"Look here," he said. "I've been watching you. You ain't working. You're skulking. You ain't trying to wash that deck. You're making believe, thinking I won't know any different. Don't answer me. I know what you're doing. Now then. You go over every bit of that deck which you've just slopped at. Do it over. I'm going to stand here till it's done."

It was in my mind to be rebellious; but this man did not look like a good man to rebel from. He was a big grim sailor with a length of rope in his hand. He called it his "manrope." "You see my manrope," he said. "His name's Mogador Jack. He likes little skulks like you." Afterwards I learned that a manrope is the rope rail at a ship's gangway, or (sometimes) a length of rope in the gangway-side for boatmen to catch as they came alongside the ship. I did not like the look of Mogador Jack, so I went at my scrubbing with all my strength, keeping my thoughts to myself. My knees felt very sore. My back ached with the continual bending down. I had had no food that morning, either, that was another thing. "Spell, oh," said the man at last. "Straighten your back a bit. Empty your bucket over the side. No. Not through the sternport. Carry in on deck. Empty it there. Then fill it again. Lively, too. It'll be breakfast time before you've done. You've got to have this cabin ready by eight bells."

I will not tell you how I finished the deck. I will say only this, that at the end I began to take a sort of pride or pleasure in making the planks white. Afterwards, I always found that there is this pleasure in manual work. There is always pleasure of a sort in doing anything that is not very easy. "There," the mate said. "Now lay the table for breakfast. You'll find the things in them lockers. Lay for three places. Don't break the ship's crockery while you're doing it."



CHAPTER VI. THE SEA! THE SEA!

He left me, then, as he had to watch the men on deck. I felt, when he went on deck, that the morning had been a nightmare; but now I was to be flunkey well as slave, a new humiliation. I did not think how many times I had humiliated others by letting them do such things for me. I had done so all my life without a thought. Now, forsooth, I was at the point of tears at having to do it for others, even though one of the others was my rightful King. Grubbing about among the lockers, I found a canvas table-cloth, which had once been part of a sail. I spread this cloth with the breakfast gear, imitating the arrangements made at home at Oulton. The mate came down some minutes after I had finished. He caught me sitting down on the top of the lockers, looking out at the ships through the open port.

"Here," he said roughly. "You've got to learn manners, or I'll have to teach you. Remember this once for all, my son. No one sits in the cabin except a captain or a passenger. You'll take your cap off to the cabin door before I've done with you. Nor you don't sit down till your work's done. That's another thing. Why ain't you at work?"

"Please, sir," I said, "I've laid the table. What else am I to do?"

"Do," he said. "Give the windows a rub. Then clean your hands, ready to wait at table. No. Hold on. Have you called Mr. Scott yet?"

"No, sir. I didn't know I had to."

"My," he answered. "Have you any sense at all? Go call them. No. Get their hot water first at the galley."

I suppose I stared at him; for I did not know that this would be a duty of mine. "Here. Don't look at me like that," he said. "You make me forget myself." He went to the locker, in which he rummaged till he produced a big copper kettle. "Here's the hot water can," he said. "Nip with it to the galley, before the cook puts his fire out. On deck, boy. Don't you know where the galley is?"

I did not know where the galley was in this particular ship. I thought that it would probably be below decks, round a space of brick floor to prevent fire. But as the mate said "on deck" I ran on deck at once. I ran on deck, up the hatch, so vigorously, that I charged into a seaman who was carrying a can of slush, or melted salt fat used in the greasing of ropes. I butted into him, spattering the slush all over him, besides making a filthy mess of grease on the deck, then newly cleansed. The seaman, who was the boatswain or second mate, boxed my ears with a couple of cuffs which made my head sing. "You young hound," he said, "Cubbadar when your chief passes." I went forward to the galley, crying as if my heart would break, not only at the pain of the blows, which stung me horribly, but at the misery of my life in this new service, that had seemed so grand only seven or eight hours before. At the galley door was the cook, a morose little Londoner with earrings in his ears. "Miaow, Miaow," he said, pretending to mimic my sobs. "Why haven't you come for this 'ot water before? 'Ere 'ave I been keepin' my fire lit while you been enjoyin' a stuffin' loaf down in that there cabin." I was too miserable to answer him. I just held out my kettle, thinking that he would fill it for me. "Wot are you 'oldin' out the kettle for?" he asked. "Think I'm goin' to do yer dirty work? Fill it at the 'ob yourself." I filled it as he bade me, choking down my tears. When I had filled it, I hurried back to the 'tweendecks, hoping to hide my misery down in the semi-darkness there. I did not pass the second mate on my way back; but I passed some of the seamen, to whom a boy in tears was fair game. One asked me what I meant by coming aft all salt, like a head sea, making the deck wet after he'd squeegeed it down. Another told me to wait till the second mate caught me. "I'd be sorry then," he said, "that ever I spilt the slush;" with other sea-jests, all of them pretty brutal. It is said that if a strange rook comes to a rookery the other rooks peck it to death, or at any rate drive it away. I know not if this be true of rooks (I know that sparrows will attack owls or canaries, whenever they have a chance), but it is true enough of human beings. We all hate the new-comer, we are all suspicious of him, as of a possible enemy. The seamen did to me what school-boys do to the new boy. I did not know then that there is no mercy for one sensitive enough to take such "jests" to heart. At sea, the rough, ready tom-fool boy is the boy to thrive. Such an one might have spilt all the slush in the ship, without getting so much as a cuff. I was a merry boy enough, but I was sad when I made my first appearance. The sailors saw me crying. If I had only had the wit to dodge the bosun's blows, the matter of the slush would have been turned off with a laugh, since he only struck me in the irritation of the moment. He would have enjoyed chasing me round the deck. If I had only come up merrily that is what would have happened. As it was I came up sad, with the result that I got my ears boxed, which, of course, made me too wretched to put the cook in a good temper; a cause of much woe to me later. The seamen who saw me crying at once put me down as a cry-baby, which I really was not; so that, for the rest of my time in the ship I was cruelly misjudged. I hope that my readers will remember how little a thing may make a great difference in a person's life. I hope that they will also remember how easy it is to misjudge a person. It will be well for them if, as I trust, they may never experience how terrible it feels to be misjudged.

After I had called the two gentlemen, I gave the glass bull's-eyes in the swing ports a rub with a cloth. I was at work in this way when the two gentlemen entered. Mr. Jermyn smiled to see me with my coat off, rubbing at the glass. He also wished me good morning, which Mr. Scott failed to do. Mr. Scott took no notice of me one way or the other; but sat down at the locker, asking when breakfast would be ready. "Get breakfast, boy," Mr. Jermyn said. At that I put my glass-rag into the locker. I hurried off to the galley to bring the breakfast, not knowing rightly whether it would be there or in another place. The cook, surly brute, made a lot of offensive remarks to me, to which I made no answer. He was glad to have someone to bully, for he had the common man's love of power, with all his hatred of anything more polished than himself. I took the breakfast aft to the cabin, where, by this time, the ship's captain was seated. I placed the dish before Mr. Jermyn.

"Why haven't you washed your hands, boy?" he asked, looking at my hands.

"Please, sir, I haven't had time."

"Wash them now, then. Don't come to wait at table with hands like that again. I didn't think you were a dirty boy."

I was not a dirty boy; but, having been at work since before six that morning, I had had no chance of washing myself. I could not answer; but the injustice of Mr. Jermyn's words gave me some of the most bitter misery which I have known. For brutal, thoughtless injustice, it is difficult to beat the merchant ship. I stole away to wash myself, very glad of the chance to get away from the cabin. When I was ready, it was time to clear the breakfast things to the galley, to wash them with the cook. Luckily, I had overheard Mr. Jermyn say "how well this cook can devil kidneys." I repeated this to the cook, who was pleased to hear it. It made him rather more kind in his manner to me. He did not know who Mr. Scott really was. He asked me a lot of questions about what I knew of Mr. Scott. I replied that I'd heard that he was a Spanish merchant, a friend of Mr. Jermyn's. As for Mr. Jermyn, he knew' an uncle of mine. I had helped him to recover his pocket-book; that was all that I knew of him; that was why he had given me my present post as servant. More I dared not say; for I remembered the Duke's sharp sword on my chest. We talked thus, as we washed the dishes; the cook in a sweeter mood (having had his morning dram of brandy); I, myself, trying hard to win him to a good opinion of me. I asked him if I might clean his copper for him; it was in a sad state of dirt. "You'll have work enough 'ere, boy," he said, tartly, "without you running round for more. You mind your own business." After this little snap at my head (no thought of thanks occurred to him) he prepared breakfast for us, out of the remains of the cabin breakfast. I was much cheered by the prospect of food, for nearly three hours of hard work had given me an appetite. At a word from the cook, I brought out two little stools from under the bunk. Then I placed the "bread-barge," or wooden bowl of ship's biscuits, ready for our meal, beside our two plates.

Breakfast was just about to begin, when my enemy, the boatswain, appeared at the galley door. "Here, cook," he said, "where's that limb of a boy? Oh, you're there, are you? Feeding your face. Get a three-cornered scraper right now. You'll scrape up that slush you spilled, before you eat so much as a reefer's nut." I had to go on deck again for another hour, while I scraped up the slush, which was, surely, spilled as much by himself as by me, since he was not looking where he was going any more than I was. I got no breakfast. For after the grease was cleaned I was sent to black the gentlemen's boots; then to make up their beds; then to scrub their cabin clean. After all this, being faint with hunger, I took a ship's biscuit from the locker in the cabin to eat as I worked. I did not know it; but this biscuit was what is known as "captain's bread," a whiter (but less pleasant) kind of ship's biscuit, baked for officers. As I was eating it (I was polishing the cabin door-knobs at the time) the captain came down for a dram of brandy. He saw what I was eating. At once he read me a lecture, calling me a greedy young thief. Let me not eat another cabin biscuit, he said, or he'd do to me what they always did to thieves:—drag them under the ship from one side to another, so that the barnacles would cut them (as he said) into Spanish sennet-work. When I answered him, he lost his temper, in sailor fashion, saying that if I said another word he'd make me sick that ever I learned to speak.

