Many of the passengers also remained on deck. As night closed in, far off was still to be seen the dark outline of the stranger ship. Was she gaining on the "Osterley?" Captain Winslow and his officers looked and looked again. There seemed to be little doubt about that. No more canvas could be clapped on the Indiaman. Everything had been done that could be thought of to make her sail fast. A hurricane just then would have been welcome. Clouds were gathering in the sky, and, as the night drew on, the darkness increased. At length the stranger was hid from sight. Some declared that they could still see her, but Captain Winslow was of opinion that they were mistaken. Still even he, as he walked the deck, continued to cast many an anxious glance astern. He called his first officer to him, and they held an earnest consultation together.

"We'll try it," he observed; and the yards were squared away, and the Indiaman was once more steering to the southward dead before the wind; it was her best point of sailing. It was hoped that the stranger, believing that she was bound for Madras, would continue the chase in that direction. The darkness continued.

"Well, sir, I trust that we have given that suspicious-looking gentleman the go-by," observed the captain to Colonel Armytage. "Perhaps it might be better to inform the ladies of this, to tranquillise any alarm they may still feel."

"Have no anxiety on that score. I do not allow my wife and daughter to indulge in idle apprehensions," answered the colonel in the supercilious tone in which he frequently spoke.

"This man may be a very important personage, but he is a very disagreeable one," thought Captain Winslow, as he turned away.

The worthy captain was well-nigh wearied out, so, summoning his first officer to take charge of the deck, he returned to his cabin to endeavour to snatch a short rest, leaving directions to be summoned should any change occur in the present state of things.

The first officer had been one of the most anxious to fight. He believed that they might not only beat off the enemy, but take her also, and he now kept a bright look-out, hoping that she might again appear. He was a young man, and thought more of the honour and glory to be gained than of the risk to be run. Over and over again his night-glass swept round in the direction of the eastern horizon. The range of his vision was limited. After taking a long gaze he suddenly exclaimed, "There she is though!" He called an old quartermaster and bade him take the glass.

"Yes, sir, she's the ship, there's no doubt about it. She has been keeping way easily with us," observed the seaman. "I'd sooner that craft, Mr Lloyd, were a hundred miles away, or a thousand, for that matter, than where she is: we none of us likes her looks, and she'll prove a rummish customer if she gets alongside of us."

"Oh, never fear, Davis; you'll all fight like Britons, and beat her off; or take her, maybe. But call the captain, and let him know our friend is in sight, away on the larboard beam."

Captain Winslow was on deck in an instant. He had been dreaming of the stranger. There she moved like a dark phantom, silently stalking over the waters.

There was something peculiarly ominous in her appearance. The very silence with which she glided on through the darkness was threatening. She soon came up within range, but not a shot was fired. There she remained gliding on, with her courses brailed up, keeping pace with the Indiaman. It was very evident that she might have come down upon her long before had she chosen.

The approach of the stranger quickly became known in the cabin, and the gentlemen passengers were soon congregating on deck, many of them buckling on their swords and examining the locks of their pistols by the light of the binnacle lamp. Various opinions were offered. Some thought that Captain Winslow ought to begin the battle by firing a broadside into the stranger; but he declined the proposal, and suggested that it would be better to ascertain first whether she was inimically disposed.

"She can scarcely be a friend, or she would not frighten people so horribly," observed some one, but the speaker was not discovered.

The remark produced a laugh, and the spirits of the more timid began to rise.

"Perhaps the gentleman intends to wait till daylight to commence sport," observed the previous speaker.

Another hour passed by; Captain Winslow could not help feeling that his ship was completely in the power of the stranger. She evidently sailed two feet to his one; could shoot ahead and rake him, or could stand off and cannonade him with her long guns, without his being able to return a shot. A sturdy Briton as he was, he almost wished, for the sake of all on board, especially of the females, that it had been determined to yield at once.

"No, no, that would never do," he muttered soon after to himself; "we'll fight, and defend them like men."

The stranger had been edging in nearer and nearer to the Indiaman. The ladies had been assembled and sent to their apartment in the hold. They were told it was only as a precautionary measure in case of an action. They endeavoured to keep up each other's spirits, hoping for the best. Miss Armytage sat by her mother, calm and resigned, endeavouring to read, but her mind often left the page and wandered far away.

Some few tried to talk, but they found the effort vain. A few young girls laughed and joked, and tried to persuade themselves that there was nothing to dread, but they too soon became silent, and the whole party sat patiently waiting for the event they dreaded, yet hoped might be avoided. They had no means of ascertaining what was taking place; Edda offered to go up and learn, but her mother entreated her to remain where she was, reminding her of her father's commands. The time passed slowly by; many thought that it must be soon day. All hoped that it would be, for they fancied that with the light the stranger would be discovered to be a friend. Not a sound from the deck above reached them. The silence itself was painful. It was suddenly broken by the deep-toned voice of the captain speaking through a trumpet. Then came the concussion and fierce roar of the guns overhead, followed by the thunder of those of their opponent, and the crash of the shot as they tore their way through the sides of the ship. Many of the ladies shrieked loudly, with wild fright, and clung trembling to each other. Yes, the bloody fight had really begun; how would it terminate? Next there was a crashing sound as if the ship had struck on a rock, and she trembled in all her timbers, and there was still the roar of the great guns, but added to it the rattle of musketry; and now followed wild shouts and shrieks, and the clashing of steel as cutlass met cutlass, and men strove desperately for life, and there was the sharp report of pistol shots, and the cries increased; and there was the tramping of feet, every moment becoming louder, and the clashing of swords, and the shouts and cries growing nearer. And now one of the officers rushed down the ladder. His face was pale; there was blood on his arm.

"Ladies, we will defend you to the last," he exclaimed. "But come up on the main-deck, and keep together. We have been boarded and overpowered. We have rallied on the afterpart of the deck, and hold it still; but there is no time to be lost."

Miss Armytage and her mother were the first to lead the way. When they reached the main-deck they saw the gallant band of the defenders struggling with overwhelming numbers of the enemy. In the front rank was Colonel Armytage. A huge seaman, a negro, had attacked him, and was pressing him hard. He seemed to be already wounded; others were rushing on. His foot slipped and he fell. His opponent's cutlass was uplifted to give him a blow, which must have proved fatal, when a young officer sprang forward, interposed his own sword, and turned aside the weapon of his enemy.

"Yield, sir," he exclaimed in French. "You are a prisoner, and your life shall be respected." As he spoke, aided by the others, he dragged the colonel, no longer able to resist, out from the melee, and at that moment Edda recognised him as the young stranger whom she had met so frequently at Calcutta.

"All who yield shall have quarter," cried a voice from among the assailants of the British. "We are honourable enemies, and seek the lives of none who no longer resist. The ladies shall be protected."

"It's Hobson's choice," said one of the passengers: "let us make terms while we can."

Several others expressed the same opinion. Indeed, it was evident that further resistance was useless. The ship was already in possession of the enemy. The captain was not with them. Where he was, no one knew. Too probably he was wounded; perhaps killed. Colonel Armytage was a prisoner. The first officer lay desperately wounded in the front rank of the little band, who had so gallantly held out to the last.

"Drop your swords, brave enemies, and the Frenchman who makes another stroke at your head, dies," said the voice.

Although many had but little faith in the promise, they yielded to necessity. The captors, however, kept their word.

The captain, a stout middle-aged man, came forward, and taking the swords of the officers, bowed to the group of ladies, and assured them that everything in his power would be done for their accommodation.

"Oh, bring my father, then!" exclaimed Miss Armytage. "Let us attend to him, should he be hurt."

"The officer, my lieutenant, took prisoner?—certainly. He shall be placed under your charge, madam," answered the captain, with a bow.

As soon as it was daylight, the English part of the Indiaman's crew, with the officers, as well as the military men among the passengers, were removed on board her captor, which proved to be "La Sybille," a French privateer corvette. Her name had lately become known for the havoc she had committed among the British merchantmen, many of which had been carried off, but what had afterwards become of them it had not been hitherto ascertained.

It was a great relief to Edda to receive a visit from Captain Winslow. He was wounded, and having been knocked down and stunned when the Frenchman boarded, he had not recovered till the ship was completely in their power.

Several of the Indiaman's officers and crew had been killed or wounded, but the bloody signs of the conflict had been removed when the ladies once more appeared on deck. Strangers navigated the ship, and Edda observed that her Calcutta acquaintance had the command. He approached, however, but seldom, and always with the signs of the most profound respect. Edda sometimes observed him standing at a distance, watching her, with his arms folded on his bosom, and a melancholy expression in his countenance. Still, she did not altogether like his look, though it would have been difficult for her to determine why. One thing certainly was against him. He had been acting the part of a spy at Calcutta, and it at once occurred to her, that it was probably owing to the information he had obtained that the "Osterley" had been watched for, and fallen into the hands of the enemy. Senor Gerardo, as he had called himself, at the same time paid the greatest attention to Colonel Armytage, and seemed to anticipate all his wants; indeed, no captors could have behaved with more attention to their prisoners than did the officers of "La Sybille" to the passengers of the "Osterley."

The two ships were now sailing together, to the eastward of south, but where they were going, no one could ascertain. A sentry was stationed at the compass, and though they were allowed to range anywhere else about the ship, when any one drew near that, they were civilly ordered to move away. Ten or more days passed, and the two ships lay at anchor in a beautiful bay, among a group of islands, some of considerable elevation, and covered with all the varied productions of the tropics. There were few signs of cultivation, but there were numerous huts and tents scattered about, and it was evident that the island had been taken possession of by the French as a rendezvous for their cruisers. Another Indiaman lay at anchor with her masts and spars in a shattered condition, as if she had met with a gale on her passage there, and had not been in a fit condition to send away. On a near inspection a battery was discovered thrown up on each side of the bay, while a strong fort in the centre commanded the anchorage, and sentries were seen pacing the beach to prevent the possibility of any prisoners escaping.

