"If those soldiers want us, should not we put back?" asked Joe.

"The very reason we should not," said Stephen. "We should do no good, and should certainly have our voyage delayed."

Just as he was speaking the sail gave a flap; the boat was becalmed under the high ground.

"Get out the oars, lads; we must make the best of our way from the shore."

Joe and the lads got out the oars, and Andrew and Simon assisted them to pull. They had not made many strokes before several shot came whistling over their heads.

"Pull away," cried Stephen; "we shall soon be out of range, and in a few minutes will catch the breeze again."

The soldiers once more fired; two bullets struck the boat, but did no damage; the third went through the main-sail. The soldiers shouted and gesticulated more vehemently than before. The party in the boat, at Stephen's suggestion, took not the slightest notice of them, though they pulled on with might and main till the breeze once more filled the sails and rapidly freshened. The boat now stood away to the southward, and was soon out of range of the soldiers' muskets.

"Perhaps after all we shall be followed," remarked Andrew.

"No fear of that," said Joe. "There is not a man left in the harbour to take out a boat; the chances are the soldiers are not able to pull themselves or they would have been after us by this time. See, the breeze is freshening, and by nightfall we shall be well away from the land."

This information greatly relieved the minds of the fugitives; they had now every hope of getting free, and, should the fine weather continue, be able to land in Holland. Stephen's chief anxiety was for the old pilot; the horses would very likely be taken from him, and he might too probably be carried off as a prisoner for having enabled rebels to escape. Though they had not witnessed the cruelties practised by Colonel Kirk and his lambs, Simon had told him of what he had heard, and of the hundreds who had been hung up on the Bussex oak directly after the action. They were justly afraid that Mr Headland might be treated in the same cruel manner; and "if we had gone back we could have done no good," Stephen said to himself over and over again. For some hours the weather continued fine, and the boat made fair progress, but towards midnight a dark bank of clouds rose to the eastward, threatening a gale.

"What do you think of it, Joe?" asked Stephen.

"We shall catch it, but the boat will float like a cork; we will shorten sail in good time, though we shall not make much of our way towards Holland till it is over, I have a notion."

The boat, it should be understood, was only half-decked; but she had good high sides, and was provided with water-ways, so that unless the gale should prove of unusual violence, they had no reason to fear for their safety. Though Andrew had lived near the sea, he had seldom been afloat, and Simon had never even seen the ocean before. At first he had been highly pleased with its appearance, but now that he saw the dark leaden foam-topped waves rising up, he began to look as if he would rather have been safe on shore; but he was a stout-hearted fellow, and was not disposed to give way to idle fears. The boat began to pitch and tumble about, and to take the water over her bows.

"I will go to the helm now," said Joe to Stephen, "for though I see you know how to handle a boat in smooth water, it is a very different matter in a heavy sea."

Stephen gladly gave up the helm, and stood by with the lad to shorten sail, should it be necessary. Two reefs had already been taken down, and the little vessel went bobbing away over the dark foaming seas, making but little progress. She might, as Joe affirmed, be the best sea-boat out of Kenway Cove, but she was certainly not a fast craft, and was inclined to make as much way to leeward as she did ahead. She was now standing over to the French coast, but Stephen and his friends were unwilling to land there except in a case of great necessity. Should they be discovered, the French Government, who were friendly with James, would be very likely to hand them over to him. Their only hope was to get into some retired place on the coast of Normandy, where they might live unnoticed, and engage themselves in fishing or some other employment. The wind increased; now the rain came down in torrents, drenching through those who were but ill-protected, old Joe, in a thick woollen coat, and a pipe in his mouth, and a tarpaulin drawn down over his head, looking as unconcerned as if it were a fine summer day. He advised Andrew and Simon to get into the cuddy.

"You ain't of much use," he observed, "and there is no reason why you should get wet through to do no one good. Mr Stephen here may do as he pleases; we are likely enough to want his help; he has shown that he can give it."

Andrew and Simon, though they did not feel complimented, followed the old sailor's advice, but the tossing and the tremendous thumps which they heard every instant against the bow of the vessel, effectually prevented them from going to sleep, and made them wish to get out again. They felt also very sick and uncomfortable: the cuddy was hot and close. The gale increased, and old Joe deemed it necessary to take down the last reef and lower the fore-sail, keeping only the small storm-jib set. The operation took some time, and while Stephen was assisting in shifting the jibs, a sea struck the bows, and carried him off his legs. Providentially he clung to the forestay, or he would have, the next instant, been overboard; but he saved himself. He got the storm-jib hauled well on board before the next sea struck the vessel. Sail being reduced, everything was made snug, and he came aft. Looking into the cuddy, he inquired how his friends were getting on.

"Very badly," they both answered. "How soon is the gale likely to be over?"

"It is impossible to say," he answered. "It may likely enough come on to blow harder; we shall then have to heave the vessel to, and wait till it decreases."

Andrew and Simon groaned on hearing this, and wished themselves safe on shore. In a few minutes Joe determined to heave the vessel to, which was done under the storm-jib and mizzen, while the main-sail was lowered down and stowed. When morning broke, there the little vessel lay, riding on the leaden seas, and the dark clouds overhead, and masses of spray driving against her. Old Joe said they were pretty nearly about the spot where they were the night before—no nearer the French coast, no farther from that of England. There seemed to be little likelihood of the gale abating. Joe put the lad, who had been sleeping most of the night, to watch the helm while he took a snooze. The rest of the party had slept but little. Stephen had not closed his eyes, but he now felt very weary, and could no longer keep awake, so he lay down in the cuddy, caring less for the thumping sound than Andrew had done. He slept on for some hours in spite of wind whistling in the rigging, the roaring of the seas, which ever and anon broke over the little vessel, half filling her with water. Old Joe got the pump rigged, and bade Andrew and Simon, as they could do nothing else, work away at it. He kept them at it till their arms ached, but it was far better than being idle. At last Stephen got up; he proposed that they should have some food, as neither of his friends had taken anything since the previous evening. At first they declared that they could get nothing down. He persuaded them to try. Following his example, they succeeded better than they had expected, and were able again to turn to the pump. With an easterly gale such as they were now experiencing, there is generally a clear sky, but on this occasion, clouds massed on clouds came rushing along from the North Sea. Though hove-to, as far as old Joe could calculate, about mid-channel, the little vessel was drifting fast to leeward, farther and farther from the direction which those on board desired to go. Old Joe proposed at length that they should run back to some port on the English coast. Against this Stephen protested. They had had a narrow escape as it was, and wherever they might put in, they would be nearly certain to be suspected.

"Then we must bear up for a French port," said Joe.

"That will only be a degree better," observed Stephen.

"Well, then, it is a choice of evils," said Joe. "If we do not get into some port or other, and it should come on to blow harder than it does now, the chances are the craft will go down. Better to be taken by the French."

"We will hope that the gale won't increase," said Stephen, who having thus far succeeded in escaping from his enemies, was not inclined to despair. His brother and Simon were more out of spirits about the matter. Still it seemed probable that the gale would increase; not a break appeared in the clouds. As long as the provisions lasted, and the boat could keep above water, Stephen determined to remain at sea. The boat, however, was leaking considerably, and the provisions were becoming exhausted, so that even should the gale moderate they could scarcely hope to reach a Dutch port before their food would have come to an end. All day long the little vessel lay tossing about. They spoke little, though they had much to think about. Their thoughts were not such as they could give expression to before others. Joe, who was generally a cheery old fellow, sat looking glum and downcast.

"It is all very well for you to say you won't go back, but if we don't, as I said before, we shall go to the bottom."

Still Stephen was determined to attempt to get on as soon as the gale had abated. He knew that it was as dangerous to run before the seas, when there would be a great probability of being pooped, as to remain hove-to. That they had been drifting down channel he was aware. How far they had got it was difficult to say. To attempt to make the land they might fail to enter any sheltering harbour, and might be cast on some rocky shore, where the vessel would be lost. Stephen argued the point with old Joe.

"Well," replied the latter, "you must be answerable for whatever happens. Remember, if the craft goes down it is your fault, not mine."

Stephen was half inclined to smile at what Joe said, and willingly undertook to be responsible for whatever should occur, and going to the pump, set to work to encourage his companions. Thus they continued tumbling and tossing about as they had been doing for many hours. At length, overcome with fatigue, Stephen lay down in the cuddy, hoping to snatch a short rest. How long he had been asleep he could not tell, when he was awakened by a loud crash. Starting up, he saw to his dismay that the mast had gone by the board. Old Joe was equal to the emergency. "Get out the oars, lads, and we will try and keep the craft's head to wind, while I cut away the wreck. It is our only chance, for if she is brought broadside to the sea, she will fill in an instant and go down."

Tom Peddler, accustomed to obey old Joe, promptly got out one of the oars, while Andrew and Simon got out the other; Stephen, springing aft, went to the helm. Joe soon cleared the mast, the butt end of which had been battering away against the side of the boat, threatening to knock a hole in her. By considerable exertion she was kept head to wind, while in a few minutes old Joe, who had been looking out, shading his eyes with his hands, declared that the gale was breaking. Soon a light was seen to shine forth between the clouds to the eastward, and it became evident that the wind, having played them this cruel trick, was going down. Though they had to pull hard to prevent the boat from being swamped, still, as long as they could do that, they hoped at all events to save their lives for the present. Though, after all, they should be compelled to put into a French port, to do so was not altogether hopeless, as they would have the excuse of coming in for the sake of getting a fresh mast. The wind continued to go down, and the sea to decrease so much, that their exertions were greatly lessened. They were able to enjoy a better meal also than they had taken. They had just finished, when Andrew, who was on the look-out, exclaimed—"I see a white sail away to the east. See, the canvas shines like snow against the clouds."