I will not go into the details of the rest of that first day's misery. I was kept hard at work for the whole time of daylight, often at work beyond my strength, always at work quite strange to me. Nobody in the ship, except perhaps the mate, troubled to show me how to do these strange tasks; but all swore at me for not doing them rightly. What I felt most keenly was the injustice of their verdicts upon me. I was being condemned by them as a dirty, snivelling, lying, thieving young hound. They took a savage pleasure in telling me how I should come to dance on air at Cuckold's Haven, or, in other words, to the gallows, if I went on as I had begun. Whereas (but for my dishonest moment in the morning) I had worked like a slave since dawn under every possible disadvantage which hasty men could place in my way. After serving the cabin supper that night I was free to go to my hammock. There was not much to be glad for, except the rest after so much work. I went with a glad heart, for I was tired out. The wind had drawn to the east, freshening as it came ahead, so that there was no chance of our reaching our destination for some days. I had the prospect of similar daily slavery in the schooner at least till our arrival. My nights would be my only pleasant hours till then. The noise of the waves breaking on board the schooner kept me awake during the night, tired as I was. It is a dreadful noise, when heard for the first time. I did not then know what a mass of water can come aboard a ship without doing much harm. So, when the head of a wave, rushing across the deck, came with a swish down the hatch to wash the 'tweendecks I started up in my hammock, pretty well startled. I soon learned that all was well, for I heard the sailors laughing in their rough, swearing fashion as they piled a tarpaulin over the open hatch-mouth. A moment later, eight bells were struck. Some of the sailors having finished their watch, came down into the 'tweendecks to rest. Two of them stepped very quietly to the chest below my hammock, where they sat down to play cards, by the light of the nearest battle-lantern. If they had made a noise I should probably have fallen asleep again in a few minutes; for what would one rough noise have been among all the noise on deck? But they kept very quiet, talking in low voices as they called the cards, rapping gently on the chest-lid, opening the lantern gently to get lights for their pipes. Their quietness was like the stealthy approach of an enemy, it kept a restless man awake, just as the snapping of twigs in a forest will keep an Indian awake, while he will sleep soundly when trees are falling. I kept awake, too, in spite of myself (or half awake), wishing that the men would go, but fearing to speak to them. At last, fearing that I should never get to sleep at all, I looked over the edge of the hammock intending to ask them to go. I saw then that one of them was my enemy the boatswain, while the other was the ship's carpenter, who had eaten supper in the galley with me, at the cook's invitation. As these were, in a sense, officers, I dared not open my mouth to them, so I lay down again, hoping that either they would go soon, or that they would let me get to sleep before the morning. As I lay there, I overheard their talk. I could not help it. I could hear every word spoken by them. I did not want their talk, goodness knows, but as I could not help it, I listened.

"Heigho," said the boatswain, yawning. "I sha'n't have much to spend on Hollands when I get there. Them rubbers at bowls in London have pretty near cleaned my purse out."

"Ah, come off," said the carpenter. "You can always get rid of a coil of rope to someone, on the sly, you boatswains can. A coil of rope comes to a few guilders. Eh, mynheer?"

"I sold too many coils off this hooker," said the boatswain. "I run the ship short."

"Who sleeps in the hammock there?" the carpenter asked.

"The loblolly boy for the cabin," the boatswain answered. "Young clumsy hound. I clumped his fat chops for him this morning."

"Mr. Jermyn's boy?" said the carpenter, sinking his voice. "There's something queer about that Mr. Jermyn. 'E wears a false beard. That Mr. Scott isn't all what he pretends neither."

"I don't see how that can be," the boatswain said, "I wish I'd a drink of something. I'm as dry as foul block."

"There'd be more'n a dram to us two, if Mr. Scott was what I think," said the carpenter. "I'm going to keep my eye on that gang."

"Keep your eye on the moon," said the boatswain.

"I tell you what'd raise drinks pretty quick."

"What would?"

"That loblolly boy would."

"Eh?" said the carpenter. "Go easy, Joe. He may be awake."

"Not he," said the boatswain, carelessly glancing into my hammock, where I lay like all the Seven Sleepers condensed. "Not he. Snoring young hound. Do him good to raise drinks for the crowd."

"Eh," said the carpenter, a quieter, more cautious scoundrel than the other (therefore much more dangerous). "How would a boy like that?" He left his sentence unfinished.

"Sell him to one of these Dutch East India merchants," said the boatswain. "There's always one or two of them in the Canal, bound for Java. A likely young lad like that would fetch twenty pounds from a Dutch skipper. A white boy would sell for forty in the East. Even if we only got ten, there'd be pretty drinking while it lasted."

This evidently made an impression on the carpenter, for he did not answer at once. "Yes," he said presently. "But a lad like that's got good friends. He don't talk like you or I, Joe."

"Friends in your eye," said the other. "What's a lad with good friends doing as loblolly boy?"

"Run away," the carpenter said. "Besides, Mr. Jermyn isn't likely to let the lad loose in Haarlem."

"He might. We could keep a watch," the boatswain answered. "If he goes ashore, we could tip off Longshore Jack to keep an eye on him. Jack gets good chances, working the town."

"Yes," said the other. "I mean to put Longshore Jack on to this Mr. Jermyn. If I aren't foul of the buoy there's money in Mr. Jermyn. More than in East Indian slaves."

"Oh," the boatswain answered, carelessly, "I don't bother about my betters, myself. What d'ye think to get from Mr. Jermyn?"

The carpenter made no answer; but lighted his pipe at the lantern, evidently turning over some scheme in his mind. After that, the talk ran on other topics, some of which I could not understand. It was mostly about the Gold Coast, about a place called Whydah, where there was good trading for negroes, so the boatswain said. He had been there in a Bristol brig, under Captain Travers, collecting trade, i.e. negro slaves. At Whydah they had made King Jellybags so drunk with "Samboe" (whatever Samboe was) that they had carried him off to sea, with his whole court. "The blacks was mad after," he said, "the next ship's crew that put in there was all set on the beach. I seed their bones after. All picked clean. But old King Jellybags fetched thirty pound in Port Royal, duty free." He seemed to think that this story was something laugh at.

I strained my ears to hear more of what they said. I could catch nothing more relating to myself. Nothing more was said about me. They told each other stories about the African shore, where the schooners anchored in the creeks, among the swamp-smells, in search of slaves or gold dust. They told tales of Tortuga, where the pirates lived together in a town, whenever they were at home after a cruise. "Rum is cheaper than water there," the bo'sun said. "A sloop comes off once a month with stores from Port Royal. Its happy days, being in Tortuga." Presently the two men crept aft to the empty cabin to steal the captain's brandy. Soon afterwards they passed forward to their hammocks.

When they had gone, I lay awake, wondering I was to avoid this terrible danger of being sold to the Dutch East India merchants. I wondered who Longshore Jack might be. I feared that the carpenter suspected our party. I kept repeating his words, "There's money in Mr. Jermyn," till at last, through sheer weariness, I fell asleep. In the morning, as cleared away breakfast, from the cabin-table, I told Mr. Jermyn all that I had heard. The Duke seemed agitated. He kept referring to an astronomical book which told him how his ruling planets stood. "Yes," he kept saying, "I've no very favourable stars till July. I don't like this, Jermyn." Mr. Jermyn smoked a pipe of tobacco (a practise rare among gentlemen at that time) while he thought of what could be done. At last he spoke.

"I know what we'll do, sir. We'll sell this man as carpenter to the Dutch East India man. We'll give the two of them a sleeping draught in their drink. We'll get rid of them both together."

"It sounds very cruel," said the Duke.

"Yes," said Mr. Jermyn, "it is cruel. But who knows what the sly man may not pick up? We're playing akes, we two. We've got many enemies. One word of what this man suspects may bring a whole pack of spies upon us. Besides, if the spies get hold of this boy we shall have some trouble."

"The boy's done very well," said the Duke.

"He's got a talent for overhearing," Mr. Jermyn answered. "Well, Martin Hyde. How do you like your work?"

"Sir," I answered, "I don't like it at all."

"Well," he said, "we shall be in the Canal to-night, now the wind has changed. Hold out till then, think, sir," he said, turning to the Duke, "the boy has done really very creditably. The work is not at all the work for one of his condition."

The Duke rewarded me with his languid beautiful smile.

"Who lives will see," he said. "A King never forgets a faithful servant."

The phrase seemed queer on the lips of that man's father's son; but I bowed very low, for I felt that I was already a captain of a man-of-war, with a big blazing decoration on my heart. Well, who lives, sees. I lived to see a lot of strange things in that King's service.



CHAPTER VII. LAND RATS AND WATER RATS

I will say no more about our passage except that we were three days at sea. Then, when I woke one morning, I found that we were fast moored to a gay little wharf, paved with clean white cobbles, on the north side of the canal. Strange, outlandish figures, in immense blue baggy trousers, clattered past in wooden shoes. A few Dutch galliots lay moored ahead of us, with long scarlet pennons on their mastheads. On the other side of the canal was a huge East Indiaman, with her lower yards cockbilled, loading all three hatches at once. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was so bright that all the scene had thrice its natural beauty. The clean neat trimness of the town, the water slapping past in the canal, the ships with their flags, the Sunday trim of the schooner, all filled me with delight, lit up, as they were, by the April sun. I looked about me at my ease, for the deck was deserted. Even the never-sleeping mate was resting, now that we were in port. While I looked, a man sidled along the wharf from a warehouse towards me. He looked at the schooner in a way which convinced me that he was not a sailor. Then, sheltering behind a bollard, he lighted his pipe.

He was a short, active, wiry man, with a sharp, thin face, disfigured by a green patch over his right eye. He looked to me to have a horsey look, as though were a groom or coachman. After lighting his pipe, he advanced to a point abreast of the schooner's gang-way, from which he could look down upon her, as she lay with her deck a foot or two below the level of the wharf.

"Chips aboard?" he asked, meaning, "Is the carpenter on board?"

"Yes," I said. "Will you come aboard?"

He did not answer, but looked about the ship, as though making notes of everything. Presently he turned to me.

"You're new," he said. "Are you Mr. Jermyn's boy?" I told him that I was.

