"Drake Tregellin."

Only a warm, fierce, reckless-natured boy of fourteen could have hit upon such an absurdly quixotic way of deciding a quarrel. Indian combats between Red Indians in the Far West, the deeds of Sir Kenneth, Saladin, and Coeur de Lion in his favourite "Talisman," and the entire character of Drake's reading, had joined with and gathered romance from his late study of Virgil to misdirect an innate chivalry.

Alfred Higginson's reply was also characteristic:—

"Drake Tregellin,

"I have received your cartel. In my humble opinion nothing could be more stupid and silly than the resort you propose. I suppose you think your proposition very grand and chivalric. It endangers the continuance of our stay on the cape; it rebels against the rule we are under here; and it would make our parents unhappy. Its spirit of selfishness and indifference to everything but your own impulse is the same which causes and continues our quarrelling. But I shall be a fool with you this time. I have not the courage to balk your desire. I agree to the contest, if you agree to keep the peace after that. I suppose javelins and shields of wood are to be our weapons. What nonsense! But I shall be at hand, Saturday, at the brig, when the others have gone fishing.

"Alfred Higginson."

About an hour after we had got settled on Bass Rocks, and just as we commenced catching fish, and I had a mighty fellow slashing my line about and trying to snap the pole, we heard the voice of some one calling to us in distress, and, turning, saw Juno hurrying towards us as fast as her old limbs and breathless state would allow. She was chattering all the while, but it was impossible for us to understand the cause of her mission until she had come up to us and had taken a moment's rest. Then, the tears springing from her eyes and terror in her voice, she exclaimed: "De yun' gem'men—Massa Drake, Massa Alf'fed, dey is fiteten and tarr'en one udder to pieces. Dey is down dare in de ole ship and fire'en sticks and poke-en guns; an' oh Lord, I fear dey is all dead now!" Her excitement could no longer be contained, but broke forth in cries and ejaculations: "Oh! oh! oh! marssaful Hebbens! Oh de Lord, please top de yun' gem'men! Massa Clare, Massa Capting, ar'n't yous gwine? Ar'n't yous gwine afore dey is done dead? Dat dis ole woman mus' see such tings!"

We also gleaned from her, that, hearing a noise at the wreck, as she was passing near by, she had scrambled on board the vessel and there seen the two boys engaged in a severe fight; that she had hurried off for Clump, but could not find him; and that then she had run to where she knew we were; but we had to hasten her broken narrative to get at the whole matter, and then we all started for the wreck as fast as we could run, fearful that a tragedy was to meet our sight—that we might be too late to prevent it.

What a sight met our eyes as we hurried down the stairs to the brig's schoolroom!

Chairs, desks, and tables had been pushed back against the sides to make room for the duel, and there, in the so-formed arena, the atmosphere of which was thick with disturbed dust, lay in common confusion a split shield, two swords, a padded glove, a splintered lance, and a torn cap. The weapons—the shield in particular—reflected skill upon Clump or whatever carpenter had fashioned them. In some charge of one of the combatants, the round table, although intended to be in a place of safety, had been overturned, adding a globe, a streaming inkstand, and sundry books to the medley on the floor.

But our astonishment culminated when we saw Drake leaning back in Mr Clare's big chair in the farther end of the hold, his head bleeding, a sleeve torn off, and an expression of comically blended fatigue and dignified indifference in his face, while near the opposite side of the schoolroom, and on one side of the stairway we had descended, was Alfred Higginson lying on the floor, his head supported on an arm, his countenance the picture of pain and mortification.

Evidently the battle was over. The parties spoke not a word; and the first exclamation that came from us was Harry's: "Hillo! A real duel, and no one killed."

Our good Captain, his face full of tenderness and anxiety, hurried to Alf and lifted him up, but as he was so much hurt as to be only able to hobble a few steps, Captain Mugford lifted him in his arms and carried him on deck.

"What is all this, my poor fellow?" asked the Captain, as he got him on a bench there.

"Rather a long story, Captain, but no one to blame but Drake and me. He ain't much hurt, is he?"

"That is what I want to ask you, Alf. Where is your pain?"

"There, sir, in my side. It is only stiff and bruised, but don't touch it hard, please. There! where your hand is. And I believe my hand is somewhat cut."

As it proved on examination by the doctor from the village, whom I brought over an hour afterwards, one of Alf's ribs was broken and the palm of his left hand badly gashed.

Whilst the Captain and Harry Higginson had attended to Alfred, Mr Clare and Walter took care of Drake. He was very laconic in his replies to their questions, and made light of the injury; but he was faint from the wound in the head, and his sleeveless arm was so stiff as to be useless to him then.

Juno, who had found Clump, joined us before we reached the house with our wounded comrades; but at the sight of Drake's bleeding head and Alfred carried in the Captain's arms, Juno's ejaculations recommenced, and Clump followed, only wringing his hands in mute despair.

Of the particulars of the fight we never knew further than I have related. Both of the principals in the affair hated to have it alluded to, and we spared their feelings.

When we had got them comfortably settled in their rooms, Mr Clare called the remainder of us aside and enjoined upon us that we should not question Drake and Alfred, nor mention the matter in their presence; and that in the meantime he would decide with Captain Mugford what steps to take when the boys had recovered.

In another week Drake was as well as ever, but hardly as noisy and reckless as of old. Alfred remained an invalid for some time longer.

When both were perfectly recovered, Mr Clare called us all together in the brig's schoolroom one afternoon, and then addressed us, particularly the two combatants, in a manner that I can never forget—it was so sensible, so manly, so solemn. He pointed out the faults of each, which had fed the long quarrel and finally serious conclusion. He painted the wickedness of that duel, (for it could be called nothing else), and all such affairs, which in former times were ignorantly considered necessary and honourable. He told us in what he thought true manliness, courage, and chivalry consisted. Then, in a simple, touching way, he suggested higher thoughts—our duty to our Father in heaven as brothers of one common family, and more than all of the example which our blessed Lord and Master set us while He was on earth—to forgive injuries—to overlook insults; and he spoke of charity as forbearance, and conquest as governing ourselves; and then begged us to join him in earnest entreaty to the Holy Spirit for the strength to practise that charity and make those conquests, to the Source whence such virtues came, and to the Ear which was never deaf to supplication. How simple and noble was that whole address! And I cannot forbear testimony to the fruitfulness of a Christian practice such as that of our then tutor, dear Mr Clare. Even thoughtless boys could not sneer at the constant manly practice of his life. We had to see that it gave the loftiest aims even to the smallest acts of his everyday life—that where he spoke one word he acted fifty in that service which ennobles the commonest deed. So that religion, which youth often regards as something whining and hypocritical, something only for the old and sick, we boys began to look up to as something which, if we could only partly understand, was, at the least, truly beautiful and noble.

The lesson and bearing of Mr Clare on that occasion was enforced by the fact that as he concluded, Captain Mugford, rubbing the back of a rough hand on his cheek for some reason, got up and crossed the room to Mr Clare, whose hand he took in both his, and said—

"Mr Clare, I am but a rough, wicked old sailor, but the words you have spoken to these boys have touched an older boy than they, and I thank you—I thank you!"

The parents of both Drake and Alfred were duly informed, by both Mr Clare and the boys themselves, of the affair.

From that time Drake and Alfred were changed boys. The old dominant faults I have told of had now to fight for sway and were generally mastered, whilst the conduct of one to the other grew generous and considerate, and the two boys became and ever afterward remained close friends.



CHAPTER NINE.

BIG FISHING—A STRANGE DISSECTION.

The dog-days and the sultriness of August extended some of their influence even in our fresh kingdom by the sea. The only exercise that tempted us was swimming, and that, by Captain Mugford's permission, we now enjoyed twice each day—before breakfast and after tea. What else is so delightful and health-giving? The header from the brown rock from whose sides wave the cool, green tresses of the sea! off, with a whoop, and hands above your head, as the sun pats tricklingly your back! off, with a spring, down head first through the deliciously cool, clear, bracing water, that effervesces about you in bubbles of sport. Then, as the long delicate tendrils beneath swing like sirens' arms to welcome you, to arch the back and, leaving the alluring depths, rise through the dark water with the ease of an eagle on his wings until your head pops into the upper world of noise and sunlight again. The long, sharp, regular strokes now, every muscle stretching elastically and the whole frame electric with vigour and freshness—oh, how delicious!

Reeking with wet, we climb the rock, picking a spot where limpets are not, and sit in that glorious sunlight, each atom of which seems to melt into the blood. Clasping our hands about our knees, we can watch the glory of the sun climbing higher and higher above the ocean, and, if we choose, fancy ourselves big grapes ripening on "Lusitanian summers," until we are dry—which is too soon—and then with what overflowing spirits and ravenous appetites we go, like hunters, to the house!

"Come, Marm Juno, send in the eggs and bacon. We're as hungry as bears!"

"He! he! he! How you yun' gemmen do go on. Seems as ef you'se nebber git nuffen ter eat at hum. 'Spects you'll git fat down 'ere! He! he!"

But our studies did not slacken because of the warm weather. Copying Mr Clare, we all worked with a will. There was not a laggard amongst us, I believe. There was a disposition to please one who had so grown in our affection and respect as even to have outstripped our dear old salt tute. He understood our youthful difficulties, sympathised with our interests, and, not limiting his duties to hearing us recite, taught us how to study.

As August waned the fishing improved, and with the little fiddler or soldier crab we caught fish of three and four pounds instead of those of one and two pounds that had a month ago employed us. And then the striped bass, the Labrus lineatus, the king of saltwater game fish— what splendid sport they furnished!

These last we caught, some of us with the pole and reel, some with the hand-line. But it was active work to throw out about sixty yards of line and then troll it quickly back through the eddies off the rocks, where the bass fed and sported. The Captain was great at this; despising the pole and waving the bait round and round his head, he would throw it full a hundred yards to sea.

