The wind soon increased, and it became necessary to close reef all the sails, while the quick motion of the boat, as she danced lightly over the seas, made every one, with the exception of Mr Scoones and Owen, very ill. The mate abused them for giving way.

"Shure it's not for pleasure, sir," exclaimed Mike. "As soon as the sea chooses to be quiet, we will be quiet too."

His remark produced a laugh, even among those who appeared the worst. In a short time they got better. The night as it approached threatened to be stormy, and some of the party expressed a wish that they were safe back again on the sand-bank.

"Suppose such another gale as we had before were to drive the water over it, where should we be?" asked Mr Scoones. "Depend upon it we are better off in a tight boat, with twice as much sea as we have running here."

Owen thought the mate was right. He did his best to keep up the spirits of his companions. The wind increasing, the sea got up more and more. It was necessary to keep the boat's head close to the wind, sometimes indeed to put the helm hard down so that she might ride over the seas, which otherwise would have broken on board and swamped her. As it was, in spite of the additional streak, the water constantly fell on board, and two hands were kept continually baling it out. The least carelessness in steering would inevitably have caused the destruction of the boat. It seemed surprising, small as she was, that she could live. All night long the wind continued to blow as hard as ever, and no progress was made. There was a fear, indeed, that they might drive back on the sand-bank. When morning broke Owen looked out anxiously to the southward, expecting to see it under their lee. He was, however, thankful to find, as the light increased, that they were out of sight of the dreaded bank.

For two days the same weather continued. Some of the people began to lose heart.

Owen did his best to cheer them up. "Depend upon it we shall have clear skies and a smooth sea before long; we shall then run along famously, and make up for lost time," he observed.

Mr Scoones kept up his character as a good seaman. For hours together he sat at the helm, and only gave it up to Bill Pratt, who was the next best hand to him. At last, as Owen had predicted, the wind fell, and the sea went down. Once more the boat was put on her course to the eastward. During the day they steered by the sun, and at night by the stars, which shone forth with great brilliancy. Although Owen had often gazed before at the Southern Cross and the other beautiful constellations of that hemisphere, he now watched them with greater interest than ever. With the fine weather the spirits of the party rose. Owen proposed that each man should recount his adventures, tell a story, or sing a song. His proposal was adopted; it served to beguile the time, and prevented the men from thinking of the dangers which might be in store for them. Mr Scoones did not interfere. He sat silent and gloomy, as usual. He might possibly have reflected that it was through his own obstinacy that the ship had been cast away, and the lives of so many of her crew sacrificed. Fishing lines were also constantly kept out, and several fish were caught. The only means of cooking them was on a fire of chips on the lid of the fish-kettle. They proved a valuable addition to their fare, and assisted, with the dried fruit which had been saved, in warding off scurvy. The wind was, however, very light, and but slow progress was made. At length it became perfectly calm.

Mr Scoones immediately ordered the men to get out the oars. Owen set the example, and Nat and Mike obeyed, but the others grumbled, asserting that the advantage to be gained was so slight that it was not worth while to exert themselves.

Mr Scoones became very angry, and standing up with the tiller in his hand, declared that he would knock the first man overboard who refused to obey his orders.

"You'd better not try it," answered the carpenter's mate, a powerful-looking man, seizing the hammer which lay near him. "Having three or four hundred miles to sail, as I understand, we can do little good in tiring ourselves out by pulling along at the rate of two knots an hour in this blazing sun. Let those boys and the Irishman put in their oars. They will only kill themselves if they keep at it."

Mr Scoones saw by this how slight was his authority over the men, and wisely gave up the attempt. After a time the calm became more difficult to endure than had been the gale. Owen and his two friends had their heads protected by the turbans which they had at first manufactured, but the others had taken no similar precautions. The straw hats they wore, which had been washed ashore, afforded but a slight resistance against the penetrating rays of the sun. Night brought them all some relief.

Then all hands, excepting one who remained on the watch, lay down to sleep. When it was Owen's watch he saw the mate several times get up and look about him as if his slumbers were light and troubled. For upwards of four days the calm continued. Provisions were served out regularly, but Mr Scoones, believing that they would reach Batavia in ten days or so, had not put the people on an allowance of water; the consequence was that they drank away at the water casks without stint, as they had done at the spirit kegs. One of the casks was soon emptied. Without telling Mr Scoones, they began upon a second. Even Owen was not aware how rapidly the water was being exhausted, until Nat told him that he was afraid they were half-way through the second cask. Owen at once informed Mr Scoones, who on this occasion had good cause for his anger.

"If you wish to live, you fellows must consent to be put on short allowance. We have not made good more than thirty miles of the distance we have to run, and for what we know, we may chance to meet with contrary winds and more calms, and if so, we shall soon all die of thirst. Being without water is, as you will find, worse than being without food."

These remarks brought the men to reason. The remainder of the kegs, including those which had been washed up upon the island, were therefore brought and kept aft by Mr Scoones, who served out half a cupful at a time twice a day to each man.

Owen, as before, tried to animate his companions.

"Here comes a breeze," he exclaimed, as a light blue ripple was seen advancing over the mirror-like surface of the ocean. The sails were trimmed, and the boat once more glided on at the rate of three or four knots an hour. Even should the breeze continue, however it would take them many days to reach Batavia. The wind lasted but a few hours, when they were again becalmed. Thus they lay, making no progress for another two days. Once more a breeze sprung up, but it was directly in their teeth. The boat was hauled on the wind and stood to the northward.

"We may have a long beat of it, but it cannot be helped," said Mr Scoones to Owen.

It was trying work; now they tacked to the south-east, now to the north-east. The imperfect observations they were able to take showed them, however, that they had gained some ground Owen cheered the men by reminding them that they were in the course of homeward and outward bound vessels, and that they might hope to fall in with one or the other.

Still day by day went by, and they were yet a long way from land. Once more the weather changed, and the wind shifted to the northward.

Night came on; Mr Scoones, unwilling to lose advantage of the breeze, continued to carry all sail, and it was evidently as much as the boat could bear. During the darkness a squall struck her. Before the sheets could be let go, the whole of the lighter canvas was blown away. Had not this happened, the boat would have been upset. She had now but her fore lug and foresail, so that she could no longer keep close to the wind without an after oar kept constantly going. The night, however, passed away without any farther accident. It was not until noon, when the weather moderated, that all hands turned to and tried to repair the tattered sails. This operation was almost beyond their power. They managed, however, to patch up a mizen, which enabled the boat once more to stand on her proper course.

Several days passed by; no land appeared in sight. Their provisions were almost exhausted. They had been on short allowance for some time; but a few pints of water remained in their last cask. Again the boat lay becalmed. The three men who had escaped with the mate from the camp—their strength previously weakened by drinking—had given in and lay at the bottom of the boat, or leaned against the side, unable to exert themselves.

Mr Scoones, strong and hardy as he had been, was utterly exhausted. Owen, Nat, and Mike, though feeling weak, were by far the most active of the crew.

Another day passed by; the carpenter's mate was the first to die, the other two quickly followed. Owen had endeavoured to restore them by moistening their parched lips with water; but it was of no avail. He felt himself imbued with a strength which surprised him. The dead bodies were lifted over board. No funeral ceremony was possible.

Owen then went aft to attend to the first mate, who lay in the stern sheets unable to move. Owen brought him some water; he drank it eagerly, and opened his eyes.

"Is there much more?" he asked.

"Very little, sir; but we will take only what will keep us alive, you can have the rest."

Owen, faithful to his promise, continued to give the apparently dying man a few thimblefuls at a time.

"Were a breeze to spring up we might yet be saved," said the mate. "Do you see any signs of one?"

"Not as yet, sir," answered Owen, after he had looked round the horizon; "but cheer up, sir, God may still think fit to preserve us, although we do not see how it is to be. I'll get you a little more water."

All day long Owen continued, as at first, to attend on the mate. Mike and Nat sat still, their spirits were too low to talk; but they were perfectly satisfied that the mate should have the water, though their own share was thus much diminished. They all ate sparingly of the provisions which remained. Fortunately among them was some of the dried fruit, which assisted to assuage their thirst. The mate did not appear to grow worse, and Owen hoped that during the cool hours of the night he might revive. The sun went down in a cloudless sky, and the stars shone out brightly above their heads. Still no breeze came. The first mate occasionally spoke and inquired how the weather looked, but Owen could only give the answer as before. Morning was approaching.

"If we do not make the land, Hartley," said Mr Scoones, "or do not get picked up to-day, I shall not see another sun set."

