By the bye, it is rather curious that at least half my messmates who confided their attachments to me were in love with young ladies of the name of Mary. Sometimes, I suspect, they were myths, but they did equally well to talk about. To a sailor's ear there is something very attractive in the name; certainly I have known several most charming Maries, and one especially—but I am not going to make confessions.

The Pearl sailed well, and kept easily in company with us. After getting clear of Jamaica we stood to the eastward, to run down among the French islands, where we might have a chance of falling in with some of the privateers starting on their cruise. We had before long done a good deal of mischief among them; we captured three, sunk one, burnt another, and drove two on shore. At last, one morning at daybreak, a large schooner was reported in sight, standing to the southward. Both we and the corvette made all sail in chase. There was no doubt that she was an enemy, as she spread all the canvas she could set for the purpose of escaping. The wind was light, which was to her advantage, and from the first it seemed very doubtful that we should overtake the chase. Still, while there was a chance, Captain Collyer was not the man to give it up. The wind was about abeam. The corvette was ordered to keep well to windward, to prevent the schooner from hauling up, and thus escaping; while there was no doubt that, should she attempt to escape before the wind, fast as she might sail we should come up with her. Our aim was to jam her down on the land, as we had done other vessels, when we should drive her on shore or capture her.

During the morning I was several times on the forecastle, where I found McAllister with his glass eagerly fixed on the chase.

"I am certain of it," he exclaimed. "As true as I'm a Highland gentleman, and my name is McAllister, that craft ahead of us is the Audacieuse. I know her by second sight, or, if you don't believe in it, by the cut of her canvas, even at this distance. I'm certain of it. I would give my patrimony, and more wealth than I am ever likely to possess, to come up with her. I'll make Lieutenant Preville pay dearly for the trick he played us."

Though I thought very likely that the schooner in sight was our former prize, I could not be certain. Neither were the men who had been with us, nor were the crew of the Espoir at all certain as to the vessel in sight. As Ned Bambrick observed, "She might be her, or she might not be her; but one French schooner, at the distance of seven or eight miles, looked very like another, and that's all I can say, do ye see, sir, for certain. The only way is to overhaul her, and then we shall know."

Perigal was inclined to side with McAllister, from the satisfaction which the so doing afforded him; indeed, he now appeared in far better spirits than he had done since our mishap.

At last the breeze freshened, and we rose the land, the coast of Cuba, beyond the chase. Her chance of escape was consequently much lessened, unless she could haul up along shore, or there was any harbour up which she might run for shelter. We were now clearly gaining on her, and as we drew nearer McAllister became more and more certain that she was the Audacieuse, while others also agreed with him. I, of course, hoped that he was right.

"We will make Preville cook for us. He shall be employed in dressing ragouts all day long," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands. "But I hope he won't yield without fighting. I wish it would fall calm, and I may be sent in command of the boats to take him. That would be the most satisfactory thing."

I agreed with him in the latter point, but argued that the Frenchmen had only treated us as we should have attempted to treat them under similar circumstances, so that we had no reason to complain, while they had also behaved most liberally to us when giving us a boat to reach Jamaica. My poor messmate was, however, far too excited to listen to reason.

The day wore on. Nothing would induce McAllister to leave the deck. We sent him up some cold meat and biscuit for dinner, but he would scarcely touch the food, continually keeping his eye on the chase. The day was advancing, and we were drawing in with the land. It was still uncertain whether we should catch her, as she might more easily escape us during darkness. We were about two miles from the land, against the dark outline of which her sails appeared shining brightly in the rays of the sun, just sinking into the ocean. The wind was dropping. If the land breeze came off, we might not be able to work up to her, though she might anchor, and then McAllister's wish would be gratified.

I had returned to the forecastle, where a good many of the officers were assembled, watching the chase. The sun had sunk below the horizon. The gloom came down with a rapidity unknown in northern latitudes. There was the schooner. Our eyes were on her. Suddenly she disappeared. McAllister stamped with his foot, and I thought would have dashed his glass on the deck, when he could no longer discover her. So unexpectedly had the chase vanished that some began to pronounce her the Flying Dutchman, or a phantom craft of that description. The master, however, very soon appeared, and announced the fact that inside of us was a strongly-fortified harbour, and that of course the cause of the chase being no longer seen was that she had run up it, and rapidly furled her sails.

We now hauled off the land, and hove-to, and Captain Ceaton coming on board, it was agreed that an attempt should be made to cut out the schooner, and any other vessels which might be in the harbour. The plan was very simple. The marines, with a party of seamen, were to land and attack the forts in the rear, while the ships' boats, manned by all the blue jackets who could be spared, were to take possession of the vessels in the harbour, if they could.

The harbour was reported as strongly fortified, and it was important, therefore, if possible, to take the enemy by surprise. The captains consequently resolved to put off the attack till another night. This did not suit poor McAllister's impatience. He was eager to commence the undertaking without delay.

The two ships now stood off to such a distance that they could not be seen from the shore, and we then hove-to. All those to be employed were busily preparing for the work in hand. It was understood that it would be far more severe than anything in which we had yet engaged. Captain Ceaton begged leave to lead the expedition, and, Mr Bryan being ill, Mr Fitzgerald was to be second in command. The land forces were led by Lieutenant Fig of the marines. Though his name was short, he was not; and he was, moreover, a very gallant fellow. The second lieutenant of the corvette had charge of the boats for landing the soldiers. In such exploits it is seldom that the senior captain himself commands; indeed, they are generally confided to the lieutenants who have their commissions to win. McAllister, to his great satisfaction, got command of one boat, with Grey as his companion; and Mr Johnson, whom I accompanied, took charge of another. We were to have three boats from the frigate, and two from the corvette, the rest being employed in landing the soldiers. My cousin was unwell, and in the evening his surgeon sent on board to say that he was utterly unfit to accompany the proposed expedition, the command of which was therefore claimed by Mr Fitzgerald.

