He looked very hard at Rodd as he spoke, and the boy felt his face burn, while the next moment there was a sensation as if the cool wind were fanning his hot cheeks.

"Come out to speak to me, didn't you, sir?" said the sergeant.

Rodd was silent for a few moments, for his throat felt dry, while he passed his tongue over his lips to moisten them.

"No," he said, at last, with an effort. "I came up here to see if you had gone, and watch you back to the prison."

The sergeant laughed softly, and thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe, before sending out a fresh cloud of smoke.

"Ah," he said, "I am not surprised. Well, here we are. Do you want to say anything to me?"

Rodd opened and shut his lips again, but no words came till he made an effort, and then said, with his utterance sounding very dry—

"You want to speak to me?"

"Right, sir. Yes, I do. You remember when I came upon you up yonder by that pool?"

Rodd nodded and frowned.

"Well, I suppose you noticed that there was a hole at the bottom of those rocks across there, where the little stream came out?"

"Yes," said Rodd, with his brow puckering up.

"Well, yesterday evening, as I said to your uncle, I went over the ground again to see if I could find any track of those escaped prisoners."

Rodd nodded shortly.

"Well, I took off my gaiters and shoes and stockings and waded across the pool, and nearly doubled myself up to get into that hole; and after I had gone a little way I found that there was quite a dry cave there with streaks of light coming down from above between the piled-up stones."

Rodd nodded again.

"Just in the highest part where the water did not reach, some one had lit a fire with bits of ling and dry peat. It was still warm—at least, the ashes were, and somebody had been busy cooking trout there, grilling them, thriddled on a stick of hazel; and very curious it was too, for somehow or other, the water, instead of running down, had been running up backwards like, and carried with it that there fishing-basket of yours, and the wallet, and laid them upon that nice dry sandy place close up to the fire along by which there were ever so many heads of those little fish, and their backbones. Rum, wasn't it? Do you think an otter could have done that?"

"No," said Rodd, after a few moments' pause; and he spoke sharply and angrily. "No, I don't think that."

"More don't I," said the sergeant dryly, and he half closed his eyes and sent a faint little curl of smoke into the air. "Now, young gentleman, what do you think would happen if I was to go yonder to the governor at the prison, and say that I believed you had helped the King's enemies to escape? You didn't, of course, eh?"

Rodd moistened his lips again, and his frank young face looked very much puckered and wrinkled as he pulled himself together and looked almost defiantly at his questioner, who exclaimed—

"Well, you heard what I said."

The boy nodded.

"Well, speak out. You didn't, of course?"

Rodd drew a deep breath, moistened his lips again, and then out the words came. "Yes," he said, "I did!"

"Hah!" said the sergeant, as he fixed the boy with his keen grey eyes and spoke to him as if he were one of his recruits. "Well, I like that. Spoken like a man. My old mother used to say, 'Speak the truth, Tom, and then you needn't be afraid of any man.' Look here, youngster, I am only a soldier, and you are a young gentleman, or else you wouldn't be visiting and making holiday here; but do you mind shaking hands?"

"Yes," said Rodd hotly, "I know: I suppose I have done wrong, and you have got your duty to do; so go and do it."

"Here," cried the sergeant, "grip, boy, grip! I like you for all this more and more. I had my duty to do, and I did it as far as I could; but I was too late. The prisoners had escaped, and we have heard this morning, the news being brought by a miserable-looking sneak of a fellow who had come to the governor to ask for the reward for not taking them, that they got down to Salcombe very late last night and boarded one of the orange boats in the little harbour, where I expect they had friends waiting for them, for the schooner sailed at once, and I dare say they are within sight of a French port before now. Yes, I had my duty to do, me and my lads, but the prisoners escaped, same as I would if I had been in a French prison, shut up for doing nothing, and because our two countries were at war. There, I am not going to blame you now it's all over, as you own to it like a man. They both came to you, I suppose, for a bit of help, and you gave it to them. But when I was on duty I should have nailed you if I had caught you in the act. There, that'll do. Thought I should like to tell you about it, and hold you like at the point of the bayonet, and see what you'd say. I know it's precious hard to tell the truth sometimes, and it must have been very hard here. But you did it like a man. But I say: you never thought that basket and wallet would tell tales when you left those poor beggars a mouthful to eat; and I hope if there's any more war to come and I'm took, and make a good try to slip away—I hope, I say, that I shall come upon some brave young French lad who will do as good a turn to me as you did to those poor fellows, who were making a run for freedom, and to get out of the reach of our bayonets and guns."

Rodd thrust his hand into his pocket, and flushed up now more than ever, for the sergeant caught him by the wrist.

"No, no, my lad," he cried; "none of that! I didn't come here to get money out of you. I was a boy once myself. Only a common one, but pretty straightforward and honest, or else I don't suppose I should have won these three gold chevrons which I have got here upon my arm. Well, I wouldn't have taken pay then for doing a dirty action, fond as I was of coppers with the King's head on; and I wouldn't do it now. So don't you make me set up my hackles by trying to offer me anything for this. Besides, I've got a whole half-crown your uncle gave me, and I am not even going to ask you whether he had a finger in this pie."

"No, he hadn't—he hadn't indeed," cried Rodd warmly. "On my honour, sergeant, I did it all."

"All right, my lad, I'll take your word; but just you take my advice. The law's law, and they're pretty sharp about here, so if you hear the gun fire and the soldiers are out after any poor fellows who have escaped, don't you get meddling with 'em again. Time I was off back." And without another word the sergeant sprang up and strode away, leaving Rodd watching him for a time and admiring the man's upright carriage and bold elastic step, till happening to cast his eyes in another direction, he found himself looking down upon Mrs Champernowne's cottage, and, with letter in hand and straw hat on head, Uncle Paul, looking in all directions as if in search of his missing boy.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE SALCOMBE BOATS.

"I am very, very sorry, sir," said Mrs Champernowne. "Of course I am only a poor widow, and I let my apartments to gentlemen who come down fishing or to take walks for their health over the moor. But your stay down here has been something more than that. It has been a real pleasure to me ever since you and the young gentleman have been here. And not only am I very sorry that you are going away, but it has quite upset me to hear that you are going sailing away over the stormy seas, searching for all kinds of strange things in foreign abroad."

"Oh, come, come, Mrs Champernowne," cried Uncle Paul, as he saw the poor woman lift up her apron and put one corner to her eye. "There oughtn't to be anything in a naturalist's expedition to upset you."

"Ah, you don't know, sir," said Mrs Champernowne, speaking to Uncle Paul, but shaking her head sadly at Rodd all the while. "I have had those who were near and dear to me go sailing away quite happy and joyful like, just the same as you and Mr Rodney might, and never come back again, for the sea is a very dangerous place."

"Oh, perhaps so, and of course there are exceptions," said Uncle Paul; "but as a rule people do come back safe."

"I don't know, sir," said the old lady, shaking her head sadly. "The sea is very unruly sometimes. Hadn't you better take my advice, sir, and stop here? The moor's very big, and surely if you and the young gentleman look well you'll be able to find plenty of things to fill your bottles, without going abroad."

"Can't be done, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul smiling. "Dartmoor isn't the West Coast of Africa, nor yet the Cape of Good Hope, so, much as we have enjoyed being here, we shall have to say good-bye, and live in hopes of coming to see you again some day, for I haven't half worked out the moor, nor yet a hundredth part."

"I am very, very, very sorry," said the old lady again, "but no doubt, sir, you know best. When do you think of going, sir?"

"To-morrow morning, Mrs Champernowne. We can't let the grass grow under our feet, can we, Rodd?"

"No, uncle," was the reply; and the next morning the portmanteau was packed, the fishing-rod and naturalist's nets tied up in a neat bundle, a light spring cart was drawn up at the door, and uncle and nephew were soon on their way to the cross roads to take their chance of finding room upon the Plymouth coach, which came within a few miles of the widow's cottage.

They were fortunate, as it happened, and that evening they were safely back at Uncle Paul's home, a pleasant little country house on the high grounds overlooking the glorious harbour dotted with vessels, which included several of the King's men-of-war, and within easy reach of the docks.

"Ah," cried Uncle Paul that evening, as he strolled out into his garden, in company with Rodd, who was carrying a telescope that looked like a small cannon; "that was a fine air up on the moor, my boy, but nothing like this. Take a good long deep breath. Can't you smell the salt and the seaweed? Doesn't it set you longing to be off?"

"Well—yes, uncle," replied the boy, smiling and screwing up his face till it was all wrinkled about the eyes; "but I begin to be a bit afraid."

"Afraid, sir? What of?"

"That I shan't turn out such a good sailor as I should like to be."

"Why, what do you mean? Now, look here, Rodd; don't you tell me that you want to back out of going upon this trip."

"Oh no, uncle," cried the boy eagerly. "I want to go, of course!"

"But what are you afraid of?"

"Well, you see, uncle, coasting about with you in a fisherman's lugger for a few days, and always keeping within sight of land, is one thing; going right away across the ocean is quite another."

"Well, sir, who said it wasn't?" cried Uncle Paul. "What then?"

"Suppose I turn ill, uncle?"

"Well, sir, suppose you do. Am I not doctor enough to put you right again?"

"Oh, I don't mean really ill, uncle. I mean sea-sick; and it would seem so stupid."

"Horribly; yes. You'd better be! Pooh! Rubbish! Nonsense! You talk like a great Molly. Now, no nonsense, Rodney. Speak out frankly and candidly. You mean that now it has come to the point you think it too serious, and you want to shirk?"

"I don't, uncle; I don't, indeed, and I do wish you wouldn't call me Rodney!" cried the boy earnestly.

"I shall, sir, as long as I live, if you play me false now."

"Oh, uncle, what a shame!" cried the boy passionately. "Play you false! Who wants to play you false? I only wanted to tell you frankly that I felt a bit afraid of not being quite equal to the sea. I want to go, and I mean to go, and you oughtn't to jump upon me like this, and call me Rodney."

The boy stood before the doctor, flushed and excited, as he continued—

"You talk to me, uncle, as if you thought that I was a regular coward and afraid of the sea."

"Then you shouldn't make me, sir. Who was it said afraid? Why, you have been out with me for days together, knocking about, in pretty good rough weather too."

"Yes, uncle, but that was all within sight of land."

"What's that got to do with it? It's often much rougher close in shore, especially on a rocky coast, than it is out on the main."

"I wish I hadn't spoken," cried Rodd passionately.

"So do I, sir."

"I couldn't help thinking I might turn very sick for days, and get laughed at by the crew and called a swab."

"Oh," said Uncle Paul, laughing, "you talked as if you were afraid of the sea, and all the time, you conceited young puppy, you mean that you are afraid of the men."