I tell you it was exciting to hook a five or six pounder and have him make off with a lurch. Pay out then, quick, quick, just keeping a "feel" of the fellow's mouth, and as he slacks his speed, tauten your line, and pull in with all your strength. Slower now, as he begins to haul back. Now look out; he is off again with a mightier spring and greater speed than before. Pay out, quick and steady. So, again and again, his strength getting less and less, until you can tow him up to the rock, and your companion put the gaff in his ruddy gills.

Many a noble fish escaped; many a line and hook snapped in the warfare. Sometimes a much larger fish would take hold, and two of us would have to pull on the line stretched like wire. During the season we took a seven-pounder, one of eight, and one of ten pounds, and Captain Mugford, alone on the rocks, one stormy morning, when we boys were in school, captured a royal fellow of twelve pounds, and brought it for our admiring gaze as we went to dinner. Mr Clare promised to beat that, but he never did.

One Saturday afternoon, about the last of August, just after a somewhat heavy gale, which had been blowing for a couple of days, we all repaired to Bass Rocks, though the sky was drizzling yet, and the spray of the waves dashed at every blow clear over our stand.

It was apparently a splendid time for our friends, the labrus, but we did not get a bite. We persevered, however, fresh baiting the hooks, and throwing out again and again, with not a fin to flash after them through the curdled waters.

Harry Higginson, having been very unlucky before this, losing several strong lines, had provided himself this time with one which, he said, could hold a hundred-pounder—the line consisting of two thick flaxen lines plaited together. He had it rigged on his pole. Grown careless from the ill-luck we had met, he at length let his bait sink to the bottom, about thirty yards from the rocks, and got talking with the Captain, who had given up fishing, and, with his sou'wester pulled about his ears, was taking a comfortable pipe in a crevice of the biggest rock.

Suddenly I heard a reel go clork—cle-erk cleerk! and saw Harry's pole fall from his hands to the rock. He seized it in a second, but as he stopped the revolving of the reel, the pole bent, and he pulled back on it—Snap! It was gone in the middle of the second joint. Of course the line remained, and that he commenced pulling in, bestowing the while some pretty hard expressions on his bad luck, for it really seemed as if the once-hooked fish had gone off in safety. About ten yards of the line came in slack, and then it stopped.

"Fast to a rock! What luck!" cried Harry, and then he commenced to jerk.

As he turned to look at us, with an expression of sarcastic indifference, I saw the line straightening out again in a steady, slow way, as if it was attached to an invisible canal-boat.

"Hold fast," I cried; "look! you have got something. What can it be?" saying which, Harry commenced to pull, but in vain—the prey went ahead.

Captain Mugford had taken the pipe from his mouth as his attention was fastened by the strange manoeuvres of Harry's game. Things having come to such a bewildering pass, he put up his pipe and, shaking the folds of the sou'wester from about his head, sprung forward and took hold of the line with Harry, but it still ran out through their hands.

"Seventeen seventy-six! what a whopper," exclaimed the Captain. "We must let go another anchor—eh, Harry?"

"Indeed! yes," replied Harry. "Look! he is stopping, and seems to be shaking the hook as a cat would a mouse. What can it be?"

Now the unknown took a tack towards us, and the line was gathered in and kept tight, and, as he began to go about on another course, his enemies took advantage of his momentary sluggishness to haul with considerable effect on the line. That brought the rascal right under the rocks. We could not see him; only the commotion of the water. Being brought up with such a short turn maddened the fellow, and perhaps he began to realise what was giving him such a jaw-ache. At any rate, just then he showed his speed to the whole length of the line, rushing off like a locomotive, and cutting his enemies fingers to the bones. They held on, however, and were able to bring him to as his charge slackened.

Of course the others of us hauled in our lines and watched with eagerness the combat so exciting. We proffered advice of all kinds to the two fishers, which they did not heed but devised schemes as the moment required, and certainly they managed with great skill. You would have thought the Captain was on deck in a hurricane, or repelling the boarders of a Malay pirate. The pipe was jammed up to its bowl in the side of his mouth, and all he said came in jerks through his teeth.

We were perfectly in the dark as to what the fish might be—whether an immense cod or halibut, or a princely bass.

The fight went on for half an hour without any decided result. But after that the struggles of the fish occupied a smaller space, never taking more than half the line out now. He was nearer the surface too, and the quick slaps of a tremendous tail lashed the sea.

"Mr Clare," called out Captain Mugford, "won't you twist two of the boys' lines together and bend them on that gaff? By the way, there is a hatchet with us, is there not? Good! Have that and the gaff ready. We are tiring the animal, whatever it is—a shark, I suspect."

Whilst we were carrying out the Captain's orders, Harry cried, "See, see! there is the whole length of him. Yes, a shark. What a grand beast!"

They were tiring him—worrying the strength and fierceness out of him. Every turn was bringing him nearer the rock. Every dash of his was weaker. But it must have been fully an hour from the first rush he made before he was brought exhausted alongside of the rocks, and the Captain cried, "Put in the gaff, Mr Clare—hard deep!"

Well was it that a strong line had been made fast to the gaff, for as its big hook struck him behind the gills, he uttered a sound like the moan of a child, and flapped off, the gaff remaining in him, into deep water.

With the two lines and his exhausted state, it was comparatively easy to bring him to the rocks again, and then with blows of the hatchet we had soon murdered him. Even then it was a job of some moment to get the body safely up the slimy and uneven rocks.

At length our prey was well secured, and we stood about him in triumph. It was a shark, measuring five feet and three inches in length, and he must certainly have weighed nearly a hundred pounds.

From the study Mr Clare made of the subject, we found that the name by which the shark is technically known is Squalidae, which includes a large family fitly designated, as your Latin dictionary will prove when you find the adjective squalidus—"filthy, slovenly, loathsome." It is a family of many species, there being some thirty or forty cousins; and the different forms of the teeth, snout, mouth, lips, and tail-fins, the existence or absence of eyelids, spiracles, (those are the apertures by which the water taken in for respiration is thrown out again), the situation of the different fins, etcetera, distinguish the different divisions of the common family. The cousin who, wandering about that stormy Saturday, had frightened away the bass, and finally astonished himself by swallowing a fish-hook when he only thought to suck a dainty bit of his family's favourite delicacy, was known as the Zygaena—so Mr Clare introduced him to us when his sharkship had grown so exceedingly diffident as not to be able to say one word for himself—a genus distinguished by having the sides of the head greatly prolonged in a horizontal direction, from which circumstance they are commonly known as the hammer-headed sharks.

His teeth were in three rows, the points of the teeth being directed towards the corners of the mouth. The two back rows were bent down, and only intended, Mr Clare told us, to replace the foremost when injured. These horrible teeth were notched like a saw.

I think the face, if so you might call it, of that piratical fish wore the most fearfully cruel and rapacious expression I had ever seen. That Zygaena family of the Squalidae, (I think they sound more horribly devilish when called by their classical titles), is one dangerous to man, and it is very rare that a man-eating or man-biting shark is ever found on the English coast.

I proposed to cut him open, and so we did. Among the half-digested food, most of which was fish, I found something that at first looked like a leather strap. I seized it and pulled it out. Surely there was a buckle. I washed and laid it out on the rock, while we all gathered about in great excitement to make out what our dead enemy had been preying on. There was no longer a doubt that it was a dog-collar—the collar of a medium-sized dog, perhaps a spaniel or terrier. There was a plate on it, which, with a little rubbing, we made to read, "David Atherton, Newcastle." How very strange! Had the little fellow been washed overboard from some vessel? or had he swum off some neighbouring beach to bring a stick for his master?

We could never discover any antecedents of any kind whatever to that mysterious sequel to "The Romance of the Poor Young Dog." Was there a fond master mourning for him in Newcastle, England, or in Newcastle, Pennsylvania? Alas, poor dog! thou wert hastily snatched from this world—the ocean thy grave and a shark's belly thy coffin. Thy collar hangs, as I write this, over my study table, and many a time has my old Ponto sniffed at that relic of a fellow-dog, and his eyes grown moist as I repeated to him my surmises of the sad fate of David Atherton's companion.

Mr Clare told us a good deal about sharks. Of the many varieties, the most hideous is the Wolf-fish, (Anarrhicas lupus). Though much smaller than the white shark, he is a very formidable creature. He has six rows of grinders in each jaw, excellently adapted for bruising the crabs, lobsters, scallops, and large whelks, which the voracious animal grinds to pieces, and swallows along with the shells. When caught, it fastens with indiscriminate rage upon anything within its reach, fights desperately, even when out of the water, and inflicts severe wounds if not avoided cautiously. Schonfeld relates this wolf-fish will seize on an anchor and leave the marks of its teeth in it, and Steller mentions one on the coast of Kamschatka, which he saw lay hold of a cutlass, with which a man was attempting to kill it, and break it to bits as if it had been made of glass. This monster is, from its great size, one of the most formidable denizens of the ocean; in the British waters it attains the length of six or seven feet, and is said to be much larger in the more Northern seas. It usually frequents the deep parts of the sea, but comes among the marine plants of the coast in spring, to deposit its spawn. It swims rather slowly, and glides along with somewhat of the motion of an eel.

The white shark is far more dreadful, from its gigantic size and strength; its jaws are also furnished with from three to six rows of strong, flat, triangular, sharp-pointed, and finely serrated teeth, which it can raise or depress at will.

This brute grows to a length of thirty feet, and its strength may be imagined from the fact that a young shark, only six feet long, has been known to break a man's leg by a stroke of its tail. Therefore, when sailors have caught a shark at sea, with a baited hook, the first thing they do when it is drawn upon deck is to chop off its tail, to prevent the mischief to be dreaded from its immense strength.

