

"I couldn't, uncle," cried the boy passionately.  "I turned cold all
over and couldn't stir."

"Well, come down below for a bit," continued the doctor.  "Why, Chubb,
the boy's had a regular scare."

"Ah! and no wonder," said the skipper gruffly.  "It scared the men too.
They saw it."

"What, the same thing that you fired at?"

"Ah, that I don't know.  That was a great long eely thing; but Joe Cross
here says this was more like a great turtle, with flippers and a long
neck, and a head like a snake."

No more was said till they were in the cabin, where soon after he had
found himself in safety, shut in and with the swinging lamp burning
above his head, Rodd heaved a deep sigh and then uttered a forced laugh.

"I couldn't help it, uncle," he said, "and I didn't think I could have
been such a coward; but I am all right now.  The other men did see it
too, didn't they?"

"Yes, my lad; they saw it too," replied the skipper; "and next time we
goes ashore, if we are stupid enough to talk about it every one will
laugh and say we are making up tales for the marines.  I've known
skipper after skipper who has seen something of the kind in the warm
seas and has told yarns about them.  But men don't often do so now, no
matter what they see, for one don't like to be laughed at.  Well, sir, I
suppose you believe there's more queer things in the sea than most
people know of?"

"Well, yes," said Uncle Paul, "I am beginning to believe more and more
that we who follow out natural history have a great deal to learn."

"Take my word for it, sir, you have.  But I dare say you will be
disposed to laugh at me and think that I am making up a bit of gammon,
when I ask you if you remember what a frigate looks like when she has
got all her ports open and her lanterns lit."

"I don't see why I should," said Uncle Paul quietly.  "But of course I
have seen a man-of-war like that by night; and a very beautiful object
she is."

"Very, sir.  But what should you say if I was to ask you if you had seen
a fish looking like a little frigate with her ports all open and her
lights shining in a couple of rows along her sides--lights that don't
burn, sir, but shine brightly as if they did?"

"Well, I am not a man to laugh at anything new in science, Chubb," said
the doctor quietly, "but between ourselves, your description is a bit
too flowery."

"Not a bit, sir."

"I have seen," continued the doctor, "phosphorescent fish and insects,
and even now, swimming round us, the sea is full of light-giving
creatures, but nothing approaching your frigates with the ports open, or
anything near them."

"Well, sir, I could take you right away to the eastward into the Indian
seas--and I am not romancing, mind, but talking honest truth--I could
take you and squire here, where you could drag up fishermen sort of
fish, big-mouthed fellows ready to swallow what they catches, fish that
guide themselves down in the dark deeps of the sea amongst the seaweed
at the bottom, and there they hang out from the tops of their heads long
barbels that look like worms, and fish with them for other fishes, to
catch them to eat."

"Oh yes, that's right enough, captain," replied the doctor.  "You know,
Rodd, that great frog fish, the Father Lasher, as the fishermen call
him.  Why, captain, we have got them at home off the Devon coast."

"I know," said the skipper.  "I have seen them; but those are not what I
mean.  He didn't give me time to finish, squire," continued the skipper,
facing round to Rodd.  "My ones out yonder in the Eastern seas always
live down below where it's deep and dark, and where the fishes couldn't
see their baits.  So what do you think they do?"

"Swim up to where it's lighter," said Rodd.  "Not they, sir.  They grows
a little bait as might be a little bit of meat at the end of their
barbel-like fishing-lines, and wave it about in the water for the fish
they want to catch to see."

"You said it was all black darkness deep down there," cried Rodd.

"So it is, my lad, and so that the fish may see it those little baits of
theirs all glow with light, and shine out in the dark black water.  Now,
doctor, what do you think of that for a bit of nature?"

"Extraordinary!" cried the doctor.  "But who told you that?"

"Nobody, sir.  I have seen them with my own eyes."

"Yes, but what about the men-of-war with their ports lit up?"

"Of course I didn't mean men-of-war, sir.  I thought I made you
understand I meant fish.  Fish about two foot long, with a row of lights
down each side like lamps to see their way in the darkness.  There,
gentlemen, that's no story to tell to the marines, but a fact that I
have seen with my own eyes; and if there's things like that deep down in
the seas, I don't see anything wonderful in there being what some people
calls sea-sarpints that might be as big as a great sparmacetti whale;
and if you put some of them beside a cable a hundred foot long there
isn't much rope to spare.  I knew of a ninety-footer once, though they
don't often get so long as that."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A WARM BLUSH.

Uncle Paul sat very quietly thinking for some time, while the other
occupants of the cabin were waiting for him to deliver himself of what
seemed to be gathering in his brain.  "You see, Captain Chubb," he said
at last, "human nature has always been prone to exaggerate.  If a boy
like my nephew here hooks a fish and loses it, he goes home and tells
everybody that it was about five times as big as it really was."

"Oh, uncle!" cried Rodd indignantly.  "I am sure I never did!"

"Well, well, perhaps not," said Uncle Paul shortly.  "Don't say `perhaps
not,' uncle.  That isn't fair.  You know I always try to tell the
truth."

"Well, well; yes, yes, yes, yes," said Uncle Paul testily.  "I am not
accusing you, Rodney.  I am only alluding to what people who tell
stories do."

"Why, of course, uncle, they say what isn't true if they tell stories."

"Will you oblige me, Rodney, by letting me continue what I was about to
say?"

"I beg pardon, uncle."

"Yes, Captain Chubb," continued Uncle Paul, "there is that natural
disposition born with us, one which requires a great deal of education
to eliminate; that disposition to exaggerate in talking about things we
have seen and others have not."

"Yes, sir, I know," grunted the skipper.  "People will stretch."

"Exactly," said Uncle Paul--"magnify wonders that they have seen."

"Quite right, sir.  I did just now about that sparm whale.  I don't
believe after all that they get to a hundred foot."

"Still," said the doctor, "we know what a spermaceti whale is; but this
supposed creature which has been reported of over and over again under
the name of the sea-serpent still lives only in the land of doubt--"

"Oh, uncle!" cried Rodd.

"Well, sir, I didn't see much doubt about that thing."

"H'm! no," replied the doctor thoughtfully; "but still you must grant
that we did not have a fair examination, and that neither of us, even if
we were clever with our pencils, could sketch an exact representation of
the natural phenomenon."

"Nat'ral, sir?" said the skipper gruffly.  "Well, to my mind it is a
very unnatural sort of thing."

"I think I could sketch it, uncle, if I were clever with my pencil,
which I am not, for I can seem to see it quite plainly now, as it raised
its neck out of the water when it swam by."

"You think you could, my boy; but a great deal of it must have been
under water, and your representation would be open to doubt."

"Humph!  What was it like, youngster?" said the skipper gruffly.

"Just the same shape as a swan," said Rodd, with something like a
shudder, "only enormously, big; but instead of having wings and feet it
was just as if it had four great paddles."

"That's right," grunted the skipper; "just like what I see about ten
years ago in the Indian seas.  I didn't see enough of this one to be
able to tell."

"Well," said the doctor gravely, "I for a long time have been of opinion
that the reports that reach us from time to time about the sea-serpent
must have some truth in them, though they have doubtless been greatly
exaggerated."

"Don't hear of many reports now, sir," said Captain Chubb.  "We
sea-going people have been laughed at too much."

"Yes, I know," said the doctor, "and I have thought over these matters a
great deal, and fully believe that we have a great many things to
discover, both at sea and on land, quite as wonderful as the so-called
sea-serpent.  There's plenty of room, and I see no reason to doubt that
there are great fish--"

"This warn't a fish," growled the skipper.

"Reptiles, then," grunted Uncle Paul, "which as a rule dwell far down in
the depths of ocean, and which only occasionally seek, or are forced up
to, the surface."

"Forced up, uncle?  What could force up a great thing like that?"

"You ask that, Rodd?  Why, what forces a fish up sometimes, to float
upside down on the surface?"

"Oh yes, I know," replied Rodd; "something wrong with its swimming
bladder."

"Exactly; and I should say such a creature as you saw would in its
natural state be always living deep down in the ocean."

"'Cept when he comes up to feed," growled Captain Chubb.  "This 'ere one
was hard at work in that shoal of fish."

"I don't see that that interferes with my argument, Captain Chubb," said
the doctor; "but what I was going on to say was this.  There was a time
in the history of this earth, when just such creatures as my nephew here
described used to be plentiful."

"How long ago?" asked the skipper.

"Ah, that's more than any one of us can say; but I have seen their
remains turned to stone, laid bare in a stone quarry--that is to say,
their skeletons, which show pretty well what must have been their shape;
and if they existed once there is no reason why some of their
descendants, though very rarely seen, may not still survive, though I am
half afraid that my nephew here must have some half-forgotten lingering
memories of one of these creatures that he has seen in some geological
work, and upon seeing that fish or reptile let his imagination run riot
and finished it off by memory."

Rodd shook his head.

"I saw it plainly enough, uncle."

And the skipper gave his head a sapient nod, while the doctor shook his.

"What were you going to say, Captain Chubb?"

"Only this 'ere, sir.  I have 'eard more argufying and quarrelling about
sea-sarpints than about almost anything else.  I say sarpints, but I
mean these things, and I say this.  It will never be settled properly
till one of 'em is caught--which aren't likely--or one of them is cast
ashore so as everybody can see fair and square.  I believe in 'em, and
I've good reason to."

"So do I, uncle," cried Rodd.

"Well," said Uncle Paul, "I have for a long time had my doubts, and now
I am no longer a sceptic."

He looked very hard at the skipper as he spoke, and feeling that he was
called upon to answer, the sturdy captain shook his head and brought his
big hand down heavily upon the cabin table.

"That you are not, sir," he said; "your head's too full of science and
knowledge and larning to be what you say.  I don't quite exactly know
what it means, but I'll answer for it you are not that; and now if you
don't mind I should like for us to go up on deck again and have a good
look round.  It's 'most as light as day, and if a thing like that is
playing around we are just as likely as not to sight it again.  What do
you say, sir, to taking your glass and being on the look-out?"

"By all means," said the doctor.  "Get the glass, Rodd.  Hullo!  What's
the matter with you?"

"Oh, nothing, uncle," said the boy, hastily rising.

"Why, you took hold of the table as if you felt dizzy."

"No, no, uncle.  I am all right."

"Not afraid, are you?"

"I--I was for a moment, uncle."

"Good lad and true!  Naught to be ashamed on, and spoke out like a man,"
grunted the skipper.

"But I tell you I am all right now," cried Rodd angrily, and he darted a
fierce look at the speaker.

"Of course you are, youngster; but you felt a bit skeart again, and
'nough to make you."

"Yes," said Rodd sharply, "I did feel startled for a moment, but it's
all gone now.  Come on, uncle; I have got the glass;" and the boy made a
dash for the cabin stairs.

"I say," whispered the skipper, "that's better than brag, doctor."

"Yes," said Uncle Paul, drawing a deep breath; "a great deal."

They both then hastened up the stairs, to find Rodd half-way along the
deck, hurrying with the glass under his arm to join the men, who were
all gathered together at the bows, save their solitary messmate at the
wheel.

"Well, my lads, did you make it out again?" shouted the skipper.

"No, sir," replied Joe Cross, who took upon himself the part of
spokesman.  "Aren't seen a sign of it.  We have been casting it up among
us that it got more than it liked in the shape of that bullet, and after
going down, it turned waxy-like and come up again to have something to
say to us, but turned worse and went down."

"Humph!" grunted the skipper.  "Then you think we hit it?"

"Yes, sir; and some of the lads have been saying that if they was you
they'd load the big gun well with a lot of grape-shot, and if the beggar
come up again be on the look-out and let him have it."

"Some on us, Joe Cross; not all."

"Nay, but you meant it, Ikey Gregg," said Joe.

"Not me, messmate.  I says it's dangerous to be safe to get meddling
with things like that."

"Ay, ay!" came from two or three of the other men, but only in a
half-hearted way.

But it was encouragement enough for slow, quiet, fat Isaac Gregg to
continue--

"You see, gentlemen, it's like this.  That there long-necked sarpint
thing has only got to make a rush and chuck itself out of the water
aboard us here, and break the schooner's back, and where should us be
then?"

"I don't know," said the skipper shortly.  "But what do you say,
doctor?"

"Well, for my part, speaking for the advancement of natural history,
Captain Chubb, I should like to see that creature lying dead upon the
surface, and left floating long enough for you and your men to take
measurements, while my nephew and I did the best we could with pen and
pencil to describe what might very well be called one of the wonders of
the world."

"And what do you say, squire?" asked the skipper, speaking eagerly.

"I say you'd better load the gun again, Captain Chubb," replied Rodd,
speaking very hurriedly.  "We might hit it if it came up, and then we
could try and do what my uncle says."

"Right," growled the skipper.  "Man the gun again, and you, Cross, come
below with me and fetch a canister of grape-shot and a full business
charge to load the piece.  You lads who are not wanted for the gun, each
of you take a musket and an axe.  It aren't likely that we shall come to
close quarters, but if we do--well, you know what."

Every man on board joined in a hearty cheer, and in a very short time
the preparations were made, even the cook playing his part of keeping
the galley fire ready, while directly afterwards he edged up to where
Joe Cross was in conversation with Rodd.

"Thought I would come the old-fashioned dodge as well, sir," he said.

"Old-fashioned?  What do you mean?"

"For firing the gun, sir.  I've left the poker in between the bars to
get red-hot.  Put that to your touch-hole.  Beats slow match hollow;
don't it, Joe?"

"Ay, that it do, mate, if you have got the fire, and the poker's hot;
but you have to come back to the slow match if neither one nor t'other's
ready.  Well, Mr Rodd, sir, it don't look as if any of us is going to
have the watch below to-night."

"No, Joe, it doesn't.  Do you think the monster will come up again?"

"Can't say, sir, I'm sure, and to speak honest, there are times when I
hope it will and there are times when I hope it won't.  Sea-sarpints
aren't much in my line.  I have had a turn in a whaler, and though a
right whale is a nasty kind of a bird to tackle when she is in her
flurry, you know what you are about.  There's the harpoon in her, and
you have got her at the end of your line, and you're waiting for her
with your lances ready to put her out of her misery.  But even if you
have got a few shot in her, a sea-sarpint's different sort of cattle
altogether, and I didn't like the looks of this 'ere one at all.  She
came up quite vicious-like to look after us.  You see her eye, Mr Rodd,
sir?  I did, sir, for a moment.  There was a sort of leery look about
it, and it seemed to me as if she had just picked you out and meant to
have you.  All the lads here know I'm one as never brags, but if there's
a bit of fighting on I am always ready to stick to my mates, just as I
would now."

"Ay, ay, Joe!  That's a true word," came in chorus.

"Thank you, messmates," said Joe modestly.  "Well, then, I'll speak out.
Between you and me and the post, my lads, I hope this 'ere annymile
won't come up to give us a shot."

There was a low murmur at this which sounded very much like assent.

"It's narvous sort of work, you see.  If the schooner had been fitted
out as a sea-sarpinter with the right and proper sort of tackle, why,
that's another thing.  But then you see, she aren't been.  We haven't
got the proper sort of tools, and we aren't been drilled to use them
even if we had."

"That's a true word, messmate," came in chorus.

"And that's why I says I hope she won't look us up to-night; but if she
is following us up and keeping one of them great sarcer eyes upon our
keel somewheres far away down below, I hope she'll leave it till
morning.  After sunrise we shall be able to see better, and have had
time to get rid of a nasty unked sort of feeling which rather bothers me
just now, though I don't know how it is with you.  There, Mr Rodd, sir,
you faced the thing splendid.  I see you, sir.  You didn't turn round
and run away like Ikey Gregg.  You stood fast there with your hands
resting on the rail, staring the thing straight in the face.  How you
managed to do it I don't know.  But do it you did, and I admired you,
sir."

It was moonlight, and the change in Rodd's face passed unobserved, but
it was scarlet, and felt so hot that the boy involuntarily raised his
hand to his cheek, while a feeling of annoyance pervaded him as he
looked at Joe Cross suspiciously, in the belief that the man must be
bantering him; but as far as the boy could make out, Joe Cross's frank
countenance was quite innocent of guile and he was speaking exactly as
he felt.

But Rodd was not at rest, and in the calm still watch that followed,
with every one on the look-out and ready to imagine that each
phosphorescent flash in the sea meant the moving upwards of the uncanny
enemy, Rodd waited till all was still and restful and they seemed likely
to be undisturbed, to make his way to Joe Cross's side and get him
alone.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

QUERY--A COWARD?

Joe had stationed himself on the larboard bow with his elbows resting
upon the bulwark and his chin in his hands, gazing straight away to sea,
his eyes fixed a little to the left of the dazzling path of light that
extended from the moon to the schooner.

So intent was he upon something he fancied he saw, that he did not hear
Rodd's approach, and started violently upon being touched.

"All right, sir; not asleep," he cried.  "Oh, it's you, Mr Rodd!  I
fancied that it was the skipper, who thought he had caught me napping.
Just you look yonder, sir.  You are coming fresh to it.  I have been
staring till the little flashes of light make my eyes swim.  Now then,
just you look about half a cable's length left of that line of light,
and see if you can't see something breaking water there."

Rodd gazed intently in the direction indicated for some little time
without speaking.

"See anything, sir?" said Joe at last.  "No."

"That'll do then, sir.  It was my fancy.  Well, we are having a quiet
night of it, sir.  No more signs of that old sea bogy, and like enough
we shan't get a squint at it again."

"I don't suppose we shall now, Joe."

"Sleepy, sir?"

"Not a bit, Joe.  Here, I want to speak to you about that thing."

"I am listening, sir.  Talk away.  Rather queer, warn't it, to come upon
a thing like that just when you didn't expect it?"

"Yes, Joe; and you said something about my not being frightened."

"Yes, sir.  You quite capped me."

"Stop a minute, Joe.  I want to say something to you."

"All right, sir," cried the sailor, looking wonderingly at the lad, who
was speaking to him in a husky impressive tone.

But Rodd remained speechless, and it was the sailor who broke the
silence.

"I'm a-listening, sir.  Heave ahead."

"Yes," cried Rodd desperately.  "Look here, Joe; were you making fun of
me?"

"Fun of you?  No, sir.  It was only my way, just to make things a bit
more cheery, for every one on deck seems to be in the doldrums, all on
account of that great squirmy thing."

"No, no, I don't mean that," cried Rodd.  "I mean, making fun of me when
you told the men I wasn't frightened."

"Fun on you?  No, sir.  Why, it was as I said.  You quite capped me, to
see you standing facing that thing without shrinking a bit.  I should
have expected to see you frightened to death."

"Then it was because you didn't look well, Joe," said Rodd, in a low
hoarse voice, as he made a brave effort to set himself right with the
man.  "I was frightened--so horribly frightened that I couldn't stir."

"Well, and no wonder, sir.  Enough to make you.  Why, it would have
frightened a brass monkey, let alone a man.  Look at Ikey Gregg.  I
believe if you'd ha' 'eard him you would have found he was calling
`Mother!'  Poor old chap.  There aren't no way of proving it, as one
don't know how heavy he was afore, but I believe he melted away a bit.
Why, we was all like it, sir.  It was a regular startler and no
mistake."

"Do you mean honestly that all the men were very much frightened?"

"Why, of course, sir.  I telled you I was as bad as bad could be, and my
hair stood right up on end--leastwise, it felt as if it did; and I can
tell you this: I didn't feel like that when we were going into action,
and that's saying a good deal, when a fellow didn't know whether the
first sixty-four pounder that was fired wouldn't send its shot right
into his chest.  And so you felt regular skeart, did you, sir?"

"Yes, Joe; and it made me ashamed to hear you talking about me to the
men as you did."

"Oh, well, I don't know as it matters, sir.  I said just what I thought,
and I rather like to hear what you say, because it seems to brighten me
up a bit."

"Why?  How?"

"Oh, because it makes me feel that I wasn't quite such a cur as I
thought I was.  There, it's all right, sir, and I suppose it's quite
nat'ral for any one to feel afraid when there's something really worth
feeling afraid on.  I dare say we should both be just as bad again if
that thing was to shove its head out of the water again close by here."

"Then you don't think I was such a coward, Joe?"

"You!  You a coward!  Tchah!  Let me hear any fellow say you are, and
I'll hit him in the eye.  But there, it's just as if that thing knowed
we were all ready and waiting for it, and so it won't show.  I'm
beginning to wish that the skipper would send everybody but the watch
for their spell below; but I don't suppose he will, and so we must make
the best of it.  But if I was you, sir, and didn't belong to the crew, I
should just slip off below and turn into my bunk till breakfast-time in
the morning.  What do you say?"

"No," said Rodd shortly; and he stopped on deck and watched with the men
till the sun was well on high.

Then the suggestion of breakfast seemed so full of promise that after
partaking thereof he went back on deck, to stand scanning the beautiful
sunlit plain with the glass; but no further glimpse was seen of the
strange monster that day, nor yet during the next six weeks, during
which time they glided into port for fresh provisions twice, the second
time in that of the sunny Canary Islands.  There a week was spent in
inspecting the beauties and the wonders of the old volcanic caverns,
before they were well at sea again with the sun daily growing hotter and
sea and sky more beautiful.

Days upon days were spent in exploring the attractions of the Sargasso
Sea, till the doctor cried "Hold!  Enough!"  For the bottles in the
laboratory were being filled up too fast, and there was too much to do
yet in the farther south, towards which they sailed slowly and steadily
on, till one day a holiday was announced, for the men had been hard at
work rowing here and rowing there, hauling in drag and dredge, sounding
and hoisting, harpooning fish, and busying themselves with the spoil
they dragged on board, while Captain Chubb stumped up and down with his
hands very deep in his pockets, scowling at his sullied deck, and
wearing clouds upon his sun-tanned brow, till Dr Robson bade the men
throw all the rest overboard, this order, for which the skipper had been
impatiently waiting, being immediately supplemented by another, brief
and prompt.

"Buckets!  Swabs!"

And then as the slime of mollusc, fish and seaweed was washed away, and
the deck of the schooner rapidly grew white again, the skipper smiled
and entered into a pleasant chat with the tired naturalist and his
nephew.

The men's holiday was spent after the fashion of such holidays, over the
buffoonery enjoyed by the crew, especially in olden days, in crossing
the line; and then it was onward again amidst glorious sunrises and
sunsets, amidst calms and fervent seas that seemed to blaze back the
heat of the sun.

It was all new to Rodd, and all glorious.  He was never tired of seeing
the flying-fish skim out of the water to seek safety, scattered by the
pursuit of some bonito or dolphin, watching them till they dipped down
into the smooth surface, as if to gather new strength, and then skim out
again.

The dolphins and bonito were caught, the boy growing skilful in darting
down the harpoon-like "grains," the modern form of Neptune fish-spear.

There were times too when the boy expressed his wonder that in spite of
all the time they had been sailing south, it had been such a rare thing
to meet or overtake another vessel.

"A pretty good proof," the doctor would say, "of the vastness of the
ocean."

"And of how there is plenty of room, uncle, for any number of wonderful
creatures such as we have never seen yet.  But are you always going
sailing on like this?"

"Why, aren't you satisfied?" said Uncle Paul.

"Satisfied, uncle?  Oh yes, with what we are doing.  But I haven't had
nearly enough.  I should like to go oil sailing like this for--"

"Ever?" said the doctor dryly.

"Oh no, uncle; I mean for long enough yet.  But I say, isn't the world
beautiful?"

"More beautiful, boy, than words can express," replied the doctor
gravely.  "But no.  Now we are getting into the Southern Tropics I am
thinking of going more to the east and into the great bay, so as to get
within range of the African shores.  Perhaps we shall make for the
mouths of one or two of the rivers, and get within soundings where we
can do more dredging.  I anticipate some strange discoveries in those
portions of the ocean; but at present we will keep on skimming the
surface and finding what we can."

And so during the next two or three days they went sailing on, and found
something that they had least expected, to Rodd Harding's great wonder
and delight.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE KING'S SHIP.

It was the afternoon of a blazing hot day, when the pitch was oozing out
in drops in every exposed place, and Rodd had found it exceedingly
unpleasant to touch any piece of the brass rail, bolt, the bell, or
either of the guns, for the schooner was gliding on southward with every
scrap of her white sails spread, and the wind that wafted her onward
sent a feeling of lassitude through all on board.

Some days before, Captain Chubb had set his men to work to rig up a
small awning aft, and the doctor having declared that it was too hot for
work, he and Rodd had spent most of their time beneath this shelter,
till the latter had struck against it, declaring it was all nonsense,
for the sun came hotter through the canvas than it did where there was
no shade at all, or else it seemed to, for there was no breeze in the
shelter, and though what wind there was seemed as if it had come past
the mouth of a furnace, still it was wind, and the lad declared that it
was far preferable to stewing under the awning.

It was a lazy time, and the men, who had dressed as lightly as they
could contrive, went very slowly about their several tasks, and at last
when Rodd strolled towards the man at the wheel, he had to listen to a
petition.

It was fat Isaac Gregg who was taking his trick, as he called it, and he
began at Rodd at once.

"I've got something to ask you, sir," he said.

"Oh, bother!" cried Rodd, taking off his straw hat to turn it into a
fan.  "It's too hot to listen.  Don't ask me anything, because if you
do, I shall be too stupid to tell you."

"Oh, it aren't hard, sir," said the man innocently, as he let a couple
of spokes pass through his hands and then ran them back again.  "It's
only as the lads asked me--"

"Well, well, go on," said Rodd, for the man stopped.  "Phew!  It's just
as if the tops of the waves where they curl over were white hot."

"Yes, sir, it is a bit warm," said the man; "but I've felt it warmer."

"Couldn't," said Rodd abruptly.

"Oh yes, sir; much hotter than this."