"I hope you will hold out, sir," answered Owen; "we have still a little water, and our provisions are not quite exhausted. I trust you will not get worse."

He said this, though scarcely a couple of pints of water remained, while the provisions he spoke of consisted of a small piece of dry salt beef and half a dozen figs. Owen, feeling that he could hold out some time longer, was anxious to give the mate as large a share as possible, for he evidently required it more than any one.

Owen spoke to Nat and Mike, and they agreed that he should have a double allowance. The night air had revived him considerably. Owen gave him a few drops of water, after which he managed to chew some beef and eat a fig. Owen then gave him a further allowance of the precious fluid. He asked for more. "You shall have it, sir, but we are running very short," said Owen.

"How many gallons have you?" asked the mate.

"Gallons, sir! we have not more than a pint."

"Good heavens! a pint only, and that among four people, with such a sun as we shall have scorching down upon our heads before long," exclaimed the mate. "I feel my inside burning already."

"I would give you another draught, but you will want it more by-and-by than you do now, sir," said Owen. "Perhaps when the sun rises we may get a breeze and make the run you expect."

Although the mate kept crying out for more water, Owen was firm. The sun rose on a sky undimmed by a single cloud. The sea shone like a sheet of burnished gold, not a ripple played over it, excepting when, here and there, a fish rose to the surface, or leapt out of the water, sending far around a circle of tiny wavelets. Occasionally, too, a sea-fowl winged its flight through the blue ether, and ever and anon would plunge down to seize its prey from the ocean. The appearance of birds showed that land could not be far off, but not the faintest outline could as yet be discovered. The mate, dragging himself up to the side of the boat, gazed round with aching eyes, then sank down with a groan to his former position. Owen felt himself growing weaker and weaker. Poor Nat and Mike could scarcely raise their voices above a whisper.

"Water! water!" groaned the mate; "give me some if you would save my life."

The other two pointed to their lips, and gazed eagerly at the casks. Owen dragged himself towards them. He could have drunk the whole of the water himself, and yet not have been satisfied. He poured out a small quantity and took it to the mate.

"Sip it slowly, sir," he said, "we have very little more remaining."

To his dismay, as he again went to pour some in the cup, he found there was scarcely sufficient left to fill it. He took what he believed to be his own share, and then carried the remainder to Nat and Mike. He put it to the lips of the first, who seized it with both his hands, and would have drained it to the bottom.

"Let go," cried Owen, "this is Mike's share as well as yours." With some difficulty he rescued it, and handed the cup to the Irishman, who swallowed it eagerly. Owen had not the heart to tell them there was no more. Before long they again cried out for water. Owen made no reply.

"Water! water!" groaned the mate. Owen shook his head. He had scarcely strength enough to crawl back and show that it was exhausted. The mate at last understood him.

"Is there none in any of the other casks?" he asked.

Owen knew that they had been emptied to the last drop. He crawled to where they were stowed, and tried one after the other. They were perfectly dry. Without water to moisten their lips, no one would be able to masticate the last remnants of food.

"I knew it would be so," groaned the mate. "Any sign of a breeze?"

"None that I can perceive, sir," answered Owen. He dragged himself up by the mast so as to obtain a wider range of observation. Unable to stand long he soon sat down again. After a lapse of some time the mate again asked in a faint voice, "Any sign of a breeze?"

Owen once more looked out. He was about to sink down on the thwart, when his eye fell on a white spot in the horizon. He gazed at it without speaking; it might be only a sea-bird's wing. Again and again he looked with straining eyes.

"A sail! a sail!" he exclaimed. His voice sounded hollow and strange; he fancied some one else was speaking.

"Are you mocking us?" asked the mate.

"No, sir, I am certain it is a sail," answered Owen.

His voice aroused Nat and Mike, who turned round and looked over the side. The mate, who just before appeared to have entirely lost his strength, dragged himself up and took Owen's place at the mast.

With what sounded like an hysterical laugh, "Yes," he cried out, "a sail! no doubt about it; she is bringing up a breeze, and standing this way. We are saved! we are saved!"

He kept his post, grasping the mast tightly, and watching the approaching sail. Owen returned to his seat, from whence he could well observe the stranger. A long time must pass before she could be up to them, and before then she might alter her course. They wore but a speck on the water, and might be passed unperceived. Still the mate kept his post, waving his hand and trying to shout out, as if at that distance he could be either seen or heard. By his behaviour Owen thought he must have lost his senses. Nat and Mike every now and then uttered strange exclamations, showing that they were much in the same condition. The stranger's royals had first been seen, then her topgallant sails, and now the heads of her topsails appeared above the horizon. She was evidently a large ship, and, as her courses came in sight, the mate pronounced that she was a man-of-war, a frigate, or perhaps a line-of-battle ship. She stood steadily on, as if steering for the boat, which, however, could scarcely yet have been discovered. As the expectation of being saved grew stronger, Owen felt his energies—which he had hitherto by great effort maintained, when the lives of his companions seemed to depend on his retaining his senses—giving way.

He saw the hull of the ship rise above the water, he could count her guns, he knew that she was a frigate; he was certain that the boat was discovered, and then he lost all consciousness.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

When Owen regained his senses he found himself in a hammock in the sick bay of the frigate, with Mike and Nat close alongside of him.

"How do you feel, Mike?" asked Nat, who had not observed that Owen was awake.

"Mighty quare, but not sorry to find myself here. I hope Mr Hartley will come to soon. They seem to treat him as one of us."

"He ought to be with the officers aft," said Nat. "The mate is with them, I suppose, but I have not seen him."

"Shure he'll not fail to make himself out to be a big man somehow or other," said Mike. "He'll be after swaring he was the captain of the ship, although he will forget to say that it was through him that she was cast away."

The conversation was cut short by the appearance of the surgeon, who observed, as he glanced over the hammocks—

"I am glad to see you are coming round again, lads."

He stopped by Owen's side.

"Well, boy, how do you feel?" he inquired, in a kind tone.

"Very weak, sir," said Owen; "but all I want is food and water."

"You shall have an ample supply by-and-by, but in your present state you must take only a little at a time."

One of the sick bay attendants brought in three small basins of broth, from one of which the doctor fed Owen.

"Thank you, sir," said Owen, "though I think I might save you that trouble."

"You shall be welcome to do so next time," answered the doctor, smiling.

"What rating did you hold on board the ship you belonged to?" asked the surgeon.

"I was a passenger, although I did duty as a midshipman."

"Why, the captain described you as a ship's boy," observed the doctor.

"Arrah, shure, he'd not the captain at all, at all," exclaimed Mike, lifting up his head; "he was first mate until the raal capt'n died. But maybe he didn't say how the ship came to be cast away."

The doctor made no reply to the Irishman's remark. "I must see about this," he said to himself.

Owen and his companions remained in their hammocks for a couple of days, when they all declared themselves strong enough to get up. A large tub was brought them to wash in, and they were supplied by the purser with a seaman's suit apiece. Owen was thankful to put on clean clothing, as the garments he had on when wrecked were worn completely into rags. Thus habited, although in the dress of a common seaman, he certainly did not look like an ordinary ship's boy. Still, he was allowed to remain forward with his two companions. As yet they had seen nothing of Mr Scoones, who was, they understood, occupying one of the officers' cabins aft.

Owen found that they were on board the "Sylvia," a thirty-six gun frigate, commanded by Captain Stanhope, on her way to Batavia. He had reason to suspect that the sand-bank on which they had been wrecked was further to the westward than Mr Scoones had supposed, and that had they not been picked up they would have perished long before reaching Java.

Having now sufficiently recovered to do duty, they were placed in a watch under the command of the second lieutenant, Mr Leigh. Owen concluded that this was as it should be. It did not occur to him that it would be of any use to explain who he was, and to endeavour to obtain a better position on board. He thought it but natural that he should be expected to work, and he was ready to do duty in any station in which he was placed. He supposed that his friend the doctor had forgotten him, or had not thought fit to carry out his intentions. Owen, who had been accustomed to go aloft while on board the "Druid," soon attracted the attention of Lieutenant Leigh by the activity and diligence with which he performed all his duties. The lieutenant at length spoke to him.

"If you go on as you have begun, you will become a smart seaman," he said, in a kind tone.

"Thank you, sir," answered Owen, touching his hat; "I will do my best."

"What is your name?" asked the lieutenant.

"Owen Hartley, sir."

"Owen Hartley!" repeated a tall midshipman, who was in Mr Leigh's watch, and who was standing near. He looked hard at Owen, but said no more.

It struck Owen, as he glanced at the midshipman, that he had seen him somewhere before, but he could not at first recollect where it was.

