At length the gun-boats, which had got into position, opened fire on the fort. Their shot, however, produced but little effect in the wide open space into which they fell, the enemy having numberless pits and holes in which they could protect themselves. The larger steamers were impeded by the current, and unable to get into position from whence they could discharge their shot at the pah.

At length a rocket flew up from a hill at the north end above the river, as a signal to attack. It was answered by another at the south end, when the troops, rising from behind the cover which had concealed them from the enemy, rushed forward towards the pah, those who had just landed joining them on their right. They were received by a withering fire from the fortifications, which brought many to the ground, but, nothing daunted, they pushed forward to plant their scaling ladders against the palisades. The first line was quickly gained. More soldiers, as they landed, joined the first assailants, when the enemy retreated to the centre of the redoubt, where they seemed determined to defend themselves. The troops on the south side were at the same time fighting their way across the lines of rifle-pits, from which the enemy were firing at them with deadly effect. One pit after another was taken, the occupants of some being bayoneted, while those of others, losing heart, leaped out and endeavoured to make their escape across the lake to the east, the only outlet which now remained for them.

The main body of the enemy held out in their centre fortification, which was of the strongest description. In vain the most desperate attack was made on it by a gallant party of artillery. So high were the palisades that the scaling ladders could not reach the summit. Their commanding officer, in searching for a spot through which an entrance might be made, was brought mortally wounded to the ground. Other officers fell; at length the soldiers had to retire.

"Now, Captain Rogers, will you see what you can do?" said an aide-de-camp, who had been despatched by the general.

"On, lads!" cried Jack. He and Adair led the way, followed at hot speed by their men. Terence had brought a number of hand-grenades, which were carried by a party under Desmond's command. It was hoped, by throwing them in, the enemy would be driven from the spot, and time allowed for the seamen to climb over the palisades. The naval party were received with as hot a fire as had met the troops. The brave Maoris, disconcerted by the repeated attacks made on them, began to waver.

Jack, in leading on his men, was struck down, and Tom, who took his place, was wounded in the left shoulder, but still continued at the head of his men.

Desmond, in the mean time, was endeavouring to throw in his hand-grenades. Although they burst in the midst of the enemy, and must have wounded several, others springing forward occupied their places, and nearly a score of blue jackets being killed or wounded, Captain Adair was obliged to retire.

Just then Jack, who had been stunned by a bullet which had grazed his head, inflicting a scalp wound, recovered, and, calling on his men to follow, led them up once more to the assault.

Adair, imitating his example, and observing that some of the palisades had been shattered by the hand-grenades, attacked them with a party of his men who carried axes. While the Maoris hurried to defend the spot thus threatened by Adair, Jack and Tom, quickly followed by the Empress's men, mounting their ladders, climbed over the palisades, and were inside before the enemy perceived them. Although there was yet another fortification in which the Maoris might have held out for a short time longer, finding that they were overpowered, they hoisted a white flag as a sign that they were ready to capitulate.

The troops who had been advancing to the support of the blue-jackets joined their shouts to the hearty cheers of the victors. Not another shot was fired. Several hundred Maoris, many of them being chiefs, laid down their arms. Some of the warriors declared that when they saw an officer whom they thought killed get up and lead on his men as bravely as before, it was time to give in.

The victory, however, had been dearly purchased: upwards of forty men had been killed, including four officers, and nearly a hundred wounded, while the Maoris must have lost a much larger number. Two or three hundred of the enemy, who had been unable to escape, yielded themselves prisoners of war, promising never again to take up arms against the British. They were kindly treated, and at once became on very good terms with the soldiers and blue-jackets. It was curious to see them mingling with the men round their camp fires, talking in broken English, and apparently on the most friendly terms with their late enemies. As they were totally unarmed, and their chiefs remained as hostages well guarded, there was no fear of their attempting any treachery.

A redoubt was now commenced on the captured position. Soldiers and sailors laboured together in its construction, the latter especially in bringing up the guns, ammunition, and stores required by the garrison.