"If it was daylight, his phiz would go far to secure us the victory," observed Perigal, who did not hold our eccentric second lieutenant in high estimation. "However, he can shriek, and that is something."

As soon as it was dark, we once more stood towards the land, but the night wind came off, and we worked up at a slow rate, which sorely tried our patience. The hours of darkness passed by; still, we had night enough left to do the work. The ships hove-to, and the boats were piped away. My heart beat high. I longed almost as much as McAllister to regain possession of the Audacieuse, should the schooner prove to be her. There was no time to be lost, lest daylight might surprise us. We shoved off, and away we went right merrily, with muffled oars, the men bending their backs to them with a will.

There was supposed to be a little cove outside the chief harbour, and here the soldiers were to land and form. A rocket sent up by our part of the expedition, as soon as we were alongside the schooner or discovered by the enemy, was to be the signal for the soldiers to advance and storm the works. At some little distance from the harbour's mouth we parted from the land forces, and now still more rapidly we advanced. On a hill overlooking the harbour we could distinguish the outline of a formidable-looking fort, or rather castle; while close under its guns lay, not only the schooner, but rising up, with the tracery of their spars and rigging pencilled against the sky, appeared a large three-masted ship, either a heavy corvette or a frigate, with three or four more vessels moored head and stern of her, while the schooner lay more out, with her guns pointing down the harbour—so that, to get at her, we should have to pass under the fire of all the rest, while the guns from the fort above could plunge their fire right down upon us.

The tide was running strong out of the harbour, and the grey streaks of dawn were already appearing in the east. These circumstances might be to our advantage, if we were once in possession of the schooner, but were at present very much against us. What other officers might have done in a similar case I am not prepared to say; but Paddy Fitzgerald was not the man to turn his back on an enemy till he had crossed blades with him. So on we pulled, rather slowly though, against the current. I hoped that the enemy had not discovered us, for it seemed as if no watch even was kept on board the vessels, and that all their crews were wrapped in sleep.

"Don't be too sure of that," whispered Mr Johnson. "They are not like heavy-sterned Dutchmen or Russians; these Frenchmen always sleep with one eye open."

Whether he was right or not I do not know, but just as the boats, all keeping close together in beautiful order, had got abreast of the lowest vessel, our eccentric leader, either by accident or on purpose, for the sake of giving the enemy a better chance of knocking us to pieces, sent up the rocket right over their heads. The first whiz must have startled the sleeping watch, and in a few seconds drums were heard beating to quarters, and officers bawling and shouting, and lights gleaming about in all directions. The crew of the schooner, too, gave evidence that they were on the alert, for several shots came flying down the harbour over our heads. They had not got the range, but they would soon. Mr Fitzgerald's voice was heard shouting—

"We've awoke them up. Erin go bragh! Hurra, lads! push on!"

A deep voice was heard joining the shout, "For the schooner! The schooner's our aim!" It was that of McAllister.

On shore, too, and in the fort, there was a great commotion; drums there also were beating, and officers calling the garrison to the ramparts, while bright flashes and the rattle of musketry showed that those of the land expedition were well performing their part of the undertaking.

We dashed on as fast as we could urge the boats against the current, right under the broadsides of the corvette and other vessels, which began pouring in on us a terrific fire of great guns and small-arms, which soon made fearful havoc among our crews. Still we pulled on. Three men in the boatswain's boat had been struck, one of whom was killed, when a shower of grape-shot came plunging down directly into her, killing another man, and tearing right through her sides. She filled rapidly. A cry arose from our poor fellows, as they found themselves sinking. We were close to another boat. Mr Johnson, seizing one of the wounded men, and telling me to follow him, and the coxswain grasping the other, we all leaped into her. We found she was McAllister's. Two men in her were killed, and poor Grey lay in the stern-sheets badly hurt. McAllister was all excitement, utterly regardless of the shot like hail flying round him, and urging the men to pull towards the schooner. We had nearly reached her, when Mr Fitzgerald, who had hitherto been cheering on the men, fell back wounded, giving the order, as he did so, to retreat. It was too evident that success was no longer possible; one quarter of the party were either killed or wounded, and many more must be lost before we could ever gain the deck of the schooner. McAllister thought differently; the object for which he had so long been wishing seemed within his grasp. He sprang forward, and in the grey light of morning I could see his figure as he stood up, and waving his hand, shouted—

"My name is McAllister, of ancient lineage, and the rightful owner of a broad estate in the Highlands, and it shall never be said that I turned my back to the foe. On, lads, and the Audacieuse will be ours!"

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when a round-shot struck him on the breast and knocked him overboard, before anyone could grasp him. Instantly Mr Johnson sprang up, and shouted—

"My name is not McAllister, and I haven't an acre of land in Scotland or elsewhere, and so give way, my lads, with the starboard oars, and back with the larboard ones, and let us get out of this as fast as we can, or not one of us will have a whole skin to cover his bones."

The men obeyed. I was very glad they did, for I had had quite enough of the work, and getting the boat round, the current soon carried us out of the hottest part of the fire. Still the shot came whistling after us, and when I considered the terrific fire to which we had been so long exposed, I could only feel thankful at finding myself and any of my companions still in the land of the living. As it was, two of our boats were knocked to pieces and sunk, and fully half those who had formed the expedition were either killed or wounded.

My attention was now turned towards my friend Grey, who lay in the stern-sheets groaning with pain. I was stooping forward to bind my handkerchief over his arm, when a round-shot flew by, which Mr Johnson told me would have taken off my head had I been sitting upright. For his sake, and that of the wounded men, I was very anxious to return on board, but I found that we had first to go in and cover the embarkation of the soldiers, in case they had been defeated and followed, or to give them notice of our failure should they still be persevering in the attack. On getting into the little harbour, no one was found on the beach, and I was therefore despatched to direct Lieutenant Fig to retire. It was an undertaking of no little hazard, for I might be made a prisoner by the enemy, or lose my way and be unable to return to the harbour.