"What!  You've felt it hotter than this?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you melt away?  I should have thought you would run
like a candle all into a lump."

"Ah, that's your fun, sir.  Some of the lads has been telling you that I
am fat.  That's a joke they have got up among them, just because I'm a
little thicker than some of the others.  But as I was a-saying, sir,
they ast me to ast you--"

"Now it's coming then," sighed Rodd.  "Phew!  Wish all my hair had been
cut off.  It gets so wet, and sticks to my forehead."

"Yes, sir, it's best short," said the man.  "Just you look at mine.  You
should have it done like this."

As he spoke the sailor took off his hat and exhibited a head which had
been trimmed down till all the scalp resembled a dingy brush, for it was
cut with the most perfect regularity, for the hair to stand up in
bristly fashion for about a quarter of an inch from the skin.

"Why, who cut that?" cried Rodd, with something approaching to energy,
this being the first thing that had taken his attention that day.

"Joe Cross, sir.  He's a first-rate hand with a comb and a pair of
scissors.  You let him do your head, sir and you won't know yourself
afterwards."

"Oh yes, I should," said the boy sleepily, gazing down at the quivering
compass and its many points.

"I mean you would feel so comfortable, sir."

"Oh, well, then, I will.  Anything," cried Rodd--"anything not to be so
hot!"

"That's right, sir.  Ast me to ast you, sir."

"Well, you've been asking for the last half-hour.  What is it?" cried
Rodd peevishly.

"To ast the doctor, sir--"

"For some physic to make them cool?" snapped out Rodd.  "Tell them to go
and ask him themselves, and he'll say what I do--that they are not to
eat so much nor drink so much, and not to work in the sun.  There,
that's all uncle would say."

"Yes, sir, but that aren't it," cried Gregg, making one of the spokes of
the wheel swing from hand to hand.

"Then what do they want?"

"Why, sir, it seems rum, but Joe Cross and the other lads know better
what's good for them than I do.  You see, sir, they want to get to work
again at your fishing and hauling, or rowing about, for they says they
can keep much cooler when they are moving about and got to think what
they are doing than when there's no work on hand and nothing to think
about at all."

"Oh, very well," said Rodd grumpily, "I'll go and ask him, for I am
about sick of this.  I think there must be some volcanoes here, or
something of that kind, for I never felt it so hot before."

"You aren't used to it, sir; but I thought you would, sir, and the lads
said they thought you would too.  Thank you, sir."

Rodd yawned, turned slowly on his heels, and strolled away to where
Uncle Paul was sitting back in an Indian cane chair, resting the
carefully-focussed spy-glass upon a half-opened book standing upon its
front edges propped upon four more in the middle of a little table.

"Ah, Pickle, my lad!  You had better stop in the shade.  I don't want
you to be getting any head trouble in this torrid sun."

"Oh, I am all right, uncle; but the men want to begin fishing or doing
something again, keeping cool."

"Too hot till towards evening, my boy," replied the doctor.  "But look
here; you were saying only the other day how strange it was that we saw
so few vessels.  Well, here's one at all events--a three-master."

"Oh, whereabouts, uncle?" cried the boy eagerly.

"Away to the west yonder, hull down.  There, take the glass."

As Rodd was arranging it to his own satisfaction the doctor went on
quietly--

"Out here I am not going to give an opinion, but if we were in the
garden at home in the look-out I should say that was a man-of-war coming
into Plymouth port."

"Yes, that she is, uncle," cried Rodd, who had forgotten the heat in
this new excitement.

"A man-of-war--that she is!" said Uncle Paul quietly.  "That sounds
ridiculous, Pickle.  But one has to give way to custom."

"Yes," said Rodd--"a frigate.  I can tell by her white sails."

"Not big enough for a frigate, my boy.  A sloop of war, I should think.
Now, what can she be doing down here?"

"I know, uncle," cried the boy excitedly--"looking after the slave
ships."

"Ah, very likely," cried Uncle Paul.  "I shouldn't be surprised.  We are
pretty near to that neighbourhood; and if she is it's quite likely that
she'll overhaul us.  Ah, here's Captain Chubb coming up.  Look here,
skipper!"

The captain, who looked very hot, and whose face proclaimed very plainly
that he had been having an after-dinner nap, came slowly up, stooped
within the awning, and in silence took hold of the spy-glass, whose
glistening black sides were quite hot, and which Rodd thrust into his
hands.

He wanted no telling what for, but raised and adjusted the glass to his
own sight, took a quick shot at the distant object upon the horizon, and
then lowered it directly.  "British man-of-war," he grunted.  "That's
bad."

"Why?" cried Rodd sharply.

The skipper turned upon him, looked at him fiercely, and then almost
barked out--

"You don't know, youngster?"

"No.  What do you mean?"

"Means that I've got as smart a picked crew as a man need wish to have."

"To be sure," said Rodd; "of course you have.  I do know that."

"Well," said the skipper gruffly, "I don't want to lose them; that's
all."

Rodd and his uncle exchanged glances, while the skipper went and stood
at the side and began scanning the sky, to come back shaking his head.

"No more wind, and not likely to be."

"Well, we don't want any more, do we?" said Uncle Pad.

"Ay; if a good breeze would spring up I'd show them a clean pair of
heels."

"Oh, I see," cried Rodd excitedly.  "You think that they would press
some of our men and take them aboard.  Oh, Captain Chubb, you mustn't
let them do that!"

"I don't mean to, my lad, if I can help it.  I hadn't reckoned on seeing
one of them down here."

"Uncle thinks they're after the slavers."

"Nay, my lad, I don't think that.  More likely after one of the palm-oil
craft to see if they can pick up a few men out of them."

"Oh, that's a false alarm, captain," said Uncle Paul.  "My papers and
the work we're upon with a grant from Government would clear us."

"Ought to, sir," said the skipper gruffly, "but I wouldn't trust them.
If a King's ship wants men, good smart sailors such as ours, men who
have served, her captain wouldn't be above shutting his eyes and making
a mistake.  Anyhow I'm going to crack on as hard as I can till she
brings us up with a gun, and then I suppose I shall have to heave to or
risk the consequences."

"Hadn't you better risk the consequences, Captain Chubb?" said Rodd, in
a half-whisper.

"Here you, Rodney, mind what you are saying, sir!  It's the duty of
every Englishman to respect the law, and I feel perfectly certain,
Captain Chubb, that there is nothing to fear in that direction, so go
quietly on as you are, unless you are obliged to heave to.  Seeing how
little wind there is, and how distant that sloop, I think it's very
probable that she'll not overhaul us before it grows dark."

"Oh, uncle," cried Rodd, "she'll have plenty of time.  The sun won't go
down for an hour or so."

"Well, how long will it be before it's dark afterwards?" cried Uncle
Paul.  "You forget that we are in the tropics, and how short a time it
is between sunset and darkness."

"Yes, sir; you are quite right there," said the skipper, "and that's
what I'm hoping for.  If we can only get the bit of time over 'twixt
this and the dark, I shan't care, for she won't see us in the morning."

By this time one of the sailors forward had noticed the skipper using
the glass, seen what took his attention, and communicated it to his
messmates, with the result that all who had been below gathered forward
and stood anxiously watching the beautiful vessel, whose sails glistened
in the sunshine as if their warp was of silver and their woof of gold.

Rodd noticed at once what a change had taken place amongst the men.  All
listlessness had gone, and they were watching the King's ship, for such
Captain Chubb had declared her to be at once, and were talking in
excited whispers together, their manner showing that whatever the
captain's opinion might be, theirs was, as sailors, that they would not
trust a King's ship that was in want of men.

After a time Rodd was attracted towards them, and he strolled up, Joe
Cross turning to him at once, to begin questioning him in a low tone.

"What does the skipper say, sir?"

"He said it was a sloop of war, Joe."

"Oh yes, sir, we know that," said the man irritably; "but we've been
'specting him here ever so long.  So's our bo'sun.  There, look; he's
got his pipe in his hand.  Didn't he say nothing about no orders?"

"No, Joe."

"Didn't he say nothing about hysting another stunsail or two?"

"No, Joe."

"Oh-h-h!" came in a groan from the men; and Rodd felt for them, for of
late they had become more and more attached to their position, and
seemed as happy as a pack of school-boys on board the beautiful little
schooner.

"But he has been saying something, lads," continued Rodd, in a low tone.

"Ay, ay, of course," cried Joe.  "Our old man don't want to lose us, and
he knows best what he ought to do.  Go on, Mr Rodd, sir; tell us what
he means."

"I think he means to keep on quietly, in the hope of the schooner not
being signalled to heave to."

"Go on, sir, please, quick!" panted one of the men.  "You don't know
what it means to us."

"Before it becomes dark," continued Rodd.

"Ay, ay, my lad!  That's right, sir.  Why, of course," cried Joe
exultingly.  "Trust our old man, boys;" and whistling loudly a few bars
of the Sailor's Hornpipe, he snatched off his straw hat, dashed it down
upon the deck, and began to cut and shuffle and heave and turn, going
through all the steps as if it were cool as an early spring, while his
messmates formed in a ring about him, half stooped with bended knees,
joined in the whistle, and beat time upon their knees and clapped hands,
till the figure was gone through, and Joe Cross brought his
terpsichorean bit of frantic mania to an end, by bringing his right foot
down upon the deck with a tremendous stamp which was followed by a
hearty cheer.

"That's your sort, Mr Rodd, sir!  It's all right," cried Joe, panting,
and wiping his streaming face.  "If anybody had told me that I could do
that ten minutes ago, when I felt as if I had hardly stuff enough in me
to lift a leg, I should have told him he was going off his head.  Didn't
think you could put sperrits into us like that, sir, with just a word,
now did you?"

"I am very glad, Joe," said Rodd.

"Glad, sir?  So's we--every man Jack on us.  You see, it means a lot.
When you have got a comfortable mess, and a skipper as makes you haul
together in a brotherly sort of fashion, it aren't nice for a King's
ship to come down and take its pick of the men.  We as is able seamen
don't want to shirk, and if we are obliged to go in time of war, why, we
are ready to go and do our duty like men; but it do nip a bit at first,
sir, 'specially at a time like this."

"Ay, ay, Joe!" came in chorus.

"You see, sir, mostlings life on board a ship is so much hard work, and
you has a lot of weather of some sort or another to fight agen; but with
the 'ception of that bit of rough time getting into the French port,
this 'ere's been a regular holiday, and--Oh my!  There she goes, lads!"
groaned the poor fellow, for the hull of the sloop had been gradually
rising more and more into sight, rapidly at last from the refraction as
she had glided into a hotter stratum of air while nearing the schooner,
and all at once a white puff of smoke had darted out of her bows, to be
followed by a dull heavy thud, when the men turned as with one accord to
gaze at their captain, as if hoping against hope that he would still
hold on instead of giving an order to fat Gregg, the steersman, to throw
the schooner up in the wind.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

SUSPICIOUS VISITORS.

There was a dead silence among the men as the soft white ball of smoke
rose slowly and steadily, expanding the while and changing its shape
till it became utterly diffused.  The occupants of the schooner's deck
were statuesque in their rigidity, the crew to a man gazing hard at the
captain as they strained their hearing to catch his next command; the
captain fixed his eyes from one side upon Uncle Paul, while Rodd stood
upon the other with his lips apart, gazing questioningly in his uncle's
half-closed lids, as the doctor leaned back in his deck-chair with a
thoughtful frown upon his brow.

Then he started slightly, for the captain spoke.

"Well, sir," he said, "what's it to be?"

"What's it to be, Captain Chubb?  I do not quite understand you."

"It's plain enough, sir.  If I throw the schooner up in the wind we
shall have a man-of-war's boat aboard us and some young officer in
command in less than half-an-hour.  First thing will be he'll ask for
our papers, and then fall in the lads, run his eye along them, take his
pick, and order the poor fellows down into the boat; and that means
sending us back to port to fill up the best way we can, and perhaps not
do it.  On the other hand, I can make believe a bit and still keep
forging on a little till the darkness comes, and then--"

The captain stopped.

"Yes," said the doctor; "and then--"

"Well, sir, it would go very hard if that sloop of war wasn't out of
sight at daybreak to-morrow morning, and even if she wasn't I don't
think she'd overtake us again."

"I feel sure you are wrong, Captain Chubb," said the doctor.  "I repeat;
my papers and the grant I have had from his Majesty's Government will, I
feel sure, be sufficient to protect my schooner and crew from any action
in the way of pressing from one of his Majesty's ships.  You will have
the goodness to obey the signal, and wait and see what follows."

"You mean to risk it, then, sir?"

"I mean to do my duty as a subject of his Majesty the King," said Uncle
Paul gravely.

"Very well, sir.  I am captain of this schooner, but I am your servant,
and it is my duty to obey your orders," said the captain, in his
gruffest tones; and he walked heavily to the man at the wheel.

The time had been short, but too long for the patience of the
man-of-war, for before the skipper had opened his mouth to give his
order to the steersman, another puff of white smoke darted from the
sloop's bows, there was a heavy thud, and a cannon ball came skipping
over the heaving sea like a flat stone thrown by a clever boy across the
waters of a pond--dick, duck and drake fashion--while a thrill ran
through all on board as they watched the shot pass right in front of the
schooner's bows and give its final splash as it disappeared far away.

Then the captain spoke, the stem of the schooner gradually bore round,
with the sails beginning to shiver as she faced more and more to the
wind, and finally flapping to and fro; but almost at once as the spokes
turned rapidly through Isaac Gregg's hands, a deep low murmur ran
through the crew, while a pang-like spasm seemed to shoot upward to
cause a choky sensation in Rodd Harding's throat.

"Silence there, my lads," said the skipper sternly, and Rodd noticed the
gloomy look upon his countenance as he turned his back to the doctor and
walked to the side to stand gazing at the distant ship.

Many minutes had not elapsed before Rodd, who had turned his back to the
men so as not to see their faces, and to hide his own, saw through the
telescope he was busily using, something moving at the side of the
sloop--a something which glided down her side and which was soon
afterwards succeeded by a faint glitter as of the movement of rays.

Then there was a splash, followed by the regular dipping of oars which
seemed to throw up so much golden spray on either side, and the boy
could plainly make out the sloop's boat being rowed out clear of the
man-of-war, and gradually increasing its distance.

Rodd watched them for some time, and what was but a speck to his naked
eye plainly showed in the field of the glass the regular movements of
the men, and now and then a flash suggestive of the rowers wearing
something brightly polished.

There were more flashes too caused by the sun's nearly horizontal rays,
and these came from right astern, where the golden orange sunshine
seemed to be intensified, looking wonderfully red; but ere long the
watcher had grasped the fact that he was looking at the bright scarlet
coats of so many marines, and then he was able to note the figures of
two of the boat's occupants seated together.

"The officers in command," he said to himself.

It was a long row from vessel to vessel, and the sun had begun to dip,
and sank quite out of sight as the sloop's cutter came alongside, the
men tossed up their oars, and a smart-looking officer of about thirty
sprang up the side, followed by a lad of Rodd's own age, who took his
attention from the first.

The officer was received at the side by the doctor and captain, Rodd
standing slightly behind looking hard at the midshipman, who stared
harder, frowning and putting on an air of the most consequential kind,
while, presumably involuntarily, his left hand played with the ivory and
gilt hilt of a curved dirk, suggestive of a strong desire to draw it out
of its sheath and flourish it before the schooner's crew.

The officer nodded importantly at the doctor, and then turned frowningly
upon the skipper with the angry question--

"What's the reason you didn't heave to?"

"Didn't give me time," growled the captain surlily.

"No insolence, sir!  You ought to have obeyed the first gun.  You are an
Englishman, and by the look of you have been long enough at sea to know
the rules when you encounter a man-of-war.  Now then, what ship's this?"

"_Maid of Salcombe_, Plymouth."

"Owner?"

"I am," said the doctor quietly.

"Oh!  What are you trading in?"

"I am not trading," said the doctor quietly.  "This schooner is upon a
scientific expedition, under the auspices of the English Government."

"Oh," said the officer suspiciously; and he looked from the doctor to
the skipper, and from thence ran his eye over the crew gathered forward,
while the midshipman altered the pitch of his hat, turned towards Rodd,
whom for the last few moments he had been ignoring, and looked him up
and down in a supercilious manner which made the blood mount to the
boy's forehead, and set him staring down at the middy's bright shoes,
from whence he slowly raised his eyes as far as the belt which supported
the dirk, and from there higher up to his hat, where he fixed his eyes
upon the officer's cockade and kept them obstinately there, till the
lad's nostrils began to expand, he grew as red in the face as Rodd, and
his menacing eyes seemed to say, You insolent young civilian, how dare
you!

"Rather a strong crew, skipper," said the lieutenant sharply.

"Yes, sir; picked men," replied Captain Chubb.

"And there's a look about them of the able seaman, R.N."

"Perhaps so, sir," replied the skipper, who gazed bluntly back at the
intruder.

"Well-found schooner, skipper, and carries a press of sail."

"Yes, sir.  Very smart craft," replied the skipper.

"Long gun amidships and a couple of small brass guns forward," continued
the lieutenant, who seemed to miss nothing.  "Very roomy hold below, I
should say."

"Yes, sir.  Built for a Mediterranean orange boat."

"And no cargo, I think you said."

"No, sir; only scientific traps, as Dr Robson here calls them."

"Yes," said the doctor, interposing.

"I am not talking to you, sir," said the lieutenant haughtily.  "Your
turn will come."

Rodd's uncle bowed, and turned away, frowning.

"Stop, sir!" cried the officer sharply.

"What insolence, uncle!" said Rodd aloud; and he turned away from the
midshipman, to cross to his uncle's side.

"What's that?" shouted the lieutenant, and the middy clapped his hand to
the hilt of his dirk.

"I said what insolence, sir.  My uncle is a gentleman."

"And it seems that his nephew is not.  Be silent, boy, and recollect in
whose presence you stand.  I am a King's officer.--Now, Mr--what is
your name?  Robson?  Have the goodness to tell me how it is that, with a
light, fast-sailing schooner, well-armed, and with a crew evidently
fighting men, you are found here in the neighbourhood of one of the
notorious slave-supplying rivers?  You may just as well speak the truth,
for in all probability your schooner will be a prize to his Majesty's
sloop of war _Diadem_."

"I beg your pardon," said the doctor quietly.  "Suspicious appearances
can always be found by those who seek for them.  If you will have the
goodness to step below with the captain you can examine the papers and
the scientific fittings of portions of the hold which were prepared
under my instructions when I started upon the voyage.  I don't think,
sir, you will find any accommodation has been made for the reception of
a black living cargo of those poor unfortunate objects of humanity in
whom a certain vile nefarious traffic is carried on.  Captain Chubb,
pray take this gentleman below and show him everything he desires."

"Oh," said the lieutenant sharply, "if this is so, Mr Rodson--"

"Dr Robson, at your service," said the owner of the name, glancing
sharply at his nephew, with a faint smile upon his lips, for at the
utterance by the lieutenant of the syllable _Rod_ the boy had started
violently.

As the doctor spoke he took out his pocket-book, drew forth a card, and
held it between two fingers in doctor's fashion towards the officer.

"Humph!  MD, Plymouth.  Oh, well, Dr Robson, I hope to find that I have
been labouring under a mistake;" and he raised his hand to his cocked
hat.  "But I have my duty to do."

"Don't apologise, sir," said the doctor, who had changed as in a moment
from the sturdy naturalist into the urbane medical man.  "I quite see
your necessity for guarding against imposture.  Pray proceed."

The lieutenant nodded sharply, and leaving his guard of a couple of
marines at the gangway, and the boat's crew ready to spring up the side
at the slightest alarm, he followed the skipper to the cabin hatch, the
doctor hesitating as if in doubt for a moment or two, and then following
deliberately down the cabin stairs.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE KING'S MIDDY.

Rodd, full of excitement, was burning to follow too and see what he
looked upon as the officer's discomfiture; but there was that middy, who
seemed to be left in command of the marines, and he felt a peculiar
sensation which completely mastered him, filling him as it did with a
desire to have what he afterwards called a good fall out with that
fellow, who seemed to make him metaphorically set up his feathers all
round his neck and go at him as a strange young cockerel of a different
breed who had suddenly appeared in the poultry-yard where he dwelt.

So Rodd stayed on deck, thrust his hands into his pockets, ignored the
presence of the middy, and with something of a strut marched up to the
two marines in the gangway, whistling softly the while, gave each a
friendly nod, examined their grounded arms and their stiff uniform with
its abundant pipe-clay, and ended by spreading his legs a little,
swinging himself slowly toe and heel, and saying patronisingly--

"Rather hot toggery that, my lads, for weather like this."

"Well, of all the impudence!" cried the young officer hotly; and he took
a step towards where Rodd was standing.

Rodd faced slowly round, looked at the boy superciliously, then said as
coolly as could be--

"Hullo, midshipmite!  Not gone below?"

"No, puppy, I have not gone below," and as he spoke the lad pressed the
hilt of his dirk involuntarily and sharply downward.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Rodd.  "Why, that looks like wagging your tail like a
moorhen.  I say, why didn't you draw that skewer just now?  My word, you
did look fierce!"

One of the marines tittered, and the other spread his mouth into a broad
grin, while, convulsed with rage, the young officer turned upon both
furiously, making them draw themselves up as stiff as their muskets.

"How dare you!" cried the middy, turning back to Rodd, and now becoming
fully conscious of the fact that the schooner's crew gathered forward
were gazing at the scene with intense enjoyment.

"What's the matter, reefer?" said Rodd, whose face was scarlet, but
whose words sounded as cool and indifferent as if he were calm in the
extreme.

"Matter, you insolent blackguard!" cried the midshipman.  "If I were not
on duty, and too much of a gentleman to soil my hands with a schooner's
loblolly boy, I would give you a sound thrashing with my belt."

"Would you?" said Rodd coolly.  "That's the worst of you reefers.  You
are nearly all of you like that when you come ashore at Plymouth.  It's
your uniform and the wearing of a skewer that makes you all so cocky.
Now, do you know you have said what a fellow just your age once said to
me at Saltash--but he didn't.  He had an accident, and then we shook
hands, and I took him home to my uncle's and helped him to bathe his
face.  It was such a hot day that his nose bled a good deal.  But we
stopped it.  Nice fellow he was too, afterwards.  So I dare say you'd be
if I had taken you in tow a bit."

"I understand you, sir," panted the middy; "and look here, I shall not
forget this."

"Pooh!  Yes you will," said Rodd, with a mocking laugh.  "I wish you
were going to stop on board.  We have got a spare cot here.  Get your
old man to give you leave when your lieutenant has done smelling in all
the lockers below.  You come while the two vessels are in company, and
I'll teach you how to use the gloves."

"Oh, if I wasn't on duty!" panted the middy furiously.  "I haven't got a
card with me, but give me yours.  We may meet again."

"Hope we shall, I'm sure," said Rodd.  "I say, reefer, don't be so jolly
disappointed because you won't have the price of half a nigger for
prize-money."

"Pah!" ejaculated the middy furiously; and turning his back upon Rodd he
stepped to the side and looked over into the boat, to run his eye
furiously over her crew, who were all sitting upon the alert, ready for
any order that might be given.

But as he turned away and faced inboard, to his annoyance he found Rodd
close up, smiling carelessly in his face.

"I say, reefer," he said, "you do look hot."

"Sir!" snapped out the middy, trying to look the boy down.

"I say, don't be so waxy because you are disappointed."

"I beg, sir, that you will not address your remarks to me; and please
recollect that you and yours are not out of the wood yet."

"All right; only look here; your lads have had a long row, and you have
got another one back.  Let's give the poor fellows a bucket of water,
and I'll pour a bottle of our lime-juice in and some syrup.  It makes a
splendid drink.  Look there; those two red herrings of yours have begun
licking their dry lips at the very thought of it."

The midshipman seemed to give himself a snatch, but he glanced at the
two marines, and then turned and looked over into the boat, for he was
horribly thirsty himself.

"Dry, my lads?" he said.  "Like some water?"

"Thankye, sir!" came in chorus, and Rodd called out at once--

"Joe Cross!  Bucket of fresh water--two pannikins!  And is the steward
there?"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"Two bottles of lime-juice and some syrup for the boat's crew and
marines."

Just then Uncle Paul's head appeared above the cabin hatch, and he
stepped on deck, coming forward to where the two lads were, Rodd smiling
and good-humoured, the middy wearing the aspect of the celebrated dog
which had been pelted with big marrow-bones, upon each of which reposed
a thick juicy bit of beef.

"Lieutenant Branscombe says will you step down and join us for a few
minutes, Mr Lindon."

"Does he want me, sir?"

"Only to partake of a little refreshment this thirsty night."

"That's right," cried.  Rodd.  "You go on down with uncle.  I'll see
that your lads have plenty."

"Er--er--no grog, please," said the middy hastily.

"Not a drop, honour bright," said Rodd, laughing.  "You shan't be
mastheaded for that;" and he clapped the young officer merrily on the
back.

The stay would have been longer, but the darkness was coming on fast;
still it had been long enough for all to become the best of friends, and
when the two officers came on deck it was to find the two crews engaged
in a hearty game of repartee, the schooner's men casting jokes down into
the boat, and the man-of-war's men hurling them back.

"Yes, a very smart crew, Captain Chubb," said the lieutenant, "but if it
hadn't been for the doctor's papers here, we should have been obliged to
lighten you of about half-a-dozen, for you know you have no business to
have such men as this whilst his Majesty runs short."

Just then the two lads were talking together hard.

"Oh, don't you take any notice of that, Harding.  Cocky, you called it.
You should drop that; it's too schoolboy-like.  You know a fellow may be
only a midshipman, still the ship's roll does call him a man, and when a
fellow's an officer in command of a lot of sailors, he's obliged to put
it on a bit, else he'd never be able to keep them in their places."