Joe jumped up at hearing this, and took a look at the stranger, which he pronounced to be a large ship bearing directly down for them. "Whether friend or foe, we cannot escape her; but if she is Dutch we are in no danger. I do not know how a Frenchman would treat us. We have most to dread from one of our own ships; more's the shame it should be so."

As there was no necessity any longer for keeping the oars going, all on board anxiously watched the approaching ship.

"She is a man-of-war, I have little doubt," said Joe. "Carries fifty guns. She is English, too," he added; "she has hoisted her ensign at the peak."

"Remember we have but one simple tale to tell," said Stephen to Andrew and Simon; "we are bound for Holland. We must neither show fear nor surprise if we are taken on board. Merely ask the English Captain to supply us with a mast and the necessary rigging, in place of the one we have lost."

In a short time the frigate was up to the little vessel. A boat was lowered, and a lieutenant and midshipman came in her.

"What has brought you into this condition, friends?" asked the former, looking at Joe.

"Oh," replied Joe, "a sudden squall carried away our mast."

"The Captain's orders were to bring your boat alongside," said the lieutenant. "Get out your oars; we will soon tow you there."

Just then Stephen, who had been looking at the midshipman, exclaimed, "Roger Willoughby!"

Roger started up and cried out, "Stephen Battiscombe! I should not have known you, you look so thin and careworn. What has brought you out here?"

"My brother and I and our friend are going to seek our fortune in Holland," answered Stephen, who would rather not have had his name mentioned.

As the lieutenant was in a hurry to obey his orders, he directed Joe to heave him a tow-rope, and the little vessel was quickly carried alongside the ship. On the deck Stephen saw his old commander Captain Benbow, who, however, did not recognise him, dressed as he was in countryman's clothes.

"What brought you out here, my men, in mid-channel?" asked the Captain. "Come up on deck, and let me have a talk with you."

Stephen at once obeyed; Andrew and Simon followed him more slowly. To Stephen's surprise Roger took no further notice of him, though his old friend, knowing how he had been engaged, had a shrewd suspicion of the truth, and thought that he had probably assumed some fictitious name. It was better to let him answer for himself. Stephen replied, as had been agreed on, that he and his companions were bound for Holland to seek their fortunes, and that in consequence of being unable to find a larger vessel, they had embarked in the Duck and had it not been for the gale they encountered, they hoped to have been there by this time.

"Not much chance of getting there unless you are fitted with a new mast," said the Captain. "My wish is always to help fellow-seamen in distress. Though you are dressed as a farmer, I am very sure that by the way you came up the side that you have been at sea before, and while I look at you, it appears to me that we have been shipmates. I will not ask questions. If I did I should want true answers. Come, my friend, the sooner we get your craft fitted out the better for you; the wind may breeze up again, and it may become a difficult job." Without taking further notice of Stephen and his companions, he ordered the carpenter and boatswain to try how fast they could fit and rig a new mast for the little Duck. "That won't be looked upon as neglect of duty or aiding and abetting. Remember, we don't know who these men are," he said, turning to Roger. "We found them in distress on the high seas, and we do what every man is bound to do, help them to get into port as best they can."

Roger did not say that he recognised Stephen, although he guessed that the Captain, from what he said, had done so. He was longing himself to ask Stephen to give him an account of his adventures, but he judged that the Captain would object to his doing this. He was very thankful that Stephen had escaped from the battle of Sedgemoor, of which a full account had reached London, as well as of the dreadful slaughter which had been inflicted on the insurgents. Like all those who served under Benbow, the carpenter and gunner of his ship, aided by their crews, exerted themselves to the utmost to get the mast finished. They knew that it need not be very shapely, provided the main-sail, which had been saved, could be set upon it. In the course of a couple of hours the little Duck was once more ready to continue her voyage. Stephen heartily thanked the Captain for his kindness.

"Say not a word about it, my lad," answered Captain Benbow; "I am glad to give you a helping hand. I should have advised you to come on board my ship instead of continuing your voyage in that cockle-shell, but I am bound up the Bristol Channel to look out for fugitives from the Duke of Monmouth's unfortunate army, and my directions are to cruise between Bideford Bay and Bridgewater Bay. If I had found a craft coming from that part of the coast, I should have been compelled to detain her and all on board. Now, fare you well. I wish that you had stuck to the sea, and you would have kept out of difficulties into which so many at the present day have fallen. By the by, as you have been out so long, you may be in want of provisions; I have some private stores, and you shall be welcome to them," and he ordered his steward to put a keg of biscuits, a case of Spanish hams, a couple of casks of water, and other minor articles on board. The honest Captain, from the warmth of his heart, could not help shaking his old acquaintance by the hand as he dismissed him to his little vessel. Roger slipped down the side and grasped his hand.

"I am so glad you got off," he exclaimed. "I did not speak to you before, because I waited to take the cue from the Captain. It is all right; remember, let them know at Eversden, through the Colonel, when you arrive safely in Holland. I am glad you are going there instead of to France, for the Captain thinks we shall be at loggerheads with the Mounseers soon."

Saying this, and having wrung Stephen's hand, Roger sprang up the side of his ship, when the little Duck, shoving off, made sail to the eastward, while the Ruby stood on her course down Channel.



CHAPTER TEN.

The gale had been blowing for some days on the Dorsetshire coast. The seafaring men along the shore pronounced it the hardest they had known at that season for many a year, harder than one which had blown a few days previously for a short time. A vessel, from stress of weather, had put into Lyme, and reported that she had passed two small craft, tempest-tossed and sorely battered, but they refused assistance, saying that they intended to keep the sea, as they were bound to the eastward. This information being given to the authorities at Lyme, notice was issued to the men stationed along the coast, placed there to prevent the escape of rebels, and they were directed to watch for the two vessels, which it was conjectured had on board fugitives from Sedgemoor, or others who had taken part with Monmouth.

Colonel Tregellen had been deeply stirred with indignation at the cruelties practised by the Earl of Feversham and Colonel Kirk on the hapless Monmouth's defeated army, and he felt far more interest in them than would otherwise have been the case.

"Had they been criminals of the darkest dye, they could not have been more severely dealt with. Instead of that, they were honest men, fighting bravely for what they believed a righteous cause," he observed, as he read the accounts of what had taken place.

It is scarcely necessary to say how Alice Tufnell felt. Though she had warned and entreated Stephen Battiscombe not to take up arms, she knew that he was prompted by the highest and purest of motives. Her heart sank as she thought of the uncertainty that hung over his fate. No news had been received of him and his brother since the day of the battle, and their friends could not conjecture whether they had fallen at Sedgemoor, been killed in the pursuit, or were still in hiding.

The first intimation that his sons were still alive was received from Farmer Stubbs, who had brought Stephen's letter, saying that he and Andrew were in the hands of Cornet Bryce, and that they were to be carried to Bridgewater or Taunton. Mr Battiscombe immediately sent off to Colonel Tregellen to ask his advice. Farmer Stubbs was very unwilling to put himself into the power of Colonel Kirk and his lambs, and declined going with the sum of money necessary to bribe those in authority. Mr Battiscombe had the money ready, which he hoped would be sufficient. He first thought of Mr Handscombe, but on applying to Mr Willoughby, who had last heard from him, he found that he had left London, no one knew whither. Colonel Tregellen himself would have been a fit person in some respects, for his loyalty would never have been doubted, but his health prevented him from going far from home. He was not suited by his temper and disposition to deal with characters such as Colonel Kirk and those associated with him. Poor Mr Battiscombe, in despair, applied to Mr Willoughby. He had taken no part in the rebellion, and his son, with his sanction, had entered the Royal Navy, and was serving under Captain Benbow. Feeling deeply for his friend, though the undertaking was very contrary to his habits, he agreed to set out without loss of time, and endeavour to carry on the negotiation. He had very little to plead for Stephen and Andrew, except that they were young men carried away with the flattery bestowed on them by the Duke, but their father would undertake for their good behaviour in future, and would send them out of the country. Farmer Stubbs, saying that he had a relative not far off, with whom he intended to stay till the storm had blown over, disappeared the next evening, and Mr Willoughby set out on his mission of mercy, which, as the reader knows, was to prove a bootless one.

The storm had been blowing for some days, when Colonel Tregellen, accompanied by Alice on her pony, started on a ride to the village, where he had some tenants to visit, intending to return along the cliffs, where he hoped that the fresh wind off the sea would raise Alice's depressed spirits. On reaching the Downs the wind was so strong that they could with difficulty make headway against it, still the little pony seemed to enjoy the breeze even more than its mistress. When the Colonel pressed forward, his horse cantered gaily along. Alice at length, just as they reached the higher part, where an extensive view could be obtained over the ocean, begged to stop to regain her breath. The Colonel was looking westward, when he observed two sails in the distance.

"Look out there, Alice," he said, "your eyes are sharper than mine. Tell me what those are."

"Two small vessels or boats," she answered. "They have a very small amount of canvas, and are running to the shore, while they appear to be terribly tossed about. It is surprising that they can remain afloat in such a sea."

"They must be in a desperate strait, or they would not stand in for this coast," remarked the Colonel. "Unless they can manage to reach Lyme they will to a certainty be lost."

"They are not steering for Lyme," said Alice, "but are coming on directly for our bay."

"Can they be the craft reported to have been fallen in with by the Lyme vessel?" observed the Colonel.