Toby Bluff, who had stowed himself away in one of the other boats, entreated that he might be allowed to accompany me. I was very glad to have a companion. Two people can often carry out an object in which one may fail.

Off we set, having taken the supposed bearings of the fort, as fast as we could manage to get along through the gloom. The first part of our path was through sand, with rocks sticking up here and there, over which we stumbled several times, and broke our shins, but we picked ourselves up as well as we could, and not having time to give them a rub, hurried on. We were soon among maize fields, and then some coffee or other plantations, but fortunately there were no tall trees near yet further to darken the road. The path was somewhat rough, but I believed that it was the only one leading to the fort. The firing had entirely ceased. I could not, however, tell whether this was a good or a bad sign; whether our marines had entered the fort, or had been driven back. Eager to ascertain, and to deliver my orders, we continued to push on. Suddenly, as we were passing a narrow place, with thick bushes on either side, some large hands were laid on my shoulders, and a rough negro voice said—

"Qui etes-vous, jeunes gens?"

"Amis, j'espere," I replied readily, summoning to my aid a large proportion of the French I had learned from Colonel Pinchard.

"Ou allez-vous donc?" was next asked.

This was a puzzler, for I could not remember the name of the fort, or, indeed, of a castle in French. Another big negro had caught Toby Bluff, and, of course, could elicit no information from him. They both laughed, as I fancied, at my attempts to speak French. I wanted to escape, if possible, without fighting; but when I found that we were discovered, I put my hand to my belt to draw a pistol. It was immediately grasped by my captors, and wrenched out of my hand, exploding at the moment, though fortunately without injuring me. The negro was lightly clad, and possessed of three times my strength, so that I in vain struggled to free myself from him. Toby also was completely overpowered, and they now began dragging us along up the hill.

I felt very uncomfortable. We had failed in the object of our expedition, and I thought we should either be knocked on the head by our captors, or perhaps be shot for spies by the French, while, at all events, if allowed to live, we should be kept as prisoners for months or years to come. Worked up to desperation by these ideas, I struggled violently to get free, calling to Toby to do the same. In my struggles, I fortunately gave my captor a severe kick on the shins, when he, instinctively stooping down to rub them, let go his hold. At the same moment, on my telling Toby what I had done, he imitated my example, and also getting free, off we set at full speed, pursued by the negroes. Where we were going I could not tell, except that we were not running towards the shore. The negroes, having stopped for a few moments to rub their shins, came along almost as fast as we did, shrieking and shouting out to us all the time to stop. The louder they shouted the faster we ran, till we were brought up with the point of a bayonet, and the challenge of:—

"Who goes there?"

"Friend—Doris!" I answered, recognising the voice of one of our marines.

The negroes, hearing an Englishman speak, bolted off through a plantation to the right, tumbling over each other, and had we been quick about it, we might have made them both prisoners. The marine told us that his party was a little farther in advance, that they had been defeated in the attempt to storm the fort, and that Lieutenant Fig was waiting for further orders. We hurried on. Daylight was making rapid strides, and as the French would soon discover the smallness of our numbers, we should have their whole force down upon us, and we should be cut to pieces or taken prisoners.

As soon as I had delivered the order to the marine officer, he gave the word, "March—double-quick," and off we set at a pretty smart run. Drums and fifes were sounding in the fort, and as we crossed a ridge, I saw from the top of it a large body of troops coming out of the gate in pursuit of us. We could not proceed faster than we were marching, on account of the wounded, who were carried by the bluejackets in the centre of the party. As it was, I perceived that many of the poor fellows, from the groans to which they gave vent, were suffering dreadfully. Still it was impossible to leave them behind, for though the French might have treated them with humanity, the negroes would probably have murdered them, had they fallen into their hands. Daylight was increasing, of course exposing us more clearly to the enemy. I never before had had to run away, and I cannot say that I liked the feeling, still there can be no doubt that in this instance discretion was the best part of valour. It would have been folly to stop and fight, as at any moment parties might appear, landed from the vessels we had attacked, and who might cut us off. The lieutenant of the Pearl, who commanded the seamen, had been killed in the attack, so that the entire command devolved on Lieutenant Fig, and, to do him justice, he behaved with great judgment.

The enemy, in strong force, were now rapidly approaching us. At length we came in sight of the boats: the wounded were sent on, while the rest of the party faced about to encounter our foes. On they came, but the steady front exhibited by the marines made them halt. Once more they advanced. We received them with a hot fire, and stood our ground, driving them back to some distance, but only for a few minutes, for as we were about to continue our retreat, again they came on, expecting by their greatly superior numbers to overwhelm us. Again and again they charged us. Several of our men had fallen, and it was too evident that they would soon cut us to pieces. Should we be once thrown into disorder, we should be destroyed before we could reach the boats. I found, too, that our ammunition was almost expended. Again the enemy came on, when, at the same moment, a loud huzza was heard in the rear, led by a voice which I recognised as that of Jonathan Johnson, and on he came at the head of some twenty bluejackets, flourishing their cutlasses like a body of Highlanders, and shouting at the top of their voices. This timely support encouraged our men, and charging at the same moment, we drove the enemy headlong before us.

I had picked up a musket, and charged with the rest, and was carried by my ardour, or from not knowing exactly what I was about, ahead of my companions. I felt excited and highly delighted. The Frenchmen, however, as they retreated, faced about every now and then, and fired. As I was cheering lustily, a shot struck me, and I fell. I thought no one had noticed me, as I heard Lieutenant Fig give the order to retreat. The enemy at the same moment halted, and encouraged by the arrival of another officer, they again came on. It seemed all up with me, but my faithful follower, Toby Bluff, had seen me fall, and, springing forward, he threw himself in front of me, shouting—

"If any on you Johnny Crapeaus dares to hurt the young measter, now he's down, I'll have the life out of you!"

