"Trust me, Terrence, I'll not disgrace you," Stevens answered.

"You are twelve minutes late, Mr. Malone," said the ensign, who acted as the lieutenant's second; "but we shall all be able to get back to breakfast—those that will care to eat."

Not to be outdone, Terrence said:

"All will be at supper; but your friend will be where he is eaten, rather than eats."

"Don't be too sure; the lieutenant has killed his sixth man in affairs like this."

The remark was of course intended for Fernando's ears. Sukey heard it and said:

"Fernando, that's a lie; don't you believe it. Aim at his plaguy head, and you can hit it. You used to snuff a candle that distance."

Fernando smiled while he kept his eye on the lieutenant. That smile and that eternal stare disconcerted the English officer, and he turned a little pale. There was something about the imperturbable youth which made him dread the meeting. Fernando was strangely, unnaturally calm. Ten minutes more, and he might be in eternity.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE BELLE OF THE BEACH.

No experienced duelist ever entered into the business with more earnestness or zeal than Terrence Malone. He and the lieutenant's second were some distance away settling points of position, he saw three or four men in the uniform of British officers coming around the bluff, among them the ship's surgeon with a case of instruments and medicines in his hand. Captain Conkerall, though the real injured party, was not on the scene. His lieutenant readily took up his quarrel, on account of his jealousy of Fernando who had completely usurped his place as the favorite of Miss Morgianna Lane.

Arrangements were made at last, and Terrence came to his friend, took his arm and walked him forward.

"Fernando, me boy, we've loaded the pistols. He loaded this and I the one for the lieutenant, I put in a thumpin' heavy charge, so he'll overshoot, I am to give the word; but don't look at me at all. I'll manage to catch the lieutenant's eye, and do ye watch him steadily, aim at his middle and fire when he does, and all will be right."

They were all the while moving to the place selected for the duel.

"I think the ground we are leaving behind us is rather better," said someone. "So it is," answered the lieutenant with a sneer; "but it might be troublesome to carry the young gentleman down that way; here all is fair and easy."

In a few moments they were at the spot; the ground was measured off, and each man was placed, and Fernando thought there was no chance for either escaping.

"Now thin," said Terrence. "I'll walk twelve paces, count 'one, two, three, fire!' and you are both to fire at the word 'fire.' The man who reserves his shot or shoots a second before falls by my hand!"

This stern injunction seemed actually to awe the Britons, and Fernando fancied that he saw the lieutenant trembling. It was only fancy however. The lieutenant was really calm. Notwithstanding the advice of Terrence, Fernando could not help turning his eyes from the lieutenant to watch the figure of his retiring friend. At last he stopped—a second or two elapsed—he wheeled rapidly around. Fernando now turned his eyes toward his antagonist.

Lieutenant Matson was a slender man, and when he turned his right side toward Fernando, he was not much thicker than a rail.

"One—two—three—fire!"

Fernando watched his opponent, and, at the word, raised his pistol and fired. His hat flew from his head, the crown torn completely out, while his antagonist leaped into the air, clapped his hand to the seat of his trousers and fell howling upon the ground. The people around Fernando all rushed forward, save Sukey, who came to his friend and, seeing that he was unhurt, began a mild reproof:

"Why didn't you aim higher, Fernando?"

Terrence came back a moment later and, bursting into laughter, said:

"Begorra! this will interfere with his sedentary habits for a month. Arrah, me boy, it's proud o' ye I am."

Fernando caught two or three glances thrown at him with expression of revengeful passion. Half a score of marines were seen coming around the rocks, and Terrence left off laughing. The three were alone against five times their number.

Fernando felt some one grasp him around the waist and hurry him from the spot, and ten minutes later they were in the boat skimming over the water back toward Baltimore.

"Put on ivery divilish stitch o' canvas yer tub 'll carry," said Terrence to Luff Williams. "The Johnny Bulls won't like this a bit, and bad luck to us if they git their hands on us."

Fernando, now that the nervous strain was over, sank back in the boat, almost completely exhausted.

"Fernando, ye did it illegintly," said the young Irishman.

"Will he die?"

"Not unless the doctors kill him trying to dig it out."

"I hope they won't."

"What the divil's the difference? Before this toime next year, we'll be shootin' redcoats for sport."

"Say, what's that, shipmate?" drawled out Luff Williams.

"Where?"

"Look ahead."

"A long boat full o' British marines!" cried Terrence. "Boys, I don't like that. Mr. Luff Williams, if ye want a whole skin over yer body pull about and sail down the coast like the divil was after ye!"

In less than two minutes' time their craft was put about and went flying before the wind, under a full stretch of canvas. The boat impelled by eight stout oarsmen pressed hard in their wake.

"Heave to! heave to!" cried an officer in the pursuing boat. "Heave to, or we will fire on you!"

"Niver mind him, me frind," said Terrence to the man at the rudder. "I'll tell ye when to lay low."

They were in long musket shot distance, and Williams assured them that if they could round a headland, they would get a stiffer breeze and outsail their pursuer.

"Are they gaining on us?" Fernando asked.

"Not much, if any," was the response.

Again the officer in the bow, making a speaking trumpet of his hands, shouted:

"Heave to, or I swear I'll fire on you!"

"To the divil with you," roared Terrence. "We've downed one redcoat in fair light; what more do ye want, bad luck to ye?"

The officer spoke to some one behind him, and a musket was handed him.

Terrence sprang to the stern saying:

"Now look out! lay low, ye lubbers! the blackguard's goin' to shoot!"

The officer raised his musket, and a moment later a puff of smoke issued from the muzzle.

"Down!" cried Terrence. All laid low, and the next second the report of a musket came on the air, and a bullet dropped in the water, a little to the larboard.

"They are coming agin," cried Terrence.

"Haven't you sweeps which we could work?" asked Fernando.

There was a pair of sweeps in the craft, and Terrence and Fernando manned them. Though Fernando was a little awkward at first, he soon came to use the sweep quite effectively and helped the little craft along.

"Do we gain on them?" asked Fernando.

"Not much, if any;" the helmsman answered.

At this moment, three or four muskets were fired from the boat, and the balls whistled among the sails or spattered in the water. Should they meet with one of those sudden calms which frequently overtook vessels off the bay, they knew they would be lost. The British marines were laying to their oars right lustily, and the boat flew over the waves.

"Have you no arms in the boat?" asked Fernando.

"Nothin' but a fowlin' piece and some goose shot."

"Just the thing for me!" declared Sukey. "I was always good at killin' geese on the wing."

Sukey hunted up the gun and loaded both barrels heavily with shot and slugs. Then he took up his post in the stern, ready to rake the long boat fore and aft, should it come within range of his formidable gun. The officer and three or four marines continued to load and fire, until the boat was out of the harbor, when a strong breeze struck her sails and sent her spinning over the water.

"Huzzah! huzzah! we are gainin' on' em now!" cried Sukey, flourishing his gun in the air.

The British fired half a dozen more shots at the fleeing boat; but the bullets began dropping behind. They were out of reach of their longest range muskets.

"There ain't no danger now," declared Sukey. "They are not in the game."

The breeze continued strong, and the little craft boldly cleft the waters, as it sped forward over the bounding waves.

"It's no use to be wearing ourselves out, Fernando," said Terrence. "The good breeze is doin' more for us than a hundred oars could do."

They put in their sweeps and, mounting the rail aft, clung to rigging, and shouted derision and defiance at their pursuers.

Although the Britons had little hope or expectation of overtaking them, yet, with that bull-dog tenacity characteristic of Englishmen, they continued the chase.

"That danger is over," said Terrence, as they once more resumed their seats in the boat.

"What would they have done with us, Terrence, had they captured us?"

"Faith, it's hard telling; but I think we'd found it unpleasant."

"Wasn't the fight fair?"

"As fair as iver one saw; but, begorra, it didn't turn out the way they expected."

"Why, la sakes, they didn't think Fernando was goin' to miss, did they?" said Sukey. "He ain't been shootin' squirrels out o' the tallest trees in Ohio for nothin'."

"This lieutenant thought he was going to have some sport with a greenhorn."

"Can you see them yet?" asked Fernando of Williams, who sat well up in the stern holding the helm.

"Yes."

"How far are they away?"

"Two or three miles."

"And still a-coming?"

"Yes."

"Plague take 'em!" growled Sukey, "why do they follow us so persistently?"

"May be they think to get us when we go ashore; but, bad luck to thim, they'll find it tough if they come afther us."

"Fernando, I wish we had our rifles," growled Sukey. "Wouldn't we make it unprofitable for the redcoats!"

Fernando was rather non-communicative, and sat in the bow of the boat lost in painful meditation. He had shed blood. It was the first, and, although in that age it was thought highly honorable, he felt an inward consciousness that dueling was both cowardly and brutal. Fear of being branded a coward had nerved him to face the pistol of his antagonist. It is not true courage that makes the duelist. There is no more honor, gentility, or courage in dueling than in robbing a safe. The greatest coward living may be a burglar, so he may, from fear of public scorn, fight a duel. Fernando had much to regret. He felt that his social standing had been lowered; yet he was happy in the thought that the duel had had no fatal results. Could he ever return to the school? Could he ever return to his home and face his Christian mother? He was roused from his painful reverie by a loud laugh on the part of Terrence. He turned his eyes toward the jolly fellow and found him convulsed with mirth.