"Well, yes, uncle, I suppose that that really is it."

"Humph! Then why didn't you say so, and not talk as if you, the first of my crew that I reckoned upon, were going to mutiny and give it all up?"

"Give it up, uncle?" cried the boy. "Why, you know that I am longing to go."

"Ah, well, that sounds more like it, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, looking sideways at the boy through his half-closed eyes. "Then I suppose it is all a false alarm."

"Of course it is, uncle," cried Rodd.

"Well, we may as well make sure, you know, because once we are started it won't be long before we are out of sight of land, and there'll be no turning back."

"Well, I don't want to turn back, uncle."

"Then you shouldn't have talked as if you thought you might. Are you afraid now?"

"Not a bit, uncle. I am ready to start to-morrow morning."

"Ah, well, you won't, my boy, for there's everything to do first."

"Everything to do?"

"Of course. It's not like taking a few bottles and pill-boxes and a net or two to go up on the moor. Why, there's our ship to find first, and then to get her fitted with our nets and sounding-lines and dredges and all sorts of odds and ends, with reserves and provisions for all that we lose. Then there's to collect a crew."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of fellows down by the Barbican or hanging about down there who will jump at going."

"Don't you be so precious sanguine, my fine fellow. This will be all so fresh that the men won't be so ready as you expect. The first thing a seaman will ask will be, 'Where are we bound? What port?'"

"Well, uncle; tell them."

"Tell them what I don't know myself unless I say Port Nowhere on the High Seas! It will be all a matter of chance, Pickle, where we go and what we do, and I may as well say it now, if any one gets asking you what we are going to do, your answer is included in just these few words—We are going to explore."

Rodd nodded in a short business-like way.

"All right, uncle; I'll remember," he cried promptly. "Then you are going to hire a ship and engage a crew?"

"Well," said Uncle Paul thoughtfully, "we are landsmen—I mean landsman and a boy—but we may as well begin to be nautical at once and call things by the sea-going terms. No, my boy, I am not going to engage a ship—too big."

"Why, you won't go all that way in a lugger, uncle?"

"Bah! Rubbish!" cried Uncle Paul shortly. "Here, give me hold of that glass."

He took the telescope, drew out the slide to a mark upon the tube which indicated the focus which suited his eye, and then as he began slowly sweeping the portions of the harbour which were within reach he went on talking.

"Isn't there anything between a lugger and a ship, sir? You know well enough if you talk to a sailor about a ship he'd suppose you meant a full-rigged three-masted vessel."

"Yes, of course, uncle. And a barque is a three-master with a mizzen fore-and-aft rigged."

"That's better, my lad. But what do you mean by fore-and-aft rigged?"

"Well, like a schooner, uncle."

"Good boy! Go up one, as you used to say at school. Well, what do you think of a large schooner for a good handy vessel that can be well managed by a moderate crew?"

"Oh, I should think it would be splendid, uncle; and she'd sail very fast."

"That depends on her build and the way she is sailed, my boy. But that's what I am thinking of having, Pickle."

"But with a good crew, uncle."

"Yes; I want the best schooner and the best crew that are to be had, my boy."

"But it will cost a lot of money, uncle."

"Yes, Pickle; but I am proud to say that the Government has not been mean in that respect, and if what they have granted me is not enough, I shall put as many hundreds as are required out of my own pocket to make up the deficiency, so that in all probability I shan't have a penny to leave you, Pickle, when I die."

"When you die!" cried the boy scornfully. "Who wants you to die? And who wants you to leave me any money? I say, Uncle Paul, who's talking nonsense now?"

"How dare you, sir!"

"Then you shouldn't say such things, uncle. Talking about dying! There will be plenty of time to talk about that in a hundred years."

"Well, that's a very generous allowance, Pickle, and if we get such a schooner as I want, with a clever crew, and you work hard with me, why, we ought to make a good many discoveries by that time. A hundred years hence," continued Uncle Paul thoughtfully, as he apparently brought his telescope to bear upon a sloop of war whose white sails began to be tinged with orange as the sun sank low; but all the time he was peering out through the corners of his eyes to note the effect of his words upon his nephew. "But let me see—a hundred years' time. Why, how much older will you be then, Pickle?"

"Why, just the same as you would, uncle; a hundred years older than I am now. Pooh! You are making fun of me. But I say, uncle, be serious. How are you going to manage to get your schooner?"

"Set to work, and lose no time, my boy. But I am rather puzzled at the present moment, and I am afraid—"

Uncle Paul lowered the glass as he spoke, and turned his eyes thoughtfully upon his nephew, who had uttered a low peculiar sound.

"Of being sea-sick, uncle?" Uncle Paul smiled.

"I suppose that's what you call retaliation, young gentleman. Well, no, sir, I'm not afraid of that—at least, not much. I remember the first time I crossed the Channel that I was very ill, and every time I have been at sea since I have always felt that it would be unwise to boast; but I think both you and I can make our voyage without being troubled in that way. But we won't boast, Pickle, for, as they say, we will not holloa till we are out of the wood. Let me see; isn't there an old proverb something about a man not boasting till he taketh off his armour?"

"I think so, uncle, but I cannot recollect the words."

"Well, I don't want any armour, my boy, but I do want a well-found schooner—a new one if I can get it; if not, one that will stand a thorough examination; and I don't know that such a boat's to be got just now it's wanted. There are plenty of ramshackle old things lying about here, but I want everything spick-and-span ready for the extra fitting out I shall give her. Copper-fastened, quick-sailing, roomy, and with good cabin accommodation so that we can have a big workshop for the men who help us, and a sort of study and museum for ourselves. Now, Pickle, where shall we have to go to find such a craft? Portsmouth—London? What about Southampton?"

"Southampton. Yes. Some fine yacht, uncle."

"No, boy. She'd be all mast and sails. Do well for a coaster, but I want an ocean-going craft, one that will bear some knocking about. A cargo boat whose hold one could partition off for stores. Now then?"

There was silence for about a minute, and then Uncle Paul spoke again.

"There, out with it, boy, at once. Don't waste time. Say you don't know."

"But I think I do know, uncle," cried the boy.

"Eh? What? Where? Tchah! Not you!"

"But what about one of those boats the French prisoners escaped in?" cried Rodd eagerly.

"Eh? What? One of those trim orange boats that go on the Mediterranean Trade, that they build at Salcombe?"

"Yes, uncle. Don't you remember that one we were looking at a few months ago, that came in here after the storm, to get a new jibboom?"

"Why, of course I do, Pickle!" cried Uncle Paul eagerly. "Think of that, now! Why, I might have been fumbling about with a hammer for months and not found what I wanted, and here are you, you impudent young rascal, proving that you are not quite so stupid as I thought, for you hit the right nail on the head at once."



CHAPTER NINE.

CAPTAIN CHUBB.

The next day was spent in Plymouth, and letting the idea of a visit to Salcombe rest in abeyance for a time, Uncle Paul called on different shipping agents, made inquiries in the docks, looked over two or three small vessels that he was assured would be exactly the thing he wanted, and which could be handed over to him at once if decided on; and at last, utterly wearied out, he returned home with Rodd very much impressed by the feeling that it was much easier to say what he required, than to get his wants supplied.

He was a little better after they had had a good hearty tea meal, but there was a great deal of truth in Rodd's mental remark that Uncle Paul was as cross as two sticks. Rodd quite started, feeling as he did that he must have spoken aloud, and Uncle Paul have heard his words, for the doctor turned upon him sharply, stared him full in the face, and exclaimed—

"Now, look here, sir; didn't I explain to each of those agents exactly the sort of vessel I wanted before they gave me their orders to go and view the craft where they lay in dock or on the mud?"

"Yes, uncle, you told them exactly," replied Rodd.

"Do I look like an idiot, Rodd?"

"No, uncle. What a question!"

"Then how dare the scoundrels deal with me as if I didn't know what I was about! I said a schooner as plain as I could speak."

"You did, uncle."

"And one sent me to see that ramshackle old brig that looked as if it might have been a tender out of the Armada, and the two others sent me to see a barque that would want twice as big a crew as I should take, and the other to look over that abominable old billy-boy that you couldn't tell bow from stern, which so sure as she bumps upon a sandbank would melt away like butter. Thinking of nothing else but making a bit of commission, ready to sell one anything; but I am not going to be tricked like that.—Yes, what do you want? What is it?"

For the neat handmaid who attended on the doctor's wants had tapped at the door, and receiving no answer from her master, whose voice she could hear declaiming loudly, opened the door and walked in, with—

"Somebody wants to see you, sir, if you please."

"Then tell somebody I don't please," said the doctor shortly.

"Yes, sir," said the maid, going.

"No, stop! I don't want to be rude, even if people have put me out. What does Mrs Somebody want?"

"Please, sir, it isn't a Mrs, it's a Mister," said the girl.

"Go and see him, Rodd," said the doctor shortly. "I expect it's somebody wants subscriptions, and I haven't got any."

"Please, sir," interposed the maid, "the—er—gent—person—said he'd heard say that you wanted a captain."

Uncle Paul grunted, frowned, and then in a surly tone exclaimed—

"Well, there, show him in."

The next minute the maid re-opened the door, showing in a heavy, sun-tanned, middle-aged man, who thrust the cap he carried into the yawning pocket of a dark blue pea-jacket, stared hard at the doctor, glanced at Rodd, and then turning sharply on his heels he stood with his back to the latter, stiff, squared, and sturdy, looking as the boy thought like a hop-sack set on end, and stared at the maid where she stopped, literally fixing her with his eyes for a few moments, before, quite startled at the fierceness of his gaze, she darted out, closing the door loudly.

"Business. Private!" literally growled the visitor.

"Well, what is it?" said the doctor shortly.

"'Eard you wanted a skipper, and come up."

"Well," said Uncle Paul, looking very hard at his unprepossessing visitor, while Rodd felt as if he wanted to laugh, but held the desire in check, "I may want one by and by, and a crew too; but I must have a ship first."

"What sort?"

"Well, you are pretty blunt," said the doctor.

"Yes," said the visitor, with a nod; and he waited, but turned his eyes from the doctor and looked very hard at the nearest chair.

"Ah, yes," said the doctor. "Sit down, Captain—Captain—"

The doctor waited for an answer, but the only answer made was by a movement, his visitor taking two steps towards the chair, and plumping down so heavily that the brass casters creaked.

The doctor glanced at his nephew, and then at the stranger, who seemed to be frowning at him with all his might.

"Er—what did you say your name was, captain?"

"Didn't say," said the visitor huskily. "Wanter know?"

"Well—yes," said the doctor. "I don't see how we are to transact business without."

"Chubb, Jonathan."