The passengers remained on board two days, while workmen were seen on shore, erecting fresh huts. During this time, Lieutenant Gerardo was constant in his attentions to Edda, but they were so delicately offered, and his manners were so gentlemanly and refined, that she was almost angry with herself for not feeling more grateful. At last the whole party were directed by the French captain who came on board, to prepare for going on shore, and informed that they were at liberty to take every part of their private property with them.

"We do not war with individuals, and we feel deeply the necessity we are under of placing a restraint on your actions."

The young lieutenant expressed his great regret at no longer being allowed to have charge of them. "Still I trust, Miss Armytage, that you will allow me occasionally to come and inquire after your health. 'La Sybille' requires repairs, and will be detained here some time."

At first Colonel Armytage received him with great coldness, naturally looking on him with contempt, as having played the dishonourable part of a spy during his visit to Calcutta; but the lieutenant explained the cause of his appearance there so much to the colonel's satisfaction, and his attentions were so unremitting and delicate, that he completely won his way into the good graces of the English officer.

Gerardo was too acute an observer not to have discovered the authority Colonel Armytage exercised over his family, and he fancied that the most certain way of winning the daughter was first to gain over the father. By degrees also he obtained the good opinion of Mrs Armytage. He never obtruded his services, but he offered them to her in so delicate a manner, and showed so much pleasure in being employed, that it was scarcely possible for her to refuse them. All the fruits and flowers which the islands produced were collected and brought to her and her daughter, often not obtained without difficulty, while numberless objects of interest, evidently taken out of prizes, were offered for their acceptance.

Very few of the other officers came near them; indeed, they appeared generally to be of a different stamp to the captain and his first lieutenant.

"We really might be very happy here if we did not wish to be elsewhere," observed Mrs Armytage to her daughter.

"Yes, certainly," remarked another lady. "But what shall we do when our clothes wear out? It will be shocking not to be able to get any of the new fashions. I am afraid our polite captain and Monsieur Gerardo will not think half as much about us then."

"You don't suppose that we are to be kept here for ever!" exclaimed another lady, in a great state of agitation.

"Perhaps till the war is over—such things are done," remarked Mrs Armytage, who, having her husband and daughter with her, was more inclined to be contented with her lot than were most of the party.

With most of the captives, however, the days in that delightful climate passed pleasantly and rapidly by. Had Ronald Morton wished Edda to be placed in a position where her thoughts would most probably be occupied with him, he could scarcely have selected one more favourable for the purpose than that in which she now found herself.

What might have been the effect of the young French lieutenant's devoted attention, it is impossible to say; but though he was present, the absent Morton ever stepped in to prevent him from making the slightest impression on her affections. The more she thought of Morton, the more vividly did she realise his noble qualities, his manly appearance; and thinking of him, she naturally taught herself to believe that, in some way or the other, she and her friends would be rescued from their present trying and anxious position. All the time they could not but feel that they were in the hands of enemies, who, though they behaved well at present, might at any moment change their conduct.

Both the French ship and the Indiaman had suffered considerably in the action; and since their arrival they had been undergoing repairs. These were now completed. The privateer's men were also refreshed, and eager to go in search of fresh spoil.

With heavy hearts the late officers and passengers of the "Osterley" saw her under all sail, standing out of the bay. It appeared as if their home—the only means of escaping from their bondage—was leaving them. Many gave way to tears at the sight, and few looked on unmoved. Two days afterwards the corvette herself put to sea, both her captain and first lieutenant going in her. A small garrison was left in each of the forts, and the seamen remained in prison on board the dismasted prize, under a strong guard. As there were only a few small canoes on the beach, used for fishing, and none of the prisoners had arms of any description, there was very little chance of their attacking the garrison, or attempting to make their escape. An old French military officer, who acted as governor, was a very strict disciplinarian, and was continually going from fort to fort and inspecting his troops, so that neither he nor they were likely to be caught asleep. Indeed, it appeared that nothing was likely to occur to disturb the perfect tranquillity of the island.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE "THISBE" APPROACHES THE ISLAND—OLD DOULL'S REVELATIONS AS TO THE "OSTERLEY'S" PASSENGERS—THE FRIGATE PUT UNDER FRENCH COLOURS— EXPEDITION IN THE BOATS—ATTACK ON THE FORTS—"OSTERLEY'S" PASSENGERS CARRIED OFF.

To return again to the "Thisbe" and rescued "Osterley." The frigate and Indiaman were once more hove-to, at a short distance from each other. In the far distance appeared a group of islands like blue hillocks rising out of the shining ocean. Volunteers from the frigate eagerly crowded on board the "Osterley," armed to the teeth. Morton had gained sufficient information from the old man to enable him to form a plan for rescuing the prisoners, should they be, as he trusted, still on the island. He had had frequent conversations with the elder Doull. One day the old man again referred to the abduction transaction in which he had been engaged in his youth. The similarity of the account to that Morton had heard of his father's history, struck him.

"Where was it? from what part of the coast did you take the child?" he asked, eagerly.

"Did I not say from Shetland?" replied the old man. "And what is strange, Lieutenant Morton, the boy's name was the same as yours; but maybe you know nothing of Shetland; it's a fine land anyhow, and you are too young to be the child I was speaking of."

"You are mistaken in one point, Mr Doull," said Morton. "I belong to Shetland; I was born and bred there; and I feel almost sure that the boy you carried off was my father. He was picked up at sea by a Captain Scarsdale, who brought him up as his son."

"Scarsdale!—now you speak it, that's the name of the master of the vessel who took us off the raft, and from whose ship we ran. For many a long year I have not thought of it. Yes, Andrew Scarsdale; and the boy was called Rolf Morton—the names come back to me as if I heard them but yesterday. There are not many other names I can remember which I knew at that time."

"But do you believe that that was the real name of the child?" asked Morton, for he had heard his father express his belief that the name he bore was not his true one.

"That I do not know," answered old Doull. "If it was not, the only one of us who knew the truth was our leader—the man who led us to commit the crime—that villain, Rolf Yell. It's many a year since I have spoken his name. Now I remember, he gave me a paper to Captain Scarsdale, and put his name to it, and we saw him do it; and we—that is, Archy Eagleshay and I did; and the captain put his name, and we put ours after that, though we didn't read the paper, but the captain said that it was all right, and that it was what he wanted, and he took it below; and so I supposed that it would make everything square for the poor boy."

This circumstantial account agreed so exactly with that which Captain Scarsdale had given his father, that Ronald had no doubt that he had found a clue which might lead to the solution of the mystery hanging over his early history.

What had become of the important document? Why had not Captain Scarsdale produced it? Yell, at all events, knew his father's real name, and he must have communicated it to Captain Scarsdale. He longed to meet his father, that he might give him the information he had received, and consult with him as to what steps it would be best for them to pursue.

Formerly he perhaps would have been very indifferent as to the result; now he could not help feeling that if it could be proved that he was of gentle blood, it might enable him the better to succeed in realising the bright visions in which he had of late been indulging. There might be a thousand obstacles in his path, but he felt that he could clear them all away by courage and perseverance, as he would a host of enemies with the strokes of his cutlass.

Such were the feelings with which Ronald Morton prepared for the attempt to rescue the passengers and crew of the "Osterley" from the hands of the Frenchmen. Old Doull had warned him of the difficulties to be encountered. He had described the dangers of the approach to the bay, the strength of the forts, and the number of the garrison. This of course only increased the anxiety of Morton and his followers to commence the work in hand.

While Morton was still forming his plan, old Doull, hat in hand, came aft.

"Captain Morton," he said, "my son Bob has been telling me how you have been kind to him, and stood by him ever since he came to sea, and I want to show you that my old heart, though it's pretty well scorched and dried up with the hard life I've led, can still feel thankful for favours done. At first I couldn't make Bob believe that I was his father, and no wonder, for an unnatural one I had been to him all his life; but I told him so many things about when he was a baby that he knows it now, and has taken to call me father, and that warms my heart and gives it such a pleasure I can't describe. After having had no one to care for me for better than twenty years, except old Archy Eagleshay—and I couldn't trust him over-much, 'specially if a cask of rum was in his way—it is a happiness to be called father—that it is, sir. I hope as how some day you will feel it. Well, sir, as I was saying, I was turning in my mind how I might serve you best. Now, I've been thinking that if we were to sail in with the ships, and attempt to take the forts by force, though we might and should succeed in the end, we might hurt some of the English people on shore, and that's what you wouldn't wish to do."

"No, indeed," said Ronald, shuddering. "That I would not, of course. But what do you propose?"

Ronald had discovered the uselessness of attempting to hurry the old man, so he waited patiently for his reply.

"Why, sir, I think if the ship was to run in just before dark under the French flag, the people on shore would fancy that she had been brought back for some reason or other, and very likely wouldn't board her that night. When it is dark I will go on shore and find my way to the huts of the prisoners. I will tell them that you have arrived to bring them off, and I think that I could manage to conduct them down by a path to the shore, so that the French sentries shall not see them. In that way, sir, they may be got on board without danger."

Morton was not satisfied with the whole of Doull's plan.

"You forget the risk the prisoners would run of being fired on by the French sentries, if found escaping; while, before the ship could leave the bay, the forts would open fire on her, and very probably injure some of them. However, I will think over your proposal, and I thank you for your anxiety to serve me."