"Yes, I see," said Rodd.

"That's right; and before I go I just want to say it was very thoughtful
of you to promise that the lads shouldn't have any drink.  I got into
several rows when I was young and green, and went ashore with boats'
crews.  They used to try on all sorts of dodges to get away to the
public-house.  I say, get that uncle of yours to stop about here fishing
for a bit.  I want to get you aboard the _Di_ and spend an evening with
us at the mess.  Do.  I shall get to like you."

"All right; I will try," said Rodd.  "It wouldn't be the first time I've
been aboard a man-of-war."

"Eh?  Where?"

"Plymouth harbour."

"Oh yes, I forgot.  That's where you live when you are at home.  Why
don't you join altogether?  You are just cut out for a middy."

"Couldn't leave uncle.  Going to be a naturalist."

"A what?"

"Scientific gentleman."

"But serve the King!"

"What, and be sent down here hunting after the blackbirding
blackguards?"

"Pshaw!  That's not really what we are here for; only if we see a
suspicious-looking craft we board her."

"Then what are you here for?"

"King's business.  Mum.  Mustn't say."

"Now, Mr Lindon!  Good-evening, Captain Chubb; and good-evening,
doctor.  Glad to have met you, sir, and I hope you won't put me down in
your black books as _homo durissimus_, or some other scientific name.
Give way, my lads.  Mr Lindon!  Do you want to be left behind?"

"All right, sir," cried the middy, springing into the boat and coming
down into the arms of a couple of the men.  "Good-night, Harding!  We
shall expect you on board the _Di_."

Down dropped the oars on either side, and then splash, splash, in
regular movement the blades tossed up the beautiful pale lambent water,
while here and there they broke up the reflection of the stars that were
gradually appearing in the soft violet sky, while the boat glided on
farther and farther from the schooner, making its way towards the lights
of the sloop, from which all of a sudden there was a sharp flash,
followed at a perceptible interval by the report of a musket.

This was answered a few seconds later by a flash and smart crack from
the sloop's cutter, whose course Rodd leaned over the side to watch till
it was invisible, when he turned from the side, to find Joe Cross
waiting and evidently watching him.

"Rather close shave, sir," he said.  "I began to feel as if some of us
was going to have our 'oliday come to an end.  Wouldn't have been so
bad, though, for there are some very jolly fellows there, and it aren't
half a dusty life aboard a man-of-war when you have got over the first
few days, and being what they calls homesick.  Aren't no fear of their
coming back for us, is there?"

"Not the least, Joe.  You are all safe enough."

"We are a-going to give the doctor, sir, such a cheer when he comes on
deck again--three times three, and one in for you.  My word, sir, the
lads did laugh to see you take the starch out of that there young
reefer!  It was fine!"

"Oh, never mind about that, Joe.  But I say, you have been aboard a
man-of-war.  What would a sloop like that be doing down here?"

"Why, you know, sir; looking after the blackbird catchers--the slavers."

"Oh no; they are not on this station for that."

"Must be, sir."

"No, Joe."

"Well, but, sir, you heard what the lufftenant said to our old man.
That's what they were after, sir, and a bit disappointed too, until you
and the doctor made them so friendly.  They thought they'd got hold of
this fine craft, nice little prize, for she'd sell well just as she
stands after being condemned.  Handy little bit of pocket-money for them
in these days when the war is over.  Rather a puzzler to them at first.
The second luff--that's what he was--had never tackled a natural history
craft before, and he wouldn't believe it.  That's what they are here
for, sir, trying to put a stop to the slave trade.  We come upon one in
the _Naaera_ once--the nearer and dearer we used to call her, sir.  Just
about such a sloop as that is.  It wasn't our business, but we boarded
her, the slave ship, I mean, in a calm, and the blackguards aboard of
her showed fight and beat our boat off in trying to get away with their
sweeps.  They were making for one of these swampy rivers out eastward,
rowing as hard as they could, and bringing up a lot of the poor niggers
from below to help pull at the sweeps.  Sweeps, indeed!  Nice sweeps
they were!  And if they once got into the river we should have lost
them."

"Well?" said Rodd.  "And they beat you back?"

"That they did, sir.  Took us quite by surprise.  We never thought they
would have the cheek to resist; and we lay off, rubbing our sore ears
and growling and spitting like angry cats, not knowing what to do,
feeling that we should get worse off if we pursued, and ashamed to go
back to face our old man; and just as we were feeling at our worst we
knew that our skipper had been watching us all the time with his glass,
and there was our launch coming full swing, chock-full of men showing
their teeth.  That set us all up again, and we were like new men.  Round
went our boat's head, and we were off in full pursuit of the slaver, the
lads pulling so hard that we got alongside before the launch could
overtake us, swarmed over her low gunwale, and went at the slaver's crew
tooth and nail, so savage that every man of us showed them the cutlass
practice in fine style, driving them back step by step till if we had
had strength enough we should have driven them overboard or down below;
but they were too strong for us.  Put half-a-pound weight in a scale,
sir, if there's a pound in t'other it is too much for it, and so it was
here, sir.  We boarded her from the starn, and had driven them right up
into the bows, but being a bit india-rubbery, when they could get no
farther they bounced back on us and we were being driven step by step
along the deck, farther and farther aft, till they gathered theirselves
together with a rush, yelling like demons, and the next thing would have
been that such of us as could stand would have been driven over into our
boat again.  But there was a regular hearty British cheer when we least
expected it, for we had forgotten all about our other boat, and there
were the launchers swarming over her bows and taking them in the rear.
That made our lads take heart again.  We cheered back, and charged, and
there were the slavers, blacks, half-breeds and Portuguese, took, as you
might say, between the jaws of a big rat-trap, every one of whose teeth
was a British sailor; and to save being chopped in two, down they all
tumbled into the slaver's hold, trapped themselves like the poor
wretches the hold was packed with.  My word, Mr Rodd, sir, there are
some things as a fellow never can forget, and that was one of them.  It
was just awful, sir!"

"What, did you kill them all?" cried Rodd, horror-stricken.

"Nay, sir, not one.  We might have killed some of them if they had kept
on showing fight; and I don't say, mind you, as some of them hadn't got
some very awkward cuts, for when a British tar's fighting in a good
cause, and been knocked about till his monkey's well up, his habit is to
hit hard; but there, as soon as we had driven that lot below they
chucked their knives and axes and pikes away and began to howl for
mercy.  What I meant was so awful was that place down below--that there
hold with the slaver's crew trampling about and trying to hide
themselves amongst the chained-up cargo.  Awful aren't the word for it,
sir!  The lads couldn't stand it: let alone the sick and dying, there
were some there that must have been dead for days, and that in a close
hold in a sea like this!  But I believe it was much hotter.  Even the
slaver's crew themselves begged to be let out--and there, I won't say
any more about it.  It was quite time even then that our old country
began to put a stop to the slave trade, and I am sorry to say they
aren't done it yet.  That's what made us chaps to-night so free-and-easy
with that there boat's crew.  You see, you can't help liking fellows who
are trying to put a stop to things like that."

"No, Joe, of course not.  But that's not what they are down here for."

"Who says so, sir?"

"Why, that midshipman, Mr Lindon, told me so."

"Well, he ought to know, sir.  What did he say they were here for,
then?"

"He didn't say, only that it was private and he couldn't speak."

"Well, I don't know, then, only a man-of-war wouldn't be down here for
nothing; that's pretty sure.  Maybe we shall run into company with them
again some day, and then I dare say we shall know.  They gave us lads a
fright, but I aren't sorry we met them, sir, for it was a bit of a
change.  Yes, Mr Rodd, sir, they are down here on some business
pertickler secret and sealed orders; but you wait a bit, sir, and I dare
say one of these days you'll find out."



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

OH, MURTHER!

Rodd was early on deck next morning for his bath, which consisted of so
many buckets of water fresh fished up and dashed upon him by the men as
a makeshift, consequent upon Captain Chubb telling him that he could not
have any swims on account of the sharks.  "Can't spare you, my lad," he
had said.  "But I haven't seen a shark," grumbled Rodd.  "No, my lad,
but they would very soon see you.  You never know where those gentlemen
are."

So Rodd went on deck when sea and sky looked dim and a faint mist lay
low upon the surface of the ocean, making everything indistinct.  "She's
gone, sir; she's gone!"

"Who's she, and where has she gone?" said Rodd, rather sleepily.

"The _Diadem_, sir."

"What, the sloop of war?  Not she!  You will see her come peeping out of
the fog yonder before long."

"Nay, sir; she's gone right off, and it's all right.  My word, I wish we
had got a fiddle here!"

"A fiddle!  What for?"

"Hornpipe, sir.  The boys are all bubbling over and don't know how to
bear themselves.  Nothing like a few kicks up and down the deck to a
well-played old tune, to get rid of it all."

"Why, what are you talking about?" cried Rodd.

"Talking about, sir?  Ah, you never knowed what it was to be a sailor,
and when you are free never knowing for a moment how soon you may be
pressed.  Why, I don't believe there was a man Jack on us as slept a
wink last night with thinking about this morning."

"What, for fear you would be pressed, after what uncle said?"

"Ay, ay, sir.  Your uncle meant right enough, and he believed what he
said, and that there lieutenant was civil enough; but a second
lieutenant aren't a first lieutenant, sir, and a first lieutenant aren't
a post-captain.  We all talked a bit last night, and put that and that
together, and Isaac Gregg, who aren't a very wise chap--you see, sir,
he's got too much fat about him to leave room for anything else--but he
said something smart last night.  `Yes,' he says, `my lads, that all
sounds right enough, but suppose when that boat got back the captain
says, Yes, he says, it's all very well, and I dare say that there gent
got leave from Government to man his schooner and come down here
bottling sea-leeches and other insects of that kind; but I am short of
men for the King's ship, and that's more consequence than what he's
doing of.  So you just start back at daybreak in the boat with my
compliments to Dr Robson, saying I'm very sorry, but he must please
hand over six of the best lads he's got.'"

"Oh, nonsense, Joe!  The captain would be too much of a gentleman."

"Being a gentleman, sir, is being a gentleman, but duty's duty, and
officers and sailors have to give up everything to that.  Last night,
whether we was on the watch, or turned in to our hot bunks, every man
Jack of us felt that the Bun was right, and a bit envious of him,
because, poor chap, he would have been safe.  They wouldn't have took
him; but we all of us fully expected to see that boat coming back for us
this morning.  But not only aren't there no boat, but the sloop's
slipped away in the night and gone."

"Where's she gone, then?"

"Well, that's what we don't know, sir, and we don't care."

"But are you sure, Joe?  She may be lying off yonder in the mist."

"Oh no, she aren't, sir.  Two on us have been up right aloft till we
could lay our hands on the main truck; and when you are up there you are
looking right over the fog.  It's wonderful how close it lies to the
water.  It's all right, sir, and I believe we are safe.  Aren't you
glad?"

"Of course I am, Joe."

"I know you are, sir.  But just you think what we must be, just about
five hundred times as glad as you are, and we are all ready for anything
you like.  What's it to be to-day?"

"Well, I don't think we shall do much.  Uncle will consider it too hot."

"Hot, sir?  Not it!  Just right.  We shan't mind.  Fishing, netting,
rowing.  You tell him not to think about us.  It will just warm us up,
for most on us had the shivers all night."

The low mist began to lift soon after Rodd had had his bath, for the
level rays of the sun began to pierce the grey haze as the great orange
orb slowly rolled up from the depths of ocean, investing it with the
loveliest of pearly tints and iridescent hues, while not a speck of sail
or the clearly marked lines of topmasts could be seen upon the horizon
line.

"Well," said the doctor, at breakfast, as Rodd told him what the men had
said, "the heat will be very great, but I shouldn't spare myself.  If I
gave up my researches to-day it would be for the sake of the men."

"You needn't consider them that way, sir," said Captain Chubb.  "They
would rather you didn't.  But couldn't you do something that would spare
my deck a little?"

"Well, I am afraid that's impossible, Captain Chubb," said the doctor.

"Ah, well, sir," said the captain, with a sigh, "I suppose you must go
on; but it seems a pity when everything's so white and clean."

So the captain's decks suffered all day, and were swabbed clean again,
while that evening before the mists began to gather there was a fresh
surprise.

Rodd took it into his head to go up to the main cross-trees with the
glass.  He had said nothing, but he had some idea as to the possibility
of the sloop coming into sight again, and he had made up his mind if he
could see her in the distance to give Captain Chubb a broad hint, and
urge him to press on full sail right through the night.

It was very glorious, Rodd thought, as he perched himself up aloft on
the cross-trees, after finding the heavy glass very much in his way as
he climbed.

"It's beautiful up here; but--"

He did not finish his remark to himself, but got his left arm well round
the mast, adjusted the glass, and began slowly to sweep the horizon.

He felt in a state of doubt and suspicion, fully expecting that at any
moment the tapering masts of the sloop might slowly creep into the field
ready to damp his hopes, for his feelings were completely on the side of
the men.  But as slowly and carefully he ran the glass along what seemed
to be the very edge of the world, his spirits rose.

"Nothing--nothing," he kept on muttering to himself.  "Oh, how big the
world is, after all!  Here we are, just like a speck on the ocean, quite
alone, and though there must be thousands of ships and boats sailing
about, not one in sight, and in about another ten minutes all will be
bright starlight again--and let's see, I began here, and I've swept the
sea right round, and just in time, for before I could go round again or
half-way it will be quite dark--and--What's that?" he cried excitedly.

He started violently, and his hands trembled so that he had great
difficulty in steadying the glass to fix it upon that which had suddenly
caught his eye.

"Nothing!" he muttered impatiently.  "It was my fancy.  I made as sure
as possible, just as I was going to lower the glass, that I could see
the three masts of the sloop standing right out yonder towards the west.
All rubbish and imagination," he muttered.  "I pictured that because it
was what I was afraid of seeing when--Oh-h-h!  It wasn't fancy!  There
she is!  Oh, there she is, after all!"

He looked sharply down at the deck, which was occupied only by four of
the men, the skipper and Uncle Paul being in the cabin.  But one of
these men was Joe Cross, and Rodd chirruped faintly to attract's the
sailor's attention.

"Make out anything, sir?"

"Come up here, Joe," replied Rodd, in a low tone, and the man sprang to
the ratlines and began rapidly to ascend till he was nearly on a level
with the occupant of the cross-trees.

"See a whale spouting, sir?  I should have thought it was getting too
dark."

"No, Joe; but I have just made out the sloop with the glass."

"Nay, sir!  Don't say that!" cried the man, in a startled tone.

"Take the glass, Joe.  I am afraid it's true."

"Oh, murther! as Pat says," groaned the sailor, as he hurriedly adjusted
the glass and began to sweep the horizon in the direction Rodd pointed
out, a few points on the starboard bow.  "Can't see nothing, sir.  Were
you sure?"

"Yes, Joe; quite."

"But it's getting dark too fast, sir.  I can make nothing out.  If you
are right, though, she mayn't have seen us and may be out of sight again
by morning.--Ah, I've got her!"

"There, I knew I was right, Joe."

"Not quite, sir.  Yes, I've got her quite plain now, but she's dying out
fast.  It aren't a man-of-war.  It's a two-master of some kind.  A big
schooner or a brig.  It's all right, sir.  There's life in a mussel,
after all.  My word, though, didn't it bring my heart up into my mouth!"

"Are you sure it's not a three-master, Joe?" cried Rodd joyously.

"Sartin sure, sir.  Why, you talk as frightened like as we poor lads
were."

"What vessel was it, then?"

"Oh, I don't know what she was, sir.  I only know what she warn't.
That's enough for us, eh, sir?  I say, sir; what weather!  Rather
different to what we had in the French port.  Looks settled too.  Nice
and cool the air feels.  There, it's only fancy, but it's just as if I
could sniff the land."

"How far are we away, Joe?" asked Rodd.

"Long way, sir.  But I say, Mr Rodd, sir, I wouldn't say anything down
below.  It'd only skeer the lads and set them thinking all night."

"But wouldn't you say anything about having seen that ship?"

"Oh, if you like, sir.  The skipper ought to know.  But I can swear she
warn't a man-of-war, and that's enough for us.  Oh, there is the
skipper.  My word, though, you can hardly see him!  Curus, isn't it, how
the mist begins to gather?  Pretty good sign we are not so very far off
the shore.  Will you hail him, sir, or shall I?"

"You, Joe."

A brief conversation ensued, question and answer ending by Joe's
declaration that he believed it was a brig; and then they descended to
the deck.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

DREAMY.

Very curious incidents are sometimes invented, but the most extravagant
can be matched by others that have really occurred.

One of the last things that had been talked about that evening had been
the vessel of which Rodd had caught a glimpse in the short tropic
twilight just as it was being swallowed up by the darkness and mist of
night.  Joe Cross had incidentally said that he believed it was a brig,
and that night as Rodd lay half asleep, half wakeful, in his cot, kept
from finding the customary repose of a tired lad by the heat of the
narrow cabin below, the word brig brought to mind the vessel that had so
nearly run upon them in Havre-de-Grace, and in a drowsy stupid way he
had pictured her tall tapering spars, the flapping of her stay-sail, and
the rush of the storm.

Then all was blank, till all at once it seemed as if time had elapsed
and he was picturing the French brig once more, knowing that it was the
_Jeanne d'Arc_, though all was darkness and he only caught sight of the
vessel now and then, by the flashing of the fort guns, while the roar of
their reports echoed loudly above the rush of the wind as the brave
vessel tacked from side to side of the harbour, striving to reach the
mouth and escape out to sea.

It was all very vivid as in a dream.

Flash went the fort gun, there was the roar of the report, and all was
darkness, again and again, while somehow--he could not tell how it was--
the heat was intense, and Rodd threw up one hand, which came in contact
with the top of his cot with a sharp rap.

"Bah!  It hurts," muttered the boy; and then dream and reality merged in
one, for there was another flash and the roar as if of half-a-dozen
guns.

But the boy was awake now to the fact that he was not dreaming of the
escape of the French brig, but far south of the Equator, lying half
stifled in his cot, listening to the roar of a tropic storm, while every
now and then the cabin which he shared with his uncle was lit up by the
vivid flashes, which were succeeded by fresh roars.

"What a storm," thought Rodd, "and how hot!"

He slipped out of his cot to go and thrust open the cabin window.

"Hear the thunder, uncle?" he said.

But it had ceased for the moment, the last peal dying softly away, and
for answer to his question he had only the deep regular breathing of a
sound sleeper.

"He must have been tired," thought the boy, and creeping closer to the
cabin window he thrust out his hand to let in more air, but found the
window wide open as it could be.

"He must have found out how hot it was and done that himself," thought
Rodd, as he knelt softly upon the bulkhead to try and breathe the fresh
air; but it was hot and half suffocating, while the blackness was
intense.  One moment there was a faint quivering somewhere above, and
just enough to show him the murkiness of the sea which spread out from
beneath him far away like so much blackened oil touched for a few brief
instants with streaks of gold.

"Why, there isn't a breath of air," thought Rodd, and then he started
back, dazzled by the brilliant glare of the lightning, which made him
involuntarily close his eyes and keep them shut till the terrific crash
of thunder, which seemed to burst exactly over his head, had gone
rolling away as if its echoes were composed of gigantic cannon balls
passing slowly down metallic tunnels right away into space.

"That was a startler," said the boy to himself.  "How awful, but how
grand!  It's rather hard to think that the danger's in the lightning,
and that there is nothing in the thunder to hurt."

Then once more all was black silence above and below, and all beyond the
cabin window seemed to be solid.

"I never saw a storm like this at home," thought the boy.  "Uncle can
sleep!"

There was another brilliant flash, but this time Rodd felt prepared and
did not shrink.  He only knelt, gazing out of the stern window,
impressed by the grandeur of that which he had seen.

Behind him he felt that everything in the cabin had been as light as
day, but away from him all around he had looked upon a vivid picture, a
gloriously wondrous cloudscape stretching far above and reflected far
beneath in the smooth, oily, gently heaving sea--a grand vision of
mountains of blue and gold and purple, which quivered before his eyes
for a few moments in such vivid intensity that his eyeballs ached; then
all was black again for a few moments, and then came the deep-toned roar
as of hundreds of distant mighty cannons; not a sudden, sharp, metallic
crash as in the last instance, but a deep murmurous intonation which
made the woodwork of the schooner tremble.

Rodd felt no fear--nothing but a sense of awe at the grandeur of the
storm, and it was with a feeling of eagerness that he waited for the
next flash.  But a minute passed before there was a faint quivering
which slightly lit up the sea, to give place to blackness, silence and
darkness.  Then there was another faint quivering light that seemed to
come from somewhere behind where he stood, and again he waited for one
of those vivid flashes that should show up the configuration of the
clouds shaped in mountain and valley and distant cave.

And many minutes must have passed, during which time Rodd listened in
the appalling silence for the distant soft and increasing rushing sound
of the coming rain, even as he had listened before in far-off Devon to
the coming of some summer storm.

"There will be wind too," he thought.  "I wonder whether all is made
fast aloft; for a storm like this," he continued, in his ignorance,
"can't come without a tremendous wind and a rush of rain."

His next thought was that he would go on deck and see what the watch
were about; but he hesitated to stir, for the thought of the gorgeous
cloudscape he had seen fascinated him and held him to his place.

"I needn't worry about that," he thought.  "Captain Chubb's sure to be
on deck.  He wouldn't sleep like we do.  If I go and open the cabin door
it will wake uncle up.  Hah!  It's quivering again.  The storm can't be
over like this.  Now there's another big flash coming."

He had hardly formed the thought when from quite up in the zenith down
into the depths of the sea the arch of heaven seemed to open out in a
sharp jagged line of vivid blue light, shutting again instantaneously,
and the boy knelt gazing before him in wonder, for there, about a mile
away, with every spar and yard and rope standing out black against the
blue light, was the picture--the model, it seemed to him to be--of a
tall-masted brig sitting motionless upon the water; and then it was
gone.

"Why, that must have been the one we saw," thought Rodd, and he strained
his eyes again as he listened for the roar of the thunder that should
have succeeded the vivid zigzag flash of electricity; but it did not
come, and he waited and waited in the darkness in vain, trying to grasp
how it could be that a storm should come to an end in so strange and
unsatisfactory a way according to his lights, and why there should be
neither rain nor wind.

He waited, trying hard now to pierce the black darkness, but trying in
vain.

There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and in spite of the wonder
and awe that had pervaded him, Rodd Harding now behaved like a very
ordinary human being, for he yawned, felt sleepy and that he was not so
hot as he was before, and thinking that it was no use to stop there any
longer, and that he might as well dress, he crept softly back to his cot
and stood thinking again.

"Can't be anything like morning," he said to himself, "and I shall be
able to see that brig then.  Why, I remember now; I was dreaming about
the storm at Havre, and that vessel--what was it?  The _Jeanne d'Arc_--
escaping, and the forts firing at her; and I saw the flashes from the
guns.  Of course; how absurd!  That was the thunder and lightning,
and--"

Rodd slipped slowly on to his pillow, yawned again, muttered something
about how sleepy he felt, and the next moment he was off as soundly as
his uncle; but only, it seemed to him, to begin dreaming directly after
about the escaping of the brig, and the storm, mingled with the noise
and the shouting of people ashore, and a heavy bump from somewhere close
at hand; and then the boy was wide awake again, springing up so suddenly
in his cot that it was not his hand but his head that struck with a rap
against the woodwork, as a voice that he hardly recognised in the
confusion shouted--

"Rodd, boy!  Quick--on deck!  The schooner's going down!"



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

STRANGE PROCEEDINGS.

"Is it a wreck, uncle?" panted Rodd.

"I thought so, boy," cried Uncle Paul; "but don't talk.  Slip on two or
three things."

He was still speaking, when there was a rush down the cabin stairs, and
the captain shouted--

"Quick, doctor!  Your pistols and a gun!  We are attacked!"

The words thrilled through Rodd, and the next minute he had seized a
double gun and was ready to follow his uncle and the skipper on deck,
where in the faint light of morning he found nearly the whole of the
crew gathered across the after part of the deck, armed with capstan bars
for the moment, while the mate and Joe Cross were rapidly handing round
cutlasses and pikes.  The forward part of the schooner was in the hands
of strangers, all well-armed; others were climbing over the bows from a
boat which was made fast alongside, while hurried orders were being
given to them in French by a tall, dark, grey-haired man, sword in one
hand, pistol in the other.

"What's the meaning of this?" panted Uncle Paul to the skipper, while
Rodd felt as if he were not yet awake, and suddenly recalled the fact
that he had armed himself with a perfectly useless weapon, for in his
excitement he had forgotten powder flask and bullets, having instead of
the latter brought a belt containing small shot.

"Pirates or privateers, sir," replied the skipper hotly, "but just give
us time.  Be smart, my lads.  Pikes and cutlasses, and then all together
with a will!"

"For heaven's sake let's have no bloodshed, Captain Chubb!" cried Uncle
Paul, catching the skipper by the arm.

"Not my wish, sir," said the captain shortly; "but this is my schooner
while I command her, and I'm going to clear this deck."

"Ay, ay, sir!" came in a low, eager murmur from the men.

"There, sir," said the skipper; "you and the lad stand back.  Ready, my
lads?"

"No, no!" cried Uncle Paul, who saw that the strangers forward, all as
well-armed as the schooner's crew, were eagerly waiting for the order to
advance from their leader, each party being ready to be let slip for
what might prove to be a desperate encounter.

Rodd grasped this, and then felt puzzled as he saw a youth of about his
own age suddenly elbow his way to the front to stand beside the leader.