"What ails you, Terrence?" he asked.

"Did you aim at the spot you hit?"

"No; I aimed at a more vital part; but, thank God, I missed, and now I am happy."

"It's more than the lieutenant is, I'm thinkin'."

"But, Terrence, the most serious question is, what are we going to do?"

"Now that's sensible. Let me see, Misther Williams, what's the nearest port? Isn't there a town above on this coast?"

"Yes, not more than ten miles away around that point o' land we'll find a willage."

"Why not put in there?"

"Yes, we kin; but, hang it, how am I a-goin' to git back to Baltimore?"

"Oh, that's aisy enough. Run in after night."

"Yes, an' be sunk by the blasted Britishers!"

"He won't know ye after dark."

"But, Terrence, what are we to do?" asked Fernando.

"It's do, is it?—faith, do nothin'!"

"But the academy?"

"It will get along without us."

"But can we get along without it?"

"Aisy, me frind; don't be alarmed. We'll be back in a week or a fortnight at most. It will all blow over, and no one will ask us any questions. Lave it all to me."

Fernando had almost come to the conclusion that he had left too much to his friend. Terrence had only got him out of one scrape into another, until he had come to mistrust the good judgment and sound discretion of his friend. Not that he doubted the good intentions of Terrence. He had as kind a heart as ever beat in the breast of a young Irishman of twenty-three; but his propensity to mischievous pranks was continually getting him and his friends into trouble.

Fernando went to the fore part of the boat and sat by Sukey.

For a few moments both were silent. Fernando was first to speak.

"Sukey, how is all this to end?" he asked with a sigh.

"I don't know," Sukey answered, in his peculiar, drawling way. "We needn't complain, though; because we came out best so far."

"But it was terrible, shooting at him. I might have killed him."

"He might have killed you, and that would have been worse."

"I never thought of that."

"No doubt he did."

"I wish we were back in the college; but I greatly fear we will be expelled in disgrace. It would kill our mothers."

"No; I think they would get over it; but I tell you, Fernando, my opinion is, it don't make much difference."

"Why?"

"The United States and England are going to fight. I got a paper last night, and it was chock full of fight, and as for your shootin' the lieutenant, I am sure everybody, even your mother and the faculty, will be glad of it. I only blame you for one thing."

"What is that, Sukey?"

"When you had such a good chance, why didn't you aim higher?"

The expression on Sukey's face was too ludicrous for even the young duelist, and he laughed in spite of himself.

"Helloa, there's the town," cried Sukey, as they rounded a headland and entered the mouth of a broad bay, standing in toward a beautiful village. This village has wholly disappeared. Railroads shunned it, and the water traffic being too small to support it, it degenerated into a village of fishermen, which, in 1837, was totally destroyed by fire, and has never been rebuilt. Before the war of 1812, it was a neat, flourishing little town.

"Is this the town you were spakin' about?" asked Terrence of the boatman.

"Yes, zur."

"What place is it?"

"Mariana."

"Mariana," repeated Fernando, "I have heard that name before. Where was it? Mariana,—Mariana."

Terrence came forward to his companions and said:

"Now, lads, like as not the frinds of Matson may be afther following us. Lave it all to me. We'll change our names and go up to the tavern, where we'll hire rooms and be gintlemen traveling for pleasure."

"Would they dare follow us on shore?"

"No; I think not; but if they should, my plan will answer."

When they ran into shore, Terrence paid the boatman and discharged him. Terrence was the son of a rich Irish merchant in Philadelphia, who kept his son liberally supplied with money, who, with corresponding liberality, spent it.

Terrence felt that this was his scrape, and he resolved to bear the expenses.

With his friends, he went to the tavern, where they engaged rooms. Fernando and Sukey retired to their rooms, while Terrence remained in the tap-room, where there was a crowd of Marylanders. He began telling them a most horrible story of the impressment of himself and his friends by a British vessel and of their recent escape. He stated that they had been closely pursued, and he would not be surprised if the Britishers sent a boat on shore to take them away.

He could not have chosen a better theme to inflame those Marylanders. One tall, raw-boned man, who carried a rifle and bullet pouch with him, said:

"Boys, that reminds us mightily o' Dick Long."

Every Marylander assembled in the tap-room knew the sad story of poor Dick Long. He was a fisherman with a wife and four children and was loved by all who knew him. Dick was honest and peaceable, kind-hearted and brave. One day his fishing smack was driven by a gale some distance out at sea, when a British cruiser captured him, and he was impressed into his majesty's service. Dick managed after many weary months to get a letter to his wife. At Halifax, he tried to desert, was caught, brought back and lashed to the "long tom" and received a flogging with the cat-o'-nine-tails. He struck the cruel boatsman, and was lashed to the mast and flogged until he died. A deserter from the ship brought home his dying words, which were these: "Tell my American brothers to avenge me."

"Remember Dick Long, boys, and ef they come to Mariana, let us make 'em wish they had stayed away."

The artful Terrence kindled the flame, and a short time after sunset, Fernando and Sukey were awakened from a doze by hearing a wild uproar on the streets. They sprang to their feet and ran to the window.

Fifteen or twenty officers and seamen had just landed and were making their way toward the public house, when they were assailed by a hundred infuriated Marylanders with sticks, clubs, stones, dirt, old tin buckets and almost every conceivable weapon. The officer in command was trying to explain that their intentions were pacific, that, after rowing for ten hours against the wind and tide, they were tired and hungry; but the inexorable Marylanders continued to shout:

"Dick Long, Dick Long! Don't forget Dick Long!"

Now there was not one of those Britons who had ever heard of Dick Long before, and they could not conceive what that had to do with their landing; nor was this the boat crew which chased our friends; yet Terrence continued to agitate the matter. The truth is Terrence had personally declared war against Great Britain in advance of the United States and had commenced hostilities.

"Down with the bloody backs!" he cried. "Drive thim into the bay."

The officers were forced to return to their boats and, tired as they were, pull down the coast to Baltimore.

Next morning, Fernando rose early and, after breakfast, went out alone to look about the village. It was located in a picturesque and beautiful spot. On the East was the broad bay and sea. On the West were undulating hills covered with umbrageous forests. To the South were some promontories and romantic headlands, against which the restless waters lashed themselves into foam. On a hill about a fourth of a mile from the village, was a large, elegant mansion built of granite, looking like a fairy castle in the distance. A broad carriage-drive, leading through an avenue of chestnuts, led up to the great front gate. The mansion was almost strong enough for a fort and was surrounded by a stone wall five feet high, with an iron picket fence on top of this.

"Who lives in the great house on the hill?" Fernando asked a man.

"Old Captain Lane."

"Captain Lane. I have heard of him. Has he a daughter?"

"Yes, Morgianna."

"It's the same," he thought, as he wandered away to the beach. "What strange providence has brought me here?" Fernando's regrets were in a moment changed to rejoicing. He was glad he had quarrelled with the lieutenant and had been driven away to Mariana.

He went to the tavern and informed Sukey of his discovery and said:

"I am going to contrive in some way to speak with her again."

"Well, don't take that plaguey Irishman in the game, Fernando," said Sukey. "If you do, he'll make a precious mess o' the whole thing."

Terrence was enjoying himself. Before he had been in the town two days, he knew every person in it. All were his friends, and he was quite a lion. Terrence only hoped that a man-of-war would come to Mariana. He vowed he would lead the citizens against her, capture the ship and keep her for coast defence of Maryland.

It was the fourth day after their arrival, that, as Fernando was strolling alone according to his habit on the beach, his eyes fixed on the sands meditating on the recent stirring events, he suddenly became conscious of some one a short distance down the beach. He looked, up and saw a young lady with a parasol in one hand tripping along the sands, now and then picking up a shell. In an instant he knew her. His heart gave a wild bound and then seemed for a instant to stand still. Then it commenced a rapid vibration which increased as she approached. She was coming toward him, all unconscious of his presence and only intent on securing the most beautiful shells.

Suddenly, raising her eyes, she saw a handsome young man close to her. He tipped his hat, smiled and said: "Good morning, Miss Lane."

"Oh, it's you, is it?" she answered with a little laugh. "Why, I declare, how you frightened me!"

"I am sorry for it."

"Never mind; I will survive the shock; but I know why you came to Mariana," and there was a roguish twinkle in her blue eyes.

"Do you?"

"Yes, you fought the lieutenant and had to run away."

"Miss Lane, how did you learn this?"

"Learn it! Don't you know the papers are full of it? Papa read it this morning at breakfast, and he laughed until he cried. Where is that Irishman who gets you into so many funny scrapes?"

"He is at the tavern."

"Well, papa says he must see you. He has fought duels in his day, and he thinks you a splendid shot; but it was naughty of you to fight without consulting me. He might have killed you."

Fernando was now the happiest man on earth.