"How is Mr. Jermyn keeping?" he asked. "Is that cough of his better?" This made me feel that probably the man knew Mr. Jermyn. "Yes," I said. "He's got no cough, now." "He'd a bad one last time he was here," the man answered. For a while he kept silent. He seemed to me to be puzzling out the relative heights of our masts. Suddenly he turned to me, with a very natural air. "How's Mr. Scott's business going?" he asked. "You know, eh? You know what I mean?" I was taken off my guard. I'm afraid I hesitated, though I knew that the man's sharp eyes noted every little change on my face. Then, in the most natural way, the man reassured me. "You know," he said. "What demand for oranges in London?" I was thankful that he had not meant the other business. I said with a good deal too much of eagerness that there was, I believed, a big demand for oranges. "Yes," he said, "I suppose so many young boys makes a brisk demand." I was uneasy at the man's manner. He seemed to be pumping me, but he had such a natural easy way, under the pale mask of his face, that I could not be sure if he were in the secret or not. I was on my guard now, ready for any question, as I thought, but eager for an excuse to get away from this man before I betrayed any trust. "Nice ship," he said easily. "Did you join her in Spain?" "No," I answered. "In London." "In London?" he said. "I thought you'd something of a Spanish look." "No," I said. "I'm English. Did you want the carpenter, sir?"

"Yes," he answered. "I do. But no hurry. No hurry, lad." Here he pulled out a watch, which he wound up, staring vacantly about the decks as he did so. "Tell me, boy," he said gently. "Is Lane come over with you?" To tell the truth, it flashed across my mind, when he pulled out his watch, that he was making me unready for a difficult question. I was not a very bright boy; but I had this sudden prompting or instinct, which set me on my guard. No one is more difficult to pump than a boy who is ready for his questioner, so I stared at him. "Lane?" I said, "Lane? Do you mean the bo'sun?"

"No," he said. "The Colonel. You know? Eh?"

"No." I said. "I don't know."

"Oh well," he answered. "It's all one. I suppose he's not come over." At this moment the mate came on deck with the carpenter, carrying a model ship which they had been making together in their spare time. They nodded to the stranger, who gave them a curt "How do?" as though they had parted from him only the night before. The mate growled at me for wasting time on deck when I should be at work. He sent me down to my usual job of getting the cabin ready for the breakfast of the gentlemen. As I passed down the hatchway, I heard the carpenter say to the stranger, "Well. So what's the news with Jack?" It flashed into my mind that this man might be his friend, the "Longshore Jack" who was to keep an eye upon me as well as upon Mr. Jermyn. It gave me a most horrid qualm to think this. The man was so sly, so calm, so guarded, that the thought of him being on the look-out for me, to sell me to the Dutch captains, almost scared me out of my wits. The mate brought him to the cabin as I was laying the table. "This is the cabin," he was saying, "where the gentlemen messes. That's our stern-chaser, the gun there."

"Oh," said the stranger, looking about him like one who has never seen a ship before. "But where do they sleep? Do they sleep on the sofa (he meant the lockers), there?"

"Why, no," said the mate. "They sleep in the little cabins yonder. But we musn't stay down here now. I'm not supposed to use this cabin. I mustn't let the captain see me." So they went on deck again, leaving me alone. When the gentlemen came in to breakfast, I had to go on deck for the dishes. As I passed to the galley, I noticed the stranger talking to the carpenter by the main-rigging. They gave me a meaning look, which I did not at all relish. Then, as I stood in the galley, while the cook dished up, I noticed that the stranger raised his hand to a tall, lanky, ill-favoured man who was loafing about on the wharf, carrying a large black package. This man came right up to the edge of the wharf, directly he saw the stranger's signal. It made me uneasy somehow. I was in a thoroughly anxious mood, longing to confide in some one, even in the crusty cook, yet fearing to open my mouth to any one, even to Mr. Jermyn, to whom I dared not speak with the captain present in the room. Well, I had my work to do, so I kept my thoughts to myself. I took the dishes down below to the cabin, where, after removing the covers, I waited on the gentlemen.

"Martin," said Mr. Jermyn. "This skylight over our heads makes rather a draught. We can't have it open in the morning for breakfast.

"Did you open it?" the captain asked. "What made you open it?"

"Please, sir, I didn't open it."

"Then shut it," said the captain. "Go on deck. The catch is fast outside."

I ran very nimbly on deck to shut the skylight, but the catch was very stiff; it took me some few moments to undo. I noticed, as I worked at it, that the deck was empty, except for the lanky man with the package, who was now forward, apparently undoing his package on the forehatch. I thought that he was a sort of pedlar or bumboatman, come to sell onions, soft bread, or cheap jewellery to the sailors. The carpenter's head showed for an instant at the galley-door, He was looking forward at the pedlar. The hands were all down below in the forecastle, eating their breakfast. The other stranger seemed to have gone. I could not see him about the deck. At last the skylight came down with a clatter, leaving me free to go below again. As I went down the hatchway, into the 'tweendecks gloom, I saw a figure apparently at work among the ship's stores lashed to the deck there. I could not see who it was; it was too dark for that but the thing seemed strange to me. I guessed that it might be my enemy the boatswain, so I passed aft to the cabin on the other side.

Soon after that, it might be ten minutes after, while the gentlemen were talking lazily about going ashore, we heard loud shouts on deck.

"What's that?" said the captain, starting up from his chair.

"Sounds like fire," said Mr. Jermyn.

"Fire forward," said the captain, turning very white. "There's five tons of powder forward."

"What?" cried the Duke.

At that instant we heard the boatswain roaring to the men to come on deck. "Aft for the hose there, Bill," we heard. Feet rushed aft along the deck, helter-skelter. Some one shoved the skylight open with a violent heave. Looking up, we saw the carpenter's head. He looked as scared as a man can be.

"On deck," he cried. "We're all in a blaze forward. The lamp in the bo'sun's locker. Quick."

"Just over the powder," the captain said, rushing out.

"Quick, sir," said Jermyn to the Duke. "We may blow up at any moment."

"No," said the Duke, rising leisurely. "Not with these stars. Impossible."

All the same, the two men followed the captain in pretty quick time. Mr. Jermyn rushed the Duke out by the arm. I was rushing out, too, when I saw the Duke's hat lying on the lockers. I darted at it, for I knew that he would want it, with the result that my heel slipped on a copper nail-head, which had been worn down even with the deck till it was smooth as glass. Down I came, bang, with a jolt which shook me almost sick. I rose up, stupid with the shock, so wretched with the present pain that the fire seemed a little matter to me. Indeed, I did not understand the risk. I did not know how a fire so far forward could affect the cabin.

A couple of minutes must have passed before I picked up the hat from where it lay. As I hurried through the 'tweendecks some slight noise or movement made me turn my head. Looking to my right. I saw the horsey man, the stranger, rummaging quickly in the lockers of the Duke's cabin, As I looked, I saw him snatch up something like a pocketbook or pocket case, with a hasty "Ah" of approval. At the same moment, he saw me watching him.

"Where's Mr. Scott?" he cried, darting out on me. "We may all blow up in another moment."

"He's on deck," I said. "Hasn't he gone on deck?"

"On deck?" said the man. "Then on deck with you, too." He pushed me up the hatch before him. "Quick," he cried. "Quick. There's Mr. Scott forward. Get him on to the wharf.

He gave me a hasty shove forward, to where the whole company was working in a cloud of smoke, passing buckets from hand to hand. A crowd of Dutchmen had gathered on the wharf. Everybody was shouting. The scene was confused like a bad dream. I caught sight of the pedlar man at the gangway as the stranger thrust me forward. In the twinkling of an eye the stranger passed something to him with the quick thrust known as the thieves' pass. I saw it, for all my confusion. I knew in an instant that he had stolen something. The pedlar person was an accomplice. As likely as not the fire was a diversion. I rushed at the gangway. The pedlar was moving quickly away with his hands in his pockets. It all happened in a moment. As I rushed at the gangway, with some wild notion of stopping the pedlar, the horsey man caught me by the collar.

"What," he said, in a loud voice. "Trying to desert, are you? You come forward where the danger is." He ran me forward. He was as strong as a bull.

"Mr. Jermyn," I cried. "Mr. Jermyn. This man's a thief."

The man twisted my collar on to my throat till I choked. "Quiet, you," he hissed.

Then Mr. Jermyn dropped his bucket to attend to me.

"A thief," I gasped. "A thief." Mr. Jermyn sprang aft, with his eyes on the man's eyes. The stranger flung me into Mr. Jermyn's way, with all the sweep of his arm. As I went staggering into the fore-bitts (for Mr. Jermyn dodged me) the man took a quick side step up the rail to the wharf. I steadied myself. Mr. Jermyn, failing to catch the man before he was off the ship, rushed below to see what was lost. The crowd of workers seemed to dissolve suddenly. The men surged all about me, swearing. The fire was out. Remember, all this happened in thirty seconds, from the passing of the stolen goods to the stranger's letting go my throat. The very instant that I found my feet against the bitts, I jumped off the ship on to the wharf. There was the stranger running down the wharf to the right, full tilt. There was the lanky pedlar slouching quickly away as though he were going on an errand, with his black box full of groceries.

"That's the man, Mr. Scott," I cried. "He's got it."

The captain (who, I believe, was a naval officer in the Duke's secret) was up on the wharf in an instant. I followed him, though the carpenter clutched at me as I scrambled up. I kicked out behind like a donkey. I didn't kick him, but some one thrust the carpenter aside in the hurry so that I was free. In another seconds I was past the captain, running after the pedlar, who started to run at a good speed, dropping his box with a clatter. Half a dozen joined in the pursuit. The captain had his sword out. They raised such a noise behind me that I thought the whole crew was at my heels. The pedlar kept glancing behind; he knew very little about running. He doubled from street to street, like a man at his wits' ends. I could see that he was blown. When he entered into that conspiracy, he had counted on the horsey man diverting suspicion from him. Suddenly, after twisting round a corner, he darted through a swing door into a stone-paved court, surrounded by brick walls. I was at his heels at the moment or I should have lost him there. I darted through the swing door after him. I went full sprawl over his body on the other side. He had, quite used up, collapsed there.