Another important pah, one of the principal strongholds of the enemy, further in the interior, had now to be attacked. The steamers proceeded up the river as far as the depth of water would allow, and the troops landed, with several bodies of blue-jackets from the different ships, under their respective officers.

Jack had his second lieutenant with him, Mr Norman, his brother, Billy Blueblazes, and about sixty men, among whom were Jerry and Tim Nolan. Adair was accompanied by Desmond, his second lieutenant, and about the same number of men. While the main body of the troops were to assault the pah in front, other parties were sent round to attack it in the rear, as also to cut off the retreat of the enemy.

Jack had secured the services of a guide, a friendly native, who professed to know the country, and undertook to conduct him to a position whence he could observe the fort, and either move on to attack it, or, should the Maoris take to flight, capture or shoot them down if they refused to yield. The force destined to attack the enemy in reverse, which had furthest to go, started from the camp late in the evening. The men had had their supper, and were ready for any amount of fatigue they might be called on to endure. Tom marched alongside Jack for the first part of the distance. There was no necessity for keeping silence, as no enemy was near.

"I wish this business was over," said Tom. "There is little honour or glory to be gained. It is excessively fatiguing and unsatisfactory work."

"It has to be done, at all events," observed Jack. "As to honour and glory, these Maoris are no despicable foes, and fight as bravely as any men can do, though not always in the most civilised fashion, it must be allowed. It is to be hoped that they will in time discover the hopelessness of their cause, and sue for peace. It is sad to think how many brave officers and men have already lost their lives, and if the enemy holds out many more, too, probably will be killed. I am sorry, too, for the Maoris themselves, who, from their ignorance of our power, venture so boldly to resist it."

"It is satisfactory, at all events, to find that when they discover how hopeless is resistance, that they are inclined to become friends, as they have just shown," observed Tom.

The party were marching along a native path towards the south-east. On the left were hills covered with brushwood; on the right a more level country, partly wooded, with wide open spaces, in which grew in rich profusion the tall New Zealand flax. The shades of evening were gradually closing around. Jack was well aware that should the enemy discover the advance of his party, his position might become critical in the extreme. He therefore kept his men well together, and pushed forward as rapidly as the nature of the ground and the darkness would allow. Having proceeded some distance, he ordered them to maintain perfect silence, and to tread as lightly as possible, so that their footsteps might not be heard at a distance. He sent Tom with four men ahead, directing him to fall back should an enemy appear. Thus the little band marched on, climbing hills, diving into valleys, now crossing open spaces, now making their way through the dense scrub.

At length Jack began to suspect that they had marched much longer than was necessary to gain the desired position. He interrogated the guide, who, in his replies, showed some hesitation, and at length confessed that a considerable period had elapsed since he had come that road.

"I was afraid so," said Jack. "We must look out for a spot where we can encamp until daylight, when we shall be able to ascertain our true position. If we march further we may get beyond the pah, and be too late for the assault."

The party were then in a small valley, commanded on the left side by a wooded hill, from whence an enemy might fire down with impunity upon them. The guide asserted there was no risk of this, and advised Jack to advance for a short time longer, assuring him that they should soon reach the position he wished to gain.

He was so confident in his manner that Jack allowed him to continue ahead to lead the way. As they advanced, however, the valley narrowed so that the party might be assaulted on both sides. Still, as no enemy appeared, his belief in the guide's honesty returned. Again the valley opened out; a hill appeared on the left side, sloping gradually up from the valley. Jack determined to take possession of it, and to remain there until daylight. He accordingly sent Tim Nolan on to Tom, who had charge of the guide, directing him to halt until the main body came up, when he hoped the guide would find a path by which the hill might be ascended. Tim quickly returned, reporting that the guide had disappeared and although two of Tom's men had instantly set off in pursuit, they had been unable to find him. This looked suspicious, and made Jack more than ever anxious to get into a secure position. A path was found leading up the hill. He determined to pursue it, though steep and narrow, directing the men to be prepared for an attack, as he thought it possible that the hill might be in possession of the Maoris. In perfect silence they proceeded, two men abreast, for the path would allow of no more. At any moment they might hear the crack of the enemy's rifles, and a shower of bullets might come rattling about their ears. Still they went boldly on.