"Miss Lane, don't think because I did not consult you, I did not think of you. You were in my mind as much as any other person at that trying ordeal, unless it was my mother."

"Oh, don't grow sentimental. Now that it is all over and not much harm done, let us laugh at it;—but I want to scold you."

"Why?"

"You did not obey me on that night. I told you to drink no more wine, and after I left, you drank too much, which provoked the quarrel."

Fernando, who really had no clear idea of the subject-matter of the quarrel, answered:

"I plead guilty, Miss Lane, to being disobedient. Forgive me, and I promise to make amends in the future. Do you know him, Lieutenant Matson?"

"Know Lieutenant Matson? Certainly I do; I have known him for four years. Father has known him longer."



"Does he ever come here?"

"Frequently."

"If he comes while I am here, we will have the fight out."

"No you won't."

"Why?"

"I forbid it."

"Then I yield."

"You surrender easily," and the saucy blue eyes glanced slyly at his face. Fernando was at a loss for some answer. Suddenly she broke in with:

"I must go now. There, I see father on the hill. Won't you come to tea this evening? Father would like so much to see you."

Of course he would. He stammered out his thanks, while the fairy-like creature tripped away across the sands, leaving him in a maze of bewilderment. At the crest of the hill, she paused to wave her handkerchief, smiled with ravishing sweetness, and disappeared over the hill with her father.



CHAPTER IX.

THE ENGLISHMAN'S DILEMMA.

Morgianna Lane was the brightest gem in the little Maryland village. The romantic mystery which enshrouded her birth seemed only to add to the charm about her. Of course Fernando could not long be in the village without learning that she was not the daughter of Captain Lane, but a sea waif.

Frequently foundlings have some birth mark or scar about them, or there is some letter or significant mark about their clothing by which in after years they may be identified and their parentage made known; but in the case of Morgianna there was no probability of her identity ever being discovered. Her plump little arms were utterly devoid of scar or mark; the clothes found upon the infant had no initial whatever, and were cast aside, just as other worn-out garments.

Fernando Stevens, in due time, called on Captain Lane, whom he found to be as jolly an old Jack Tar as lives. He was greatly amused at the escapade of the student, but cautioned him against his Irish friend.

"I have no doubt this Terrence Malone is a good, noble young fellow; but he has too much native mischief in his composition, and will get you from one scrape into another with marvellous regularity. I don't mean that you should cut him adrift; but though you sail in company with him, do not allow him to get too far windward of you. When you see he's going to fly right into the teeth of some rash fate, get on the other tack, that's all. You did honorably, however, in fighting the duel with Lieutenant Matson, even if he is my friend."

"Is he your friend?"

"Yes; his father and I shipped afore the mast when we were boys together. When the war broke out, he entered the British navy while I went aboard a Yankee privateer. I am glad to say we never met in battle."

Fernando felt himself growing just a little bit uneasy. He did not like this friendship between the captain and Lieutenant Matson; and he could see that the old seaman was glad the lieutenant's wound was not fatal.

What strange emotion stirred the Ohio student's soul, when he met the soft eyes of Morgianna, words cannot express. She talked on a variety of subjects, and at times Fernando flattered himself that she was pleased to have him with her; but the next moment he reasoned that it might be only her good breeding which made her appear to tolerate him. Fernando was not foolish enough to be conceited. He lived in hope and doubt and was the happiest man at times, and at others the most miserable. Though he took Sukey into his confidence, Fernando was a little shy of Terrence.

The reader will remember that Terrence had, on entering the village, suggested the propriety of going under assumed names. Fernando had forgotten, if he ever knew, that he was registered at the tavern as Mr. Phil. Magrew of Hartford, and that good, innocent Sukey was George Molesworth, while Terrence was Larry O'Connor, a name quite in keeping with his nationality. A ludicrous mistake, which came near being fatal to Fernando's respectability at Mariana, resulted from this incident.

They had been a week at the tavern, and Fernando, who had lived a thousand years of alternating bliss and agony in that short period, was sitting in the bar-room in front of a great roaring fire, which the chill evening of early autumn made comfortable, utterly oblivious of the grumbling of the landlord, who was saying:

"When people stay a whole week 'thout any luggage, it be high time they pay up. I wonder Mr. Magrew don't take notice on't."

The supposed Mr. Magrew, however, did not hear what he said. He was gazing into the blazing fire, weaving bright pictures from which the eyes of Morgianna seemed gazing at him. Fernando had forgotten the academy, home, parents and all in this new inspiration. Terrence and Sukey entered while the landlord was still grumbling and looking hard at Fernando, who was utterly oblivious of his wrath.

"Mister Magrew, be ye a man o' honor?" demanded mine host; but "Mr. Magrew" was as indifferent as a statue of stone. "The wagabond sits there an' hears himself abused an' be too heedless to answer. By the mass, I will even tweak his nose! Magrew—Magrew—I'll wake you!"

All the while Terrence, Sukey, and everybody else was wondering whom the enraged landlord meant. Suddenly Terrence recollected that he had registered Fernando under the name of Philip Magrew. He hastened to meet the landlord before he reached Fernando, and thus prevented a collision, which would have been violent indeed.

"Me frind, the honorable Misthur Magrew, is hard o' hearing," explained the Irishman in an undertone.

"Be hard o' hearin'? then he be hard o' payin' too," answered the landlord. "He 'ave been a whole veek in my 'ouse and not one pickyunne 'ave paid."

"Lave all to me," said the Irishman in his conciliatory manner, gently leading the landlord to another part of the room. "Ye see me frind, knowing his infirmity, asked mesilf to pay all bills for Misthur Magrew, and he gave me the money, I clear forgot it, or I should have paid you."

Then Terrence drew forth a well-filled purse, which greatly mollified the landlord, and when all differences were squared, he was completely satisfied, smiling and agreeable.

Thus Fernando passed over a dangerous period in his life and never knew how near he came having his nose pulled; nor did the landlord ever know how near he came to being knocked down for such an attempt.

Morgianna had spoken on one occasion of the beauty of moonlight on the seashore, and Fernando was bold enough to ask the pleasure of rowing herself and father to the headlands some evening. She assented. The old sailor had a friend visiting at his house, an old ex-sea-captain like himself, and the four decided to make the voyage across the little bay and sit for an hour on the rocky promontory and listen to the "dashing waves." Fernando willingly welcomed the acquaintance as a fourth to the party, for he was shrewd enough to see that the old sailors would be so wholly engrossed with each other, that they would scarcely notice the young people, and Morgianna and he would be left quite to themselves.

Fernando, though an amateur at the oar, would on no account be dissuaded from rowing the small boat to the promontory; and, having helped Morgianna, who was lightest, into a seat in the bow (inexpressible happiness) he cheerfully took his seat at the oars with the old men in the stern facing each other. Then the little craft was cast loose, and the young westerner bent to his oars and sent the boat swiftly through the water. Of course Fernando's back was toward Morgianna, and he could not see her, save when he twisted his head "quite off," which he did frequently; but he could hear her silvery voice humming snatches of a song, or her dimpled hand playing in the phosphorescent water which sparkled like flashes of fire in their wake. The old men kept up a continual talk, for which Fernando was exceedingly grateful. Finally the promontory was gained, and in a quiet little cove Fernando beached his boat and, springing out, took the small, white hand of Morgianna and assisted her to the dry sands, so gallantly that her dainty little slippered foot did not touch the water.

Then the whole party ascended the hill to the opposite side of the promontory where the sea was beating furiously. Fernando was almost beside himself with joy to find Morgianna clinging to his arm in the ascent, and to hear her sweet voice in low, gentle tones breathing in his ear. It was a fine, clear night, and for all her lowness of spirits, Morgianna kept looking up at the stars in a manner so bewitching that Fernando was clear out of his senses, and plainly showed that, if ever a man were over head and ears in love, that man was himself. The path they were ascending was quite steep, and Fernando could not help glancing at the pretty little hand, encased in a cream-colored kid glove, resting on his arm. If Fernando had known that an executioner were behind him with an axe raised, ready to cut off his head if he touched that hand, he could not have helped doing it. From putting his own right hand upon it as if by chance, and taking it away again after a minute or so, and then putting it back again, he got to walking along without taking it off at all, as if he, the escort, were bound to do that as an important duty, and had come for that purpose. The most curious thing about this little incident was, that Morgianna did not seem to know it. She looked so innocent and unconscious when she turned her eyes on Fernando, that it was quite provoking.

She talked about the sea, the hills, the rocks, the sky, the stars, while the old men went on ahead, and when she slipped on the verge of a precipice three feet high and came near falling into a pool of dirty water, and he saved her from the fall by his coolness and daring, she thanked him and told him how grateful she was that he was near, and he said something about how happy he would be to be always near her, to guard her footsteps along life's rugged pathway. Then she said something to the effect that it would be pleasant if one could always have one's friends near, and that she hoped they would always be friends from that time forth. And when Fernando said, "not friends" he hoped, Morgianna was quite surprised and said not enemies she hoped; and when Fernando suggested that they might be something better than either, Morgianna, all of a sudden, found a star, which was brighter than all the other stars, and begged to call his attention to the same, and was ten times more innocent and unconscious than ever.