Morton would rather have run in with both ships, reduced the forts, and carried off the prisoners in triumph, but caution as well as boldness, he knew well, were necessary to insure success. Captain Calder highly approved of the plan he ultimately laid before him.

All was ready on board the "Osterley." The boats were hoisted in; and while she ran on towards the land the frigate hauled her wind and stood off again.

The Indiaman rapidly approached the land. As she drew in with it the French ensign was hoisted at the peak. Job Truefitt looked up at it.

"It's the first time that I minds that I ever sailed under that buntin', and I would be sorry to see it often hoisted over my head," he observed to the elder Doull, pointing at it with his thumb half over his shoulder, and a contemptuous sneer on his lips. "I never loved them mounseers, and hopes I never may. They are to my mind the nat'ral born enemies, so to speak, of Englishmen, and it's my belief that they'll remain the same to the end of the world."

Doull was now summoned aft to pilot the ship among the reefs which surrounded the group of islands she was approaching. The wind had been faithful, and Morton managed so well that it was close upon sunset before the "Osterley" got inside the reefs. It would have been anxious work to carry a ship, in the uncertain light which still remained, among those numerous rocks and shoals, even with a friendly port in which to drop her anchor. Ronald, with the old man by his side, stood conning the ship, while two seamen with sharp eyes were placed at the end of the jib-boom, and others at the fore yardarms, to give notice of any danger they might discover.

"There'll be no use keeping the lead going, sir," said Old Doull. "You may get a cast of twenty fathom, and the next moment have the ship's bows hard and fast."

Ronald knew that this was the case, nor did it decrease his anxiety. Steady hands were at the helm. The seamen were at their stations to trim or shorten sail. The Indiaman glided onward. She was already inside the reefs, and the heaving motion of the ocean was no longer felt. Hills clothed with verdure rose close before them, the shore on either side, fringed with cocoa-nut trees, seen here and there over the yellow beach rising against the deep blue sky. The forts, too, could be made out, though thrown into shade in the centre of the landscape, as the ship, boldly guided by the old seaman to a berth, dropped her anchor. The carpenter had been busily employed all day in constructing a canoe. It was forthwith lowered noiselessly into the water, and Doull and his son stepping into it, paddled away to the shore, keeping, however, as far off as possible from the forts.

"That man can be trusted," observed Ronald to Glover, though the words implied a doubt of the fact.

"At all events we must trust him, sir," answered the midshipman; "that is very clear."

After waiting for some time, and no one appearing from the shore, the boats were lowered without noise into the water, and at once manned. By this time the dim outline of the shores of the bay could alone be seen. Morton took command of one, Glover of another, and the boatswain of the frigate of a third. Sims remained on board in charge of the ship. The Indiaman's boats followed with a midshipman in each, so that there were six altogether.

There were three forts, and it was arranged that two boats' crews should simultaneously attack each of them. The oars were muffled, and away the flotilla glided from the side of the big ship, as Glover observed to the midshipman with him, like a brood of new-born serpents sallying from their parents' side intent on mischief. Not a sound was heard on shore, not a sound either did the boats make as they glided over the smooth surface of the bay. Morton's mind misgave him. It seemed strange that no people from the shore had come off to the ship.

"Surely they must have seen her even through the gloom," he said to himself. "Can the Frenchman have left the place, and carried off the prisoners?"

The question was soon to be solved, but his impatience would scarcely brook the necessary delay. He had ascertained from Doull the direction of the huts where the English prisoners were located. Doull had also described the best landing-places under the forts. The boats, in three divisions, proceeded on their separate courses. The centre fort was the strongest. Ronald selected that for himself. His heart beat quick as he approached it. Who when going into action does not discover that his pulse beats more rapidly, even under ordinary circumstances? Ronald felt that the safety of one now dearer to him than life was involved in the success of his undertaking.

As the boats drew closer to the shore it was necessary to proceed more carefully, for fear of running on the rocks, which jutted out in certain parts of the bay. Though the surface of the bay was smooth, there was a slight surf on the shore, the noise of which, as it broke, tended to overpower any sound which the oars made as they dipped into the water.

Could the French garrisons be asleep? No sentry's challenge was heard on the walls. Perhaps, believing that it was unlikely an enemy should discover them, and impossible for one to approach at night, they had all, in fancied security, gone to rest; but then they must have seen the approach of the ship.

Ronald had promised to send up a rocket the instant the parapet was gained and the enemy aroused. A few more strokes, and the boats would reach the landing-place. Just then a loud hail came from the walls of the fort. Ronald answered, in French, "People from the captured Indiaman."

"Stay there," said the sentry, who had, it seemed, either been asleep or just come up to his post. This, however, was an order the English were not very likely to obey, so on they dashed as fast as possible, knowing that in another minute their purpose would be discovered. Leaping on shore, several carrying ladders, they rushed to the walls. At the same moment a rocket flew into the night air high above the heads of the combatants, to give notice to their comrades that the attack was begun. The ladders were placed in position, and up they climbed, in a way British seamen only can climb, each eager to be first, and yet one helping on the other in the noble race of honour. In vain the sentries and a few men left on guard rushed out to oppose the assailants, and shouted and bawled to their comrades to hurry to their assistance. A pistol bullet or the stroke of a cutlass silenced the voice of many a boasting Frenchman for ever.

The English had made good their footing in the fort, but before they had time to advance, they found themselves opposed by the whole garrison, who, though just awakened from sleep, surprised and bewildered, fought with the fury of desperation. They had, however, seized in the hurry and darkness the weapons which first came to hand, and many were but imperfectly armed. Now they were driven back—now more of the officers coming among them, they again rallied and stood bravely for a few minutes, but every foot of ground Morton and his followers gained they kept, and onward they fought their way. The pistol shots, and shouts, and cries from the other forts, and high above all, the true hearty English cheers to which the seamen gave vent, showed the enemy that they were attacked by no insignificant force. By whom they were attacked they probably could not tell, till those well-known cheers reached their ears. Still they bravely stood their ground.

"On, lads, on!" shouted Morton, laying about him with his cutlass more furiously than ever. He began to be afraid, from the pertinacity of the Frenchmen, that they expected reinforcements. Again the British seamen made a fierce charge; those of the enemy in the front rank were cut down or driven back upon their companions in the rear. They in their turn gave way, and the whole body of Frenchmen took a hurried flight across the fort, with the intention of escaping through the gate on the land side. This was what Morton was especially anxious they should not do. He dashed after them like a dog endeavouring to turn a flock of sheep. He and several of his followers reached the gate almost at the same moment, but not in time to stop them. Out dashed the Frenchmen, driving each other forward. The British seamen followed close upon their heels, cutting down those they could overtake, but they in their fall somewhat impeded the pursuers. Morton marked well the way they took. It was towards, he believed, the huts of the prisoners. He guessed what their purpose would be—on he went in hot haste. Once some of the fugitives, finding so few of their enemies close at their heels, stopped, and stood at bay. They had cause to repent their temerity. Three were brought to the ground by the edge of Ronald's cutlass, somewhat blunted as it was, while others, with severe wounds, again took to flight.

In the dark many of the pursuers and pursued were scattered, but Morton followed what he believed to be the main body. Suddenly cries and shrieks arose in front, and men's voices were heard shouting, and he thought he recognised that of old Doull and—yes, he was certain—that of Colonel Armytage. Among the female voices was one which thrilled through every nerve. Ronald rushing on, shouted to his men to collect them round him; in another instant he found the two Doulls and Colonel Armytage fiercely engaged with a party of the fugitives. His cutlass soon put the latter to flight.

"Where are the ladies?" he exclaimed; but he scarcely waited for an answer. He divined too well what had occurred.

"There! there! the scoundrels have carried them off towards the woods," cried Colonel Armytage.

In another instant Ronald was among the Frenchmen. Some of the men finding that with their burdens escape was impossible, let them go free, but others continued their flight. The cries of children and the shrieks of women resounded through the woods. Edda Armytage was still in the hands of the enemy. On rushed Morton; young Doull was by his side.

"There's some people with a lady, sir," he exclaimed, making a dash towards a path which led down a dell on one side. There were several men, and Ronald at that moment caught sight of a female dress among them. Morton's quick ear recognised Edda's voice.

"Oh, save me! save me!" she cried out.

The man who held her boldly came to the front, while his comrades retreated. Ronald's cutlass was upraised to strike, when the Frenchman placed his captive before him as a shield. The rest rallied round him, and Morton, with Doull alone by his side, found himself opposed to a dozen or more desperadoes, while he felt almost unnerved by seeing Miss Armytage in their power. His dread was that some stray shot or the careless stroke of a cutlass might injure her. All he could do was to keep at bay the rest of the Frenchmen, while he continued to summon his followers. They, however, it appeared, were skirmishing on either side, or rather following the retreating enemy in every direction. Ronald made the most desperate efforts to cut down some of his opponents, but each time that he appeared to be gaining a success the big Frenchman thrust himself before him. He had received one or two severe cuts, and was beginning to despair that help would come in time to prevent the Frenchman from escaping.

Edda had from the first recognised his voice, yet she dared not trust herself to address him by name. Still not for a moment did Ronald relax in his exertions. The Frenchmen had the advantage of knowing the ground, and they were evidently, Ronald conjectured, aiming at some particular spot, where they might hold out successfully. The path was steep, and numerous creepers of a tropical vegetation crossed it. In one of these the big Frenchman must have caught his foot; he stumbled, and before he could recover himself young Doull sprung like a tiger on his throat, and held him tight. The ruffian still attempted to retain his hold on Miss Armytage.

"You look after the others, sir—I can settle with this fellow," sung out the young seaman; but his officer thought more just then of saving the lady than of beating the enemy.