"Well, Captain Chubb?"

"Plymouth."

"Oh, I see; Captain Chubb, of Plymouth," continued the doctor.

"Right. Go on."

"Well, I gave you to understand that I wanted a ship before I engaged a captain."

"Skipper; not R.N."

"I see; but I wished to be polite," said the doctor.

"Skipper," grunted the man.

"Where have you sailed?" asked the doctor.

"Everywhere."

"Ah! Then you have had plenty of experience."

The visitor nodded, and the doctor was going to speak again, but the visitor interposed with a sidewise nod in the direction of Rodd, and said—

"Your boy?"

"Well, yes, in a way," replied the doctor.

The captain grunted.

"Boys always are," he said, and Rodd turned upon him angrily.

"I said in a way, not in the way," muttered the doctor.

"'Most the same," growled the captain. "A boy, the boy, means boy. What sort of a ship? First, where do you want to go?"

"I don't quite know myself," replied the doctor, "so we will say as you did, everywhere."

"Right," said the captain. "What for?"

"Why do you ask?" replied the doctor, rather tartly.

"Had four offers. Wouldn't take them."

"Why?" asked the doctor.

"Smuggling contraband."

"Oh, I see," said the doctor quickly. "Well, it's nothing of that sort."

"When do you sail?"

"As soon as I can get a ship."

"Plenty lying about waiting for cargo. Take your choice."

"That seems to be easier said than done, captain, for I am hard to please."

"So'm I," said the visitor, staring hard at Rodd, beginning with the crown of his head and then looking him slowly down where he sat till he reached the carpet by Rodd's right foot, and then making his eyes cross over, he began at the toe of the boy's left foot and slowly looked him up to where he had started at the top of the boy's forehead, where a tickling sensation had commenced, consequent upon the starting out of a faint dew of perspiration.

"I'm glad to hear it," said the doctor, "for I want a well-found craft, new or nearly so, built of the best materials."

"Good; ought to be. What sort?"

"Well, I should like a large schooner, fast and with plenty of room below."

"Cargo?" grunted the captain.

"No. Provisions, etcetera," said the doctor, who was beginning to feel annoyed.

"Ho!" came in a grunt, and then after a keen look at Rodd's uncle, he uttered the one word, "Weepens?"

"Weepens?" said the doctor.

"Yes. Long Tom and small-arms."

"Oh, arms. Yes, I should certainly have one of those big swivel guns amidships, and a couple of smaller ones, as well as muskets, cutlasses and boarding pikes."

So far the captain's features seemed as if they had been carved out of solid mahogany, but now they began to relax; his lips parted, and he showed a small even set of beautifully white teeth, while his eyes looked brighter to Rodd and seemed to twinkle; but he remained silent.

"Well," said the doctor, "what are you laughing at?"

He checked the word which had nearly escaped his lips, because he thought it would be rude, and he did not say grinning.

"Cat," said the man solemnly, and to Rodd's great discomposure he turned to him and winked.

"Cat?" said the doctor sharply.

"Ay, ay! Out of the bag."

"I don't understand you," said the doctor warmly.

"Won't do for me, master. Not in my way."

"Well," said the doctor, "I am afraid I must say you are not in my way."

"Poor beggars!"

"Well, really, my good man," began the doctor, "I am a bit of a student, and take a good deal of interest in natural history. Cats may be poor beggars, but that is no business of mine."

"Yes, if you are going to sail. Think of your crew."

"I am thinking of my crew, and I want to engage one," said the doctor.

"Men hate black cats. Unlucky."

"I have heard of that superstition before, Captain Chubb," said the doctor, "but that seems to be quite outside our business now. As a captain—or skipper—I should have thought you would have been above such childish notions."

"Am," said the man. "T'other won't do for me. I've seen it all. Won't get a skipper from this port."

"Why?" said the doctor indignantly. "I am ready to give an experienced captain good payment."

"Want commission."

"Oh, nonsense! I couldn't pay on commission."

"Nowt to me. That's what a skipper would want. Ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Well, of all—" began the doctor; but the skipper did not let him finish.

"Too bad," he said, growling; "and to take a boy like that!"

"My good fellow," said the doctor, "if I choose to take my nephew with me upon a natural history expedition—"

"Natural history expedition! Catching blackbirds! Oh, I say!"

He shook his head slowly at the doctor, whose face grew so red with wrath as he turned towards Rodd, and looked so comical, that the boy could not contain himself, but bent his face down into his hands and burst into a roar of laughter.

"You are a nice 'un," grunted the captain, shaking his head now at Rodd. "You'll grow into a beauty!"

It was the boy's turn to look angry now, and he glanced from the captain to his uncle and back.

"Look here, youngster," cried the captain; "Guinea Coast, eh?"

"Possibly," said the doctor.

"Bight of Benin?"

"Maybe," said the doctor, the short speech seeming contagious.

"Ketch the fever?"

"Probably," said the doctor.

"Both on yer."

"Well, sir, I shall risk that," continued the doctor.

"Both on yer off your heads, seeing niggers. Rattling their chains."

"Are you mad, man?" cried the doctor. "Yes."

"I thought so."

"Makes me. Call yourself a Christian! Give it up, and do something honest."

"Well, of all—" cried the doctor again.

"Good five guineas better than five hundred got by buying and selling your fellow-creatures," continued the captain, who was growing quite fluent. "Go to Bristol with you! Won't do for me."

"Mr—I mean, Captain Chubb," began the doctor, "allow me to tell you that you have done nothing but insult me ever since you have been here."

"Honesty," grunted the captain.

"Honesty is no excuse for rudeness, sir. Now have the goodness to go."

"Going," said the captain, rising. "But you are a bad man. To take that boy with you too! Shame!"

"Will you have the goodness to tell me what you mean, sir?"

"No good to bully, sir. I know. Off on the slave trade."

"What!" cried the doctor.

"But look out. King's cruiser will nab you. Sarve you right."

He moved stiffly, and took two steps towards the door, but stopped and turned sharply upon Rodd, clapped his big hairy hand on the boy's shoulder, and gripped it fast. "He's a bad 'un, boy. Don't go." Rodd glanced at his uncle, who was staring with bewilderment, while he, who during the last few minutes had seen clearly what their visitor meant, burst into another roar of laughter and gripped the skipper by the jacket, as he turned to the doctor.

"No, no," he stuttered. "No, no; don't go, captain! Uncle Paul, can't you see? He thinks you are going to the West Coast to buy slaves!"

"Well!" cried Uncle Paul, his voice sounding like ten ejaculations squeezed into one—"Well!"



CHAPTER TEN.

AT CROSS PURPOSES.

Captain Chubb stood looking back at Uncle Paul, then at Rodd, then back at Uncle Paul.

After that he gave a slow, puzzled scratch at his shaggy head as if hard at work trying to make out a mystery, before turning once more to Rodd.

"I say, youngster," he cried, "you don't mean that, do you?—Warn't I right?"

"Right? No!" cried Rodd, laughing more heartily than ever. "The idea of Uncle Paul going out with a slaver!"

"Did you mean that, Captain Chubb?" said Uncle Paul, beginning indignantly, and then softening down as he caught sight of his nephew's mirthful face.

"Allus says what I mean," grunted the captain. "Then I was all wrong?"

"Wrong, yes," said Uncle Paul. "We were all at cross purposes."

"Ho!" ejaculated the captain, and he took off his cap that he had put on with a fierce cock, turned it over two or three times in his hands, and then looking into it read over the maker's name to himself, as if fully expecting that that would help him out of his difficulty.

"Say, squire," he said; "I didn't mean to be so rude."

"No, no, of course not," cried Uncle Paul. "There, there; sit down again. It was all a mistake. Perhaps we shall understand one another better now."

"Well, I don't know," grunted the skipper. "Better go perhaps."

"No, no, man; I'm not offended. You thought I was a blackguardly ruffian who wanted to trap you into commanding a slaving craft for me, so that I could engage in that horrible trade of baying and selling my fellow-creatures; and you spoke out like a man. Here, shake hands, Captain Chubb. I honour you for your outspoken manly honesty."

"Mean it?" grunted the skipper, hesitating.

"Mean it, yes," said Uncle Paul, "and I hope this will be the beginning of our becoming great friends."

"Humph!" grunted the captain, and extending his heavy hand he gave Uncle Paul a shake with no nonsense about it, for though Rodd's uncle did not wince, he told the boy afterwards that it was the most solid shake he had ever had in his life.

Rodd fully endorsed it, as he knew directly after exactly what the skipper's salute meant, for Captain Chubb, after releasing the uncle's hand, extended what Rodd afterwards said was a paw, to the lad himself.

"Well, now then, Captain Chubb."

"Very sorry, sir, I'm sure. Thought I saw broken water and a shoal. Hadn't I better go?"

"No, no, captain," cried Uncle Paul. "I am beginning to think you are just the man I want."

"Ho!" said the skipper. "Mebbe. Let's see."

"Well," continued Uncle Paul, "I want a vessel, a schooner. Do you know of a likely one that could be purchased and made ready at once for a trip down the West Coast?"

Captain Chubb looked hard at the speaker, then at Rodd, with the effect of making the boy feel as if he must laugh, for there was something so thoroughly comical in the stolid face, that nothing but the dread of hurting the visitor's feelings kept him from bursting into a roar, especially as, after fixing him with his eyes, the skipper seemed to be taking careful observations, looking up at the ceiling as if in search of clouds, at the carpet for sunken rocks, and then, so to speak, sweeping the offing by slowly gazing at the four walls in turn.

"Schooner," he said at last gruffly.

"Yes," said Uncle Paul; "a smart, fast-sailing schooner."

"Well-found," grunted the skipper.

"Of course, and with a good crew."

"And a good crew," growled the skipper.

"Yes. Can you show me where I can get such an one?"

"No. Look-out."

He picked up and put on his cap again, took it off, and looked in the lining, and then gave his right leg a smart slap.

"Dunno as I don't," he roared. "What do you say to a horange boat?"

"Orange boat?" cried Rodd. "Why, uncle's been thinking of one of those!"

"Well, why not?" said the captain; "a Saltcomber?"

"Yes," cried Rodd.

"Well-built, fast, plenty of room below for cargo or what not, plenty of provisions and water, but no guns."

"That's just the sort of vessel I want," cried Uncle Paul. "Do you think one's to be had over there?"

"Sure on it. See one last week as they was just getting up her standing rigging."

"What, a new one?" cried Rodd.

"Ay. Fresh launched, and being made ready for sea."

"Capital!" cried Uncle Pad. "Who does she belong to?"

"Ship-builder as yet."

"And what would be her price?"