Struck by Toby's bravery, the Frenchmen for a moment hung back, but they were again coming on, and would soon have overpowered him, when, on looking up, I saw Mr Johnson stooping over me. In a moment he had lifted me, as if I had been a baby, on his left arm, and, telling Toby to run, with his cutlass in his right hand, he kept the Frenchmen who pressed on him at bay.

Thus fighting and retreating we reached the boats, and one of them having brought her bow-gun to bear on the enemy, loaded with grape, kept them at a respectable distance, while the rest of us embarked. They did not, indeed, approach the shore till we were fairly off, and though they peppered us with musketry, only one or two men were slightly hurt. However, altogether our expedition had been more disastrous than any in which I had ever been engaged.

With heavy hearts we pulled on board. Mr Johnson, with the gentleness of a woman, bound up my wound. Poor Grey lifted up his head as he saw me placed by his side in the stern-sheets, and said—

"What, Merry, are you hurt too? There will be no need of shamming this time, to deceive Macquoid."

"I am afraid not," I answered faintly. "But still I hope that we may live to fight the Frenchmen another day."

"No fear of that, young gentlemen," said Mr Johnson, who had overheard us. "Keep up your spirits; young flesh and sinews soon grow together, and there are no bones broken in either of you, I hope."

We all got at length safely on board, when the wounded were without delay carried below, and placed under the surgeon's care. He repeated the boatswain's advice to Grey and me, and told us that if we followed it we should soon be well. Two or three of the poor fellows brought on board alive, died of their wounds that night. We heard that Captain Collyer and Commander Ceaton were very much cut up at the failure of the expedition, and the loss of so many officers and men. I was especially sorry for McAllister's death. Though eccentric in some of his notions, he was every inch an officer and a gentleman.

We at once made sail, I understood, from the fatal spot, but the general wish was that we might fall in with the schooner elsewhere, or return and take her.

Before many days had passed, I received a visit from my cousin. Sorrow had worked a sad change in him, and I felt grieved as I looked up at his countenance, at the bad report I should have to give of him to poor Bertha.

It was fortunate for Grey and me that we kept at sea, for the weather was tolerably cool, and our hurts rapidly healed.

The Doris had now been nearly four years in commission, so that we expected, as soon as the cruise was up, to be sent home. We had all had enough of the West Indies, and we looked forward with eager satisfaction to the time when the white cliffs of Old England should once more greet our eyes. One sorrow only broke in on our anticipations of pleasure. It was when we thought of our gallant shipmates who had been cut off, who had hoped, as we were doing, once more to be united to those they loved so dearly at home. I should have been more sorry for Perigal than for anybody else, had he been killed, but happily neither bullet nor fever seemed to hurt him, and I hoped that he might once more be united to his wife. I thought, too, of poor McAllister's Mary, and of the sad news I should have to convey to her. However, I cannot say that I indulged in these, or other mournful reflections, for any length of time. I was more thoughtful than I had been when I came to sea four years ago, but that was only at times when some occurrences made me think. Generally I spoke of myself as Merry by name and merry by nature, and was, I fear, still but a harum-scarum fellow after all.

As may be supposed, the general subject of conversation in the berth or during the night-watches, was home. Those who have never been from home, can scarcely understand the pleasure seamen experience, who have been long absent, in simply talking about returning home. There they expect to find peace, and quiet, and rest, those who love them, and can sympathise with them, and listen to their accounts of all their exploits, and dangers, and hardships. Such at that time were my feelings, and those of my friend Grey, but I am very certain that they cannot be the feelings of those who have given way to vicious habits, and whose only expectation is to enjoy their more unbridled indulgence. The thought of a pure and quiet home can afford no joy to them; they lose, I may say, one of the chief recompenses which those obtain whose duty calls them away from home, and all the loved ones there.

Still our hope was deferred. We were, however, the gainers, in one respect, by this, for we took some of the richest prizes captured on the station, so that even we midshipmen began to feel that we were persons of boundless wealth. At length our orders arrived, and the shout ran along the decks—

"Hurrah, we are homeward-bound!"



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

To England we with favouring gale, Our gallant ship up Channel steer; When running under easy sail, The light blue western cliffs appear.

How often and often have those cheerful lines been sung by young, and light, and happy hearts, beating high with anticipations of happiness, and thoughts of the homes they are about to revisit after long years of absence. Such was the song sung in the midshipmen's berth of the Doris, as once more our gallant frigate entered the chops of the Channel, and we were looking forward to seeing again those western cliffs which often and often we had pictured to ourselves awake, and seen in our dreams asleep.

I will not dwell on the feeling with which "Sweethearts and wives" was drunk on the last Saturday evening in the midshipmen's berth as well as in every mess in the ship; not that the young gentlemen themselves had any one who could properly be designated as one or the other, but they might hope to have, and that was the next thing to it.

I thought of poor McAllister, cut down in his early manhood, and of his poor Mary, and I resolved if possible to fulfil his request, and to go and tell her about him. It was a task I would gladly have avoided. Then again, what an unsatisfactory account I must give to Bertha of poor Ceaton. His expectation of dying soon might be mere fancy, but it was very evident that his spirits had never recovered the shock he had received when he killed Captain Staghorn, and he felt himself branded with the mark of Cain.

I was far from recovered from my last wound, and, altogether, my anticipations of pleasure were tempered with many causes for sorrow. However, I do not wish to appear sentimental, though I do wish to hint that midshipmen, even when returning home, must not expect to find unclouded happiness.

We had still some leagues to traverse, and it was possible that we might fall in with an enemy, and have another battle to fight, before we could reach home. Not that any one had any objection to so doing; on the contrary, no one expected for a moment that we could meet an enemy without coming off the victor, and being able to sail into Portsmouth harbour with our prize. A sharp look-out was accordingly kept on every side, as we sailed up Channel, but by that time few French cruisers remained daring enough to show themselves near the British coasts, and the Needle Rocks at length hove in sight, and with a leading breeze we ran up inside the Isle of Wight, and anchored at Spithead among a large fleet there assembled.