Hughes, the author of the "Natural History of Barbadoes," relates an anecdote which gives a good idea of the nature of this monster: "In the reign of Queen Anne a merchant ship from England arrived at Barbadoes; some of the crew, ignorant of the danger of doing so, were bathing in the sea, when a large shark suddenly appeared swimming directly towards them. All hurried on board, and escaped, except one unfortunate fellow, who was bit in two by the shark. A comrade and friend of the man, seeing the severed body of his companion, vowed instant revenge. The voracious shark was seen swimming about in search of the rest of his prey, when the brave lad leaped into the water. He carried in his hand a long, sharp-pointed knife, and the fierce monster pushed furiously towards him. Already he had turned over, and opened his huge, deadly jaws, when the youth, diving cleverly, seized the shark somewhere near the fins with his left hand, and stabbed him several times in the belly. The creature, mad with pain and streaming with blood, attempted vainly to escape. The crews of the ships near saw that the fight was over, but knew not which was slain, till, as the shark became exhausted, he rose nearer the shore, and the gallant assailant still continuing his efforts, was able, with assistance, to drag him on shore. There he ripped open the stomach of the shark and took from it the half of his friend's body, which he then buried together with the trunk half."

The negroes are admirable swimmers and divers, and they sometimes attack and vanquish the terrible shark, but great skill is necessary.

When Sir Brooke Watson, as a youth, was in the West Indies, he was once swimming near a ship when he saw a shark making towards him. He cried out in terror for help, and caught a rope thrown to him; but even as the men were drawing him up the side of the vessel, the monster darted after, and took off his leg at a single snap.

Fortunately for sea-bathers on our shores, the white shark and the monstrous hammer-headed zygaena seldom appear in the colder latitudes, though both have occasionally been seen on the British coasts.

The northern ocean has its peculiar sharks, but some are good-natured, like the huge basking shark, (S maximus), and feed on seaweeds and medusae and the rest, such as the picked dog-fish, (Galeus acanthius), are, although fierce, of too small a size to be dangerous to man.

But the dog-fish and others, such as the blue shark, are very troublesome and injurious to the fisherman; though they do not venture to attack him, for they hover about his boat and cut the hooks from his lines. Indeed, this sometimes leads to their own destruction; and when their teeth do not deliver them from their difficulty, the blue sharks, which hover about the coast of Cornwall during the pilchard season, roll their bodies round so as to twine the line about them in its whole length, and often in such a way that Mr Yarrell has known a fisherman give up as hopeless the attempt to unroll it.

This shark is very dangerous to the pilchard drift-net, and very often will pass along the whole length of net, cutting out, as if with shears, the fish and the net which holds them, and swallowing both together.



CHAPTER TEN.

UGLY—PLOVER, SNIPE, AND RABBIT SHOOTING—A CRUISE PROPOSED.

Recounting that last event reminds me of a well-beloved character in our cape days—one, too, that was destined to play an important part in our little drama.

Ugly was his name; Trusty Greatheart it should have been.

Ugly was a clipped-eared, setter-tailed, short-legged, long-haired, black-nosed, bright-eyed little mongrel. In limiting his ancestry to no particular aristocratic family, he could prove some of the blood of many. There were evident traces of the water-spaniel, the Skye terrier, and that most beautiful of all the hound family—the beagle.

I do not know what education Ugly may have had in his earlier days, but I believe it to have been limited, though his acquirements were great. I believe him to have been a canine genius. He was as ready on the water as on the land. His feats of diving and swimming were remarkable; and a better rabbit-dog and more sagacious, courageous watchdog never lived. As to the languages, I will acknowledge he could speak none; but he understood English perfectly, and never failed to construe rightly any of Mr Clare's Latin addresses—much better than ever Walter could do. Indeed, Mr Clare's commands to and conversations with Ugly were always in Latin.

Of his rare sagacity and unbounded affection there are proofs to be furnished further on in this narrative.

Harry Higginson and Walter had guns, and they alone of our number were allowed to use them. That exclusion never caused me any regrets, nor do I think it troubled Alfred Higginson, but it was a constant pain to Drake. He loved a gun, and his most golden dream of manhood's happiness was the possession of a good fowling-piece. The prohibition of our parents, however, was so stringent in this particular that poor Drake never sighted along the bright barrels nor even touched the well-oiled stocks but once while we were at the cape.

There they stood, always ready, in a corner of our attic—where Drake, Alf, and I could not touch them, but ready at any time for the pleasure of Walter and Harry.

Walter was an accomplished shot, and Harry was not a bad one. Harry had not had the training of Walter, whom my father had taught—not commencing with stationary objects, but with targets thrown in the air, and small, slow-winged birds as they flitted near the ground. My father had at first made him practise for a long time without caps, powder, or shot, merely in quickly bringing the stock close to the shoulder, and getting the eye directly behind the breech. When proficiency in that had become a mechanical habit, the gun was loaded, and then commenced the practice of shooting at moving objects. As the art of bringing the gun properly to the cheek had been so thoroughly mastered as to require no effort nor attention, Walter could, when an object was thrown up, direct all his care to bringing the muzzle of the piece—the sight— directly on that object. My father's reason for teaching him first to shoot at flying marks was to prevent the habit of dwelling long on an aim—that habit of following or poking at the bird which ruins good shooting, and prevents the possibility of becoming a good snap shot. And so, afterwards, Drake and I were taught; and boys who are learning to shoot will find, that by remembering and practising the method I have described, instead of commencing by taking long, deliberate aims at stationary objects, they will get ahead surprisingly fast, far outstripping those who learn by the latter way.

In our rambles about the cape, Ugly soon displayed his talent for rabbit-hunting. He would smell where Bunny had been wandering and follow the track until he started Miss Long-ears from her covert, and then the fun began—the rabbit leaping off in frightened haste, running for life, winding and dodging about over the swells of the sparse grass hillocks, while Ugly, mad with excitement, spread his long, low body down to the chase. How the little fellow would put in his nose close to the ground, staunch on the trail as the best-blooded hound, and making the air ring with his sharp but musical bark! I tell you that was fun! Ugly always stuck to his game until he had run it to its burrow. He had not the speed to overtake it.

The summer is not the proper season for rabbit-shooting; so Walter, who was never to be tempted by the best chance of killing game even a day out of season, would not permit either Harry or himself to shoot at the objects of Ugly's furious energy until it was legitimate. That conduct of Walter and Harry was beyond Ugly's comprehension. I have often seen him try to understand it. The chase having ended as usual in a safe burrow, I have noticed Ugly—who, after a very short experience, had learned not to waste his time in vain digging—turn toward us with a waddling, disconsolate trot, and having approached a few rods, stop and sit down to revolve the puzzle over in his mind. He would look where the rabbit had housed himself, then drop his head, cock up an ear, and cast an inquiring glance toward us, as much as to say: "Why, do tell Ugly why you did not shoot that old lap-ears? Ah!" That operation he would repeat several times before rejoining us, and when he had come up he would cock his head first one side and then the other, and look into our faces with most beseeching questioning in those great, keen, brown eyes of his. Then he would hang behind on our way home, evidently greatly distressed at his ignorance.

Never mind, good Ugly! I believe you were fully rewarded for weeks of bewilderment when the time did come for knocking over bunnies.

One afternoon, in returning from one of those rambles, we met our salt tute hurrying towards us in a great state of haste and perspiration. When near enough for his hoarse bass voice to reach us, he hailed—

"Well, there you are, boys, at last! I have been hunting for you all over the cape for the last hour. Ah! Ugly, boy, are you glad to see the old Captain trudging over the rabbit-ground? Eh? shaggy boy! And you have been running the bunnies till you are blown, and your masters would not shoot—eh? Well, no matter; the Captain shall bring his marline-spike along some day, and help you bag them. But, my affectionate pup, do you take a turn in that tail, or you'll wag it off some windy day."

So Ugly sat down—a long, red, wet tongue hanging from the side of his mouth—and whipped the grass between the Captain's boots with that restless tail until we came up.

"Why, Captain Mugford," said Walter, "I did not know you ever wanted us."

"No? Well, I do though, just now. You see, boys, as to-morrow will be Saturday, with every prospect of fair weather and a good breeze, I thought we might go on a cruise—start early, get our meals on board, run off to the fishing-grounds, and make a voyage of general exploration. And to do this we must get our traps aboard this evening, and see that everything is in order on board the Youth."

"Good! nothing could suit us better, Captain. I'll run to the house with the guns," said Harry, "and we can all go at once off to the Youth."

"Mr Clare," continued Captain Mugford, "can't go with us, he says, but must walk over to Q—-town and spend the day. That's a pity, for I calculated on having a capital time all together, on a voyage like this one we propose."

"Well, we boys," said Walter, "will ask him this evening to put off his visit. Perhaps he may change his mind."

When Harry returned we went down to our cutter, all in great spirits on account of the fun proposed for the next day.

Getting on board, we mopped and swabbed her out well, overhauled the ropes and sails, and hauled down the pennant to take home with us for Juno to mend where it had frayed out on the point. That work being completed, we went to the house for such provisions as we should want on our excursion. Juno put up a large supply for one day—ground coffee, eggs, biscuit, cold mutton, a cold turkey, and several currant and apple pies, besides butter, salt, etcetera—and Clump conveyed it down to the Youth for us on a wheelbarrow.

The provisions were carefully stowed in the forepeak, and everything being arranged, we appointed Ugly to act as a guard over our craft during the night.

Harry briefly explained it to him. "Look here, Ugly, you are to stay here to-night and look after the things. Of course you are not to come ashore or leave duty for a minute. We shall be down early in the morning. Be ready to receive us with proper ceremonies, for we are off on a cruise, old boatswain, to-morrow. Look, Ugly; I put your supper in this stern locker. Do you see?"