CHAPTER VIII. I MEET MY FRIEND

"Give it me," I said. "Give it me, Longshore Jack. Before they catch us." To my horror, I saw that the creature was a woman in a man's clothes. She took me for one of her gang. She was too much frightened to think things out. "I thought you were one of the other lot," she gasped, as she handed me a pocketbook.

"Didn't he get the letters, too?" I asked at a venture. "No," she said, sitting up, now, panting, to take a good look at me. I stared at her for a moment. I, myself, was out of breath.

"They're going," I said, hearing the noise of the pursuit passing away in the check. "I'll just spy out the land." I opened the door till it was an inch or two ajar, so that I could see what was going on outside. "They're gone," I said again, still keeping up the pretence of being on her side. As I said it, I glanced back to fix her features on my memory. She had a pale, resolute face with fierce eyes, which seemed fierce from pain, not from any cruelty of nature. It was a pleasant face, as far as one could judge of a face made up to resemble a dirty pedlar's face.

Seeing my look, she seemed to watch me curiously, raising herself up, till she stood unsteadily by the wall. "When did you come in?" she said, meaning, I suppose, when did I join the gang.

"Last week," I answered, swinging the door a little further open. Footsteps were coming rapidly along the road. I heard excited voices, I made sure that it was the search party going back to the schooner.

"Digame, muchacho," she said in Spanish. It must have been some sort of pass-word among them. Seeing by my face that I did not understand she repeated the words softly. Then at that very instant she was on me like a tigress with a knife. I slipped to one side instinctively. I suppose I half saw her as the knife went home. She grabbed at the pocket-book, which I swung away from her hand. The knife went deep into the door, with a drive which must have jarred her to the shoulder. "Give it me," she gasped, snatching at me like a fury. I dodged to one side, up the court, horribly scared. She followed, raving like a mad thing, quite ghastly white under her paint, wholly forgetful that she was acting a man's part. When once we were dodging I grew calmer. I led her to the end of the court, then ducked. She charged in, blindly, against the wall, while I raced to the door, very pleased with my success. I did not hear her follow me, so, when I got to the door, I looked back. Just at that instant, there came a smart report. The creature had fired at me with a pistol; the bullet sent a dozen chips of brick into my face. I went through the door just as the shot from the second barrel thudded into the lintel. Going through hurriedly I ran into Mr. Jermyn, as he came round the corner with the captain. "I've got it," I said. "Look out. She's in there."

"Who?" they said. "The thief? A woman?" They did not stay, but thrust through the door.

Mr. Jermyn dragged me through with them. "You say you've got it, Martin?"

"Yes," I answered, handing him the book. "Here it is."

"That's a mercy," he said. "Now then, where's the thief?"

I had been out of the court, I suppose thirty seconds; it cannot have been more. Yet, when I went back with those two men, the woman had gone, as though she had never been there. "She's over the wall," cried the captain, running up the court. But when we looked over the wall there was no trace of her, except some slight scratches upon the brick, where her toes had rested. On the other side of the wall was a tulip bed full of rows of late flowering tulips, not yet out. There was no footmark on the earth. Plainly she had not jumped down on the other side. "Check," said captain. "Is she in one of the houses?"

But the houses on the left side of the court (on the other side the court had no houses, only brick walls seven feet high) were all old, barred in, deserted mansions, with padlocks on the doors. She could not possibly have entered one of those.

"They're old plague-houses," said Mr. Jermyn.

"They've been deserted twenty years now, since the great sickness."

"Yes?" said the captain, carelessly. "But where can she have got to?"

"Well. It beats me," Mr. Jermyn replied. "But perhaps she ran along the wall to the end, then jumped down into the lane. That's the only thing she could have done. By the way, boy, you were shot at. Were you hit?"

"No," I answered. "But I got jolly near it. The bullet went just by me."

"Ah," he said. "Take this. You'll have to be armed in future."

He handed me a beautiful little double-barrelled pocket pistol. "Be careful," he said. "It's loaded. Put it in your pocket. You musn't be seen carrying arms here. That would never do."

"Boy," said the captain. "D'ye think you could shin up that water-spout, so as to look over the parapet there, on to the leads of the houses?"

"Yes," I said. "I think I could, from the top of the wall."

"Why," Mr. Jermyn said. "She couldn't have got up there."

"An active woman might," the captain said. "You see, the water-spout is only six feet long from the wall to the eaves. There's good footing on the brackets. It's three quick steps. Then one vigorous heave over the parapet. There you are, snug as a purser's billet, out of sight."

"No woman could have done it," Mr. Jermyn said. "Besides, look here. We can't go further in the matter. We've recovered the book. We must get back to the ship."

So the scheme of climbing up the water pipe came to nothing. We walked off together wondering where the woman had got to. Long afterwards I learned that she heard all that we said by the wall there. While we talked, she was busy reloading her pistol, waiting. At the door of the court we paused to pull out her knife from where it stuck. It was a not very large dagger-knife, with a small woman's grip, inlaid with silver, but bound at the guard with gold clasps. The end of the handle was also bound with gold. The edge of the broad, cutting blade curved to a long sharp point. The back was straight. On the blade was an inscription in Spanish, "Veneer o Morir" ("To conquer or die"), with the maker's name, Luis Socartes, Toledo, surrounded by a little twirligig. I have it in my hand as I write. I value it more than anything in my possession. It serves to remind me of a very remarkable woman.

"There, Martin," said Mr. Jermyn. "There's a curiosity for you. Get one of the seamen to make a sheath for it. Then you can wear it at your back on your belt like a sailor."

As we walked back to the ship, I told Mr. Jermyn all that I had seen of the morning's adventure. He said that the whole, as far as he could make it out, had been a carefully laid plot of some of James the Second's spies. He treated me as an equal now. He seemed to think that I had saved the Duke from a very dreadful danger. The horsey man, he said, was evidently a trusted secret agent, who must have made friends with the carpenter on some earlier visit of the schooner. He had planned his raid on the Duke's papers very cleverly. He had arrived on board when no one was about. He had bribed the carpenter (so we conjectured, piecing the evidence together) to shout fire, when we were busy at breakfast. Then, when all was ready, this woman, whoever she was, had gone forward to the bo'sun's locker, where she had set fire to half a dozen of those fumigating chemical candles which she had brought in her box. The candles at once sputtered out immense volumes of evil smelling smoke. The carpenter, watching his time, raised the alarm of fire, while the horsey man, hidden below, waited till all were on deck to force the spring-locks on the Duke's cabin-door. When once he had got inside the cabin, he had worked with feverish speed, emptying all the drawers, ripping up the mattress, even upsetting the books from the bookshelf, all in about two minutes. Luckily the Duke kept nearly all his secret papers about his person. The pocket-book was the only important exception. This, a very secret list of all the Western gentry ready to rise, was locked in a casket in a locked drawer.

"It shows you," said Mr. Jermyn, "how well worked, that he did all this in so little time. If you hadn't fallen on the nail, Martin, our friends in the West would have fared badly. It was very clever of you to bring us out of the danger." When we got back aboard the schooner, we found, as we had expected, that the men in league with the horsey man had deserted. Neither carpenter nor boatswain was to be found. Both had bolted off in pursuit of the horsey man at the moment of alarm, leaving their chests behind them. I suppose they thought that the plot had succeeded. I dare say, too, that the horsey man, who was evidently well known to them both, had given them orders to desert in the confusion, so that he might suck their brains at leisure elsewhere. Altogether, the morning's work from breakfast time till ten was as full of moving incident as a quiet person's life. I have never had a more exciting two hours. When I sat down to my own breakfast (which I ate in the cabin among the gentlemen) I seemed to have grown five years older. All three men made much of me. They brought out all sorts of sweetmeats for me, saying I had saved them from disaster. The Duke was especially kind. "Why, Jermyn," he said, "we thought we'd found a clever messenger; but we've found a guardian angel." He gave me a belt made of green Spanish leather, with a wonderfully wrought steel clasp. "Here," he said. "Wear this, Martin. Here's a holster on it for your pistol. These pouches hold cartridges. Then this sheath at the back will hold your dagger, the spoils of war."

"There," said the captain. "Now I'll give you something else to fit you out. I'll give you a pocket flask. What's more, I'll teach you how to make cartridges. We'll make a stock this morning."

While he was speaking, the mate came down to tell us how sorry he was that it was through him that the horsey man was shown over the ship. "He told me he'd important letters for Mr. Scott," he said, "so I thought it was only right to show him about, while you was dressing. The carpenter came to me. 'This gentleman's got letters for Mr. Scott,' he said. So I was just taken in. He was such a smooth spoken chap. After I got to know, I could 'a' bit my head off." They spoke kindly to the man, who was evidently distressed at his mistake. They told him to give orders for a watchman to walk the gangway all day long in future, which to me sounded like locking the stable door too late. After that, I learned how to make pistol cartridges until the company prepared to go ashore. The chests of the deserters were locked up in the lazaret, or store cupboard, so that if the men came aboard again they might not take away their things.

"Before we start," the Duke said, "I must just say this. We know, from this morning's work, that the spies of the English court know much more than we supposed. We may count it as certain that this ship is being watched at this moment. Now, we must put them off the scent, because I must see Argyle without their knowledge. It is not much good putting to sea again, as a blind, for they can't help knowing that we are here to see Argyle. They have only to watch Argyle's house to see us enter, sooner or later. I suggest this as a blind. We ought to ride far out into the country to Zaandam, say, by way of Amsterdam. That's about twenty miles. Meanwhile Argyle shall come aboard here. The schooner shall take him up to Egmont; he'll get there this afternoon. He must come aboard disguised though. At Zaandam, we three will separate, Jermyn will personate me, remaining in Zaandam. The boy shall carry letters in a hurry to Hoorn; dummy letters, of course. While I shall creep off to meet Argyle—somewhere else. If we start in a hurry they won't have time to organize a pursuit. There are probably only a few secret agents waiting for us here. What do you say?"