After waiting two days, uncertain as to our fate, we received orders to go into harbour to be paid off. I need not describe the operation, nor the scenes which took place after it. Each man received a considerable sum, and I believe that before many days were over, half the number had spent, in the most childish way, the larger portion, and some, every shilling of their hard-earned gains, and were ready again to go afloat.

Most of the officers had gone on shore, and Spellman, and Grey, and I, and other midshipmen, were preparing to take our departure, when we went to bid farewell to Mr Johnson.

"Mr Merry, I hope that we shall not part just yet," he said with great feeling, taking my hand. "The ship is to be left in charge of the gunner, and I have obtained leave to go up to London to visit my wife, and for other reasons. Now it will afford me great pleasure if you and Mr Grey will make my house your resting-place on your way home, or rather I should say my wife's house, for, as I told you, she is a lady of independent fortune. Indeed, Mr Merry, friends as we are afloat, I know the customs of the service too well to ask you, a quarter-deck officer, to my house under other circumstances."

"Don't speak of that, Mr Johnson," said I, feeling sure that he would be pleased if I accepted his invitation, and wishing perhaps a little to gratify my own curiosity. "I shall be delighted to go to your house. You forget how much I am indebted to you for having several times saved my life, and that puts us on an equality on shore, if not on board; besides, remember I know all about your wife, and I do not think that I ever returned you the letter you gave me for her when you thought you might be killed."

"All right, Mr Merry; don't let's have any protestations; we're brother seamen and shipmates, and thoroughly appreciate each other, though some of the incidents I mentioned in my wonderful narratives might shake some people's confidence in my veracity," he remarked, again grasping my hand.

"However, that is neither here nor there. You understand me, and that's enough. If you and Mr Grey like, we will take a post-chaise between us, and post up to town. I am impatient to be at home, and you will have no objection, I dare say, to whisk as fast along the road as four posters can make the wheels go round."

Grey and I willingly agreed to Mr Johnson's proposition. Spellman was not asked, and had he been, we concluded that he would not have accepted the invitation, so we said nothing about it to him. We had a jolly paying-off dinner, with the usual speeches, and compliments, and toasts. After the health of the King was drunk and all the Royal family, and other important personages, Mr Bryan got up and said—

"Now, gentlemen, I have to propose the health of a shipmate, of, I may say, a brother officer of mine, Lieutenant Perigal, with three times three." Saying this, he pulled out of his pocket one of those long official documents, such as are well-known to emanate from my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty.

"Come at last! hurrah!—well, it will make my dear wife happy," were the first words the delighted Perigal could utter. I honoured him for them. Faithful and honest, he was a true sailor. I afterwards had the pleasure of meeting his young wife, and she was worthy of all the eulogiums he had delighted when absent to pass on her. He had picked up a fair share of prize-money, otherwise his half-pay of ninety pounds a year was not much on which to support a wife and to keep up the appearance of a gentleman. I was in hopes that Mr Bryan would himself have been promoted, but he was not. Mr Fitzgerald, however, very shortly afterwards received his commission as a commander. Bobus declared that it was because he had stood on his head before the King and made him laugh, or because he had amused some other great person by one of his wonderful stories. I met him one day, and congratulated him.

"Ah, merit, merit does everything, Mr Merry, next to zeal," he exclaimed, with a chuckle.

"You always were a zealous officer; and now I think of it, you are the very midshipman who took off his trousers and blew into them, when no other sail or wind was to be had for love or money, and the captain was in a hurry to get your boat back. I've often told the story since of you, and set it all down to your zeal."

"Well, let this be your consolation, if others do not recognise your services, I will when I am one of the Lords of the Admiralty."

"Well, sir," said I, "I hope that you will make haste to climb up into that honourable position, or the war will be over, and I shall not have secured my commission." I did not think that it would be polite to have replied, I thank you for nothing, but certainly I did not expect ever to benefit much by his patronage.

To return to the paying-off dinner. I wish that I could say that all present retired quietly to their respective inns and lodgings as sober as judges; but, with the exception of Grey and me, I believe that not one could have managed to toe a plank, had they been suddenly ordered to make the attempt. I speak of things as they were in those days, not as they are now. Happily at the present day it is considered highly disgraceful for an officer to be drunk; and not only is it disgraceful, but subversive of discipline, whether he is on or off duty, and thus injurious to the interests of the service, and prejudicial to his own health and morals. Taking the matter up only in a personal point of view, how can a man tell how he will behave when he has allowed liquor to steal away his wits? what mischief he may do himself, what injury he may inflict on others? In the course of my career I have seen hundreds of young men ruined in health and prospects, and many, very many, brought to a premature grave by this pernicious habit of drinking.

"But what is the harm of getting drunk once in a way?" I have heard many a shipmate ask.

I say, a vast deal of harm. How can you tell what you will do, while you are thus once-in-a-way drunk? I, an old sailor, and not an over strait-laced one either, do warn most solemnly you young midshipmen, and others, who may read my memoirs, that numbers have had to rue most bitterly, all their after lives, that once-in-a-way getting drunk, or, I may say, taking more than a moderate allowance of liquor. Many fine promising young fellows, who have at first shown no signs of caring for liquor, have ultimately become addicted to drinking, from that most dangerous habit of taking a nip whenever they have an opportunity.

"But why call that a dangerous habit?" shipmates have asked me. "A nip is only just a taste of spirits, raw it may be, or perhaps even watered. It's a capital thing for the stomach, and keeps out cold, and saves many a fellow from illness."

So it may, say I. But it is the nip extra I dread, with good reason; the nip when no such necessity exists, or rather excuse, for a man may pass years without positively requiring spirits to preserve his health. However, not to weary my readers with the subject, I will conclude it, by urging them to be most watchful, lest they take the first step in this or any other vice. How many fall, because they think that vice is manly. Which is the most manly person, he who yields to his foes, or he who, with his back to a tree, boldly keeps them at bay? No greater foes to a man's happiness and prosperity than his vices—or sin. No man can expect to escape being attacked by sin, and those who are its slaves already cry out, "Yield to it; yield to it. It's a pleasant master. Just try its yoke; you can get free, you know, whenever you like."