"Dunno. All depends," grunted the captain. "Most likely as much as the builder could get; but if a man went with the money in his pocket, or say in the bank, ready to pay down on the nail, he could get a smart craft that would do him justice at a fair working price. What do you say to coming over and having a look at her?"

"Yes. How are we to get there? By coach?"

"Tchah!" ejaculated the skipper. "Who's going in a coach when he can be run over in one of our luggers? You say the word, and I have got a friend with a little fore-and-after as only wants him and a hand and mebbe me to give a pull at a sheet. He'd run you over in no time."

"By all means, then, let's go," said Uncle Paul, to Rodd's great satisfaction.

"Well, yes," growled the skipper. "But who's a-going with you?"

"My nephew," said Uncle Paul.

"Ah, yes; and I suppose he's a good judge of such a craft, and could vally her from keel to truck. Don't seem a bad sort of boy, but he won't do. Nay, squire, you want somebody as you can trust. A'n't you got an old friend, ship-owner or ship's husband—man who's got his head screwed on the right way, one you knows as honest and won't take a hundred pounds from t'other side to sell the ship for them?"

"Well, no; I'm afraid I don't know such a man," said Uncle Paul.

"Have to find one," grunted the skipper. "Won't do to buy a ship with your eyes shut. Got yourself to think of as well as your money. You don't want to engage a skipper and a crew of good men and true, and drownd them all at sea."

"Well, no," said Uncle Paul dryly; "our ambitions don't lie in that direction, do they, Rodd?"

"No, uncle, but no man would be such a wretch as to sell you a ship that wasn't safe."

"Not unless he got the chanst," said the skipper, frowning. "I know some on them, and what they have done, and I don't want to command a craft like that. Been at sea too long."

"Well, then," said Uncle Paul, "you must have had great experience, and could judge whether a schooner's good or not."

"Dessay I could," said the skipper, "but I aren't perfect."

"But you ought to be a good judge," said Uncle Paul.

"Mebbe, but I wouldn't go by my own opinion if it was my trade instead of yourn."

"But look here," cried Uncle Paul, "I should like you to see the vessel and act for me."

"Tchah! Not likely, squire. What do you know about me?"

"Well, not much, certainly," said Uncle Paul, "and I should want a character with you as to your being a good seaman."

"Of course; and if you didn't like me, and I warn't up to my work, why, you could get rid of me. But that's a very different thing to buying a ship."

"Yes," said Uncle Paul, "but what about the ship-builder? Is he an honest man?"

"Oh yes, I think so."

"Couldn't he give good references?"

"Well, yes. Old established; built a lot of craft. Dessay he'd find a few to say a word for him."

"And I suppose I could have the opinion of some well-known ship valuer?"

"Yes," grunted the skipper, "but he's only in trade. You want to know what some old sailor says."

"Such as you," cried Rodd.

The skipper looked at the boy and smiled.

"Well, mebbe," he said, "but I don't want the job."

"Well, we'll talk about that another time," said Uncle Paul. "What I want is for you to help me by going over with us to have a look at the schooner."

"Ah!" said the skipper.

"And you may as well give me a reference or two to somebody who knows your abilities—somebody well-known in Plymouth, a ship-owner, somebody for whom you have sailed. Will you do this?"

"Ay," said the skipper.

"Well, whose name will you give me? To whom shall I apply?"

"Anybody. Everybody in Plymouth."

"That's rather wide," said Uncle Paul.

"Wider the better," said the skipper. "You ask the lot what they thinks of Captain Chubb."

As he spoke the skipper rose and put on his cap, but took it off again quickly.

"Time to-morrow will you be ready to start?" he said.

"At your time," said Uncle Paul promptly.

"Say nine?" asked the captain.

"Certainly; nine o'clock to-morrow morning," replied Uncle Paul.

"Good. I will be off the landing-place at the Barbican with a boat. Night, sir. Night, youngster. Natural history expedition, eh? And I thought you was going blackbirding! Haw, haw, haw!"

This last was intended for a derisive laugh at himself, but it sounded like three grunts, each louder than the last.

The next minute the skipper was outside, and his steps were heard growing distant upon the gravel path.

"Well, what do you think of our captain, eh, Rodd?"

"I think he's a rum 'un, uncle; but he isn't our captain yet."

"No, my boy, but if I have my way he will be, and if I hear that he's a skilful navigator, for I want no further recommendation. The way in which he, an old experienced hand, one who would be able to see at a glance how thoroughly I should be at his mercy if he were a trickster whose aim was to make as much money out of the transaction as he could, proved that he was as honest as the day and ready to lay himself open to every examination, that alone without his display of honest indignation when he suspected me of being about to engage in that abominable traffic—there, I want no more. As these sea-going people say, Pickle, Captain Chubb is going to hoist his flag on board my schooner, for as far as I can judge at present he seems to be the man in whom we shall be able to trust."



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THROUGH THE STORM.

"It's enough to make a man say he'll throw up the whole affair," cried Uncle Paul, running his fingers in amongst his grizzly hair and giving it a savage tug.

"Uncle! Why, what's the matter now?"

"Yes, you may well say what's the matter now! Everything's the matter. The worry's almost maddening."

"What, is there anything fresh, uncle?"

"There, don't you take any notice, boy. I get regularly out of heart. There's always something wrong. It's as if we were never to be off. All these weary, weary months gone slowly dragging on."

"Why, uncle, they seem to me to go like lightning," cried Rodd.

"Oh, yes, of course. You are a boy, with plenty of time before you. I am getting an old man, and with little time to spare to do all the work I want to. I seem to get not a bit farther."

"Why, you do, uncle. It's astonishing what a lot we have done. Let's see; it's just fifteen months since you bought the schooner."

"Fifteen, boy? You mean fifty."

"Fifteen, uncle; and she was nothing like finished then."

"No, and as soon as the men knew that she was sold, I believe they made up their minds to spin the job out as long as they could."

"Oh, but, uncle, they did it all very beautifully; and see what a lot of alterations you had made."

"Had made, indeed! Wasn't I led on into having them done by that old scoundrel Chubb?"

"No, uncle. He always consulted with you first, and advised this and that so as to make the vessel better."

"Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul.

"Then see what a lot you had done, fitting up the work-room, and the bottles and tanks, and getting in the dredging apparatus. It does seem a long time to you, but see what a lot there was to do. You know you were never satisfied."

"I was, sir! Don't you get accusing me of such things, Rodney. You grow more impertinent every day. Now put a regular check upon yourself, sir. If you are like this as a boy I don't know what you are going to be when you grow to be a man."

"Well, uncle, I won't say another word about it."

"Ah! No sulking, sir! I command you to go on speaking at once."

"Very well, uncle; but you did say that you would have everything of the best, and that nothing should be left undone, to hinder the expedition from being successful."

"Did I say so, Rodd?"

"Why, yes, uncle, over and over again."

"Well, well, I did mean it. But I am getting quite out of heart. Every day it seems as if there is something fresh to throw us back. Now it's stores; now it's something else wants painting; now one of the crew wants a holiday, just at a time too when things are so nearly ready that I might want to start at any moment."

"Well, I shall be glad when we do get off now, uncle," said the boy thoughtfully.

"Then you had better give up thinking about it, boy. It looks to me like another six months before we can be ready."

"Oh no, uncle! Captain Chubb said to me yesterday that if I wanted to get anything else to take with me I must get it at once."

"Then don't you believe him, Rodd. He's a dilatory old impostor. I don't believe he means for me to go at all. By the way, did you have the men up and give them that big medicine chest?"

"Yes, uncle; the day before yesterday."

"Oh, and were those little casks of spirits got into the store-room?"

"Yes, uncle. I saw the men get them on board myself."

"That's right. But look here, Pickle; were you with them all the time?"

"Yes, uncle. You told me to be, before you went up to London."

"That's right, Rodd. But—er—did you—did you hear the men make any remark about them?"

"No, uncle; but I saw them smell the bung-holes and look at one another and laugh."

"Humph!" said the doctor, smiling. "By the way, I think I'll go on board now and have a look round. There are several things I want to see to, those casks and kegs among the rest."

"They were all put just as you gave orders, uncle."

"Yes; but I want to test the spirits all the same. Here, we may as well go on board at once."

"Very well," cried the boy eagerly. "Is there any little thing we can take with us?"

"No, my boy. As far as I am concerned, I think I can say everything is ready."

It was not long before the doctor and his nephew were down at the landing-place and being rowed across the harbour to where a beautifully trim full-sized schooner lay moored to one of the great buoys; and on coming alongside they were hailed by Captain Chubb, whose face seemed to shine with animation as he helped his chief on board.

"Morning, sir!" he cried. "I was just wishing that you would come on board."

"Bah!" exclaimed Uncle Paul. "What wants doing now?"

"Nothing. Not as I know of."

"Oh, are you sure?" said Uncle Paul sarcastically, "Sartin, unless you have got some more bottles or cranky tackle to be stowed away, sir."

"Oh, indeed," said Uncle Paul shortly. "You don't mean to say you have done at last?"

"Me, sir? Why, I was ready six months ago, only you had always got some new scheme you wanted fitted in."

"Ah, well, never mind about that now," cried Uncle Paul. "Then we may set sail any day?"

"'Cept Friday, sir. The men wouldn't like that. To-night if you like."

"Ah, well, we won't go to-night," said the doctor.

"Only give your orders, sir," said the captain shortly. "Like to take a look round now? Fresh provisions are all on board."

"Oh no," said Uncle Paul, "I know it all by heart."

"Looks a beauty now, don't she, sir?"

"Oh yes, she looks very well. Here, Rodd, come down with me into the work-room."

The doctor strode off aft at once, the captain following slowly with the boy; and as their chief descended the cabin stairs Captain Chubb cocked his eye at his young companion.

"Bit rusty this morning," he whispered.

"Yes; uncle's getting out of patience," whispered back Rodd.

"No wonder," said the captain. "Well, 'tarn't my fault. I never see such a doctor's shop and museum as he's made of the craft."

"Now, Rodney!" came from below sharply.

"Coming, uncle!" cried the boy, snatching at the brass rail, which, like every bit of metal about the beautiful vessel, shone as brightly as if it were part of a yacht.

The doctor was standing at the foot of the stairs with his hand upon a door, which he had just unlocked, and he led the way into a well-lit portion of the vessel which had originally been intended for the stowage of cargo, but which was now fitted up with an endless number of arrangements such as had been deemed necessary for the carrying out of the expedition.

One portion was like a chemical laboratory. Upon dresser-like tables fitted against the bulkhead were rows of railed-in bottles and jars, and beneath them new bright microscopes and other apparatus such as would gladden the heart of a naturalist. But the doctor gave merely a cursory glance at these various objects, with whose arrangement he had long been familiar, and made his way to where, set up on end upon a stout bench, were about a dozen specially made spirit casks, each fitted with its tap and a little receptacle hung beneath to catch any drops that might leak away.