"Yes," said Mr. Jermyn. "I myself should say this. Send the boy on at once to Egmont with a note to Stendhal the merchant there. They won't suspect the boy. They won't bother to follow him, probably. Tell Stendhal to send Out a galliot to take Argyle off the schooner while at sea. The galliot can land Argyle somewhere on the coast. That would puzzle them rarely. She can then ply to England, or elsewhere, so that her men won't have a chance of talking. As for the schooner, she can proceed north to anchor at the Texel till further orders. At the same time, we could ride south to Noordwyk; find a barge there going north. Hide in her cabin till she arrives, say, at Alkmaar. Meet Argyle somewhere near there. Then remain hidden till it is time to move. We can set all the balls moving, by sticking up a few bills in the towns." I did not know what he meant by this. Afterwards I learned that the conspirators took their instructions from advertisements for servants, or of things lost, which were stuck up in public places. To the initiated, these bills, seemingly innocent, gave warning of the Duke's plan. Very few people in Holland (not more than thirty I believe) were in the secret of his expedition. Most of these thirty knew other loyalists, to whom, when the time came, they gave the word. When the time came we were only about eighty men all told. That is not a large force, is it, for the invasion of a populous kingdom?

They talked it out for a little while, making improvements on Mr. Jermyn's plan. They had a map by them during some of the time. Before they made their decision, they turned me out of the cabin, so that I know not to this day what the Duke did during the next few days. I know only this, that he disappeared from his enemies, so completely that the spies were baffled. Not only James's spies, that is nothing: but the spies of William of Orange were baffled. They knew no more of his whereabouts than I knew. They had to write home that he had gone, they could not guess where; but possibly to Scotland to sound the clans. All that I know of his doings during the next week is this. After about half an hour of debate, the captain went ashore to one of the famous inns in the town. From this inn, he despatched, one by one, at brief intervals, three horses, each to a different inn along the Egmont highway. He gave instructions to the ostlers who rode them to wait outside the inns named till the gentlemen called for them. He got the third horse off, in this quiet way, at the end of about an hour. I believe that he then sent a printed book (with certain words in it underlined, so as to form a message) by the hand of a little girl, to the Duke of Argyle's lodging. I have heard that it was a book on the training of horses to do tricks. There was probably some cipher message in it, as well as the underlined message. Whatever it was, it gave the Duke his instructions.



CHAPTER IX. I SEE MORE OF MY FRIEND

After waiting for about an hour in the schooner, I was sent ashore with a bottle-basket, with very precise instructions in what I was to do. I was to follow the road towards Haarlem, till I came to the inn near the turning of the Egmont highway. There I was to leave my bottle-basket, asking (or, rather, handing over a written request) for it to be filled with bottles of the very best gin. After paying for this, I was to direct it to be sent aboard the schooner by the ostler (who was waiting at the door with a horse) the last of those ordered by the captain. I was then to walk the horse along the Egmont road, till I saw or heard an open carriage coming behind. Then I was to trot, keeping ahead of the carriage, but not far from it, till I was past the third tavern. After that, if I was not recalled by those in the carriage, I was free to quicken up my pace. I was then to ride straight ahead, till I got to Egmont, a twenty mile ride to the north. There I was to deliver up my horse at the Zwolle-Haus inn, before enquiring for M. Stendhal, the East India merchant. To him I was to give a letter, which for safety was rolled into a blank cartridge in my little pistol cartridge box. After that, I was to stay at M. Stendhal's house, keeping out of harm's way, till I received further orders from my masters.

You may be sure that I thought myself a fine figure of gallantry as I stepped out with my bottle-basket. I was a King's secret agent. I had a King's letter hidden about my person. I was armed with fine weapons, which I longed to be using. I had been under fire for my King's sake. I was also still tingling with my King's praise. It was a warm, sunny April day; that was another thing to fill me with gladness. Soon I should be mounted on a nag, riding out in a strange land, on a secret mission, with a pocket full of special service money. Whatever I had felt in the few days of the sea-passage was all forgotten now. I did not even worry about not knowing the language. It would keep me from loitering to chatter. My schoolboy French would probably be enough for all purposes if I vent astray. I was "to avoid chance acquaintances, particularly if they spoke English." That was my last order. Repeating it to myself I walked on briskly.

I had not gone more than three hundred yards upon my way, when a lady, very richly dressed, cantered slowly past me on a fine bay mare. She was followed by a gentleman in scarlet, riding on a little black Arab. They had not gone a hundred yards past me when the Arab picked up a stone. The man dismounted to pick it out, while the lady rode back to hold the horse, which was a ticklish job, since he was as fresh as a colt. He went squirming about like an eel. The man had no hook to pick the stone with; nor could he get it out by his fingers. I could hear him growling under his breath in some strange language, while the horse sidled about as wicked as he could be.

As I approached, the horse grew so troublesome that the man decided to take him back to the town, to have the stone pulled there. He was just starting to lead him back when I came up with them. He asked me some question in a tongue which I did not know. He probably asked me if I had a hook. I shook my head. The lady said something to him in French, which made him laugh. Then he began to lead back the horse towards the town. The lady, after waving her hand to him, started to ride slowly forward in front of me. Like most ladies at that time she wore a little black velvet domino mask over her eyes. All people could ride in those days; but I remember it occurred to me that this lady rode beautifully. So many women look like meal-sacks in the saddle. This one rode as though she were a part of the horse.

She kept about twenty yards ahead of me till I sighted the inn, where an ostler was walking the little nag which I was to ride. She halted at the inn-door, looking back towards the town for her companion. Then, without calling to anybody, she dismounted, flinging her mare's reins over a hook in the wall. She went into the inn boldly, drawing her whip through her left hand. When I entered the inn-door a moment later, she was talking in Dutch to the landlord, who was bowing to her as though she were a great lady.

I handed over my bottle-basket, with the letter, to a woman who served the customers at the drinking bar. Then, as I was going out to take my horse, the lady spoke to me in broken English.

"Walk my horse, so he not take cold," she said. It was in the twilight of the passage from the door, so that I could not see her very clearly, but the voice was certainly like the voice of the woman who had fired at me in the courtyard. Or was I right? That voice was on my nerves. It seemed to be the voice of all the strangers in the town. I looked up at her quickly. She was masked; yet the grey eyes seemed to gleam beyond the velvet, much as that woman's eyes had gleamed. Her mouth; her chin; the general poise of her body, all convinced me. She was the woman who had carried away the book from Longshore Jack. I was quite sure of it. I pretended not to understand her. I dropped my eyes, without stopping; she flicked me lightly with her whip to draw my attention.

"Walk my horse," she said again, with a little petulance in her voice. I saw no way out of it. If I refused, she would guess (if she did not know already) that I was not there only for bottles of gin. "Oui, mademoiselle," I said. "Oui. Merci." So out I went to where the mare stood. She followed me to the door to see me take the mare. There was no escape; she was going to delay me at the door till the man returned. I patted the lovely creature's neck. I was very well used to horses, for in the Broad Country a man must ride almost as much as he must row. But I was not so taken up with this mare that I did not take good stock of the lady, who, for her part, watched me pretty narrowly, as though she meant never to forget me. I began to walk the beast in the road in front of the inn, wondering how in the world I was to get out of the difficulty before the Duke's carriage arrived. There was the woman watching me, with a satirical smile. She was evidently enjoying the sight of my crestfallen face.

Now in my misery a wild thought occurred to me. I began to time my walking of the mare so that I was walking towards Sandfoort, while the other horse-boy was walking with my nag towards Egmont on the other side of the inn. I had read that in desperate cases the desperate remedy is the only measure to be tried. While I was walking away from the inn I drew the dagger, the spoils of war. I drew it very gently as though I were merely buttoning my waistcoat. Then with one swift cut I drew it nine-tenths through the girth. I did nothing more for that turn, though I only bided my time. After a turn or two more, the other horse-boy was called up to the inn by the lady to receive a drink of beer. No doubt she was going to question him (as he drank) about the reason for his being there. He walked up leisurely, full of smiles at the beer, leaving his nag fast to a hook in the wall some dozen yards from the door. This was a better chance than I had hoped for; so drawing my dagger, I resolved to put things to the test. I ripped the reins off the mare close to the bit. Then with a loud shout followed by a whack in the flank, I frightened that lovely mare right into them, almost into the inn-door. Before they knew what had happened I was at my own horse's head swiftly casting off the reins from the hook. Before they had turned to pursue me, I was in the saddle, going at a quick trot towards Egmont, while the mare was charging down the road behind me, with her saddle under her belly, giving her the fright of her life.

An awful thought came to me. "Supposing the lady is not the English spy, what an awful thing I have done. Even if she be, what right have I to cut her horse's harness? They may put me in prison for it. Besides, what an ass I have been. If she is what I think, she will know now that I am her enemy, engaged on very special service." Looking back at the inn-door, I saw a party of people gesticulating in the road. A man was shouting to me. Others seemed to be laughing. Then, to my great joy, round the turn of the road came an open carriage with two horses, going at a good pace. There came my masters. All was well. I chuckled to myself as I thought of the lady's face, when these two passed her, leaving her without means of following them. When we were well out of sight of the inn, I rode back to the carriage to report, wondering how they would receive my news. They received it with displeasure, saying that I had disobeyed my orders, not only in acting as I had done; but in coming back to tell them. They bade me ride on at once to Egmont, before I was arrested for cutting the lady's harness. As for their own plans, whatever they were, my action altered them. I do not know what they did. I know that I turned away with a flea in my ear from the Duke's reproof. I remember not very much of my ride to Egmont, except that I seemed to ride most of the time among sand-dunes. I glanced back anxiously to see if I was being pursued; but no one followed. I rode on at the steady lope, losing sight of the carriage, passing by dune after dune, rising windmill after windmill, to drop them behind me as I rode. In that low country, I had the gleam of the sea to my left hand, with the sails of ships passing by me. The wind freshened as I rode, till at last my left cheek felt the continual stinging of the sand grains, whirled up by the wind from the bents. Where the sea-beach broadened, I rode on the sands. The miles dropped past quickly enough, though I rode only at the lope, not daring to hurry my horse. I kept this my pace even when going through villages, where the people in their strange Dutch clothes hurried out to stare at me as I bucketed by. I passed by acre after acre of bulb-fields, mostly tulip-fields, now beginning to be full of colour. Once, for ten minutes, I rode by a broad canal, where a barge with a scarlet transom drove along under sail, spreading the ripples, keeping alongside me. The helmsman, who was smoking a pipe as he eyed the luff of his sail, waved his hand to me, as I loped along beside him. You would not believe it; but he was one of the Oulton fishermen, a man whom I had known for years. I had seen that tan-sailed barge many, many times, rushing up the Waveney from Somer Leyton, with that same quiet figure at her helm. I would have loved to have called out "Oh, Hendry. How are you? Fancy seeing you here." But I dared not betray myself; nor did Hendry recognize me. After the road swung away from the canal, I watched that barge as long as she remained in sight, thinking that while she was there I had a little bit of Oulton by me.

