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

"Beg your honour's pardon," began Jack Brown, offering his hand to assist the astonished commander to rise.

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

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

"Silence, sir," roared the lieutenant. "Corporal, do your duty."

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

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

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

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

Of course there was no answer.

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

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

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

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

No answer, of course.

"Do you hear what I say, sir?"

The corporal did not stir or move a muscle.

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

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

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

"Mind my eyes, your honour," cried the corporal, flinching; "I ain't Mr Leigh."

"Where is he then?" cried the astonished lieutenant.

"Your honour won't cut me down if I speak?" said the corporal.

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

"Ain't come aboard, sir."

"Not come aboard? Here, Waters!"

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

"Where is Mr Leigh?"

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

"I say, where is Mr Leigh? You mutinous scoundrel, why don't you speak?"

"Honour said you'd cut me down if I did."

"Rubbish! Nonsense! Tell me, where is Mr Leigh?"

"Don't know, your honour."

"Don't know, sir? What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

"Will—you—speak—out—you—ras-cal?" cried the lieutenant.

"Don't know, your honour," growled Tom Tully; "only as Muster Leigh went off."

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

"Please your honour, I don't think as—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER TEN.

IN THE DARK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

On again, and then another stick-fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, if it is," he said, half aloud, "if he don't behave well to me he is no gentleman."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He listened.

Not a sound.

Strained his eyes.

All was blacker than the blackest night.

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

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



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

AN UNPLEASANT AWAKENING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A MORE PLEASANT AWAKENING, WITH A HUNGRY FIT.

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

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

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

"Hallo! Am I awake?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come to tea, Jack! Come to tea, Jack! Whips Kitty! Whips Kitty! Whips Kitty!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be quiet, will you," roared Hilary, "or I'll kill you, and eat you afterwards."

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

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



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

BREAKFAST UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't you know me, Addy?" he cried.

"Hilary! you here?"

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

"Oh, Hilary!" she cried.

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

"Wait a minute," cried the girl, turning to go.

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

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

"Hil! Hil!"

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

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

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

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

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

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'll get a chair."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was so precious hungry."

"I can see you were," cried Adela laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know, Hil."

"I do."

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

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

"Oh, Hilary!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, what nonsense!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Steady," he cried excitedly; "steady! Don't drink it all."

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, Addy, what a nice girl you have grown!"

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

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

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

"And who lives here?"

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

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

"About eight miles."

"Only eight miles? Well, how did I come here?"

"I don't know. I want to know."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"It seems like it."

"But where's everybody? I haven't heard a soul about till you came."

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

"Oh, then, I'm in a regular smuggler's den, I suppose. What place is this I am in?"

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

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

"Yes, they say one walks there sometimes."

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A TEMPTING OFFER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, and I'll pounce upon some of them," cried Hilary, "and carry them off."

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

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

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

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

"Adela is here," he said.

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

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

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

"You'll take some, Sir Henry?" he said sulkily.

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

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

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

"No, Sir Henry. After you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you believe in the Dutchman, Hilary?"

"I don't understand you, Sir Henry," said the young man.

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

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

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

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

"Well," said the latter, "what are you thinking?"

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

"What do I mean?" said Sir Henry thoughtfully.

He stopped and remained thinking.

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

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

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

"Perhaps I am wrong then," he said.

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

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

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

"On the Pretender's business," said Hilary sharply.

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

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

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

"Have me immediately set at liberty, Sir Henry."

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

"Yes."

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

"Of course."

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

"I'm to promise not to escape?"

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

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

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

"What is to become of my duty to my ship?"

"A prisoner of war has no duties."

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

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

"And followers of the Pretender," said Hilary sharply.

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

"Stuff!" cried Hilary.

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

"Yes, hang them!" cried Hilary.

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

"A few months!" cried Hilary.

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

"No!" cried Hilary quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And in the king's name I refuse, Master Hilary."

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

ANOTHER CRUISE ASHORE.

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

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

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

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

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

The lieutenant stormed and bade him make haste.

"You are disgracefully slow, sir," he exclaimed.

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

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

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

"That's just what I says," exclaimed Tom Tully.

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

"That's a true word," said one of the men, and several others agreed.

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

"Then I think we ought to go. I don't like the idee o' forsakin' of him."

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

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

"What's the good o' going then?" said the boatswain. "Why not go now?"

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

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

"Has that grog been served out, Waters?"

"No, your honour; it's just a-going to be done."

"Go and stop it."

"Stop it, your honour? The men's grog?"

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

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

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

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

"That's a good 'un," said Tom Tully.

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

"What good would that do?" said Billy Waters dubiously.

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

"Well?" said Billy Waters, "I don't see that that would have been no good neither."

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

"That's it," chorussed several of the men.

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

"Ah! but he won't," said the boatswain. "Men's too scarce."

"Well, I wouldn't have gone ashore in the boat," said one man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ar'n't no grease," growled Tom.

"Then why didn't you get a bit out of a lantern afore you come aboard?"

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

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

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

"Not werry far," said the man pulling behind him.