In this way, they journeyed up the steep ascent, talking very little above a whisper, and wishing that the promontory was a dozen times higher—at least, such was Fernando's wish—when they finally reached the top and saw the two old men under the lee cliff listening to the ocean's hollow roar.

Fernando carried a robe and some wraps for Morgianna, and he conducted her to a sheltered spot below the first ledge of rocks, where he spread a robe for her to sit on, and then, with loving fingers that thrilled with each touch, adjusted the wraps about her shapely little shoulders. For a long time they sat listening to the wild roar of the angry waters below, gazing on the phosphorescent flashes, where the swelling waves broke in crested splendor on the well-worn rocks.

He was first to break the silence.

"Miss Lane," he said, "had I known that Lieutenant Matson was your personal friend, I would have suffered disgrace rather than encountered him."

With a smile, she answered:

"It all turned out right. The lieutenant was scarcely injured at all."

"Have you heard of him?"

"I have heard from him," she answered, glancing slyly at Fernando from the corners of her roguish eyes. "He wrote me a letter which I received to-day."

Fernando felt a pain at his heart, but it was nothing to compare with the shame and mortification which followed. She informed him that Lieutenant Matson was so slightly wounded, that his seconds decided on a second fire, and sent a boat to inform them as they had left the beach, but that, although they chased the Americans for miles, they could not bring them back. Fernando was stunned by the information, and filled with mortification and chagrin.

"Do you think I am afraid to meet him again?" he asked, his voice trembling with ill-suppressed excitement.

"I don't know; but you won't, anyway—you are both my friends, and my friends shall not fight."

Fernando made no answer, but at that moment he would very much have liked to knock her friend on the head. Of course a second meeting with the Briton would now have been highly pleasing to the student; but it was out of the question. The hour on the promontory was passed in alternating bliss and misery, and when the time came to return, he was no nearer the subject dearest of all subjects than before.

He hastened back to the tavern, where he found his Irish friend playing cards with the landlord and winning several weeks' board in advance.

"Terrence, it is a fine fix you got me in by hurrying away from the sands so soon that morning," he said angrily, when he got him to his room.

"Why, me boy, what d'ye mane?"

"That lieutenant was only slightly wounded, and that boat was chasing us to bring us back for another shot."

"So ye've heard it at last, me frind?"

"Certainly I have, and now I will be branded as a coward."

"Lave it all to me. The Britishers are in trouble enough. Sure, haven't ye read the Baltimore papers? Captain Conkerall is to be tried by a court-martial for gettin' bastely drunk and goin' abroad with no garment but his shirt, and a sheet with a hole in it." Terrence laughed until the tears trickled down his cheeks. Fernando could not see how he could help fighting the lieutenant again if he demanded satisfaction; but the Irishman was quite sure the lieutenant would have enough to do to keep his captain out of his dilemma. Sukey, who had entered during their conversation, said:

"Oh, Fernando, why didn't you aim higher and blow his head off?"

"Why did the lieutenant challenge me, when the captain was the injured party?" asked Fernando.

Terrence explained that, while the Captain was really the injured party, it was a matter of courtesy that his officer lower in rank should take the quarrel upon himself, more especially as Fernando had been his successful rival at the ball. From this, the conversation gradually led to Morgianna herself, and Terrence laughed and winked; and called Fernando a lucky dog.

"Go in, me boy, and if ye nade any help, I am at hand."

"I fear I have injured my prospects there," said Fernando.

"How?"

"By the duel. Lieutenant Matson is an old friend of the captain, and I believe a suitor for the hand of his daughter. What show has a schoolboy against a lieutenant in the English navy?—none."

"Yes he has," declared Terrence.

"What show can he have?"

"Lave it all to me, me frind, and I will bring ye out all right, see if I don't."

"I have left too many things to you, Terrence, and you have a most remarkable faculty for getting me into trouble."

Terrence assured him that he would yet aid him to outgeneral the Englishman, and he only wished that he might come into port during their stay.

"Terrence, you must take no advantage of the public hatred of the English to accomplish your purpose. Remember, Lieutenant Matson is the son of Captain Lane's friend. You might raise a mob and have him driven away; but I will not consent to it."

"Indade, I don't mane it, me boy. Lave it to me. If he comes ashore, faith, we'll out-gineral him, sure."

Next day there came letters for the runaways. Terrence's father, being wealthy and influential, had gone to Baltimore, interceded with the faculty and had the runaway scapegraces retained. There were also letters from the parents of the young men, condemning, but at the time forgiving and warning them to be more careful in the future.

It was some distance by the road to Baltimore, and the boys decided to take passage in a coasting schooner which was loading with barley and would be ready to go in three days.

One morning, two days before their intended departure, Fernando, on going out upon the street, was surprised and really alarmed to see an English man-of-war anchored in the little harbor of Marianna. His uneasiness was greatly increased on reading the name Xenophon on the broad pennant floating from the main mast. His enemy was in port, and he could guess his object, especially when he saw Captain Lane's carriage waiting on the sands while Lieutenant Matson was being rowed ashore. Fernando gnashed his teeth and there were some ugly thoughts in his heart.

Sukey who had come out hastened to his side and reading his thoughts said:

"Now don't you wish you had aimed higher?"

The citizens, noticing the approach of an English war vessel, began to congregate in a large body on the north side of the village, and their demonstrations were decidedly hostile to the landing of the Briton. Suddenly Captain Lane appeared among them, waving his staff and shouting. Having gained their attention, the old sea-captain mounted the stile near the village store and said:

"Shipmates and friends, the man coming ashore is the son of a man whom I loved. I have sent my carriage down to bring him to my house where he is to be my guest. You have all heard me tell how his father saved my life. Would you injure him now, when he comes to pay me a friendly visit?" In a short time the crowd dispersed, and Lieutenant Matson landed, entered the carriage and was driven to the house of Captain Lane.

From the street, Fernando, with bitter feelings in his heart, saw the carriage ascend the hill. He turned about and entered the tavern, went to his room and shut himself up. Here he remained until the middle of the afternoon, when there came a knock at the door, and, on opening it, he was astonished to find one of the negroes of Captain Lane's house. He was dressed in livery and held a note in his hand, which he gave to "Mistah Stevens," bowed politely and awaited his answer.

The utter amazement of Fernando can better be imagined than described at finding the note from Miss Morgianna Lane inviting himself and his friends to tea that evening with themselves, Lieutenant Matson and ensign Post of his majesty's ship Xenophon. Had Fernando been summoned to a command in his majesty's navy, he could not have been more astonished. He hesitated a moment and then decided to accept. This Englishman should neither out-do him in generosity nor affrontery. Besides, the invitation came from Morgianna, and he could not refuse. He wrote a polite answer, accepting the kind invitation and went to find Sukey and Terrence. Sukey thought it would be a little odd for Fernando to meet a man with whom he had exchanged shots; but Terrence declared it was the only "dacint" thing to do. They were not "haythin," to bear grudges.

Consequently they went. The minds of the Americans were filled with doubt and perplexity, while the Irishman was chuckling at a plan his cunning brain was evolving, and which he determined to put in execution. The Englishmen met the Americans very cordially, and Lieutenant Matson, who was every inch a gentleman, did not dare be other than genteel in the presence of the lady he loved; for he was as passionately in love with Morgianna as was Fernando. The lieutenant was of a romantic turn of mind, and the mystery of the sea waif had interested him. He was quite sure she was the daughter of some nobleman. He had read in romances so many cases similar to hers, that he could not believe this would turn out otherwise.

When Fernando and the lieutenant had shaken hands and mutually agreed to bury all past differences, had they not been rivals they might have become friends, for each recognized in the other some qualities that were admirable.

The beauty of a lovely woman is like music, rich in cadence and sweet in rhythm; but that beauty must be for one alone. It cannot, like music, be shared with others. The best of friends may, as rivals, become the bitterest foes. Fernando did not like the Englishman, for, with all his blandness, he thought he could observe a pompous air and self-consciousness of superiority, disgusting to sensible persons. This might have been prejudice or the result of imagination, yet he realized that he was in the presence of an ambitious rival, who would go to any length to gain his purpose.

The most careful and disinterested observer could not have discovered any preference on the part of Morgianna. When they came to the table, she had the lieutenant on one side and Fernando on the other. The old captain at the head engrossed much of Lieutenant Matson's time talking about his father, greatly to the annoyance of the officer. When Matson came to take his seat at the table, Terrence, who sat on the opposite side of the lieutenant, whispered:

"Aisy!"

The lieutenant bit his lips and his face flushed angrily, while Sukey, who sat on the opposite side of the Irishman, snickered, and Morgianna bit her pretty lip most cruelly in trying to conceal the merriment which her roguish eyes expressed.