"Here, I want to test these," said the doctor; "and, by the way, ask Captain Chubb to step down."

There was no need, for almost at the same moment the captain's heavy step was heard upon the metal-covered cabin stairs.

"Anything I can do, sir?" he asked, in his gruff way.

"Yes, look here, captain," said the doctor, and he took a bright glass measure from where it hung by its foot in a little rack, safe from falling by the rolling of the vessel; "I was just going to test these spirits, and I thought I should like you to be here."

"Hah!" said the captain. "I've thought a deal about all them little barrels put so handy there, ready on tap, and it's the only thing I don't like, Dr Robson."

"Why?" said Uncle Paul shortly.

"Why, it's just like this, sir. I have picked you out as sober a crew as ever went on a voyage, but sailors are sailors, sir, and I don't think it's right to be throwing temptation in their way."

"But this, my workshop, where I bottle my specimens, will always be kept under lock and key."

"Nay!" snorted the captain.

"But I tell you it will," cried Uncle Paul. "Nobody will have any business here but my nephew and me."

"That's what you mean," said the captain, "but how about times when you are busy, or forget and leave it open? Can't warrant always to keep it shut."

"Well," said Uncle Paul, with a curious smile, "I have thought of that," and going to one of the little casks he turned the tap and let about a couple of tablespoonfuls of liquid that looked like filtered water flow into the little glass measure, covering the bottom to about an inch in depth. "There," said the doctor, holding up the glass to the light; "just taste that, captain."

"Nay. I don't mind a drop of good rum at the proper season, but I don't care about spirits like that."

"I only want you to taste it," said the doctor. "It's too strong to drink."

"I know," said the captain. "Burns like fire."

"Just taste, but don't swallow it."

"Nay—Well, I'll do that. But it looks like physic."

The speaker just dipped his fore-finger into the liquid, and touched his lips, to cry angrily—

"Why, it's pison!"

"No," said the doctor; "proof alcohol for preserving my specimens. If by accident any of the men taste that they won't want any more, will they?"

"Don't know," said the captain. "Maybe they'd water it down."

"Fill that measure with water, Rodd," said the doctor.

The boy took the glass to a big stone filter covered with basketwork, and filled the measure to the brim.

"Now try it, captain," said the doctor.

This time with a scowl of dislike, the captain raised the glass to his lips, but set it down again quickly and hurried to a little leaden sink in one corner of the laboratory.

"Worse than ever, doctor."

"Well, do you think the men will water that down?"

"Not they! One taste will be quite enough."

"You don't think I need label those casks 'Temptation,' do you?"

"Nay, sir. If you want to be honest to the lads, I should put 'Pison' upon them in big letters."

"I would," said the doctor dryly, "but, as you say, sailors are sailors, and I don't think they'd believe it if I did."

"What have you put in it, sir?"

"Ah! that's my secret, Captain Chubb."

"Well, I hope none of the lads will touch it; but it's sperrits, you know. Won't answer for it that if one of them was helping you to bottle up some of them things as we shall fish up when we gets into the Tropics, he wouldn't be trying a sip."

"I shouldn't be surprised either," said the doctor, "but if he did he wouldn't do it again."

The skipper looked at him sharply.

"Don't mean that, do you, sir?" he cried.

"Indeed, but I do," replied the doctor.

"Going too far," growled the skipper. "Look here, doctor; I've fell into all your ways like a man, and have helped to drill the chaps into handling your tackle, which is outside an able seaman's dooties; but I don't like this 'ere a bit."

"I can't help that," said the doctor, bristling up. "I shall of course tell them that they must not touch this stuff, of which no doubt I shall use a great deal, and it will be in direct opposition to my orders if they give way to the temptation."

"Right enough," said the skipper, "but seamen's weak—like babies in some things—and a good skipper has to be like a father to them, to keep them out of mischief. Don't know no better, doctor. You do, and it's too strong, sir; it's too strong."

"Then let them leave it alone," said the doctor hotly.

"That's right, sir, but maybe they won't. Don't mean to say that I am stupid over them, but when I get a good crew I like to take care of them. Here, I'm getting out of breath. Can't make long speeches. Cut it short."

"Then say no more about it," said the doctor.

"Nay, it won't do. Taking out a good crew of smart lads. Want to bring them all back, not leave none of them sewed up in their hammocks and sunk in the sea with a shot at their heels. Look here, sir; how many of them there kegs have you doctored?"

"All of them. Why, my good fellow, you don't think I have put poison in, do you?"

"Said you had."

"Pooh! Nonsense! My boy Rodd and I tried experiments to see how nasty we could make the spirits without being dangerous. There's nothing there that would hurt a man; only you mustn't tell them so."

"Oh-h-h! That's another pair of shoes, as the Frenchies say;" and the skipper went up on deck.

"Thick-head!" growled the doctor. "Did he fancy I was going to kill a man for meddling? Bah!"

"He did, uncle. He doesn't know you yet."

"Well, I suppose not, my boy, but I am beginning to think that we are getting to know the crew pretty well by heart. Well, all we want now is a favourable wind, then we will hoist our sailing flag; and then—off."

"For how long, uncle?"

"Ah, that's more than I can say, Rodd, my boy. We'll see what luck we have, and how the stores last out. We'll get started, and leave the rest."

Two days later the start had been made, with everything as ready as the combined efforts of the doctor's and Captain Chubb's experience could contrive, and with his face all smiles Dr Robson stood beside Rodd, watching the receding shore as they, to use the skipper's words, bowled down Channel.

"Good luck to us, Pickle, my boy!" cried the doctor. "It's been a long weary time of preparation, but it has been worth it. We have got a splendid captain—a man in whom I can thoroughly trust, and a crew of as smart, handy, useful fellows as I could have wished for."

"Yes, uncle; and haven't they taken to all the arrangements about the tackle!"

"Yes, Pickle. They have all proved themselves not only eager and active, but as much interested as so many boys. Splendid fellows; and old Chubb knows how to handle them too. Fetch my glass up, Pickle. Let's have a look at the old country as long as we can."

Rodd darted off to the cabin hatch, but he staggered once or twice, for the schooner as she rose and fell kept on careening a little over to leeward, and in passing one of the sailors—a fine bluff-looking young fellow—the man smiled.

"Here, what are you grinning at, Joe Cross?" cried Rodd, who, after many months of intercourse with the crew, was fully acquainted with all, and knew a good many of their peculiarities.

"Oh, not at you, Mr Harding, sir. It was a little bit of a snigger at your boots."

"What!" cried Rodd.

"Just a little guffaw, sir. You see, the deck's as white as a holystone will make it, and your boots is black, and black and white never did agree. It's beginning to get a bit fresh, sir, and if I was you I'd striddle a bit, so as to take a bit better hold of the deck with your footsies. I shouldn't like to see you come down hard."

"Oh, I shan't come down," said Rodd confidently; but as he was speaking the schooner gave a sudden pitch which sent the boy into the sailor's arms.

"Avast there!" cried the man. "Steady, sir!—Steady it is! There, let me stand you up again on your pins. You mustn't do that, or you'll have the lads thinking you're a himmidge, or a statty, a-tumbling off your shelf."

"Thank you. I am all right now," said Rodd. "My boots are quite new, and the soles are slippery."

"I see, sir, but it wasn't all that. You see, our Sally's been tied up by the nose for so many months in harbour yonder, that now she's running free she can't hold herself in. Ketch hold of the rail, sir. That's your sort! There she goes again, larking like a young kitten."

"I didn't know she'd dance about like this on a fine day," said Rodd rather breathlessly.

"Bless your heart, sir, this arn't nothing to what she can do. See how she's skipping along now. Aren't it lovely?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," said Rodd; "but if it's like this in fine weather, what's it going to be in a storm?"

"Why, ever so much livelier, sir. She'll dance over the waves like a cork. She's a beauty, that's what she is. Mustn't mind her being a bit saucy. There's nothing that floats like a Salcombe schooner, and I never heard of one as sank yet."

"Yes, uncle; back directly!" cried the boy; and he made his way onward to the cabin stairs without mishap, and re-appeared directly afterwards with the doctor's big telescope under his arm, to make his way as well as he could to where Uncle Paul was standing forward at the side with his left arm round one of the stays.

"Walk straight, boy—walk straight!" cried the doctor, laughing. "What made you zigzag about like that?"

"Didn't want to come down on the deck and break the glass, uncle," said Rodd rather sulkily. "The schooner oughtn't to dance about like this, ought she?"

"Oh, yes. It's no more than the lugger used to do when we have been out fishing."

"Oh, yes, uncle; and she's so much bigger too. Besides, we were sitting down then, and here one has to stand."

"You can sit down if you like," said Uncle Paul.

"What, and have the sailors laugh at me? That I won't! I want to get used to it as soon as I can."

"Then go and get used to it," said Uncle Paul. "You can't do better. I should like to do the same, but a man can't hop about at fifty, or more, like a boy at fifteen."

"Why, uncle, I am nearly eighteen."

"Then go and behave like it, boy. Look at the sailors. They keep their feet well enough, without seeming as if they are going to rush overboard."

"Oh, I shall soon get used to it, uncle," cried Rodd.

But instead of improving that day his progress about the deck was decidedly retrograde, for as the time went on and the Channel opened out, the wind from the north-west grew fresher and fresher, and the captain from time to time kept the men busy taking in a reef here and a reef there.

Topgallant sails came down; flying jib was hauled in; and towards evening, as she span along as fast or faster than ever, not above half the amount of canvas was spread that she had skimmed under earlier in the day.

Every now and then too there was a loud smack against the bows, and a shower of spray made the deck glisten for a few minutes; but it rapidly dried up again, and as the schooner careened over and dashed along, Rodd stood aft, looking back through the foam to see how the waves came curling along after them, as if in full chase of the beautiful little vessel and seeking to leap aboard.

The sun had gone down in a bronzy red bank of clouds, and after being below to the cabin tea Rodd had eagerly hurried on deck again, to find that the sea around was beginning to look wild and strange.

Whether he made for Josiah Cross, or Joe, as he was generally called, came up to him, Rodd did not know, but as he stood with one arm over the rail he soon found himself in conversation.

"Are we going to have a storm?" he said.

"Well, I dunno, sir, about storm. More wind coming."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know, sir?" cried the man. "Why, if you come to that, I don't know. Seem to feel it like. I don't say as it will. Wind's nor'-west now, and has been all day, but I shouldn't wonder if it chopped right round, and then—"

"There'll be a storm," said Rodd eagerly.