He puzzled his brains for some time. At last he inquired the midshipman's name of one of the men, pointing him out as he walked the deck.

"That is Mr Ashurst, a sprig of nobility of some sort," was the answer. "Take care you don't get foul of him. He carries on with a pretty high hand when he has the chance, especially if you go away with him in a boat, or he is in command on any occasion."

Shortly afterwards a squall was seen coming up, and the various necessary orders were issued for the shortening of sail. The midshipmen hurried to their posts, repeating the orders they had received. Mr Ashurst came forward, shouting out, as he did so, to the men.

"Yes, those are the very same tones," thought Owen, and he recognised the naval officer who, with his brother, had been thrown out of their carriage, and whom he had assisted in getting to rights again. "His brother called him Reginald. If this midshipman's name is the same I shall have no doubt about the matter."

Owen had not hitherto been stationed aloft, but one of the other boys was on the sick list.

"What are you doing on deck here, you idle young rascal?" exclaimed Mr Ashurst. "Quick, up the rigging and help to hand the fore royal."

Owen obeyed, and flew up aloft. The lighter sails were quickly handed. The topsails were reefed, and the crew called down; the frigate stood on her proper course. The way Mr Ashurst addressed Owen convinced him that he was the person he supposed.

"I will take care not to give him any cause of offence, for he is evidently not an amiable person," thought Owen.

A few minutes afterwards the look-out at the masthead shouted—

"A sail on the weather bow!"

One of the officers immediately went aloft. On his return the bearings of the stranger were taken. She was a large ship, standing in for the land.

The frigate was immediately put about. The squall having blown over, all sail was made in chase. Many surmises were expressed as to what she was, but it was a general opinion that she was a French frigate.

"If she is, we shall have a fight, and take her too," cried one of the men near whom Owen was standing.

"Little doubt about that, mates," observed another.

Such were the expressions uttered by the crew. Owen felt as eager as any one. He had not come to sea to fight, but he knew that even on board the "Druid" they might have fallen in with an enemy and have had to defend themselves.

"Is there any chance of her getting away, Mr Hartley?" asked Nat, who never forgot their relative positions, though Owen treated him as a friend.

"No," replied Owen; "for this frigate sails very fast, and from what I hear, Captain Stanhope is not likely to let an enemy escape him if he can help it."

"I feel somewhat strange at the thoughts of having round shot and bullets flying about our ears," said Nat.

"We must run our chance along with the rest," answered Owen.

Mr Scoones, who had only come on deck that day for the first time, on seeing that there was a prospect of a sharp engagement, seemed to wish that he had kept below. After pacing up and down several times, he spoke to the first lieutenant.

"As I have had some experience in dressing wounds, although, of course, I should wish to see the fight on deck, I may be of assistance to the doctor. With your leave I will go into the cock-pit and offer to help him."

The first lieutenant looked at him hard, suspecting the reasons.

"You are a passenger, and we do not expect you to fight, so do as you please," he answered.

Mr Scoones immediately dived below. The doctor, who had been arranging the various instruments and dressings which he expected would be required, received Mr Scoones coldly.

"You have not thought of bringing the two boys and the seaman saved with you. They might like to escape the risk of being shot."

"They have entered as part of the ship's company, and must run their chance," answered Mr Scoones.

"I thought as much," remarked the doctor, and continued his preparations without further accepting the offer made him.

The "Sylvia" showed herself to be a fast craft as she rapidly gained on the chase. As yet, however, the colours of the latter had not been shown. It was possible, after all, that she might prove to be a friend. All hands were on deck watching the chase. A loud cheer rose from the crew as the French flag flew out from the stranger's peak. She had tacked several times to keep the weather gauge, which it was Captain Stanhope's wish to obtain. She was seen to be a frigate of the same size as the "Sylvia," if not larger. The decks were now cleared for action, and the drum beat to quarters. Owen found that he and the other boys were to be employed in bringing up powder from the magazines in flannel bags placed in buckets. They had then to sit on them until the powder was wanted for loading the guns.

He would rather have been employed on some other duty, as he would thus have seen what was going forward. Still he did not for a moment think of trying to avoid what he was ordered to do. It was a satisfaction to find that Nat was near him.

"I don't half like it," said Nat; "but there is no one to care for me if I'm killed, except my old grandmother, and my brothers and sisters. You'll tell them all about me, and take them my love, won't you, Mr Hartley?"

"Yes, I will not forget your message, and I assure you, Nat, that I should care very much indeed if you were to be killed," answered Owen. "But do not be down-hearted; it will be a great thing to have been in a fight, although we may have taken no very active part in it."

Owen and Nat were stationed on the main deck, and had just brought up their powder from below.

"Hold your tongues, youngsters," said a midshipman, who just then passed. Owen recognised Mr Ashurst; he looked pale, but whether this was from the thoughts of the coming fight, or from some other cause, Owen could not tell. He was stationed at the guns which it was Owen's duty to keep supplied.

The second lieutenant passed along the deck, speaking an encouraging word to the men at each of the guns, while he gave the orders in regard to their mode of firing.

He then turned to the boys, and addressed a few kind remarks to them.

During this time the French frigate had shortened sail, showing that she had no intention of avoiding an action.

Owen could only get a glimpse of her through the port. The "Sylvia" had tacked several times. Again Mr Leigh came along the deck.

"In another minute we shall pass under the enemy's stern, and every gun from forward is to be fired in succession," he cried.

Just as he spoke, loud roars were heard, and several of the Frenchmen's shot struck the frigate's upper works, none penetrating to the main deck.

Owen peered out eagerly to try and get a glimpse of the enemy; then their own guns began firing, the crew cheering as their shot told with considerable effect. The French frigate, however, which had immediately luffed up, though too late to avoid being raked, returned the fire with her other broadside. The two frigates ran on together to the eastward, exchanging broadsides as fast as the guns could be run in and loaded.

"I wonder when she's going to give in?" said Nat to Owen as they returned from below with a fresh supply of powder.

"Before long, if we continue pounding her as we have hitherto done," said Owen, who after the first shots had been fired felt as cool as he had ever done in his life. Nat, too, recovered his self-possession, and seemed to have lost all his fears. Still, it was a trying time for youngsters who had never before been in battle. Round shot at times struck the ship in quick succession. Three or four men had been killed on the main deck, and others had been carried below badly wounded. Owen had observed Mr Ashurst constantly moving about, evidently in no very happy frame of mind.

"I say," observed Nat, "I rather think he doesn't half like it," pointing at the midshipman as he spoke.

"You have no right to think that," answered Owen. At that moment a shot struck the cill of the port nearest to the spot where Owen was seated, killing one man and wounding another, then flying across the deck close to Mr Ashurst, it committed further havoc on the other side, laying low another of the crew.

The midshipman gave a spring and fell over near Owen, who was at that moment supplying his gun with powder. As soon as he was at liberty, Owen endeavoured to help the midshipman.

"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked.

"I don't know—I thought I was," answered Mr Ashurst, getting on his feet.

His reply produced a laugh from several of the men who heard him. He walked away without uttering a word of thanks to Owen for his good intentions. Another broadside was fired, when a loud cheer burst forth from the crew on the upper deck, and was echoed by those on the main deck.

"She has struck! she has struck!"

The English frigate had been a good deal cut up. The Frenchman had lost her foremast and main topmast, while her hull was severely battered. The "Sylvia" was hove to, and Mr Leigh, with a boat's crew, sent to take possession of the prize. She proved to be the "Venus," forty-four guns. Her captain having been killed, the first lieutenant presented his sword to Mr Leigh; as he did so he pointed to a number of dead and dying men about the decks, observing with a sigh—

"We did not yield until we had no hope of success. It is the fortune of war."

"You have fought bravely, monsieur, and you and your crew will be treated as brave men," answered Mr Leigh.

He then ordered that the dead should be hove overboard, and the wounded carried below, to be attended to by the surgeon. He also directed the French officers and most of the crew to prepare for going on board the English frigate, though a few were retained for attending to the sick. The remainder of the "Sylvia's" boats which had escaped damage now came alongside with fresh hands to form the prize crew and to carry off the Frenchmen. Mr Leigh, leaving the prize in charge of the master's mate, who had accompanied him, returned on board the frigate to deliver the swords he had received, and report the state of the prize.

"I intend you to have charge of the prize, and you can take any hands you choose with you," said Captain Stanhope.

Mr Leigh having selected two or three more men, observed—

"I will take the lads we picked up the other day; they are sharp fellows, especially one of them, and may be useful."