This was the only break made by the Irishman that evening. He played his part with consummate grace and had such a way of winning the favor of people, that, before the evening was over, the Englishman actually came to like him. He praised the country about Mariana, and talked of the harbors and islands, declaring he knew them all from Duck Island to the Chesapeake. He found Lieutenant Matson somewhat of a sport, and soon interested him in stories of duck shooting, all of which were inventions of his own ingenious brain. Miss Morgianna praised the wild ducks of Maryland and thought their flesh equal to English Capons. The lieutenant, in his gallantry, vowed she should have half a dozen brace of fowls before he left, and Terrence volunteered to assist him.

Fernando was amazed at the course of his friend. The man-of-war was to sail the same day their schooner did, and he had just determined, by the aid of Terrence, to bag five dozen brace of ducks for the belle of Mariana, when his friend went boldly over to the enemy.

"I'll give it to him, when I get a chance," he thought.

There was only one more night in which they could shoot ducks, and Terrence was engaged for that occasion. Fernando sighed and ground his teeth in rage and disappointment, while Morgianna, with Sukey on one side and Ensign Post on the other, went to a large Broadwood piano, where she soon entertained all with her music.

As they went to their tavern that night, Fernando said:

"A nice way you have treated me, Terrence, you who profess to be my friend."

"What the divil ails the boy?" asked Terrence.

"You have volunteered to aid the lieutenant go ducking—"

"Aisy me boy! While the lieutenant is after ducks, lose no time with the girl. Don't ye see I'm getting him out of yer way?"

Fernando had not thought of it in that light. On the next evening, the last they were to spend at Mariana, the lieutenant was rowed ashore attired for sporting, with top-boots and a double-barrelled fowling piece. Terrence, who claimed to be an experienced hunter, advised him to "kape their intintions sacrit," as too many might want to go, and that would spoil the sport. Ducks could best be hunted after night. He would show him how it was done.

It was almost dark, when they set off in a small rowboat for Duck Island, and twenty minutes later Fernando was on his way to his farewell visit to Morgianna.

The sun had set, but it was not yet dark when Fernando reached the broad piazza. He asked himself if she would be at home or away. He had said nothing of his coming. This visit was wholly on his own account. He had walked up and down the piazza two or three times, when through the open door he caught the flutter of a garment on the stairway. It was Morgianna's—to whom else could it belong? No dress but hers had such a flow as that. He gathered up courage and followed it into the hallway.

His darkening the door, into which the sombre shadows of twilight were already creeping, caused her to look around. "Oh that face! If it hadn't been for that," thought Fernando, "I could never have faced the Briton. She is twenty times handsomer than ever. She might marry a Lord!"

He didn't say this. He only thought it—perhaps looked it also. Morgianna was glad to see him and was so sorry her father was away from home. Fernando begged she would not worry herself on any account.

Morgianna hesitated to lead the way into the parlor, for there it was nearly dark. At the same time she hesitated to stand talking in the hall, which was tolerably light from the open door. They still stood in the hall in an embarrassing position, Fernando holding her hand in his (which he had no right to do, for Morgianna had only given it to him to shake), and yet both hesitated to go or stay anywhere.

"I have come," said Fernando, "to say good-bye—to say good-bye, for I don't know how many years; perhaps forever. I am going away."

Now this was exactly what he should not have said. Here he was, talking like a gentleman at large, who was free to come and go and roam about the world at his pleasure, when he had expressed both in actions and words that Miss Lane held him in adamantine chains.

Morgianna released her hand and said:

"Indeed!"

She remarked in the same breath that it was a fine night and, in short, betrayed not the least emotion. With despair still settling over his heart, Fernando said:

"I couldn't go without coming to see you. I hadn't the heart to."

Morgianna was more sorry than she could tell that he had taken the trouble. It was a long walk up the hill, and as he was to sail next day, he must have a deal to do; as if she did not know that he had not brought even a trunk with him. Then she wanted to know how Mr. Winners was and Mr. Malone. She thought the Irishman a capital good fellow, and was sure no one could help liking him.

"Is this all you have to say?" Fernando asked.

All! Good gracious, what did the man expect? She was obliged to take her apron in her hand and run her eyes along the hem from corner to corner, to keep herself from laughing in his face;—not because his gaze confused her—not at all.

This was Fernando's first experience in love affairs, and he had no idea how different young ladies are at different times. He had expected a far different scene from the one which was being enacted. All day long he had buoyed himself up with an indistinct idea that she would certainly say, "Don't go," or "Don't leave us," or "Why do you go?" or "Why do you leave us?" or would give him some little encouragement of that sort. He had even entertained the possibility of her bursting into tears, of her throwing herself into his arms, or falling down in a fainting fit, without previous word or sign; but any approach to such a line of conduct as this was evidently so far from her thoughts, that he could only look at her in silent wonder. The hated English rival had won her heart, and she was even glad he was going; yet it was so hard to give her up.

Morgianna, in the meanwhile, turned to the corners of her apron and measured the sides, and smoothed out the wrinkles, and was as silent as he. At last, after a long pause, he said good-bye.

"Good-bye," answered Morgianna with as pleasant a smile as if he were only going for a row on the water and would return after supper; "good-bye."

"Come," said Fernando, putting out his hands, "Morgianna, dear Morgianna, let us not part like this. I love you dearly, with all my heart and soul, with as much sincerity and truth as man ever loved woman. I am only a poor student; but in this new world every thing is possible. You have it in your power to make me a grand and noble man, or crush from this heart every ambitious hope. You are wealthy, beautiful, admired, loved by everybody and happy;—may you ever be so! Heaven forbid I should ever make you otherwise; but give me one word of comfort. Say something kind to me. I have no right to expect it of you, I know; but I ask it because I love you, and I shall treasure the slightest word from you all through my life. Morgianna, dearest, have you nothing to say to me?"

No, nothing. Morgianna was a coquette by nature, and a spoilt child. She had no notion of being carried off by storm in this way. Fernando had no business to be going away. Besides, if he really loved her, why did he not fall on his knees like lovers in romance or on the stage, and tug wildly at his cravat, or talk in a wild, poetic manner?

"I have said good-bye twice," said Morgianna. "Take your arm away, or I will call some one."

"I will not reproach you," Fernando sadly answered. "It's no doubt my fault," he added with a sigh. "I have thought sometimes that you did not quite despise me; but I was a fool to do so. Every one must, who has seen the life I have led of late—you most of all, for it was he at whose life I aimed. God bless you!"

He was gone, actually gone. She waited a little while, thinking he would return, peeped out of the door, looked down the broad carriage drive as well as the increasing darkness would allow, saw a hastily retreating shadow melt into the general gloom, came in again, waited a little longer, then went up to her room, bolted herself in, threw herself on her bed and cried as if her heart would break.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Terrence Malone and the lieutenant, Fernando's rival, were rowing toward Duck Island fire or six miles away. The island was reached. It was a dismal affair little more than an elevated marsh. When the tide was out on Duck Island, its extended dreariness was potent. Its spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools and tortuous sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open bay were all hard facts. Occasionally, here and there, could be seen a few green tussocks, with their scant blades, their amphibious flavor and unpleasant dampness. And if you chose to indulge your fancy, although the flat monotony of Duck Island was not inspiring, the wavy line of scattered drift gave an unpleasant consciousness of the spent waters and made the certainty of the returning tide a gloomy reflection, which sunshine could not wholly dissipate. The greener salt meadows seemed oppressed with this idea and made no positive attempt at vegetation. In the low bushes, one might fancy there was one sacred spot not wholly spoiled by the injudicious use of too much sea water.

The vocal expressions of Duck Island were in keeping with its general appearance, melancholy and depressing. The sepulchral boom of the bittern, the shriek of the curlew, the scream of the passing brent, the wrangling of quarrelsome teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the startled crane, were all beyond powers of written expression. The aspect of these mournful fowls was not at all cheerful or inspiring, as the boat containing the Irishman and lieutenant approached the island. Through the gathering gloom of night could be seen a tall blue heron, standing midleg deep in water, obviously catching cold in his reckless disregard for wet feet and consequences. The mournful curlew, the dejected plover and the low-spirited snipe, who sought to join him in his suicidal contemplations, the raven, soaring through the air on restless wings, croaking his melancholy complaints were not calculated to add to the cheerfulness of the scene.



It was evident that even the inhabitants of Duck Island were not happy in its possession and looked forward with pleasure to the season of migration.

The boat touched the north shore, and Lieutenant Matson jumped out in mud up to his knees, frightening some wild fowls which flew screaming away. The Englishman gave vent to some strong language, and desired to know if there was not a better landing place. Terrence assured him there was not, and complained that ducks never sought a "dacint place" for their habitation. Nothing but the glorious reflection that he was making himself a martyr for Morgianna's sake could have induced the officer to take the torches and wade to the low bushes, where he was instructed to make a light and wait until his companion rowed around the island and drove the ducks in great flocks to the light, which he assured the Briton would attract them, and they would fall at his feet as if begging to be bagged.

Slowly the officer waded through the dismal marsh to the higher land, where grew the low bushes, and by the use of his tinder box kindled a light and, wrapping his boat cloak about him, sat down on a broken mast, which some storm had driven to the highest part of the island.