Up and up they ascended among the tall trees. It was too dark to see more than a few yards ahead; and Jack issued orders that should the enemy appear, his men were to fire a volley and charge, when he had little doubt but that the Maoris would give way. The path made several bends to avoid the steeper portions of the hill. It might easily have been defended by a determined body of natives. As none showed themselves, Jack began to hope that he should gain the position without fighting. Suddenly looking upwards, he discovered that there were no tall trees rising above him, and directly afterwards he found himself in an open space, destitute even of brushwood, on the summit of the hill. A line of palisades, partly broken down on the opposite side, convinced him that the ground was the site of an ancient pah or village; and, as it was of considerable elevation, he hoped at daylight, by obtaining a good view over the country, to ascertain the direction he must then take. It was not, he was certain, the position he had been directed to occupy, and was, he thought, a considerable way beyond it. That, however, without a guide, could only be ascertained in the morning. It was more secure than would have been a spot covered with trees, but at the same time the enemy might steal close up to it without being discovered. He therefore saw the necessity of keeping a vigilant look-out.

A short time before a detachment of military, after a long march, having halted, had become scattered, the officers going to a distance from their men, when the Maoris, who had been on the watch, fell upon them, killed one of the officers, wounded another, and killed or wounded upwards of a dozen men. To avoid a like misfortune, Jack kept his men together in the centre of the space, and placed sentries all round. The rest he allowed to lie down with their arms by their sides. As they had had supper before marching, they were not hungry. Many cried out for water, but unfortunately none had been brought. Although there was no moon the stars were bright, and enabled objects to be seen from the hill-tops at a considerable distance. Jack, though he sat down, did not venture to go to sleep, keeping his eyes and ears open. Occasionally he and Tom made a circuit of the ground, stopping every now and then to listen, but no sounds reached their ears.

"I really don't think the enemy can have discovered us," observed Tom; "or if they know where we are, they consider it too hazardous to attack us."

Jack was inclined to be of Tom's opinion; so, directing the look-out men to keep a vigilant watch, they retired to the centre of the open space, and sat down close to the rest of the people.

"It has occurred to me," said Tom, at length, "that if our guide means treachery, he will find out the Maoris and bring down a body upon us; and it is quite possible that we may even now be attacked before morning."

"I have little doubt that he did intend treachery; and that he thought, on deserting us in the valley, that we should bivouac where we then were, from failing to discover this hill. If so, the Maoris will be disappointed," answered Jack. "Whether they will venture to attack us when they find that we have gained this position, is the question."

Scarcely half an hour had passed after these remarks had been made, when suddenly, from amid the dark wood on every side, bright flashes of flame burst forth. The crack of rifles was heard, and bullets came flying over where the men lay. The sentries returned the fire. Two of them the next instant were seen to fall. Had the rest of the men been standing up, many of them must have been hit.

The sound of musketry made the party spring to their feet; and Jack, directing Mr Norman and Tom to hold their ground with half the men, led the other half towards the side of the hill from whence the firing appeared to be thickest. As he gained it he ordered half of those with him to fire a volley down the hill, aiming at any objects they could see moving, then to lie down or seek cover behind trees. As soon as the smoke had cleared away he caught sight of a number of dark forms advancing up the hill.

"Now is your time, my lads!" he sang out.

The men in reserve, while the first half were re-loading, fired at the approaching foe. Several must have been hit, but the next instant not a man was to be seen, they having evidently sought cover by springing behind the trees.

What has now been described occupied scarcely a minute of time. Jack did not forget that the enemy were on the right and left of him, and might at any moment gain the level ground and get between him and the rest of his party. He therefore thought it prudent to fall back, intending to hold the position on the side where the hill was steepest, and which might be defended by a few men, while the main body were occupied by the enemy in front.