Suddenly awakened as he had been from sleep, Rodd felt more confused
than ever, for the sight of the youth, who from his dress seemed to be
the second officer, added to his confusion, though for the moment he
could hardly tell why.

And this just as Uncle Paul was grasping the skipper's arm and saying--

"Don't be hasty.  These cannot be pirates.  There must be some mistake."

"Maybe, sir, but these fellows who have boarded us have made it.  Now,
sir, once more, stand back and let us clear the deck.  They can talk
when they are back in their boats."

There was a few moments' silence, each side seeming unwilling to begin,
and taking advantage of an apparent hesitancy on the part of the strange
leader, Uncle Paul instead of stepping back raised his hand and
advanced, Rodd springing to his side, while their movement was exactly
followed by the chief intruder and the youth who stepped to his side.

"Now, sir," cried Uncle Paul firmly, in French.

"I understand English," was the reply.

"I am very glad," said Uncle Paul.  "Now, sir, you see that we are
well-armed and prepared.  What is the meaning of this attack?"

"Ah, I am glad, sir," said the stranger courteously.  "Pray keep your
men back, and I will mine."

"Tell them to clear off the deck, then, doctor.  There must be no talk
here."

"Be silent, Captain Chubb!" cried Uncle Paul sternly.  "We must have no
bloodshed."

"No, sir," cried his opponent quickly, and in very excellent English.
"We are no pirates.  I am the captain of that brig, and in urgent need
of help."

"And this is a very strange way of asking for it, sir."

"Yes, yes, I know, my friend," cried the other hotly, "but it was forced
upon me by circumstances.  I have need of your vessel, and I must have
it at all costs--peacefully if you will, and I am ready to recompense
you, the owner, for any loss of cargo at your destination which you may
incur; but I must have the use of this little ship."

"Indeed, sir!" said Uncle Paul, with a peculiar smile.  "And if I say
you cannot have it; what then?"

"Then, sir," said the stranger haughtily, "you see we are prepared.  I
shall be compelled to take it from you by force."

"Ah-h-h!" came like a low growl of satisfaction from the schooner's
crew, and Rodd was conscious of a rather ominous movement on the part of
the men, who began moistening their hands and taking a firmer grip of
their weapons.

Rodd was drinking in this colloquy, which filled him with wild
excitement; but all the time he kept glancing from the young officer who
stood sword in hand to the brig he had seen over-night and again thrown
up by the storm, still lying about the same distance away from the
schooner, and then with his head suddenly seeming to become clearer he
cried out aloud--

"Uncle, those are the officers we saw at Havre, and that's the brig that
escaped."

"You--you were at Havre!" cried the elder officer excitedly; and he
stepped closer to Rodd, his young companion, watchful and on the alert,
following his example and keeping close as if to defend him from any
attempted seizure.

"Yes, yes, of course," cried Rodd, without looking at the speaker, his
eyes being fixed upon the young man.

"Then this is a French vessel?" cried the officer.

"No, sir," replied Uncle Paul.  "It is my schooner, and I am not in
pursuit of your brig."

"Why, it is!" cried Rodd suddenly, as he dropped the butt of his
unloaded gun with a thud upon the deck.  "I thought I knew you again!--
Uncle, this is the young French prisoner I helped to escape from
Dartmoor."

Before he could say another word the sword the young Frenchman held
dropped from his hand to the extent of its gold-laced knot, and to
Rodd's confusion a pair of thin arms were flung about his neck and he
was held tightly to the young stranger's breast.

"Oh, _mon ami_! _mon ami_!  My dear friend!" he cried.  "Do we meet once
more like this?  _Mon pere, c'est le jeune Anglais qui nous a sauves
dans cet affreux temps_."

"Moray!" cried the officer, looking stunned.  "Is this true?"

"True?  Oh yes!  Oh yes!" cried the lad, speaking now in English.  "You,
young angler, fisherman, this is my dear father."

To Rodd's false shame and confusion, he had to submit to another
embrace, for before he could realise what was about to happen the
officer had followed his son's example and not only embraced him, but
kissed him on both cheeks.

"Well, this is a queer set out," said Uncle Paul.  "Then you are the two
fellows who broke into my bedroom and helped yourselves to my purse?"

"Ha, ha!  Yes, my friend," cried the officer, laughing; "but you and
your brave son will forgive.  We were poor exiles and prisoners fighting
for our liberty, and you will let us make amends."

"Oh, well, you did," said Uncle Paul bluffly; "but that is no excuse for
turning pirates and trying to rob me of my ship at the point of the
sword."

"No, no," cried the officer hastily, "but you are a brave Englishman,
and you and your son--"

"No, sir, my nephew."

"--will forgive.  One moment; let me think!" cried the officer, as he
dragged his hand from out of his sword-knot and thrust the blade into
its sheath.  "Yes, yes, let me think.  I have it, Morny," and turning to
his followers he uttered a short sharp command which resulted in his men
swinging themselves over the side and entering the two boats in which
they had effected the surprise of the schooner.

At their first movement in retreat the skipper's crew burst into a loud
jeering laugh, and made as if to rush forward; but at a word from
Captain Chubb they were silenced and held back.

"I thank you, sir," said the French officer, raising his hat to the
skipper.  "It was well done.  Now let me speak; let me explain," and he
looked from Rodd to his uncle and back, and then gave a glance at the
skipper, while the two lads stood hand in hand.

"It was like this," he said; "you saw us at Havre that stormy day, and
of course my brig nearly crushed into your vessel.  Then we lay at
anchor close together till that order came down from a vile insensate
Government to seize upon my vessel and my crew.  It was the work of
enemies, and I had to set sail at once, or once more my son and I would
have had to pass years in the inside of a prison, not as culprits,
monsieur, but as honourable gentlemen, French nobles, whose only crime
was fidelity to one,"--and as he spoke he stopped short, uttering the
word _one_ with grave reverence, as he took off his hat--an example
followed by his son.  "Well, gentlemen, I cannot explain to you.  There
is not time.  Only this--you saw that I made what you English call a
dash for it--for freedom.  It was like madness, but we said we would
rather trust the storm than the French Government.  They sent boats full
of soldiers to seize us, but we kept on.  They opened fire upon us from
the forts, but we did not shrink."

"Yes, yes, we saw all," cried Uncle Paul, "and a very brave dash you
made."

Captain Chubb, who had listened, frowning heavily the while, uttered a
low grunt.

"And a very fine bit of seamanship, sir," he said, and the officer
turned to him and raised his hat.

"It was desperate, sir," he said gravely, "and I knew that I was risking
the lives of my dear son and all on board; but no man there shrank.
Well, sir, my story is long, but I must excuse myself for my conduct
here.  It is enough.  We battled with the storm, as you saw, and
escaped."

"I always said you had gone down," grunted Captain Chubb.

"No, sir.  We escaped with but one wound, and that was to my poor
vessel; and since the night when we left Havre-de-Grace upon my mission
it has been one long struggle, as you would say, for life."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes," said the officer sadly, and he pointed over the side towards
where the beautiful duck-like brig with its taper spars sat the smooth
sea, but with a steady stream of water trickling down her side.  "My
chief officer and my men have worked in every way they knew long days
and weeks; but it is of no use.  I would not give up the great object
upon which I have come, but it is forced upon us at last that before
many days have gone over our heads that vessel will lie far down in the
depths of the ocean.  Do you not see how low she is in the water?"

"Eh?" cried the skipper eagerly.  "Eh?  I thought she was low down with
cargo.  You've sprung a leak?"

"A cannon ball crashed through her, sir, and we have never been able to
master that leak."

"Then why in the name of thunder didn't you put into port?" cried the
skipper contemptuously.

The officer smiled.

"I cannot explain," he said.  "There was not time.  I had work to do--a
task that I had promised to fulfil, and we held on till it was forced
upon me that I must get another vessel or stand with my men upon the
deck and let our brave _Roi Dagobert_ sink beneath our feet."

"That wasn't her name at Havre," said the downright skipper.

"No, sir," said the officer, smiling; "but were we not pursued?  Would
not news of our escape be sent far and wide?  We were obliged to assume
another disguise.  The _Jeanne d'Arc_, we said, sank at Havre.  That is
the _Roi Dagobert_ floating still; but for how long?"

"I don't quite see that," said the skipper bluntly.

"No?" said the officer.  "Monsieur has never passed long years as a
prisoner of war."

"Well, no," grunted the skipper.  "Maybe that might have made me a bit
shifty."

"There, sir," said the officer, turning now to Uncle Paul; "that is my
excuse for this desperate venture--this attempt to seize your vessel.
My business is urgent.  I am a nobleman, a count of the French Empire,
and I offer you any recompense you like to name if you will give up to
me your vessel, leaving me full command for a week--a month--such time
as I may need."

"And if I say, sir, that I cannot accede to what you must own are wild
demands," said Uncle Paul, "what then?"

"What then?" said the officer slowly.

"You mean that you will attack us, and the strongest wins?"

The officer was silent, and he turned his eyes upon his son, who left
Rodd and took his extended hands, both standing silent for a few
moments.

"No, sir," he said at last, slowly and gravely.  "Neither my son nor I
can raise our hands against those who gave us liberty, almost life.
Morny, my boy, we will do our duty to the last, and try to keep the poor
_Roi Dagobert_ afloat.  She may live long enough, even as she has kept
afloat so long.  If she sinks with us--well, my boy, we shall have done
our duty to him we serve, and our names may not be forgotten in our
country's rolls."

There was silence for a few moments, which was broken at last by Rodd.

"But I say, uncle," he cried eagerly, "you always said you had plenty of
time, and--"

The young officer turned quickly upon the speaker with an eager
questioning look, but before Uncle Paul could speak, Captain Chubb took
off his cap and stood scratching his head in the now bright morning
sunshine.

"Look here, Mr Count," he said; "I am only a rough Englishman, and a
lot of what you have been saying about mission and that sort of thing is
just so much Greek to me.  But do you mean to tell me that you got a
ball through the bottom of your smart brig that night in Havre, and have
never been able to stop the leak?"

"Yes, yes; that is so, my friend.  My chief officer has tried everything
that he could do, but we could not get at the place.  And look yonder!
The pump has been kept going ever since."

"Well, sir," continued Captain Chubb, "I don't know your first mate, and
I don't want to say hard things of a man who could take that there smart
craft out of the French harbour as he did that night.  He is a very fine
sailor, sir.  But if I aren't got a carpenter on board this schooner as
would give him ninety out of a hundred and then beat him, without
bringing to work the little bit I knows myself, why, I'm a Dutchman, and
that I aren't."

"Ah!" cried the Count excitedly.  "You think--"

"No, sir; I don't say I think anything without having a look.  But as
there don't seem to be any fighting going on, and you and the doctor
here turns out to be old friends, why, before you talk of throwing up
your job and taking to your boats--which would be a much more sensible
thing to do than going down with colours flying when there warn't no
need, and setting aside getting some fresh water and provisions into
your boats and making for a place on the West Afric coast--I should just
like to come on board your craft with my man and see what mightn't be
done by stopping that there leak."

"My friend!" cried the Count excitedly, and he caught the skipper by the
hands.

"Well, sir," said the skipper, with a grim smile, "if you are Mr Rodd's
and the doctor's friend and wants to be friends with me, why, Tom Chubb
aren't the man to say no and want to keep enemies.  So there's my fin.
But look 'ere, you know," he continued, as he gave the Count's thin
white hand a tremendous grip, "yours was a very queer way of coming upon
us, and might have meant some nasty marks on my white decks.  You can't
help being a Frenchman, but do you know what an Englishman would have
done?  He'd have just come here civil like and said, `Look here,
strangers, we have sprung a leak, and we are going down.  Come and lend
us a hand at the pumps.'"

"Ah, yes, of course," said the Count warmly.  "It is what I should have
done."

"And you would like me to come aboard and see if there's anything we can
do?"

"Yes, yes!" cried the Count eagerly.

"All right, then, sir," said the skipper coolly; "I am sailing under the
doctor's orders, and if he's willing, I'm your man."



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

A SHIP SURGEON.

"Well, Mr Rodd, sir," said Captain Chubb, as he and the lad stood
watching the regular dip of oars in the brig's two boats as they glided
back over the tranquil sea to where their vessel lay motionless in the
calm.  "Well, Mr Rodd, sir, don't you wish you'd been born a
Frenchman?"

"No," cried the boy sharply.  "I am thankful I was born English."

"And so you ought to be, my lad.  Of all the crackbrained, sentimental,
outrageous chaps I ever met there's none of them comes up to a
Frenchman."

"Oh, you are too bad, Captain Chubb."

"Too bad, eh?  Why, aren't they always kicking up a dust and making
revolutions, cutting off their kings' and queens' heads, and then going
to war with all the world, with their Napoleons and Bonapartes and all
the rest of them?  Call themselves men!"

"Why, you are as bad as uncle," cried Rodd merrily.  "You and he ought
to be always the best of friends.  But, if you speak fairly you must own
that they are very gallant men."

"Gallant men!" cried the skipper scornfully.  "I don't call them men.  I
call them monkeys!  Men!  Butchers, as cut off the head of their
beautiful Queen Mary What-you-may-call-it, and then after shedding blood
like that, sending no end of poor women who never did them a bit of harm
to that guillotine.  I'd be ashamed of myself, Mr Rodd, to take their
part."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Rodd warmly.  "I say that the Count and his son
have proved themselves to be very brave fellows.  Why, you owned as much
yourself about the way in which they escaped with the brig."

"Oh, that was right enough," grumbled the skipper.

"I am not going to deny," continued Rodd, "that there are plenty of
horrible wretches amongst the French.  And that Revolution was awful;
but haven't we plenty of bad men amongst the English?"

The skipper chuckled.

"Well, yes, we have had some pretty tidy ones, if you come to read your
histories.  But I don't know so much about those chaps being brave.  It
was a very clever bit of seamanship, mind you, that taking the brig out
in the teeth of the storm with hardly room to tack.  I am not a bad
pilot in my way when I like to try, but I will be honest over it; I
daren't have tried that job.  It was a very clean thing.  But look here,
my lad.  It's no use for you to try and crack that up, because him who
did it must have been as mad as a hatter, and between ourselves, that's
what I think that Count is."

"Oh, fudge, captain!" cried Rodd.  "No more mad than you or I."

"Well, I can answer for myself, my lad," said the skipper, with a
chuckle, "but that's more than I'd do for you, for you do some precious
outrageous things sometimes."

"I?" cried Rodd.

"Yes, you, my lad."

"What a shame!" cried Rodd indignantly.  "I defy you to prove that I
have done anything that you could call mad.  Now tell me something.
What have you ever known me do that wasn't sensible?"

"Oh, that's soon done," cried the skipper.  "Didn't you go and gammon
the soldiers when they were after the escaped French prisoners?  Don't
you call that a mad act?  Fighting against the laws of your country like
that!"

"Ah, well, I suppose I oughtn't to have helped them, captain; but I
couldn't help it."

"No, sir, and that's what the Frenchmen would say.  Now, what in the
world is that chap after, with his mission, as he calls it?  What does
he mean by coming rampaging out south with a hole in the bottom of his
brig and the pumps going straight on to keep the water down?  Would any
one but a lunatic go risking his crew and his vessel like that?"

"Well, it does seem rather wild," replied Rodd thoughtfully.

"Wild?  Well, that's only your way of saying he's stick, stark, staring
mad.  And here he's been out weeks and weeks, knowing as he says that
his brig was sinking, when he could have put in at Gib, or the Azores,
or Las Palmas, or brought up in one of the West Coast rivers, where he
could run up on the tidal mud, careened his vessel, and set his ship's
carpenter to work to clap patches upon her bottom outside and in.  Don't
you call that mad?"

"No.  He might have had reasons for not doing so."

"Ah, that's right, sir; argufy.  You young scholarly chaps who have been
to big schools and got your heads chock-full of Latin and Greek, you are
beggars to argufy--chopping logic, I suppose you calls it--and I give
in.  You could easily beat me at that; just as easily as I could turn
you round my little finger at navigation.  But I'll have one more go at
you; I says that there French Count is mad."

"And I say he is not," said Rodd, "only a brave, eccentric nobleman who
may have a good many more reasons for what he does than we know."

"All right, youngster.  I give you my side.  Now that's yours.  Now,
just answer me this.  Warn't it the crack-brainedest bit of
ask-you-to-go-and-borrow-a-new-strait-waistcoat-to-put-me-in sort of
a job for him to bring his two boat-loads of men, like a
black-flag-and-cross-boned Paul Jones sort of a pirate, aboard our
schooner in the dark, thinking he's going to take possession of it to
use instead of his own brig, when if he'd had any gumption he might have
managed to patch her up, and--Here, I say, I can't go on talking like
this before breakfast, my lad.  I must have my bowl of coffee and a bit
of salt pork and biscuit before I say another word."

"Oh, very well," cried Rodd merrily.  "I see we shan't agree; and we
don't want to quarrel, do we, captain?"

"Quarrel?  Not us, my lad!  It takes two to do that, and we knows one
another too well."

"Then look here," cried Rodd, "you are taking it very coolly and talking
about breakfast; aren't you going to order the boat out and go aboard
the brig at once?"

"I aren't a-going to do anything till I have had my breakfast," said the
captain.  "They've spoilt my morning snooze, but I aren't going to let
them spoil my morning meal, nor my lads' neither."

"But it's urgent," cried Rodd.  "Suppose while you are thinking of
eating and drinking the brig goes down?"

"Yah!  She won't go down.  If she's floated for weeks like that she'll
keep her nose above water while I swallow two bowls of coffee.  I can't
work without something to keep me going.  Let them pump for another
half-hour, and then we'll go."

"We!" said Rodd sharply.  "That means me too?"

"Oh, ah, if you like to come; only we shall have to keep a sharp
look-out."

"What, for fear it should sink under us?"

"Nay, I didn't mean that, my lad.  I mean, you see, we are dealing with
a lunatic."

"Captain!" cried Rodd indignantly.

"Ay, but we are, and there's no knowing what sort of games fellows like
that will be up to.  I mean to give the mate strict orders to load all
three guns, and if he sees the Count coming off again with his two boats
full of men to take possession while he's got us tight, to sink them
without mercy.  Ah, here's the stooard, welcome, as you might say, as
the flowers in spring.  Come along, my lad, and let's lay in stores."

In spite of his words and deliberate way of proceeding, Captain Chubb
had made his arrangements so that within half-an-hour of going down to
breakfast he had the schooner's boat lowered down with Joe Cross, five
men, and the carpenter, who had already handed into the boat what he
called his bag of tricks, the said tricks being composed of an adze,
saws, chisels, augers, and nails, and very shortly afterwards the oars
were dipping, and with Uncle Paul and Rodd in the stern-sheets they were
gliding over the glittering sea and rapidly shortening the distance
between them and the beautiful brig, which won a string of encomiums
from the skipper as they drew near.

"Yes, she is a beauty," he said.  "It would be a pity to let her go
down.  Look at her lines, and the way she's rigged.  If I wanted to sail
a brig I wouldn't wish for a better; but then, you see, I don't.  She's
a bit low in the water, though, and no mistake.  Well, we shall see; we
shall see."

The Count and his son were eagerly awaiting their coming, and welcomed
them warmly as they mounted the side, while, casting off his show of
indifference, the skipper cast an admiring glance round the deck of the
brig, and then gruffly exclaimed--

"Now then, sir, I want your bo'sun.  But look here, can he parley
English?"

"No," said the Count, "but my son and I will interpret everything you
wish to hear."

"I don't know as I want to hear anything, sir," growled the skipper.  "I
want to see for myself, and after that mebbe I shall want to give a few
orders, which I will ask you to have carried out."

"Yes; everything you wish shall be done directly."

"Umph!" grunted the skipper, looking round.  "Pump rigged, and two men
trying to keep the water under.  Ought to be four."

"Yes, of course," cried the Count, and he turned to give an order; but
Captain Chubb clapped his hand upon his arm.

"Hold hard," he said.  "They'll do for a bit.  Now then, I want to go
below and sound the well."

The Count and his son led the way below, the French crew standing aloof
and displaying the discipline of a man-of-war, no man leaving his place
while the skipper made all the investigations he required, and then came
up on deck with his mahogany face more deeply lined with wrinkles than
before.

"Well, captain," said Uncle Paul, while Rodd, who had kept close to his
young friend of the Dartmoor stream, eagerly listened for what their
expert had to say.

"Well, sir," he said, at last, as he took out a little seal-skin bag and
deliberately helped himself to a little ready-cut scrap of pigtail
tobacco, "your craft's in a bad way, and if something isn't done pretty
smart she'll be down at the bottom before long."

"Yes, yes," cried the Count impatiently, "but we have tried everything,
and it is impossible to get at the leak."

"Hah!  Tried everything, have you, sir?"

"Yes, yes," cried the Count.  "Some of my brave fellows have been
half-drowned in diving, trying to plug from inside, using yards to force
bags of oakum into the holes."

"Yes," said the skipper.  "The ball went right through, I suppose?"

"Yes, yes," cried the Count, and Rodd noted that he was having hard work
to master his impatience and annoyance at the skipper's annoyingly
deliberate treatment of their urgent needs.

"So I suppose," said the skipper coolly, "but mebbe you haven't done
quite all; leastwise I should like to try my little plan, and if it
don't answer, why, you won't be any worse off than you are now; and when
I give it up as a bad job, why, you will have to take to your boats and
we shall have to find room for you aboard the schooner.  Now then,
please, you will just order two more men at that pump, and four more
ready to take their places so as to keep on pumping hard."

"Yes, yes," cried the Count eagerly.  "What next?"

"Order up what spare sails you've got from the store-room, and a few
coils of new line."

The Count gave his orders quickly, and his men went off to carry them
out.

"Good," said the skipper coolly.  "That's smart."

"What next?" cried the Count.

"Well, sir, as quickly as I can, I want to do something to lighten the
ship."

"No; I must protest!" cried the Count excitedly.  "You are going to
throw the guns overboard?"

"Humph!" grunted the captain.  "Who said so?  I didn't.  Nay, that'd be
a pity.  I wouldn't do that till the very last."

"Ah!" sighed the Count, as if deeply relieved.

"Well, the next thing is, sir, just you leave me and my men alone and
let yours look on till I want their help."

The Count was silent, and all looked on whilst in obedience to the
skipper's orders the English sailors, led by the carpenter, set busily
to work, seized upon the new spare sails that were brought up on deck,
and cast loose the coils of fresh hemp line that were placed ready.
Then with the skipper putting in a word here and there, resulting in the
lines being attached to the corners of the largest square-sail, these
latter were seized by a couple of the men, who dragged the sail forward
as the brig glided very gently along, for it was nearly calm, and then
passing the new sail deftly beneath the bowsprit, two of the men
climbing out and seeming to cling with their feet to the bobstay until
little by little they had got the edge right beneath the stay.  Then
while their mates at the corners helped at the lines, they passed down
the sail right into the sea till they had lowered it to its full extent
and they could do no more, save once or twice when they hung down from
the stay and gave the canvas, which was slowly growing saturated, a
thrust or two with the foot where it seemed disposed to hitch against
the brig's keel.

And now the skipper took his post upon the bowsprit and gave his orders
by word or sign to the men who governed the movement of the great square
of canvas by means of the lines attached to the corners, the two at the
fore corners of the sail getting outside the bulwarks, barefooted, to
walk along the streak, and hauling just as much as was necessary to drag
the sail right beneath the keel, their two messmates preparing to
follow, and under the captain's guidance keeping all square and exact in
the effort to get the keel to act as the dividing line to mark the
oblong into two exact portions.

It was very slow work, for the canvas was stiff and moved unwillingly
downward beneath the keel; but after a time it began to yield to the
steady drag of the ropes upon the two fore corners, and, once started,
progress began to be faster.  For, so to speak, the brig began to help,
sailing as it were gently more and more over the canvas, till at the end
of about half-an-hour it was in the position at which the skipper had
aimed, having while below in the hold pretty well marked down the
position of the two holes made by the shot from the fort.  These were
about amidships, some few feet, as far as he could make out, on either
side of the keel, one naturally being much higher than the other in the
diagonal course taken by the heavy ball.

At last he called to his men to halt, and took off his cap, to stand
thinking, the position now being that the sail was drawn right under the
brig, and the sailors at the four corners were holding on tight to
prevent the vessel from sailing clear.

So far not a word had been uttered by the Frenchmen, all of whom had
stood clear or mounted the rigging or deck-house, so as to give the
Englishmen ample room; but now in the silence Rodd advanced to the
skipper eagerly, to say--

"Are you sure you have got the canvas well over the holes?"

Captain Chubb made no reply, but stood with his cap in his left hand
gazing aft, and then he moved his right arm two or three times, as if
forming an imaginary line through the brig's hull.

"Did you hear me, captain?" said Rodd eagerly.  "Are you sure you have
got the sail over the holes?"

"No," granted the skipper.  "Are you?"

"No; but I thought--"

"Yes, my lad; so did I.  You thought we ought to get the sail in the
right place."

"Yes," said Rodd.

"Well, then, now, my lad, I should be much obliged to you if you'd tell
me which is exactly the right place."

Rodd looked at him in despair.

"Thank you, my lad," said the skipper dryly.  "I am much obliged.  But
all right, Mr Rodd; you can't tell, and I can't tell.  We know that the
ball that came from the fort must have gone downwards a bit, so that it
went out from lower than where it went in; but there's no knowing
whether she was hit from starboard or from larboard, and that's where
I'm bothered.  But never say die.  I think we will make this bit of
canvas fast now, for I'm pretty sure of one thing; it will be a plaister
for one hole if it isn't for the other."

"But look here, captain," cried Rodd.

"What now?"

"Won't the water run under the canvas just the same as it did before?"