Owen and Nat were summoned and ordered to get into the boat with the other men, among whom was Mike Coffey. Owen was well pleased to have been selected by Mr Leigh.

"We shall be out of the way, too, of that midshipman Mr Ashurst," observed Nat. "He is a regular bully when he has the chance."

On reaching the deck of the prize, however, what was their disappointment to find that Mr Ashurst had gone on board her in one of the other boats. He looked hard at Owen as he came up the side.

"Who sent you here, boy?" he asked.

"I was ordered to come," answered Owen, touching his hat.

"Well, look out, and see that you behave yourself," said the midshipman, as he walked away.

Owen felt a sickening sensation as he looked along the decks of the prize. Those of the "Sylvia" had been bad enough. These, although the dead and wounded had been removed, were still covered in every direction with blood, while they were thickly strewed with shattered spars, fragments of bulwarks, blocks, pieces of rope, and torn sails, while from below came up cries and groans of the wounded, either waiting to have their hurts dressed or already in the surgeon's hands. As the frigates were at the time not far from the coast of Celebes, every effort was made to repair the more serious damages, in order to enable them to haul off the shore before nightfall. The first thing to be done was to get up a fore jury mast. Rather more than a third of the French crew still remained on board the prize; but as all hands were required for this work, Mr Leigh waited to send them away until it had been accomplished. Most of them, indeed, appeared willing to lend their help. It was nightfall, however, before sail could once more be made on the frigate. By that time it came on to blow very hard, and the sea getting up, made it dangerous for the boats to pass to and fro. Captain Stanhope, therefore, sent word to Mr Leigh to retain the remainder of the prisoners, and should the frigates get parted, to steer for Marrack, the nearest port on the Java coast where shelter could be found. The fort protecting the harbour had a short time before been captured by Lieutenant Lyons with two boats' crews. The captain's last directions to Lieutenant Leigh were to keep a sharp look-out on his prisoners. The wind increased, and the night became very dark. The English crew remained on deck, but most of the Frenchmen went below. All the sail the frigate could carry was set, but it soon became evident that she was making little or no way off the shore.

Captain Stanhope had directed Mr Leigh to keep the lead going, and to anchor should the prize drift into shoal water. He accordingly ordered the cables to be ranged ready for that emergency. Owen had been actively engaged the whole day, and Mr Leigh had employed him to carry orders to the different parties at work. Soon after nightfall the "Sylvia" was lost sight of; as, for her own safety, she had been compelled to get a good offing, Captain Stanhope not being willing to run the risk of anchoring on a lee shore. His intention was, however, to stand in the next morning and rejoin the prize. Had the wind been but moderate, the "Venus" would have run but little risk. Blowing, however, heavily, as it now did, Mr Leigh could not help acknowledging that they were in considerable danger. Though under reduced sail, she fortunately stayed very easily. The lieutenant, therefore, did not hesitate to go about as often as he considered necessary. A look-out was kept for the land, and every time she tacked the lead was hove, but as no bottom had yet been found, it was hoped she might yet be a considerable distance from it. The French crew had remained quietly below, one or two only occasionally coming on deck, apparently to ascertain the position of the ship.

Strange that even at this time of peril Mr Ashurst should have treated Owen in his usual tyrannical manner. He never met him without uttering a word of abuse. Two or three times he took up a rope's end and struck him, declaring that he was idling or not obeying orders. At last Owen could bear it no longer.

"You are perfectly well aware, Mr Ashurst, that you have no right to treat me thus," he said in a firm voice. "You are placing yourself in my power, for were I to complain of you, you would be punished. I have no wish to do that, but I must beg that you will desist."

"Who are you, to speak like this to me?" exclaimed the midshipman, apparently astonished at Owen's language and manner.

"Were I your inferior in birth and education I should have a perfect right to expostulate," said Owen.

"In birth—in birth and education! You, a contemptible ship's boy, put yourself on an equality with a nobleman's son!" exclaimed Ashurst.

"I am not placing myself on an equality, for I am not a nobleman's son, but I am the son of a gentleman, and have received a gentleman's education, and have, I hope, the feelings of one," answered Owen, his temper rising in a way he found it difficult to quell; "all, however, I insist on is that you should not strike or abuse me, for by so doing, as you well know, you are acting contrary to the articles of war."

"A young sea lawyer, are you!" cried Ashurst. "Look out for squalls when we get on board the frigate again."

"Has it occurred to you, Mr Ashurst, that if this gale continues we may never get there?" asked Owen, feeling suddenly prompted to put the question. "We have a wild rocky coast under our lee, and should the anchors fail to hold, we may, before morning, be cast on it with little hope of any one on board escaping."

"Who told you that?" asked Ashurst, in a changed tone.

"My own sense and observation," answered Owen. "When Mr Leigh sent me into the cabin this afternoon, I examined the Frenchman's chart, which lay open on the table, and I saw the sort of coast we are off. I do not wish to alarm you, nor any one else, but I only tell you what I know to be the state of the case."

"Does Mr Leigh think the same?" inquired Ashurst, in the same tone he would have used to an equal.

"I have no doubt he does, but of course he would not tell the crew until it was absolutely necessary to do so; unless he had foreseen that we should probably have to anchor he would not have ordered the cables to be ranged."

"I hope things are not so bad as you think, Hartley," observed Ashurst, although, at the same time, his voice belied his words. Without apologising to Owen, he walked away in a very different manner to that he had just before assumed.

"It is a great shame that that midshipman should treat you as he does," said Nat. "Although he is civil enough now, he will be as bad as ever before long, and I have made up my mind what to do."

"You'd better not interfere, Nat," said Owen. "The officers probably would not listen to you, and you would only get yourself into bad odour."

Nat did not exactly understand what that meant, but he did not mind doing anything which might benefit Owen. By midnight the gale had increased considerably, and the English crew, in addition to their previous exertions—having to work hard at the pumps—were almost worn-out. It was difficult, therefore, to spare hands to keep a proper look-out on the French prisoners.

Mr Leigh, calling Owen, sent him below to ascertain what they were about.

"I must get the fellows to take their spell at the pumps, if not, their lives will be sacrificed as well as ours."

This last remark Owen did not hear, although the same idea had occurred to him.

Supposing him to be an ordinary ship's boy, who had come among them for curiosity, the prisoners took little notice of him. The greater number were collected together in the fore-part of the lower deck. Some were playing cards, others with dice or dominoes. Some were lying down, others singing snatches of songs, talking and laughing, appearing to have forgotten altogether that they were prisoners. One group, composed chiefly, it seemed, of petty officers and able seamen, were standing together, engaged in more earnest conversation.

Owen, as he had been directed to do, stood by, counting their numbers, concealed by the foremast from the last-mentioned group. Taking no notice of Owen the Frenchmen continued their conversation. He was on the point of going away to report that the prisoners seemed very quiet, when he caught some words which made him listen with more attention. Although not accustomed to hear French spoken by Frenchmen, he had frequently read and talked French with his mother, and was well acquainted with the ordinary phrases in use. The Frenchmen went on. They spoke of the danger the ship was in. That before long she must anchor, when probably half the crew would lie down to rest, while the other half would be kept at the pumps. They appeared to know the coast; there were several islands abreast where they then were, with channels between them. Their intention was to master the English crew, cut the cables, and, making sail by dawn, to run through one of these channels, where the "Venus" might lie completely concealed. They would then have time to repair damages, and as soon as the English frigate had gone away, supposing her prize to be lost, they might make their escape. Only two French officers, however, remained on board who understood navigation, and they must be gained over. This the French boatswain undertook to do. Some thought their officers would not agree to the plan.

"Then they must be forced to do so," answered the boatswain; "we will make them prisoners as well as the English, or heave them all overboard together."

"That would be dangerous," remarked another, "for should we be retaken, they would hang us."

"The fortune of war, my friend," answered the boatswain; "remain where you are, that the English may see that you are amusing yourselves, while I pay a visit to our lieutenant and the young Aspirante. They surely will not refuse to enter into our plan."

Owen waited some time longer, but finding that he was not likely to gain any further information he stole sway, concealed by the darkness, from where he had been standing, unperceived, as he hoped, by any of the prisoners. The boatswain, he believed, had not yet gone aft, he therefore hastened to report what he had heard to Mr Leigh.

"This is important information you have brought me," observed Lieutenant Leigh. "We can easily thwart the Frenchmen's plot, and I doubt whether their two officers would agree to it. I had no idea you understood French. The first thing to be done is to send a gang of these fellows to the pumps. They shall work whether they like it or not."