His position was dangerous in the extreme. Completely surrounded as he was by apparently a large force, he might find it difficult to hold out until the arrival of reinforcements; indeed, it was a question whether they would be sent to him. Before he could get across the open space to the spot he had determined to hold, the enemy again appeared, this time coming boldly from under the cover of the trees, firing as they did so. They must have been somewhat surprised by the volley they received in return, as they must have supposed that the small number of men they first encountered formed the whole of the party. Still several of the seamen had been hit, and two more poor fellows killed outright. It wanted yet an hour to dawn, but it was doubtful whether Jack's position would be improved by daylight. The enemy would be able to take better aim from behind the trees at his men, exposed in the open. Had there been time he would have pulled down the old palisades and made a breastwork, which would have afforded some protection to his people, but now the Maoris had got behind the palisades and fired from thence. To attempt to leave the position would be madness. He could not hope to gain a better without having to pass through the thick of the forest, while his men would have been exposed to the fire of an almost invisible foe. His chief hope was that the Maoris would discover that the other pah was to be attacked and would retreat to assist in its defence. This, however, was only likely provided they were at no great distance from the fortification. The warm way in which he received the enemy whenever they appeared kept them in check, and sometimes, for several minutes together, it was hoped that they had retreated, but again and again they came on, though they must have suffered severely.

Many more seamen would have been hit had not Jack made them lie down and only rise on their knees to fire. It was satisfactory to him to think that it was owing to his vigilance that his whole party had not been surprised. It was very evident that they were far out-numbered by the enemy, who still seemed resolved to persevere in the attack. Dawn at length broke, and as daylight increased Jack knew that the diminished numbers of his party would be discovered by the Maoris. For some time, however, no attack was made, nor could an enemy be seen. Hopes were entertained that they really had retreated. The wounded were crying out for water, and as at some distance at the bottom of the hill, a stream could be discerned, Jerry Bird and several of the men volunteered to go down and fetch it.

Jack, of course, could not allow them to do this until he had ascertained whether the enemy had left the neighbourhood. Taking, therefore, a dozen men with him, he was making his way across the open to examine the side of the hill, when a hundred dark forms sprang from behind the brushwood, where they had concealed themselves, and opened a hot fire on him and his small party.

"Give them a volley in return, lads, and retreat!" cried out Jack.

He was promptly obeyed by all but three, who had been struck down. He and his men then rapidly retreated, re-loading as they went.

Seeing what had occurred, Tom, with a dozen more men, rushed forward to succour the captain, and greatly contributed to keep back the Maoris, who, on seeing the retreat of the first party, had begun to advance. Jack was on the point of giving the order for the whole of his party to charge, when a volley fired in his rear by a number of the enemy who had climbed up the steep sides of the hill, made him order the men to halt and deal with the fresh party of the foe. Though the latter climbed up with the greatest courage, they were unable to avoid exposing themselves. Several being shot, the rest sprang down the steep side of the hill, seeking such shelter as they could find.

More of the seamen had been wounded, and even now from behind rocks and trunks of trees the Maoris continued to fire from the foot of the hill at any of the sailors who exposed themselves. Jack was casting a look round his diminished band, when to his grief he saw Tom fall. He sent Jerry Bird to ascertain the nature of his brother's wound. Jerry, stooping down, bound up Tom's side, and directly afterwards Lieutenant Norman, who was bravely repelling, with half-a-dozen men, another assault on that side of the hill, was struck in the head by a bullet. In a short time Bird rejoined him.

"Lieutenant Rogers is badly hurt, sir; but I don't think he is mortally wounded, and as I've managed to stop the bleeding, if he can get the help of the doctor I think he'll do well, but I'm sorry to say, sir, poor Mr Norman is done for. He never moved after he fell. We've lost a good officer, sir."

"You speak the truth, Bird, but I wish you would stay by Lieutenant Rogers while you are able, and defend him to the last, should the enemy gain the hill. We must keep in check those in front. If it were not for our wounded, who would be exposed to destruction, I would charge and drive them down the hill."