"No, my lad, it won't; and I'll tell you the reason why when we have
done.  Of course you know I am not going to stop all the water from
coming in below, but if I can get it checked a bit so that they can keep
it down easy with one man at the pump instead of two, she won't go to
the bottom just yet, and they will have time enough to get into port to
set the carpenter at work."

"Then you won't let our carpenter try to stop the holes?"

"No, my lad.  You see, he never learned to be a fish, so that he could
work under water; and though he's a bit of a crab in his way, I don't
think he could manage it for all that.  Now I'm ready to go on.  Come,
my lads, put your backs into it and haul them sheets tight.  Here,
master, let two of your men go to each corner and help my lads.  All
together as hard as they can!" shouted the skipper, and the Count
quickly translated his order.

"That's right!  Haul away, my lads!" shouted the skipper.  "That new
canvas won't give.  Harder!  Harder!  Now then, one more--all you
know!--Make fast!"

"Excellent!  Superb!" cried the Count, as the men ceased from making
fast the ropes, which were brought over the bulwarks and passed round
the belaying pins.  "Do you think that will stop the leak?"

"Maybe yes, sir; maybe no.  If it don't do it we will put another
plaister on, and another, and another.  You have got plenty of spare
sails and rope, and when we have used all yours I dare say we can find
some more in the schooner.  Now then, set your men going at that pump,
and rig up another as quick as you can."

One pump began to clank heavily at once, and a short time after another
was at work, and the clear bright water began to sparkle out of the
scuppers, while, moved as it were by the same spirit, the French crew
burst into a shrill involuntary cheer.

"How can I ever thank you, captain?" cried the Count, while his son
snatched at Rodd's hand.

"Ah, I haven't done yet, sir," said the skipper coolly.  "This is only a
try."

"Oh, it's grand," cried the French lad, clinging to Rodd's arm.  "You
have saved our ship."

"Don't you holloa till you are out of the wood, young fellow," said the
skipper, as he heard the words.  "Now, Mr Rodd, sir, what was it you
wanted to know?"

"Why the water will not still rim in underneath the canvas."

"Only because of this, my lad.  Aren't they pumping the water out now as
fast as ever they can?"

"Yes," cried Rodd; "but more will run in."

"Yes, my lad, and as it runs in won't the weight of the water outside
push the canvas closer and closer in round the leak?"

"Yes, of course," cried Rodd.  "I didn't think of that.  And as there
gets less inside it will seem to suck the canvas closer to."

"Quite right, my lad.  That's about the way it works; and now we have
got to wait for about an hour before we can know whether we have got
both holes covered, or only one."

"Wait for an hour?" cried Rodd.

"Well, perhaps, before we are sure; but I dare say I shall be going down
and sounding the well a time or two before that."

But long before the hour had elapsed the skipper found that though the
water in the brig had subsided to a certain extent, one of the holes
must be still uncovered, and he began at once to repeat his proceedings,
coming to the conclusion that one of the bullet-holes was beyond the
reach of the canvas.  This time, after all was drawn tight,
half-an-hour's pumping proved that his surmises were correct, and the
skipper smiled with satisfaction as the Count and his men cheered them
in delight on finding after a good deal of pumping that there was a very
perceptible diminution of the water in the hold.

"It is superb, and so simple," cried the Count to Uncle Paul; "but I
feel humbled, sir.  Why could not our French sailors have been able to
do this?"

"Well," said Uncle Paul good-humouredly, "the only reason I can give is
that they were not English."

"That's it, sir," said the skipper.  "You have hit the right nail on the
head.  But look here, Mr Count--I don't know your name."

"Des Saix," said the Count, smiling.

"Look here, sir; this is nothing to make a fuss about.  It will keep you
afloat while the weather's fine, but just come a rough time, those sails
will be ripped off as easily as pocket-handkerchiefs.  Besides, they
will hinder your sailing no end."

"Ah, that is bad," said the Count, changing countenance.

"Oh no, not it.  There's worse disasters than that at sea."

"But will it not be possible for the carpenters to stop the leaks?"

"No, sir; not unless you do what I say."

"Ah!  What is that?"

"Run your craft up one of the rivers to where you can careen on the mad,
and then a few hours between tides will be enough to put everything
straight."

"Is there no other way?" asked the Count.

"Only downwards, sir," cried the skipper; and the French lad glanced
questioningly at Rodd, who shook his head.

"No," said the boy, almost in a whisper.  "I don't think there is any
other way.  He is quite right."

After another hour's pumping, the skipper gave out his intention of
going back to the schooner; but the Count would not hear of it.  He
begged and implored Uncle Paul to give him their company at the
breakfast he was having prepared, and after a little hesitation the
doctor gave way, and suggested to the skipper that they should leave
their departure till late in the afternoon, when a far better opinion
could be given of the state of the brig.

"What do you say, squire?" said the skipper, looking at Rodd.

"Oh yes, let's stay!"  And his impulsive young French friend grasped him
by the wrist.

"Very well, gentlemen, I have only one thing to say, for I don't suppose
the schooner will sail away and leave us behind.  Let them call it
dinner, and I'll stop.  I aren't been in the habit of eating my
breakfast at two o'clock in the day."



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE COUNT CAN'T FIND WORDS.

That afternoon, after what had proved to be a very friendly, pleasant
breakfast, through which nothing could have been more courteous and
hospitable than the conduct of the Count and his son towards those with
whom they had become so strangely intimate, the skipper hurried the end
of the meal by suggesting that he should once more sound the well.

They went on deck at once, to find both pumps were being kept
energetically going, the half-dozen men from the schooner taking their
turns in the heartiest way, a general fraternisation having taken place,
while on seeing the result of the skipper's examination, the delight of
the Count and his son seemed unbounded.

"There you are, then, sir," said the skipper, in answer to a look from
the doctor, "and now we will leave you to it."

"And I suppose," said Uncle Paul, "that you will have no hesitation,
sir, in following Captain Chubb's advice?"

"And making for the mouth of some river," said the Count, glancing at
his son, "to get the brig ashore, so as to repair her?"

"Exactly," said Uncle Paul.  "You must see that there is nothing else
that you can do."

"Nothing else that I can do," said the Count slowly, and Rodd gave him a
wondering glance, for the skipper's remarks about the brig's owner being
out of his mind came to his memory.  "You intend to cruise about here,
then, Dr Robson?"

"Here or anywhere," was the reply.  "Probably here until I seem to have
exhausted the natural history specimens that I can collect."

"Yes," said the Count, gazing fixedly at his son, "until you have
exhausted the natural history specimens that you can collect."

He spoke in a curious dreamy way as if he were thinking hard, while Rodd
coloured a little as he saw that the young Frenchman was gazing at him
fixedly, for once more he could not help thinking of the skipper's
words.

"Do you know of a place that would be likely, doctor?" said the Count.
"I mean a river that we could sail up into shallow water, if we were so
fortunate as to reach one without sinking first."

"Not I," said the doctor, "but my captain here has cruised along this
coast in by-gone days, and he tells me that it would be easy enough to
find inlet after inlet, and deltas with streams, running up through the
muddy mangrove swamps."

"But then we might never reach the shore," said the Count slowly--"not
with the brig--in spite of your kindly, I may say brotherly aid."

Rodd felt that the Count's son was still gazing at him searchingly, but
he did not turn his head, for the doctor began speaking at once.

"Really, my dear sir," he said almost curtly, "national dislike seems to
exist to a great extent amongst your countrymen.  Do you really think we
English should be such barbarians as to sail away and leave a crippled
ship to its fate?"

"No, no, no, doctor!" cried the Count warmly.  "But how could I be so
grasping as to ask you, full of your scientific pursuits as you are, to
stand by us till we can reach the shore in safety?"

"You would not ask it, sir," said the doctor warmly.  "There would be no
need.  Of course my schooner will stand by you, ready to give you help
until your brig is once more fit for sea."

"Forgive me, doctor!" cried the Count eagerly.

"There is nothing to forgive, sir," replied the doctor, "only I think I
may say that saving in times of war there is no such thing as
nationality amongst those who go to sea.  My experience is that they are
always brethren in times of distress."

The Count held out his hand, which was warmly grasped, while the young
French ex-prisoner looked at Rodd with eyes that seemed to speak
volumes.

At this moment the skipper gave a grunt of satisfaction and broke in.

"There's plenty of choice, gentlemen," he said.  "I'd venture to say I
could find you the mouths of a dozen sluggish rivers up which you could
go with the tide as far as you liked, and then moor our vessels to the
forest trees, easily finding places close in shore where the tide as it
went out would leave the brig here softly in the mud ready for careening
over in a cradle where she wouldn't strain or open a single seam; and
the doctor here being willing, I'll promise to take the job in hand and
make the brig's bottom as sound as ever it was, even if we have to strip
off a little copper from along the top streak, where it isn't so much
wanted, so as to put new plates where the damaged ones have been."

"I shall be only too glad, Count," said the doctor; "and now I think we
will get back to the schooner, and Captain Chubb here will shape his
course somewhere to the south-east, till within the next few days we
near the coast, when he will select a suitable place for his purpose."

"I cannot find words," said the Count, in a husky voice.

"Don't try," said the doctor.

"No, but--er,"--continued the Count, in rather a hesitating tone, "you
do mean to keep cruising about here--and farther south or west?"

"Don't you give that another thought," said the doctor frankly.  "The
schooner is my own, and almost any portion of the ocean or the shore
offers attractions to me and my nephew.  We can find interest anywhere.
I only hope that you will not find our society dull."

The Count made a gesture, and then, after a word or two to the skipper,
the latter gave his men orders, and they took their places in the boat.

It was then that the Count's son, who had been very silent for some
time, looking at Rodd as if longing to speak, suddenly turned and
whispered something to his father, who replied with a comprehensive
gesture, and the lad immediately approached the doctor.

"It will be hours yet, sir, before it is dark, and I have so much I
should like to say to your nephew.  Can he not stay till evening, and
then our boat shall bring him to your vessel?  You will not," he
continued playfully, turning to Rodd, "be afraid of going down?"

"My nephew is at liberty to do as he pleases," replied the doctor
frankly.  "What do you say, Rodd?"

"Oh, I want to stay, uncle.  I should like to hear all about the
escape."

A few minutes later the two lads were leaning together over the rail
watching the departing boat, and chatting together as if they were old
schoolfellows who had met again after a long separation, Rodd delighted
with his companion, and disposed to feel disappointed in himself lest
the refined, polished young officer--one, evidently, of the _haute
noblesse_--should look down upon him as a rough, rather boorish young
Englishman.

Somehow that evening, with its rapid change from glowing sunset light to
purple violet darkness, seemed wonderfully quick in coming, and as the
brig's well-manned boat grazed against the schooner's stern and Rodd
turned in climbing up the side to hang by his left hand and extend his
right, the feeling of inferiority melted away in the young Frenchman's
warm grasp, as the latter said--

"I suppose we shall be sailing very slowly till we reach the shore, and
I want to see more of you.  I shall come and fetch you first thing in
the morning.  Don't say anything; you must come.  _Au revoir_!"

The brig's boat pushed off as soon as Rodd had swung himself on deck,
and as it glided away into the soft darkness with the regularly handled
oars dipping up from the surface of the sea what seemed to be like so
much lambent liquid gold, suggesting to Rodd as he gazed after his new
friend that the stars might have been melting all day in the torrid sun,
and that this was their pale golden light floating upon the sea, a hand
was laid upon his shoulder.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE DOCTOR PAINTS PICTURES.

"Back again, then, Rodd!"

"Oh yes, uncle.  Did you think me long?"

"So long, my boy, that I was thinking of sending the boat to fetch you,
for fear you should be converted into a Frenchman.  Hang them all!  How
I do hate them and their nasty, smooth, polished ways!"

"Oh, uncle, you don't!" cried the boy indignantly.  "I do, sir.  How
dare you contradict me!  And I won't have you getting too fond of that
French boy.  He and his father set me thinking about old Bony, and as
soon as I begin thinking about Bony I have a nasty taste in my mouth.--
Well, how did you get on?"

"I had a most delightful afternoon, uncle.  Young Morny--let's see, he's
Viscount Morny--"

"Viscount grandmother!" snapped out the doctor.  "Anybody can be a
viscount in France if he's got an income of a few hundred francs--francs
in France of common silver.  They rank with golden guineas in your grand
old home."

"Oh, well, I don't know, uncle I only know that he's the nicest fellow I
ever met."

"Gush!" cried the doctor.  "I won't have it, Rodd.  I won't have you
making too much of these French people.  I don't like them."

"But you don't know them, uncle.  Both the Count and his son are the
most gentlemanly men I ever met."

"The most gentlemanly men you ever met!" cried Uncle Paul mockingly.
"Nice puppy you are to set yourself up for a judge!  Very gentlemanly,
to come in the dark with two boat-loads of savage-looking buccaneers to
seize our schooner!  And they would, too, if it hadn't been for Captain
Chubb's courage."

"Oh, uncle, don't be unreasonable.  The poor fellows were desperate.
Suppose you had been in such a position as they were."

"I am not going to suppose anything of the sort, sir," cried the doctor
indignantly; "and look here, Rodney, I will not have you setting up your
feathers like the miserable young cockerel you are, and beginning to
crow at me, just as if you were full grown.  It's growing unbearable,
Rodney, and I won't have it, sir.  I am very much displeased with you,
and you had better be off to your bunk at once before we come to an open
quarrel.  It is too much, sir, and if your poor mother were alive and
could hear you talking like this she'd--she'd--she'd--there, I don't
know what she wouldn't say."

"I do," said the boy.

"What would she say, sir?" snapped out the doctor.

Rodd stood silent in the darkness for a few moments as he stole his hand
under the irate doctor's arm.

"She'd say that dear Uncle Paul had been thinking about old Bony, and
that it had made him very cross with me about nothing at all."

Uncle Paul made a sound like the beginning of a speech that would not
come, and the silence seemed deeper than ever, nothing being heard but
the soft lapping of the water under the vessel's counter, as she glided
slowly through the sea.

But Rodd felt the warm arm under which his hand nestled press it closer
and closer to the old man's side, and that he was urged along the deck
to keep pace with his elder slowly up and down, up and down, from stem
to stern, for some minutes before that speech came--one which was quite
different from that which Rodd fully expected to hear, for it was in
Uncle Paul's natural tones once more, as he said very thoughtfully and
in quite a confidential manner--

"Yes, very gentlemanly, Pickle, my boy; quite the nobleman, I might say,
and I am not at all surprised that you helped that poor lad to escape.
A little effeminate, but certainly a very nice lad.  But I have been
thinking about them ever since I came on board this afternoon, and I
can't quite make out that Count.  What's he doing here, my boy?  On some
mission, and connected with some jealousy and a stop being put to his
cruise.  I am not quite sure, Pickle."

"Rodney, uncle," said the boy mischievously.

"Pickle, you dog!  Be quiet.  I am talking sense.  But I think I have
worked it out.  He betrayed himself.  He's a naturalist, boy.  He
betrayed it in his looks and words as soon as he learned what I was
about.  Didn't you notice how eager he was to know about our pursuits?"

"Yes, uncle; I noticed that directly."

"Ah, I thought so.  A naturalist--a born naturalist, Pickle, and in
spite of his being a Frenchman I shall begin to feel a brotherly respect
for a follower of the only pursuit worthy of a gentleman.  Well, we had
a very short sleep last night, so we have got a long one due to our
credit to-night, and on the strength of that Captain Chubb has arranged
to have supper quite early.  This has been a queer day, Pickle, a very
queer day, and I am not at all displeased, for I am beginning to think
that we have got a very good time before us."

"What time, uncle?"

"Ashore, my boy.  What do you say to having a couple of the sailors with
guns to keep us company while the rest are new-bottoming that brig?
Walks in the primeval forest, Rodd, wonderful botanical rambles,
shooting birds of glorious plumage, most likely coming across the great
man-ape, the chimpanzee.  What do you say to that, my boy?  Won't that
be a grand change from fishing and dredging and bottling specimens?"

"Uncle Paul, don't!" cried the boy.

"Don't?  What do you mean, sir?"

"You were talking just now of our having a good long sleep to-night to
make up for all we lost since we went to bed last."

"Well, sir, what of that?"

"How's a fellow to sleep, uncle, with such things as that to think of?
Why, I shan't get a wink for thinking of the big chimpanzees; and as for
eating any supper now, why, my appetite has completely gone."

"Stuff!" cried Uncle Paul, pressing the lad's arm to his side.  "Rodd,
my boy, we must cork a bottle or two and throw them overboard to-morrow,
and then have a little practice with bullets in our guns.  We may come
across dangerous beasts there, leopards and the like, while that there
are great man-apes in those forests of the West Coast there is not a
doubt."

"Well, I think I could shoot at one of those great spotted cats, uncle,
all tooth and claw; but wouldn't it be rather queer to shoot one of
those big monkeys which look so much like human beings?  I mean those
big ones with ears like ours, and no tails."

"Humph!  Ha!  Well, I--Yes, all right, captain!  We are coming down."



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GREAT FRIENDS.

The days that followed the attempt to salve the brig after so strange an
introduction to her commander and his son, fell calm all through the hot
sunny time, and only that a pleasant cool breeze ushered in the evening
and continued till the sun rose again, very little progress would have
been made by the schooner and its consort, sailing east and south.

But nobody seemed troubled.  When the French and English sailors were
together they were the best of friends; while long conversations and
arguments often took place between the doctor and his new friend, the
skipper generally letting them have the cabin to themselves.

Sometimes they drifted into political questions and came very near to
losing their tempers; but each mastered and kept down his opinions, for
a genuine feeling of liking had arisen between them, and the Count
seemed never weary of listening to Uncle Paul's disquisitions upon the
marvels of natural history, nor of studying with him the wonders of
creation which he had collected and had to show.  Then day by day the
brig, which was freed every day from as much water as she had gained
during the night, sailed steadily on in the schooner's wake in full
charge of her stern fierce-looking French mate--one of the most silent
of men.

And while the Count was mostly with the doctor, literally taking lessons
in pelagic lore, the two lads had become inseparable.

"Look here," said Rodd, almost hotly, one day, "if ever you say a word
again about my helping you to escape at Dartmoor, you and I are going to
leave off being friends."

Morny laughed, a pleasant, almost girlish smile lighting up his well-cut
Gallic features.

"Why, Rodd," he cried, "isn't that rather hard?  I used to think that
was the most horrible time in my life, but I feel now that one part of
it was the most delightful."

"There you go again," cried Rodd.  "You are beginning."

"No, no, I wasn't.  But I can't forget being a prisoner in England, and
about all that I went through there with my father when he was bad so
long with his wound."

"Bad so long with his wound?" said Rodd eagerly.  "Ah!  You may talk
about that.  Yes, I should like to hear.  Tell me all about your being
taken prisoners, and how it happened."

"For you never to be friends with me any more?" said the French lad
maliciously.

"No, no, no.  But I hate for you to be what you call grateful.  You are
quite a good sort of chap, and you speak our language so well that I
forget you are not English sometimes, till you begin to be grateful to
me for saving you, and then I feel that you are French.  There, now you
may tell me all about it--I mean about before you met me fishing."

The two lads were under the awning upon this particular day just
amidships.  It was a hot and breathless time, but both were pretty well
inured to the weather, and were so interested in the subjects supplied
to them by Nature in the way of floating wonders that they never
troubled themselves about the heat.

Upon this occasion they were lying together upon the deck, suffering to
a certain extent from lassitude consequent upon the heat.  There was a
man at the wheel, and Joe Cross was seated upon the main cross-trees
with a spy-glass across his legs, ready to raise it from time to time
and direct it eastward to try and pierce the faint silvery haze that lay
low upon the horizon.  The boys had grown very silent and thoughtful,
Moray trying to recall memories of the past so that he might respond to
his English friend's demand upon him that he should relate something of
his old experiences in connection with the war and his being brought
over to England, and so deep in thought that he paid no heed to his
companion.  Meantime, Rodd, without any desire to play the eavesdropper,
lay listening to the scraps of conversation which came up through the
cabin skylight, growing a little louder than usual, for, as was
occasionally the case, an argument was afloat respecting the late war,
the doctor according to his wont growing wroth upon an allusion being
made by his guest to the ex-Emperor Napoleon; and there were evidently
threatenings of a storm, which was, however, suppressed by the grave
dignity of the Count and a feeling of annoyance which attacked Uncle
Paul upon realising that he had ventured upon dangerous ground.

"Oh, Uncle Paul," said Rodd to himself, and he lay and laughed softly,
making Morny start.

"Was I talking aloud?" said the French lad, flushing.

"You?  No!  Didn't you hear?  It was Uncle Paul.  Your father was
talking about Napoleon, and directly his name is mentioned uncle begins
to boil over."

"Ah, yes, so you have told me, and I gathered something of the kind.  My
father should not have spoken about the Emperor, though he venerates his
name."

"Do you?" said Rodd.

"I?" replied Morny proudly.  "Of course.  He is the greatest man who
ever lived."

"I say; I'm not Uncle Paul."

"Of course not.  But why do you say that?"

"Because it seems as if you were trying to lead me on, like your father
did with uncle."

"Ah, no, no, don't think that.  Better to let such things rest."

"Yes," said Rodd.  "I didn't hear much of what they were saying, only
they talked loudly sometimes about the way the French and English hate
one another.  It seems so stupid.  Why should they?  I don't hate you;
and I suppose you don't hate me."

"Of course not!  You have given me plenty of cause."

"Whoa!" shouted Rodd.  "You are getting on dangerous ground again.  Now,
look here; why should the French hate the English?"

"Because the English never did us anything but harm."

"Nonsense!" said Rodd coolly.  "Now, look here, suppose you and I had a
good fight, and I got the best of it--gave you an unlucky crack on the
bridge of your nose, and made both your eyes swell up so that you
couldn't see."

"Well, it would be very brutal," said Morny.  "Gentlemen should fight
with the small sword."

"Oh, I like that!" said Rodd merrily.  "And then one of them sticks it
in the other's corpus and makes him bleed, if he does nothing worse.
Why, people have been killed."

"Yes, in the cause of honour," said Morny, slowly and thoughtfully.

"But that wouldn't have happened if they had been fighting with their
fists."

"It's of no use to argue a matter like this with an Englishman," said
Morny.  "He cannot see such things with the eyes of a Frenchman."

"And a jolly good job too," said Rodd.  "But we are running away from
what we have been talking about.  I was saying, suppose you and I were
fighting and I hit you on the bridge of the nose and made your eyes
swell up so that you couldn't see; that would be no reason why you
should always hate me afterwards.  Wouldn't it be much better if the one
who was beaten owned it and shook hands so as to be good friends again?"

"Hah!" said Morny, giving vent to a long deep sigh.

"Uncle Paul always says that there is so much good to do in the world
that there is no room for animosity or hatred, especially as life is so
very short.  Here, I don't see that we English have done anything worse
to you French than conquering you now and then."

"What!" cried Morny.  "What have you to say to the way in which you
treated your prisoners?  You were never taken captive with your father--
I mean your uncle, and shut up in a great cheerless building right out
upon a cold, bleak, dreary moor."

"No," said Rodd gravely.

"My father and I were, after a sea-fight in which one of your great
bullying ships battered our little sloop of war almost to pieces and
took us into Plymouth, not conquered, for our brave fellows fought till
nearly all were killed or wounded."

"I say," cried Rodd earnestly, "I didn't know about this!  Were you
wounded?"

For answer Morny with flashing eyes literally snatched up his
shirt-sleeve, baring his thin white left arm and displaying in the
fleshy part a curious puckering and discoloration, evidently the scar of
a bad wound.

"Poor old chap!" said Rodd softly.  "I say, how was that done?"

"Grape-shot," replied Morny, drawing himself up proudly and deliberately
beginning to draw down and button his sleeve.

"Did it hurt much?"

"Yes," said Morny rather contemptuously.  "My father was wounded too, so
that he had to be carried below, or else we should never have struck,
but he would have gone down as a brave captain should with colours
flying, fighting for the Emperor to the very last."

"Then I am precious glad that the Count was taken below," said Rodd.

"Why?" snapped out the French lad fiercely.

"Because of course you would have sunk with him, for you couldn't have
swum for your life with a wounded arm."

"No; but shouldn't I have had my name written in history?"

"Perhaps.  But you and I would never have met and become such good
friends; for you know we are precious good friends when we can agree."

Morny laughed.

"Yes," he said pleasantly, "when we can agree.  But do you think it was
good treatment to keep us shut up there as prisoners on that dreary
moor?"

"Let's see," said Rodd; "Dartmoor--all amongst the streams and tors, as
they call them?"

"Yes; a great granite desert."

"Oh, but it was very jolly there," said Rodd.

"I don't know what you mean by jolly," said Morny contemptuously.

"Why, they didn't keep you shut up.  They let you roam about as you
liked, didn't they, as long as you didn't try to escape?"

"Well--yes; but it was a long time before I went out at all," replied
Morny sadly.  "For months I never left my father's side, and for a long
time I never expected that he'd recover; and as I used to sit there by
his bedside, watching, I began to get to hate the English more and more,
and long to get away so as to begin righting for my country again.  But
of course I couldn't leave my wounded father's side."

"No," said Rodd slowly and in a low voice, as if repeating the words to
himself.  "Of course you couldn't leave your father's side."

"No," repeated Morny softly, "I couldn't leave my father's side.  But
after a time he made me go.  He said my wound would never heal--for the
surgeon had told him so--if he kept me shut up day after day, and that I
must go out with the other prisoners and roam about on the moor; but I
said I wouldn't leave him, and I didn't till he told me one day that I
was growing white and thin and weak, and that he could see how I was
suffering from the pain in my wound."

"Ah, yes," said Rodd, in a low tone full of earnestness.  "It must have
given you terrible pain."