While the Frenchman was still paralysed with the vice-like clutch which Doull had taken of his throat, Ronald cast his arm round Edda, and forced her from his grasp.

"Hurra!" shouted Bob Doull, "I'll soon finish off the villain now."

He was as good as his word, for never for a moment relaxing his hold of the man's throat, he threw himself on him with such force, that he brought him to the ground; with his knee he kept down one of the man's arms, and with his left hand the other.

"I shall have done for him soon, sir," he shouted; "he's giving in, no fear."

What cared Ronald now for wounds, or for the enemies who were attacking him! Supporting Edda with one arm, he kept them back, and prevented them from rescuing their companion. Suddenly Bob Doull sprang to his feet, and laying about him with his cutlass, quickly put the rest of the Frenchmen to flight.

"Oh, Ronald, what happiness to be saved by you!" murmured Edda, scarcely conscious of what she was saying, as Morton, followed by Bob Doull, who kept a cautious look-out on every side, returned to the huts.

Those words revealed to him what he had scarcely dared to hope. He found old Doull severely hurt, while Colonel Armytage had been unable to follow, in consequence of his former wounds. He did not recognise Morton, but he expressed himself full of gratitude to the gallant officer who had been the means of rescuing his daughter. Mrs Armytage was soon afterwards conducted back to the huts; she, with the other ladies and children who had been earned off, having been rescued by another party of seamen. The remainder who had escaped, and hid themselves, now made their appearance; husbands and wives looking for each other, and mothers and nurses hunting for their children.

Glover and the boatswain now sent two midshipmen from the forts, to announce their capture, and to state that they had secured the garrisons. It was thought advisable, however, to get the ladies on board without delay.

Captain Winslow and the officers and the crew of the "Osterley," who had been hutted at a distance from the rest, on hearing the firing, had broken through the sentries, and hurried to the spot. Arms were put into their hands, and they were directed to hold the centre fort, while the passengers were once more conveyed on board.

Ronald would not entrust Edda to the care of any one, but had supported her on his arm till the boats were ready to embark the passengers; he now carefully placed her in one of them, with her mother, and other ladies, under charge of Colonel Armytage.

"I would that I could accompany you on board, but my duty keeps me on shore. I know not what number of the enemy may be on the island; they may rally and attack the forts: it is of the utmost consequence that they should be held by us till the ship is clear of the harbour: you and your companions will be safer on board than even within one of the forts. I trust by dawn to be on board, and to carry you off in safety from the scene of your captivity."

These words, which might have been spoken to any ordinary person, were heard by all, but the tone of voice and the gentle pressure of the hand were understood by her to whom they were addressed, and she whispered, that she was sure whatever he did was for the best.

As soon as the boats shoved off, Ronald went round to visit the forts. He found Glover and his party standing guard over the prisoners they had captured—a ragamuffin crew composed of natives of nearly every country in the world, and from their appearance Ronald had strong suspicions that they might deservedly be looked upon as pirates. In the other fort Mr Tarbot, the boatswain, had charge of a similar crew. They were very sulky, and as the light of the lanterns fell on their scowling countenances, Morton thought that they looked capable of committing any atrocity, and he felt grateful that Edda and her friends had been rescued from their power.

The sound which gave him the most satisfaction through the hours of darkness was the regular striking of the bell on board the Indiaman. It assured him that her people were on the alert, and that all was going on well. It was nearly dawn when, hearing a sentry hail, he hastened to the spot. "A friend," was the answer, and he recognised the voice of old Doull; he directed him to come into the fort, and he soon appeared with a companion, whom he introduced as Archy Eagleshay. The latter was a man very similar in age and appearance to Doull, though his countenance betokened far less acuteness and intelligence. Ronald was much relieved at the return of Doull. On many accounts he was anxious not to lose sight of him, and for the present it was specially important to have him on board the "Osterley," to take her out of the harbour through the intricate passages by which he had piloted her in.

At early dawn every one was astir. The former crew of the "Osterley" were employed in collecting all the property of the passengers, and in carrying it on board the ship, greatly to the satisfaction of its owners. Four seamen had fallen in the attack, and nearly twenty of the enemy. They were all hurriedly interred, friends and foes sleeping side by side on the shores of that lovely bay. The prisoners were next divided among the boats, and carried on board. Their company would gladly have been dispensed with, but Morton judged that it was the only safe way to break up this nest of hornets. The last thing that was done was to spike all the guns; some were simply dismounted, and others were tumbled over the parapet among the rocks. There was not time to do more, for Morton was anxious to get to sea and rejoin the frigate.

Once more the anchor of the "Osterley" was weighed, and with the wind off the land she stood out of the bay.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

DIFFICULTY OF NAVIGATION—AN OLD ENEMY APPEARS—ENEMY CHASES THE "OSTERLEY"—THE "THISBE" APPEARS.

The Indiaman, under the skilful pilotage of old Doull and his companion Eagleshay, wound her devious way among the shoals and reefs which guarded the entrance to the bay. Many of the ladies were collected on deck—Edda was one of them; she eagerly watched every movement of the young commander of the ship, as he stood in the weather rigging, or sprang on to the hammock nettings that he might obtain a clearer view of objects ahead. What she thought and felt it would be difficult to describe, but other ladies who were watching him too, agreed that he was a noble specimen of a true sailor. Not for a moment, however, did he turn to look at them: now by hand, now by voice, did he direct the men at the helm the course to steer. Rich and deep were the tones in which the words—starboard—steady—hard a-starboard—port—port—hard a-port, and similar orders were issued. Colonel Armytage was assisted on deck. He overheard some of the remarks which were made, and seemed perfectly ready to acknowledge their justice.

"Certainly I have seldom seen a finer young man," he observed with a warmth unusual to him. "We owe him a debt of gratitude, too, for the gallant way in which he rescued us from our disagreeable captivity. By-the-by, to what family of Mortons does he belong? It never before occurred to me to inquire."

Edda heard the question; it showed her that her father had begun to think of Morton in another light than that of a common acquaintance. He was no longer either disposed to treat him with the supercilious air in which he did on their first acquaintance. She could have replied, because Ronald had told her that he belonged to Shetland, but she could not bring herself to speak. Those the colonel addressed hazarded various opinions, but all were agreed that from his manner and appearance he must belong to a noble family. Colonel Armytage seemed to have the same impressions.

"Yes, certainly I mistook him at first," he remarked. "There were some reports to his disparagement about a foolish duel, but from what I have since seen of him, I have little doubt he was in the right. Such a man would certainly never refuse to fight unless the man with whom he had quarrelled was palpably in the wrong."

This was, for Colonel Armytage, saying a great deal. His companions agreed with him. It did not occur to them that a man might refuse to fight a duel from a higher motive than knowing that he was so clearly right that the world could not help taking his part.

The observations she overheard made Edda's heart glow and beat quicker than wont. To every word of praise it warmly responded.

"Yet they know not one-tenth part of his worth; his nobleness of mind, his generosity, his tenderness," she said to herself.

Edda Armytage might, perhaps, have been inclined to over-estimate his various good qualities, gallant fellow as he undoubtedly was.

The conversation to which she was listening was cut short by a cry from the mast-head of "A sail in sight."

"Where away?" inquired Sims, who had charge of the deck.

"To the southward," was the answer.

That was not the direction the frigate was expected to appear. The ship was not yet clear of the reefs. Sims went aloft, and came down with an anxious look. He told Glover that he did not like the look of the stranger. "She is a big ship, with square yards and white canvas: an enemy, I am certain," he observed. "If she was to catch us jammed up among these reefs she might handle us in a way which would make us look foolish."

"We shall be clear, sir, before she can get near us," answered Glover. "Besides, we have some bull-dogs as well as she has."

"Mere pop-guns to hers, depend on that," observed Sims. "What do you say to her being a heavy frigate, capable of blowing this old tea-chest out of the water?"

Morton was informed of the sail in sight, but he was too much occupied in guiding the ship out of the labyrinth of reefs to make any other reply than the simple one, "If she is like an enemy get the ship ready for action."

What he felt his countenance did not show.

The "Osterley" continued to thread the narrow passage; the slightest inattention would have brought her upon the reefs. Those who could employ their eyes kept looking now at the approaching stranger—now at the direction where they hoped the frigate would appear. At length old Doull's deep voice was heard exclaiming, "We are free now, sir, of all dangers; we may stand away to northward."

Ronald sprang down on deck, and the deep sigh which escaped his bosom showed the anxiety he had felt.

"Brace up the yards on the starboard tack!" he cried out, as he stepped aft, and, calling for his telescope, took a steady examination of the stranger. He expressed no opinion as to what she was, but ordered all the sail the ship could carry to be set on her. As she had now a large crew this was rapidly done. The stranger must have seen, by the way the "Osterley" made sail, that she was strongly manned. Captain Winslow and his officers, after a long look at the former, pronounced her to be the very ship which had captured them. Ronald longed to try and turn the tables, and to take her, but a glance at the passengers made him feel that his duty was in this case to do his utmost to escape. A bright look-out was kept for the frigate.

"If the mounseers catches sight of she, they'll be inclined to put the helm down pretty sharp, and go about on t'other tack," observed Job Truefitt.

As the stranger approached all doubt as to what she was vanished. She had before proved herself a good sailer. She maintained her character, and with a regret almost amounting to anguish, Ronald saw that there was little probability of avoiding a fight. He had brave men under him, but the Indiaman was badly armed, and the enemy had before found her an easy prey.