Ugly was at first rather disappointed at the prospect of being separated from us for the night, but as Harry's harangue proceeded and he began to comprehend the honour of the duty required aboard ship, he bristled up and grew as stiff and important as his inches would allow. He turned his nose to watch where the supper was placed, and then walked forward and took a seat on the bow assuming a comical air of "captaincy;" so pantomimic was it that Captain Mugford laughed aloud, and said: "Well done, Ugly; where, my fine fellow, did you learn quarterdeck airs?"

"Good-night, Captain Ugly," we cried, as we pushed for the shore in the punt. "Good-night, boy; can't you say something, Captain Gruff?"

At which address Ugly rose up and, putting his forefeet on the larboard gunwale, barked three loud, clear notes, and we gave three laughing cheers as he returned to his post by the bowsprit.

Before going to bed that night, I went out in the kitchen to put a pair of my shoes to dry, and found Clump and Juno, as usual in the evenings, smoking and dozing over the fire.

Wondering at the amount of comfort these old folk seemed to find in tobacco, I asked Clump why he smoked so much.

"Fur constellation, Massa Bob—fur constellation; dat's ol," he answered.

"Oh, that is it, Clump—consolation, eh? Well, I must get a pipe some time and try it," I said.

"No, Massa Bob," joined in Juno, who was knocking out the ashes from her pipe on the head of the fire-dog—"no, Massa Bob you'se munno 'moke. 'Spects, ef you'se do, you find de way tur constollaton, dat ole Clump talk of, cum tru much tribble-laison—he! he! he!"

I had to laugh at the old woman's wit. As for Clump, he rubbed his shins and "yaw-ha'd" over his wife's speech for five minutes.

As I was going off to bed, Juno called me back in a hesitating way, and said in a low, frightened voice: "Massa Bob, sum-how dis ole woman ees 'feared 'bout ter'morrow. You'se gwine sure?"

"Of course, Juno," I replied. "And what are you afraid of? I would not stay at home for ten pounds."

"Dis chile's sorry—sorry," she continued, "but de Lor' ees my strong 'an my sheel." She was speaking very slowly, and had bent over the fire to rake the ashes together. She went on muttering some more of the Bible texts she always called on in any perplexity, until a new idea flashed to her from some uncovered ember, and she turned quickly, laughing in a low, shrill way, "He! he! he! woy'se ole Juno afeer'd? He! he! he! 'spects it on'y debbil dat has tole lies to dis poor ole nigger when she's 'sleep."



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A MEMORABLE CRUISE COMMENCES.

We had nearly reached our cutter before the sun lifted its yellowish, red sphere, with just such an expression as a jolly, fat, old alderman accustomed to good cheer might present, on raising his head from the folds of a comfortable night's pillow.

It looked about in a dim, bewildered way at first, as if trying to wake up and make out what was the matter—that dark, vast, heaving, rolling sea, the rocks and capes touched with light, and a great land behind them yet dark and undefined; all so quiet too; and the soft, pink mist that rolled away in smoke-like clouds—rolled away over the billowy surface of the ocean toward the land, and, frightened, perhaps, by that red apparition on the eastern horizon, faded from sight, or rose for shelter to the sky above.

It was bravely up now; had mastered the situation, dispelled the night. The great honest face took a king's expression, and breathing bounty, warmth, and courage, blessed the scene it looked upon.

Then how the birds sang out, how sea and land grew beautiful and full of voice, how the clouds dressed their ranks and marched on their way. And the irrepressible exclamation came from all our boy lips at once, "How glorious!"

Ugly saluted us in a most vociferous manner, continuing his welcome from the time we left the shore to the moment we reached the yacht. "Behold," said Harry, "our rear-admiral waving his ta—I beg his honour's pardon—flag."

Yes—old Ugly kept his tail going in utmost delight, whilst he ran from one end to the other of the gunwale, assuring us that all was safe.

Sure enough, everything was in good order, but the supper had not been eaten. It had been pulled out of the after-cabin and inspected—that was all. Now Ugly's supper consisted of two things he could never be induced to eat—ham and cold potatoes; and Harry, from mischief—he knew, however, that the dog had had a hearty dinner—prepared those things purposely, supposing that Ugly's daintiness would fail in a twelve hours fast. But no; there the edibles were untouched.

"Come here, sir," said Harry to Ugly; "now why have you not eaten this nice meal, eh?"

Ugly's answer was merely to turn his head one side and look out at the sea, as if very much interested in something he saw—so much so as not to be able to attend to what Harry asked him.

"You dainty rascal, come along and eat this meal; it is good enough for any dog." And Harry put the despised victuals on another part of the deck, and, quite unintentionally, within a foot of the port scuppers. "Here, Ugly, eat it, sir, every bit of it."

Ugly's sensitive little spirit could not brook such a public mortification; but he was obedient in part. He approached the pieces slowly—in a dignified, contemptuous way—as he would have gone up to a cat, and, putting his nose to them, gave a push—away they flew into the sea.

Shouts of laughter greeted the act—Harry's the loudest—and he completed his attempt at discipline by calling to Ugly, "Come here, thou pluckiest and smartest of dogs. If you won't eat sailors' rations, come feast at the officers' mess on the luxuries of the fleet. How will that do, eh, old fellow?" cutting him off, as he spoke, a fat slice of mutton. "Another? well there! Bread and butter? Well, there is as much as you can eat;" and Ugly stowed it all away, triumph beaming in his eyes and wagging from his tail.

"Come, boys, now," said the Captain, "let's get under way. Cast loose the sails, Alfred and Bob. Drake, stand by to hoist the mainsail. Walter, take the helm. I want you to act as sailing-master this morning. Drake and I will get up the anchor. Is the mainsail ready for hoisting?"

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Drake.

"Then up with it. There—good!"

"Are your halliards all clear there, boys?"

"Aye, aye, sir," came from Alf and Bob.

"Hoist the jib, my hearties," cried the Captain, as the anchor came up. "Keep her head for the old church tower, Walter. There—steady, steady."

The Captain and Drake now secured the anchor, and the next order given was—

"Now, Alf, another pull on your main halliards. Get them well up. All right? Make fast."

The Captain lifted his hat and wiped with the bandanna his red forehead. Then he shook out a reef in his suspenders, and threw back his coat. "By golly! my hearties, we are snug now, ship and cargo; and what an air to breathe! I only wish this was a good ship of twelve hundred tons or so, Captain Mugford the skipper, and we were all bound for Calcutta together this splendid morning."

"Don't I—don't I," came from each of us in response.

"Now, my mates," called the Captain again, "we'll go about presently, when we get abreast of that tanned-sailed fishing-boat there off the port bow, and then, Walter, you can head her right out of the harbour. Let her go south-east-by-east, and we'll about fetch in ten miles as nice a bank for cod and halibut as there is off the coast. It is a small spot to get on nicely, and difficult to drop on often in just the right place; but it's no riddle to me, and if this breeze freshens a bit, as I think it will with the young flood, you can get out your lines in about one hour. So now let's have breakfast—the little rear-admiral, you know, had his long ago."

Yes—and the consequential Ugly was occupying a comfortable seat right under the jib, and only turned his head the least bit when he heard the Captain's mention of him.

"Keep her full now, Walter, ready to go about. Let go the jib-sheet, Bob; and now, down with your helm, Walter!"

The mainsail flapped twice. By that time the foresail had filled on the other tack. The cutter went about like a dancer on her heel, and we were off on the other tack, standing out of the harbour for the open sea ahead.

Then, the breakfast having been got out of the cuddy in the meanwhile, and arranged for our onset by Drake, we seized cups, knives and forks, and were soon very busy.

What a glorious thing to remember and marvel at, and wish back again, is a boy's appetite. And if any good old fellow is reading, who is not ashamed to recall those best of days—boyhood days—who is not ashamed to recall them, aye, with pride and smiles, let him think now of the suppers after Saturday tramps, of the Christmas and Michaelmas dinners, and of meals like that I am describing, when, after two hours in the early morning air, bowling along in our cutter, the sea-breeze swelling out our lungs as it did the sails, with merry hearts and perfect digestions, we found real fun—true animal happiness—in good bread and butter, a leg of cold mutton, and a cup of coffee. And to see the best of good skippers—as our dear old salt tute was—let himself down in a right angle after that on the deck, his back against the weather-side of the mast, and, heaving a sigh of vast internal satisfaction, draw out his pipe slowly, as if it was a ceremony too precious to be hurried, and, having put it just right in his lips and lighted it, puff the first long sweet wreaths of smoke; ah! that was a picture of creature happiness.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

GOOD SPORT—AN EXCITING SAIL—CAST AWAY.

The absence of Mr Clare was the only drawback to our pleasure that morning. He had told us the evening before that he should probably return from his visit the same day, getting home about the time we expected to be back—about sundown, which at that date in September was at twenty minutes after six. He said, however, that possibly he might remain in Q—-town until after Sunday morning service.

When Captain Mugford had completed his smoke, by which time we had a fine steady breeze from the south-east, he rose from his luxurious position and took Walter's place at the helm, saying—

"Not a permanent removal, Walter, but only until I can put the cutter just where I want her for fish. Fifteen minutes more will do that; so you had better go forward to Drake and get the anchor all ready to let go. You other boys can stand by the sails."

The Captain noted carefully the changing colour of the water as we drew over some bank, and he took bearings, too, from points on the land we had left nearly ten miles astern. In a few minutes he luffed a bit and sang out—

"Down with your foresail! Get in the jib."

The bowsprit pointed right in the wind's eye, and the boom hung fore and aft, the sail empty, as the cutter lost her headway.