"Well, I don't say that, sir; but like enough there will be more wind than we want to use, and we might have to put back."

"What, now that we have started at last?" cried Rodd.

The man nodded.

"Oh, that would be vexatious," cried Rodd, "to find ourselves back in Plymouth again!"

"There, you wouldn't do that, my lad," said the man. "If we did have to put back, I should say the skipper would run for Penzance. But there, the wind hasn't chopped round yet, and it's just as likely to fall as it gets dark and we will get our orders to hoist more sail."

But the sailor's first ideas proved to be right, and not only did the wind veer round, but it increased in force and became so contrary and shifty that during the night it began to blow a perfect hurricane, and gave Captain Chubb a good opportunity of proving that he was no fine-weather sailor.

It proved to be a bright night, being nearly full moon, with great flocculent silvery and black clouds scudding at a tremendous rate across the planet, while one minute the schooner's rigging was shadowed in black upon the white, wet deck, at another all was gloom, with the wind shrieking through the rigging, and the Maid of Salcombe proving the truth of the sailor's words, as she was literally dancing about; like a cork.

"Hadn't you better come below, Rodd?" said the doctor.

"No, uncle; don't ask me. I couldn't sleep, and I want to look at the storm. It's so grand."

"Grand? Well, yes," said the doctor; "but we could have dispensed with its grandeur, and it seems very unlucky that after all these weeks of glorious weather it should have turned like this. Ah, here's Captain Chubb. Well, captain," he continued, "where are we making for? Mount's Bay?"

"No. Give it up. Nasty rocky bit about there, so I laid her head for Plymouth; but we shan't get in there to-night."

"Where then?" asked the doctor. "Wouldn't it be better to run for the open sea?"

"No," said the skipper shortly. "This wind's come to stay, and we must get into port for a bit. We don't want to get into the Bay of Biscay O with weather like this. It's going to be a regular sou'-wester."

"What port shall we make for, then?" asked the doctor, while Rodd caught all he could of the conversation, as the wind kept coming in gusts and seemed to snatch the words and carry them overboard in an instant. "Havre," grunted the captain laconically. There was silence for some time, for it became too hard work to talk, but in one of the intervals between two gusts, a few words were spoken, the doctor asking the skipper if he was satisfied with the behaviour of the schooner.

"Oh yes," He grunted; "she's right enough."

"You are not disappointed, then?"

"No. Bit too lively. Wants some more cargo or ballast to give her steadiness; but she'll be all right." All the same this was an experience very different from anything that Rodd had had before, and it was not without a severe buffeting that in the early dawn of the morning Captain Chubb had succeeded in laying the little vessel's head off Havre, so that, taking advantage of a temporary sinking of the wind, he was able to run her safely into the French port, and this at a time when it was a friendly harbour, the British arms having triumphed everywhere, the French king being once more upon the throne, and he who had been spoken of for so long as the Ogre of Elba now lying duly watched and guarded far away to the south, within the rockbound coast of Saint Helena.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

PRIVATE EARS.

The schooner was run safely into port, but just before she cleared the harbour mouth, down came a tremendous squall of wind as if from round the corner of some impossible solid cloud behind which an ambush of the storm had been lying in wait for the brave little vessel.

Down it came all at once, just when least expected, and in a few seconds as it struck the little vessel, rushing, in spite of the small amount of canvas spread, rapidly for the shelter, every one on deck snatched at the nearest object to which he could cling. The schooner bravely resisted for a while, careening over and then rising again, and then down she went with her masts almost flat upon the foam, and then lying over more and more as Rodd clung hard with one hand and involuntarily stretched out the other to his uncle as if to say good-bye. For he felt certain as the water came surging over the leeward rail that the next minute their voyage would be ended, and the Maid of Salcombe be going down.

It was one horror of breathlessness in the shrieking wind, while the storm-driven spray cut and lashed and flogged at the crew.

"It's all over," gasped the boy, in his excitement, though somehow even then there was no feeling of fear.

Another minute as she still dashed on, plunging through the waves, the vessel began to right again, the masts rising more and more towards the perpendicular, and the water that seemed to have been scooped up in the hollows of the well-reefed sails came streaming back in showers upon the deck.

Another minute and Rodd began to get his breath again, panting hard and feeling as if some great hand had been grasping him by the throat and had at last released its hold, while as the schooner now skimmed on, every furlong taking her more into shelter, the squall had passed over them and went sweeping along far away over the town ahead, and the boy felt a strong grip upon his arm.

Rodd turned sharply, to face Cross the sailor, who held on to him with his left while he used his right hand to clear his eyes from the spray.

"All right," he said, with his lips close to the boy's ear, so as to make himself heard, while Rodd winced, for as the man leaned towards him he poured something less than a pint of salt water from off his tightly-tied-on oilskin sou'-wester right into his eyes.

Rodd nodded without attempting to speak, and the sailor laughed.

There was something so genial and content in the man's looks, that it sent a thrill of satisfaction through the boy's breast, telling as it did that they were out of danger, while, as they rapidly glided on, the shrieking of the wind through the rigging grew less and less and the motion of the schooner more and more steady as the harbour was gained.

"Say, my lad," said Cross, "I thought we was going to make our first dive after specimens, and the Saucy Sally seemed to be holding her breath as she stuck her nose down into it and then jibbed and threw herself over sideways as if she knowed there wasn't depth enough of water for the job."

"Hah!" gasped Rodd hoarsely, for he had been taking in spray as well as wind, and he had now nearly recovered the power of breathing easily and well. "Why, Joe, I thought we were sinking."

"Nay, my lad; not us! The Sally was too well battened down, and couldn't have sunk; but I was getting a bit anxious when it looked as if we was going to miss the harbour mouth and go floating in ashore lying down as if we had all gone to sleep."

"Yes, it was horrible," said Rodd, with a sigh of relief. "But what would have happened if we had missed the mouth and gone ashore?"

"Why, what does happen, my lad, when a ship does that? Bumps, and a sale arterwards of new-wrecked timber on the beach. But here we are all right, and instead of being ashamed of ourselves we can look the mounseers full in the face and tell 'em that if they can manage a better bit of seamanship than the skipper, they had better go and show us how."

Joe Cross said no more, for Captain Chubb was roaring orders through a speaking trumpet, the last bit of canvas was lowered down, and before long the schooner was safely moored in the outer harbour as far away as she could safely get from the vessels that had taken refuge before them, some of them grinding together and damaging their paint and wood, in spite of their busy crews hard at work with fenders and striving to get into safer quarters, notwithstanding the efforts of the heavy gusts which came bearing down from time to time.

The nearest vessel was a handsome-looking brig which they had passed as they glided in, noting that she was moored head to wind to a heavy buoy. As they passed her to run nearer into shelter Rodd had noticed the name upon her stern, the Jeanne d'Arc, which suggested immediately the patriotic Maid of Orleans.

He had forgotten it the next moment, the name being merged with the thought that while the schooner had had so narrow an escape of ending her voyage, the brig had been lying snugly moored to the buoy. But now as they glided on it became evident that the brig had broken adrift, for all at once, as she lay rolling and jerking at her mooring cable, the distance between her bows and the huge ringed cask seemed to have grown greater, and from where Rodd stood he could see the glistening tarpaulins of her crew as they hurried forward in a cluster, and Captain Chubb bellowed an order from where he stood astern, to his men.

"Aren't coming aboard of us, are they?" thought Rodd, as, heard above the wind during a comparative lull, Captain Chubb was roaring out fresh orders to his crew; for he had fully grasped the danger, and the men were ready to slip their cable moorings and glide farther in under bare poles.

But fortunately this fresh disaster did not come to pass, for as the brig bore down upon them there was a rush and splash from her bows, an anchor went down, checking her progress a little, then a little more, as she still came on nearer as if to come crash into the schooner's bows, and Captain Chubb raised his speaking trumpet to his lips to bid his men let go, prior to ordering them to stand by ready to lower their own anchor in turn when at a safe distance, when the brig's progress received a sudden check, her anchor held, and she was brought up short not many yards away.

"Smart," said Captain Chubb, "for a mounseer;" and he looked at Rodd as he spoke, before tucking his speaking trumpet under his arm and then giving himself a shake like a huge yellow Newfoundland dog to get rid of the superabundant moisture. "Well, squire," he continued, as he came close up, "what should you do next?"

Rodd looked at him as if puzzled by the question. Then putting his hands to his mouth he shouted back—

"I should get farther into the harbour, in case that brig broke away again."

"Of course you would," said the captain, with a grim smile. "Now, don't you pretend again that you aren't a sailor, because that was spoken like a good first mate. But we will wait for a lull before we let go, for I don't want to lose no tackle. But the gale aren't over yet."

"But we are safe, captain?" said the boy.

"Yes," grunted the captain. "Better off than them yonder," and he pointed to a good-sized vessel which had been running for the harbour, but in vain, for she had been carried on too far and was swept away, to take the shore a mile distant.

The lull foretold by Captain Chubb enabled him to slip from his moorings and get the schooner into a sheltered position which he deemed sufficiently snug and far enough away from the brig, whose captain did not manifest any intention of coming farther in.

As they were parting company Rodd was standing right forward close to Cross, who stood spelling out the name of the brig they were leaving behind.

"Jenny de Arc" he grunted to Rodd. "That's a rum name for a smart brig like that. Wonder what she is. I never see'd Jenny spelt like that afore. That's the French way of doing it, I suppose."

Rodd took upon himself to explain whose name the brig bore, and the sailor gave vent to a musical growl.

"Shouldn't have knowed it," he said; "but as I was a-saying, I wonder what she is. Looks to me like what they calls a private ear."

"Why, that's a man-of-war, isn't it, Joe?"

"Well, a kind of a sort of one, you know, sir. One of them as goes off in war times to hark in private for any bit of news about well-laden merchantmen, and then goes off to capture them."

"But what makes you think that, Joe?" asked Rodd. "Why, look at her rig, sir. See what a heap of sail she could carry. I don't hold with a brig for fast-sailing, but look at the length of them two masts, and see how she's pierced for guns. She has shut up shop snug enough on account of the storm, but I'll wager she could run out some bulldogs—I mean, French poodles—as could bark if she liked. Then there's a big long gun amidships."

"I didn't see it," said Rodd. "Maybe not, my lad, but I did."

"Well, but a merchantman might carry guns to defend herself, Joe."

"Ay, she might, sir; but she wouldn't, unless she was going on a job like ours and wanted to scare off savages; and that aren't likely, for I should say we are the only vessel afloat as is going on such a fishing expedition as ours. And then look at her crew."

"What about her crew?" said Rodd. "It seemed to be a very good one so far as I could see."