The minutes passed on, and neither the Irishman nor the expected flock of birds came. Minutes grew into hours, and only the sobbing waves and melancholy cries of birds broke the silence. Surely something had happened to his companion. About midnight a dense fog settled over the island, and the alarm and discomfiture of the Englishman became supreme. At one moment he was cursing Terrence, and the next offering prayer for his soul. Never did man pass a more dreary night.

At last dawn came, and he could see, far across the water, his ship but a speck in the distance. It was to sail that forenoon, and he intended to call on Morgianna and propose; but here he was on this infernal island, hungry, damp and miserable. He knew the vessel would pass near enough for him to hail it and have a boat sent for him; but then he would miss his intended visit to Captain Lane's, and his future happiness depended on that visit.

While he was indulging in these bitter reflections, a schooner suddenly flew past the island, and, to his amazement, he saw the Irish student, Terrence Malone, whom he had been alternately praying for and cursing all night, standing on the deck apparently in the best of health and spirits. The scoundrel even had the audacity to wave him an adieu as he passed.



CHAPTER X.

THE SILENT GUNNER.

Of course, Terrence Malone had played a practical joke on the English lieutenant, and while the latter was passing the night on the gloomiest island of all the Maryland coast, the former was sweetly dreaming of dear old Ireland, in the most comfortable bed the tavern afforded. Next morning the captain of the Xenophon sent ashore for Lieutenant Matson to come aboard, as they were about to hoist anchor. Terrence, Fernando and Sukey were just going aboard the schooner as the messenger came. Fernando had passed the most miserable night of his existence, and now, pale and melancholy, went aboard the schooner utterly unconscious of the fact that some one was watching him through a glass from the big house on the hill.

Terrence was as jolly as usual and had almost forgotten the lieutenant. Just as the schooner was about to sail, ensign Post came aboard and asked for Mr. Malone. Terrence was sitting aft the main cabin smoking a cigar, when the ensign, approaching, asked:

"Where is Lieutenant Matson? I was told he went shooting with you last evening."

"Sure he did. You will find him on Duck Island enjoying the sport I've no doubt. Faith, I had almost forgotten to tell ye to touch at the island and take him off, as ye sailed out of the harbor."

The ensign looked puzzled at this and said:

"This is strange,—this is certainly very extraordinary! Would he stay on the island all night?"

Terrence assured him that the lieutenant was a great sport and that the best shooting was just before day. The Englishman returned to his boat and was rowed to the man-of-war to report, while the schooner weighed anchor and sailed out of the harbor. The Xenophon followed two hours later, having first sent a boat to Duck Island for the lieutenant, who swore to shoot the Irishman at sight. There was no time for him to call on Morgianna and explain why he had not brought her the ducks, for soon after his arrival the ship departed for Halifax, where the commander had to give an account of his conduct at Baltimore.

Meanwhile, the schooner on which the three students had taken passage stood out to sea and started down the coast.

A strong breeze blowing from off land swept her out of sight of the coast, when the wind suddenly shifted, until the skipper declared they had it right in their teeth, and, despite all the skill of master and crew, the vessel continued to drift farther out to sea, while Sukey once more bewailed his fate at risking his life on the water.

"Don't count me in this game again," he groaned. "If I live to get on shore, I'll never risk myself on water broader than the Ohio."

With such headwinds, the schooner could not possibly reach Baltimore that night. All night long she struggled first on one tack and then on the other, and at dawn only the blue mist, seen like a fog in the West, marked the line of the Maryland coast.

"Don't be discouraged, lads," said the skipper cheerfully. "Come down to breakfast, and afore night I'll have ye snug in port."

They went to breakfast, and when they returned found the master and three seamen in the forecastle holding a very earnest conversation. The fourth sailor was at the wheel. Fernando, glancing off to their larboard saw a large ship, flying English colors, bearing down upon them, and he had no doubt that this vessel was the subject of discussion.

She signalled to the schooner to heave to, and as they were within range of her powerful guns, the skipper was forced to obey. This vessel was the English frigate Macedonian cruising along the American coast, and at this time short of hands. In a few moments, the frigate came near and hove to, while a boat with a dozen marines and an officer came alongside the schooner.

"What is your business?" asked the skipper.

"We are looking for deserters and Englishmen."

"Well, here are my crew," said the skipper pointing to his sailors. "Every one I will swear is American born!"

"But who are these young men?"

"Three passengers I am taking to Baltimore."

The three students began to entertain some grave apprehensions. Terrence for once was quiet. His dialect he knew would betray him, and when he was asked where he lived and where he was from, he tried hard to conceal his brogue; but it was in vain.

Sukey came forward and tried to explain matters, but only made them worse. The result was that all three were in a short hour transported to the Macedonian in irons. Protest was useless; the Macedonian was short of hands and they were forced to go.

They were not even permitted to write letters home. However, the skipper had their names, and the whole affair was printed in the Baltimore Sun, and copies were sent to the parents of the young men.

Captain Snipes of the English frigate was one of those barbarous, tyrannical sea captains, more brute than human, and, in an age when the strict discipline of the navy permitted tyranny to exist, he became a monster.

The three recruits were added to his muster-roll and gradually initiated into the mysteries of sailor's life on a war vessel.

Poor Sukey for several days was fearfully seasick; but he recovered and was assigned to his mess. Fortunately they were all three assigned to the same mess. The common seamen of the Macedonian were divided into thirty-seven messes, put down on the purser's book as Mess No. 1, Mess No. 2, Mess No. 3. The members of each mess clubbed their rations of provisions, and breakfasted, dined and supped together at allotted intervals between the guns on the main deck.

They found that living on board the Macedonian was like living in a market, where one dresses on the door-step and sleeps in the cellar. They could have no privacy, hardly a moment seclusion. In fact, it was almost a physical impossibility ever to be alone. The three impressed Americans dined at a vast table d'hte, slept in commons and made their toilet when and where they could. Their clothes were stowed in a large canvas bag, painted black, which they could get out of the "rack" only once in twenty-four hours, and then during a time of utmost confusion, among three hundred and fifty other sailors, each diving into his bag, in the midst of the twilight of the berth-deck.

Terrence, in order to obviate in a measure this inconvenience, suggested that they divide their wardrobes between their hammocks and their bags, stowing their few frocks and trowsers in the former, so that they could change at night when the hammocks were piped down. They knew not whither they were bound, and they cared little about the object of the voyage.

"How are we to get out of this any way?" asked Sukey one day, when the three were together for a moment.

"Lave it all to me!" said Terrence.

"I am perfectly willing to leave it all to you, Terrence. Do just as you will, so you get me on shore."

Before they had been a month on the ship, they chased a French merchantman for twenty-four hours, and at times were near enough to fire a few shots with their long bow-chaser; but a fresh breeze sprang up, quickly increased to a gale, and the Frenchman escaped.

This was the nearest approach to a naval engagement they experienced during their stay on the war frigate. They cruised along the coast of Ireland and Scotland, went to Spain, entered the waters of the Mediterranean for a few weeks, and then returned to the Atlantic, sailing for the West Indies.

Not only were the officers of the Macedonian brutal; but the crew was made up of a motley class of human beings of every class of viciousness and brutality.

"Now boys, if ye want to kape out of trouble," said Terrence, "do'nt ye get into any fights with thim divils, or ye'll be brought up to the quarter-deck and flogged."

His advice was appreciated, and both Fernando and Sukey did their best to avoid trouble with any of their quarrelsome neighbors. They submitted to insults innumerable; but at last Sukey was one morning assailed by a brutal sailor whom he knocked down. Two other sailors were guilty of a similar offence, and all four were put under arrest. Fernando was shocked and alarmed for his friend, and hastened to ascertain the facts concerning the charge.

"I couldn't help it," declared Sukey, whom he found in irons. "Plague take him! he hit me twice before I knocked him down. I didn't want to be in the game."

The culprits could expect nothing but a flogging at the captain's pleasure. Toward evening of the next day, they were startled by the dread summons of the boatswain and his mates at the principal hatchway,—a summons that sent a shudder through every manly heart in the frigate:

"All hands witness punishment, ahoy!"

The hoarseness of the cry, its unrelenting prolongation, it being caught up at different points and sent to the lowest depths of the ship, produced a most dismal effect upon every heart not calloused by long familiarity with it. However much Fernando desired to absent himself from the scene that ensued, behold it he must; or, at least, stand near it he must; for the regulations compelled the attendance of the entire ship's company, from the captain himself to the smallest boy who struck the bell.

At the summons, the crew crowded round the mainmast. Many, eager to obtain a good place, got on the booms to overlook the scene. Some were laughing and chatting, others canvassing the case of the culprits. Some maintaining sad, anxious countenance, or carrying a suppressed indignation in their eyes. A few purposely kept behind, to avoid looking on. In short, among three or four hundred men, there was every possible shade of character. All the officers, midshipmen included, stood together in a group on the starboard side of the mainmast. The first lieutenant was a little in advance, and the surgeon, whose special duty it was to be present at such times, stood close at his side. Presently the captain came forward from his cabin and took his place in the centre of the group, with a small paper in his hand. That paper was the daily report of offenses, regularly laid upon his table every morning or evening.