"And at last he said," continued Morny, "that if he saw me getting well
it would be the best cure for his injuries, but that if I were obstinate
and refused to obey him now that he was lying there weak and helpless,
it would surely send him to his grave."

"And then of course you went?" replied Rodd excitedly.

"Yes, I went then," replied Morny, "for at last I had begun to see that
he was right.  And then every morning after we had been all mustered, as
you call it, and were free to go outside the gates, I went out with a
lot more right on to the wild desert.  But I wanted to be alone, and as
soon as I could I wandered away up amongst the great stones, and sat
down to think and rage against myself for feeling so happy when I wanted
to be miserable and in despair about our fate.  For it was as if
something within me was mocking at my sufferings and trying to make me
laugh and feel bright and joyous, for--Oh, how well I can remember it
all up there!  The sun was shining brightly, and the great block of
stone upon which I sat down felt hot and so different to the cold
cheerless prison inside.  Every here and there amongst the stones there
was the beautiful soft green grass, and little low shrubs were in full
blossom, some a of rich purple, and some of the brightest gold, while in
two or three places far up in the blue sky the _alouettes_ were singing
like they do in France; and every puff of soft warm wind that floated by
was scented with the sweet fragrance of that little herb--I forget its
name--that which the bees buzz about."

"Wild thyme?" said Rodd quickly.

"Ah, yes; wild thyme.  And there for a long time I sat nursing my left
arm, fighting against what seemed to be a feeling of happiness, and
trying to think of all the evil that the English had done us, and what I
would do as soon as I got free.  But it was too much for me.  I couldn't
do it, and what I had looked upon from the prison windows from between
the bars would not seem to be the same wild stony desert, but beautiful
and full of hope and joy."

"Ah!" cried Rodd.  "That's because you were getting better.  I know what
you felt.  I was like that once after a bad fever, and when I was taken
out one fine morning for the first time, though I was weak as a rat I
felt as if I must run and jump and shout all about nothing; but it was
because everything looked so beautiful, and I knew that I must be
getting well."

The boys' eyes met for a few moments, and then Morny bowed his head
slowly and went on.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I suppose it was a beautiful healthy place, and
it began to make me feel like that; and as I looked round--for I had
climbed very high--I could see right down into parts of a valley that
was all full of sunshine and flashing light, for there was a little
dancing stream running swiftly along, and as I looked down into it and
saw how it widened here and narrowed there as it flashed amongst the
great rocks of granite, it set me thinking about home, and instead of
going on planning how I would revenge myself upon the English, I began
to wonder whether there would be trout there too, and soon afterwards I
began to creep slowly down so as to see.  And then I remember that I
burst out laughing at myself, for it seemed so droll.  My legs would
keep on bending under me, and I had to sit down and rest every now and
then."

"You were so weak," said Rodd earnestly.

"Yes, that was it," cried Morny; "but I didn't understand at first, and
somehow I didn't seem to mind a bit, but sat down and rested time after
time, till at last I got right down to the edge of the little river, all
shallow and dotted with blocks of stone; and there at first were the
little trout darting about to hide themselves, scared away by my shadow
upon the water.  But as I sat down to watch they soon came out again,
and began leaping at the little gnats that were flitting about the
surface.  Then do you know how that made me feel?"

"Well," said Rodd, "I know how it would make an English boy feel--
myself, for instance."

"How?"

"As if he'd like to have my namesake with only one _d_ in his hand, and
begin whipping the stream."

"Yes, that's how I felt," said Morny softly.

"I know about those trout on Dartmoor," cried Rodd, "right up on the
moor.  I know somebody who used to go and fish there, and he told me
that he could go and catch dozens and dozens and dozens of them whenever
he liked.  But they were so very small."

"Yes," said Morny, speaking dreamily now, with his eyes so lit up, that
as Rodd watched his thin delicate face, he thought how handsome and
well-bred he looked.

"Too good-looking for a boy, but more fitted for a girl," he mused.

"And did you go and fish?" he cried, as he suddenly caught Morny's eyes
gazing at him questioningly.

"Oh yes.  I went back to the prison and spoke to one of our guards--a
frowning, fierce-looking fellow--and I told him how ill my father was,
and that he never seemed as if he could eat the prison rations, as they
called them, and that I wanted to try and catch some of the little fish
on the moor and cook them, and try if I could tempt him with them."

"And what did he say?" cried Rodd, for Morny had stopped.

"He made my heart feel on fire at first, for he growled out `Bah!
Rubbish!  There, go on in.'  `Savage!'  I said to myself.  `Just like an
Englishman!'"

"What a brute!" cried Rodd.  "But I say, old chap, our fellows are not
all like that."

"No," said Morny.  "But I hadn't done.  Next minute he shouted after me,
`Halt!' and when I stopped and looked round he called out, `Ahoy!  Jim!'
and another of the guards with his piece over his shoulder marched up to
where we stood, and the man I had first spoken to turned to me and said,
`Here, you tell him what you said to me.'"

"And did you?" cried Rodd.

"I felt as if the words would choke me at first, but just then I seemed
to see the trout hot and brown upon a dish and my father, sick and pale,
looking at them longingly, and that made me speak to the other guard,
who was scowling at me.  And as I spoke a grim smile came over his face,
and his eyes twinkled, and he showed his teeth.  `All right, youngster,'
he said.  `Got a rod?'  I shook my head.  `No line?  No flies?'  I shook
my head again and again.  `All right, young 'un,' he said.  `You come to
me two hours before sundown; I shall be on duty then.  I'll set you up
with a bit of tackle.  But I say, you Frenchies don't know how to throw
a fly!'  `I used to,' I replied, `at home, in France.'  `Lor', did you?'
he said.  `Hear that, Billy?  I never knew as a Frenchman knew how to
fish.  But that's all right, youngster--only my ignorance.  A
fisherman's a fisherman the wide world round.'"

"Well?" said Rodd, for his companion had stopped.

"Well?" said Morny.

"Go on."

"What about?"

"Well, you are a chap!  Don't you know I was always very fond of
fishing?"

"I know you like fishing, for I saw you enjoying it that day when--"

"Steady!" cried Rodd.

"I've done," said Morny.

"But I don't want you to have done."

"Why, you forbade me to touch upon what you call dangerous ground."

"Bah!  That's another thing.  I don't want you to be grateful.  But of
course I like to hear about you going fishing.  I could almost wish that
you and I could go and have a few hours together on Dartmoor now."

"And we cannot," said Morny quietly.

"No; but we might try for bonito or dolphins.  But go on.  I want you to
tell me about how you got on.  Did you go to that prison guard two hours
before sundown?"

"Oh yes.  He was as friendly as ever he could be, just because he found
that I was fond of fishing, and lent me his rod and line and flies that
he made himself, and told me the best places to go to, and he was as
pleased as I was when I came back to the prison with a dozen and a half
of little trout.  Oh, I remember so well almost every word he said."

"Well, what did he say?" cried Rodd eagerly.

"Oh, he was a good-humoured droll fellow, though he looked so gruff, for
when I showed him my fish he slapped me on the shoulder and said, `Well
done, young 'un!  You are one of the right sort after all.'  And then he
told me to take the fish into his quarters, and his missus, as he called
her, would cook them for me so that I could take them to my sick father;
and when I thanked him he said it was all right, and that he and his
`missus' had been talking together about how bad the French captain
looked, and that I had better get him a nice little dish like that as
often as I could."

Morny stopped again, and Rodd gazed at him impatiently.

"Here, I say," he cried, "what a tantalising sort of chap you are!  Why,
I could tell a story better than you."

"Why, I have told you the story," said Morny.

"No, you haven't.  You keep stopping short when you come to what
interests me most."

"Nonsense!  You don't want me to go on telling you about catching more
fish and getting them fried day after day, and about taking them up to
my father."

"What do you know about it?" cried Rodd.  "It's just what I do want you
to tell me.  Did he like them and eat them, and did they do him good?
Those are the best bits."

"You are a droll of boy," said Morny, laughing.

"I'm a what?" cried Rodd.

"Droll of boy--_drole de garcon.  C'est juste, n'est-ce pas_?"

"Oh, if you like," cried Rodd merrily; "but if you don't think those are
the best parts of the story, which are?"

"Ah!" said Morny thoughtfully.  "The part that I remember most is
feeling that somehow things are not always so black as they look, that
Dartmoor was not such a dreary desert, and that the fierce frowning
guards were not so hard and unpleasant as they seemed.  There were times
after that when I was very happy there, for my father's wound began to
get better, and I found myself strong and well again.  But after a time
there was a new governor there, who behaved very harshly to the
prisoners, and as we got well the great longing for freedom used to grow
within us, and some of the men tried to escape.  This made the governor
more harsh and stern.  We were kept more shut up--"

"And I suppose that made you long all the more to get free?"

"Of course," replied Morny; "and at last there came a time when we heard
a little news from across the sea--news which seemed to make my father
the Count half wild with longing, and one day he told me that he had had
a lot of napoleons sent to him to help him to escape, and that the first
fine day we were allowed out for exercise upon the moor we would make a
dash for liberty."

"You should have done it when you were out fishing," said Rodd.

"Oh no.  The fishing had been stopped for a long time--ever since the
first attempts had been made to escape."

"Oh, I see," said Rodd.

"And at last the day came," continued Morny, "and we made our attempt,
but only to find that we were very closely guarded, and that soldiers
were on the look-out in all directions; and in the attempt my father and
I became separated, and I should have been taken if it had not been
that--"

"Look here," cried Rodd, springing up, "there's Joe Cross signalling to
me from the maintop.  He can see something.  I say, that happened
luckily for you, young fellow, for you were just getting on to dangerous
ground."



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

LAND HO!

"What is it, Joe?" cried Rodd.

"Easy, sir!" said the man softly.  "Not too loud," he continued, from
where he was seated upon the cross-trees.  "I don't want to give the
skipper a false alarm, else he won't believe me next time."

"What about?"

"Easy, my lad!  Just in a whisper like.  I aren't sure, but to you I
says, Land ho!"

"Whereabouts, Joe?" cried Rodd excitedly.

"Ah!" cried Morny, springing up.  "Land!"  And he faced round to gaze
towards the brig that was sailing very slowly after them some three
hundred yards away--sailing, but doing little more than forge her way
through the water.

"Nay, not that way, sir," said Joe softly, "but doo east.  You can't see
anything from down there, Mr Rodd, sir.  I can't even make certain with
the glass."

"Hold hard, Joe!  I am coming up," cried Rodd.  "All right, sir; but you
will be disappointed when you do."

"I won't be long, Morny," said Rodd eagerly.

"No; be quick," whispered Morny excitedly.  "I want for my father to
know.  He is so anxious about the brig."

Rodd gave him a quick jerk of the head as he went on climbing the
ratlines as quickly as he could, forgetting all about the heat and the
silvery glare of the piercing sunshine.

He was not long mounting to the sailor's side, seating himself on the
opposite side of the mast.

"Now then," he cried, as he shuffled into his place; "let me look."

"All right, sir.  Ketch hold," replied the sailor stolidly.  "You'll do
it; your eyes are so much younger and sharper than mine."

"None of your gammon, Joe!" cried the boy sharply, as he focussed the
glass to suit his eyes, while with one arm embracing the butt of the
main-topgallant-mast he held the tube steadily to his eye, asking for
guidance the while.

"Now then," he said; "whereabouts?"

"Right straight ahead, sir.  You can't miss it if it's there, for it
stretches away as far as you like to left and right!"

"Why, there's no land, Joe."

"Not looking down low enough, sir, perhaps.  It aren't right up in the
sky."

"Well, who's looking up in the sky?" cried Rodd irritably.--"I am
looking right down to the horizon line."

"Well, that's right, sir.  Take a good long look.  Now then, can't you
see it?"

There was silence for a few moments, and Morny, who was gazing upwards,
seemed to be all eyes and ears.

"Can't you see it, Master Rodd?" repeated Joe.

"No."

"Perhaps 'tarn't land, then, sir."

"No.  It was all your fancy.  There's nothing to be seen."

"Where are you looking, sir?"

"At a little low bank of pale misty cloud.  That's all, Joe.  Your eyes
want a good rub."

"Dessay they do, sir.  They aren't much account," said the man; "but
that caps what I saw," and putting his hands to the sides of his mouth
he yelled out in stentorian tones, "Land ho!"--a signal that was
followed by the hurried shuffling sound of feet ascending to the deck.

"Here, what are you doing?" cried Rodd angrily.  "Spreading a false
alarm like that!"

"Oh, it's right enough, sir."

"But there's nothing but a cloud there, Joe."

"Looks like it, sir, but land it is all the same."

"Where away?" came in the skipper's hoarse voice.

"Dead ahead, sir," replied the sailor, and Rodd steadied the glass
again, bringing it to bear upon what looked more than ever like the
faintest of faint hazes upon the surface of the distant sea.

"Can you make it out, Rodd?" cried Uncle Paul, who had hurried on deck
with the Count.

"Well, I can just see something, uncle, and I suppose it's land."

"Oh, that's right enough, my lad," cried the captain.  "Can't be
anything else."

"Not clouds?"

"Ah, I don't say that," cried the skipper.  "You may see a bit of haze
too, but there's solid land beneath.  There, sir," continued the
skipper, "that's what we are looking for.  Now the next thing we want to
see is water."

"Well, we can see that plainly enough, Joe," said Rodd, speaking with
his eyes still to the glass.

"Ay, but he means dirty water, sir."

"What do you want to see dirty water for?"

"Muddy, then, sir, showing as there's a river coming out there.  I say,
sir, wouldn't t'other young gent like to come up and have a squint?"

"Oh, of course.  I forgot.  Below there!  Morny!  Come on up and have a
look."

The lad sprang to the main shrouds and began to hurry up, while Joe
Cross, who had finished the task to achieve which he had been sent,
began to lower himself down, leaving space for the young Frenchman, to
whom the glass was handed in turn, ready for him to declare that he
could make out the distant land.

"Ah," he panted, as he handed back the glass, "how I have longed to see
that!  Now, Rodd, we shall soon get the brig careened over and the leaks
repaired, and then--"

"Well," said Rodd, "what then?"

"Be off to sea again," cried Morny excitedly.

"Well, you seem in a precious hurry," grumbled Rodd.

"Wouldn't you be if your schooner was like our brig?"

"No.  Uncle and I are reckoning upon making a lot of discoveries ashore.
If you are on a scientific expedition, wouldn't that do as well for
you?"

"No," replied the French lad shortly.  "We must follow out our
researches by sea."

"Then what is it you are looking for?  I thought you were going to tell
me the other day."

"Yes, my father," cried Morny, answering a hail from below.  "I am
coming down."

When the two lads descended it was to find that the Count had been
speaking to the skipper, who had given orders for the schooner's boat to
be lowered so that the two visitors could return at once to the brig,
with the understanding that both vessels were to send up studding sails
and use every possible speed now to get within touch of the shore,
before making south and keeping a bright look-out for some estuary or
river mouth.

"You will follow me, sir," said the skipper; "but do you know what this
coast line will be like?"

"I cannot say I do," replied the Count.  "Cliff and hill, with mountains
farther in?"

"Nay, sir; all muddy shore, covered with dark green mangrove forest.  I
don't suppose we shall be long before I send you up a signal; and then
we can sail right in.  There will be nothing to mind in the way of
rocks, for where I lead it will be all mud."

Very shortly afterwards the lads parted, and as Rodd stood looking after
the boat that was bearing their two visitors to the brig, Uncle Paul
came up close behind him.

"Pity those two were born Frenchmen, Rodd, my boy," said the doctor,
"for there is something very gentlemanly about the Count, and I like
that lad Morny too.  There is something about him, Rodney, that you
might very well copy."

"Is there, uncle?"

"Yes, sir, there is.  Certainly.  I am not your father, but I am your
uncle, and it gratifies me very much to see the polished, almost
reverent way in which that lad behaves towards the Count.  It's polite,
and it's respectful, and it's--er--it's--er--"

"Why, you wouldn't like it, uncle, if I were to behave to you just as he
does to the Count."

"Well, not exactly, Rodney, but there's something very nice about it.
Great pity, though, that they are French, and so corroded, so crusted
over, as I may call it, with a sort of hero-worship for that tyrannical
usurper.  There, I won't mention his name."

"That's right, uncle; don't, please."

"Why, sir?"

"Because it always makes you so cross, uncle."

"Now, Rodney, that's what I don't like.  If I have an antipathy to a
scoundrel, and speak out firmly as an Englishman should, it is not for a
boy like you to say I am cross; and I am quite sure that young Morny
would have had too much common-sense to speak out like that to his
father.  It is a great pity, though, that they are both, as I say, so
eaten up with that hero-worship, and I am very much afraid that I spoke
a little too plainly to the Count to-day.  It was rather unfortunate
too.  It was just when we had been having a very interesting
conversation upon the medusae, especially those of a phosphorescent
nature.  By the way, has Morny said much to you about the object of
their research?"

"No, uncle.  He always seems disinclined to speak."

"Humph!  Yes, he does seem very reticent.  His father as good as said,
as I think I told you, that this was a voyage of discovery, a search for
something he wanted to take back, and which was to make his country very
great.  But he has never said what, and it would be so very
ungentlemanly to seem curious."

"But you do feel curious to know, don't you, uncle?"

"Well, I must confess, my boy, that I do--a little jealous, perhaps, of
another man's success, for I did learn as much as this, that he felt
pretty sure of being successful if he could get the brig sound again.
Well, I suppose we shall know some day."

"I don't like to say any more to Morny, uncle.  It would seem so small;
and besides, he never questions me anything about what we are doing--
only seems very much interested."

"You are quite right, Rodd.  It would be mean and petty.  Leave it to
them, and if they like to take us into their confidence, well and good.
If they do not, well, it is no business of ours."

"Why, uncle," cried Rodd suddenly, and then he stopped.  "It isn't
because--"

Rodd stopped short again, looking straight away over the sea, as if in
deep thought.

"Well, my boy?  It isn't because what?"

"Oh, I don't like to say, uncle.  You would laugh at me."

"How do you know that?  Wait and see," cried Uncle Paul.  "Now then,
what were you thinking?"

"I was wondering whether they could be trying to discover that which we
found quite by accident."

"That which we found quite by accident, Pickle?"

"Yes, uncle, and that may be the reason why they don't like to talk
about it.  You see, all ships' captains and people have been so laughed
at, and told that they are inventing fables, that they are very quiet
and like to keep things to themselves, just the same as Captain Chubb
was when we saw that thing.  You see, uncle--"

"Go on, Pickle!  Go on!" cried Uncle Paul.

"Oh, I haven't much more to say, uncle, only this--if ordinary captains
are so particular about speaking, and so afraid of ridicule, wouldn't a
big scientific man like the Count, who has fitted out an expedition for
the discovery, be very careful too, lest the object of his voyage should
get about?  But oh, nonsense!  It's ridiculous.  It can't be that.
Don't laugh at me, uncle.  It's only what I thought."

"I was not going to laugh at you, Rodney, my boy," said the doctor
quietly, "for the simple reason that I do not see anything to laugh at.
It's a very clever, good idea, and quite possible.  Yes, my boy, it's
more than possible.  I don't say that you are right, but very likely to
be.  The Count and his son are French, and, like their countrymen, very
touchy and sensitive and afraid of ridicule.  I shouldn't be at all
surprised, my boy, if that really is the reason for their being so
secretive in their ways."

"I am glad you think so, uncle," cried the boy.

"No, no, no; don't take it like that.  It may be after all only a fancy
of yours."

"Yes, uncle, but if that's what they are searching for, to prove that
there are such--such--er--what-you-may-call-'ems in the sea--"

"Phenomena, boy--phenomena," said the doctor shortly.

"Yes, uncle; phenomena--wouldn't it be an act of kindness to tell them
that we have already made the discovery, and try to show them the part
of the ocean where such creatures are to be found?"

"Hum!  No, my boy.  No.  We should be making matters worse.  Not only
should we be showing the Count and his son that we have found out what
they want to keep secret, but we should be robbing them of the honour of
their discovery as well.  No; let them take us into their confidence if
they like, and if they do, so much the better.  If they do not--well,
the loss is theirs."



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

COAST LAND.

"Our skipper's as right as can be, Morny," said Rodd the next evening,
as the lad was once more on board the schooner, and they were sailing
gently along about a mile from shore, the brig following pretty close
behind with the water streaming down from her scuppers as the work at
one of the pumps was still kept up.

For there was the coast, much as he had described, an undulating line of
the singular dark green mangrove forest that looked low and dwarfed,
and, now that the tide was low, showed to full advantage, the singular
ramification of its roots giving the bushy forest the appearance of
standing up upon a wilderness of jagged and tangled scaffolding through
which the sea washed over the muddy shore.

"Not pleasant-looking, gentlemen," said the skipper, coming up to them.
"Not the sort of place where you would like to settle down and build a
country house."

"Why, it's horrible," cried Rodd.  "But why should it be so muddy here,
instead of being all nice clean sand?"

"Because it's the edge of a low swampy country, my lad, where great
rivers come from inland and bring down the soil of thousands of miles."

"But I always thought Africa was a sandy desert place where lions were
roving about, and where Mungo Park went travelling to Timbuctoo and
places like that."

"Yes, my lad," said the skipper; "but that's the Africa of the old
books, and there's plenty of it like that on the east side and up in the
north and where old Mungo Park went to, no doubt; but all along this
coast it isn't a dry and thirsty land, but as soon as you get through
the mangroves, full of great forests and big rivers.  Why, look at the
sea here.  Right away out it was all as clear as crystal; now here
there's mud enough for anything."

"But we shan't want to stop long in a muddy river with banks like this,
captain," said Morny.

"Don't you be in too great a hurry to judge, sir," said the skipper.  "I
have sailed up one or two of these rivers in my time, and when you get
higher up you will find it very different: big forests with grand trees,
rivers with fine water, and places beautiful enough for anything, such
as will satisfy travellers who don't want ports and towns.  You and the
doctor, Mr Rodd, will be able to get some fine shooting up there, if
you like, and fine fishing too.  Do you want to get any birds of all the
colours of the rainbow?"

"Why, of course!" cried Rodd eagerly.

"Well, there you'll find them, sir--singing birds too, green and gold
and scarlet and grey, and some with long tails, and some with short.
Only," continued the skipper dryly, and with a grim smile at the two
lads, "they don't sing like our birds at home, but in a foreign lingo,
all squeak and scream and squawk, through their having crooked hook
beaks.  They are what people at home call parrots and parakeets."

"Oh, that's what you mean!" cried Rodd, laughing.

"Of course, sir--them as you teaches to talk.  Wicked 'uns, some of
them, ready enough to learn anything the sailors teach them, but sulky
as slugs when you want them to learn anything good."

"But there are plenty of them, captain?" said Rodd.

"Thicker than crows at home, sir.  Then what do you say to monkeys?"

"That I should like to see them alive in the forest."

"Well, there you have them, sir; and you could come across plenty, if
you went far enough, big as boys."

"Ah, now you are telling travellers' tales, captain," said Rodd.

"Nay, my lad, not I.  I have seen them as big as boys, only not so tall,
because their legs have all gone into arms.  Little, short, crooked
legs, they have got, as makes them squatty.  But when they stand up
their arms are so long that they nearly touch the ground.  Big as boys?
Why, they are bigger!  I never saw boys with such big heads.  And they
all look as if they had been born old; wrinkled faces and long shaggy
black hair."

"Now, look here, captain, I don't mind you joking me, but don't play
tricks with the Viscount here."

"Not I, my lad.  I am just telling you the honest truth, and you may
believe me."

"But where's the river where these things are?"

"We shall come across one of them before long, sir," said the skipper.
"I expected to have found one that suited my book hours ago.  I was very
nearly going up that one just about dinner-time."

"Oh, but that was only a little inlet," said Rodd.

"Looked so to you, sir, but all along here the shore's full of inlets,
as you call them; but they are deep water and go winding in and out, and
perhaps open out into big sheets of water like lagoons, as they call
them.  But I am of opinion that if we don't turn into one to-night we
shall do so some time to-morrow, and perhaps find just the sort of spot
we want.  It we don't we will go a bit farther south."

"But take us up beyond all this horrible mangrove swamp," said Rodd.

"You leave that to me, sir," said the skipper.  "We have got a good bit
of work to do with that brig, and I want to bring my lads out again, and
the Count's too, well and hearty, not half of them eaten up with fever
and t'other half sucked into dry skins by the mosquitoes.  No, we shall
have to sail right up to where it gets to be a forest and park-like
country."

"There'll be no towns?" said Rodd.

"No, sir, but we might come across a blacks' village, and if we do we
can anchor somewhere on the other shore."

Another afternoon had come before the mangrove forest seemed to turn
inland and run right up the country, just as if they had come to the end
of that portion of the land; but miles away the skipper pointed out that
the forest began again and also swept inland, while by using the glass
the lads were able to trace the configuration of the coast, and saw that
the two lines of coast north and south came together away east.

"There," said the skipper, "what do you say to this for the mouth of a
big river?"

"River?" said the doctor, coming up.

"Yes, sir--or estuary, which you like.  This is the sort of one that
will suit us, though as far as I can make out it is not down in my
chart.  So all the more likely to suit our book."

"But do you think it's a river, and not a bend of the coast?" asked the
doctor.

"If it was a bend of the coast, sir, the tide wouldn't be flowing in
like that.  It's a good-sized tidal river, sir, and we are going to sail
in as far as we can get before dark, and if all turns out as I expect,
we shall be carried in past the mangroves and be able to moor to-night
perhaps to forest trees."

"And if we don't?" said Rodd.

"Why, then we shall anchor, and find plenty of good holding ground."