Never was a greater falsehood uttered, or one more evidently invented by the father of lies. The yoke of sin is most galling; it is the hardest of task-masters. The people who talk thus do their utmost to hide their chains, to conceal their sufferings, which giving way to sin has brought upon them. Do not trust to them, whatever their rank or character in the world. I would urge you from the highest of motives, from love for the Saviour who died for you, not to give way to sin; and I would point out to you how utterly low, and degrading, and unmanly it is to yield to such a foe—a foe so base and cowardly, that if you make any real effort to withstand him, he will fly before you. Don't be ashamed to pray for help through Him, and you are not on equal terms unless you do. That's not unmanly. Sin has got countless allies ever ready to come to its support. By prayer you will obtain one—but that One is all powerful, all sufficient. It is my firm belief that He, and He alone, is the only ally in whom you can place implicit reliance. Others may fall away at the times of greatest need. He, and He alone, will never desert you; will remain firm and constant till the battle of life is over.

Now some of my readers, perhaps, will exclaim, "Hillo, Mr Midshipman Marmaduke Merry, have you taken to preaching? You, who have been describing that extraordinary old fellow Jonathan Johnson, with his veracious narratives, and wonderful deeds. You've made a mistake. You've taken it into your head to write some sermons for sailors, and you've got hold by mistake of the manuscript of your own adventures."

Pardon me, I have made no mistake, I reply. When I was Midshipman Marmaduke Merry, I did not preach; I did not often give good advice as I do now. I wish that I had, and I wish that I had taken it oftener than I did. What I do now is to afford the result of my experience at the close of a long life; and it is that experience by which I wish you to benefit. I quote the Scriptures, and I believe in the Scriptures for many reasons. One of them is—that I have ever seen Scripture promises fulfilled, and Scripture threats executed. Now let me ask you what would you say to a man whose father, or some other relative, had been storing up gold or other articles of value, and which, when offered to him, he should refuse to accept, on the plea that they cost much trouble, and occupied so many years to collect, that they must be useless? You would say that such a man is an idiot. Yet is not experience, or rather the good advice which results from experience, treated over and over again by worldly idiots exactly in that way? Do not you, dear readers, join that throng of idiots. Take an old man's advice, and ponder over the matters of which I have just now been speaking. This exhortation has arisen out of our paying-off dinner. I might have given you a very amusing account of that same feast—though it was not "a feast of reason," albeit it might have been a "flow of soul;" but I am not in the vein, the fact being, that paying-off dinners are melancholy affairs to look back at. How few of those assembled round the festive board, who have been our companions for the previous three, or four, or perhaps five years, through storm and battles and hardships, ever meet again!

Some have grown in honour, some have sunk in dishonour; some have struggled on with services unrequited, and have become soured and discontented; others again, in spite of their humble worldly position, have retained good spirits and kindly feelings, and though now old lieutenants with grey hairs, appear to be the same warm happy-hearted beings they were when midshipmen. Should any of the readers not meet with the success they desire, I hope that they will belong to the last class; but I am very certain that they will not, unless, as midshipmen, they avoid evil courses, and fall not into the paths of sin.

The morning after that paying-off dinner, Grey and I were up early, and had breakfasted, when a yellow chaise drew up at the door of the Blue Posts, and in the interior appeared seated a very dignified-looking gentleman in plain clothes, whom we had no difficulty in distinguishing as Mr Jonathan Johnson. Toby Bluff, who was on the box, got down and opened the door, when Mr Johnson, getting out, inquired with a paternal air, whether we were ready to start.

Our portmanteaus, flattened and wrinkled, containing the remainder of those articles which on starting could with difficulty be stowed in our bulky chests, being strapped on, we jumped in, followed by Mr Johnson, and Toby remounting the box, up High Street we rattled at a tremendous pace, exactly suited to our feelings.

"This is pleasant, isn't it, young gentlemen?" exclaimed Mr Johnson, rubbing his hands. "I never like to let the grass grow under my feet either ashore or afloat. Sometimes, to be sure, one has to sit still, and wait to do nothing, the most trying thing in the world to do. However, when you do keep moving, take care to move forward. Some people move backward, remember. I have from time to time given you bits of good advice, and I dare say that you have been surprised to hear them from an old fellow who could spin such an outrageous yarn as my veracious narrative, but I hope that its very extravagance will have prevented you from supposing for a moment that I am capable of falsehood myself, or would encourage it in others; still I must own that I have been guilty of a piece of deceit, though I did not at the first intend to deceive. I will tell you the circumstances of the case, and then condemn me as I deserve. I told you that my wife was a lady of rank and education. My father was really very well connected, and when I was a young man staying with him, I met the daughter of a country gentleman of property, with whom I fell in love, and she had no objection to me. Her parents, however, would not hear of the match, and I was sent off to sea. Though only a warrant officer, I always liked good society when I could enter it, and on one occasion some few years back, having gone for that purpose to Bath, I was introduced to a lady who was, I was informed, the Baroness Strogonoff. Before long I discovered that she was the widow of a Russian baron, and that she was no other than my old flame. I found that she had always felt an interest for me, and in fact that she would have married me had she been allowed. I naturally asked her if she would now, and she said Yes. I told her that I was now in the navy, and an officer, and though this was true, I felt that I committed a great fault in not telling her that I was only a warrant officer. I was flush of prize-money at the time, and could make a very good appearance, which, as you may suppose, I did not fail to do. The result was that all her old affection for me returned, and that, to cut the matter short, we married.