"Master-at-arms, bring up the prisoners," he said. A few moments elapsed, during which the captain, now clothed in his most dreadful attributes, fixed his eyes severely upon the crew, when suddenly a lane formed through the crowd of seamen, and the prisoners advanced—the master-at-arms, rattan in hand, on one side, and an armed marine on the other,—and took up their stations at the mast.

"You, John, you, Richard, (Richard was Sukey) you Mark, you Antone," said the captain, "were yesterday found fighting on the gun-deck. Have you any thing to say?"

Mark and Antone, two steady, middle-aged men, who had been admired for their sobriety, replied that they did not strike the first blow; they had submitted to much before they yielded to their passions; but as they acknowledged that they had at last defended themselves their excuse was overruled. John—a brutal bully, who in fact was the real author of the disturbance was about entering into a long harangue, when the captain cut him short, and made him confess, irrespective of circumstances, that he had been in the fray. Poor Sukey, the youngest and handsomest of the four, was pale and tremulous. He had already won the good will and esteem of many in the ship. That morning Fernando and Terrence had gone to his bag, taken out his best clothes and, obtaining the permission of the marine sentry at the "brig," had handed them to him, to be put on before he was summoned to the mast. This was done to propitiate Captain Snipes, who liked to see a tidy sailor; but it was all in vain. To all the young American's supplications, Captain Snipes turned a deaf ear. Sukey declared he had been struck twice before he had returned a blow.

"No matter," cried the captain, angrily, "you struck at last, instead of reporting the case to an officer. I allow no man to fight on this ship but myself. I do the fighting. Now, men," he added fixing his dark stern eye on them, "you all admit the charge; you know the penalty. Strip! Quartermaster, are the gratings rigged?"

The gratings were square frames of barred woodwork, sometimes placed over the hatches. One of these squares was now laid on the deck, close to the ship's bulwarks, and while the remaining preparations were being made, the master-at-arms assisted the prisoners to remove their jackets and shirts. This done, their shirts were loosely thrown over their shoulders as a partial protection from the keen breeze, until their turn should come.

At a sign from the captain, John, with a shameless leer, stepped forward and stood passively on the grating, while the bareheaded old quarter-master, with his gray hair streaming in the wind, bound his feet to the cross-bars and, stretching out his arms over his head, secured them to the hammock netting above. He then retreated a little space, standing silent. Meanwhile, the boatswain stood solemnly on the other side with a green bag in his hand. From this he took four instruments of punishment and gave one to each of his mates; for a fresh "cat," applied by a fresh hand, was the ceremonious privilege accorded to every man-of-war culprit. Through all that terrible scene, Fernando Stevens stood transfixed with horror, indignation and a thousand bitter, indescribable feelings. At another sign from the captain, the master-at-arms, stepping up, removed the shirt from the prisoner. At this juncture, a wave broke against the ship's side and dashed the spray over the man's exposed back; but, though the air was piercing cold, and the water drenched him, John stood still without a shudder.

Captain Snipes lifted his finger, and the first boatswain's-mate advanced, combing out the nine tails of his "cat" with his fingers, and then, sweeping them round his neck, brought them with the whole force of his body upon the mark. Again, and again, and again; at every blow, higher and higher and higher rose the long purple bars on the prisoner's back; but he only bowed his head and stood still. A whispered murmur of applause at their shipmate's nerve went round among the sailors. One dozen blows were administered on his bare back, and then he was taken down and went among his messmates, swearing:

"It's nothing, after you get used to it."

Antone, who was a Portuguese, was next, and he howled and swore at every blow, though he had never been known to blaspheme before. Mark, the third, was in the first stage of consumption and coughed and cringed during the flogging. At about the sixth blow he bowed his head and cried: "Oh! Jesus Christ!" but whether it was in blasphemy or supplication no one could determine. He was taken with a fever a few days later and died before the cruise was over, as much perhaps of mortification as from the inroads of the disease.

The, fourth was poor Sukey. When told to advance, he made one more appeal to the captain, avowing that he was an American. The captain, with an oath, said that was the more reason for flogging him. He appealed until the marine guard was ordered to prod him with his bayonet. They had to actually drag Sukey to the gratings. Sukey's cheek, which was usually pale, was now whiter than a ghost. As he was being secured to the gratings, and the shudderings and creepings of his dazzling white back were revealed, he turned his tear-stained face to the captain and implored him to spare him the disgrace, which he felt far more keenly than the pain.

"I would not forgive God Almighty!" cried the brutal captain. The fourth boatswain's mate, with a fresh cat-o-nine-tails swung it about his head and brought the terrible scourge hissing and crackling on the young and tender back. Fernando turned his face away and wept.

"My God! oh! my God!" shouted Sukey, and he writhed and leaped, until he displaced the gratings, scattering the nine-tails of the scourge all over his person. At the next blow, he howled, leaped and raged in unendurable agony.

"What the d—-l are you stopping for?" cried the captain as the boatswain's-mate halted. "Lay on!" and the whole dozen were applied, though poor Sukey fainted at the tenth stroke.

Reader, this was on an English war vessel,—the vessel of a nation professing a high state of civilization. We blush to say it, it was no better on an American man-of-war, if nautical writers of high authority are to be believed, and, even to-day, the brute often holds a commission in the American army and navy. Although flogging is of the past, punishment equally severe is inflicted. The necessities of discipline are taken advantage of by men without hearts. An American naval officer in Washington City told the author that it was a common thing for officers on an American man-of-war to swing the hammock of the sailor or middy whom they disliked, where he would have all the damp and cold, ending in consumption and death. If this be true, it is far more brutal than flogging. Congressional investigations are usually farces. Congressmen place their friends in the army and navy, and their investigations usually result in the triumph of their friends.

For several days, Sukey was too ill to leave his hammock. "I don't want to get well," the poor boy said. "I want to die. I never want to see home or mother again after that."

"Faith, me lad, live but to kill the d—-d captain," suggested Terrence.

"I would live a thousand years to do that."

There was a negro named Job on the vessel, who was a cook. He early formed a liking for the three. He stole the choicest dainties from the officers' table for the sick youth.

"I ain't no Britisher," he declared. "Dar ain't no Angler Saxon blood in dese veins, honey, an' I thank de good Lawd for dat. I know what it am to be flogged. Golly, dey flog dis chile twice already. Nex' time, I spect dat sumfin' am a-gwine to happen."

"When and where were you impressed?" Fernando asked.

"I war wid Cap'n Parson on de Dover, den de Sea Wing came, an' de leftenant swear dis chile am a Britisher, and he tuk me away. Den me an' Massa St. Mark, de gunner, were transferred to de Macedonian."

Sukey was sullen and melancholy. A few days after he was on duty, he breathed a threat against Captain Snipes. A tall, fine-looking sailor, who was known as the chief gunner, said:

"Young man, keep your thoughts to yourself. For heaven's sake, don't let the officers hear them!"

They were now in the vicinity of the West Indies and touched at Barbadoes. While lying here, Fernando witnessed another act of British cruelty. Tom Boseley, an American who had been impressed into the service of Great Britain deserted, but was pursued and brought back. He was flogged and, on being released struck the captain, knocking him down. For this act, he was tried by a "drumhead court martial" and sentenced to die. Tom had a wife and children in New York, but was not permitted to write to them. Only one prayer was granted, and that was that he might be shot instead of hung, and thrown into the sea.

Fernando, almost at the risk of his own life, visited Boseley the night before his execution. He seemed indifferent to his fate, declaring it preferable to service on an English war ship. "I would rather die a free man, than live a slave," he declared. Fernando asked if he would not rather live for his family.

"Oh! Stevens, say nothing about my family to-night!"

He then requested him to take possession of some letters he would try to write and, if possible, send them. Fernando said he would do so, and he then asked him to remain with him through the night. This Fernando declared was impossible. The young American was greatly weighed down by the terrible mental strain the whole affair had produced, and he had double duty to screen the unfortunate Sukey.

"Won't you be with me when it is done?" Boseley asked. Money would not have tempted him to witness that sight; but he could not refuse the dying request. He visited him early next morning and found him dressed in the best clothes his poor wardrobe could afford, a white shirt and black cravat. He was a fine-looking man in features as well as stature. As Fernando gazed on him he thought, "Dressed for eternity!"

The doomed man gave him three letters, which Fernando secreted about his person and subsequently sent to their destination. Twelve marines were drawn as executioners. Four muskets were loaded with balls and eight with blank cartridges. Then the party went ashore. Boseley bore up well until the woods were reached, where he found an open grave. According to promise, Fernando went with him. Captain Snipes accompanied the sergeant of the marines to see that the prisoner was properly executed. He still stung under the blow he had received, and Boseley was slain more to gratify the vengeance of the captain than for any violated law. A number of Boseley's shipmates were permitted to come and witness the terrible scene.

The captain said to Boseley:

"What is your distance?"

"Twelve steps."

"Step off your ground," added the captain.

"I cannot do it; you do it for me."

"I will do it with you."