The tide carried them in rapidly, and a nice soft breeze filled the
sails, bearing them onward till the mangrove swamp on either hand began
to close in rapidly, while towards evening they were gliding where the
banks were about a mile apart, and just at sunset muddy patches began to
make their appearance, upon which Rodd noticed three times over,
portions of the rugged trunks of trees that had been denuded of every
branch as they floated down with the stream.

All at once, just where the mud glistened ruddily in the rays of the
setting sun, Rodd started, for a thick stumpy tree trunk suddenly began
to move gently, then glided a few feet over the mud, and finally went
into the river with a tremendous splash.

"Why, what's that?" cried Rodd excitedly.

"Croc," grunted the skipper gruffly.  "Thousands of them along here."



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

HOW TO GET BACK?

"Almost as bad as you tacking out of the harbour, Morny," said Rodd that
evening, as the two vessels glided up the rapidly narrowing and greatly
winding river.

"Oh no," replied the French lad.  "There is no tremendous storm of wind
blowing, threatening to tear the sails to ribbons, no soldiers in boats
using their muskets, no big guns sending heavy balls from the forts."

"No," said the skipper, who had overheard the remarks; "not a bit like
it, Mr Rodd.  It is rather awkward work, though, and we have to be
always on the dodge, else the next thing would be we should go ramming
our noses right in the muddy banks and getting stuck fast; and that
wouldn't do."

"Oh, you would get off again next tide," said Rodd carelessly.

"Mebbe," said the skipper.  "As the old country chaps at home say, we
mought and we moughtn't."

"Look, Morny," cried Rodd.  "There's another of those great crocs.  What
a thick one!  Why, that one must be five-and-twenty feet long."

"Fourteen," grunted the skipper.

"No, no; it must have been twenty," cried Rodd.

"Fourteen, outside," growled the skipper.  "How can you tell when you
only catch sight of them on the move?"

"Well, it was a tremendous thickness," said Rodd.

"Ay, it was thick enough, and heavy enough; and they are stronger than
horses.  And just you look here, youngster, while we are up this river,
where I dare say they swarm, you had better keep your eyes open, for
those chaps will pull a deer or a bullock into the water before the poor
brute knows where it is, and as to human natur', they lie waiting close
to the banks for the poor niggers, men, women or children, who come down
to get water, and they nip them off in a moment."

"Ugh!  Horrible!" cried Rodd.

"Yes, and what made me speak to you was that we are going to settle down
for a bit up here in the forest where the sun will be very hot, and
where there'll be no end of great shady trees hanging over the river
side and seeming to ask folks to jump in and have a nice cooling swim."

"I say, captain!"

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you, my lads," said the skipper sharply.  "When
we are lying moored or at anchor up here it's just the sort of thing
that you might make up your minds to do without saying a word to
anybody.  I know I should have done so when I was your age.  But I just
say to you now solemn like--don't you do it.  For if there's anything
one of these great reptiles likes it's a nice clean French or English
boy."

"Oh, come now," cried Rodd merrily, "you don't call that talking solemn
like, captain?"

A grim smile dawned upon the old sailor's countenance.

"Well, no," he said; "but I mean it solemn like.  I don't suppose one of
they crocs would study about what colour it was, but they go for
anything that's alive and moving, hold on with those great teeth of
theirs, and whatever it is they catch, it's soon drowned when it's
pulled below, and never heard of again.--Starboard, my lads!
Starboard!" he shouted, with both hands to his mouth, and the schooner
curved round and went off on another tack in obedience to the
helm.--"It's rather an awkward job, my lads," continued the skipper.
"You see, we have to sail to all points of the compass, and one minute
you have got the wind blowing gently fair and free from right ahead or
dead astarn, and the next you are going into shelter and got no wind at
all."

"But we keep on going steadily up the river, captain," said Rodd.

"Yes, my lad; we have got this strong tide in our favour.  I am
reckoning that if we drop anchor soon we shall be able to get as far as
we want next tide."

"But how far do you mean to go?" asked Morny anxiously.

"Oh, a good way up yet," replied the skipper.

"But why not keep on now?" asked Rodd.

"Because I want to pick a good berth before the dark comes down and
catches and leaves us nohow.  Got any more questions to ask?"

"Hundreds," cried Rodd merrily.

"Humph!  Then I think I ought to have my pay raised.  I joined the _Maid
of Salcombe_ to sail her, not to give you lessons in jography,
etymology, syntax, and prosody, as it used to say in my lesson book when
I was a little 'un."

"Ah, well, I won't bother you any more to-day, captain," said Rodd;
"only one always wants to know what things are when they are quite
fresh."

Captain Chubb did not answer for the moment, for he had to shout another
order to the steersman and make two or three signals with his hand to
those on board the brig, which was following in the schooner's track,
keeping as close as it could to be safe.

At the end of five minutes, though, he had returned to his old position,
and grunted out with a look as if he wanted to be questioned more--

"Well, I suppose such youngsters as you like to know."

Then all at once he shouted out a fresh order, which was followed by the
rattling out of the cable through the hawse-hole as the anchor splashed
and went down to a pretty good depth before the rope was stopped, one
order having acted for both vessels, and just before dark they swung
round head to stream, with the water lapping loudly against their bows.

"That's enough for one day," grunted the captain.  "Safe and snug a
harbour as any one could wish to be in, and there's the trees, you see,
on both sides, good, sound, solid forest trees such as would cut up into
fine timber, and all the mangroves left far enough behind."

In a remarkably short time, as the two lads stood watching the shores,
the forest on either side grew intensely black, and though the steward
announced that the evening meal was ready, no one seemed disposed to go
below, for, succeeding to the solemn evening silence, they seemed to be
surrounded by strange sounds from the depths of the forest as well as
from the river, whose current began to grow sluggish, suggesting that
before long the tide would be at its height, and ready to turn with the
rushing of the water outward to the sea.

"Why, it's awful," said Morny, in a subdued tone, as he stood with Rodd
gazing at the nearest shore.

"Yes, not very nice," replied Rodd.  "You and your father had better
stop on board here to-night."

"Oh no.  Our boat is hanging astern.  We shall go back."

Rodd thought that he should not like to attempt to row from vessel to
vessel in the darkness of such a night, for something seemed to suggest
to him the possibility of being swept out to sea; but he did not say so,
for fear of making his companion nervous, and they stood listening and
whispering together, trying to give names to some of the uncouth noises
which floated to their ears.

Many were sharp quick splashes as if some great fish had sprung out of
the water in pursuit of prey, or in a desperate effort to escape a
pursuer.  Then every now and then there would be a resounding slap, as
if one of the great reptiles that haunted the river had struck the
surface a tremendous blow with its tail.

"What's that?" asked Rodd, directly after, as a low, deep, mournful
sound came from amongst the trees upon the shore, sounding like a
piteous cry for help from some woman in distress.

This was succeeded by a painful silence, and then Rodd raised his
voice--

"Captain!  Captain Chubb!  Do you hear that?  Are you there?"

"Oh yes, here I am, my lad," came from out of the darkness.  "And I
should be precious deaf if I hadn't heard it."

"Well, ought we to take the boat and try and save her?" cried the boy
passionately.

"How do you know it's a _her_, my lad?  I should say it was a _him_.
It's the cock birds and not the hens that shout like that."

"Bird!" cried Morny.  "It was a human being."

"Ah, it do sound something like it, my lad, but that aren't a human.
It's one of them great long-legged storky chaps with the big bills,
calling to his wife to say he's found frogs, or something of that kind.
You wait a minute, and if she don't come you will hear him call
`Quanko!'--There, what did I say?" said the skipper, with a chuckle, as
in trumpet tones came the cry of the great long-legged creature in a
sonorous _Quang, quang, quang, quang_!

"Why, the captain seems to know everything," said Morny admiringly.  "I
say, how did you know that, sir?"

"Oh," said the skipper modestly, "one just picks up these sort of things
a little bit at a time.  Now then, do you hear that?"

The two lads did hear it--a peculiar musical (?) wailing cry which was
repeated again and again and then died out, half-smothered by a chorus
of croaking from the swampy river banks.

"Oh yes, we can hear," cried Rodd.  "We can do nothing else but listen.
But what was it made that cry?"

"Ah!  That's one of the things I don't know," said the skipper,
chuckling.  "What should you think it was?"

"Oh, I don't want to be laughed at again," cried Rodd, "for making
another mistake.  Perhaps it's some other kind of stork."

"Nay, you don't think it is," said the skipper.  "You think different to
that.  Come, have a guess."

"Well," said Rodd, "I should say it was some kind of great cat."

"Right, my lad; not much doubt about that.  I don't know what sort it
is, but it's one of them spotted gentlemen.  I should say there'd be
plenty of them here.  Well, I have had about enough of it for to-day.  I
am just going to see about the watch, and to say a few words below to
your father about having a good look-out kept, and then it won't be very
long before I turn in to my cot, for I am tired.  This has been a rather
anxious day."

"You are going to speak to my father about having a good look-out kept?"

"Well, yes, my lad, and with our men well-armed.  I don't say as it's
likely, and we are too near the sea for any villages of blacks; but it
wouldn't be very nice to have two or three big canoes come and make fast
to us in the night, and find the decks swarming with niggers who might
think that we were made on purpose for them to kill."

"Why, you don't think that's likely, do you?" cried Rodd.

"Not at all, my lad.  But safe bind, safe find.  What I have always
found is this--that when you keep a very strict look-out nothing
happens, and when you don't something does.  Are you lads coming down?"

"Not yet," said Rodd.

"I suppose you will be going soon, won't you, Mr Morny?" said the
skipper, who somehow always forgot their visitor's title.

"I am expecting my father will be coming up soon to say it is time."

"Yes; I shouldn't leave it much longer," said the skipper.  "I'll tell
him.--Joe Cross, there!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"You and four men stand by with the gig to take the Count aboard his
vessel.  You will just drop down head to stream ready to pull hard if
the tide seems a bit too heavy; and you, my lad, be ready forward with
the end of the line made fast to the thwart and the grapnel clear, ready
to drop overboard to get hold of the mud if you find the current too
strong."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the man; and the skipper went below.

"I am glad of that, Joe," said Rodd eagerly.  "I was thinking whether
there was any risk of the boat being swept away."

"So was I, sir; but it's always the same.  Whenever I think of something
that ought to be done I always find that our old man has thought of it
before.  Did you see that we have swung round to our anchor?"

"No," said Rodd.

"We have, sir, and the tide's running out like five hundred million
mill-streams.  You come for'ard here and feel how the cable's all of a
jigger, just as if the river had made up its mind to pull it right out
of the mud."

The two lads followed, and it was exactly as the man had said, for the
great Manilla rope literally thrilled as if with life, while the river
glided by the schooner's cutwater with a loud hiss.

"Why, Joe," cried Rodd, as he gazed in the sailor's dimly-seen face,
"how are you going to manage to row back?"

"Well, sir, that's one of the things I have been asking myself."

"Well, you had better speak to the skipper."

"Not me, sir.  I'm not going to try to teach him.  If I was to say a
word he'd jump down my throat bang.  Oh, he knows what he's about, or he
wouldn't have told me to stand by with that there grapnel."

"Yes, of course he'd know," said Rodd quietly.  "I should like to know
how you'd got on."

The two lads stood listening to the weird sounds from the shore, every
now and then being puzzled by something that was entirely fresh, while
the swiftly running water gleamed dimly with the faintly seen reflection
of the stars, showing that a mist was gathering overhead, while Joe
Cross and the men lowered down the boat and hauled her up to the
gangway, ready to convey the visitors to the brig.

They had hardly finished preparations before the voices that had come
before in murmurs from the cabin were heard ascending to the deck, and
the Count cried out of the darkness--

"Are you ready there, Morny, my son?"

"Yes, my father," replied the lad, and Rodd walked with him to the side.

The men were in their places, with their oars ready to hand to lower at
once, Joe Cross holding on in front with his boat-hook through a
ring-bolt.  A few more words passed between the Count and Uncle Paul,
and then the former bade his son descend into his place, following
slowly directly after.

"Good-night," he said.

"Good-night, Rodd!" cried Morny.  "We shan't be long getting to the
brig."

"No," cried Rodd.  "Good-night!  Here, one moment; I'll slip down and
come back with the gig."

Before any one else could speak he had dropped into the boat, his feet
touching the nearest thwart as the skipper cried "Let go!" and almost
the next moment the men were pulling hard, while Joe Cross dropped upon
his knees to feel for the grapnel so as to make sure it was at hand,
while to Rodd it seemed that the boat was motionless in the rapid river
and that the schooner had been suddenly snatched away.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

UP A TREE.

"Put your backs into it, my lads," cried Joe Cross, almost fiercely.
"Steady!  Steady all, and look out that you don't have a smash.  Pull!
Hard!  Here, I shall be tugged out of the boat!"

For it seemed almost directly after that the dimly-seen hull of the brig
rose up out of the darkness close at hand, while from where he knelt--
fortunately for himself--the coxswain felt his arms being jerked out of
their sockets as he caught with the boat-hook at the brig's main chains.
"Stand by there!" he roared, as he held on.  "Lend a hand here to help
the gentlemen on board!  Somebody say it in French!  Up with you!"

There was no need for the use of another tongue, for a lantern shed its
light down upon them, willing hands were ready, and the Count and Morny
scrambled aboard.

The next moment the Count was giving orders for a rope to be passed down
to the boat.

"Make fast, and come on board!" he shouted.  "You'll never get back
to-night."

The order came too late, for as he spoke another order was given out by
Joe Cross, who had loosed the precarious hold he had with the boat-hook,
as he shouted while giving the boat a thrust away--

"Now for it, my lads!  Pull for all you know!"

Almost the next moment Rodd dimly saw that they were clear, and as the
men tugged at their oars with all their might he dropped upon his knees
in front of stroke, clapped his hands against the oar, and swinging with
the man, thrust with all his force.

Five minutes of desperate tugging at the oars in the midst of darkness
which seemed to rapidly increase.  The men had rowed with all their
force--not to get back to the schooner, but to reach the brig and one of
her ropes that they knew would be thrown to their help; but to Rodd, as
he strained his eyes from where he knelt striving to give force to the
stroke oar, it was like catching so many glimpses, first of the brig's
side, then of its stern, and then once more it was as if they were
standing still in the water and the brig was rushing away.

"Steady, my lads!  Don't break your hearts!" cried Joe Cross firmly, his
voice ringing clearer out of the black silence.  "It aren't to be done.
Mid-stream's our game.  If we try to get ashore we shall be among the
branches, capsized in a moment, and--"

The sailor did not finish his speech then, but Rodd did to himself, and
hot though he was with his exertions, a cold shiver seemed to run
through him, as he mentally said--

"The crocodiles!"

"That's better, my lads.  Just a steady pull, and I'll keep as I am with
the boat-hook.  We mustn't have a capsize."

"What are you going to do, Joe?" cried Rodd.

"Don't know, sir," said the man gruffly.  "Perhaps you can tell me."

"I?  No," cried Rodd.

"Ah!  That's awkward," said the man.  "I don't know what the skipper was
about to set us on this job.  That's the worst of being a sailor.  They
trains us up to 'bey orders directly they're guv, and we does them, but
one never knows how to be right.  I oughter ha' told the old man as this
was more'n men could do; 'cause I half thought it were.  But then I says
to myself, the skipper knows best; and here we are in a nice hole."

"A nice hole!" cried Rodd angrily.  "Why, we shall be swept out to sea."

"Looks like it, sir--I mean seems."

"But why not make for the shore, where we could catch hold of some of
the overhanging branches?"

"I telled you, sir.  'Cause we should be capsized before we had time to
wink.  Steady, my lads--steady!  It's no use to pull, Mr Rodd; four
times as many of us couldn't stem a stream like this."

"Will they come down after us?  Yes, my uncle is sure to."

"Not he, sir.  It would be just about mad to try it, and our old man
will be so wild at being caught like this that he won't let him stir.
'Sides that, sir, what are you talking about?  How are they to know we
have been swept away?"

"Because we don't come back, of course," cried Rodd angrily.

"That won't do, sir.  Skipper knows, of course, after the way we went
off, that it's just impossible."

"But the Count will tell him."

"Too far off for shouting, sir.  You take my word for it that the
skipper will make up his mind that we are stopping on board the brig
till the tide runs slack again.  If anything's done it will be by the
Frenchies, and I don't believe they'll try."

"Oh, but the Count would.  His son would make him."

"No, sir.  The Count's a fine naval officer who has seen service, and he
knows too well what he's about to send a boat's crew swirling down this
river to go nobody knows where.  The only folks as can help us is--"

"Yes--who?" cried Rodd, for the man broke off in his speech.

"Ourselves, sir; and we shall find it precious hard."

"That's right, Joe," said one of the other sailors.  "Better speak out,
mate, and say the worst on it."

"Say it yourselves," cried Joe Cross roughly.

"Yes, speak out," cried Rodd.  "What do you think?"

"We can do nothing, sir, but keep her head straight and go down with the
tide, doing all we can to keep from being sucked into the shore among
the trees."

"But look here, Joe, aren't we very close in now?" cried Rodd, who had
just noticed in the darkness that the sailor he addressed was leaning
over the bows and straining his eyes in one particular direction.

For answer the man yelled to his messmates to pull with all their might.

The oars dipped, but at the second stroke there was a crashing rustling
sound of twigs, followed by a sharp crackling and snapping, as they were
swept in amongst the pendant branches of some huge forest tree, one
bough striking Rodd across the shoulders and holding him as it were
fast, so that the boat was being dragged from beneath him.

Then there was more grinding of the gunwale of the boat amongst the
boughs, the water came swishing in over the side, and directly after the
frail vessel partly turned over, with her keel lying sideways to the
rushing tide.

Then more crackling and rustling amongst the boughs, mingled with
shouting from the boat's crew, and from out of the confusion, and
somewhere above him in the pitchy darkness and low-lying night mist,
came the voice of Joe Cross--

"Now then, all of you!  Where away?"

"Here!"

"Here!"

"All right, mate!"

"Lend a hand, some one!"

"Are you all here?" cried Joe Cross again.

"Ay, ay, ay, ay!" came in chorus.

"But I don't hear the young guvnor."

There was silence.

"Where's Mr Rodd?"

A moment's pause, and then--

"Mr Rodd!  Ahoy!"

"Here, Joe, here!" came in half-suffocated tones.

"Wheer, my lad?" cried the man excitedly.

"Here!  Here!  Help!"

"But where's yer _here_, lad?  I can't see you.--Can any of you?  Oh,
look alive, some on you!  Get hold of the boy anywhere--arms or legs or
anything--and hold on like grim death."

There was a sharp rustling of leaves and twigs which pretty well drowned
Rodd's answer--

"I'm down here."

"Where's _down here_, my lad?  Are you under the boat?"

"No, no.  Hanging to a bough, with the water up to my chest, and
something's tugging at me to drag me away."

"Oh, a-mussy me!" groaned the sailor.  "Why aren't it to-morrow morning
and sun up?  Can't any of you see him?"

"No, no, no, no!" came back, almost as dismally as groans.

"Well, can't you feel him, then?"

"No."

"I am here, Joe--here!" panted the lad.  "Higher up the river than you
are.  A big branch swept me out of the boat."

"Ah, yes, we went under it," groaned Joe.  "Well, lads, he must be the
other side of the tree.  Here, where's that there boat?  Can any of you
see it?"

"No; we are all on us in the tree?"

"Well, I don't suppose you are swimming," roared Cross savagely.  "Do
something, some on you!  Thinking of nothing but saving your own blessed
lives!  Are you going to let the poor lad drown?"

"Here, coxswain, why don't you tell us what to do?" snarled one of the
men.

"How can I," yelled Joe, "when I don't know what to do mysen?  Oh, don't
I wish that I had got the skipper here!  I'd let him have it warm!"

"Joe!  Joe!" came out of the darkness.  "I can't hold on!  I can't hold
on!"

"Yah, you young idgit!" roared the sailor.  "You must!"

"I can't, Joe--I can't!" cried Rodd faintly, and there was a gurgling
sputtering sound as if the water had washed over him.

"Oh-h!" groaned Joe.  "Don't I tell you you must!  Hold on by your arms
and legs--your eyelids.  Stick your teeth into the branch.  We are
a-coming, my lad.--Oh my! what a lie!" he muttered.  Then aloud, and in
a despairing tone, "Can any one of you get up again' the stream to where
he is?"

"No!" came in a deep murmur.  "If we go down we shall be washed away."

"Same here," groaned Joe.  "I'm a-holding on with the water right up to
the middle, and just about ready to be washed off.  I can't stir.  Oh,
do one of you try and save the poor dear lad!  I wish I was dead, I do!"

"Joe!" came faintly.

"Ay, ay, my lad!"

"Tell Uncle Paul--"

The words ended in a half-suffocated wailing cry, and almost the next
moment there was a tremendous splashing of water, and the snapping of a
good-sized branch, followed by sounds as of a struggle going on upon the
surface of the rushing stream as it lapped and hissed amongst the
tangled boughs and twigs.

"Hold hard!" yelled Joe.  "Anywhere.--Got him, boys--_urrrrr_!--"

It was as if some savage beast had suddenly seized its prey.  Then there
was a loud panting and more crackling as of branches giving way, and
directly after, in answer to a volley of inquiries, Joe Cross panted
out--

"Yes, I've got him, my lads, and he's got his teeth into me; but I don't
know how long we can hold on."

"You must hold on, Joe!" shouted a voice.

"Stick to him, messmate!  I'm a-trying to get to you."

There was more crackling in the darkness, and a peculiar subdued sound
as of men panting after running hard; but it was only the hard breathing
of excitement.

"Have you got him still, Joe?" came in gasps.

"Yes, my lad, but he's awful still and I don't know that he aren't
drowned.--No, he aren't, for he's got his teeth into my shoulder, and
he's gripping hard.  But the water keeps washing right up into my ear."

"Hoist him up a little higher," panted the other speaker.

"How can I?  I've got my arm round him, but if I stir it means let go.
What are you doing, mate?"

"Trying to get down to you, but as soon as I stir the bough begins to
crack."

"Steady, mate, steady!  I can't see you, but I can hear, and if you come
down on us we are gone.  Here, I say, it will be hours before it's
morning, won't it?"

There was a groan in reply--a big groan formed by several voices in
unison.

"But how long will it be before, the tide goes down and leaves us?"

There was no reply, and a dead silence fell upon the occupants clinging
to different portions of the tree, all of whom had managed with the
strength and activity of sailors to drag themselves up beyond the reach
of the water and at varying distances from where Joe Cross clung with
one messmate hanging just above his head.

"Well, look here, messmates," said Joe at last, "it's no use to make the
worst on it.  I've got the young skipper all right, and he's growing
more lively, for he just give a kick.  Now who's this 'ere?  It's you,
Harry Briggs, aren't it?"

"Ay, ay, mate; me and water, for I swallowed a lot before I got out of
it."

"Now, look here; how are you holding on?"

"Hanging down'ards, my lad, with my hind legs tied in a knot round a big
bough; and I keep on trying to get hold of you by the scruff, but I
can't quite reach."

"Why, that's a-hinging like the bees used to do outside my old mother's
skep.  Well, you mustn't let go, my lad, else down you come."

"Well, I know that, mate," growled the man.  "But I say, can't you reach
up to my hands?"

"Yah!  No!" growled Joe.  "I've only got two.  Can't you reach down a
little further and get hold of my ears, or something?"

"My arms aren't spy-glasses, and they won't reach within a foot of you.
Can any of you swarm out above us here?"

"No--no--no!" came in voice after voice, from points that were evidently
fairly distant.

"Oh!" groaned the sailor addressed as Harry.  "Fust time in my blessed
life I ever wished I was a 'Merican monkey."

"What for, mate?" panted Joe.

"So as to make fast round this 'ere branch with my tail."

"Joe!  Joe!" came in a low hoarse tone.  "Where am I!"

"Well, you are here, my lad; but don't let go with your teeth.  Take
another good fast hold, but more outside like.  Keep to the wool of the
jumper--if you can."

"Hah!  I recollect now.  We are in the water, and I have got hold of
you."

"That's right, my lad, and I'd say take a good fast holt of my hair,
only Ikey Gregg scissored it off so short when it turned so hot that
there's nothing to hold.  But can you hyste yourself up a bit higher?"

"I'll try, Joe; but the water drags at me so.  But, Joe, what are you
holding on to?"

"What they'd call a arm of the tree, sir."

"But if I try to climb up you shan't I drag you loose?"

"Oh, I'm no consequence, my lad.  If I'm washed off I shall get hold
again somewheres.  Never you mind me.  There's Harry Briggs up aloft
a-reaching down a couple of his hands.  If you feel you've got stuff
enough in you.--Take your time over it, my lad--you see if you can't
swarm a bit up me and then stretch up and think you are at home trying
to pick apples, till Harry gets a big grip of your wristies; and then
you ought to be able to swarm up him.  Now then, do you think you can
try?"

"Yes, Joe; I think so," panted the boy.  "That's right, my lad.  I'd
give you a lift, only I can't, for I'm in rotten anchorage, and we
mustn't get adrift."

About a minute passed, in which little was heard but the whishing of the
water through the leaves and twigs, and the sound of hard breathing.
Then Joe spoke again--

"I don't want to hurry you, my lad, but if you think you can manage it
I'd say, begin."

"I'm ready now, Joe," said the boy faintly.  "But do you think you can
hold on?"

"Aren't got time to think, my lad.  You go on and do it.  That's your
job, and don't you think as it's a hard 'un.  Just you fancy the
doctor's yonder getting anxious about you, and then--up you goes."

"Yes, Joe," panted Rodd.