"Here was I, a poor boatswain, the husband of a rich baroness, she of course, you'll understand, not knowing that I was a poor boatswain, or rather, what a boatswain is. Now, if there's one thing more than another sticks in my throat, it is the thought of a man being dependent on a woman, let her be who she may, for his support, if he can support himself. Now I had the greatest affection and respect for my wife, but this feeling always came between me and my happiness. While living with her I only spent my own prize-money on myself; and though I would gladly have remained with her, as soon as I was appointed to a ship I resolved to go to sea. I was not worse off than any post-captain or other officer in the service in this respect. I told her that duty called me to sea, and, though evidently with great unwillingness, she would not stop me in the path of duty. Ah, young gentlemen, my Baroness is a true woman, and I only wish for her sake that I was a post-captain, and in the fair way of becoming an admiral. She deserves it, anyhow. I have, I believe, a distant cousin a baronet, and as I believe that it gives me some importance in the eyes of her friends, I talk about him occasionally in their presence. Not that I care a fig for rank myself, except as far as it may gratify her. So packing up my traps I joined my ship, not allowing any one on board to know even that I was married. I felt very sad, but I kept my affairs to myself, and tried to do my duty to the best of my power. I went to India, and you may be sure I collected all the most beautiful presents I could think of for my dear wife. I picked up, too, a good share of prize-money, so that I felt I might return home with a clear conscience, and the prospect of being well received. I was not mistaken, for my wife was overjoyed at my return, and would, I believe, have been so had I come back without a single jewel or shawl for her, and without a guinea in my pocket. This time I was able to leave a handsome sum of money with her, of which I begged her acceptance, for you see I knew that if she died before me, I had always my pension to fall back on, or Greenwich, and that I should have ample for all my wants; and I felt a proud satisfaction in adding to her comfort and enjoyment by every means in my power, for I doubt if any other boatswain in the service can boast of having a baroness for his wife."

"I should think not, Mr Johnson," said I. "But then, I do not think that any other boatswain in the service deserves one so much as you." He pulled up his shirt collar and looked highly pleased at this remark.

"You think so, Mr Merry? You are a young gentleman of discernment in most matters, and I hope are so in this respect," he answered. "However, when you see the Baroness, I think that you will confess that a man must be worth something to be worthy of her."

Thus we talked on, and I fancy that our tongues were not silent for a minute together during the whole journey.

The last stage we had four horses.

"I like to go home in style," observed Mr Johnson. "Not on my own account, you'll understand, but because it pleases the Baroness, and makes her neighbours suppose that her husband is a person of consequence."

We darted along at a fine rate, and at length drew up at the door of a very pretty villa in the neighbourhood of London, without having had to drive through the city itself. We sat still, while Mr Johnson sprang out, and we saw him through the windows cordially welcomed by a really very handsome-looking lady of somewhat large proportions, whom we had no doubt was the Baroness herself. In this conjecture we were right, and Mr Johnson soon returning, introduced us in due form to her. She received us most graciously and kindly, indeed in the most good-natured manner, and told us that we were welcome to stay at her house as long as we pleased. She seemed a warm-hearted unsophisticated person, and I should have said not over-refined or highly educated. Had she been so, I confess that I do not think she would have married my worthy friend Jonathan Johnson. A room was quickly prepared for us, and we found ourselves in five minutes perfectly at home. We were shortly discussing a capital dinner, and as I looked at our well-dressed host at the foot of the table, I could scarcely believe that he was the same person who, a few days before, was carrying on duty with chain and whistle round his neck as boatswain of the Doris. During dinner the Baroness announced that she had fixed on the following evening, before she knew of her husband's intended return, to give a rout, and she pressed us so warmly to stay for it, that we, nothing loath, consented to do so. We were able to do this, as we had not mentioned any day positively for our appearance at our own homes. We spent the next morning in visiting with Mr Johnson the sights of London, but we returned early, as he was unwilling to be long absent from his wife. After dinner a host of servants came in, and in a rapid space of time prepared the house for the reception of the expected guests. It was well lighted up, and I was quite dazzled with its appearance. Still more so was I, when the Baroness came down glittering with jewels, and the guests began to assemble, and, as far as I could judge, there appeared to be a number of people of some rank and consequence among them. There was a conservatory and a tent full of flowers at the end of a broad passage, all gaily lighted up, and several rooms thrown open for dancing, and a band soon struck up, and the Baroness introduced Grey and me to some capital partners, and we were soon toeing and heeling-it away to our hearts' content. We had plenty to say to the young ladies about our battles and other adventures, and of course we took care not to speak of Mr Johnson, though more than one, I thought, pointedly asked what his rank was in the navy. I replied, carelessly, that he was a very brave officer, who had greatly distinguished himself, and that he had more than once saved my life, so that there was no man in existence for whom I had a greater regard. I believe that my remarks, without departing in the slightest degree from the truth, were calculated to raise the gallant boatswain in the estimation of his wife's friends. Scarcely had I sat down, than I was again on my legs, prancing with my partners up and down the room. I was standing quiet for a moment, having reached the foot of the dance, and placed my partner in a seat, when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and looking round, whom should I see but Captain Collyer.

"What, you here, Merry!" he exclaimed. "How had you the good fortune to be introduced to the Baroness?"

"Mr Johnson brought us here, sir," said I, very naturally, without a moment's reflection.

"Mr Johnson!" muttered the captain, in a tone of surprise. "Who is he?"

I was about to reply, when, on looking up, there I saw him across the room, standing looking at us with a comical expression of vexation on his countenance. His eye catching that of the captain, he immediately advanced, and said quietly—

"I was not aware, Captain Collyer, that you were coming here, or I should have let you know beforehand my position in this house. I know, as you are aware, the difference between a post-captain and a boatswain, and I should not have presumed to invite you, though as master here, I am honoured by receiving you; but you see, sir, that you may do me much harm in my social position, or render me considerable service, in the way you treat me. I am in your hands."