At last, far away I saw the church of Egmont, rising out of a flat land (not unlike the Broad land) on which sails were passing in a misty distance. I rose in my stirrups with a holloa; for now, I thought, I was near my journey's end. I clapped my horse's neck, promising him an apple for his supper. Then, glancing back, I looked out over the land. The Oulton barge was far away now, a patch of dark sail drawing itself slowly across the sky. Out to sea a great ship seemed to stand still upon the skyline. But directly behind me, perhaps a mile away, perhaps two miles, clearly visible on the white straight ribbon of road, a clump of gallopers advanced, quartering across the road towards me. There may have been twenty of them all told; some of them seemed to ride in ranks like soldiers. I made no doubt when I caught sight of them that they were coming after me, about that matter of the lady's harness. My first impulse was to pull up, so that Old Blunderbore, as I had christened my horse, might get his breath. But I decided not to stop, as I knew how dangerous a thing it is to stop a horse in his pace after he has settled down to it, had still three miles to go to shelter. If I could manage the three miles all would be well. But could manage them? Old Blunderbore had taken the eighteen miles we had come together very easily. Now I was thankful that I had not pressed him in the early part of the ride. But Egmont seemed a long, long way from me. I dared not begin to gallop so far from shelter. I went loping on as before, with my heart in my mouth, feeling like one pursued in a nightmare.

As I looked around, to see these gallopers coming on, while I was still lollopping forward, I felt that I was tied by the legs, unable to move. Each instant made it more difficult for me to keep from shaking up my horse. Continual promptings flashed into my mind, urging me to bolt down somewhere among the dunes. These plans I set aside as worthless; for a boy would soon have been caught among those desolate sandhills. There was no real hiding among them. You could see any person among them from a mile away. I kept on ahead, longing for that wonderful minute when I could hurry my horse, in the wild rush to Egmont town, the final wild rush, on the nag's last strength, with my pursuers, now going their fastest, trailing away behind, as their beasts foundered. The air came singing past. I heard behind me the patter of the turf sent flying by Old Blunderbore's hoofs. The excitement of the ride took vigorous hold on me. I felt on glancing back that I should do it, that I should carry my message, that the Dutchman should see my mettle, before they stopped me. They were coming up fast on horses still pretty fresh. I would show them, I said to myself, what a boy can do on a spent horse.

Old Blunderbore lollopped on. I clapped him on the neck. "Come up, boy! Up!" I cried. "Egmont—Egmont! Come on, Old Blunderbore!" The good old fellow shook his head up with a whinny. He could see Egmont. He could smell the good corn perhaps. I banged him with my cap on the shoulder. "Up, boy!" I cried. I felt that even if I died, even if I was shot there, as I sailed along with my King's orders, I should have tasted life in that wild gallop.

A countryman carrying a sack put down his load to stare at me, for now, with only a mile to go, I was going a brave gait, as fast as Old Blunderbore could manage. I saw the man put up his hands in pretended terror. The next instant he was far behind, wondering no doubt why the charging squadron beyond were galloping after a boy. Now we were rushing at our full speed, with half a mile, a quarter of a mile, two hundred yards to the town gates. Carts drew to one side, hearing the clatter. I shouted to drive away the children. Poultry scattered as though the king of the foxes was abroad. After me came the thundering clatter of the pursuit. I could hear distant shouts. The nearest man there was a quarter of a mile away. A man started out to catch my rein, thinking that my horse had run away with me. I banged him in the face with my cap as I swung past him. In another second, as it seemed, I was pulled up inside the gates.

As far as I remember,—but it is all rather blurred now,—the place where I pulled up was a sort of public square. I swung myself off Old Blunderbore just outside a tavern. An ostler ran up to me at once to hold him. So I gave him a silver piece what it was worth I did not know, saying firmly "Zwolle-Haus. Go on. Zwolle-Haus."

The ostler smiled as he repeated Zwolle-Haus, pointing to the tavern itself, which, by good luck, was the very house.

"M. Stendhal," I said. "Where is M. Stendhal? Mynheer Stendhal? Mynheer Stendhal Haus?"

The ostler repeated, "Stendhal? Stendhal? Ah, ja. Stendhal. Da." He pointed down a narrow street which led, as I could see, to a canal wharf.

I thanked him in English, giving him another silver piece. Then off I went, tottering on my toes with the strangeness of walking after so long a ride. I was not out of the wood yet, by a long way. At every second, as I hurried on, I expected to hear cries of my pursuers, as they charged down the narrow street after me. I tried to run, but my legs felt so funny, it was like running in a dream. I just felt that I was walking on pillows, instead of legs. Luckily that little narrow street was only fifty yards long. It was with a great gasp of relief that I got to the end of it. When I could turn to my right out of sight of the square I felt that I was saved. I had been but a minute ahead of the pursuers outside on the open. Directly after my entrance, some cart or waggon went out of the town, filling the narrow gateway full, so that my enemies were forced to pull up. This gave me a fair start, without which I could hardly have won clear. If it had not been for that lucky waggon, who knows what would have happened?

As it was, I tottered along with drawn pistol to the door of a great house (luckily for me the only house), which fronted the canal. I must have seemed a queer object, coming in from my ride like that, in a peaceful Dutch town. If I had chanced upon a magistrate I suppose I should have been locked up; but luck was with me on that day. I chanced only on Mynheer Stendhal as he sat smoking among his tulips in the front of his mansion. He jumped up with a "God bless me!" when he saw me.

"Mynheer Stendhal?" I asked.

"Yes," he said in good English. "What is it, boy?"

"Take me in quick," I said. "They're after me."



CHAPTER X. SOUNDS IN THE NIGHT

In another minute, after Mr. Stendhal had read my note, I was skinning off my clothes in an upper bedroom. Within three minutes I was dressed like a Dutch boy, in huge baggy striped trousers belonging to Stendhal's son. In four minutes the swift Mr. Stendhal had walked me across the wharf in sabots to one of the galliots in the canal, which he ordered under way at once, to pick up Argyle at sea. So that when my pursuers rode up to Mr. Stendhal's door in search of me, I was a dirty little Dutch boy casting off a stern-hawser from a ring bolt. They seemed to storm at Mr. Stendhal; but I don't know what they said; he acted the part of surprised indignation to the life. When I looked my last on Mr. Stendhal he was at the door, begging a search party to enter to see for themselves that I was not hidden there. The galliot got under way, at that moment, with a good deal of crying out from her sailors. As she swung away into the canal, I saw the handsome lady idly looking on. She was waiting at the door with the other riders. She was the only woman there. To show her that I was a skilled seaman I cast off the stern-hawser nimbly, then dropped on to the deck like one bred to the trade. A moment later I was aloft, casting loose the gaff-topsail. From that fine height as the barge began to move I saw the horsemen turning away foiled. I saw the lady's leathered hat, making a little dash of green among the drab of the riding coats. Then an outhouse hid them all from sight. I was in a sea-going barge, bound out, under all sail, along a waterway lined with old reeds, all blowing down with a rattling shiver.

Now I am not going to tell you much more of my Holland experiences. I was in that barge for about one whole fortnight, during which I think I saw the greater part of the Dutch canals. We picked up Argyle at sea on the first day. After that we went to Amsterdam with a cargo of hides. Then we wandered about at the wind's will, thinking that it might puzzle people, if any one should have stumbled on the right scent. All that fortnight was a long delightful picnic to me. The barge was so like an Oulton wherry that I was at home in her. I knew what to do, it was not like being in the schooner. When we were lying up by a wharf, I used to spend my spare hours in fishing, or in flinging fiat pebbles from a cleft-stick at the water-rats. When we were under sail I used to sit aloft in the cross-trees, looking out at the distant sea. At night, after a supper of strong soup, we all turned in to our bunks in the tiny cabin, from the scuttle of which I could see a little patch of sky full of stars.

A boy lives very much in the present. I do not think that I thought much of the Duke's service, nor of our venture for the crown. If I thought at all of our adventures, I thought of the handsome woman with the grey, fierce eyes. In a way, I hoped that might have another tussle with her, not because I liked adventure, no sane creature does, but because I thought of her with liking. I felt that she would be such a brave, witty person to have for a friend. I felt sad somehow at the thought of not seeing her again. She was quite young, not more than twenty, if her looks did not belie her. I used to wonder how it was that she had come to be a secret agent. I believed that the sharp-faced horsey man had somehow driven her to it against her will. Thinking of her at night, before I fell asleep, I used to long to help her. It is curious, but I always thought tenderly of this woman, even though she had twice tried to kill me. A man's bad angel is only his good angel a little warped.

On the second of May, though I did not know it then, Argyle set sail for Scotland, to raise the clans for a foray across the Border. On the same day I was summoned from my quarters in the barge to take up my King's service. Late one evening, when it was almost dark night, Mr. Jermyn halted at the wharf-side to call me from my supper. "Mount behind me, Martin," he said softly, peering down the hatch. "It's time, now." I thought he must mean that it was time to invade England. You must remember that I knew little of the rights of the case, except that the Duke's cause was the one favoured by my father, dead such a little while before. Yet when I heard that sudden summons, it went through me with a shock that now this England was to be the scene of a bloody civil war, father fighting son, brother against brother. I would rather have been anywhere at that moment than where I was, hearing that order. Still, I had put my hand to the plough. There was no drawing back. I rose up with my eyes full of tears to say good-bye to the kind Dutch bargemen. I never saw them again. In a moment I was up the wharf, scrambling into the big double saddle behind Mr. Jermyn. Before my eyes were accustomed to the darkness we were trotting off into the night I knew not whither.

"Martin," said Mr. Jermyn, half turning in his saddle, "talk in a low voice. There may be spies anywhere."

"Yes, sir," I answered, meekly. For a while after that we were silent; I was waiting for him to tell me more.