A short time after this the hard-pressed band were left at peace, and the wounded who lay on the ground were lifted up and brought together, so that a small party could defend them. The sun rose, and the heat, even on the summit of the hill, became excessive. The poor wounded fellows cried out loudly for water.

"I think, sir, I might get down, and by keeping among the trees, be back with a couple of hats full before the enemy find me out," said Jerry.

"I wish, my brave fellow, that I dare let you go," answered Jack. "I feel confident that you would be discovered and shot."

It was very tantalising to see the water glittering in the distance and yet not to be able to get to it. That Jack was right was soon shown by the enemy suddenly appearing. They must have observed how many of the seamen had already been shot down, and felt confident of ultimate success. They were received with the same steady fire as before, and several were killed. Jack at last began to lose all hope of escaping, but he determined to hold out while a man remained alive. He had often been in dangerous positions, but at no time had he seen the prospect of death so near for himself and his followers. As long as his ammunition held out, however, he might still hope to keep the enemy at bay, as they appeared to have no inclination to come to close quarters. Scarcely a man of his party had escaped without one or more bullets having pierced his clothes or hat, while on each occasion, when attacked, several had fallen.

A longer pause than before ensued, when the Maoris, with loud shouts, sprang up the hill, as if resolved to surround and overwhelm the small party of seamen. Jack could not help feeling that they would too probably succeed. He, notwithstanding, cheered on his men and urged them to deliver their fire steadily at the foe.

Just then a cheer was heard at the bottom of the hill. The advancing Maoris stopped and looked over their right shoulders. The next instant a volley was fired among them, which brought several to the ground, while the rest turned and fled away to the left, many throwing down their muskets as they rushed through the brushwood. In a few minutes a party of seamen were seen coming up the hill, and Adair and Desmond dashed across the open to meet Jack with his men. Their greeting was but short, as Adair considered that the enemy should be followed and severely punished. Jack advised him not to go far lest he might fall into an ambush.

Happily Adair's party was accompanied by an assistant surgeon, who at once hastened to attend to the wounded. He gave a favourable report of Tom, whose wound he had dressed, as well as most of the other men who were wounded. The hill being cleared of the enemy, Bird with a party set off to obtain water for them, for all, even those unhurt, were suffering fearfully from thirst.

In a short time Adair returned, having found it impracticable to force his way through the bush in pursuit of the enemy. He brought in a number of muskets and pouches, showing that a panic must have seized the Maoris, who evidently fancied that the whole of the British force was upon them. He, like Jack, had lost his way, and hearing the firing, had directed his course to the spot whence it came.

From the summit of the hill they were now able with their glasses to distinguish the pah it was intended to attack, which had been passed at a considerable distance. Stretchers were at once made for the wounded, and as it was impossible to carry the dead, graves were dug at the top of the hill, where the bodies were interred. As far as they could judge, the attack on the fort had not commenced, and they would still be in time to perform the duty assigned to them. Jack's people, though hungry and weary, and mourning for their shipmates, were still eager for the fight.

Taking a survey of the country from the hill, they were able to select a more open path than that by which they had come, towards the pah, which could be seen in the far distance. They of course had to keep a bright look-out, and to send out scouts on either hand to avoid a surprise should the natives rally and again attack them. They were at length much relieved by falling in with a body of troops sent round to join in the assault on the rear of the fort. As the road to the river was perfectly safe, the wounded were carried down to the boats to be conveyed on board the ships of war, where they could be better attended to than on shore.

Jack and Terence learned from the officer commanding the troops that the attack on the pah had been postponed, and that they were still in time to take part in it. They accordingly pushed forward until they got just beyond gunshot, where they halted, expecting the signal from the opposite side for commencing the assault. Jack and Terence advanced, under cover of the trees, to a point whence they could obtain a good survey of the whole pah through their glasses.

"Very strange!" observed Jack. "I see no people moving about, nor any in the entrenchments."

"We must not, however, be too sure of that," answered Terence. "They may show themselves fast enough when we commence the assault."