"Is that anchor ready?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Walter and Drake.

"Let go! About five fathoms, is it?" called the Captain.

"About that!" the boys answered.

"That's just what we want. Make fast! Now stow the mainsail, so that it won't be in the way of your lines, and fish. There, that will do! Now, all to the lines! Who'll have the first fish?"

In a minute Drake hauled that up—a cod—and the fun commenced. Cod and bass, and now and then a halibut, as fast as we could bait and pull! There was soon a lively flopping in our craft, and now and then a dog-fish would take hold, much to our annoyance, for generally he broke the hook or line, or else, if we got him in, made such a furious lashing about our legs that we had to finish him with a hatchet.

We lay at anchor there until we had had fishing enough. About two o'clock we stopped, having caught, as near as the Captain could estimate, between one and two hundred pounds of cod, a dog-fish, and eleven sea-bass—not the striped bass, such as we took off the rocks with a troll line in rough water: that was the Labrax lineatus; but the sea-bass, the Centropristes nigricans, superior in title, but inferior in every other way to the striped bass.

It was a job to pitch the fish together and out of the way, and then clean the blood, slime, and wet from our deck and get ready for making sail; but after some work it was done, and our lines stowed away.

"Now, boys," said the Captain, "we will have dinner, and get under way again. As the wind has hauled around to the east, we will take our course for the north. I want to show you that shore, it is so bold and wild. With such a stiff wind I reckon we can run up ten miles nearly, and then turn about and get home easily before dark. I say, boys, won't Mr Clare wish he had had a hand in catching that haul?"

Having finished the cold dinner with such an appetite as pleasure, exercise, and sea air give, we made sail and stood to the northward. The breeze was so fresh before long that the Captain told us to take a reef in our mainsail. Walter held the helm, and in little more than an hour we were sailing near the grand rugged shore that Captain Mugford had wished us to see. Here and there, in little coves defended by rocky sides, were the cottages of fishermen, and then great headlands of cavernous stone dashed by the waves. Again the shore fell to a lower level, and pines and other trees clustered together to defy the storms, and give pleasure to the eye. Farther on, the roughness of the coast vanished for a few hundred yards to make place for a yellow sandy beach where was stretched a long seine. Opposite that piece of strand, and close by our cutter's course stood a small stony island, bearing a single invalid old pine, from whose topmost branch a great bald eagle rose and hovered over our craft. Then the shore grew again like an impregnable fortification, and made out to a sharp cape, on the point of which stood a lonely, snow-white lighthouse.

"There, boys, we must go about now," said the Captain, as we neared the cape. "But see how the wind has fallen. If it holds on in this way we shan't have enough to take us home before night. Let's see what o'clock it is. That lighthouse is seventeen miles from the point of our own cape."

The Captain fumbled away at his waist-band—encircling a rotundity like that described of Saint Nicholas—and pulled out his immense gold turnip.

"Columbus' compass! Twenty minutes to five! Come, Walter, haul in the mainsheet, and come up to the wind. Are you ready to go about? Well, down with the helm then. I'll tend the jib. Those boys are so busy examining the fish that we will not interrupt them."

"No, sir," I said, "we are ready for anything."

"Oh no, Bob," replied the Captain, "go on with your studies. There is nothing to do just now. Walter, you may steer by the shore. But I don't like this slackening of the breeze, and it is drawing more to the south-west; we shall have it right ahead soon. The sun looks ugly, too. That murky red face foretells a row of some kind."

"I hope that we shall get the Youth safe at her moorings before night comes, or a storm either—shall we not?" asked Harry.

"We'll hope so," answered Captain Mugford, who pulled out his pipe and filled it hard, continuing, "Who'll hand me out a light from the cuddy?" I went in and struck one, and brought him a match, blazing famously. "Thank, you," he said. "Drake—just," (puff puff)—"just shake—oh! there goes that light!" I quickly brought him another—"just shake out—that—that—" (puff, puff). He had it all right now, the smoke coming in vast volumes; so he replaced his hat and removed the pipe from his teeth for a moment to complete the order—

"Drake, just shake that reef out of the mainsail."

"All right, sir!" said Drake. I helped him; but in half an hour the wind, as the Captain had foretold, was ahead, and not strong enough to fill the sails.

Fifteen or sixteen miles we were from home, with every indication that a heavy squall was to follow the calm settling down upon us. The dancing white caps of the morning had died away in a quiet, sullen sea, which only a land-swell moved. The sun had gone down to within a half-hour's distance of the horizon, shining on the distant western cliffs, whose variety, boldness, and ruggedness were magnified in outline and intensified in colouring by the heavy, yellowish-red glare which fell on them, and the sun's rays shot out in long forks, piercing the dark blue of the sea at all points in the western semicircle of our view. The atmosphere had grown warm—very warm for a September afternoon.

We boys felt something portentous in the scene. The Captain grew uncomfortable, too, no longer laughing heartily or joining in our talk. He kept his eyes on the sky, and smoked pipe after pipe.

Even Ugly ceased napping beside Walter, and, uttering a whining yawn, as if sleepy but uneasy, walked forward to the idle foresail, and stood there with extended nose to smell out, if he could, what was wrong.

So we lay for nearly an hour, our only movement being with the outgoing tide, the sails flapping with the slow swell of the sea. But when the sun had disappeared the wind commenced to come, first in little puffs, now from one quarter and then from another. The gale would be on us in a moment.

The Captain took the helm then, and ordered us to stand by and be ready to tend the sails.

"Look out, too, for the swinging of that boom," he said, "and make Ugly get out of the way and lie down somewhere."

Ugly, hearing that speech, did not wait for further commands, but stowed himself away at the foot of the mast.

Now the wind came in heavier puffs, and then in squalls from the east.

"I hope it will settle there," spoke out the Captain. "It is coming heavier, but I hope steady."

He kept his eyes on all parts of the now lowering sky, and presently added—

"Take two reefs in the mainsail and shift the jib! Get the storm-jib up. Now hook on. Run it out. Hoist away."

That was done, no easy matter for novices in a heavy sea, and we flew away before the increasing gale. Fortunately the night was not very dark, there being a quarter moon to throw its light through the rifts of clouds.

How fast the sea got up! The wind grew heavier every moment. The mast of our little cutter creaked with each plunge, and the plunges were hard and quick. The scene was truly alarming, and we felt the danger of our situation. To be sure, we were comparatively safe if the gale should grow no worse; but it was increasing every moment in a manner that threatened in another hour to be too much for us. There was danger, too, that something might be carried away, or that, in the frothy sea and uncertain light, we might strike some of the sunken rocks that now and then stood off from shore like sentries. But the Youth leapt furiously onward from one mad wave to another, our good Captain steering with a strong hand.

The black, broken clouds rolled close to the sea, which seemed striving madly to swallow them; but on they flew with the screams of the wind. The thin moonlight, streaming unsteadily through the troops of clouds across the riven waves, had a ghastly effect—sometimes obscuring, sometimes exaggerating the terrors surrounding us. The shore, a mile to leeward, was to our sight only a bristling, indefinite terror; for there, where loomed the land we longed for, was the greatest peril—the line of fierce breakers that shouted their threats in terrible chorus.

I suppose we boys were all much terrified. I quailed with dread, for it was my first experience of a storm on the water, and its time and appearance were so imposing.

One would never have suspected from Captain Mugford's manner that we were in any danger. His face was as calm and his hand as steady as if we were having the pleasantest sail imaginable; only the violence with which he smoked, ramming fingers full of tobacco into his pipe every few minutes, betokened any unusual excitement, but we knew how absorbed he was in his charge by his silence.

We were speechless, too, holding on fast to the backstays or gunwale to keep our places in the desperate leaps and lurches the gallant little craft was making. Ugly was soon thrown from his station, and, finding he could not keep legs or position anywhere unaided, went and ensconced himself between our skipper's legs.

Harder, heavier blew the wind, and wilder grew the sea, so that it seemed sometimes as if we must go over, and the bowsprit now buried itself in every billow. Then the Captain said to us in a calm, steady voice—

"Boys, you must get another reef in the mainsail and lower the foresail. Now, be careful and steady about it. There is no hurry. Bob, you come here; the others can manage that work. You sit aft out of the way."

I did as directed; and the orders were speedily carried out without accident.

Boatswain's Half-Acre Reef, a low rock that stood out at sea, about three and a half miles south-east-by-east from our cape, now came in sight ahead of us to the windward. In the spectral light, and beaten on by the waves, it looked like some sea monster moving in the water. As we were going we should probably pass close to its lee side in about ten minutes, but the wind blew a tempest, and the sea increased so in a few minutes that our peril was terrible. For two hours we had battled— though evidently the storm was soon to be the conqueror.

Several seas came aboard in angry haste, and the punt, which had been in tow all day, broke loose and was carried away. Another sea, stronger than its fellows, suddenly struck us a tremendous blow. The cutter heeled over, so that the water boiled above the lee gunwale. The assaulting sea, too, broke up and over the weather-side, and drenched us all in its cataract. To increase our terror, a cry came from Alfred, who had been tossed from his hold and nearly cast overboard, but he caught the backstay as our yet unconquered boat rose from the blow like some brave but wounded animal. The water was several inches deep about our feet, and the good Youth had lost half its buoyancy.

Then came the Captain's voice again, steady and strong, but full of feeling—

"We'll get through it yet, lads, God protecting us," he sung out. "But all hands must try and do their duty. You know Nelson's last general order—'England expects that every man this day will do his duty.' That same motto carried out has saved many a stout ship and rich cargo, and the neglect of it has lost many more. Now, there's work for all of you. Walter, do you rig the pump, and Bob, do you help him, and the rest of you set to and bale. Be smart, now. There are two skids and a bucket, or use your hats. Anyhow, the boat must be cleared."