"I pray that they may not be, as those too likely contained fugitives from Monmouth's army," said Alice.

"There must be some one on board who knows this bay, or they would not be steering for it," said the Colonel. "As the vessels are small, the crews may hope to run them up on the beach and escape through the surf."

In spite of the wind the Colonel and his adopted daughter were unwilling to leave the Downs till they knew the fate of the boats. The pathway down to the beach was too steep for the horses to descend, or in their eagerness they would have gone down. The Colonel rode as close as he could to the edge of the cliff, to see if he could observe old Ben Rullock, or some other fisherman, in order to desire them to make preparations for rescuing the storm-tossed crews, whosoever they might be. While he was watching he observed several persons coming along the cliff.

"The fellows are on the look-out for those boats," he said to himself. "I wish they had not discovered them, for if the people on board are fugitives, should they escape the waves, they will fall into their scarcely less remorseless clutches." He watched the men as they descended the cliffs, but could not see what had become of them. "I verily believe they have hidden themselves, that they may pounce out on their prey, and give them less chance of escaping."

The guards, who were all armed, seemed to have made signals to others, who came hurrying up till nearly a dozen were collected about the same spot. A reef of rocks ran off on the west side of the bay, which, circling round, formed a sort of breakwater, which, in moderate weather, enabled Ben Rullock and other fishermen to leave their boats at anchor in security, though at present they were all hauled up. It required nice steering to enter the bay so as to avoid the end of the reef; the two boats approached, their shattered appearance showing the urgent necessity which had induced them to steer for the land. Some of the people in them were baling, others pumping, both pressing eagerly on, almost abreast, instead of following each other. At length they drew close to the bay, when one, standing more to the westward than she ought to have done, struck the end of a reef. The next sea scattered her fragments, and she literally melted away from sight, leaving those who had been on board struggling helplessly in the waves. In vain those in the other boat threw out ropes to rescue the drowning people; they succeeded in dragging only one on board. As far as could be seen from the top of the cliff, the remainder perished miserably. Alice uttered a shriek of horror as she saw the catastrophe; no help could apparently be afforded from the shore; the other boat rushed forward up the bay, and disappeared beneath the cliff.

"The poor fellows have escaped a watery grave, but only to find themselves prisoners in the hands of their enemies," cried the Colonel.

Shouts and cries heard above the roaring of the seas came up from below the cliffs; then all was still. After the lapse of a few minutes a number of men appeared coming up the cliff which led down to Ben Rullock's cottage; they were the soldiers guarding six prisoners. The Colonel, followed by Alice, rode forward to inquire where the prisoners were to be conveyed, with a charitable wish to do what he could to alleviate their sufferings. Poor Alice could scarcely restrain the cry which rose from her breast as she saw the first of the prisoners, who was Stephen Battiscombe, followed by his brother Andrew; but she knew the Colonel's generous intentions. The state of the prisoners was sufficient, it might have been thought, to excite the compassion of their captors; they looked utterly broken-down and emaciated, as if they had long been in want of food, while the bitter disappointment they must have felt at finding themselves immediately on landing in the hands of their foes completely overcame them. Stephen lifting his eyes recognised Alice; he bowed his head, and then cast his eyes again to the ground, as if he felt he had so completely disobeyed her wish that she could have no further interest in him.

"Where are you going to take these persons, my friends?" asked the Colonel of the soldiers. "Judging from their appearance they are scarce able to walk, much less to march any distance, and the sun is nearly setting. Whoever they may be, or whatever they have done, they are our fellow-creatures, and in sore distress. They certainly were not flying from the country, for you all saw that they steered for the shore, and evidently intended to land instead of attempting to go farther. I shall be glad if you will bring them on to Eversden Manor,—it is not far from this,—and I will give you and them quarters and provisions, which they at all events, judging from their looks, sorely want."

The sergeant who had taken charge of the party, after making some remarks to two or three of his comrades, who seemed to like the idea of getting into comfortable quarters, instead of having to march to Lyme or Bridport, replied that he would accept the Colonel's offer.

"Come then, friends," said the Colonel; "I will ride on ahead while you follow with your prisoners; but do not hurry them, for they are but ill able to move at a fast pace." Saying this he rode slowly on, with Alice by his side.

"I thought it wise not to show too much interest in the young Battiscombes, lest it might be supposed that I was inclined to favour them," said the Colonel; "but the poor fellows seem perfectly broken-down for want of food. I fear that if I were to leave them they would be ill-treated or urged on too fast, but I think, were you to ride forward to the house and obtain some refreshment, it might shorten their sufferings. Platt can bring as much more food as he is able to carry."

The idea was no sooner suggested to Alice, than answering, "That I will, thankfully," she started off at a fast pace across the Downs.

"What has happened?" exclaimed Madam Pauline, who had seen her coming up the avenue at a gallop, her hair, which had escaped beneath her hat, streaming in the wind. Alice explained in a few words, and Madam Pauline, saying to herself, "It is sad, very sad; I am sorry, so sorry," set about heartily putting up such food as was ready, together with a bottle of her cordial waters, while Alice directed Platt to prepare to accompany her. No sooner, however, was a basket packed, than, taking it on her arm, she hurried back to meet the Colonel and the prisoners. She found them just as they had crossed the Downs near a tolerably sheltered spot. Here the Colonel requested the sergeant to halt, while she, immediately unpacking her basket, took round the contents to the famishing prisoners. She endeavoured to exhibit no special favour to one more than the other, though this was difficult. As she came up to Stephen a second time, she whispered, "Be on the watch; tell your brother." She then passed on hurriedly. After some time Tobias Platt arrived with more provisions, a portion of which he distributed among the soldiers, thus putting them in good humour, and making them more inclined than they might otherwise have been to treat their prisoners kindly. As it was getting late, the Colonel advised that they should proceed, and they continued their march to the manor-house. Alice again galloped forward to assist Madam Pauline in getting ready for their reception. She did not hesitate to confide to her aunt her intention of trying to enable Stephen and his brother to escape.

"But you do not consider the risk, my dear Alice," said Madame Pauline. "Should these young men escape, the Colonel would be implicated, might suffer all sorts of fines and penalties, that he can ill afford, though I know he would gladly spend any sum to buy them off, if that were possible, and help poor Mr Battiscombe. However, we will see what can be done. What a pity that Mr Willoughby should have gone off on his useless errand! We must let Mr Battiscombe know that his sons have been captured, in order that he may take such steps as he deems necessary."

"I will go," said Alice; "my pony is perfectly fresh, and I shall quickly gallop to Langton Hall and back." Madam Pauline hesitated, but Alice soon over-persuaded her to let her go.

On arriving at home the Colonel was somewhat inclined to find fault with Madam Pauline for allowing Alice to set off by herself, though he acknowledged it was important that Mr Battiscombe should be made aware that his sons had been captured, that he might take such steps as he might deem necessary to preserve their lives. He did not conceal from himself the fearful predicament in which they were placed: hundreds, he heard, had been slaughtered, and the vindictive King was not yet satisfied. That King little thought that his cruelties were preparing the way for his own dethronement.

There were numerous rooms in the lower story of the manor-house, and the Colonel proposed that one should be got ready for the young Battiscombes, and another for the remainder of the prisoners, who were of an inferior rank. There was no end of truckle-beds in the house, which he ordered to be got ready. He proposed allowing the soldiers to occupy the hall, while the sergeant might place his guards as he considered necessary. The sergeant, on his arrival, was well pleased with the arrangements that had been made. Not being without human feeling, he was satisfied that the worn-out prisoners should enjoy the comfort of beds and good food, while he was pleased with the ample fare provided by Madam Pauline for himself and his comrades.

The Colonel looked out anxiously for the return of Alice, for he was afraid lest some accident should happen to her. There were wild characters abroad who pretended to be in search of rebels, and had succeeded in obtaining blood-money by capturing several. While Tobias Platt took care that the soldiers should be well supplied with food and good liquor, he did not forget the prisoners, especially the young Battiscombes, to whom he carried more delicate food, suited to their present condition.

The Colonel was on the point of setting out for Langton Hall in order to meet Alice should she have left it, when she arrived, having ridden hard the whole distance. She had been detained in discussing plans with Mr Battiscombe, as also while a package of clothes, of which she had observed they stood in need, was preparing. She had brought it secured to her saddle.

"We need not let the soldiers see the package delivered," she observed; "Tobias Platt can carry it in as part of their bedding. The clothes will enable them to present an appearance very different from what they do now."

Tobias, with whom Stephen was a favourite, took good care to carry in the clothes as proposed, without being observed by the soldier on guard. The windows were barred with iron, intended rather to prevent ingress than egress, but answering both purposes. The sergeant, on examining them, considered that his prisoners were perfectly secure in the rooms. Both he and his comrades were kept generously supplied with food and good cider, together with somewhat potent beer; as they had been out all the day in the hot sun, they were well inclined to keep up their carouse.

"It is tiring work, Master," said Tobias Platt, bringing a comfortable chair to where the sentry was pacing up and down. "You can watch as well seated as walking, I suppose, and I will get you a pipe of tobacco, if you have a mind for it."

"Ay, that I have, and I say, Master, a glass of something to keep the throat moist won't come amiss."

"You shall have it," said Tobias Platt, and he quickly returned with a small table, a jug of ale, and a pipe with some tobacco.