The prisoner's hands were tied behind his back, and the captain, taking his arm, walked him off twelve steps, as coolly as if they were only pacing the quarter-deck. The captain then took a blanket, spread it on the ground and told Boseley to kneel on it, and he did so, facing his executioners. The ship's chaplain came and offered a prayer, after which the sergeant asked Boseley if he wished to have his eyes bandaged.

"No; I am not afraid to face my executioners," he answered. It was an intensely solemn occasion, and among all those hardy, rough-mannered sailors, there was not one, unless it was Captain Snipes, who was not deeply affected. The captain's face was flushed, and his breath was strong with brandy, and he seemed but little moved.

"Go ahead, and have this done with," he said to the officer in charge of the affair.

"Are you quite ready now?" asked the sergeant.

"Yes," was the answer in a faltering tone.

"Make ready!" and the twelve glittering muskets were leveled at this sacrifice to the wrath of Captain Snipes.

"Take aim!" and the gunners steadied themselves for the fatal word, to send a fellow being to eternity.

"Fire!" and instantly flashed a volley, reverberating a wild and unearthly death knell among the crags that looked down upon that awful scene. In the clear morning air, the smoke of the guns curled up lazily and hung like a funeral pall over the mangled, bleeding form. Four bullets had pierced his body. He fell on his face and lay motionless for a few seconds. Then he began to slowly raise his head. Fernando came near and stood in front of him. Ten thousand years could not efface that scene from his mind. He continued to raise his head and body without a struggle. He looked the captain in the eye, and his mouth was in motion as though he were trying to speak,—to utter some dying accusation. Never did human eye behold a scene so pitiful as this dying man gazing on his destroyer, gasping to implore or to denounce him. In an instant a dimness came over his eyes, and he fell dead.

"Oh, Heaven!" groaned Fernando, and he hurried away to the ship. For weeks, he saw that awful face every time he closed his eyes to sleep.

Two years on board the British frigate had made Fernando, Sukey and Terrence tolerably fair sailors. Their hearts were never in the work, and they often dreamed of escape from this life of slavery. Fernando, by judicious attention to business, had never yet won the positive displeasure of the officers. One day the boatswain's mates repeated the commands at the hatchways:

"All hands tack ship, ahoy!"

It was just eight bells, noon, and, springing from his jacket, which he had spread between the guns for a bed on the main deck, Fernando ran up the ladders, and, as usual, seized hold of the main-brace which fifty hands were streaming along forward. When "maintopsail haul!" was given through the trumpet, he pulled at this brace with such heartiness and good will, that he flattered himself he would gain the approval of the grim captain himself; but something happened to be in the way aloft, when the yards swung round, and a little confusion ensued. With anger on his brow. Captain Snipes came forward to see what occasioned it. No one to let go the weather-lift of the main-yard. The rope was cast off, however, by a hand, and, the yards, unobstructed, came round. When the last rope was coiled away, the captain asked the first lieutenant who it might be that was stationed at the weather (then the starboard) main-lift. With a vexed expression of countenance, the first lieutenant sent a midshipman for the station bill, when, upon glancing it over, the name of Fernando Stevens was found set down at the post in question. At the time, Fernando was on the gundeck below, and did not know of these proceedings; but a moment after, he heard the boatswain's-mates bawling his name at all the hatchways and along all three decks. It was the first time he had ever heard it sent through the furthest recesses of the ship, and, well knowing what this generally betokened to other seamen, his heart jumped to his throat, and he hurriedly asked Brown, the boatswain's-mate at the fore-hatchway, what was wanted of him.

"Captain wants ye at the mast," he answered. "Going to flog ye, I fancy."

"What for?"

"My eyes! you've been chalking your face, hain't ye?"

"What am I wanted for?" he repeated.

But at that instant, his name was thundered forth by the other boatswain's-mates, and Brown hurried him away, hinting that he would soon find out what the captain wanted. Fernando swallowed down his heart as he touched the spardeck, for a single instant balanced himself on his best centre, and then, wholly ignorant of what was going to be alleged against him, advanced to the dread tribunal of the frigate. The sight of the quarter-master rigging his gratings, the boatswain with his detestable green bag of scourges, the master-at-arms standing ready to assist some one to take off his shirt was not calculated to allay his apprehensions. With another desperate effort to swallow his whole soul, he found himself face to face with Captain Snipes, whose flushed face showed his ill humor. At his side was the first lieutenant, who, as Fernando came aft, eyed him with some degree of conscientious vexation at being compelled to make him the scapegoat of his own negligence.

"Why were you not at your station, sir?" asked the captain.

"What station do you mean, sir?" Fernando asked, forgetting the accustomed formality of touching his hat, by way of salute, while speaking with so punctilious an officer as Captain Snipes. This little fact did not escape the captain's attention.

"Your pretension to ignorance will not help you sir," the Captain retorted.

The first lieutenant now produced the station bill, and read the name of Fernando Stevens in connection with the starboard main-lift.

"Captain Snipes," said Fernando in a voice firm and terrible in its sincerity, "it is the first time I knew I was assigned to that post."

"How is this, Mr. Bacon?" the captain asked turning to the first lieutenant with a fault-finding expression.

"It is impossible, sir, that this man should not know his station," replied, the lieutenant.

"Captain Snipes, I will swear, I never knew it before this moment," answered Fernando.

With an oath, the captain cried:

"Do you contradict my officer? I'll flog you, by—!"

Fernando had been on board the frigate for more than two years and remained unscourged. Though a slave in fact, he lived in hope of soon being a free man. Now, after making himself a hermit in some things, after enduring countless torments and insults without resentment, in order to avoid the possibility of the scourge, here it was hanging over him for a thing utterly unforeseen,—a crime of which he was wholly innocent; but all that was naught. He saw that his case was hopeless; his solemn disclaimer was thrown in his teeth, and the boatswain's-mate stood curling his fingers through the "cat." There are times when wild thoughts enter a man's heart, when he seems almost irresponsible for his act and his deed. The captain stood on the weather side of the deck. Sideways on an unoccupied line with him, was the opening of the lee-gangway, where the side-ladders were suspended in port. Nothing but a slight bit of sinnate-stuff served to rail in this opening, which was cut down to a level with the captain's feet, showing the far sea beyond. Fernando stood a little to windward of him, and, though Captain Snipes was a large, powerful man, it was quite certain that a sudden rush against him, along the slanting deck, would infallibly pitch him headforemost into the ocean, though he who rushed must needs go over with him. The young American's blood seemed clotting in his veins; he felt icy cold at the tips of his fingers, and a dimness was before his eyes; but through that dimness, the boatswain's-mate, scourge in hand, loomed like a giant, and Captain Snipes and the blue sea, seen through the opening at the gangway, showed with an awful vividness. He was never able to analyze his heart, though it then stood still within him; but the thing that swayed him to his purpose was not altogether the thought that Captain Snipes was about to degrade him, and that he had taken an oath within his soul that he should not. No; he felt his manhood so bottomless within him, that no word, no blow, no scourge of Captain Snipe's could cut deep enough for that. He but clung to an instinct in him,—the instinct diffused through all animated nature, the same that prompts the worm to turn under the heel. Locking souls with him, he meant to drag Captain Snipes from this earthly tribunal of his, to that of Jehovah, and let Him decide between them. No other way could he escape the scourge.

"To the gratings, sir!" cried Captain Snipes. "Do you hear?"

Fernando's eye measured the distance between him and the sea, and he was gathering himself together for the fatal spring—

"Captain Snipes," said a voice advancing from the crowd. Every eye turned to see who spoke. It was the remarkably handsome and gentlemanly gunner, Hugh St. Mark, who was scarcely ever known to break the silence, and all were amazed that he should do so now. "I know that man," said St. Mark, touching his cap, and speaking in a mild, firm, but extremely deferential manner, "and I know that he would not be found absent from his station, if he knew where it was."

This speech was almost unprecedented. Never before had a marine dared to speak to the captain of a frigate in behalf of a seaman at the mast; but there was something unostentatiously forcible and commanding in St. Mark's manner. He had once saved the captain's life, when a French boarder was about to slay him. Then the corporal, emboldened by St. Mark's audacity, put in a good word. Terrence, who had been promoted to a small office, poured forth a torrent of eloquence, and, almost before he knew it, Fernando was free. As he was going to his quarters, his brain in a whirl, he heard Job the cook say:

"He ain't no Britisher! Dar ain't no more Angler Saxon blood in his veins dan in dis chile!"

An hour later, when he stood near a gun carriage, still dizzy from his narrow escape from the double crime of murder and suicide, St. Mark passed Fernando. He grasped the hand of the silent gunner, held it a moment in his own and whispered: "Thank you!"



CHAPTER XI.

SHIPWRECK—ESCAPE AND RETURN TO OHIO.

Ship's rules, stringent as they were on the war frigate, and officers severe as were those of the Macedonian could not wholly curb the rollicking spirit of Terrence. His exuberance of spirits constantly got the better of any good intentions he might have formed. Any wholesome dread he may have entertained of that famous feline of nine tails, known to sailors of that day, was overcome by his love of pranks.