He spoke deliberately, not to alarm us, but at the same time we all saw that there was no time to be lost. Walter and I now got the pump to work, while the rest set to and baled away with might and main. I also joined them, using my hat as the Captain advised, for Walter could easily work the pump by himself. Still, in spite of the excellent steering of the old skipper, the seas came tumbling in over the bows and sides also so rapidly that it was hard work for us to keep the boat clear. Besides this, (notwithstanding her name, being an old boat), she strained so much that the seams opened and made her leak fearfully. It soon, indeed, became a question—and a very serious one—whether the boat could be kept afloat till we should reach our own harbour. We were now laying well up for the cape, though we were making what sailors call "very bad weather of it;" but, should the wind shift a little, and come more ahead, we might have a dead beat of several hours before us. We saw the skipper looking out anxiously at the reef I have described. A considerable portion, even at the highest tides, was several feet above water, and easily accessible. As the rock also afforded a shelter to numerous seafowl, which built their nests in its crevices, it would afford some security to a few human beings. Still, during a gale such as was now blowing, the sea washed tumultuously round the rock, and rendered the landing—even on the lee side—not only difficult but dangerous. I, for one, did not at all like the condition of the boat; still, as the skipper had hitherto said nothing, I did not like to propose that we should try to land on the reef. The old man was silent for some time; he again scanned the reef, and then he turned his eyes to the distant shore.

"Boys," he said at last, "I wish you not to be alarmed. The boat may very possibly keep above water till we reach the cape, if you can bale out the seas as fast as they wash in; but I am bound to tell you that there is a risk of our being swamped if we were to meet such a sea as I have seen, under like circumstances, come rolling in. There lies Boatswain's Reef—in five minutes we may be safe upon it—but much depends on your coolness and courage. The most difficult and dangerous movement will be the leaping on shore. Do you, Walter, make a rope fast round the bits; unreeve the fore halliards, they will suit best, and are new and strong. That will do; secure them well, and coil the rope carefully, so that it may run out free of everything. Now stand with the rope in your hand, and as I bring the boat up to the rock, do you leap out, and spring up to the upper part, where you will find a jagged point or more to which to make it fast. The rest of you, when the boat touches the rock, be ready to spring on shore; but remember, don't spring till I tell you. I'll call each of you by name, and the first on shore must stand by to help the others. There, I can't say more, except one word—be steady, and cool, and trust in God."

Walter did as directed, and we all stood watching the skipper's eye, that we might obey him directly he gave the word. It is a most important thing to have confidence in a commander. It is the great secret of England's success in most instances. Although there may be many shortcomings, both her soldiers and sailors know that, in nine cases out of ten, they will be well and bravely led, and the officers know also that they will be thoroughly supported by the men. If they go ahead, there will never be a want of men to follow them, even to the cannon's mouth.

On we dashed, amid the boiling, foaming seas. We had to continue pumping and baling as energetically as before. Had we ceased, but for half a minute, it seemed as if the boat would to a certainty go down, even before we could reach the rock. Captain Mugford did not address us again, but kept his eyes watching, now the heavy seas which came rolling up on the weather bow, and now the black rock towards which we were standing. All the time we kept carefully edging away, till we were under the lee of the reef—of that part, however, over which the sea broke with great force. Still, the water was smoother than it had been for some time. We stood on, continuing to bale.

Suddenly the Captain cried out, "Now, lads, to your feet, and be ready to spring on shore when I give the word." We all jumped up. Walter stepped forward and took the rope in his hand, as he had been directed. The Captain luffed up, and ran the boat alongside the rock; but there was still great way on her, and a tremendous crashing sound showed us that she had struck the rock below water. Walter sprang on shore, Drake and Harry followed, and as he leapt to the top of the rock, followed to help him make fast the rope round one of its roughest projections. Ugly sprang at the same time, and the rest of us went next—not a moment too soon. I was the last of the boys. The Captain came close behind me. He was securing another rope round the mast, and, with the end of it in his hand, he leapt on to the rock. As he left the deck, the boat seemed to glide from under him. "Haul, boys! haul! all together," he shouted. Our united efforts, aided by the surging water, got the fast sinking boat on to a rock. There the boat lay, little better than a wreck; but we were safe. We now saw how anxious our good skipper had been, for, taking off his hat, and looking up to heaven, he exclaimed, with a fervour I did not expect, "Thank God for His great mercy—they are all safe."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

NIGHT ON THE REEF—OUR SALT TUTE'S SERMON.

Our "salt tute" had gone through many a storm at sea; had once escaped, the only soul saved out of fifty-three, from a foundered bark, and endured five days' suffering, without bread or water, on a raft. But, as I heard him tell Mr Clare afterwards, he had never undergone an experience more painful than those two or three hours of gale in our little cutter. It was his affection for us boys; the reflection that he had proposed the pleasure sail, and the terrible sense of responsibility: those together had tried the old man's heart, head, and nerves, as they had never been tried before.

Among the exciting events of that night, one circumstance impressed me with astonishment, though it was but small matter perhaps for a boy to have noticed at such a time. It was that the Captain several times expressed himself in terms of piety, and even ejaculated that prayer when our safety was secured. We had sometimes heard him swear before that, and had always noticed, in contrast to Mr Clare, his indifference to any religious service or subject; indeed, the only emotion we had ever seen him display with regard to such matters was on the occasion of Mr Clare's address after the combat between Drake and Alfred.

It was eight o'clock when we landed on our little rocky island of deliverance. Boatswain's Reef was, as its name described, only half an acre in extent—a jagged, stony reef, raised but a few yards at its highest point above high-tide mark.

Very cold, somewhat anxious, and much exhausted, we found in a few moments the only shelter it afforded—a level place of sand and sea grass, about six yards square, defended on the south-west by a miniature cliff. There a lot of seaweed had accumulated, and the driftings of many gales collected. Several barrel staves, a large worm-eaten ship's knee, part of a vessel's stern, with all but the letters "Conq" obliterated, (the name had probably been Conqueror, conquered now, as Alfred observed, by old ocean); and many pieces and splinters of spar. The Captain made the discovery with us, and immediately suggested that we should shelter ourselves there and light a fire.

"Thanks, boys, to the necessities of my pipe, I always have a tinder-box in my pockets. Perhaps there are some not wet. Here, hunt for them; I'll throw off my pea-jacket, for I must go to work and try to save something from the poor Youth—our grub at least. I want you to stay where you are, out of the storm, and to get a good fire going. It may possibly show them on the cape that we are safe."

"O Captain!" exclaimed Walter, "do let me help you. I don't want to sit here and do nothing but build a fire whilst you are at work and perhaps in danger."

"Come along, then, as you are the biggest and strongest—come along," replied the Captain, and away they hurried to where our good old boat was groaning on the beach and pounding against rocks with every beat of the sea.

She had been driven up too far to get off easily, but with a big hole in her bows it seemed probable that she would go to pieces before morning.

The sky was black everywhere. The roar of wind and waves was tremendous. The spray dashed in sheets, at every blow of the sea, over our spot of defence, so that it was difficult to start a fire. We were successful, though, and its light showed the figures of the Captain and Walter, by the stranded boat, climbing on board through the froth of the surf; pitched up and down as she tossed and bumped; getting down the tattered sail and hauling it ashore; jumping on the beach again with coils of rope; saving all that could be saved. And then, the tide having risen high, both together left her for the last time, bearing, at much risk, the anchor with them, which they fastened in a cleft of the rocks, that when our dear old boat—the home of many and many a fine time—did break up, something might be left of her.

We could not hear their voices, but saw the gestures for us to come and help, and in a few minutes we were all engaged carrying the rescued remnants up to our safe place.

Ugly helped. First he dragged a coil of rope and laid it beside the cliff; then he got hold of a loaf of bread which had dropped from among the other provisions, and carried that with some trouble but much pride.

In the storm and darkness, only fitfully broken by the firelight, we ate our supper under what shelter the low cliff afforded. Our boyish spirits were much subdued and awed by the peril we had passed through and the sombre scene about us.

The meal being finished, we made some preparations for the night, fastening the sail, by the weight of large stones laid on one edge of it, to the top of the rock, and then bringing its other edge, the boom side, to the ground and steadying it there with pegs. In that way we constructed a kind of tent, in which we piled a bedding and covering of dry seaweed.

The Captain stood by the fire, smoking his pipe and watching our arrangements. When they were completed, and we boys, gratified with our success, began to declare our situation "rather jolly," he interrupted us somewhat abruptly in this way:—

"You chaps always say your prayers before you sleep, I dare say. If so, you'll not forget them to-night—will you?"

"No, sir," we answered.

"Young shipmates, you remember how Mr Clare talked to you one day in the Clear the Track—eh? Well, then, for the first time in nigh forty years—think of that, nigh forty years—I said my prayers, the only ones I ever said, that my—mo—ther taught me; and somehow they came so clear to me that I felt like as if my—mo—ther was kneeling beside me. I ran away to sea, like the young fool that I was, when I was eleven years old. It was going on four years before I came back to my old home. I had forgotten my prayers. I tried hard to remember them, too, then, and some of the Scripture stories and lessons my—mo—ther used to teach me; for she was—gone."