"Mind you don't go to sleep, though," said Tobias, as the sentry, seating himself in the chair and placing his musket by his side, stretched out his legs, when, taking a pull at the jug, he began to puff away from the pipe which Tobias Platt had lighted for him. Tobias then, having placed a lantern with the dark side turned away from the sentry, quietly retired; he came back, however, before long, to find the beer jug empty, while the man was snoring loudly.

"You will do," said Tobias, nodding as he passed. In a short time he came back accompanied by a light figure in a dark cloak, and turning a key, and noiselessly drawing back some bolts, glided into the room. Both the prisoners were sleeping. She was loth to awake them, yet it must be done. She turned the lantern on Stephen's face and uttered his name. He started up in a moment. "Can you forgive me?" he whispered in a low voice. "And yet you come as an angel of light to console me in my sore trouble."

"I come not to blame you, Stephen, but to comfort you if I can. I would inform you the means for your and your brother's escape have been provided; you have simply to walk out of this room while the sentry is sleeping. Your father is aware that you have been made prisoner, and he has arranged for your concealment, or will endeavour to have you conveyed northward where search is not likely to be made for you."

"Thanks, dearest, thanks a thousandfold," said Stephen. "For your sake I would use every exertion to escape, but I cannot desert my companions. I have already brought too many into trouble in endeavouring to get clear of my foes. I have induced several to join our unhappy cause who have lost their lives. I cannot run the risk of bringing the Colonel and his family into trouble, which I should do were I to escape from his house."

"Indeed, he is anxious to save you, I am sure of it, else he would not have had you placed in this room," said Alice, "though he wisely would not commit himself further. He knew that I brought you your clothing, and he would willingly run any risk for the sake of saving you from the clutches of Judge Jeffreys, who is expected every day at Dorchester to commence the assize, and all who know him say that it will be a fearful one."

"I must endure whatever I am called on to suffer," answered Stephen. "The Colonel and our father will be made responsible were Andrew and I to escape. Were you to be suspected of assisting us, they would not even spare you, Alice."

"But were I betrothed to you I would urge that as my plea," said Alice, in a trembling voice. "I know what were your intentions, and if you will even now ask me to marry you, I will consent, and I shall then have a right to plead that I acted according to the dictates of duty, or should you not after all escape, I should be able to exert myself as I best can to obtain your pardon."

A fearful struggle took place in Stephen's heart. He had long loved the girl who pleaded with him, and that love prompted him to endeavour to save her from dangers to which she might be exposed; but hope triumphed. Without further hesitation he pledged his troth to her; still he could not bring himself to desert his companions and to compromise the Colonel and his family, which he knew he should do were he and his brother to make their escape from the house. Andrew had been sleeping soundly all this time. He awoke him and told him of the arrangements that had been made to enable them once more to get free from the clutches of their foes. Two spare horses, Alice told them, would be in waiting outside the grounds at midnight, with a guide to conduct them northward. They would be many miles away before their flight would be discovered. By remaining concealed during the following day they might, by riding all night, get beyond the counties where the rebellion had existed. Andrew, according to his custom, considered the matter calmly over.

"I agree with you, Stephen," he said; "we must not attempt it." And he used the same arguments which his brother had already done. "Let us remain and brave the consequences; we are deeply grateful to Mrs Tufnell."

Both spoke so lightly that Alice, though she bitterly mourned their decision, was won over to agree that the course to be pursued was the right one. That they would have succeeded was doubtful, and before she left the room the sound of the sergeant's voice as he roused up his men to change the guard reached their ears, and she had barely time to escape from the room when the heavy tread of the soldiers' feet was heard coming along the passage. The guard at the door started up, not so completely overcome as might have been expected. The sergeant looked into the room, to find both his prisoners sleeping apparently in their beds; he then went to the other room, where he found all secure, but his suspicions must have been aroused from some cause or other, for he placed a double guard at the door, and retired highly satisfied with his own vigilance. Poor Alice went back to her room to weep, agitated by various emotions. Though disappointed that Stephen had not escaped at once, she felt that, now she was betrothed to him, she had a right to exert herself in his favour. She determined bravely to do so at all costs. She wished that Roger had been at home, as he would be able to assist her in whatever she might undertake; but there was not the slightest chance, she feared, of his returning for some time to come.

Next morning the family at the manor-house were early on foot. The sergeant was evidently so well satisfied with the way he and his companions had been treated, that he had no wish to move forward. For the sake of the young Battiscombes, the Colonel was not in a great hurry to get rid of them, as he otherwise would have been. In order to have an excuse for remaining longer, the sergeant sent off one of his men to Lyme to learn whether he was to take his prisoners to that place, or to convey them to Dorchester, where, as the assize was soon to commence, they would have a speedy trial. Alice was in hopes that they would be detained another night, and Stephen and Andrew might then be persuaded to make their escape. Having dressed herself as much as possible like a waiting-maid, she took the opportunity of visiting them during the dinner-hour, under the pretence of carrying in their food. Stephen, to her disappointment, was firm as before; the same reasons weighed with him. It grieved him to say so, but he was sure that he was acting rightly. She had not long left the room when Mr Willoughby returned. He looked fatigued and out of spirits as he passed along the passage to the Colonel's private room, for it could not be justly called a study. Some time passed, when Madam Pauline, who was eager to hear what had happened, went in, accompanied by Alice. Mr Willoughby, who in the meantime had had a long conversation with the Colonel, now told Madam Pauline his first visit was to the abode of Farmer Stubbs, which to his dismay he found empty. Mrs Stubbs had gone no one could tell whither, possibly carried off by the soldiers in revenge for the escape of Stephen and Andrew, although he was not aware of that at the time. The farm itself had not been pillaged, except of portable provisions. This was probably owing to its distance from the camp, or it would have fared but ill. Unable to hear what had become of his young friends, Mr Willoughby had gone on to Bridgewater, and had run a great risk of being seized as a suspected adherent of the Duke of Monmouth, and it was only by asserting that he was brother-in-law to Colonel Tregellen, a well-known Royalist, that he had escaped. He had done his most to gain information of his young friends, of course in vain. It would have been folly to try and get access to any of the leaders for the purpose of purchasing their pardon till he could learn where they were. He said that he was sick at heart at the sight of the heads of the hapless rebels which were seen at the entrance of every village, while gibbets in great numbers lined the roads in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater. Mr Willoughby had several narrow escapes, when he encountered an old acquaintance, who was no other than Cornet Bryce. He had to look at him hard, for he little expected to see him in military guise. The Cornet looked much cast down. Mr Willoughby learned from him the cause of his depression, the escape, namely, of two prisoners. He fully expected to be placed under arrest and severely punished, should it be discovered by the General that they had got off. Mr Willoughby was not long in ascertaining that the two missing prisoners were the sons of his friend. He kept his counsel as to his object in coming to Bridgewater, and returned home as soon as he could. Alice was glad to see him arrive, as she thought he might possibly try to induce Stephen and Andrew to escape. He saw clearly the danger to which the Colonel would be exposed, and declined in any way committing himself, though he promised, should they be delivered over to the officers of the law, to use every exertion to obtain their pardon or liberation.

As the sergeant had not ordered the man he sent to Lyme to make any haste, it was late in the day before he returned with orders to carry his prisoners to Dorchester. "I suppose, Colonel, that you do not insist on our setting out this afternoon?" said the sergeant. "It is a long day's march to Dorchester. We should make it better by starting fresh in the morning."

The Colonel assured the sergeant that he was welcome to remain. He knew that in the meantime Mr Battiscombe was exerting himself, through certain friends, with those in authority to obtain the pardon of his sons. Every day he gained was of consequence. He also hoped leave might be obtained to enable them to perform the journey on horseback. In the evening he came over to see his two sons. The parting was an affecting one. Though he had been exerting himself to obtain their pardon, he knew too well that his efforts might prove fruitless. He remained that night at the manor-house, that he might be with them as long as possible. When he asked leave of the sergeant to allow his sons to ride on horseback, the request was refused, on the ground that he could not grant them a favour which was denied to the other prisoners, and that as he and his men would have to march on foot, they must be content to proceed in the same manner.

A sad procession set forth from Eversden Manor on the early dawn of a bright autumn morning. Each prisoner was conducted by two guards with loaded muskets. Farewells had been spoken, and the order to march was given.