"A deal too good, sir. Who ever saw a merchantman with such a crew as that? Didn't you see how smart they were in obeying orders and getting down that anchor?"

"Why, no smarter than our crew," said Rodd rather indignantly.

"Smarter than our crew, Mr Rodd, sir! I should think not!" cried the sailor. "Why, they are French! Still it was very tidy for them. I should like to know, though, what they are. I do believe I'm right, and that she is a private ear. Not been watching us, has she? Seems rather queer."

"Why should she be watching us?"

"Why should a private ear be watching any smart schooner, except to make a prize of her?"

"Oh, but that's in time of war," cried Rodd. "Ay, sir, but your private ears aren't very particular about that. This is near enough to war time still, and if I was our skipper I should keep a good sharp eye on that craft. But he knows pretty well what he's about. His head is screwed on the right way. But I say, Mr Rodd, how should you like a bit of the real thing, same as we used to have when I was in a King's ship?"

"What, a naval action?"

"Oh, you may call it that, sir, if you like. I mean a bit of real French and English, and see which is best man."

"Oh, nonsense! That's all over now, Joe."

"I don't know so much about that, sir."

"But we are in a friendly port, Joe, and no French ship would dare attack one of ours."

"No, sir, I know they daren't do it," said the man stubbornly; "but if they could catch us asleep they might have a try. But there, don't you be uncomfortable. There's too much of the weasel about our skipper, and he'll be too wide awake to let any Frenchman catch him asleep."

"Ah, you are thinking a lot of nonsense, Joe," said Rodd. "The war is all at an end, and Napoleon Bonaparte shut up in prison at Saint Helena. There'll be no more fighting now."

"Well, sir, I suppose you are right," said the man, with something like a sigh; "but you see, like some of my mates, I have seen a bit of sarvice in a King's ship, and we have got our guns on board, and we have just now been lying alongside—I should say bow and stern—of a Frenchman so as we could slew round and rake her; and it sets a man thinking. But there, I suppose you are right, and there will be no fighting for us this voyage."

"Of course there won't be. We are friends now with France."

"Yes, sir, and the French pretends to be friends with us; but all the same if I was the skipper I should double my night watch and be well on the look-out for squalls.—Ay, ay, sir!"

Joe Cross answered a hail from the skipper, and was directly after busy at work helping his mates to make all snug aloft, for the wind had sunk now into a pleasant soft gale which seemed to suggest fine weather; but Captain Chubb shook his head and frowned very severely as he looked out to windward.

"Nay, my lad," he said, "we have made our start and got as far as here, but it don't seem to me like getting away just yet, for there's a lot of weather hanging about somewhere, and as we are in no hurry and are snug in port, I am not going to run the risk of losing any of my tackle while the wind is shifting about like this. If I was you I should go in for a general dry up, and maybe you and your uncle, if the rain holds off, would like to go and have a look round the town."

The skipper moved away, and Rodd went to the side to have another look at the French brig, and then, not satisfied, he went below to fetch the small spy-glass, finding his uncle busy re-arranging some of his apparatus in the laboratory, and as he did not seem to be required, the boy took the small telescope from where it hung and made his way back again on deck, where he focussed the glass and began to scan the brig, scrutinising her rig and everything that he could command, from trucks to deck, making out the long gun covered by a great tarpaulin, and then bringing the glass to bear upon such of the crew as came within his scope.

And as he watched the well-built, smartly-rigged vessel with such knowledge as he had acquired during his life at the great English port, he made out, though fairly distant now, that there seemed to be something in Joe Cross's remarks, so that when he closed his glass to go down below, he began to dwell on the possibility of the smart brig being indeed a privateer, and this set him thinking of how horrible it would be if she did turn inimical and make an attempt at what would have been quite an act of piracy if she had followed the Maid of Salcombe out to sea and seized her as a prize.

"Why, it would break uncle's heart, after all his preparations for the expedition," mused the boy; "and besides it would be so treacherous. But Captain Chubb would not give up, I am sure. I never thought of it before, but he must have thought a good deal more about an accident such as this happening when he was taking such pains to drill and train the men. What did he say—that as we were going along a coast where the people were very savage and spent most of their time in war and fighting, we ought to be prepared for danger, in case we were attacked. Was he thinking of the French as well as the savages when he said this? Perhaps so. If one of his men thought so, why shouldn't he? Well, I will ask him first time I get him alone. Hullo! What are they doing there? Somebody going ashore from the brig."

Rodd could see with the naked eye the lowering down of a ship's boat over the brig's side, and that made him quickly focus his glass again, and while he was busy scanning the boat as it kissed the water and the oars fell over the side, Joe Cross came up behind him and made him start.

"Well, sir," he said, "what do you make of her now?"

"Nothing, Joe," said the boy, "only that it seems a very nice brig."

"Very, sir, and well-manned. Look at that."

"What?" asked the boy.

"That there boat they've lowered down, and how she's manned. She's no merchantman. Look at the way they are rowing. Why, they're like men-of-war's men, every one. I don't like the looks of she, and if the old skipper don't get overhauling her with them there eyes of his I'm a Dutchman; and that's what I ain't."

"Ah, you make mountains of molehills, Joe," said Rodd.

"Maybe, sir; maybe. But I suppose it's all a matter of eddication and training to keep watch. There, you see, it's always have your eyes open, night or day. For a man as goes to sea on board a man-of-war, meaning a King's ship, has to see enemies wherever they are and wherever they aren't, for even if there bean't none, a chap has to feel that there might be, and if he's let anything slip without seeing on it, why, woe betide him! There y'are, sir! Look at that there boat. You have hung about Plymouth town and seen things enough there to know as that there aren't a merchant brig."

"Well, she doesn't look like a merchant's shore boat, certainly," said Rodd, with his eyes still glued to the end of the telescope.

"Right, sir," cried Joe Cross. "Well, then, sir, as she aren't a merchant brig's boat, and the brig herself aren't a man-of-war, perhaps you will tell me what she is? You can't, sir?"

"No, Joe."

"No more can I, sir; but if we keeps our eyes open I dare say we shall see."



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

IN THE FRENCH PORT.

In spite of the knocking about by the storm, the schooner was none the worse, and in the course of the day as the weather rapidly settled down and the western gale seemed to have blown itself out, while the sailors had been busy swabbing the rapidly drying planks, and, the wind having fallen, shaking out the saturated sails to dry, Uncle Paul strolled with his nephew up and down the deck, waiting till the skipper seemed to be less busy before going up to him.

"Well," said Uncle Paul; "are we damaged at all?"

"Not a bit," was the gruff reply. "It's done her good—stretched her ropes and got the canvas well in shape."

"But how do you feel about the schooner?"

"As if she was just what we wanted, sir. Given me a lot of confidence in her."

"Then as the weather is settling down you will sail again to-night?"

"No; I want to get a little more ballast aboard, and this is all a little bit of show. We shall have more weather before long. I shan't sail yet."

The work being pretty well done—that is, as far as work ever is done in a small vessel—Rodd noticed that some of the men had been smartening themselves up, and after hanging about a bit watching the captain till he went below, Rodd saw them gather in a knot together by the forecastle hatch, talking among themselves, till one of the party, a heavy, dull-looking fellow, very round and smooth-faced and plump, with quite a colour in his cheeks, came aft to where Rodd and his uncle were standing watching the busy scene about the wharves of the inner harbour, and discussing as to whether they should go ashore for a few hours to look round the town.

"I am thinking, Pickle, that after such a bad night as we had, we might just as well stay aboard and rest, and besides, as far as I can see everything's muddy and wretched, and I fancy we should be better aboard."

"Oh, I don't know, uncle. We needn't be long, and it will be a change. But here's the Bun coming up to speak to you."

"The what!" cried Uncle Paul.

"That man—Rumsey."

"But why do you call him the Bun?"

"Oh, it's the men's name for him," said Rodd, laughing. "They nicknamed him because he was such a round-faced fellow."

"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, making a tug at his forelock.

"Yes, my man; you want to speak to me?"

"Yes, sir; the lads asked me to say, sir, that as it's been a very rough night—"

"Very, my man—very," said Uncle Paul, staring.

"They'd take it kindly, sir, if you'd give about half of us leave to go ashore for a few hours."

"Oh, well, my man, I have no objection whatever," said Uncle Paul. "As far as I am concerned, by all means yes."

"Thankye, sir; much obliged, sir," said the man eagerly, and pulling his forelock again he hurried forward to join the group which had sent him as their spokesman to ask for leave.

Rodd turned to speak to his uncle, and caught Joe Cross's eye instead, wondering at the man's comical look at him as he closed an eye and jerked one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the group forward as they began whispering together, and then, thrust forward towards the side by his companions, the Bun began to signal towards the Frenchmen hanging about the nearest landing-place, where several boats were made fast to the side of the dock.

Just at that moment the skipper came up from below, saw what was going on at a glance, strode towards the group, which began to dissolve at once, the Bun being the only man whose attention was taken up by a boatman who was answering his signal. Just while the signaller was making his most energetic gestures he leaped round in the most startled way, for the skipper had closed up and given him a very smart slap on the shoulder.

"Now, Rumsey, what's this?" he cried.

"Boat, sir. Going ashore, sir."

"Who is?" said the skipper, frowning.

"Us six, sir."

"Us six! Why, you're only one."

"Yes, sir. These 'ere others too, sir."

"What others?" cried the captain, and Rumsey, looking anxiously around, found for the first time that he was alone.

"The lads as was here just now, sir—six on us."

"Oh, indeed!" said the skipper sarcastically, and raising his cap he gave his rough hair a rub. "Let me see; when did I give you leave to go ashore?"

"No, sir; not you, sir. Dr Robson, sir."

"Oh, I see," said the skipper.

This was all said loud enough for Rodd and Uncle Paul to hear, and Rodd began to grin as he looked at his uncle, whose face assumed a perplexed aspect, one which increased to uneasiness as the captain came up to them at once.

"Just a word, sir," he said. "Did you order these men to go ashore?"

"Oh no," cried Uncle Paul. "One of them came up to me, asking if I had any objections to their going ashore, and I said, not the least. I supposed, of course, that they had got leave from you."

"Of course, sir. Bless 'em for a set of artful babies! They aren't learned discipline yet. You, Rumsey, go and tell your messmates that if they try that game again with me they'll stand a fine chance of not going ashore for the rest of the voyage."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell them, sir," cried the man hurriedly; and he shuffled off as hard as he could to find those who had left him in the lurch.

"Here, you, Joe Cross," continued the captain, "you signal to that Frenchy boatman that he is not wanted."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried Cross, hurrying to the side, where he began gesticulating angrily, in spite of which the boatman persisted in coming alongside and in voluble French declaring that he was ordered to come and would not go back until he was paid.