"I wish to treat you as one of the bravest and most dashing officers in His Majesty's service deserves to be treated," answered the captain, warmly. "How you became the husband of a lady of title, I will not stop to enquire, but I cannot help thinking that you will be wise to give up the sea, and to remain by her side. The service will lose one of the best boatswains who ever served His Majesty, but the Baroness will gain a good husband; and I shall be happy to associate with one I esteem as a friend and equal, which the etiquette of the service would prevent me under present circumstances from doing."

"I thank you most cordially, Captain Collyer—from my heart, I do," exclaimed Mr Johnson. "But you see, sir, I love the service dearly, and should be loath to quit it; and I love my independence, and should be unwilling to lose that. I mean that I should be sorry to become dependent even on my wife for support, while I am able to work for it myself. I have explained my feeling and motives, and I hope that you will consider them right."

"Indeed I do, and honour you for them," answered the captain. "But still, Mr Johnson, I think that you should take the lady's opinion on the subject. I suspect that when she knows the true state of the case, she would far rather you remained at home than have to go knocking about the salt ocean, without the prospect of bettering yourself."

"That's the only fault I have to find with the service," said Mr Johnson. "Perhaps I have been dreaming, when living on in hopes that some change might be made whereby I might benefit myself, that is, rise in the service, which has ever been my ambition. Why should not a warrant be a stepping-stone to a commission through extraordinary good conduct in the navy, just as a sergeant may hope to rise in the army? I don't mean, sir, that I wish to see the present class of boatswains obtain commissions, but with that reward in view, a better class of men would enter the service, and it would improve the character of the warrant officers."

"So it might, but a large proportion would fail in obtaining their ends, and then we should have a number of discontented warrant officers, instead of being, as at present, the best satisfied men in the service."

"There's force in that objection, Captain Collyer; the matter requires consideration," answered our host. "You must not rank me, however, among the discontented ones. I have long made up my mind to take things as they are, though I hope that I should not have been found wanting, had I attained a far higher rank than I now hold."

While we were talking, I had observed a dapper little well-dressed man come into the room, and look eagerly around. He soon discovered the Baroness, and having talked to her for some time in an animated style, he advanced with her towards us. He then ran forward, and taking Mr Johnson's huge paw in his hand, he wrung it warmly, exclaiming—

"I congratulate you, Sir Jonathan Johnson, and your amiable and charming lady—indeed I do, from the bottom of my heart—on your accession to title and property. As you never saw, or indeed, I fancy, never heard of, your relative the late baronet, your grief need not be very poignant on that account, so we'll say nothing about it just now. I have been working away like a mouse in a cheese ever since I got an inkling that you were the rightful heir, and have only just discovered the last link in the chain of evidence; and then, having rigged myself out, as you nautical gentlemen would say, in a presentable evening suit, I hurried off here; and so there's no doubt about it, and I should like to give way to an honest hearty cheer to prove my satisfaction."

Our friend's countenance was worthy of the pencil of a painter, while the little lawyer was thus running on. His astonishment for a time overpowered his satisfaction.

"I Sir Jonathan Johnson!" he at length slowly exclaimed. "I a baronet— I the possessor of a title and fortune—I no longer a rattan-using, call-blowing, grog-drinking, pipe-smoking, yarn-spinning boatswain, but a right real English baronet—my dear Baroness! I am proud, I am happy, I am," and he threw his arms round his wife's neck, in spite of all the company present, and bestowing on her a hearty kiss, gave way to a jovial cheer, in which Grey and I and the lawyer, and even Captain Collyer, could not help joining.

The new Sir Jonathan, however, very soon recovering himself, became aware of the absurdity of his conduct, and the guests, collected by the cheer, coming round to congratulate him, he apologised in a fitting way for his unwonted ebullition of feeling. In a wonderfully short time he was himself again, and no man could have borne his honours with a better grace.

When the captain and Grey and I again congratulated him, he replied, "I am much obliged to all my kind friends here, but I know that your good wishes are sincere."

Numberless speeches on the subject were made at supper, and when Captain Collyer shook his late boatswain by the hand at parting, he assured Sir Jonathan that nothing had given him greater pleasure than so doing.

"All I'll ask, Captain Collyer, is, that when you get a ship, you'll give me a cruise some day. I don't think that I could go to sleep happily if I was to fancy that I should never have the salt spray again dashing into my face, or feel the deck lifting under my feet."

The promise asked was readily given, and Sir Jonathan Johnson was afterwards engaged in one of the most gallant actions during the war, when, as a volunteer, he led the boarders in his old style, and was mainly instrumental in capturing the enemy.

After peace was established he bought a yacht, and many a pleasant cruise I took with him during those piping times, our old shipmate Perigal, to whom he had thus an opportunity of offering a handsome salary, acting as his captain.

Toby Bluff, by his steady behaviour and sturdy bravery, became a boatswain, and has now charge of a line-of-battle ship in ordinary at Portsmouth.

The captain's old servant at last came on shore, and took to gardening, but as he usually pulled up the flowers instead of the weeds, he was directed to confine himself to sweeping the walks, which he did effectually, with delightful slowness and precision. He was one day in summer found sprinkling the housemaid's tea leaves over them, as he remarked, to lick up the dust.

I have said nothing about my own family. It is a sad subject. Poor Bertha! The gallant Ceaton never came home. His health gave way, but he did not die of disease. He fell on the deck of his own ship in action, at the moment the enemy's flag was seen to come down, the cheers of his victorious crew ringing in his ears.

Now, dear readers, old and young, farewell. I must bring these recollections of my early career as a Midshipman to a conclusion. I wish that I had reason to believe they were as edifying as I hope they may have proved amusing. All I ask is, that you will deal lightly with the faults of the work. Take whatever good advice you may have found scattered through the previous pages, and do not, by imitating the bad example of any of my old shipmates, give me cause to regret that I undertook to write this veracious history, as Mr Jonathan Johnson would say, of the early days of...

MARMADUKE MERRY, THE MIDSHIPMAN.

THE END.