Calling Mr Stewart, the master's mate, who had accompanied him, Mr Leigh directed him to take a dozen armed men and to bring up thirty of the French crew. "If they refuse, let them understand that they will be placed in irons. Hartley, accompany Mr Stewart, and tell the Frenchmen why they are wanted."

The order was speedily put into execution. The Frenchmen grumbled, but as they had been deprived of all their weapons they could make no resistance, and the number required were marched up to the main deck. The French boatswain and several of his companions were greatly astonished, shortly afterwards, to find themselves handcuffed by another party of English seamen accompanied by their officers.

"You deserve it, you rascals," said the French lieutenant. "Did you suppose we should break our word of honour, and join you in your villainous plot?"

The greater number of the prisoners were now kept at the pumps, with the exception of those in irons and attending to the sick. In vain they expostulated. They could not deny that they intended to try and recapture the ship. The English crew were thus greatly relieved, and a portion were enabled to lie down and obtain the rest they so much required.

Thus night wore on, and as yet no sign of land had been discovered. Again the lead was hove. It gave twenty fathoms, shortly afterwards fifteen; and at the same moment, during a lull in the gale, the roar of breakers on a rocky shore could be heard.

Mr Leigh instantly gave the order to prepare for anchoring. The canvas was quickly taken in and the anchor let go. This was the moment the Frenchmen had intended to carry their plot into execution. The English officers, with a party of men, well armed, kept watch on them, and deprived of their leaders they dared not make the attempt. It was now a question whether the anchor would hold. A second had been got ready to let go if necessary, and the French lieutenant undertook, should they part from that, to pilot the frigate through one of the channels of which the boatswain had spoken, where she could remain in safety until the gale was over.

"I will trust you," said Mr Leigh, shaking him by the hand. "You have proved yourself a man of honour."

Notwithstanding the promised assistance of the French lieutenant, Mr Leigh felt considerable anxiety as to what might be the fate of the frigate. The French crew might still rise and attempt to retake the prize should they find themselves at a distance from the "Sylvia." The coast, too, was dangerous in the extreme, and it might be found impossible to reach the channel through which it was proposed to pass. Before sail could be made the frigate might be driven on the rocks under her lee, or the sails, if set, might be blown to tatters before she could again be brought to an anchor. With forebodings of evil, Lieutenant Leigh paced the deck. The night passed slowly away; when morning dawned the "Sylvia" was nowhere to be seen. The gale blew as furiously as ever. Captain Stanhope, in the crippled state to which his ship had been reduced by the action, although she had suffered much less than her opponent, had evidently considered it his duty to keep off the shore. "I should have done the same," thought Mr Leigh. "He would have risked the 'Sylvia's' safety by coming to our assistance. It was right to leave us to our fate."

Although a long scope of cable had been run out, the "Venus" rode uneasily over the heavy seas which came rolling in. Now she rose, now she pitched into them, as they passed under her, while the spray in thick showers broke over her bows.

Still the stout cable held, although the lieutenant cast many an anxious look astern, where little more than a quarter of a mile away the breakers burst with a continual roar on the rock-bound coast. They could distinguish the entrance to the passage some distance to the northward, but even had all the masts of the "Venus" been standing, and a strong crew been ready to make sail, the difficulty of gaining it would have been very great. Should the French prisoners have succeeded in carrying out their design, the frigate would have been cast away. The fate of the wounded would have been certain, and few of those on board would have escaped.

Ashurst still continued his ill-treatment of Owen. Nat saw him again strike him.

"It is the last time he shall do that," exclaimed Nat, who was a witness of what took place.

Without speaking to Owen, he hurried aft to where Mr Leigh was standing.

"Please, sir, I've something to say to you," said Nat, touching his hat.

"What is it, boy?" asked the lieutenant, concluding that Nat had to give him some information regarding the conduct of the French prisoners. "Are the fellows down below inclined to be mutinous?"

"I don't think so, sir," answered Nat; "but what I want to say is about Mr Owen Hartley, who first found out their plot and saved us all from having our throats cut. He is a gentleman, sir, and came out with us as a passenger on board the 'Druid,' and I think, sir, if this had been known, he would not have been sent forward amongst us boys. Mr Scoones, our first mate, who pretended to be the captain, knows it as well as I do, but he had a spite against Mr Hartley, and so declared that he was a ship's boy, and allowed him to be rated as such on board the 'Sylvia.' Mike Coffey, who belonged to the old ship, will tell you, sir, that what I say is true."

"I am ready to believe what you say, and when we return on board the frigate I will speak to the captain on the subject. But what makes you come up now to say this? I wish that you had given me the information before."

"Please, sir, Mr Hartley didn't wish me to do that," answered Nat, "but I could stand it no longer when I saw, every hour in the day, Mr Ashurst knocking him about and abusing him as if he were a dog. He won't complain himself, so I made up my mind to complain for him, for I was sure you would not allow Mr Ashurst to behave in that way if you knew it."

"Certainly not, my lad," answered the lieutenant, who, not standing on his dignity or resenting the unusual conduct of a boy for presuming to bring a complaint against a midshipman, respected Nat for his boldness and eagerness to protect his friend. "Send Mr Hartley aft to me, but do not let Mr Ashurst discover that you have complained of him."

Nat harried forward. As soon as he could find Owen, without saying what he had done, he told him that Mr Leigh wished to speak with him. Owen went aft, not knowing what the lieutenant could have to say.

"Hartley," said Mr Leigh, "you appear to be superior to the other boys. In what capacity were you serving on board the ship in which you were cast away?"

Owen told him that he had come out as a passenger, but that, understanding mathematics and the principles of navigation, he had endeavoured to perfect himself in the science, as also to gain a knowledge of seamanship, although he had no intention of becoming a sailor, considering himself bound to return to the office in which he had been employed. Mr Leigh then questioned him, and learned more about his history.

"Had Captain Stanhope known this he would, I think, very likely, had you wished to enter the navy, have placed you on the quarter-deck. I cannot, of course, alter your rating now, but I will appoint you to act as my clerk, and I will let Mr Stewart and Mr Ashurst know that you are to mess with us, and that they are to treat you as a brother officer."

Owen could scarcely believe his senses when he heard this. How would Ashurst now behave to him? He himself would not of course refer to the treatment he had received from the hands of the midshipman, but would act as if nothing unpleasant had occurred between them. Mr Stewart, the master's mate, who was an amiable young man, had always treated him kindly, and would, he was sure, do so now.

It was nearly the dinner hour. "You will come at once into the cabin," said Mr Leigh; "there is no reason for delay."

Owen made his way forward, and told Nat what had happened.

Nat, who pretended to look very much surprised, said he was very glad to hear of Owen's good fortune. "But it's only your due," he added, "and please for the future remember that you are now in the midshipmen's berth, and a gentleman, that I am only a ship's boy, and treat me accordingly."

"I hope, Nat, I shall always treat you as a true friend, for such you have been to me," said Owen.

There was no time to lose. Owen managed to wash his hands and brush his hair, so that he might appear as neat as possible.

Mr Stewart had the watch, but Ashurst was in the cabin. He looked hard at Owen as he entered, supposing that he had come to receive some orders, or to wait at table. The two French officers were about to take their seats.

"I am glad to see you, Hartley," said Mr Leigh, when he came in.

Ashurst stared, and the colour rose to his brow.

"Messieurs," said Mr Leigh, turning to the French officers, "I beg to introduce this young gentleman to you. Ashurst, I now make him known to you as I intend to employ him as my clerk, and he will soon become your messmate, for I have little doubt, if he wishes it, when we return to the frigate, that Captain Stanhope will place him as a midshipman on the quarter-deck."

The first impulse of Ashurst on hearing this was to get up from the table, but he sat down again and fixed his eyes on Owen without saying a word. Owen, who at first felt somewhat strange at being thus suddenly introduced into the society of gentlemen, soon recovered himself, and behaved as might have been expected. He addressed Mr Leigh with freedom but perfect propriety, and spoke to the French officers in their own language. Although the eldest understood a little English, yet he expressed himself with difficulty in it.

Whenever Ashurst looked at him it was with a frown on his brow. He did not once speak to him, even though Mr Leigh attempted to make him do so. The dinner was got over rapidly, for it was not a time when the commanding officer could be long absent from the deck. The weather continued as before. So great was the strain on the cable that it appeared every instant ready to part. Hands were stationed at the stoppers of the second, ready to let it go should the first fail.

Owen had been sent into the cabin to make out some lists from notes which Mr Leigh gave him, the French lieutenant having supplied him with writing materials for the purpose.

Mr Leigh called Ashurst, who was on deck, to come to him.