Though no mention has been made of the other prisoners, they had been treated at the manor-house with every kindness and consideration, and had been supplied with means for purchasing provisions on the way, as well as on their arrival. Mr Battiscombe rode a short distance beyond the Hall with his sons. Upon his return home, Mr Battiscombe said that he had left the party marching on in tolerably good spirits, not believing, from the numbers already executed, that many more victims would be required to satisfy the demands of the law. Alas! they were to find that they were terribly mistaken.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The assize at Dorchester was opened on the 3rd of September. Jeffreys had already passed through Hampshire, and succeeded in Winchester in pronouncing sentence on the Lady Lisle for harbouring two fugitives from Sedgemoor. He condemned her to be burnt alive that very afternoon, but, happily, the excessive barbarity moved the feelings of the clergy of the cathedral, who induced him to put off the execution; and though every effort was made to obtain her pardon, the utmost that was gained was that her sentence should be commuted from burning to being beheaded. She was put to death on a scaffold in the market-place of Winchester, and underwent her fate with serene courage. At Dorchester more than three hundred prisoners were to be tried. The court was hung with scarlet, an indication of the bloody purpose of the Chief Justice. It would seem that the work would require a long time to get through. Jeffreys, to make it light, let it be understood that the only chance to obtain a pardon or respite was to plead guilty. On the following morning he attended Divine service at Saint Mary's Church. When the clergyman, in his sermon, spoke of mercy, Jeffreys was observed to laugh,—an omen of coming vengeance. The sermon over, the Judge, attended by many of the principal gentry of Dorset, Somerset, and Devon, entered the Great Hall. Without loss of time he commenced his charge to the Grand Jury in a tone of voice and language which astonished and alarmed all who heard it. He warned them that their business was to make most strict inquiries not only after principals but after aiders and abettors, the fact being that many of the jury had sheltered refugees, thus making them accessory to high treason after the fact. As not only weeks but months might have been consumed had the ordinary process been proceeded with, to avoid this the Judge adopted a plan to shorten the business, and to procure a confession, without which not a tenth part would have been legally proved guilty. Two officers, such was his plan, were sent into the jail to call over and take the names of the prisoners; they were to promise pardon or execution. If the prisoners confessed, they were told that they might expect mercy, otherwise not; and as many were induced to accept the proffered mercy, these officers were in a condition to appear as witnesses of their confession. The first thirty, however, mistrusting the cruel Judge, preferred the chances of an ordinary trial. This was on Saturday. The same evening Jeffreys signed a warrant to hang thirteen on the following Monday, which was punctually performed. Nearly the whole of the remainder were executed. Witnesses were brow-beaten in a most fearful manner. Jeffreys thundered at them, using the most abusive language; but the scenes which took place are too horrible, too disgraceful, to be dwelt on. No less than two hundred and ninety-two persons received sentence of death at Dorchester alone. Among them were the two Battiscombes; they had nothing to plead, except that they had taken up arms under the firm belief that they were fighting for the defence of the Protestant faith against Popery. Very many others were in the same case. Mr Battiscombe did not venture to plead for his sons, for he might himself have been seized and condemned by the unjust Judge, while he was utterly powerless to assist them openly. The health of the Colonel did not allow him to leave home, or, interested as he was in the fate of his young friends, he would have gone to try and help them. Mr Willoughby, however, who was dauntless in a good cause, offered to attend the assize to be ready to take advantage of any opening which might occur. As he listened, however, to the language of the Judge, who looked more like a drunken madman than a minister of justice, he was in despair; he exerted himself to ascertain the places and time of execution of the different prisoners. He found that Andrew, together with Colonel Holmes, Dr Temple—the Duke's physician—Mr Tyler, who had read the Declaration, were to be executed at Lyme, near the spot where the Duke of Monmouth had landed, about half a mile west of the town. It gave him slight hope that Stephen might escape; but he in vain endeavoured to see him or to ascertain what was to be his fate. He was returning from the Court to his inn, when he saw before him a slight female figure in a riding-dress; it was Alice.

"Oh, uncle Willoughby!" she exclaimed, taking his hand; "do not blame me; while there is life there is hope. I cannot let Stephen perish without endeavouring to save him; I should never forgive myself."

"I cannot blame you, Alice," said Mr Willoughby. "How are you going to proceed? What means have you at your disposal?"

"I know that I can promise any sum that Mr Battiscombe has it in his power to pay, and I propose seeing the Judge himself," said Alice. "I will tell him that the death of one brother is sufficient to appease the demands of justice."

"But I fear, Alice, that he will say both are equally guilty," observed Mr Willoughby. "And you must be prepared for a refusal. Still, I would not hinder you from seeing the Judge, terrible as he is in his manner and appearance."

"I have thought over everything," answered Alice, "and resolved to brave the lion in his den. He condemned the elder brother to death, and he may be induced to suppose that the younger was led to join the Duke by his influence."

"I fear much, Alice, that he will be influenced by no other consideration beyond the amount you can offer him," said Mr Willoughby.

Strong in the justice of her cause, and prompted by her devotion to Stephen, in spite of the savage nature of the Judge, her aim was to see him before he entered the Court; for she heard that once there, inflamed and excited by his drams of spirits, and by his remarks to prisoners, witnesses, counsel, and jury, she was less likely to induce him to listen to her petition, or to understand its object. She had therefore to remain all night in an agony of doubt and fear in a room next to Mr Willoughby's. She awoke at early dawn from hearing a noise in the street, and, looking out of her window, the first figure she recognised was that of Andrew Battiscombe; there were two other gentlemen whom she knew by having seen them in court, and who she heard were condemned to death. Her eye ranged over the others, in dread lest Stephen might be seen; but he was not there. She felt relieved, and yet she knew how he must be grieving for the loss of his brother. She hurriedly dressed, in the hopes of being able to say a few words of comfort to poor Andrew, to hear from him of his parting with his brother, also to tell him of her intention of having an interview with the Judge. Scarcely, however, had she reached the street than the mournful procession, guarded by a strong band of soldiers, was ordered to march on. She would have rushed forward to speak to Andrew, as others were doing to their friends and relatives, but the soldiers closed round them, and kept every one off. She returned to her room to finish her toilet, so that she might be prepared to set out with Mr Willoughby as soon as it was likely that the Judge would have risen. Mr Willoughby was soon ready, and as it was understood the Judge breakfasted early, she was eager to start. She had nerved herself up for the encounter, fully prepared for whatever might be said to her. She had heard of the language Jeffreys was accustomed to use towards people of all classes, and she did not suppose her sex and youth would enable her to escape. She was glad, however, to lean on Mr Willoughby's arm as they approached the house where the Chief Justice had taken up his quarters. Alice had a letter ready, requesting to see him on an important matter. In a short time the servant, to whom she had given the letter, appeared and said that the Chief Justice would see her. Mr Willoughby thought it prudent to remain in the court below. He knew that, should he go in with her, unpleasant questions would be asked, and he would probably be branded as a Puritan, and perhaps sent off to prison to undergo his trial. Alice, without trembling, followed her guide and was ushered into a large room, at the further end of which sat the Chief Justice before a plentifully-spread breakfast-table. His eyes were ferrety, his nose and cheeks fiery red, his countenance even in rest had a savage expression.

"Well, young woman, who are you, and what do you want?" he asked in a gruff tone.

"Please, my lord, I am grand-daughter of a Cavalier who died fighting for his king; my father was a loyal gentleman, and I have been brought up by my guardian, Colonel Tregellen, an old Cavalier. I have had no sympathy with the late Duke of Monmouth, and yet I come to plead for the life of one who has been implicated in his rebellion."

"Some crop-eared knave with whom thou hast fallen in love, wench," growled the Chief Justice. "Out on thee, for an idle baggage!"

"I come to plead for the life of my betrothed husband," said Alice. "And, my lord, there are those who value him for his honesty and other good qualities, and are ready to pay as large a sum of money as they can collect, to obtain his pardon, and I am authorised to hand it over to your Lordship, that you may do with it as you think fit."

Jeffrey's eyes sparkled as he turned them towards Alice. "What is the name of this precious youth, thy betrothed husband, wench? I warrant he thinks thou art worth living for."

"Stephen Battiscombe," answered Alice.

"Why, he is one I yesterday sentenced to death; he should have been hung by this time, so you are too late, wench."

"Please you, my lord, it was his elder brother, Andrew Battiscombe," said Alice. "Were he even more criminal than he is, surely the death of one in the family is sufficient to satisfy the ends of justice."

"I would stamp out the whole brood of vipers, could I catch them," said Jeffreys.

Poor Alice felt her heart sink, but she was not to be defeated.

"Whatever his crime, my lord, the sum I am authorised to place in your Lordship's hands, on receiving his pardon, will, I hope, condone it."

"Ho, ho," said the Chief Justice, eyeing the notes and rolls of gold; then, turning to a list he had by his side: "I see he is condemned to be hung, and should have been strung up with his brother this afternoon. To pardon him is impossible. All I can do is to commute his sentence, and condemn him to be sent as a slave to the West Indies. There, do not be weeping, wench. You have obtained your lover's life, at a cheap rate too. If you care for him you will rejoice. You have saved him for a trumpery thousand pounds."

"But can he not be pardoned, can he not be pardoned, my lord?" exclaimed Alice, clasping her hands. "To be banished to the West Indies as a slave is a terrible punishment."

"We can hang him instead," said Jeffreys.

"Then, will you give me a paper stating that his sentence is commuted?"

"You doubt my word, wench? Well, you shall have it to satisfy your incredulity," and he wrote a few lines. "Stephen Battiscombe, sentenced to death, punishment commuted to ten years' slavery in Jamaica."

Alice could scarcely refrain from giving a cry of dismay as she saw this. "Could he not be sent to Virginia?" she asked.

"Could you not go out and join him there?" exclaimed the Judge, tauntingly. "If you are not content with having saved your crop-eared lover's life, you shall have his dead body by to-morrow morning, wench, and I will order him to be hung forthwith."

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Alice, clasping her hands. "Let him live—in your clemency let him live!" and, scarcely waiting to pay a formal farewell to the Judge, she hastened out to rejoin Mr Willoughby. He had in the meantime discovered the prison where Stephen was confined. It was not a place into which Alice could have entered alone, but she was able to accompany him. Together they sought out the officer who had charge of the prisoners, and presented the document which the Judge had given to Alice, to prevent the risk of any mistake being made. The man looked well pleased. "A live prisoner is worth ten dead ones, and you may depend on it we will not hang him if we can help it."

Alice had hoped to have been allowed to see Stephen, to communicate to him the fact that his life had been spared. This the jailer said was impossible, though he promised to do so as soon as he could. Alice remained another day with her kind friend Mr Willoughby, and at length succeeded in obtaining an interview. Stephen had heard the change in his fate. "While there is life there is hope," he said. "I may reach Jamaica; when there, I may succeed in obtaining my liberation, and happier days may be in store for England, and I may be able to return without let or hindrance."