"We must, I fear, Winslow, place the ladies and children below, as you did before," he observed, with a sigh. "I pray heaven the frigate may heave in sight, for the honest truth is, I never felt so little inclined to fight; yet, if fight we must, I should never fight more fiercely."

"Spoke like a brave man, Morton," answered his friend. "When I have helpless women and children under my charge, though I would fight to the last gasp to protect them, I would always rather run than fight."

"Sail ho! ho-o!" shouted the man at the mast-head, with a prolonged cadence.

"Where away?" asked Morton.

"To the north-west," was the reply.

His heart gave a bound; it was the quarter in which the frigate was likely to appear. He kept away a little towards her. The "Thisbe" showed her number. The "Osterley" signalised, "We have all safe on board. An enemy to the south-east."

There was no time for further greeting. The frigate made all sail and stood on. The tables were now fairly turned. The Frenchman made her out, and going about, stood away to the southward.

"We shall have Captain Gerardin and his sentimental lieutenant among us again before long," observed Captain Winslow, rubbing his hands.

The corvette showed that she had a remarkably fast pair of heels, and night coming on hid the pursuer, as distance had already hid the pursued, from the sight of those on board the "Osterley." Sail was taken off the "Osterley," and she was hove-to, that she might wait for the return of the frigate.

A very important question now arose as to what port they should steer for. The passengers very naturally begged that they might be carried to Bombay, but Morton conceived that they ought to return to Calcutta. However, that was a point Captain Calder could alone decide. Poor Captain Winslow, on his part, wanted to get back the command of his ship; but that of course, Morton had no power to bestow on him. All were eager for the morning, but never did a night appear to pass by more slowly. Dawn broke at last, and a sail was seen to the southward. She proved to be the "Thisbe"—the corvette had escaped.

"We'll catch the fellow one of these days, though," exclaimed Captain Calder. "And if he proves to be a pirate, and I believe he is very little better, we'll hang him without compunction at his own yard-arm."

His captain highly commended Morton for his conduct, and decided that the "Osterley" should return under his charge to Calcutta, where Admiral Rainier still was, that he might decide how she should be disposed of.

"She's worth some thousand pounds to us Morton," he observed. "It will help you to furnish house whenever you set up in that way ashore."

Ronald hoped that it would not be long before he should employ his well-gained prize money in the manner his captain suggested. He cared little to which port the "Osterley" might be sent, except that he would have preferred the one at the greatest distance, which might have prolonged the voyage.

Never had Ronald Morton been so happy. He was in the constant enjoyment of the society of Edda Armytage. She no longer concealed her love for him, and his attentions appeared to meet the approval of both her parents. The days thus glided swiftly by. It was with anything but satisfaction to him that the "Osterley" at length made the mouth of the Hooghly. A line-of-battle ship was at the anchorage. As the "Thisbe" brought up, the two men-of-war exchanged numbers, and Morton discovered with infinite satisfaction that she was the old "Lion," on board of which his father was boatswain.

Ronald was unwilling to leave the "Osterley" even for a short time, so he despatched a boat with a note to his father, to inquire after his health, at the same time giving an account of what had occurred, and promising to visit him as soon as he was at liberty. No reply was sent, but in a short time a boat from the "Lion" came alongside the "Osterley," and Rolf Morton himself stepped on board. Ronald welcomed his father with the affection of a son. He thought not of the subordinate rank he held in the service, nor of the fine lady and gentlemen passengers who might be making inquiries as to who he was.

After a short conversation on the quarter-deck, they retired to Ronald's cabin, where a considerable time was spent in giving and listening to accounts of each other's proceedings.

"And let me hear again this strange story you tell me of these old men," said Rolf. "I must talk to them, and listen to what, they have to say, though I scarcely expect that any good will result to us from it."

Rolf Morton had never been of a sanguine temperament; he had become still less so as he advanced in life. Ronald, on the contrary, was accustomed to look on the bright side of objects. He believed that he had obtained a clue which would lead to the discovery of a matter now he felt of so much importance to his future happiness.

The two old men were sent for. They looked at Ronald, and then at his father; but neither seemed willing to speak. Archie Eagleshay, especially, put on a stupid expression of countenance, as if he had lost all recollection of past events. After a time, however, Doull repeated the account he had already given to Ronald, and the other old man nodded his head to confirm the correctness of the statement.

"Would you swear to all this my friends, in a court of law in England?" asked Ronald.

Even Doull hesitated. The idea of a court of law, in consequence of his early transgressions, had terrors for him which he could not overcome. As pale a hue as his sunburnt skin would allow came over old Archy's face as he heard the words, and Ronald soon discovered that he had made a mistake by putting the question.

"Well, my friends, we will not ask you to do what you do not like," he remarked. "But do not you think that if it was to serve my father and me, and that we would take care that you suffered no injury, you could swear to the truth of the story you have told us? It is my belief that you see before you the very man you assisted to carry off when a child from his family and his country. He bears you no ill-will in consequence. Surely you would wish to do your best to repair the injury you have done him?"

"I would do anything to serve you, Captain Morton, that I would, sir, or swear anything you please: and for that matter, so would Archy."

"No, no, my friends," exclaimed Ronald, somewhat inclined to laugh; "I only wish you to swear the truth, nothing else can serve me. However, the time for doing so has not yet arrived. We must get home first."

"The truth!" muttered Rolf Morton. "Where is that to be found? I doubt that it will serve us anyhow."

"Well, dear father, all is in God's hands," said Ronald, after he had dismissed the old men; "I have always been content and proud to be your son, and to me, therefore, as far as my own feelings are concerned it matters little who was your father, or to what family he belonged, except—ah—I for an instant forgot—others may value family more than I do." And Ronald told his father of his love for Edda Armytage, and of his belief that his love was returned.

Rolf Morton listened earnestly. He had more knowledge of the world than his son, and he was less accustomed to look on the bright side of things.

He shook his head.

"I doubt not she is all you say, and I am grateful to her mother's sister for instructing you in your boyhood, but I have little cause to love her race. The old Sir Marcus worked me all the ill he could, and from what I have heard of this son-in-law of his, he is a proud and vain man, not likely to have much regard for the feelings of young lovers' hearts. But cheer up, Ronald. You have a noble profession, and the way to its highest rank is open to you."

"But Edda has promised to be mine, and her father could scarcely wish to make her break her word," answered Ronald, with a simplicity which would have made a man of the world smile.

"I would not damp your spirits, lad; but if you would escape having your hopes stranded, don't trust too much to promises."

Ronald thought that his father was taking too desponding a view of matters.

"We'll hope, father, that in this instance you are mistaken as to Colonel Armytage," he answered, in a cheerful tone. "I am sure that you would like both his wife and daughter."

"Ronald, my boy, you forget that I am a bo'sun," said Rolf, rising from his seat. "Let us go on deck."

They there met Glover, who welcomed Mr Morton with the greatest cordiality.

"I first went to sea with you, Mr Morton, you remember," he observed. "You taught me more of seamanship than I ever learnt from anybody else. Besides, you know if it hadn't been for your son I should long ago have been food for the fish."

It was now time for Rolf to return on board the "Lion." His son and Glover attended him down the side with as much attention as they would have paid to an admiral.

A number of the passengers were collected on the poop-deck, waiting for the boats to convey them up to Calcutta.

"Who is that man to whom Mr Morton and Mr Glover are paying so much attention?" asked Colonel Armytage, who happened just then to look up from his book.

No one could tell him. After he had seen his father off, Ronald joined the party on the poop. He certainly would not have gone, had Edda not been there. The feeling came forcibly on him that he ought to tell her about his father. It had never occurred to him before. As he was going up to address her, some ladies stopped him, and asked, "Who is that fine looking, officer-like man who just now left the ship!"

"He is my father," said Ronald, firmly. Edda looked up at him with a surprised expression.

"Why, Mr Morton, if I mistake not, he wears the dress of a boatswain," said Colonel Armytage, in a cool, deliberate manner.

"Yes, sir—he is boatswain of his Majesty's ship the 'Lion.'"

"Your father a boatswain!" said the colonel in the same slow manner. "You should have informed me of this before, sir."

"The question was not asked me," answered Ronald. "I was wrong, I feel, in not mentioning it."

At that moment his eye caught Edda's, casting on him a look of such sorrow and pain that he was about to spring to her side, when she suddenly sunk on her seat, and would have fallen on the deck had not Mrs Armytage and another lady at hand caught her in their arms.

"It is of no consequence," exclaimed Colonel Armytage, in a peremptory manner; "you have undoubtedly duties to perform about the ship. We will not detain you from them."

Ronald felt that his only dignified course was to retire. With a heart bursting with indignation, he walked forward. Not long after this the boats arrived to carry the passengers back to Calcutta, where they purposed remaining till the arrangements respecting the ship were concluded. Ronald had been directed to retain the command till it could be legally restored to Captain Winslow.

Miss Armytage had gone below, and was kept out of his sight till she was ready to leave the ship. He came to assist her down the side. She gave him a look full of sorrow, but which he interpreted to mean, "Do not think that what I have heard can diminish my affection for you; it were worth little if it did." But she had scarcely time to falter out a few words before her father stepped up and effectually stopped any further communication.

The manner of Colonel Armytage, indeed, was so rude, that Ronald had to recollect who he was, to assist him in commanding his temper.

The passengers in the boats were concealed by the awnings which covered them, but Ronald could not help standing on the deck, watching them with a heavy heart as they took their way up the broad stream of the Hooghly.

The next day he received three letters; two were official, one of them was from his captain, expressing the warm approbation of Admiral Rainier for his conduct in the attack on the enemy's forts; the other was from the officials of the Honourable East India Company, promising him some substantial proof of their sense of his merit. The third letter was private. He opened it with some misgiving.