"Martin," he said at length, "we're going to send you to England, with a message."

"Yes, sir?" I answered.

"You understand that there's danger, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Life is full of danger. But for his King a Christian man must be content to run risks. You aren't afraid, Martin?"

"No, sir," I answered bravely. I was afraid, all the same. I doubt if any boy my age would have felt very brave, riding in the night like that, with danger of spies all about.

"That's right, Martin," he said kindly. "That's the kind of boy I thought you." Again we were quiet, till at last he said:

"You're going in a barquentine to Dartmouth. Can you remember Blick of Kingswear?"

"Blick of Kingswear," I repeated. "Yes, sir."

"He's the man you're to go to."

"Yes, sir. What am I to tell him?"

"Tell him this, Martin. Listen carefully. This, now. King Golden Cap. After Six One."

"King Golden Cap. After Six One," I repeated. "Blick of Kingswear. King Golden Cap. After Six One."

"That's right," he said. "Repeat it over. Don't forget a word of it. But I know you're too careful a lad to do that." There was no fear of my forgetting it. I think that message is burned in into my brain under the skull-bones.

"There'll be cipher messages, too, Martin. They're also for Mr. Blick. You'll carry a little leather satchel, with letters sewn into the flap. You'll carry stockings in the satchel. Or school-books. You are Mr. Blick's sister's son, left an orphan in Holland. You'll be in mourning. Your mother died of low-fever, remember, coming over to collect a debt from her factor. Your mother was an Oulton fish-boat owner. Pay attention now. I'm going to cross-examine you in your past history."

As we rode on into the gloom, in the still, flat, misty land, which gleamed out at whiles with water dykes, he cross-examined me in detail, in several different ways, just as a magistrate would have done it. I was soon letter-perfect about my mother. I knew Mr. Blick's past history as well as I knew my own.

"Martin," said Mr. Jermyn suddenly. "Do you hear anything?"

"Yes, sir," I answered. "I think I do, sir."

"What is it you hear, Martin?"

"I think I hear a horse's hoofs, sir."

"Behind us?"

"Yes, sir. A long way behind."

"Hold on then, boy. I'm going to pull up."

We halted for an instant in the midst of a wide fiat desert, the loneliest place on God's earth. For an instant in the stillness we heard the trot trot of a horse's hoofs. Then the unseen rider behind us halted, too, as though uncertain how to ride, with our hoofs silent.

"There," said Mr. Jermyn. "You see. Now we'll make him go on again." He shook the horse into his trot again, talking to him in a little low voice that shook with excitement. Sure enough, after a moment the trot sounded out behind us. It was as though our wraiths were riding behind us, following us home. "I'll make sure," said Mr. Jermyn, pulling up again.

"You're a cunning dog," he said gently. "You heard that?" Indeed, it sounded uncanny. The unseen rider had feared to pull up, guessing that we had guessed his intentions. Instead of pulling up he did a much more ominous thing, he slowed his pace perceptibly. We could hear the change in the beat of the horse-hoofs. "Cunning lad," said Mr. Jermyn. "I've a good mind to shoot that man, Martin. He's following us. Pity it's so dark. One can never be sure in the dark like this. But I don't know. I'd like to see who it is."

We trotted on again at our usual pace. Presently, something occurred to me. Mr. Jermyn, I said; "would you like me to see who it is? I could slip off as we go. I could lie down flat so that he would pass against the sky. Then you could come back for me."

He did not like the scheme at first. He said that it would be too dark for me to see anybody; but that when we were nearer to the town it might be done. So we rode on at our quick trot for a couple of more, hearing always behind us a faint beat of upon the road, like the echo of our own hoofs. After a time they stopped suddenly, nor did we hear them again.

"D'you know what he's done, Martin?" said Mr. Jermyn.

"No, sir," I answered.

"He's muffled his horse's hoofs with duffle shoes. A sort of thick felt slippers. He was in too great a hurry to do that before. There are the lights of the town."

"Shall I get down, sir?"

"If you can without my pulling up. Don't speak. But lay your head on the road. You'll hear the horse, then, if I'm right."

"Then I'll lie still," I said, "to see if I can see who it is."

"Yes. But make no sign. He may shoot. He may take you for a footpad. I'll ride back to you in a minute."

He slowed down the horse so that I could slip off unheard on to the turf by the roadside. When he had gone a little distance, I laid my ear to the road. Sure enough, the noise of the other horse was faint but plain in the distance, coming along on the road, avoiding the turf. The turf vas trenched in many drains, so as to make dangerous riding at night. I lay down flat on the turf, with my pistol in my hand. I was excited; but I remember that I enjoyed it. I felt so like an ancient Briton lying in wait for his enemy. I tried to guess the distance of this strange horse from me. It is always difficult to judge either distance or location by sound, when the wind is blowing. The horse hoofs sounded about a quarter of a mile away. I know not how far they really were. Very soon I could see the black moving mass coming quietly along the road. The duffle hoof-wraps made a dull plodding noise near at hand. Nearer the unknown rider came, suspecting nothing. I could see him bent forward, peering out ahead. I could even take stock of him, dark though it was. He was a not very tall man, wearing a full Spanish riding cloak. It seemed to me that he checked his horse's speed somewhere in the thirty yards before he passed me. Then, just as he passed, just as I had a full view of him, blackly outlined against the stars, his horse shied violently at me, on to the other side of the road. The rider swung him about on the instant to make him face the danger. I could see him staring down at me, as he bent forward to pat his horse's neck. I bent my head down so that my face was hidden in the grass.

The stranger did not see me. I am quite sure that he did not see me. He turned his horse back along the road for a few snorting paces. Then with a sounding slap on his shoulder he drove him at a fast pace along the turf towards me. I heard the brute whinny. He was uneasy; he was trying to shy; he was twisting away, trying to avoid the strange thing which lay there. I hid my head no longer. I saw the horse above me. I saw the rider glaring down. He was going to ride over me. I saw his face, a grey blur under his hat. The horse seemed to be right on top of me. I started up to my feet with a cry. The horse shied into the road, with a violence which made the rider rock. Then, throwing up his head, he bolted towards the town, half mad with the scare. Fifty yards down the road he tore past Mr. Jermyn, who was trotting back to pick me up. We heard the frantic hoofs pass away into the night, growing louder as the duffle wraps were kicked off. Perhaps you have noticed how the very sound of the gallop of a scared horse conveys fear. That is what we felt, we two conspirators, as we talked together, hearing that clattering alarm-note die away.

"Martin," said Mr. Jermyn. "That was a woman. She chuckled as she galloped past me."

"Are you sure, sir?" I asked, half-hoping that he might be right. I felt my heart leap at the thought of being in another adventure with the lady.

"Yes," he said, "I'm quite sure. Now we must be quick, so as to give her no time in the town." When I had mounted, we forced the horse to a gallop till we were within a quarter of a mile of the walls, where we pulled up at a cross-roads.

"Get down, Martin," he said. "We must enter the town by different roads. Turn off here to the right. Then take the next two turns to the left, which will bring you into the square. I shall meet you there. Take your time. There's no hurry."

About ten minutes later, I was stopped in a dark quiet alley by a hand on the back of my neck. I saw no one. I heard no noise of breathing. In the pitch blackness of the night the hand arrested me. It was like my spine suddenly stiffening to a rod of ice. "Quiet," said a strange voice before I could scream. "Off with those Dutch clothes. Put on these. Off with those sabots." I was in a suit of English clothes in less than a minute. "Boots," the voice said in my ear. "Pull them on." They were long leather knee-boots, supple from careful greasing. In one of them I felt something hard. My heart leapt as I felt it.

It was a long Italian stiletto. I felt myself a seaman indeed, nay, more than a seaman, a secret agent, with a pair of such boots upon me, "heeled," as the sailors call it, with such a weapon. "Go straight on," said the voice.

As I started to go straight on, there was a sort of rustling behind me. Some black figure seemed to vanish from me. Whoever the man was that had brought me the clothes, he had vanished, just as an Indian will vanish into grass six inches high. Thinking over my strange adventures, I think that that changing of my clothes in the night was almost the most strange of all. It was so eerie, that he should be there at all, a part of Mr. Jermyn's plan, fitting into it exactly, though undreamed of by me. Would indeed that all Mr. Jermyn's plans had carried through so well. But it was not to be. One ought not to grumble.

A few steps farther on, I came to a public square, on one side of which (quite close to where I stood) was a wharf, crowded with shipping. I had hardly expected the sea to be so near, somehow, but seeing it like that I naturally stopped to look for the ship which was to carry me. The only barquentine among the ships lay apart from the others, pointing towards the harbour entrance. She seemed to be a fine big vessel, as far as I could judge in that light. I lingered there for some few minutes, looking at the ships, wondering why it was that Mr. Jermyn had not met me. I was nervous about it. My nerves were tense from all the excitement of the night. One cannot stand much excitement for long. I had had enough excitement that night to last me through the week. As I stood looking at the ships, I began to feel a horror of the wharf-side. I felt as though the very stones of the place were my enemies, lying in wait for me. I cannot explain the feeling more clearly than that. It was due probably to the loneliness of the great empty square, dark as a tomb. Then, expecting Mr. Jermyn, but failing to meet with him, was another cause for dread. I thought, in my nervousness, that I should be in a fine pickle if any enemies made away with Mr. Jermyn, leaving me alone, in a strange land, with only a few silver pieces in my pocket. Still, Mr. Jermyn was long in coming. My anxiety was almost more than I could bear.

At last, growing fearful that I had somehow missed him at the mouth of the dark alley, I walked slowly back in my tracks, wishing that I had a thicker jacket, since it was beginning to rain rather smartly. There was a great sort of inn on the side of the square to which I walked. It had lights on the second floor. The great windows of that story opened on to balconies, in what is, I believe, the Spanish way of building. I remember feeling bitterly how cheery the warm lights looked, inside there, where the people were. I stood underneath the balcony out of the rain, looking out sharply towards the alley, expecting at each instant to see Mr. Jermyn. Still he did not come. I dared not move from where I was lest I should miss him. I racked my brains to try to remember if I had obeyed orders exactly. I wondered whether I had come to the right square. I began to imagine all kinds of evil things which might have happened to him. Perhaps that secret fiend of a woman had been too many for him. Perhaps some other secret service people had waylaid him as he entered the town. Perhaps he was even then in bonds in some cellar, being examined for letters by some of the usurper's men.