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

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

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

"Why, ar'n't I a-telling of you?—me," growled Tom Tully.

"Well, what's the matter now?" said the gunner.

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

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

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

"Well, come now," said the gunner, "speak out will you? What's the matter?"

"Oh, I don't want to speak out unless you like," said Tom.

"Yes, come, out with it, and don't let's have no mutinous, onderhanded ways," cried the gunner importantly.

"Well, what I want to know is, what we're a-going for ashore?"

"Now just hark at him," cried the gunner, "grumbling again. Why, ar'n't we going to look after our young orsifer?"

"Then why didn't we come in the daytime, and not wait until it was getting so pitch dark as you can't see your hand afore your eyes?"

Billy Waters scratched his head.

"Well, it is getting dark, old Tommy, sartinly," he said apologetically.

"Dark as Davy Jones's locker," growled Tom. "I wants to find Muster Leigh as much as anybody, but you can't look if you can't see."

"That's a true word anyhow," said one of the men.

"It's my belief as our skipper's pretty nigh mad," continued Tom, giving a vicious jerk at his oar, "or else he wouldn't be sending us ashore at this time o' night."

"Well, it is late, Tommy," said the gunner; "but we must make the best on it."

"Yah! There ar'n't no best on it. All we can do is to get ashore, sit down on the sand, and shout out, 'Muster Leigh, ahoy!'"

"There, it ar'n't no use to growl again, Tom Tully," said Billy Waters, reassuming his dignified position of commanding officer. "Give way, my lads."

The men took long, steady strokes, and soon after the boat glided right in over the calm phosphorescent waves, four men leaped out as her bows touched the sand, and as the next wave lifted her, they ran her right up; the others leaped out and lent a hand, and the next minute the boat was high and dry.

"Now then, my lads," cried the gunner, "what I propose is that we try and find our landmarks, and as soon as we have hit the place where Master Leigh left us we'll all hail as loud as we can, and then wait for an answer."

Tom Tully growled out something in reply, it was impossible to say what, and leaving one man to act as boatkeeper, they all set off together along the shore.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

ATTACK AND DEFEAT.

Tom Tully had marked down a towering portion of the cliff as being over the spot where they had lost sight of their young officer, and, as it happened, that really was pretty close to the place, so, trudging on in silence after giving a glance in the direction where the cutter lay, now seen only as a couple of lights about a mile from the shore, they soon reached the rocks, where the gunner called a halt.

"Now, my lads," he said, "get all of a row, face inwards, and make ready to hail. We'll give him one good 'Kestrel ahoy!' and that'll wake him up, wherever he is. Hallo! stop that chap! There, he's dodged behind that big stone."

The men wanted no further inducement than the sight of some one trying to avoid them.

In an instant the quiet stolid row of men were dashing here and there among the rocks in chase of a dark figure, which, from a thorough knowledge of the ground, kept eluding them, darting between the rocks, scrambling over others; and had he had to deal with a couple of pursuers he would have escaped at once, but he had too many on his track, and fortune was rather against him, so that several times over he ran right upon one or other of the party and was nearly taken.

The activity of the young man, for such he seemed to be, was something marvellous; and again and again he made a tremendous leap, scrambled over the rocks, and escaped. The last time, however, he dropped down in a narrow place that formed quite a cul-de-sac, and right in front of Tom Tully.

"What! have I got you?" cried the great stolid fellow; and he made a dash forward, straddling out his legs as if on board ship, when, to his intense astonishment, his quarry bent down, dashed at him, ducked between his knees, struggling through, and throwing the great sailor headlong flat upon his face.

The shout Tom Tully gave brought up Billy Waters; and as the stranger recovered his feet to escape in a fresh direction, he ran right into the gunner's arms, to be held with a grip like iron.

The man had his arms free, however, and putting his fingers into his mouth he gave vent to a piercing whistle, close to the gunner's ear.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Billy Waters. "Well, my lad, I sha'n't let you go any the more for that. Here, lend a hand my lads, and lash his wristies and elbows together. We've got him, and we'll keep him till we get back Muster Leigh. Now then, Tom Tully, you hold him while I lash his wristies. That's your style. I say, he won't get away once I—Look at that!"

Tom Tully had, as he thought, taken a good hold of the prisoner, when the man gave himself a sudden wrench, dived under the gunner's arm, and was gone.

"Well, of all—" began Tom Tully.

"Why didn't you hold him?" cried the gunner.

"I thought he was a man and not a slippery eel," cried Tom Tully. "He's for all the world like one o' them big congers Muster Leigh caught off Hastings."

"Yes," cried the gunner, "but he did hold 'em when he caught 'em. Look out, my lads! he come your way."

The men were well on the alert this time, and one of them, in spite of the darkness, saw which way the prisoner had taken, that being none other than the narrow passage between the rocks which Hilary had found.

He saw him go down here, and then caught sight of him as he climbed over the rock.

"This way," shouted the sailor as he scrambled over after the escaping man, got into the chasm on the other side, and then following him, just in time to hear a dull, heavy thud, and his mate staggered back against him half stunned by a heavy blow.