Alice was equally hopeful, and they parted, she having the satisfaction of believing that she had contributed to save Stephen's life.

The Colonel received her with a look of approbation as she arrived. "You have acted like a brave girl," he said. "I trust that we shall welcome Stephen back again some day, though."

The Colonel tried to keep up Alice's spirits, and did not tell her of the cruel execution which had taken place at Lyme a few days before, when twelve gentlemen, all of education and high character, were put to death, including poor Andrew Battiscombe.

The fate of those who were transported was still more cruel. They were indiscriminately sold to West India merchants, planters, and others, who shipped them off crowded together in small vessels to Jamaica. Stephen, with upwards of eight hundred poor wretches, who had been condemned to be sold as slaves by Jeffreys, arrived in London, having been carried there in carts. Here they were awarded to the various noblemen, courtiers, and others who had applied for them, who sold them for the sum of ten pounds each. Few of them were of the rank of gentlemen— nearly all Monmouth's officers having been executed, with the exception of such as could pay heavy fines for their lives. Lord Grey, Ferguson, Wade, and other leading men were allowed to live, the former paying forty thousand pounds to the Lord Treasurer, and smaller sums to other courtiers, for their lives. In London the slaves met many of the followers of Argyll, who had, like them, been condemned to the West Indies. Stephen, with about sixty others, was shipped on board a small vessel, the Surge, Captain Hawkins, which, with seven other vessels freighted in the same way, set sail together from the Thames. Never a sadder fleet left the shores of England. The unhappy passengers knew that they were never likely to see those shores again; they had been torn from their families, their relatives and friends, and were going to a pestiferous climate, to be employed in the open air under a burning sun, like the negroes from Africa,—a climate which, under such circumstances, is sure to prove fatal to Europeans. Stephen, notwithstanding what he had gone through, was in tolerable health, and he did his utmost to keep up his spirits. Scarcely was the fleet free of the Channel than, a heavy gale springing up, the Surge was separated from her consorts, and proceeded on her voyage alone. The passengers were secured together below like African slaves, on a deck extending nearly fore and aft, with low benches on which they could sit, a bar running behind it with iron rings to which they were chained. Here they were compelled to sleep and take their meals, a few only being allowed on deck at a time. Stephen contrived to make himself known to the Captain, who listened with interest to the account of his adventures in Africa, and allowed him more liberty than the rest. The Surge had not made much progress when she encountered another gale, in which she received much damage. A heavy sea came sweeping over her deck.

"Hold on for your lives," shouted the Captain. When the sea had passed, the second mate and two other men had disappeared; they were seen for an instant struggling in the waves astern. There was no hope of saving them; indeed, it seemed but too likely that the Surge herself would ere long founder. The pumps were manned, but the crew were soon knocked up. Stephen proposed to the Captain to liberate the slaves, in order to get them to work the pumps, and explain to them that unless they did so, the vessel would sink, and they would lose their lives. To this they agreed, Stephen setting them the example. Many of them, who had suffered greatly from the voyage, were unequal to the task, and sank down exhausted. The crew, who had no intention again of working the pumps themselves, endeavoured to stir them up. Several declared their inability to labour, and proved it by dying shortly afterwards on the deck where they lay. Stephen, however, urged the stronger ones to persevere explaining to them that they were working for the common good. The leak continued, and though by keeping the pumps going the water did not gain on the ship, it was found impossible to discover it, and it was evident that only by the greatest exertions they could hope to reach their port. A fever, however, of a malignant character broke out among the unhappy passengers as soon as they got into warm latitudes. No surgeon had been sent on board. First one died, then another, and another. Stephen suggested to Captain Hawkins various means for remedying the malady by fumigating the vessel. Nothing seemed to have the slightest effect on those once stricken. Before long two of the crew were attacked, and died. The weather again became calm, and the leak with considerable exertion was kept under, but the fever did not abate. The death-ship sailed on, losing sometimes three or four of her crew or passengers daily. The Captain had asked Stephen to take charge of a watch, and he now enjoyed perfect liberty, and took possession of the cabin of the second mate, who had been lost overboard. Should the death-rate continue there would be few left on board when the vessel arrived at Jamaica, even should the fair wind and fine weather continue. The first mate did not appear to be much of a navigator, and on the fever attacking the crew as well as the passengers, he lost all heart. Stephen did his best to doctor him, but before long he also succumbed, and the Surge was left with a very limited crew.

Captain Hawkins was a stout-hearted man, and kept up his courage. He asked Stephen to select some of the passengers to assist him in working the ship. It was Stephen's afternoon watch, when he saw heavy clouds gathering in the west. They came on rapidly, while the sea below them was broken up into a mass of foam. He immediately sent and summoned the Captain, and ordered sail to be shortened. Short-handed as the Surge was through the loss of so many of her crew, this was done but slowly. The Captain, who had quickly come on deck, and Stephen exerted themselves to the utmost, while they tried to obtain the assistance of some of the passengers; but those not labouring at the pumps were unable to be of much use. Before all the canvas could be reduced the hurricane struck her abeam. Had she been under her usual sail she would have been sent completely over and have foundered. As it was, she heeled before the blast. The next instant two loud crashes came; she rose on an even keel, but her masts were gone. The Captain and Stephen summoned all hands to clear away the wreck before the butt-ends of the masts should stave in the vessel with the tremendous thumps they were giving against the side. Axes were found, shrouds and other ropes which held fast the masts were speedily cut. Still the hapless vessel lay in the trough of the sea, the waves dashing against her sides, and threatening to sweep everything overboard. The great object now was to get a sail rigged on the stump of the foremast and put her before the wind. When the masts fell several people had been injured, the Captain among them. At first he made light of it. Now that he wished to exert himself more than ever, he was unable to do so. He called for a chair, and sat aft, giving his directions. Stephen had to take everything upon himself. The men obeyed him willingly. While he and the party were working forward, the sea came rolling up and struck the vessel amidships. They held on for their lives. The sea washed right aft, carrying everything before it. When it had disappeared, Stephen looked for the Captain, who was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of those who were standing in that part of the deck; the helmsman among them was gone. Another hand was sent to the helm, the sail, which had been got ready, hoisted, and the vessel put before the wind. Stephen now found himself in command of the Surge, but from her condition he had very little hope of ever arriving at a port. To go to Jamaica was not to be thought of, as he should be delivering his companions, and possibly himself, into slavery. He resolved, therefore, if he could save the Surge, to carry her to one of the New England settlements, where he and his companions would be received as friends; indeed, all those who had escaped from Sedgemoor had probably already arrived there, and would welcome him with open arms. The number of the passengers and crew were, however, sadly reduced. Of the former, scarcely twenty remained alive, while of the crew only six were fit for duty—not a single officer, the boatswain having succumbed to the fever. Stephen picked out two of the best men to act as mates, though neither of them could take an observation. When he informed the passengers of his intention of steering for New England, as soon as the hurricane should be over, they all willingly undertook to aid him to the utmost. Of late the vessel did not leak as much as before; something had apparently got into the opening which prevented the water entering. This tended to keep up the spirits of the storm-tossed party. Still they were in a very desperate condition. They could hope to get up only very imperfect jury-masts, and then, even should they obtain a favourable wind, they would be a long time in reaching a New England port. With their reduced numbers, and their provisions and water, they hoped to hold out, if all hands were at once put on an allowance. Stephen determined to see to this matter as soon as the gale was over. Still the fever continued among them. One of the crew and two more of the passengers died the day after the loss of the Captain. Poor fellows! it seemed a hard thing, in the prospect of liberty, thus to be summoned away after all they had gone through. Stephen had kept the deck nearly two days without once going below, having his food brought to him. At length, worn out with fatigue, he was compelled to seek an hour or two's rest in the cabin to enable him to continue his work. How long he had closed his eyes he could not tell, when he felt that the ship hove on her beam ends. He rushed up on deck, and shouted to the crew. No voices replied. It was very dark, but he made out that the jury-mast had been carried away, and the vessel lay in the trough of the sea. He went to the helm. The rudder had been injured, if not carried away; scarcely any of the bulwarks remained. The Surge lay a complete wreck amid the wild raging waters. Another sea had apparently swept the deck and carried away every one within its power. As he went below to ascertain if any of the crew survived, cries and groans of the terrified passengers met his ears. He had little or no hope to offer them. Going forward, he could not discover one of the crew. He aroused the passengers, and urged them to turn to at the pumps. They might keep the vessel afloat till the morning, and then build a raft, or perchance a sail might heave in sight and rescue them. Few, however, were able to labour efficiently. It seemed a wonder to Stephen that his own strength had been kept up, when he saw stout fellows, accustomed to wield the scythe and flail, reduced to mere skeletons. The morning came, the Surge still floated, but to build a raft seemed beyond the power of those on board. They wanted both strength and skill. Stephen urged them to try, however. Collecting all the spars and planks to be found, he commenced to work, showing them as far as he was able what to do. The wind had fallen, the sea was going down, or they could not possibly have made even the attempt. The ship, too, had risen more on an even keel than before. It seemed very doubtful whether she would exist much longer above water. The hours went slowly by. The poor fellows laboured as hard as they could. First one dropped, then another, some from fever, others from fatigue. The Surge had been kept afloat during the day. Another night was approaching; nothing could be done during it; even seamen could have scarcely worked in the dark. Stephen, as he went below to kneel in prayer, as was his wont, did not expect to see the sun rise again over the waste of waters.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

We must now return to our hero, Roger Willoughby, who had fortunately, from having joined Captain Benbow, been prevented from being drawn in by Stephen to serve the cause of Monmouth. The Ruby, after relieving Stephen and his companions, continued her course down channel. Roger earnestly hoped that his friend would be favoured with fine weather, and would reach a Dutch port in safety. The Ruby, on her course down the English Channel, then ran some way up the Irish Channel, according to the orders her Captain had received, but she fell in with no vessels or boats containing persons whom he considered himself bound to look upon as rebels. He boarded several vessels with passengers bound out to the New England States, where they said they were going to settle. Some had their families, and, of course, they could not be considered as rebels, while the greater number, who were of all ranks—gentlemen, well-to-do yeomen, and labourers—were single men; but as there was nothing to prove that they had been supporters of Monmouth, whatever the Captain might have suspected, he resolved to give them the benefit of the doubt, and would not detain them. Thus a good many escaped who would have tended to swell the victims of the Bloody Assize, of which the Captain, to his great indignation, heard when sending occasionally on shore. The Ruby, having remained the time she had been directed on the west coast, returned to Portsmouth, where she waited for orders. Seldom in those days could a ship's company be allowed on shore without the risk of losing a number of men, but so completely had Benbow ingratiated himself with his crew, that when their leave was up they all returned on board.