"I am surprised at your conduct to young Hartley," he said. "I have myself observed it, and I should have supposed, now that I have thought fit to place him on the quarter-deck, that you would have welcomed him as a messmate. He is gentlemanly and well-informed, and I have no doubt that he is, as he states, a gentleman by birth."

"Pretenders often assume good manners when they have an object in doing so," answered Ashurst, in a scornful tone; "he appeared as a ship's boy, and I treated him as such, and made him do his duty."

"You may have bullied others, but you have shown a special ill-feeling towards this lad," answered Mr Leigh, feeling annoyed at the manner in which the midshipman spoke. "In future I beg that you will treat him as an equal."

"An equal, indeed! Do you forget, Mr Leigh, that I am the son of a nobleman, and that he is or was till a few minutes ago, merely a ship's boy!" exclaimed the midshipman, in a voice which made Mr Leigh almost smile.

"Had you said that in your berth, you would have been laughed at by all your messmates," observed Mr Leigh, "Come, come, I cannot listen to such nonsense. While you remain on board the prize, treat him as I desire, and when we rejoin the 'Sylvia' Captain Stanhope will see to it." Ashurst walked away, muttering something which Mr Leigh did not hear. All day long the weather continued the same as before, and night came on without any signs of an abatement of the gale. The British crew were well-nigh worn-out. Although the Frenchmen were now compelled to labour at the pumps, the English took a spell. They had, besides, to watch the prisoners, and be always on deck ready to let go the anchor and make sail. Not until morning did the wind begin to fall, although the sea appeared as heavy as ever. It burst forth again and blew with greater fury than before. Suddenly the cry arose—

"The cable has parted!"

"Let go the best bower," cried Lieutenant Leigh.

In an instant the stoppers were cut, and the cable ran at a rapid rate, setting the hawse hole on fire. The danger had been seen, and men stood ready with buckets of water to heave over it. The cable ran out to its full range.

"Does the anchor hold, Stewart?" asked the lieutenant.

"Yes, sir, it holds," answered the master's mate.

"Thank Heaven!" ejaculated Mr Leigh.

Before the fresh anchor brought up the ship, she had drifted much nearer the rocks. Should this cable part her destruction was inevitable.

The gale seemed to have exhausted itself by its last effort, and the wind now rapidly fell. Still the breakers burst with the same fury as before under the stern. More anxiously than ever every one on board waited for daylight.

As soon as it came, the lieutenant ordered all hands to get fresh stays on the jury mast preparatory to making sail, his intention being, should the wind come off the shore, to stand away from the coast, in hopes of falling in with the "Sylvia," and not finding her, at once to steer a course for Marrack.

At length a light wind began to blow off the land, but it was not sufficiently strong to make it prudent to cut the cable. Gradually it increased.

"All hands make sail!" shouted Mr Leigh.

The Frenchmen were as eager as the English crew to hoist away. The cable was cut and the prize stood off from the dangerous coast.



CHAPTER NINE.

The French crew, when all immediate danger was over, again began to show a mutinous disposition, some refusing to take their spell at the pumps, others forming groups and talking eagerly together. Owen ascertained, from what they were saying, that they believed the "Sylvia" to have gone down, so that if they could retake the frigate they might be able to make off with her. Some of them, having got hold of a cask of spirits, were becoming every instant more and more unruly.

"We shall have to clap the whole of them in irons, or lash them into their hammocks," observed Lieutenant Leigh to Mr Stewart.

Just then Owen, who had been sent to the mizen topmast head by Mr Leigh to take a look-out, shouted—

"A sail to the north-west, she is standing this way and close hauled."

On hearing this Mr Stewart went aloft with his spy-glass. After waiting some time he shouted—

"She is the frigate, sir, coming to look for us—no doubt about that."

The "Venus," by this time having got sufficiently far from the coast, was hove to. The Frenchmen, finding that they were out in their calculations, changed their conduct and became very submissive.

Before long the "Sylvia" was up to the prize. A boat came off from her, and Mr Leigh in return sent a report, written at his dictation by Owen, of what had occurred, with the request that the more troublesome of the prisoners might be removed. This occupied time, when the "Sylvia" shortening sail to keep company with the prize, the two frigates stood for the Bay of Marrack.

Here the French crew were sent on shore, the officers receiving permission, on giving their parole, to reside in the neighbouring village. Every effort was now made to repair the "Sylvia's" damages, and to fit the prize for going round to Batavia, where, it was hoped, a sufficient number of men would be found to man her, as she would prove a valuable addition to the British squadron in those seas. As soon as Mr Leigh was able he went on board the "Sylvia," taking Owen with him.

"Young Hartley has behaved admirably, sir," he said to Captain Stanhope. "Through his intelligence we were saved from being set upon by the Frenchmen, who had formed a plot to attempt the recapture of the prize."

He then gave the particulars with which he was acquainted of Owen's history.

"I believe I am right, am I not?" he continued, turning to Owen.

"Yes, sir," was the answer.

Captain Stanhope then put numerous questions to Owen, which he answered in an apparently satisfactory way.

"As my clerk—poor Jones—in our action with the 'Venus' was wounded and has since died, I will give you his berth at once," said the captain, "as I understand you are fully capable of filling it, and I may perhaps, if you wish it, place you on the quarter-deck as a midshipman, unless you would rather take any opportunity which may occur of returning to your friends. If you stick to the service you may rise in it."

"Thank you, sir," said Owen; "I wish to do as you think best. I am very willing to act as your clerk, and hope that I may give you satisfaction. I had not thought of entering the navy or remaining at sea in the merchant service."

"At all events, I will at once give you a rating as my clerk; you will then be on the quarter-deck and mess in the midshipmen's berth. In regard to your entering the service I will leave it to your further consideration."

"If poor Jones' things have not yet been sold I shall be happy to purchase them for Mr Hartley," said Mr Leigh.

The second lieutenant was a young man of good means.

"You shall do as you wish," said the captain. "At all events I will speak to the purser, and see that Hartley gets a proper outfit. The tailor will soon put a patch on his jacket should he become a midshipman."

Owen felt very grateful to the captain and his kind friend the second lieutenant. He did not hesitate for a moment about acting as the captain's clerk while he remained on board, but he asked himself the question whether it was not his duty, should he find the opportunity, to return to Mr Fluke's counting-house, from which he had not been formally dismissed. He had come only for a holiday to regain his health, and he considered that he was bound to go back again. He found, however, that, having once entered, he could not leave the ship without the captain's leave until she returned home and was paid off. There was now no help for it. Captain Stanhope was evidently a kind man, and would, should a favourable opportunity occur, allow him to go home. Still, Owen saw that the present was no time to talk about that. He at once set to work on his new duties, and he soon found, from the approval expressed by the captain, that he performed them satisfactorily.

Mr Scoones, who had not left the ship, wishing to go round in her to Batavia, looked very much astonished when he saw Owen in an officer's dress on the quarter-deck. He had himself, however, so completely lost credit with the officers from his conduct in the action that few of them spoke to him. He was glad therefore for some one to speak to. Going up to Owen, he addressed him with a patronising air—

"Glad to see that your talents have been discovered, my young friend," he said; "had I felt justified, I should have recommended you to the captain from the first, but as you thought fit to associate with the ship's boys and men, I could not do so with any propriety."

"I do not know with whom else I could have associated, Mr Scoones," answered Owen, laughing. "You certainly showed no inclination for my society, and unhappily all the other officers were lost. Had it not been for the ship's boy you speak of, and the only man who remained sober, we none of us should have escaped."

"Well, well," answered Mr Scoones, "let bygones be bygones. If I get home first I will report your good fortune—that you are as strong and hearty as your friends could wish you to be. You will not, I suppose, send home an account of the shipwreck, for you and I may differ in our statements. Mine of course is the one which will be accredited, as no one at home will fancy that you can know anything about the matter."

"I should not wish to say anything to incriminate you," answered Owen; "but the lives of a great number of our fellow-creatures are at stake when an officer loses his senses, and I therefore hope that you will either give up drinking or quit the sea."

"Then you intend to accuse me of casting away the ship through drunkenness?" exclaimed Mr Scoones, looking as though he could eat Owen up.

"Whatever I say or do will be from a sense of duty," answered Owen.

A part of this conversation had been overheard by the first lieutenant, who held Mr Scoones in most supreme contempt, fully believing, from what he knew of him, that it was through his drunkenness that the ship had been lost.

"Mr Scoones," he said, addressing that person, "it has been decided that you should go on shore at once. If you are in a hurry to reach Batavia, you can, without difficulty, find your way overland."