"And once you get hold of Harry Briggs' hands he'll draw you up a bit.
He's a-hinging down like one of them there baboons, tail up'ards.  Then,
once he hystes you a bit, you get a good grip of him with your teeth
anywhere that comes first.  He won't mind.  That'll set your hands free,
and then up you goes bit by bit till you gets right into the tree."

"Yes, Joe; and then?"

"Well, my lad, then I'd set down striddling and have a rest."

"Below there!  Ready!" cried Briggs.  "I can't reach no further,
youngster, but I think if you can climb up and grip we might manage it."

"Yes!  Coming!" cried Rodd.

And then no one saw, and afterwards Rodd could hardly tell how he
managed it, but with the water pressing him closer as he clung face to
face with the partially submerged coxswain, he managed to scramble
higher, clinging with arms and legs, till he occupied a hazardous
position astride of the sailor's shoulder, holding on with his left hand
and reaching up with his right, snatching for a few moments at nothing.

"Where are you, my lad?" came from above.

"Here!  Here!" panted Rodd, and then, "Ah, it's of no use!"

As he spoke he felt himself going over, but at that moment his fingers
touched the sleeve of a soft clinging jersey, a set of fingers gripped
hard at his arm, and in a supreme effort he loosened his other hand,
made a snatch, and then began swinging gently to and fro till another
hand from above closed upon his jacket and lightened the strain.

"Got you, my lad!" came from overhead.  "Now look here; I'm not going to
hyste you up, 'cause I can't, but I am going to swing you back'ards and
for'ards like a pendulo till you can touch this 'ere bough where I am
hanging, and then go on till you can get your legs round it and hold
fast.  Understand?"

"Yes," panted Rodd.

"Now then.  Belay, and when you get hold you shout."

It was the work of an acrobat, such as he would have achieved in doubt
and despair.

The sailor began swinging the boy to and fro, to and fro, with more and
more force, till Rodd felt his legs go crashing in amongst the thick
twigs of the great bough that was drawn down by the weight of the two
upon it a good deal below the horizontal.

"Harder!" he cried, as he swung back, and then as his legs went well in
again he felt that a thick portion was passing between his knees, and
thrusting forward his feet with all his might he forced them upwards and
directly afterwards passed them one across the other in a desperate grip
which left him dragging on the sailor's hands.

"Fast, my lad?"

"Yes."

"Can you hold on?"

"Yes."

"Then good luck to you!" cried the sailor, as, relieved of the boy's
weight, he too swung head downwards for a moment or two, then with a
quick effort wrenched himself upwards, got hold of the branch with both
hands, and after hanging like a sloth for a few moments, succeeded in
dragging himself upon the bough, which all the while was swaying heavily
up and down and threatening to shake Rodd from where he hung, but at the
same time inciting him so to fresh desperate action, that with all a
boy's activity he too had succeeded in perching himself astride of the
branch.

"All right, my lad?" cried Briggs.

"Ye-es!" came gaspingly.

"Then you wait a bit and get your wind, my lad.--Joe Cross!  Ahoy!" he
yelled, as if his messmate were half-a-mile away.

"Right ho!" came from below.  "Where's the boy?"

"Here, Joe--here!" shouted Rodd, the sound of the man's voice seeming to
send energy through him.

"Hah-h-h!" came from the sailor, and directly after from different parts
of the tree there was a cheer.

"Now then, what about you, matey?" shouted Briggs.

"Well, I dunno yet, my lad; I'm just going to try and shape it round.  I
want to know where some of the others are, and whether if I let go I
couldn't manage to make a scramble and swim so as to join a mate."

"No, no, no!" came in chorus.  "Don't try it, lad.  Aren't you safe
where you are?"

"Well, I don't know about being safe," replied the sailor.  "Mebbe I
could hold on, but here's the water up to my chesty; and don't make a
row, or you'll be letting some of those crocs know where I am.  Look
here, Mr Rodd, sir; are you all right?"

"Yes, Joe; I can sit here as long as I like.--That is," he added to
himself, "if the branch doesn't break."

"Well, that's a comfort, sir.  And what about you, Harry Briggs?"

"Well, I'm all right, mate; only a bit wet."

"Wet!  You should feel me!" cried Cross, quite jocularly.  "How about
the rest on you?"

"Oh, we are up aloft here in the dark, mate," said one of the men.  "I
dunno as we should hurt so long as we didn't fall asleep."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, mates," said Cross.  "You might catch cold.
You hang yourselves out as wide as you can, so as to get dry."

"But look here, Joe Cross," shouted Rodd, who was rapidly recovering his
spirits, "you mustn't sit there in the water.  Can't you manage to climb
up?"

"Oh yes, sir, I can climb up easy enough, only it don't seem to me as
there's anything to climb."

"But doesn't the branch you are sitting on go right up to the tree?"

"No, sir; it goes right down into it, and I'm sitting in a sort of fork,
like a dicky bird as has been picking out a handy place for its nest."

"Then what are you going to try to do?"

"Nothing, sir, but think."

"Think?"

"Yes, sir--about what I'm going to say to the skipper if ever we gets
back."

"Why, what can you say?"

"That's what I want to know, sir.  I know what he'll say to me.  He'll
say, Look here, my lad, you were coxswain; I want to know what you have
done with my gig."

"Ah, the boat!" said Rodd.  "Do any of you know what's become of the
boat?"

"I don't," said Briggs.

"Oh, she's half-way to South Ameriky by this time, sir," said Joe, "and
I shall get all the credit of having lost her."

"Never mind about the boat, Joe."

"Well, sir, if you talk like that, I don't.  But it's the skipper who
will mind."

"It's nothing to do with him, Joe.  It's uncle's boat; and it wasn't
your fault."

"Thank you, sir.  That's a bit comforting like, and warms one up a bit;
but if it's all the same to you I'd raither not talk quite so much, for
I don't know as crocs can hear, but if they can it mightn't be pleasant.
Well, my lads, just another word; we have got to make the best of it
and wait for daylight, and I suppose by that time the tide will have
gone right down, and some on you will be getting dry."

There was silence then, and the men sat holding on to their precarious
perches, listening to an occasional sound from the river or the shore,
loud splashings right away out in the direction of what they supposed to
be the main current, and an occasional trumpeting wail or shriek from
the forest--sounds that chilled and produced blood-curdling sensations
at the first, but to which the men became more and more accustomed as
the hours slowly glided on.

"Look here," said Joe Cross, at last, "because I said I didn't want to
talk, that wasn't meant for you who are all right up above the water.
It's bad enough to be keeping a watch like this on a dark night, but
that is no reason why you chaps shouldn't tell stories and talk and say
something to cheer Mr Rodd up a bit.  He had about the worst of it,
swep' out of the boat as he was.  So let go, some on you.  You've got to
do something, as you can't go to sleep.  But I tell you one thing; you
chaps are all much better off than I am.  I shan't fall out of my bunk
on the top of any of you.  But look here, Harry Briggs, you always want
a lot of stirring up before one can get you to move.  Now then; you have
got a bit of pipe of your own.  Sing us a song.  Good cheery one, with a
chorus--one that Mr Rodd can pick up and chime in.  Now then, let go."

"Who's a-going to sing with the water dripping down out of his toes?"

"Why, you, mate," cried Joe.  "There, get on with you.  You chaps as
knows the best songs always wants the most stirring up, pretending to be
bashful, when you want to begin all the time!"

"I tell you I don't, mate.  I'm too cold."

"Then heave ahead, and that'll warm you up.  You tell him he is to sing,
Mr Rodd, sir.  You're skipper now, and he must obey orders.  It'll do
us all good."

"Well," said Rodd, "it doesn't seem a very cheerful time to ask people
to sing in the dark; but perhaps it will brighten us all up."

"Ay, ay, sir!" came from the rest.

"Am I to, Mr Rodd?" said the man appealingly; and after a little more
pressing he struck up in a good musical tenor the old-fashioned sea song
of "The Mermaid," with its refrain of--

  "We jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft,
  And the land lubbers lying down below, below, below,
  And the land lubbers lying down below!"

right on through the several verses, telling of the sailors'
superstition regarding its being unlucky to see a mermaid with a comb
and a glass in her hand, when starting upon a voyage, right on to the
piteous cry of the sailor boy about his mother in Portsmouth town, and
how that night she would weep for him, till the song ended with the
account of how the ship went down and was sunk in the bottom of the sea.

It was a wild sad air, sung there in the branches of that tree amidst
the darkness and night mist, and in spite of a certain beauty in the
melody the singer's voice assumed a more and more saddened tone, till he
finished with the water seeming to hiss more loudly through the lower
branches and the inundated trunks around, and then there was a sharp
slapping noise on the surface of the stream that might very well have
been taken for plaudits.

Then there was a strange braying sound like a weirdly discordant fit of
laughter; and then perfect silence, with the darkness more profound than
ever.

"I'm blessed!" came at last from Joe.  "Hark at him, Mr Rodd.  He calls
hisself a messmate!  Ast him, I did, to sing us a song to cheer us up.
Why, it was bad enough to play for a monkey's funeral march.  It's all
very well for you others to join in your chorus about jolly sailor boys
sitting up aloft, but what about poor me sitting all the time in a cold
hipsy bath, as they calls it in hospitals, expecting every moment to
feel the young crocs a-tackling my toes?  Why, it's enough to make a
fellow call out for a clean pocket-handkerchy.  Here, some on you, set
to and spin us a yarn to take the taste of that out of our mouths."



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES.

And so that awful night wore on, one story bringing forth another, and
the spinning of one yarn being followed by the spinning of one perhaps
longer.

It was anything to relieve the terrible tedium and beguile their
thoughts from the peril in which they were placed.  The lapse of time
was discussed, and the possibility of the slackening of the furious flow
of the falling river so that a boat might come down in search of the
unfortunates, but to a man all came to the conclusion that nothing could
be expected until daylight, and that they must bear their fate as best
they might.

The most cheerful thing that fell to their lot during the weary hours
was the announcement made from time to time by Joe Cross, that the water
was sinking a little lower and a little lower, so that he had room to
hope that after a while he too would be able to, as he put it, drip
himself dry.

But the monotony was terrible, and the morning seemed as if it would
never come.  For it was far different from being in the temperate region
of the world, where in the summer months the darkness was slow to come
and was succeeded by a very early dawn.  There in that tropical southern
land they were where the twenty-four-hours day was pretty equally
divided into light and darkness, with scarcely any twilight to soften
down the division.

But still as everything comes to those who wait, so it was there, and
Joe Cross announced at last that he was sitting quite clear of the
water, and therefore, as he judged it, they had not very much longer to
wait before it would be day.

But he was wrong.  What seemed to be an interminable time elapsed before
the watchers could see for certain that a faint light seemed to be
piercing the dense grey mist that covered the river.  But this did at
last become a certainty.

Before long, on one side, grey and grim-looking beneath a heavy mist,
the great river could be seen gliding steadily along, while away to
their right rose the primeval forest, rising as it were out of a sea of
shadow.

The change came quickly then through a rapid twilight to the bright rays
of the sunshine, which seemed to attack the river mist, piercing it
through and through, routing it, and sending it in clouds rolling along
the stream, while, now glistening and muddy, the banks showed out beyond
the trees amidst which the huge monarch in which they had taken refuge
stood towering almost alone.

"Why, we must have come inshore for some distance last night," cried
Rodd, in wonder.

"Ay, my lad.  Banks flooded.  High tide perhaps," said Joe bluffly.
"Well, the sooner we gets down into this mud and stretches our legs the
better; and if they don't come down in the boats, how we are going to
get back is more than I know."

"Look!  Look yonder!" cried Rodd, as, sweeping the park-like stretch
around him, he suddenly caught sight of an object that filled his breast
with joy.

"Three cheers, my lads," shouted Joe, waving his hand, "and--Oh, hold
hard!  Avast there!  Gig's safe to have a hole through her bottom."

For there, about a hundred yards away, between the trees, lay something
gleaming amongst the mud.

He could only see a portion, but that was enough, and one by one, stiff
and cold, the unfortunate party lowered themselves down from their
perches to drop into a thin surface of soft mud, the swift rush of the
tide preventing it from accumulating to any depth.

Their fortune was better than they anticipated, for on reaching the
boat's side it was to find that, though bottom upward, she had escaped
any serious injury, the yielding boughs into which she had been swept
having checked the force of the concussion and left her to glide from
tangle of boughs to tangle, until she had been wedged into a huge fork
and had from there slowly settled down.

But there was neither oar nor boat-hook, and the line fastened to her
foremost thwart had been snapped in two.

"All her tackle gone," said Joe grimly.  "Well, we must try and find and
hack off some big bamboo canes with our jack-knives, and then try if we
can't punt her up against the tide, which ought to be pretty slack by
now--that is, if they don't come to find us."

"But look here, Joe," cried Rodd, as he stood shading his eyes from the
horizontal sunbeams; "there's the river, and the mist's rolling along
with the tide.  Here, I'm puzzled.  Which way did we come?"

"Why, that's plain enough, Mr Rodd, sir.  Down with the stream yon
way."

"But that must be down-stream."

"Nay, not it, my lad.  The river winds, and so did my head.  Here, I'm
all of a maze still.  No, I aren't.  Here, I'm blest!  Why, you are
right, sir.  That is up-stream, and--Hooray, my lads!  One pole will do,
to steer.  We are going to be carried back again, for the tide's turned
and running up steady."

A very little search resulted in their coming upon a bed of canes, out
of which four were cut and trimmed, supplying them with good stout poles
twelve or fourteen feet long, and laying these along the thwarts the
men, glad now of the exercise to drive out the chill, insisted upon Rodd
getting into the boat while they waded through the mud by her side, half
lifting, half thrusting, and succeeded at last in getting her to where a
sloping portion of the bank ran down to the river.

"Now all together, my lads," cried Joe.  "Keep step, and hold her well
in hand, for she'll soon begin to slide; and as soon as she reaches the
water, jump in.  Make ready.  I'll give the word."

"Stop!" shouted Rodd.  "What about the crocodiles?"

"Oh, murder!" cried Joe.  "I forgot all about them.  Well, never mind.
This aren't no time to be nice.  It's got to be done, so here goes."

Rodd seized one of the poles, and going right to the bows knelt down in
the bottom, and holding the pole lance fashion, prepared to try and use
it.

"That won't be no good, my lad," cried Joe.  "Now, my lads--one, two,
three!  Off she goes!"

They ran the gig quickly down the muddy slope, and as they touched the
water and the foremost part began to float they took another step or
two, gave her a final thrust, and sprang in, just as Rodd realised the
truth of the sailor's words, for as they glided out with tremendous
force, before they were a dozen yards from the water's edge the gig's
stem collided just behind two muddy-looking prominences that appeared
above the surface of the water, and as the shock sent the boy backwards
over the next thwart the boat, which was bounding up and down with the
result of the men springing in, received another shock from something
dark which rose out of the water, and then they glided on past a
tremendous ebullition and were carried onward by the rising tide.

"Here, let me come, Mr Rodd," cried Joe Cross, as he scrambled forward.
"Here, catch hold, sir, and help me drag my jersey over my head.  The
brute's stove us in, and if I don't look sharp--Pull, sir, pull--right
over my head!  That's got it," he cried, and he set to work thrusting
the woollen knitted shirt bit by bit along between the edges of two of
the planks, through which the water was rapidly gurgling in.  "There,"
he said; "that'll keep some on it out; but don't all on you stand
looking at me as if I was playing a conjuring trick.  Get a couple of
those poles over the sides.  Nay, nay, it's no use to try to punt.
Dessay the water's fathoms deep.  Just keep her head straight, and let
the tide carry us on.  Look out, my lads!  There's another of them up
yonder.  See, Mr Rodd, sir--them two nubbles?  Them's his eyes.  He
just keeps his beautiful muddy carcase all hid under water and squints
along the top with them pretty peepers of hisn to look out for his
breakfast.  Keep back, sir; I believe he's coming on at us, big as the
boat is.  Oh, this is a pretty place, upon my word!  He means me,
because he can see my white skin."

Instead of answering, Rodd picked up the bamboo pole, which had been
jerked from his hands when they encountered the other reptile.

Three of the men followed his example of holding them ready to strike at
what they could see of the crocodile, and as they were carried closer by
the tide and Rodd could just make out below the muddy surface that the
water was being stirred by the undulation of the tail of the monster,
which was apparently fourteen or fifteen feet long, three poles were
sharply thrust together, two of them coming in contact with the
creature's head just behind its eyes.

The blows were heavy, having behind them the weight and impetus of the
loaded boat, and once more there was a tremendous swirl in the water, as
the crocodile raised its head right out, turned completely over,
displaying its pallid buff under portion, and then curved itself over,
and in the act of diving down threw up its tail and struck the surface
of the water with a blow that deluged the occupants of the cutter with
spray.

"Well," cried Joe, as the boat glided on, "I don't know what you chaps
think of it, but I am getting warm again, and I call this 'ere sport.
But I say, Mr Rodd, I am beginning to wish you was aboard the _Maid of
Salcombe_, and you'd took me with you."

"Same 'ere, sir," cried the men, in chorus.

"See any more, Mr Rodd?"

"No, not yet, Joe."

"Well, there's no hurry, sir.  Let's get our breath.  But do you call
this 'ere fishing or shooting?"

"There's another," cried Rodd excitedly; "but it's going the other way."

"Got to know perhaps, sir, how we upset t'other.  But we can spare him,
for I'll be bound to say there's plenty more of them.  Now I wonder what
they are all for--pretty creatures!"

"What they are for, Joe?" cried Rodd, without taking his eyes from the
surface of the muddy stream which was carrying them onward.

"Yes, sir; I don't see as they are much good.  I say, there's another
one!  No, he's ducked his head down.  Ah, he's coming up again.  Look
out, my lads!" cried the man.  "I wish there was another pole.  There's
nothing left for me but my knife, and they are as hard as shoehorns, I
know.  I don't want to break my whittle against his skin.  No, he's
going to let us go by.  Ah!  Look out!"

For as they drew nearer the sun flashed off the reptile's muddy skin,
and they could see it glide round rapidly and strike two tremendous
blows on the surface with its serrated tail--blows that had been
probably directed at the boat, but which fell short, while in its blind
stupidity it kept on thrashing the water several times after the vessel
had passed.

"Ahoy!  Ahoy!" came from somewhere, seeming to echo from the trees that
covered the bank.

"Ahoy!  Ahoy!" shouted Joe Cross back.  "Why, that means help, sir.  The
brig must be lying there, just round that bend beyond the trees."

"Oh no," cried Rodd excitedly.  "We must have gone down miles with the
tide."

"Ahoy!  Ahoy!" came again.  "Boat ahoy!" from somewhere out of sight;
and glancing back Rodd made out that they were passing along what seemed
to be a rapid bend.

"Ahoy!" was shouted back, and then all at once, to the astonishment of
the sufferers, a couple of boats came into sight from right astern,
their occupants sending the spray flying as they bent to their oars and
seemed to be racing to overtake the gig.

For the moment the boats, quite a quarter of a mile behind, took up all
their attention, and Rodd stood up in the bows waving his hand wildly.

"There's Uncle Paul, and the skipper, in one!" he cried.

"Ay, ay, my lad; that's our old man," shouted Joe.

"And there's the Count, and eight men rowing hard, in the other, but--
but--oh, I say, Morny isn't there!"

"Oh, he's being skipper and taking care of the brig, sir," cried Joe
sharply, as he noted the boy's disappointed tone of voice.

"No, he isn't," shouted Rodd, signalling with his pole, as he saw one of
the rowers rise up in the brig's boat and begin waving an oar; "he's
pulling with the men!"  And his voice sounded hoarse and choking, while,
realising this fact, the boy coughed loudly and forcibly, as if to clear
his throat.

"Here, you've ketched a cold, Mr Rodd, sir," cried Joe.  "But never
mind them behind in the boats.  They'll ketch us up soon.  There's
another of them beauties coming at us.  The beggars do seem hungry this
morning.  We hardly seed any of them when we were coming up yesterday.
Why, of course, this is their breakfast-time, and the sight of us has
made them peckish.  Now then, all together, lads!  Let him have it."

Four poles were thrust together, with somewhat similar effects to those
on the last occasion, for the onset of the great reptile was diverted,
the boat's head turned aside, and the blows aimed at them by the
creature's tail fell short, though to the men's dismay their efforts had
driven them towards another of the monsters, which was gliding towards
them from their left.

But here again they successfully turned the creature aside, and Rodd
exclaimed--

"Suppose we missed!"

"Oh, the beggars are too big to miss, sir," cried Briggs.  "But suppose
we did; what then, sir?"

"I don't know," cried Rodd excitedly.  "What do you say, Joe?"

"I don't know, sir.  I never learned crocodile at school, though there
was one in my spelling-book, and I 'member I couldn't understand why a
four-legged chap like him, as lived in the water, should make a nest and
lay eggs like a bird.  Here, Harry, let me handle that pole for a few
minutes.  I should like to have a turn.  Thank you, lad," he continued.
"Yes, they're rum beasts, Mr Rodd, sir, and I dare say they are very
slippery; but I don't suppose I shall miss the next one--Ah!  Would
yer!" he shouted as one of the reptiles rose suddenly, open-mouthed,
close to the boat's head.

As the man spoke he made a heavy thrust with his pole, his companions
having no time to take aim, and the next moment the hideous jaws snapped
to, there was a fresh swirl, the bamboo pole was jerked out of Joe's
hand, and he would have overbalanced himself and gone overboard had not
those nearest to him seized him and snatched him back.

"Well, now," he cried, "just look at that!"  For about half of the
bamboo remained visible and went sailing up the stream.

Just then there was the sharp report of a gun from behind, followed by
another, while before there was time for re-loading there was the loud
_crack, crack_ of a double fowling-piece.

"Hurrah!  That's uncle!" cried Rodd.  "They are firing at the
crocodiles, and it will be with bullets."

"And sarve them jolly well right, Mr Rodd, say I," cried Joe, "for I
call it taking a mean advantage of a man to sneak off like that with his
pole.  Why, look at him, sir.  He's having a regular lark with it--
picking his teeth, or something.  Look how he's waggling the top of it
about.  What do you say to try and steer after him and get it back?"

"Ugh!  No!" cried Rodd.  "It would be madness."

"Well, not quite so bad as that, sir.  Say about half-cracked; and
that's about what I'm beginning to think.  I say, they are getting all
the fun behind there."

"Look out; here comes another!" cried Rodd, for there was a pair of eyes
in front gliding rapidly towards them just above the water, but
apparently not satisfied with the appearance of the boat, or perhaps
less ravenous, the two prominences softly disappeared before they were
close up, and Joe Cross, evidently divining what might happen, suddenly
caught Rodd round the waist and forced him down into the bottom of the
boat.

"Look out, my lads!" he yelled.

As he spoke the hinder part of the boat began slowly to rise, showing
that they were gliding right over a reptile's back.  Then it was turned
to starboard, the water coming almost to the edge; but as it glided on
it began to sink to the level again, just as it received a heavy shock
from below and was driven forward with a jerk just far enough to escape
a blow from a serrated tail which rose astern and showered the water
over them in so much blinding spray.

"Here, ahoy there!" shouted Joe.  "Look alive, and bring up them guns!
There's more sport up here than we want.  I wouldn't care, Mr Rodd, if
we had got our oars and my boat-hook.  Nay, I don't know, though.  It's
just as well I haven't, for I should be getting it stuck perhaps, and
never see that no more."

A few minutes after, while the firing was kept up from astern, the two
boats came up on either side, and amidst the heartiest of
congratulations Rodd cried--

"Ah, uncle, you have overtaken us at last!  I am glad you have come!"

"Overtaken you, my boy!  Why, we have been miles down the river towards
the mouth.  We started as soon as the tide was slack enough for us to
leave the vessels.  We must have passed you in the fog, and we were
beginning to despair.  But we came upon one of the sailors' caps hanging
in a bough, when, thinking that perhaps we had gone too far, and Captain
Chubb feeling sure that you had run ashore somewhere in the darkness,
perhaps been carried right into the flooded forest, we came back and--"

He ceased speaking, took a quick aim over the side of the boat, and
discharged the contents of his double gun into the head of a reptile
which rose three or four yards away.

"The brutes!" he went on.  "But there don't appear to be so many here.
We seem to have been coming through quite a shoal."

"There's plenty of them," growled the skipper, "but three boats together
scares them a bit.  Here, my lads, lay hold of this line and make fast,
and we will give you a tow back to the schooner.  We shan't be long
getting up to it with this tide.  Why, hallo here!  Not content with
losing the oars and boat-hook, you've been and got the gig stove in!
And the grapnel gone too!  Here, you Joe Cross, what's the meaning of
all this?"

"I'll tell you about that, captain, by and by," said Rodd quickly.
"What's that?  You want to come aboard, Morny?  No, you had better not.
It's all muddy, and we shall have to begin baling.  Pitch us in a couple
of tins."

"I'll bring them," cried the young Frenchman, rising in the boat.--"Yes,
my father, I wish to go.  Hook on, and let me get aboard," he continued
to the French coxswain.

Half-an-hour later, with the men taking it in turns to bale, and with
the crocodiles seeming to have become more scarce, they ran up alongside
of the two anchored vessels, cheering and being cheered from the moment
they came into sight.

"Now, my lads," cried the doctor, "every one of you take what I'll mix
up for you directly, and have a good bathe and rub down.  I am not going
to have you all down with fever if I can stave it off."



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

TALKING LIKE A BOY.

Perhaps it was nearly all weariness and the result of the excitement,
but it may have been due to Uncle Paul's potion; at any rate Rodd went
off fast asleep, and when he awoke it was to find Morny sitting by his
cot.  "Hullo!" he cried.  "You here!"

"Yes, I am here," was the reply.  "How are you?"

"Oh, I am all right.  Hav