His voice did not tremble, but he spoke very slowly, as if he wanted to speak out to us, and yet wished to do it without betraying the deep feeling that the events of the evening had intensified. Each time before he spoke the words "my mother," he took the pipe from his mouth and hesitated a moment, as if to steady himself. Somehow the old Captain's voice was softer, I thought, than I had ever heard it before— it may have been fatigue and the noises of the storm that made it sound so. His face, too, looked to me as if it had lost its hard lines and roughness—perhaps the firelight caused that to seem so. And those bold, sharp eyes of his were as gentle as my little sister Aggie's. He continued:—

"Hard times a youngster often has at sea, not in all ships, but in many, I tell you, and bad companions on every side. No gentle looks or kind words, but knocks and oaths. No time to read, and all that; hardly a chance to think. Well, I was a bad one, and worse when I went back again, and had my—mo—ther no longer to love me, and no one anywhere in the world to care a button for Rowly," (his Christian name was Roland). "I was a pretty reckless, hearty, devil-me-care fellow, I tell you. I could rough it and fight my way with the strongest, and never thought further ahead than the moment I was living in. So, for thirty years and more I knocked about the world, coming scot-free through a thousand dangers. Yes, and I got ahead all the time and prospered, thinking mighty well of myself, my good luck, clear head, and tough arm. I never thought of God. I don't know but that I had almost forgotten that there was a God; at any rate, if I thought of Him, it was with doubt and indifference. Yet, boys, in all that time, 'He cared for me, upheld me, blessed me.'"

His words grew hurried and thick, his head was turned so I could not see his face, and the old black pipe had fallen from his fingers to the ground. Ugly walked around and snuffed at it in amazement. But the Captain went on:—

"Now I feel it all—how I feel it—since I heard Mr Clare that day. Nearly forty years deaf, but I hear God's voice within me now, louder and louder every day; and what has He done for us to-day? How He has spoken! Ah! boys, you'll never be the old sinner I have been. 'Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.' Part of the only hymn I can remember, of my mother's, has come again and again to my ear to-night—that—

"'God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.'

"I forget the rest, except—

"'Trust Him for His grace: Behind a frowning Providence He hides a smiling face.'

"Boys! turn in now. I am on watch, and shall keep the fire going. Turn in, I tell you."

With those last words to finish his talk and order us to bed, his voice regained its sailor-like strength and roughness, but it melted again as he added—

"My dear old boys, we shall all pray to-night, eh? and from wiser and better hearts. Thank God!"

The last things I was conscious of that night were the whistling of the wind and the roaring of the waves, and the snapping and fizzing of the red embers, thus telling their stories to the storm of the brave ships of which they once formed parts.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

UGLY VOLUNTEERS—OUR FRESH TUTE TO THE RESCUE!

"Poor old Robinson Crusoe! poor old Robinson Crusoe! They made him a coat of an old nanny-goat: I wonder how they could do so! With a ring a ting tang, and a ring a ting tang, Poor old Robinson Crusoe." Mother Goose.

The storm broke before morning, and a clear fresh September day opened on us castaways. There was no exertion of ours that could get us home, for our little cutter was a complete wreck, and we had but one of the many requisites for constructing a boat or raft—it consisted of the few planks and timbers of the wreck of the boat which still held together or had been washed upon the beach, and which, if we were not rescued before another morning, must be employed in feeding our fire. All the provisions we had taken with us on our day's voyage were consumed, except one loaf of bread and two pies, but a sufficient supply of the fish had been brought from the cutter to feed us for several meals. Of water—the greatest necessity—there was not a drop on Boatswain's Half-Acre. During the morning, the want of that became a pain, and before night any one of us would have given all he possessed for a single glass of cold water. Captain Mugford told us that now, for the fourth time in his life, he knew the suffering of thirst.

We must wait to be discovered, to be rescued, and before that we might die of thirst, for our island was only a low rock, and vessels going up and down channel kept generally too far from the reef to allow us to be seen by them on board. We could see our cape, and even the old house, but had no way of making signals, except by the fire at night.

Beautiful as was the day, it was one only of pain and anxiety to us. Of the few sails we saw, not one came within three miles of us. Where could Mr Clare be all this time?

The sea fell so fast that by two o'clock in the afternoon it was smooth as a lake. Harry Higginson and I sat looking at it on a point of the reef, with Ugly by our side. Ugly's tongue hung dry from his mouth, and he panted for a drop of water, but he was pained, too, I am sure, because of our silence and dejection. Watching our faces, as if wondering what he could do for us, he at length walked down to the waterline and looked across to the cape with a long whine. Then he ran back and put his paws on Harry's knee, as if he would have him say something. So Harry patted his head and said, "Yes, old boy, I wish we could get there."

He sprang down again and commenced to bark, pointing his nose towards the cape.

I called to him, "Don't be a fool, Ugly; your little bark can't reach them."

He cried and ran back to Harry, but in a second more, barking like fury, he ran to the water and swam off in the direction of our home.

We called to him again and again, entreating and commanding his return; but he paid no attention to us, and swam on. We were filled with sorrow and alarm, for surely little Ugly could not swim that distance—over three miles. We called to the Captain and the boys, and in a few minutes we were all standing watching the progress of brave Ugly.

————————————————————————————————————

What was going on at the cape all this time?

Mr Clare did not return on Saturday, and as night set in without our appearance, Clump and Juno got anxious. Having, however, great confidence in the Captain's care and skill, they were not so much alarmed as they might have been, supposing that he, seeing the approaching gale, had made some harbour, and that there we should stay until the weather changed. For some reason, both Clump and Juno supposed we had gone to the westward. That shore was broken by several bays and small rivers, and eleven miles westward was the fishing-village of —-. Nevertheless, the good old people were somewhat alarmed, and sat up all night over their kitchen fire.

By ten o'clock of the next day their fears had grown too troublesome to allow further inaction. Clump pulled over in his punt to the village, across the bay. There he got some sailors to take a boat and go down the south coast to look for us, and gathering all the advice and surmises he could, (which were not consoling), from seafaring men he knew, returned to the cape.

When Juno heard Clump's report, her distress was very great. As she groaned, and wiped her wet, shrivelled eyes with a duster, she said—

"Lor' o' Marsy! Clump, ef harm's cum ter dem chiles ob Massa Tregellin—den—den—you berry me—berry dis ole 'ooman deep."

"Now, toff your mout, June—toff your mout! Wen I'se done berry you, ou yer 'spects gwine 'posit Clump en de bowels ob de arth, ay? He jist stay here and tink."—He did not mean think, but another word commencing with that unpronounceable s—"You'se fool, ole 'ooman; when you'se begin mittrut de Lor', ay?"

Clump was so frightened himself that he had to talk pretty strong to his spouse.

Mr Clare, after morning service in the church at Q—-town, where he had gone to hear a college friend preach, took advantage of the lovely autumn day to walk home, which was about ten miles. He made his way slowly, enjoying every foot of the road, little contemplating the shock he was to receive at his journey's end.

He heard Clump and Juno's report without a word, only growing paler and paler. Then he sat down and covered his face, and, after a moment of silence, asked the negroes certain questions as to the course they supposed us to have taken, as to the storm on the cape, etcetera, etcetera.

He started off after that on a hard run for Bath Bay, where he jumped into a boat, and, pulling out into the greater bay, rowed with all his strength over to the village; but his inquiries there could gain no information, so he hired a small schooner-rigged boat and its owner to go out with him and hunt us up, or find some trace of our fate.

Mr Clare could not be still whilst the boatman, who had to go up to his home first, was getting ready, but ordered him to make all haste and call for him off the cape, and then he jumped into his own boat again and recrossed to the cape. But the boatman took a long time in coming, Mr Clare walking up and down the cape in the meanwhile, a prey to the gloomiest apprehensions. It was nearly five o'clock before Mr Clare saw his boat drawing near. At the same moment he heard a scampering through the short, dry grass behind him, and the wheezing of some animal breathing thick and quick. Turning, he saw, greatly to his surprise, Ugly coming towards him as fast as he could run. Poor little Ugly was dripping with water, and completely blown and tired out—so tired that, when he had reached Mr Clare's feet, he could only lie down there and pant. Mr Clare knew there was some important reason for Ugly's appearing in that manner, and though he did not suspect the exact state of the case, yet he lifted him in his arms and got on board the boat, which had now hauled in close to the rocks.

"Which way will're go, sir?" asked the grey, gruff boatman.

"Keep down south of the cape, near in shore. Clump says they went west," answered Mr Clare.

Poor Ugly had somewhat recovered by being wrapped up in Mr Clare's warm coat, and when he had put his nose into a pail of water that was on board, he kept it there until the bucket was empty, much to the surprise of both Mr Clare and Phil Grayson, the old boatman. Further strengthened and refreshed by something to eat, Ugly jumped up on the bow to see where they were going.

He showed evident signs of disapprobation when he saw the boat steering west; running to the stern, he there stretched his nose out to the east, and barked furiously. Mr Clare, thinking from the negroes' assertions that he must be on the right track, could not understand Ugly's uneasiness. How he had reached the cape, although it was evident he had been in the water somewhere, Mr Clare did not know, nor could he guess, of course, whence he had come. He only hoped that Ugly had left us in safety, and had come in some way to get assistance. It was nearly dark, and the wind had gone down with the sun. Soon the boat lay becalmed. Ugly showed an unmistakable disposition to jump overboard, which, however, was partly quieted when he saw Mr Clare and old Phil use the oars; but when they persevered on the westerly course, Ugly, with an angry bark, sprang overboard and swam in an opposite direction. That movement proved to Mr Clare that they were going wrong, so the boat was turned and pulled in Ugly's wake until he was overhauled and taken on board. He shook himself, wagged his tail frantically, and kissed the hands of both Phil and Mr Clare. It was but slow progress with the oars against the ebb-tide. In about an hour, however, the first whiffs of the night-breeze came to fill the sails, and the oars were put in. They had rounded the cape, and old Phil asked again—

"Whar ne-e-ow, Capting—in shore, you think, or straight ahead?"

"Near the shore, I should think, just br—" but Mr Clare's reply was interrupted by Ugly's barking.

Skipper Phil put the boat's head to the north-east, to get nearer in shore as Mr Clare had said, and—splash! Ugly was overboard again and making for the east.