A boat was just then about to shove off. The first mate of the hapless "Druid" having no traps to get ready, stepped into her, and was conveyed on shore.

"Hartley," said the first lieutenant, turning to Owen, "I wish you to draw up an exact account of the shipwreck, and state, to the best of your belief, how it occurred, and if corroborated by your two surviving shipmates, they shall sign it, and it shall be sent home. That fellow ought never to get the command of a ship, or sail again even as a mate."

Owen was sorry to leave Mr Leigh, who remained in command of the prize; at the same time he was glad to escape from Ashurst, who showed, during a short visit he paid to the frigate to get some of his traps, that he retained the ill-feeling he had all along manifested towards him.

Mike and Nat managed to come on board the "Sylvia" for a few moments to congratulate Owen, they having heard of what they called his good fortune.

"You are in your proper place now, Mr Hartley," exclaimed Nat; "one good thing is, that Mr Ashurst won't venture to hit you with the rope's end."

"Shure I'm mighty plased to see you made an officer, Mr Hartley," said Mike; "when you are a commander, as you will be sartain one of these days, I'd be proud to be your coxswain."

"I'm not a midshipman yet," answered Owen, laughing, "though I truly thank you for your good wishes."

Owen drew up a faithful report of the loss of the "Druid," which, meeting with the approbation of Captain Stanhope, was forwarded by the first opportunity. The repairs to the frigate and her prize having been made, they sailed to Batavia, where several other men-of-war were found at anchor.

Not without some, difficulty a crew was collected to man the "Venus," partly from the seamen of merchant vessels in port, as also from some who had been shipwrecked, with a few men-of-war's men from the "Sylvia" and other ships. Mr Hawkins, the first lieutenant of the "Sylvia," who had just been promoted to the rank of commander, received an acting order as captain of the "Venus," and Mr Leigh returned to the "Sylvia" as her first lieutenant. Owen was very glad to have Mr Leigh on board, as he had shown him so much kindness, and equally well pleased that Ashurst remained in the "Venus."

Ashurst, however, paid two or three visits to the "Sylvia," during which he made disparaging remarks about Owen in the mess.

Although several of the things were said in his presence, Owen took no notice of them. He trusted that he might win the regard of his new messmates by his uniform good conduct and gentlemanly bearing towards them. Still, he found that he had much to put up with. Ashurst possessed considerable influence in the berth, and there is an old saying, that "dirt cannot be thrown without some of it sticking." Owen was often treated in a contemptuous manner by several of the mates and midshipmen. He heard himself called a wretched young quill-driver, Cheeseparings, junior—Cheeseparings being the name gived to the purser—the captain's spy, or licenced talebearer, with many similar uncomplimentary epithets. He made no complaint even when Mr Leigh once kindly asked him if he was happy in the berth, nor did he reply in a way to excite the anger of those who were endeavouring to annoy him.

He knew that it could not last long. He had written to Mr Fluke, stating the position in which he was on board the "Sylvia," and asking whether it was his wish that he should return home and resume his duties in the counting-house. He dispatched a much longer letter to his friends at Fenside, giving a full account of his adventures. He did not forget either to write to Mrs Aggett, describing her husband's peaceful death, feeling that a knowledge of this would be far more consolatory to the widow, than should she suppose that he had been lost during the horrors of a shipwreck, which otherwise she would very naturally have concluded to have been the case. He was greatly puzzled whenever he thought the matter over, to account for Ashurst's manner. As far as Owen could judge, Ashurst did not treat any of his other young messmates in the same way, although he might have been somewhat supercilious in his manner towards them, as if he considered himself a being of a superior order. Captain Stanhope was anxious, as soon as possible, to get away from Batavia, there being much sickness in the place, as is usually the case in that unhealthy town. He hoped, however, that the ships would escape, as he allowed none of the officers or men to visit the shore oftener than could be helped. Owen, however, on one occasion accompanied the captain, who had business to transact. They were returning to the harbour to embark when they met a party of natives, carrying a person on a stretcher, followed by several Dutchmen, and two or three English sailors. The bearers stopped on seeing the captain, supposing that he was some one in authority, and placed the stretcher on the ground.

"Please, sir," said one of the seamen, "we have just picked up this Englishman; can you tell us where we are to take him to?"

"To the public hospital of course," answered Captain Stanhope, "if the man is alive. But are you sure of that?" he asked, looking down.

Owen just then recognised the countenance of the first mate of the "Druid," as did also Captain Stanhope.

"I suspect that he is a subject for the dead-house rather than the hospital," observed the captain.

"Why, so I believe," cried the seaman, placing his hand on the mate's heart, and then lifting up his arm, it fell motionless by his side.

Captain Stanhope ascertained that the man had been seen to fall down, apparently in a drunken fit and had not since uttered a word.

"Take him to the hospital, and you will soon learn whether he is dead, or if there is any hope of his recovering," said the captain.

The bearers taking up the dead body—for dead he was, there could be no doubt—hurried on to the hospital as directed. Such was the ending of the first mate of the "Druid," and such has been that of countless numbers of seamen who have given way to the terrible vice of drunkenness.

Owen returned on board with the captain. It was his last visit to the shore. Indeed, attractive as the country is in appearance, few would wish to visit that pestiferous region. The two frigates having been refitted, sailed together for a cruise through the Indian seas.

Captain Stanhope's orders were to visit Amboyna, several of the Molucca islands, Banda Neira, and other places which had been lately captured from the Dutch. The castle of Belgica, the chief fort of Banda Neira, had been taken in an especially gallant manner the year before by Captain Cole, of the frigate "Caroline," and Captain Kenah, of the "Barracouta" sloop. Landing at night, during a violent storm, accompanied by Lieutenant Lyons and several other officers, they made their way to the rear of the citadel. Though discovered, scrambling up by means of scaling ladders, they forced their way in, and in a few minutes became masters of the castle.

Very naturally the officers and crew of the "Sylvia" regretted that they had not been there to share in the honour of the achievement.

Some months passed away in a satisfactory manner to Owen, as numerous places of interest were visited, especially the spice-producing islands, where he had an opportunity of seeing numberless objects of natural history. Birds of rare plumage, shells of magnificent size, tinted with the most beautiful colours, as well as curious animals, such as were to be seen in no other region. Owen, who was a fair swimmer, took every opportunity, when the ships were at anchor and bathing was possible, to improve himself in the art. Although others bathed with him, very few took as much pains as he did. His frequent companion on such occasions was John Langton, a master's mate, who, being older, was a superior swimmer, and seemed to take much pleasure in giving him instruction. They did their best to induce others to join them, but very few would take the trouble to learn to swim.

"We never can tell what may happen," remarked Langton. "A time may come when you may earnestly wish that you had learnt to swim. A person who can do so may be the means of saving not only his own life but that of others."

It was necessary, however, to be very careful, as many places in these seas swarmed with sharks and other marine creatures. They had always to select some lagoon, cut off from the ocean, or to keep a bright look-out when swimming along the shore, and never to venture far out. Owen, though still inferior to Langton, soon became an expert swimmer.

Two mails had come out from England, which, according to Owen's calculations, might have brought him letters, but none arrived, and he began to fear those he had written home had been lost. Not that he was very anxious to leave the ship, as he had already succeeded in overcoming the prejudices of his messmates, and even the most ill-natured had to acknowledge that he was not a bad fellow, although he might be somewhat mean-spirited. John Langton had from the first stood his friend in a judicious way. He had not defended him in his presence when attacked, seeing how wisely Owen was conducting himself, but he had taken good care to speak in his favour when he was not present.

Langton was a quiet-mannered, somewhat silent young man, but those who knew him best were very sure that he was capable of daring and doing, should an opportunity occur, as much as any man, and Owen was naturally drawn towards him. For some time he was the only person in the mess with whom he had much conversation. By degrees Owen's messmates forgot that he had been a boy before the mast, and treated him as one of themselves. He thus found the position as pleasant as he could desire, until one day while the frigates were in harbour Reginald Ashurst made his appearance on board.

"I'm come to take up my berth among you again," he said to Langton. "I should be very well pleased if it were not for having that little upstart Hartley in our mess. I expected that he would have been sent home before this. I wonder why the captain was induced to retain him?"

"I should think because he finds him very well qualified for the duties he has to perform," answered Langton. "If you had seen as much of him as we have, I think that you would have no reason to find fault with him."

"Birds of a feather flock together," muttered Ashurst, as he turned away.

Langton heard the remark, but took no notice of it. Owen had again a good deal to endure from Ashurst, and his temper was sorely tried. Often a retort rose to his lips, though he refrained from uttering it. A month or more went by. The two frigates had come round to the northern end of Celebes.