Just then there was a sharp whiz; and he felt the wind of a blow aimed at him from the rocks above his head, to which he replied by lugging out his hanger and dealing a vigorous blow at his unseen enemy, but without effect.

"Here, this way," he shouted. "Waters! Tom Tully! Here they are."

A sturdy "Ahoy!" came in response, just as the first man began to scramble to his feet and stood rubbing his head.

"Where away?" cried Billy Waters.

"Here ho!" replied both the men in the narrow pass; and beading the rest of the party, the gunner, after another hail or two, scrambled over and joined the two first men, every one of the party now having his unsheathed cutlass in his hand.

"Well," cried the gunner excitedly, "where are they?"

"Close here," said the man who had received the blow. "One of 'em hit me with a handspike."

"And some one cut at me from up above on the rocks," cried the other.

The gunner held up his hand to command silence, and then listened attentively.

"Why there ar'n't no one," he cried in tones of disgust. "You Joe Harris, you run up again a rock; and as for you, Jemmy Leeson, you've been asleep."

The two men indignantly declared that they had spoken the truth; but with an impatient "Pish!" the gunner went forward along the narrow way.

"Here, come along," he said; and as the words left his lips those behind heard a heavy blow, and Billy Waters came hastily back.

"That ain't fancy," said one of the men, "unless Billy hit his head again the rocks."

"It warn't my head," whispered the gunner drawing in his breath, and trying to suppress the pain. "It caught me right on the left shoulder. I shall be all right directly, my lads, and we'll give it 'em. I'll bet that's how they sarved poor Master Leigh; and we've dropped right into the proper spot. Just wait till I get my breath a bit."

"Think it's the smugglers?" said Tom Tully.

"Sartain," was the reply. "I wish we had a lantern or two. But never mind. If we can't see to hit them, they can't see to hit us; so it's broad as it's long."

"We shall want the pistols, shan't we?" said one of the men.

"Pistols? no," cried the gunner. "Stick to your whingers, lads. It's no use to fire a piece without you can take good aim, and you can't do that in the dark—it's only waste of powder. Now, then, are you ready?"

"Ay, ay," was whispered back in the midst of the ominous silence that prevailed.

"Then look here," cried the gunner, "I shall go in at 'em roosh; and if they downs me, don't you mind, lads, but keep on; go over me at once and board the place."

"Lookye here," growled Tom Tully, "I'm 'bout as hard as iron; they won't hurt me. Let me go fust, capten."

As he spoke the great fellow spat in his hand before taking a tighter grip of his weapon, and making a step forward.

"Just you keep aft, will yer, Tom Tully, and obey orders?" said the gunner, seizing the great fellow by the tail and dragging him back. "I'm skipper here, and I'm going to lead. Now, lads, are you all ready?"

"Ay, ay," was the reply.

"Then I ar'n't," said the gunner. "That crack pretty nigh split my shoulder. Now I am. Close up, and hit hard. We're all right, my lads; they're smugglers, and they hit us fust."

The gunner made a dash forward, and, as they had expected, a concealed enemy struck a tremendous blow at him; but Billy Waters was a sailor, and accustomed to rapid action. By quickness of movement and ready wit he avoided the blow, which, robbed of a good deal of its force, struck Tom Tully full in the chest, stopping him for a moment, but only serving to infuriate him, as, recovering himself, he dashed on after the gunner.

A sharp fight ensued, for now, as the sailors forced their way on, they found plenty of antagonists. Most of them seemed to be armed with stout clubs like capstan-bars, with which they struck blow after blow of the most formidable character from where they kept guard at various turns of the narrow passage, while the sailors could not reach them with their short cutlasses.

It was sharp work, and with all their native stubbornness the little party fought their way on, attacking and carrying yard after yard of the passage, forcing the smugglers to retreat from vantage ground to vantage ground, and always higher and higher up the rocks.

The attacking party were at a terrible disadvantage, for the place was to them like a maze, while the smugglers kept taking them in the rear, and striking at them from the most unexpected positions, till the sailors were hot with a rage that grew fiercer with every blow.

At the end of ten minutes two of the men were down, and the gunner and Tom Tully panting and breathless with their exertions; but far from feeling beaten they were more eager than ever to come to close quarters with their antagonists, for, in addition to the fighting spirit roused within them, they were inflamed with the idea of the large stores of smuggled goods that they would capture: velvets and laces and silks in endless quantities, with kegs of brandy besides. That they had hit accidentally upon the party who had seized Mr Leigh they had not a doubt, and so they fought bravely on till they reached a narrower pass amongst the rocks than any they had yet gone through. So narrow was it that they could only approach in single file, and, hemmed in as they were with the rocks to right and left, the attack now resolved itself into a combat of two—to wit, Billy Waters and a great broad-shouldered fellow who disputed his way. The men who backed up the big smuggler were apparently close behind him; but it was now too dark to see, and, to make matters worse for the gunner, there was no room for him to swing his cutlass; all he could do was to make clumsy stabs with the point, or try to guard himself from the savage thrusts made at him with the capstan bar or club by the smuggler.