They were now joined by the major commanding the troops, and together they settled the part of the works on which to direct the chief attack.

Scarcely was this done when up went the signal rocket, and hurrying back to their men they led them forward, expecting every moment to be exposed to the enemy's fire, but still not a black head appeared, not a gun barrel was to be seen. As soon as the ground would permit, the blue-jackets and soldiers advanced at the double, creating a dust which completely surrounded them. On reaching the palisades the seamen began to climb over, while the soldiers with their axes commenced opening a space through which they could force their way. Still not a shot had been fired. They could see that the troops at the other side of the pah were engaged in similar work, and almost at the same moment both parties forced an entrance. Great was their surprise and disappointment to discover that the space was deserted. There could be no doubt that the Maoris who had attacked Jack formed part of the garrison, and that finding the formidable preparations made for their destruction, they had deserted the pah, and falling in with him on their retreat, had intended to revenge themselves by attempting to cut him off.

The general now resolved to attack two other important positions to the south of the province of Auckland, which prevented a free communication between that province and Taranki. Jack had much wished to return on board the Empress to ascertain how Tom was getting on, but finding that more work was to be done, he overcame his fraternal feelings, though Tom's wound caused him considerable anxiety.

The object on most occasions throughout the warfare waged with the rebel tribes was to out-flank and take the enemy in the rear. The success of these movements of course depended greatly upon the secrecy with which they were conducted. The force was now strengthened by three guns, two Armstrong six-pounders, and a naval six-pounder which Terence had brought from his ship. The tents were allowed to stand until after nightfall, and no signs were made in the British camp that the troops were about to move. Soon after dark, however, the tents were struck and the troops being paraded without sound of bugle, moved silently forward. Among them were the seamen and marines landed from the Empress and Orion. Jack and Terence marched with their men, who dragged along their gun, which from the careful way they handled it, they evidently regarded with the greatest affection.

After marching for a couple of hours, and crossing a river by a ford, they approached the enemy's position, into the rear of which it was necessary to get without being discovered. So perfect was the discipline of the troops that not a sound was uttered as they moved along, and the Maoris—not dreaming that they were in the neighbourhood—were heard calling out as usual to evince their alertness—

"I see you, ye dogs, come on and fight! come on!"

A low chuckle from the seamen was the only reply. It was not the intention of the general to attack this position, which would, by its supplies being cut off, become untenable when turned, and the column, therefore, marched on to capture a large Maori village in which were considerable stores, the whole neighbourhood being also under cultivation. The advance guard consisted of a body of forest rangers, a colonial cavalry corps. They were followed by the seamen, who, lightly clad, managed to keep up with them. For several miles they marched along a path with high ferns on either side, the country beyond being completely shut out from their view. By pushing the cavalry and light troops forward it was hoped that the village might be surrounded, and the inhabitants prevented from making their escape. Whether they would attempt to defend themselves was doubtful. It was hoped that they would see the uselessness of doing so, and orders were issued to treat them— should they yield—with all kindness and consideration. Ascending a slight elevation, the village, covering a wide extent of ground, could be seen, not a quarter of a mile away. No lights were visible in any of the huts, nor were any of the people moving about. Not a dog barked— not a sound was heard. The rangers were ordered to push forward and enter the village on one side, while the seamen and marines closed it in on the other, so that should the inhabitants take to flight they must fall into the hands of the troops who were coming up over the ridge. As the seamen were advancing, not supposing that they were even discovered, suddenly a line of fire opened on them from a range of huts in their front, the Maoris running their muskets through the walls. The defenders in the smaller huts were soon disposed of, but from a large hut in the centre a most determined resistance was made. One of the seamen had got close up to the door, when it was opened and he was hauled inside before his comrades could rescue him. There could be little doubt but that he was instantly put to death. There being nothing at hand to break in the door, the seamen again and again attempted to force an entrance, while the defenders continued to fire through the walls.

"We must not let those fellows keep us back," cried Jack, dashing forward at the head of his men, when all at once flames burst forth so furiously from every part of the building that no one could approach it.