Captain Stanhope sent the "Venus" on to Batavia, while the "Sylvia" stood in for the port of Gorontello in the Bay of Tomonie, which place had been taken from the Dutch, and which was governed by a native prince who had declared his attachment to the British Government. Captain Stanhope's object was to communicate with the sultan, and to present him with some presents in order to retain his friendship. The frigate, however, had got within eight or ten miles from the port when it came on a perfect calm. Bringing the ship to an anchor the captain resolved to go on shore in the pinnace. He took with him Langton, Ashurst, and Owen, as also the purser, who went to purchase fresh provisions.

A small party of marines accompanied him to act as a guard of honour. The frigate being to the southward of the port, the boat after a long pull reached Gorontello. The visit to the sultan was paid, and passed off satisfactorily, although the ceremonies occupied a longer time than the captain had expected. The purser had purchased his stores, and got them on board. Some other delays occurred, so that it was late before the boat started to return to the frigate. A light wind was, however, blowing; sometimes it came from the northward and at others from off the land.

"If this wind holds we shall get down to the frigate in little more than an hour," observed Captain Stanhope to Langton.

Darkness in those latitudes, as is well-known, comes on very rapidly. The sun had set, the boat was carrying all sail, when the wind came off the land, from which she was then about two miles distant. Whether the coxswain had indulged in a glass of arrack on shore, or from some other cause, neither he nor any one else was keeping an eye to windward, as should have been done. Suddenly a squall struck the boat, and before the helm could be put down, or a sheet let go, over she heeled, and being already heavily laden with the fresh provisions, the water rushed in on the lee side, and she capsized. Providentially most of the provisions fell out of her, and her ballast consisting of water casks, instead of sinking, she floated keel upwards. The officers had previously taken off their swords, the marines let go their muskets, and nearly all hands, disentangling themselves from the rigging, got hold of the boat.

The captain, setting the example, climbed up on the keel, calling on his men to follow. All who could, did so. Two unfortunate marines, however, encumbered with their accoutrements, had remained under her. Their cries for help were almost immediately stifled. Owen found himself seated next to Langton.

"Help! help!" cried a voice close astern. "I cannot swim, and am sinking."

"It is Ashurst," exclaimed Owen; "come and help him."

Owen and Langton immediately slipped into the water, and striking out quickly got up to where Ashurst was struggling.

"Keep quiet, and trust to us," said Langton, seizing him by one arm. Owen grasped the other, and thus preventing him from clutching them, they towed him back to the boat; then telling him to hold fast while they climbed again on the keel, they hauled him up.

He was too much exhausted to speak, but he certainly made no attempt to express his thanks. A boat-hook and a couple of oars had been found floating close to the boat, and the men had placed them on the bottom. Langton proposed to Owen to swim round and pick up others. They succeeded in finding three more, but the rest by that time had drifted out of sight. They returned with those they had regained, and resumed their seats.

The captain, on calling over the names of the crew, found that, besides the two marines who had been drowned under the boat, two of the men were missing. The position of those on the boat was now perilous in the extreme. The wind was increasing, and was drifting her further and further from the shore. Although it was possible that she might be seen in the morning by the frigate, before that time all on her, in all probability, would be washed off.

"We might get help from Gorontello, as there are several boats in the harbour," observed the captain; "but it is not likely that the accident was observed there, unless any one by chance has been watching us through a spy-glass."

"I am afraid there is very little hope of that," answered Langton.

"We must endeavour to hold on until the morning, when the frigate may discover us," said the captain. "Cheer up, my lads, many men have been in a worse condition than we are and have escaped."

The seamen cheered, to show that they were not down-hearted, and were ready as ever to obey their captain.

"If we had but some food, we might fare better," observed the purser. "I think I see something floating near us now."

"I'll get it," cried Owen, slipping into the water and swimming towards it. The object proved to be a covered basket of fruit, which he towed back in triumph. It was hauled up and secured. The men cried out for some at once.

"Stay, my lads," said the captain, "none of you can be very hungry or thirsty as yet. By-and-by I will serve out a share to each man." The sailors acquiesced without a word. "I fear that we shall drift out to sea," observed Captain Stanhope, after a silence of some minutes. "Although when we are missed Mr Leigh will certainly send boats in search of us, they will not know where to look. Could we by any means communicate with the shore, word might be sent along he coast, and those who are acquainted with the set of the current would easily know in what direction to pull."

"I might be able to swim to the shore, sir," said Langton, "but it is a long distance to go alone. Are any of you men good swimmers?"

No one answered. There was not a man who felt capable of accomplishing the feat.

"If I may go with Langton I will, sir," exclaimed Owen. "I never have swum as much as two miles, but I know that I can keep in the water a long time, and I think I can do it."

The captain hesitated. "I accept Langton's offer, but I would rather that an older person than you are should go. Since I was wounded I have been unable to make any violent exertion, and I am very sure that I should be unable to accomplish half the distance."

"I would gladly have Hartley accompany me," said Langton. "I have often seen him take a long swim, and come in as fresh as he was at starting. Every instant increases our distance from the shore."

"If you both feel confident that you can swim as far, I will no longer object," said the captain. "Before you go, however, take some of the fruit; it will refresh you, although it will not add much to your strength."

"Thank you, sir," exclaimed Owen, as if an especial favour had been granted him.

He and Langton each ate a small portion of the fruit, both offering up in the meantime an earnest prayer for protection.

"May Heaven preserve you, my lads," said the captain, as he shook their hands.

Having taken off their outer clothes, retaining only their drawers, socks, and shirts, they both together slipped into the water and struck out for the shore, which could still be dimly seen. Their companions cheered as they swam from the boat.

"We must not over-exert ourselves at first," said Langton, as Owen, putting forth all his strength, was shooting past him. "We shall both do it, please Heaven, but we must not be down-hearted although we appear to make but little way."

Owen, taking the advice, kept pace with Langton, who maintained a slow, steady stroke. They could hear the voices of their companions, who every now and then raised a cheer to encourage them. For some time the cheers sounded almost as distinct as those at first uttered.

"We can have got but a very short distance," remarked Owen.

"The sound travels further than you suppose," answered Langton. "We have made good way already."

On they went, every now and then speaking a word of encouragement to each other.

"I am thankful you came with me," said Langton; "it would have been far more trying had I been alone."

On and on they went, still the dark outline of the shore appeared as far off as ever. Now and then Langton proposed that they should turn on their backs. They could not venture to make way for any length of time in that position for fear of getting out of their proper course. Owen had somewhat overrated his strength. He began to feel his arms and legs ache, but he would not tell Langton of his sensations. At last he was compelled to propose that they should float for a short time. Langton guessed the cause, and willingly agreed.

In a minute Owen felt rested, and once more they proceeded. He was again about to propose taking another rest, and was turning on his back, when he saw rising above the water, a few feet from him, a triangular fin. Though certain that it was that of a huge shark, he resolved not to tell his companion. Dreadful were his feelings. At any moment the monster might discover them. As yet it had not apparently done so. The dark fin glided on, but another and another came into sight. There might be many more astern. Not one, however, deviated from its course, and the creatures at length disappeared. Not until then did Owen utter an exclamation.

"What was it?" asked Langton.

Owen confessed that he had seen the sharks.

"A good sign," said Langton, "it shows that they are not given to attack human beings in these waters. Don't let us trouble our heads about them."

This Owen found it was not so easy to do. It appeared to him that they had been hours in the water. The courage of the two swimmers was greatly tried, for still the land seemed as far off as ever.

More than once Owen felt that he could go no further. He prayed that strength might be given him, and again struck out bravely. The sight of the sharks made him unwilling to rest even for a moment, for he knew as long as he kept his arms and legs moving there was less danger of being seized. At last a feeling came over him that he must give in.

"Push on ahead, Langton," he said, in a faint voice, "I will follow slowly; but I only detain you now."

"No, no, Hartley," answered Langton. "I will not desert you; cheer up, cheer up."

Just at that moment Langton felt his feet strike the ground. For an instant he feared that it was a shark, or some other monster fish, but, again putting down his foot he felt the hard, soft sand.

"Thank Heaven, Owen, it's all right, here's the bottom!" he exclaimed.

Both swimming on a few strokes more, Owen found that his feet also could touch the sand, and that he could stand up with his head out of water.

They waded on; the depth decreased but slowly, but still it did decrease. Langton's shoulders rose above the surface, he could now assist Owen. Exerting all their strength they made rapid way, and in a few minutes more found themselves standing on the dry beach.