"It is as I expected," he exclaimed bitterly; "my father was right."

The letter was from Colonel Armytage, and was couched in almost offensive terms.

"Sir,—You took unwarrantable advantage of the opportunities afforded you of paying attention to Miss Armytage during our late voyage; and in case you should misunderstand my behaviour towards you while you had command of the 'Osterley,' I feel it necessary to state that, considering your true position in society, I consider your conduct most reprehensible, and desire that from henceforth all communication between you and any member of my family shall cease. My daughter is too obedient, and has too high a sense of propriety to differ in opinion with me on this subject.—I am, sir, your obedient servant—

"A. Armytage."

When Ronald told his father what had occurred, Rolf replied—

"You will serve your country the more devotedly, and depend on it she has need of you."



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

RONALD JOINS LORD CLAYMORE'S SHIP—THE "PALLAS" AT SEA—A CHASE—ENEMY'S FLEET IN SIGHT—"PALLAS" CHASED BY ENEMY—LORD CLAYMORE'S MANOEUVRE— ESCAPE OF "PALLAS."

No part of the British coast presents a harbour of beauty equal to that of Plymouth Sound, with its lofty banks covered with trees from the summit to the water's edge, its rocks and headlands, its numerous bays, inlets, and other indentations, the towers and glittering white buildings of the picturesque town at the northern end, and the lordly castle and waving woods of Mount Edgcombe on the west.

On a bright summer morning a frigate was seen gliding slowly up the Sound, and making her way towards Hamoaze. The French flag under that of England proclaimed her to be a prize. She was quickly boarded by boats from the shore, every one in them eager to be on board, for a prize crew are supposed to have their pockets well lined with coin, and to be ready to spend it. She was soon known to be "La Forte," captured by the "Thisbe" in the East Indies. She at once went into dock, her crew was paid off, and Rawson got confirmed in his rank of commander; but Ronald Morton received no further acknowledgment of his services. He had been paid some prize-money, and he might have remained on shore to enjoy some relaxation after the number of years he had been employed; but he had few even of the acquaintance young naval men usually make, and idleness was the very last thing in which he wished just then to indulge. Action, excitement, was what he wanted. He longed once more for the battle and the tempest. In this mood, when the ship was paid off, he went on shore. A tall thin young man, in a post-captain's uniform, met him before he had walked a hundred paces, and after looking at him hard, held out his hand, exclaiming—"Morton, old shipmate, I'm glad to meet you."

"So am I, you, Lord Claymore," returned Ronald, happy to encounter one he had known and liked so much.

"Well, you see, Morton, that I have got the two swabs on my shoulders," said the young lord, laughing. "I've worked hard for them, let me tell you; my lords of the Admiralty don't give promotion for nothing to those who don't happen to be born with silver spoons in their mouths; and I was not, I know. Mine was of wood or iron. I hope that you will get your's soon—you deserve it. I met Rawson just now, and he was speaking of you. But, in the meantime, what do you say to taking a berth as my first lieutenant? I've interest enough to obtain that for you. Come along with me for a few yards. You can see the ship I have just commissioned. She is not long off the stocks. I cannot say much for her at present. She is small and cramped, but she carries thirty-eight guns, and I'll make her do something one of these days."

Ronald at once accepted Lord Claymore's offer. They shortly after fell in with Glover. Lord Claymore told him that he should apply for him as his junior lieutenant.

In a week the two old shipmates found themselves appointed to the "Pallas" frigate, nominally of thirty-two guns, though in reality mounting thirty-eight. Of course Job Truefitt and Bob Doull followed them. Ronald had been puzzled to know how to dispose of the elder Doull and Archy Eagleshay, when the two old men applied to enter. At first he was inclined to laugh at the notion, but when the captain saw them he desired that they might not be refused.

"There is stuff in them yet—they will be useful."

They proved that Lord Claymore was right, and he soon rated them as quarter-masters.

"We must be sharp in manning the frigate, Morton," said his captain. "Promise largely. We'll redeem our word, depend on that."

Bills soon appeared, posted all over Plymouth:—"The 'Pallas,' fitting for sea, in want of a few prime hands. The fastest frigate in the service—sure to come back in a few weeks with a full cargo of Spanish pewter and cobs. Plenty of liberty at the end of each trip. Engaged to make more prize-money in three weeks than any other ship in three years."

Lord Claymore was not unknown to fame. Many men joined in consequence of the deeds he had already done, and some, after reading the placards or hearing them read, though they had no great faith in the promises. Still, the ship could not be manned entirely without sending out press-gangs.

At length the "Pallas" was ready for sea.

"I hope we may fulfil all our pledges," observed Ronald one day, after the frigate had left the shores of England far astern.

"I am determined to do so," exclaimed the captain. "Morton, I have lived long enough to know that a man can do nothing without money. That is irresistible, in politics, war, or love—rather marriage; it conquers all opposition. There is but one way by which seamen can make it. We are on that course. We'll take good care that the opportunity does not escape us."

Morton thought awhile. For the first time in his life, perhaps, the idea occurred to him that money would aid his cause. "It may serve to elucidate the mystery of my father's birth; or why can I not win my way up to fame and fortune? I will show Colonel Armytage that the boatswain's son may become his superior in rank, and surpass him in wealth, just as much as the boatswain does in all the qualities which make a man truly noble."

Ronald did not allow himself generally to give way to such feelings, but they would arise in spite of him, when he thought of the ungrateful conduct of Colonel Armytage towards him. Lord Claymore, who took an interest in all serving with him, observed Morton's depressed spirits. He, did not, however, inquire directly into the cause.

"By-the-by, Morton, you are a Shetlander, if I recollect rightly," he exclaimed. "I have been lately among your people, and a kind-hearted, hospitable race they are. Among other places I visited was Lunnasting Castle, where I made the acquaintance of Sir Marcus Wardhill and his daughter, a handsome person, though no longer young. He is a hale old man, but somewhat eccentric, and rather morose, I suspect; has a bee in his bonnet—that is the case with many of his family. There is a cousin who lives there; not quite as old as Sir Marcus—a very odd fellow; indeed, I should say decidedly mad. You may probably know something of them?"

Ronald told him that he had been brought up in the castle.

"A relative of the family?" said the captain.

"I can scarcely be called so," said Morton humbly. "A distant one only, on my mother's side. My father was about to take command of a merchantman when he was pressed into the navy. He has remained in the service ever since. He is now but a boatswain, but he is a man of whom any son may be proud."

Ronald then told the captain all he knew of his father's early history, and of the discovery of the two men who had carried him off.

"I understand the whole affair," exclaimed Lord Claymore, warmly. "With all my heart I'll help you to clear it up. You will have plenty of employment for your prize-money: the lawyers will take good care of that; but never mind, we'll have enough for their maws, and to spare. Sharks must be fed as well as other fish, you know. As to that Sir Marcus Wardhill, I like him not. I should have little compunction about sending him on his travels; but I was interested in his daughter, a stately lady, still bearing the marks of great beauty; the Lady Hilda, they call her."

"Yes, I used, as a boy, to think her very lovely," said Ronald, warmly.

"I may say she is so still," returned his captain. "But do you know, Morton, there is something very strange about her; she talked to me in the oddest way; inquired if I understood astrology, and would favour her by working out her horoscope, and would inform her when the lost one would return."

"She has been sorely tried," observed Ronald. "Her father and Lawrence Brindister are but sorry companions for one so gifted; and the death of her husband and loss of her child were blows she has never recovered."

Lord Claymore had not heard the circumstances of the case, and so Ronald gave him the whole story as he had heard it. His captain was much interested.

"What a delightful thread to unravel!" he exclaimed. "I should like to aid in it; but unless you have a clue, it is not likely that her son will be discovered."

"She lives on in hopes that he may," answered Ronald. "I pray that she may not be disappointed. I owe her a debt of gratitude I can never repay for all the instruction she gave me."

"Perhaps you may be able to serve her," remarked Lord Claymore. "Though it strikes me, from what I can make out, that she was but repaying the debt she owes you."

Ronald did not inquire what his captain meant, for they were both summoned on deck with the pleasant information that a sail was in sight. The frigate was at this time off the Azores.

"What does she look like?" was the question hurriedly put, as the captain himself was buckling his telescope over his shoulder preparatory to mounting the rigging to take a look at the stranger should the answer be promising.

"A ship, and a big one," was the reply.

In a few seconds Lord Claymore had joined the look-out man aloft. When the captain was thus active it was not likely that the officers and crew would neglect their duty. Lord Claymore took a long steady look at the stranger through his telescope, and returning on deck ordered the ship's course to be altered a couple of points, and all sail to be made in chase.

"Morton, I have a wonderful presentiment that yonder craft is loaded with the pewter and cobs we have been promising our fellows," he exclaimed, walking the deck with a quick step. "Her top-gallant-sails and royals have a foreign cut, and the blanched hue of cotton cloth such as the rich galleons of Spain usually carry. They are heavy sailers, too, and the 'Pallas,' as I thought she would, has shown herself light of heel. We shall get up with the chase before any third party steps in to snap up our prey."

Not only Ronald, but every man and boy in the ship entered fully into the captain's eagerness. All longed for prize-money; the greater number, probably, that they might spend it as sailors in those days got rid of their hard-earned gains, in wild extravagance and debauchery; a few might have thought of their old fathers, mothers, and sisters, whose comforts they hoped to increase; or some one, more romantic than his shipmates, might have had in view some quiet woodbine-covered cottage, on the sunny slope of a hill, with green fields and a sparkling stream below, a seaman's paradise, with an Eve as a companion.