"You see, Phil," said Mr Clare, "you must get sailing-orders from Ugly, not me; and, Phil, I begin to be much encouraged by that dog's actions. He does not hesitate, but seems to have something important to do, and to feel confidence in his ability to do it."

"That's so, Capting," answered Phil, as, having got the boat about, he belayed the sheets and put the other hand to the helm; "he's a clever animal, he is. It seems to me that ar dog understands talk like a Christian. Did you take notice h-e-ow he was overboard as quick as you spoke, afore I started a shut? But whar are we going?—that's what I want to know."

"Phil," interrupted Mr Clare, "what light is that flaring up away ahead there on your lee bow?"

"By God, I see! the sails hid that—they did," Phil grumbled, and bent down to see beneath the sails. He chuckled some time before he answered, and his chuckle grew to a laugh. "Ha! ha! ha!—that ar light is on Boatswain's Reef, just as sure as my name is Phil Grayson. Mr Clare—hurrah!—your boys are safe."

Ugly, who had been lifted on board before that, joined his rejoicing bark to the skipper's merriment, and from the reef came a distant hallooing.

The flames at the reef grew brighter and higher. The sparks flashed and flew up to the dark sky. The shouting increased to yells. The rescuers on the schooner answered; and as for Ugly, the hero of our deliverance, he was almost frantic with delight.

The first words that were distinguishable from the reef were—

"Is that you, Mr Clare? Have you any water on board?"

"Yes!" was responded.

"Oh! do hurry, then—we can't stand this any longer!" cried out Harry.

In two hours more as happy a boatload as ever floated was springing before a fresh breeze toward the cape. Long before we touched shore our glad halloos had reached the old house, and lifted a heavy weight from the hearts of Clump and Juno.

They met us on the rocks, and each one of us had to undergo an embrace from their sable excellencies, ay, excellencies indeed, in devotion and uprightness such as this world seldom sees surpassed. Even Captain Mugford did not escape the ardour of the welcome; and whilst they hugged us the dear old negroes were crying like children, from joy.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

EVENINGS ON THE WRECK, WITH A STORY FROM THE CAPTAIN.

The favourite season of girls is, I think, Spring; and of boys, Autumn. One is the time of dreams, flowers, and emotions; the other, the period of hopes, courage, and accomplishment.

October, the fulness of Autumn, with its cool, clear, bracing air; with its gathered crops, rustling leaves, and golden light: October, when days of furious storm are succeeded by weeks of hazy sunshine and muffled quiet; when the fish are fat but greedy; when quacking seafowl and game of every kind tempt the lovers of good sport—

Ah! that is the time for boys.

We fellows gulped it up as the hounds do their meat when distributed to them, for by the end of October we should finish our six months at the cape.

This dashed our cup of happiness with regret, as the falling leaves and low winds moaning of winter touch October with a tint of sadness. But in one case, as in the other, the spice of regret was just what gave zest to the enjoyment of our pleasure.

The days being so short, it got to be our habit to improve every one of our daylight hours, out of school, in the many sports which invited us, and to do our studying in the evenings. So every night, as soon as supper was finished, we repaired with Mr Clare to the schoolroom in the old brig. There would be a wood-fire crackling in the stove, and two shaded, bright lamps hanging over the tables.

We took up our studies, and Mr Clare sat by, ready to answer questions or give explanations. When not busied with us he smoked and chatted with Captain Mugford, or read the papers and magazines. Ugly had his place on a mat where he could hear and see all that was going on.

Generally, during some portion of the evening, the Captain spread out his great red bandanna on his knees, and took a loud-snoring nap. Every movement of our salt tute's was interpreted by some corresponding signal of the bandanna handkerchief. When perplexed, he wiped his forehead with it; when amused, it blew a merry peal on his nose; in moments of excitement or delight, it was snapped by his side; when sleepy, he spread it on his lap; and once, I remember, he suddenly stowed it away— when much enraged by an impudent fellow who was shooting on our cape—in the stomach of his breeches instead of in the usual hind-pocket of his coat. The intruder seemed to understand the warlike signal, for he immediately stopped his insolence and made off. In fact, the Captain's red bandanna was like the Spanish woman's fan—a language in itself.

One evening we all finished our lessons early and drew our stools about the stove. Our salt tute was snoring bass and Ugly treble, so we did not disturb their dreams, but talked in low voices to Mr Clare, until, whether intentionally or irresistibly I know not, Drake gave a tremendous sneeze, so loud and shrill that Ugly sprang to his legs with a loud bark, and the Captain's head bounced from his chest and struck the back of his chair with a bang.

"Bless my heart!" said the Captain, clutching the handkerchief from his knees, and commencing to wipe his head with it. "Bless my soul, I rather think that I must have been napping. There you are, all laughing around the fire, whilst I have been dreaming of—well, never mind—days gone by—you may depend on that; but, Ugly, what were your dreams about, eh?"

"We should like to hear, though, something about those days gone by, Captain," said Mr Clare, suspecting that the worthy old seaman was in the vein for story-telling. "It is a long time since you have spun us a yarn, and the boys have been much wishing for one."

"Ay, that we have, Captain," we all sang out together; "we should like to hear something about those days gone by which you were dreaming of just now. We are sure from your countenance that there is something interesting; come, tell us all about it."

"You'll be disappointed, then. It's curious, and that is all I can say in its favour," answered the skipper; "I was thinking, or dreaming rather, of a circumstance which I haven't thought of for many a year that I can remember, which occurred during my first voyage. However, I'll undertake to tell it you if, when I've done, Mr Clare will spin you one of his yarns. He can spin one better than I can. Come, make him promise, and I will begin. If not, I'll shut up my mouth."

On this, of course, we all turned on our fresh water tutor and attacked him. "Come; Mr Clare, do promise us to give us one of your stories. Something about your life in America; you saw a good many curious things out there in the backwoods, which we should like to hear. Do promise us, now." Thus appealed to, Mr Clare gave the desired promise; and on this the skipper, blowing his nose with his red bandanna, which he afterwards placed across his knees, began what I will call:—

THE CASTAWAYS. A TALE OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA.

"Land, ho! Land, ho!" was shouted one morning, soon after daybreak, from the mast-head. I was on my first voyage to the West Indies, in the good ship Banana.

"Where away?" asked the captain, whom the sound called out of his berth on deck.

"A little on the starboard bow," was the answer.

The ship was kept away towards the point indicated, while the captain, with his glass slung on his back, went aloft. The passengers, of whom I forgot to say we had several, and all the crew, were on the lookout, wondering what land it could be. We found, after the captain came below and had consulted his chart, that it was a little rock or key to the southward of Barbadoes.

"We'll get a nearer look at them, in case any poor fellows may have been cast away there. I have known the survivors of a ship's company remain on them for weeks together, and in some instances they have died of starvation before relief has reached them."

As we approached the rock all the glasses on board were directed towards it, to ascertain if there were signs of human beings there. The spot looked silent and deserted.

"If there are any poor fellows there, how eagerly they will watch our approach—how anxious they will be lest we should sail away without looking for them," I said to myself.

While these thoughts were passing through my mind, I heard the first mate say that he could make out something white on the shore, which he took for a tent or a boat's sail. As we drew nearer it became evident that there was a tent, but no human being was stirring that we could see. Nearer still a boat was observed, drawn up on the rocks. On further inspection she was discovered to be a complete wreck. Melancholy indeed was the spectacle which told so clearly its own story—how the shipwrecked mariners had been cast on the island in their boat—how they had gone on waiting for relief, and how at length famine had carried them off, one by one, till none remained. Still our captain was not a man to quit the spot after so cursory an inspection. The ship, having got under the lee of the land, was hove to, and a boat was lowered. Charley, another midshipman, or apprentice rather, and I formed part of her crew, while Mr Merton, our first officer, went in charge of her, accompanied by some of the passengers.

It was a long, low, coral-formed island, with a white beach—a very untempting spot for a habitation in that burning climate. When we landed, Mr Merton told us to accompany him, leaving two other men in the boat. We followed close after him, with the boat's stretchers in our hands, proceeding along the beach, for the tent we had seen was some little distance from where we had landed. We had got within a hundred yards of it, when suddenly part of it was thrown back, and out there rushed towards us two figures, whose frantic and threatening gestures made us start back with no little surprise, if not with some slight degree of apprehension. They were both tall, gaunt men, their hair was long and matted, their eyes were starting out of their heads, and their cheeks were hollow and shrivelled. They looked more like skeletons covered with parchment than human beings. Their clothes were in rags, and their large straw hats were in tatters, and, to increase their strange appearance, they had covered themselves with long streamers of dried seaweed, strings of shells, and wreaths of the feathers of wild birds. Each of them flourished in his hand a piece of timber—a rib, apparently, of a boat.

"Who are you, who dare to come and invade our territory?" exclaimed one, advancing before the other. "Away—away—away! We are monarchs and rulers here. This land is ours, won by our trusty swords and battle-axes. Away, I say! or meet the consequences of your temerity."

I was at first puzzled to know who the people could be, but our mate at once comprehended the true state of the case, and with great tact endeavoured to calm the strangers instead of irritating them, as many would have done.

"Don't be afraid that we are come to interfere with you, or to trespass on your territories, most mighty sovereigns, as you undoubtedly are," he answered, stopping short and holding up his hands. "Just hear what I have to say. Lower your weapons, and let us hoist a flag of truce."

"Granted, granted. Spoke like a sensible man, most worthy ambassadors," exclaimed the person who had hitherto not said anything. And both, lowering their clubs, stood still, gazing inquiringly at us. I had never before seen the effect of a few calm words, and a steady, determined look, in tranquillising the fury of madmen. Such were, undoubtedly, these unfortunate occupants of the island.