CHAPTER XI. AURELIA

While I was fretting myself into a state of hysteria, the catch of one of the great window-doors above me was pushed back. Someone came out on the balcony just over my head. It was a woman, evidently in some great distress, for she was sobbing bitterly. I thought it mean to stand there hearing her cry, so I moved away. As I walked off, the window opened again. A big heavy-looted man came out.

"Stop crying, Aurelia," the voice said. "Here's the stuff. Put it in your pocket."

"I can't," the woman answered. "I can't."

I stopped moving away when I heard that voice. It was the voice of the Longshore Jack woman who had had those adventures with me. I should have known her voice anywhere, even choked as it then was with sobs. It was a good voice, of a pleasant quality, but with a quick, authoritative ring.

"I can't," she said. "I can't, Father."

"Put it in your pocket," her father said. "No rubbish of that sort. You must."

"It would kill me. I couldn't," she answered. "I should hate myself forever."

"No more of that to me," said the cold, hard voice with quiet passion. "Your silly scruples aren't going to outweigh a nation's need. There it is in your pocket. Be careful you don't use too much. If you fail again, remember, you'll earn your own living. Oh, you bungler! When I think of—"

"I'm no bungler. You know it," she answered passionately. "I planned everything. You silly men never backed me up. Who was it guessed right this time? I suppose you think you'd have come here without my help? That's like a man."

"Don't stand there rousing the town, Aurelia," the man said. "Come in out of the rain at once. Get yourself ready to start."

As the window banged to behind them, a figure loomed up out of the night—two figures, more. I sprang to one side; but they were too quick for me. Someone flung an old flour-sack over my head. Before I was ready to struggle I was lying flat on the pavement, with a man upon my chest.

"It's him," said a voice. "You young rip, where are the letters?"

"What letters?" I said, struggling, choking against the folds of the sack.

"Rip up his boots," said another. "Dig him with a knife if he won't answer."

"Bring him in to the Colonel," said the first.

"I've got no letters," I said.

"Lift him up quick," said the man who had suggested the knife. "In with him. Here's the watch."

"Quick, boys," the leader said. "We mustn't be caught at this game."

Steps sounded somewhere in the square. Hearing them, I squealed with all my strength, hoping that somebody would come.

"Choke him," said one of the men.

I gave one more loud squeal before they jammed the sack on my mouth. To my joy, the feet broke into a run. They were the feet of the watch, coming to my rescue.

"Up with him," said the leader among my captors. "Quick, in to the Colonel with him."

"No, no! Drop it. I'm off. Here's the watch," cried the other hurriedly.

They let me drop on to the pavement after half lifting me. In five seconds more they were scattering to shelter. As I rose to my feet, flinging off the flour-sack, I found myself in the midst of the city watch, about a dozen men, all armed, whose leader carried a lantern. The windows of the great inn were open; people were thronging on to the balcony to see what the matter was; citizens came to their house-doors. At that moment, Mr. Jermyn appeared. The captain of the guard was asking questions in Dutch. The guardsmen were peering at my face in the lantern light.

Mr. Jermyn questioned me quickly as to what had happened. He interpreted my tale to the guard. I was his servant, he told them. I had been attacked by unknown robbers, some of whom, at least, were English. One of them had tried to stifle me with a flour-sack, which, on examination under the lantern, proved to be the sack of Robert Harling, Corn-miller, Eastry. Goodness knows how it came to be there; for ship's flour travels in cask. Mr. Jermyn gave an address, where we could be found if any of the villains were caught; but he added that it was useless to expect me to identify any of them, since the attack had been made in the dark, with the victim securely blindfolded. He gave the leader of the men some money. The guard moved away to look for the culprits (long before in hiding, one would think), while Mr. Jermyn took me away with him.

As we went, I looked up at the inn balcony, from which several heads looked down upon us. Behind them, in the lighted room, in profile, in full view, was the lady of the fierce eyes. I knew her at once, in spite of the grey Spanish (man's) hat she wore, slouched over her face. She was all swathed in a Spanish riding cloak. One took her for a handsome young man. But I knew that she was my enemy. I knew her name now, too; Aurelia. She was looking down at me, or rather at us, for she could not have made out our faces. Her face was sad. She seemed uninterested; she had, perhaps, enough sorrow of her own at that moment, without the anxieties of others. A big, burly, hulking, handsome person of the swaggering sort which used to enter the army in those days, left the balcony hurriedly. I saw him at the window, speaking earnestly to her, pointing to the square, in which, already, the darkness hid us. I saw the listlessness fall from her. She seemed to waken up into intense life in an instant. She walked with a swift decision peculiar to her away from the window, leaving the hulking fellow, an elderly, dissolute-looking man, with the wild puffy eyes of the drinker, to pick his teeth in full view of the square.

When we left watching our enemies, Mr. Jermyn bade me walk on tiptoe. We scurried away across the square diagonally, pausing twice to listen for pursuers. No one seemed to be following. There was not much sense in following; for the guard was busy searching for suspicious persons. We heard them challenging passers-by, with a rattle of their halberds on the stones, to make their answers prompt. We were safe enough from persecution for the time. We went down a dark street into a dark alley. From the alley we entered a courtyard, the sides of which were vast houses. We entered one of these houses. The door seemed to open in the mysterious way which had puzzled me so much in Fish Lane. Mr. Jermyn smiled when I asked him how this was done. "Go on in, boy," he said. "There are many queer things in lives like ours." He gave me a shove across the threshold, while the door closed itself silently behind us.

He took me into a room which was not unlike a marine store of the better sort. There were many sailor things (all of the very best quality) lying in neat heaps on long oak shelves against the walls. In the middle of the room a table was laid for dinner.

Mr. Jermyn made me eat a hearty meal before starting, which I did. As I ate, he fidgeted about among some lockers at my back. Presently, as I began to sip some wine which he had poured out for me, he put something over my shoulders.

"Here," he said, "this is the satchel, Martin. Keep the straps drawn tight always. Don't take it off till you give it into Mr. Blick's hands. His own hands, remember. Don't take it off even at night. When you lie down, lash it around your neck with spun-yarn." All this I promised most faithfully to do. "But," I said, examining the satchel, which was like an ordinary small old weather-beaten satchel for carrying books, "where are the letters, sir?"

"Sewn into the double," he answered. "You wouldn't be able to sew so neatly as that. Would you, now?"

"Oh, yes, I should, sir," I replied. "I am a pretty good hand with a sail-needle. The Oulton fishermen used to teach me the stitches. I can do herring-bone stitch. I can even put a cringle into a sail."

"You're the eighth wonder of the world, I think," Mr. Jermyn said. "But choose, now. Choose a kit for yourself. You won't get a chance to change your clothes till you get to Mr. Blick's if you don't take some from here. So just look round the room here. Take whatever you want."

I felt myself to have been fairly well equipped by the stranger who had made me change my clothes in the alley. But I knew how cold the Channel may be even in June; so I chose out two changes of thick underwear. Weapons I had no need for, with the armory already in my belt; but a heavy tarred jacket with an ear-flap collar was likely to be useful, so I chose that instead. It was not more than ten sizes too large for me; that did not matter; at sea one tries to keep warm; appearances are not much regarded. Last of all, when I had packed my satchel, I noticed a sailor's canvas "housewife" very well stored with buttons, etc. I noticed that it held what is called a "palm," that is, the leather hand-guard used by sail-makers for pushing the needle through sail cloth. It occurred to me, vaguely, that such a "housewife" would be useful, in case my clothes got torn, so I stuffed it into my satchel with the other things. I saw that it contained a few small sail-needles (of the kind so excellent as egg-borers) as well as some of the strong fine sail-twine, each thread of which will support a weight of fifty pounds. I put the housewife into my store with a vague feeling of being rich in the world's goods, with such a little treasury of necessaries; I had really no thought of what that chance impulse was to do for me.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Jermyn asked.

"Yes, sir. Quite ready."

"Take this blank drawing-book," he said, handing me a small pocket-book, in which a pencil was stuck. "Make a practice of drawing what you see. Draw the ships. Make sketches of the coast. You will find that such drawings will give you great pleasure when you come to be old. They will help you, too, in impressing an object on your mind. Drawing thus will give you a sense of the extraordinary wonder of the universe. It will teach you a lot of things. Now let's be off. It's time we were on board."

When we went out of the house we were joined by three or four seamen who carried cases of bottles (probably gin bottles). We struck off towards the ship together at a brisk pace, singing one of those quick-time songs with choruses to which the sailors sometimes work. The song they sang was that very jolly one called "Leave her, Johnny." They made such a noise with the chorus of this ditty that Mr. Jermyn was able to refresh my memory in the message to be given to Mr. Blick.

The rain had ceased before we started. When we came into the square, we saw that cressets, or big flaming port-fires, had been placed along the wharf, to give light to some seamen who were rolling casks to the barquentine. A little crowd of idlers had gathered about the workers to watch them at their job; there may have been so many as twenty people there. They stood in a pretty strong, but very unsteady light, by which I could take stock of them. I looked carefully among them for the figure of a young man in a grey Spanish hat; but he was certainly not there. The barquentine had her sails loosed, but not hoisted. Some boats were in the canal ahead, ready to tow her out. She had also laid out a hawser, by which to heave herself out with her capstan. I could see at a glance that she was at the point of sailing. As we came up the plank-gangway which led to her deck we were delayed for a moment by a seaman who was getting a cask aboard.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said to Mr. Jermyn. "I won't keep you waiting long. This cask's about as heavy as nitre."

"What 'a' you got in that cask, Dick?" said the boatswain, who kept a tally at the gangway.

"Nitre or bullets, I guess," said Dick, struggling to get the cask on to the gang plank. "It's as heavy as it knows how."

"Give Dick a hand there," the boatswain ordered. A seaman who was standing somewhere behind me came forward, jogging my elbow as he passed. In a minute or two they had the cask aboard.

"It's red lead," said the boatswain, examining the marks upon it. "Sling it down into the 'tweendecks."