Ronald Morton, in spite of his resolution to the contrary, could not help thinking of Edda Armytage, and the possibility of yet winning her; still, again and again he tried to overcome aspirations which appeared so utterly hopeless. Indeed, why should he ever wish to make her his? Had she ever attempted to assure him that she did not share her father's feelings? Had she not, from what he had heard, been willingly receiving the attentions of Alfonse Gerardin, a mere adventurer, at best, who must have been guilty of the most barefaced falsehoods to have gained so completely, as he appeared to have done, the good opinion of a person generally so acute as Colonel Armytage? No, he did not want money for himself; it was to place his father in the position in life to which he was born, should it be, as he had every reason to hope, superior to that he now occupied; still, as he thought all this, and much more, his captain's remark, "With money you can do everything," rang in his ear.

Not a man or boy on board that ship who was not thinking at that moment of the same thing—money; most of them were talking of it too. With eager eyes they watched the chase as a wild beast does its prey, longing to get possession.

The stranger at first did not seem to have understood the character of the frigate. Her people were not keeping so good a look-out as were Lord Claymore's crew; when they did, all sail was crowded in flight. Away she went before the wind. A stern chase is proverbially a long one; a tub can sail with the wind aft.

Many hours of the day had passed: evening was approaching: should the night prove a dark one, she after all might escape. The captain was becoming anxious, so was every one on board. The nearer they had got to the chase the more like a Spaniard she appeared. All was done that could be thought of to make the frigate sail; every inch of canvas she could carry was set on her; studdingsails on either side hanging down to the very surface of the water, which they swept as she glided proudly on, while other light sails were placed even above the royals, till she looked like a lofty pyramid of snow gliding over the deep. Faster she glided—the breeze was increasing; now she rushed through the water; the officers looked over her sides and watched with satisfaction the foam which rose on either side and formed a long sparkling frothy line astern.

"We shall do now, Morton," exclaimed the captain, in high glee. "Don't you hear the dollars chinking away in her hold?"

Lord Claymore wanted the money—not that he was avaricious—far from that; but he had numberless schemes in view, and he knew full well that without the gold they could not be carried out.

As the chase was neared, the Spanish colours were seen flying at the peak. Not a shot did she fire. From the squareness of her yards and the whiteness of her canvas, as seen in the dusk of evening, as the "Pallas" got her within range of her guns, it was not altogether certain that she might not prove a man-of-war.

"So much the better," answered the captain, when Glover and the master gave it as their opinion that she was so. "We shall have more honour, though less gold. We must look out for the gold another time."

The men were sent to their quarters, and the ship was prepared for action. The chances that the chase would escape were small indeed.

"There's many a slip between the cup and the lip," observed Mr Hardman, the second lieutenant, who had experienced the truth of the saying in his own person so often that he seldom failed to give expression to it on every opportunity. Though he numbered many more years than either the captain or first lieutenant, he had not been promoted till some time after them. Sometimes when he foretold a slip, he was mistaken.

"Ready with a gun forward!" exclaimed the captain.

The chase was well within range.

"We don't want to injure her more than we can help," he added. "Send a shot past her first. Fire!"

The gloom prevented the shot being seen as it flew on over the surface just free of the chase.

The Spaniards thought that the next, might come in through the stern-windows. Down went her helm; studdingsail booms were cracking away on either side; royal and topgallant sheets were let fly; topsails and courses were clewed or brailed up, and the Spaniard yielded himself to the mercy of his captors.

The frigate brought to in a more deliberate way, taking care to be to windward of the prize; boats were instantly lowered and manned, and Hardman and Glover hurried off to take possession. Perhaps the captain would have liked to have gone, but it would have been undignified. Glover soon returned with the satisfactory information that she was the "Carolina," a large Spanish ship, richly laden from the Havanah to Cadiz. A prize crew was immediately put on board, and the prisoners were removed to the "Pallas." They pulled their moustaches, lit their cigars, and resigned themselves to their lot. By dawn the next morning the "Carolina," in charge of her new masters, with Glover as commander, was on her way to Plymouth.

Lord Claymore's satisfaction was not small when he discovered that the "Carolina" formed one of a large convoy, and that it was believed the other ships were astern. Sharper than ever was the look-out kept for a strange sail. Day after day passed, however, and no merchantman or other ships appeared. Hardman began to crow, though the loss was his as well as that of the rest: it was an odd amusement, though some men will suffer anything to prove that they are true prophets.

A week had passed.

"I told you so, Morton," he observed. "There's many a slip between the cup and the lip. The convoy probably stole by us during the night when some of our volunteers, who had been keeping so sharp a look-out during the day, were nodding."

"Sail ho!" was sung out at that moment in a loud cheerful tone from the mast-head.

"Who'll prove right now?" exclaimed Morton, as he sprang aloft with his glass at his back.

Others were looking-out likewise. All sail was instantly made in chase. It was some time, however, before it could be made out whether the stranger was friend or foe, man-of-war or merchantman. At last Hardman condescended to take a look at her.

"Those sails have a decided English cut about them," he observed, in a tone of satisfaction. "Depend on it she's not got a dollar on board that will ever enter our pockets."

"To my mind," observed Job Truefitt, who with Bob Doull was standing on the fore-topgallant cross-trees, "that craft out there looks as if she was come from the land where the gold and silver grows. He looks like a Don, every inch of him. Mark my words, mate, we shall line our pockets with the rhino, and have a pretty handsome sum to take home to our old mothers or sweethearts."

"Well for those who have them, but I have neither one nor t'other," answered Bob. "I've made up my mind to have a jolly spree on shore, and live like a lord till it's all gone."

"That won't be long, I suspect," said Job.

The conversation was cut short by a summons on deck. The frigate was nearing the chase. The whole of her hull could now be seen clearly from the deck. As to her character there was little doubt. She was a merchantman of considerable tonnage. However, as yet she showed no ensign at her peak by which her nation might be known. She was pronounced to be Dutch, French, Danish, and Spanish in turn. At last the captain thought of sending for some of the prisoners to give their opinion on the subject. The Spaniards did not take long before they declared their belief that she was one of the convoy to which they belonged, and if they were not mistaken she was very richly laden.

A scarcely suppressed shout ran round the decks as the fact became known.

"Ay, but we've not got her yet," observed Hardman.

Both captain and crew looked as if they wished they could urge on the frigate by means more potent than the light breeze then blowing. What plans and projects might not even then have been working in that fertile brain! Still the chase did her best to escape.

"She has something to run for, or she would have given in before this," observed the captain, rapidly walking up and down the deck, and eyeing his anticipated prize. "Her violent efforts to escape is a good sign, at all events."

There was now no longer any doubt as to the character of the chase, for she hoisted the Spanish flag, though she still held on. That she could escape seemed impossible, and Lord Claymore was unwilling to fire, for fear of damaging her, not in consequence of tenderness towards her, but because he hoped in a short time that she would become his property.

"Perhaps she has some notion that she will haul aft her sheets and escape to windward of us," observed the master.

"Not at all likely that she will make so hopeless an attempt," answered Morton.

"No; but what do you say to the fellows blowing themselves up," put in Hardman. "There's many a slip between the cup and the lip; it is the only way by which they can disappoint us, unless they heave their cargo overboard, which they may have done already, by-the-by."

His brother officers, as usual, laughed at Hardman's prognostications. At length the frigate got the chase directly under her guns, when, instead of making the slightest attempt to escape, she hauled down her flag, and heaving-to, waited to be taken possession of. This was done as soon as a boat could be lowered from the frigate; Morton went in her, and Evans the mate, who spoke Spanish, accompanied him. He stepped on board the prize. She was a handsome ship, and from her very appearance Morton hoped that she would have a rich cargo. The captain received his captors very politely, and at once produced his invoice.

"That is what you want, gentlemen," he observed, with a deep sigh; "your gain is my loss, I am a ruined man."

"There are all sorts of valuable things here, sir," observed Morton's subordinate. "I only hope they are not all shams."

"We'll go below and examine," was the wise reply.

The ship was undoubtedly laden with all sorts of West India produce. Then some chests were come to; they were full of bars of silver.

"Pretty pickings, these," observed Evans.

Some smaller boxes were next examined.

"As I am a gentleman and a Welshman, if I ever cast my eyes on diamonds before, these are diamonds!" he exclaimed, holding up a rough-looking but shining stone between his fingers. They might have been pieces of glass for what Morton could tell.

"These little boxes are worth some thousands, Morton, I can tell you," exclaimed Hardman, half beside himself with delight. "A magnificent haul!" Suddenly he recollected himself,—"That is to say, if they ever reach England in safety. But, you know, there's many a slip between the cup and the lip."

Morton was too busy to laugh just then. He had discovered some larger chests, containing some large gold candlesticks, which the captain informed them, were to ornament the church of our Lady of the Conception, in Madrid. There were just three of them, enormous and massive articles, not less than five feet high, besides, a quantity of rich plate of gold and silver. Morton sent back Evans to make a report to the captain. Lord Claymore heard the account with unrestrained delight.

"We'll have it all safe on board, without delay," he exclaimed. "It will not do to let it fall again into the enemy's hands; in the frigate, at all events, we shall be able to fight for it."

The men cheered as they saw the chests hoisted up the side. It was bringing back the good old buccaneering days; such a prize had not been made by any cruiser for a long time. A mate was sent home in charge of her.

"Take care you don't get caught, and clapped into a French prison," said Hardman, as he shoved off.

Scarcely were the chests of treasure stowed below, and the prize out of sight, than another sail was descried from the mast-head—chase was made—the prisoners confessed that she was one of their convoy, and as the "Pallas" came up with her, they stated that she was even more richly laden than the last. She saw that flight was useless. She was speedily boarded, and found to contain more dollars, bars of gold and silver, and other treasure. It took no long time to transfer the whole to the "Pallas."