Meanwhile a little explanation was going on between the skipper and Uncle Paul.

"Don't want to be bumptious, sir," said the former, "but there's only room on board a craft for one captain. Those fellows jump at any chance to get ashore, and when they are there, there's no knowing when you'll get them on board again, besides which, they wouldn't be careful, and French and English don't get on very well together after all that's gone by. Here, Cross, tell that jabbering Frenchman if he isn't off, he'll have to go back with a hole through the bottom of his boat. No, stop. Go and find Mr Craig. Tell him to set those six men something to do."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the sailor, hurrying off.

"There, it was all my fault, captain," said Uncle Paul, smiling. "I won't offend again. Here, Rodd, my boy, give that poor fellow a shilling for his trouble."

Rodd hurried to the side, hailed the man, and held out the coin, telling him in very bad French what it was for; but the fellow shook his head, held up four fingers, and began shouting "Quatre!" so loudly that the skipper heard.

"Cat, indeed!" he shouted. "Just what I should like to give him. Here, come away, Mr Rodd; he shan't have anything now."

But Rodd did not obey at once.

"One or nothing," he cried to the man, in French.

"Quatre! Quatre!" shouted the man.

Rodd shook his head and was turning away, but the boatman swarmed up the side, and reaching over the rail, shouted "Quatre!" again, till the skipper made so fierce a rush at him that he lowered his feet quickly down into his boat, catching the shilling that Rodd pitched to him, and then hurriedly pushing off for the landing-place.

"Oh, it's all right, Dr Robson," said the skipper, "only you must leave all this shore-going to me. I know my lads; you don't."

Just then Craig, the mate, came up on deck, looking very sour at having been awakened from a comfortable sleep, and did not scruple about setting the delinquents to work upon some very unnecessary task, to the great delight of their messmates, who, headed by Joe Cross, gave them pretty freely to understand what their opinion was of the scheme to get a run ashore.

It was towards evening that, after a hasty meal, partaken of in peace in the still waters of the harbour, tempted by a few gleams of sunshine, and for Rodd's gratification, Uncle Paul and Rodd were rowed ashore in the same boat as the skipper, who had business with the English Consul about his papers, the understanding being that the boat was to go back and meet them at nine o'clock.

"That's as long as we shall want to stay, Rodd," said Uncle Paul.

"Yes, sir," said the skipper; "and if I were you I'd turn in early for a good night's rest, for I'm thinking we shall have dirty weather again to-morrow, and there's no knowing how long it will last."

"But it looks so bright to-night," cried Rodd.

"Just here, sir," cried the skipper, "and it may be fine enough to tempt me off in the morning; but I don't feel at all sartain, and to-morrow night we may be having another knocking about."

They separated at the landing-place, and for the next two hours Rodd was making himself acquainted with the principal streets of the old seaport, time going very rapidly and the night coming on.

It was growing pretty dark, and after making two mistakes as to their direction, Rodd declared that he knew the way, and his uncle yielding to his opinion, the boy led on, till, turning a corner sharply, they almost came in contact with a couple of French officers walking in the opposite direction, the one a tall, stern, elderly-looking man, talking in a low excited tone to his young companion, whose attention was so much taken up as he deferentially listened to his elder, that he started back to avoid striking against Rodd, who also gave way.

It was now almost dark, and the next moment the French officers had passed on, as Uncle Paul exclaimed—

"Yes, I believe you are right, Pickle. You are. Those are ships' lights hoisted up to the stays. Well, don't you see?"

"Yes, uncle, but—"

The boy said no more, and Uncle Paul laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" he cried. "Why don't you speak? Those are the lights in the harbour."

"Yes—yes. Yes, uncle, I see," said the boy hastily; "but—er—but— er—"

"Why, what's the matter with you? Don't feel done up?"

"No, uncle," replied Rodd hurriedly. "I was only puzzled; it seemed so strange."

"You mean you seem so strange," said the doctor, laughing.

"Yes, uncle, I feel so."

"Well, come along, and let's make haste aboard. I don't want to keep the captain waiting. We have lost so much time by missing our way. It's past nine, I'm sure."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy, speaking more like himself; "it must be. But I felt so startled in coming suddenly upon those two officers."

"Why, there was nothing to startle you, my boy."

"No, uncle, I suppose not; but somehow I felt that I had been close to that one who nearly ran up against me before, and when he said 'Pardon'—"

"I didn't hear him say 'Pardon,'" said Uncle Paul.

"But he did, uncle, just in a low tone so that I could hardly hear him, and then I felt sure we had met before."

"Nonsense!" cried Uncle Paul. "Look here, my boy, how much sleep did you have last night?"

"Sleep, uncle!" cried the boy, in a voice full of surprise.

"Why, none at all. Who could sleep through that storm?"

"I'll answer for myself," said the doctor; "I could not. Well, you were completely tired out, and are half dreaming now. Come along; let's find the boat and get on board for a light supper and a good night's rest."

"Yes, uncle," said Rodd quietly; "but take care; we are on the wharf. I can make out the shipping plainly now;" and as he spoke a familiar hail came out of the darkness, while as they answered the captain strode towards them.

"Thought you were lost, gentlemen. Been waiting half-an-hour. Take care; the boat's down here;" and striding along the top of the harbour wall the skipper led the way to the descending steps, where the boat was waiting, and they were rowed aboard.

An hour later Rodd was plunged in the deepest of deep sleeps, but dreaming all the same of the storm and of getting into difficulties with some one who was constantly running against him and whispering softly, "Pardon!"



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE SUSPICIOUS CRAFT.

"Oh, I say, Uncle Paul, isn't it horrible?" cried Rodd the next morning.

Breakfast was just over, and Captain Chubb had gone on deck, while the wind was howling furiously as if in a rage to find its playthings, some two or three hundred vessels of different tonnage, safely moored in the shelter of the harbour, and out of its power to toss here and there and pitch so many helpless ruins to be beaten to pieces upon the shore.

Down it kept coming right in amongst them, making them check at their mooring cables and chains, but in vain, for their crews had been too busy, and the only satisfaction that the tempest could obtain, was to hearken to the miserable dreary groans that were here and there emitted as some of the least fortunate and worst secured ground against each other.

"Isn't it horrible, uncle?" shouted Rodd, for the rain just then was mingled with good-sized hailstones, and was rattling down upon the deck and skylight in a way that half-drowned the lad's voice.

"Miserable weather, Pickle; but never mind. We must settle down to a good morning's work in the laboratory."

"Oh no, not yet, uncle; we don't seem to have started. It will only be a makeshift."

"But we might put things a little more straight, boy."

"Oh no, uncle; they are too straight now, and I want to go on deck."

"Bah! It isn't fit. Wait till the weather holds up."

"Oh, I shall dress up accordingly, uncle. But I say, where does all the rain come from? It must be falling in millions of tons everywhere."

"Ah, you might as well ask me where the wind comes from. Study up some book on meteorology."

"Oh yes, I will, uncle; but not yet."

"Very well; be off."

Rodd hurried out of the cabin, and five minutes later came back rattling and crackling, to present himself before his uncle, who thrust up his spectacles upon his forehead and stared.

"There," cried Rodd; "don't think I shall get wet. I wish I'd had it the other night. It's splendid, uncle, and so stiff that if I like to stoop down a little and spread my arms, I can almost rest in it. I say, don't I look like a dried haddock?"

"Humph! Well, yes, you do look about the same colour," grumbled the doctor, for the boy was buttoned up in a glistening oilskin coat of a buff yellow tint; the turned-up collar just revealed the tips of his ears, and he was crowned by a sou'-wester securely tied beneath his chin.

"I say, this will do, won't it?"

"Yes, you look a beauty!" grunted the doctor; "but there, be off; I want to write a letter or two."

Rodd went crackling up the cabin stairs, clump, clump, clump, for he was wearing a heavy pair of fisherman's boots that had been made waterproof by many applications of oil—a pair specially prepared for fishing purposes and future wading amongst the wonders of coral reef and strand.

The deck was almost deserted, the only two personages of the schooner's crew being the captain and Joe Cross, both costumed so as to match exactly with the boy, who now joined them, to begin streaming with water to the same extent as they.

They both looked at him in turn, Cross grinning and just showing a glint of his white teeth where the collar of his oilskin joined, while his companion scowled, or seemed to, and emitted a low grumbling sound that might have meant welcome or the finding of fault, which of the two Rodd did not grasp, for the skipper turned his back and rolled slowly away as if he were bobbing like a vessel through the flood which covered the deck and was streaming away from the scuppers.

As the skipper went right forward and stood by the bowsprit, looking straight ahead through the haze formed by the streaming rain, Rodd was thrown back upon Joe Cross, with whom, almost from the day when the man had joined, he had begun to grow intimate; and as he went close up to him, the sailor gave his head a toss to distribute some of the rain that was splashing down upon his sou'-wester, and grinning visibly now, he cried—

"Why, Mr Rodd, sir, you've forgot your umbrella."

"Get out!" cried Rodd good-humouredly. "But I say, Joe, how long is this rain going to last?"

"Looks as if it means to go on for months, sir, but may leave off to-night. I say, though, that's a splendid fit, sir. You do look fine! Are you comfortable in there?"

Rodd did not answer, for he was trying to pierce the streaming haze and make out whether the brig was visible.

For a few moments he could not make it out, but there it was, looking faint and strange, about a hundred yards away.

"That's the brig, isn't it, yonder?" he said at last.

"Yes, sir, that's she, and they seem to have got her fast now; but she wouldn't hurt us if she broke from her moorings, for the wind's veered a point or two, and it would take her clear away."

Rodd remained silent as he stood thinking, he did not know why, unless it was that the vessel with the tall, dimly-seen tapering spars bore a French name, and somehow—again he could not tell why, only that it seemed to him very ridiculous—the shadowy vessel associated itself with the two French officers he had encountered in the darkness of the previous night, when he heard one of them after brushing against him murmur the word "Pardon!" And he found himself thinking that if the vessel had been swept up against the schooner when her anchor was dragging, it would have been no use for her crew to cry "Pardon!" as that would not have cured the damage.

"Well, sir, what do you make of her?" cried the sailor, putting an end to the lad's musings.

"Can't see much," said Rodd, "for the rain, but she seems beautifully rigged."

"Yes, sir, and she can sail well too—for a brig—but I should set her down as being too heavily sparred, and likely to be top-heavy. If she was going along full sail, and was caught in such a squall as we had yesterday, and laid flat like the schooner, I don't believe she'd lift again. Anyhow, I shouldn't like to be aboard."