Roger, meantime, was daily gaining nautical skill and knowledge. Liking more and more the profession he had chosen, he had won the regard and esteem of his Captain, who promised as soon as possible to obtain for him a lieutenant's commission. Roger had several messmates, with all of whom he got on very well, though some of them were jealous of the favour he received from the Captain. His chief friend was Charles Ross, a lad somewhat younger than himself, who had come to sea with Captain Benbow for the first time. He was a little fellow, light-hearted, merry, and full of fun, though he had his serious moments, which showed that he was not as thoughtless as many would have supposed. He and Roger were much together. Roger was always ready to impart to him the knowledge which he himself possessed, and especially to teach him navigation. Another messmate, who was generally known as Old Dick Kemp, had been a ship's-boy, but had been placed on the quarter-deck for his good behaviour and gallantry during the last Dutch war, for saving the lives of two shipmates, for behaving with great courage during a heavy gale on a lee shore, when the ship on board which he served narrowly escaped being cast away. Since then, however, Dick Kemp had not risen above the rank of master's mate, having no friends to plead for his promotion. Captain Benbow appreciated him as being a true tarpaulin, on whom he could rely at all times, which was more than he would have said for his lieutenants, who were young gentlemen of family sent to sea for the first time with that rank. Not having gone through the inferior grades of the profession of navigation, they knew nothing, and looked upon it as beneath their notice, while they were only slowly learning the art of seamanship, and could only manage to put a ship about with the aid of Dick Kemp, Roger Willoughby, or one of the other tarpaulins or true sailors. Such was the way ships were manned in those days.

It is true that many of the shore-going young gentlemen who strutted about in silk doublets, feathers in their hats, and jewelled swords by their sides, fought bravely enough. When they found themselves in the presence of an enemy, they could ably superintend the working of the guns, which they looked upon as their principal avocation; or when boarders had to be repelled, or a boarding-party led, they were generally found fighting bravely at the head of their men. Since Charles the Second, however, made peace with the Dutch, the navy of England had seen no fighting except a few engagements with Algerine or Sallee rovers.

Benbow's lieutenants soon learned to respect him. He always treated them as gentlemen, though he did not pretend to say that they were sailors. On the contrary, he drew a marked distinction between the gentlemen officers and the tarpaulins, giving the preference undoubtedly to the latter. The Ruby remained so long at Portsmouth that Roger had time to write home, and also to receive a reply. He now heard for the first time of Stephen's capture, and of his narrow escape from death through the exertions of Alice.

"Bless her!" he exclaimed. "She was always a true girl, and I knew that, should occasion require, she would prove a real heroine. Fancy her bearding that monster Jeffreys, and winning her cause, though I am afraid he will suffer fearfully, and be sent out to the West Indies; but he got accustomed to a hot climate in Africa, and will stand it better than most people; but poor Andrew! sad to think that he should have lost his life, after so nearly escaping. I wish I could have been on shore to help them, though I do not know that I could have done much; but I do know that I would have run every risk. I would have insisted on their making their escape when they were shut up at Eversden. I am sure that my uncle and Madam Pauline would not have found fault with me."

All he could learn of Stephen was that he sailed a short time before with many hundred slaves from the Thames bound out to the West Indies. His father, who wrote, told him of the hapless Maids of Taunton, who had presented the banners to the Duke of Monmouth, being sold to the Queen and the Maids of Honour, who were making what money they could out of their parents and friends; but one poor little girl had died from fright at being so roughly addressed by Jeffreys. Many thousand pounds had been obtained by the courtiers to whom the slaves had been awarded, while the King had managed to get his share of profit out of the rebellion. These details, which were pretty well known on board, did not tend to increase the loyalty of the officers and seamen of the Ruby. The Captain himself, as became him, expressed no opinion, but Dick Kemp did not conceal his sentiments on the subject. Though he did not venture to say that he wished Monmouth had succeeded, he expressed his opinion that the King and his courtiers were as vile a set of ragamuffins as ever sat in high places, and that the Queen and Maids of Honour were well worthy of them.

At length the Ruby had orders to proceed to the West Indies to look after certain piratical craft, under the leadership of a daring Frenchman, who were infesting those seas.

"It is just the part of the world I want to go to," cried Roger. "I have heard a great deal of the beautiful scenery, of their strange trees, curious productions of all sorts, and if we touch at Jamaica, which we are sure to do, I will make inquiries for my old friend Stephen Battiscombe; if I can hear anything of him, I will do my utmost to redeem him."

"I will help you," said Charlie Ross.

"So will I," said Dick Kemp. "I should not be surprised that the Captain would exert himself, since as you say he sailed with him."

With a fair breeze the Ruby sailed down Channel, carrying the fine weather some way into the Atlantic and then encountered a heavy gale; but her hull was tight, and her Captain had seen that she was well fitted, having carefully inspected her masts and spars, and every standing and running rope of her rigging before they were set up and rove. Escaping from the gale without damage, she ran into southern latitudes. She had a fair breeze. One day, with all sail set below and aloft, carrying her along at the rate of seven or eight knots an hour, Dick Kemp, Charlie, and Roger were on deck together, when, as they were looking over the side, they observed a dark triangular object cutting rapidly through the water.

"Hilloa! what is that curious thing?" asked Charlie.

"That is the fin of Jack Shark," said Kemp, "the vilest brute that exists; the hated foe of us sailors. I don't know how many fine fellows he has not grabbed by the leg, and gobbled up."

"I wish that I had a gun, I would shoot him," said Charlie, "and he would do no more mischief; but unfortunately he has plenty of brothers and sisters like him; as soon as he sees the gun he will be off like a shot."

"I will borrow a musket, and see if I cannot hit him," cried Roger. Roger was not long in getting the gun, while Kemp, hurrying forward, obtained a piece of rancid pork, which he fastened to the end of a line.

"Now, Roger, look out," he said, as he threw the pork overboard, and Roger held his gun in readiness. Presently the fin disappeared; a white glistening object rose to the surface; off went Roger's musket.

"I hit him, I am sure," cried Roger, as the shark sank.

"I think you did, and right through the head. I saw a tinge of red, but it went in a moment," said Kemp. "We have settled the brute, and I wish we could settle every other that comes alongside. We will keep the pork, and if we can find a hook, we will have the next on board."

On sailed the ship. The Captain, however, coming on deck, observed indications of a change, and ordered canvas to be reduced. Roger's duty required him to remain on deck; Charlie Ross ran up with the two other midshipmen to the foreyard to superintend the operation of taking in a reef. Roger was looking forward when he observed an object fall from the yard; at the same time a cry burst forth from the throats of several of the crew, "A man overboard!" As Roger ran to the side he had seen Charlie Ross on the yard-arm, but he was not there now, and as the person floated by he felt sure that he was his friend. Without recollecting the shark they had seen in the morning, without thinking of any danger to himself, his ardent desire being to save his friend, he plunged overboard. Charlie had struck the water on his side, and was apparently senseless, for he made no attempt to save himself; but still he floated. The ship running fast at the time, and only part of the sails having been furled, Roger heard the Captain give the order to heave her to, as he struck out towards his friend, whom he reached just as he appeared on the point of sinking. At that moment Charlie's consciousness had returned.

"Never fear, you are all right," cried Roger. "Let me put my arms under you, and do not attempt to swim till you are better. I will tread water, and easily keep you and myself up."

"Where am I?" asked Charlie, in a very faint voice.

"Somewhere out in the middle of the Atlantic," said Roger, in a cheerful tone. "But the ship's not far off, and help will come to us as soon as a boat can be lowered; she's rounding-to, though she had so much way on her that she shot somewhat far ahead."

Charlie was slowly recovering his senses, and did as he desired; but when Roger looked up, the ship seemed a long long way off; not till then did the thought of sharks occur to him. Though he had fortunately shot the one which had been following the ship, there might be many others. He, however, did not let this idea damp his courage, but kept treading water with might and main, and singing out at the top of his voice, as if he were hailing his shipmates, and urging them to come faster to his assistance. At length he saw a boat lowered, and pulling towards them, but she was still far away; the thought of the abominable sharks would come back. As Charlie was recovering, he told him to sing out, and at the same time to splash with his feet. "Just to keep away the cramps, Charlie," he said; for he did not wish to frighten him with the thought of the sharks. He looked round, and fancied he saw a dark fin in the distance, but he might, he knew, be mistaken. The boat drew nearer, the crew were giving way with all their might. Old Dick Kemp was steering her, standing up to observe the spot where the two lads were floating. Between her and them Roger observed that dark fin. "I hope that Dick will see it too, and if he has a musket in the boat, will try to hit it." Roger forgot, if he did, that the bullet would very likely strike them. He shouted and splashed, and bade Charlie do the same, till he was nearly exhausted. The fin disappeared; perhaps the brute had been frightened away; he hoped so, but it did not make him relax in his efforts. It is our best chance to keep the monster off, he thought; he could scarcely have struck out five minutes longer, when the boat got up.