"If we go on at this rate, Morton, we shall have enough of the needful to satisfy all the land sharks in the kingdom, and to establish your rights, whatever they may be, against all opposition."

Morton's hopes began to rise high. The wealth they were collecting seemed almost fabulous; though he knew that but a small share would come to him, he thought that it would be ample to carry out his objects.

The treasure had not long been stowed away, when the wind got up with a heavy sea, and the ship laboured considerably. Hardman, when sitting over his wine with his messmates in the gun-room, began to talk of planks starting, and rich argosies going suddenly to the bottom. No one, however, paid much attention to his prognostications of evil. By dawn the next day another sail hove in sight. Chase was made, but the stranger showed that she had a fast pair of heels; the "Pallas," however, had a faster pair, and by noon had gained upon her so much that she was seen to be an armed ship of considerable size. No sooner however did the "Pallas" get her under her guns, than she hauled down her flag and hove-to. Though a heavy sea was running, she was immediately boarded and found to be a richly laden Letter of Marque. She also had a chest of dollars; but as there would have been great danger of losing them in transferring them to the "Pallas," they were allowed to remain on board; Evans was sent in charge of her.

"Take care that you do not slip into a lion's mouth," said Morton, as his brother officer took his departure.

"If I do, I hope that I shall slip out again before he has time to shut it," was Evans's reply.

Fortune was smiling, it seemed, on the "Pallas." Four rich prizes had already been made; it was difficult to calculate their worth. The sanguine temperament of the captain might have over-estimated it.

"My share alone is little short of a hundred thousand pounds," he exclaimed, showing Morton a sheet of paper on which he had been making a rough calculation—"a splendid fortune for a man of moderate wishes. I wish that you had a larger share. We captains get the lion's part certainly; but perhaps it is as well as it is. What a stimulus it is to an officer to exert himself to obtain command in time of war."

"Yes," thought Morton; "but let men exert themselves to the utmost, how many fail to obtain the desired rank, or if they get that, the coveted wealth!"

"Remember, however, Morton," continued Lord Claymore, "I have promised to assist you in establishing your claims, or your father's rather, whatever they are. He may be the son of a peasant, or noble. No one cares less for what is called gentle blood than I do; but it is not the estimate which we set on an article, but at which the world at large holds it, which is its true value. I don't feel happier because I am the possessor of a hundred thousand pounds than I did ten years ago when I was a beggar; but depend on it, the world will esteem me much more highly than it did."

Morton always listened with pleasure to the remarks which dropped from his captain's lips, always full of shrewdness and good sense.

It was now time for the "Pallas" to return home. Four prizes had been despatched to England. All were anxious to ascertain that they had arrived there safely.

"Little chance of that," observed Hardman; "plenty of the enemy's cruisers about, to snap them up."

Though homeward bound, as bright a look-out as ever was kept, in the hopes that another prize might be taken.

When off the coast of Portugal, at dawn one morning, a light silvery fog lay on the water, bright but sufficiently opaque to conceal all objects even close at hand. The wind at dawn was light, but as the sun rose, so did the breeze, and the royals and top-gallant sails, which had at first been set, were, one after the other, taken off the frigate.

"This fog is, indeed, provoking. We may run by a whole convoy of the enemy's merchantmen without seeing them," observed Morton, who had become as eager as the most avaricious of his shipmates in the pursuit of wealth, by the royal road opened up before them.

"Of course," answered Hardman: "very likely at this moment we are passing within hail of some Spanish galleons, whose cargoes would make every man on board independent for life."

The looker-out at the mast-head hailed the deck.

"A ship, sir, close to—I see her mast-heads over the fog."

"What does she look like?" asked Morton. "A large ship, sir, line-of-battle ship, I should say."

The officers were alert in an instant. Hardman flew aloft. Scarcely had he got there, than he shouted, "There's another! another!—three of them—line-of-battle ships and enemies."

The last words had an electric effect. From the movements of the line-of-battle ships, as they were seen over the fog, there was no doubt that their look-outs had discovered the "Pallas." In an instant the captain was on deck; Morton had already ordered the ship to be kept away, and was again setting topgallant sails and royals; he thought the royal masts would scarcely stand.

"Never mind, we must do everything to preserve our booty and our liberty," answered Lord Claymore.

The breeze increased almost to a gale. The wind soon dispersed the mist, and the three huge line-of-battles ships were seen rushing on towards the frigate. A broadside from one of them would have sunk her. Her top-gallant masts bent like willow wands. Every moment it appeared that they must go. Lord Claymore stood watching them, and now and then taking a glance at his enemies, and though cool and collected, seeming positively to revel in the excitement of the scene. The wind was abeam; and the frigate, which proved herself but a crank ship, heeled over till her hammock-nettings dipped in the seething, foaming waters, which bubbled and hissed up through the lee scuppers.

On tore the "Pallas." It was a race for liberty and the preservation of the wealth in which they had been rejoicing.

"What will you take for your prize-money in prospect now, Morton?" asked the pertinacious Hardman. "I told you so, old boy—there's many a slip between the cup and the lip. It's the great truth I've learned in my life—I shall always stick to it."

"It may apply equally to our enemies astern, though," observed the captain, who had overheard the remark, "we will see if we cannot make it so."

The line-of-battle ships were by this time beginning to feel the fury of the gale, which was well nigh carrying her masts out of the frigate, or sending her over on her beam-ends. The more, however, the Spaniards saw her pressed, the less willing they were to shorten sail. She now kept edging more and more away to bring the wind further astern, squaring her yards as she did so, the Spaniards having to do the same. They did not seem to think it worth while to spend much powder and shot on her, as they, of course, felt sure of capturing her in the end. It was a grand sight to see the little English frigate dauntlessly doing her utmost to escape from her huge pursuers, the foam in dense masses flying over her, while, with bending masts, and lee-shrouds bulging out, she dashed through the frantic waves, her side, as she heeled over, half buried beneath them. What hope was there of her escaping?

One huge Spaniard was on her weather, another on her lee-beam, while the other was coming up fast astern on her weather quarter. Still Lord Claymore did not despair. He stepped down among the crew and spoke to them.

"My lads, never say die while there's life. Let every man and boy of you do your best, and we'll yet give the Dons the slip. Be smart, as if your lives depended on it. To your stations now."

Every man stood ready, watching the captain's eye. He had explained his plan to his officers. All was ready. There was a dead silence—the gale roared louder than ever—the frigate tore through the waves. The Spaniards were close upon her; angry at her still holding out, they began to fire; the shots came fast and thick, flying over and on each side of the frigate, but hitherto none had struck her. At length the Spaniards saw again that firing was of no use—they should only be knocking their destined prize to pieces—like vast mountains of snow they came rushing on. It appeared as if they were about to crush the little frigate with their united weight.

"Ready, lads!" shouted the captain of the "Pallas."

"Clew up! Haul down!"

Those magic words put every human being on board the frigate in motion. Tacks and sheets were let go. Some hauled away at the brails. Topsails were clewed up, topgallant sheets were let fly, stay-sails hauled down, and the frigate, which an instant before was under a cloud of canvas, was now reduced to her bare poles.

The Spaniards, totally unprepared for such a manoeuvre, at first scarcely comprehended what had happened. On the huge ships sailed in their headlong course. It did not occur to their captains to attempt instantly to shorten sail, but one and all turned their eyes aft to see what their expected prize was about.

Lord Claymore watched them for a short time, but only to assure himself that they were well to leeward of him. The frigate had not lost her way through the water.

"Down with the helm!" cried the captain, in a cheerful tone, which gave encouragement to all. "Hoist away! Flatten aft the sheets!"

Not an officer, or man, or boy, but put his hand to halliards sheets, braces, or bowlines; and if the way in which she had been stripped of her canvas had appeared like magic to her pursuers, much more must the style in which sail was again made. Off she flew on a bowline on the other tack, while the three line-of-battle ships were hurrying headlong miles away to leeward.

A loud, hearty cheer burst from the throats of the British seamen as they saw the success of their captain's skilful manoeuvre.

"What do you say now, Mr Hardman?" he said, laughing. "There's many a slip between the cup and the lip."

"Yes, my lord; the Spaniards must confess to the truth of the saying just now," he answered. "But we are not altogether clear of them yet."

"No, by Jove! the fellows are after us!" exclaimed the captain, pointing to leeward, where the three ships were seen under shortened sail, slowly coming up on a wind. "We must trust to our heels and the shades of night. That trick won't answer twice."

Though not over-well managed, the Spanish ships sailed well, and were once more in hot pursuit of the "Pallas." The wind had decreased a little, which was somewhat in her favour, but still, with the pressure of sail upon her, she heeled over as much as before. In smooth water she might have had the advantage, but, with the heavy sea then running, the Spaniards were evidently coming up with her. They were seen also to be steering different courses for the purpose of cutting her off. Lord Claymore, however retained his usual composure.

"Night will be down upon us soon, and then we will give the Dons the slip," he observed calmly, and gave the order to have a lantern fixed on a ballasted cask prepared.

This was for some time carried over the stern and then lowered into the water. When this was done, the ship's course was altered, and she stood to the north-east leaving the enemy to follow the false light. After a little time one watch was sent below, and except that the sharpest eyes in the ship were kept on the look-out, everything returned to its usual routine, and many a weary form lay stretched in the hammocks.

Dawn came at last. As the first bright streaks appeared in the sky, look-outs were aloft, and as the darkness rolled away towards the far west, they shouted, "No sail in sight!"