"Take him on board first," he cried, pushing forward Charlie.

"We will have both of you together," said Kemp. Scarcely was he in the boat when a white glistening object appeared, and its huge mouth gaped wide, half leaping out of the water. It got many a blow from the seamen's oars; this had, however, no other effect than making it plunge down and make the water with its tail fly over them.

"Now, lads, pull back as fast as you can," cried old Kemp. "We must put the boys under the doctor's care as soon as possible. You are a brave fellow, Roger; I always thought so, now I know it; and the Captain will say so too. I only wish that I were in your place."

The Scotch doctor, Macpherson, who knew that his services would be required, was standing ready to order the lads to be carried to the sick bay.

"I do not think there is much the matter with me," said Roger; but his trembling knees and pale face showed that he required care, while Charlie had scarcely yet recovered from the blow he had experienced on falling into the water. The gale seemed to have hung, back till Charlie and his gallant preserver were safe on board,—the ship was under snug canvas, and rode it out well. Roger was a whole day getting round. When he appeared on deck he was warmly praised by the Captain, and he received the compliments of the other officers, even the gentlemen lieutenants.

"Faith," said the honourable Lieutenant Delamere, "it is more than I could have done if I had expected to be made Lord High Admiral forthwith for doing it."

"It seemed to me," said Roger, "that it was just the thing to be done, and so I did it."

"You tarpaulins are accustomed to the water; it is an advantage you have over us," remarked the lieutenant.

The Ruby remained hove-to under storm canvas for five days, when, the weather moderating, she once more made sail and stood on her course. She had been running on for several days, the wind had fallen to a light breeze, and the sea was smooth; it was soon after down. Charlie Ross, who was one of the midshipmen of the watch, was stationed on the topgallant forecastle. He had been looking out for some time when he was joined by Roger.

"There is something away there on the starboard bow which puzzles me," he said. "It looks like the body of a huge whale."

"It is either that or the hull of a dismasted vessel," observed Roger. "I think it the latter. You should have reported it to the officer of the watch. I will go and do so."

Dick Kemp had charge of the deck, for the lieutenants in those days, unless they were tarpaulins or brought up in the service, did not perform that duty. Kemp came forward with his spy-glass, and soon pronounced the object seen to be—as Roger supposed—the hull of a dismasted vessel He at once sent below to obtain permission from the Captain to steer towards it.

"Though she looks in a fearfully battered condition, there may still be people on board, and we must try to rescue them," he observed.

As the Ruby drew nearer a man could be seen on the deck holding on to a part of the shattered bulwarks and waving a flag.

"There is one man on board at all events," observed Kemp; "there may be more. Willoughby, do you get a boat ready to lower, and I will let the Captain know that it is time to heave-to."

Captain Benbow just then made his appearance, and at once issued the order to bring the ship to the wind. The boat was quickly alongside the stranger, a rope was thrown over the side by the man who had been seen waving the flag, and Roger scrambled on board. He and two other men were on foot, weak, and pale, and reduced almost to skeletons, while more lay about the deck unable to raise themselves.

"We are dying of hunger and thirst," exclaimed the stranger, who appeared to be an officer. "For two days not a particle of food have we eaten, nor has a drop of water moistened our lips; for mercy's sake bring us some at once."

"The quickest way would be to take you to our ship," said Roger, and he ordered his men to come up to carry the sufferers into the boat. While he was speaking, it struck him, in spite of his pale cadaverous countenance and emaciated appearance, that the officer was his old friend Stephen Battiscombe; yet he did not like to ask him, for, if Stephen Battiscombe, he was a convict, and might desire to remain unknown. He treated him therefore as a stranger when the Ruby's men came to assist the officer.

"No, no," he said, "take the remnant of my crew first, and then those poor fellows who are passengers. I have endured hunger this far, and can hold out a little longer, while I do not think the vessel will go to the bottom just yet."

Roger directed that the two seamen should be lifted into the boat, and the two passengers; promising to return immediately for the remainder, he pulled back to the ship as speedily as his crew could urge their oars. On the way, he asked the two seamen who the person was who had waved the flag.

"He was the mate of our vessel," answered one of the men.

"What is his name?" inquired Roger, eagerly.

"Simon Bates, I fancy," replied the other; "but we always called him mate."

As he came alongside he sang out, "Half a beaker of water and some biscuit, or any food to be found."

The water and some food were handed into the boat; and the moment the people he had brought were hoisted up on deck, he made his way back for the remainder.

"Come along now, Mr Bates," he said, addressing the officer; "it is all right. The men say you are mate of this vessel."

Before taking the perishing people into the boat, Roger offered them some water and food. The water was eagerly drunk, but one of the poor sufferers was too far gone to swallow the food. Still, as there was life in him, Roger hoped that the doctor might bring him round.

"There are some more below, though I fear they are past help," said the mate, in a low voice, for he was but just able to speak.

Roger descended into the cabin. There lay two more persons, but on lifting their hands he saw at once they were dead. In a berth on one side was another who seemed to retain some sparks of life, but he was too far gone to speak. Roger immediately sang out for some food and water, which was handed down to him. He administered a little to the sufferer in the hopes that he might be revived sufficiently to be carried on deck. Though he drank the water eagerly, just as he placed the food between his lips a deep sigh escaped him, his jaw dropped, and he was dead. No other persons being found alive below, Roger, with those he had rescued, shoved off from the sinking wreck, and from her appearance he judged she would not keep afloat many hours longer.

When he had given an account of what had occurred on board, Captain Benbow inquired if he knew the name of the mate.

"The men call him Simon Bates, sir," answered Roger.

"Then let him be entered by that name among those saved from the wreck," said the Captain. "And who are the other people?" he asked.

"They are passengers, sir," said Roger. "The ship's papers show that she was bound out from London to Jamaica."

"There is nothing, I suppose, to show who the passengers are?" said the Captain.

"I could discover no paper, sir," answered Roger.

The people were soon brought on board, and placed under the care of the doctor, who attended to them assiduously. Just as sail was made, Roger, who was on deck, observed the bow of the craft from which the people had been rescued rise slightly in the water, then down she went, stern first, and nothing was seen on the spot where she had floated, her hull being the coffin of the rest of her passengers.

After some time Captain Benbow summoned Roger, to learn what he could make out respecting the passengers. "With regard to the two seamen and the officer, the matter is clear enough," he said. "They say that he belonged to their vessel, and by his coolness and bravery saved their lives, so that if he likes to enter on board the Ruby he shall be welcome to do so. I cannot give the seamen their choice when they recover. They will prove to be stout fellows I hope, and will be as well off with us as anywhere else; but with regard to the passengers the matter is doubtful. I fear that they are slaves destined to be sold to the planters of Jamaica, but I cannot bear the thought of handing them over to so cruel a fate. Do you, Willoughby, speak to the men. If any of them have served at sea the matter will be more easy, as I can then enter them among the crew of the Ruby. It will be far better for them than labouring in the plantations of Jamaica."

"Ay, ay," answered Roger, clearly understanding the drift of the Captain's remarks. He first visited the mate and the two seamen, and told them that if they chose to volunteer, the Captain would receive them on board the Ruby.

"With all my heart," said the mate, in a low voice, taking Roger's hand and pressing it. "Does he suspect who I am, for I am very sure that you know me?"

"What he suspects I don't know, but he asks no questions," answered Roger; "and whoever you are, you will enter under the name the man gave you—Simon Bates."

"Thank you, Roger, thank you," said the mate. "I little expected such good fortune; but the poor passengers! What is to be done with them?"

"If they have served at sea, the Captain will allow them to enter on board the Ruby," said Roger.

"Yes, that they have, and very useful they made themselves; indeed, without them the vessel must have gone down," said the mate. "From what I saw of them, I should say they have the making of good seamen in them when they regain their health and strength."

"That is all right," said Roger. "I will speak to the men, and advise them to choose names under which they can enter."

He found them, however, scarcely sufficiently recovered to understand him, much less to say anything, so that there was no hurry. He left them under the care of the doctor and his assistants. The crew of the Ruby were chiefly west-country folk, and even had it been known on board that the rescued people were slaves condemned for joining Monmouth's rebellion, they would have gained the sympathy of those on board, with the exception, perhaps, of the gentlemen lieutenants and a few others. Nearly a week passed before the mate was able to leave his hammock. The Captain, on seeing him, beckoned him to approach.

"I understand," he said, "that you have served long at sea, and I shall be glad, as I doubt not you will prove yourself worthy of it, to place you on the quarter-deck. Your men, I understand, have entered as of the people you were carrying out as passengers. We shall, I hope, have opportunities in which you can distinguish yourself and make your name well known."

"Thank you, sir, I am grateful to you," said Simon Bates, of whose identity there could be no doubt, now that he had so much recovered, and was dressed in a becoming costume, obtained for him by Roger. "I will do my best, as you suggest, sir, to make the name of Simon Bates well known."