Not another shot was fired; probably the defenders had exhausted their ammunition. Just as Jack was about to order his men to move on and attack another part of the village, the door opened and a tall Maori stalked forth, his blanket over his head to defend himself from the flames. With a dignified step he advanced towards Jack, and presenting his war axe, he yielded himself up as a prisoner. No others came out, and the roof of the hut directly afterwards fell in. For a moment the seamen stopped, gazing at the catastrophe; then the impulse seized them to rush forward and attempt to rescue their fellow-creatures, but it was too late: for an instant a blackened head rose amidst the burning embers, and in another place an arm and shoulder appeared, but directly after sank down. Not a groan, not a sound proceeded from the building. All within it had perished, together with the unfortunate seaman who had been dragged inside.

In the mean time the resistance offered in the other parts of the village had been overcome. A hut near the centre still remained, however, from which shots were fired at the assailants. Jack led on his men to attack it. As the door was closed they fired, knowing that their bullets would penetrate the walls. After the first discharge Jack called to the inmates to surrender themselves. A shout of defiance was the only reply, followed by several shots. Again the seamen fired, when dashing forward they burst open the door. No further resistance was then offered. On the ground lay stretched four Maoris, still grasping their muskets, while at the other end sat a young girl, supporting in her lap the head of an old warrior, who had been shot through the chest and who was apparently dying. Three other men—the remainder of the garrison—having thrown down their weapons, stood ready to deliver themselves up.

As Jack, followed by Bird, Nolan, and other men, approached the young girl, she said in broken English, pointing to the old warrior, "He grandfather! Soon die! No hurt him!"

"That we won't, my pretty maiden. I am sorry that he should have been wounded. We will see what the doctor can do for him."

The girl shook her head. Jack saw that not only was blood flowing from the wound in the old man's breast, but that it came gushing out from his mouth. He despatched one of his men for the surgeon, and had the old warrior lifted out of the hut, which felt hot and stifling, in the hopes that the fresh air might revive him. The girl followed and again seated herself on the ground beside her aged relative.

"Sure! isn't she a beauty!" exclaimed Tim Nolan, who had assisted in carrying the old man, and now stood regarding the girl with an expression of admiration in his countenance. "If she'd be after having me, I'd lave the sarvice and settle down in this beautiful country."

"May be she wouldn't have you, me boy," observed Jerry Bird. "If she is a chief's daughter she'll be looking after an officer."

Tim gave a hitch to his trousers. "Though I'm not an officer I'm a British seaman, and a mighty deal better looking than many an officer, no disrespect to my superiors, and I don't see why a Maori girl should turn up her nose at me or at any one like me. I'll ask the captain's lave to splice her off hand."

The surgeon soon arrived and at once pronounced the old chiefs wound mortal; indeed, before many minutes elapsed he had breathed his last.

The poor girl was inconsolable. Her mother, she said, was dead, and her father had gone off to defend a pah which it was supposed would be attacked by the British. Jack promised to protect her to the best of his power. She seemed inclined to trust him. He was greatly puzzled, however, how to act, and Tim, who made the offer to "splice her forthwith," in no way relieved him. While Jack was in this dilemma the surgeon suggested that a missionary, who had accompanied the forces as interpreter, would be the best person to whom to consign her. The excellent man, when appealed to, gladly undertook the task, promising to send her at once to his station, where she would be looked after by his wife with some other chiefs' daughters of the same age. Whether the young lady was pleased or not with this arrangement, it was difficult to say. She had been overcome with grief at the death of her relative, and she was still seen every now and then to give way to tears. Poor Tim was in despair.

"I told you so," observed Jerry Bird. "She's a young lady born, though she's not rigged out in silks and furbelows, and she's not for such as you or me. If you are a wise man you'll wait for an English or an Irish girl, for though she may have a cock-up nose, and weigh three times as much as this young beauty, she'll make you a far better wife."

The expedition was successful. The strong posts of the Maoris being captured, and the inhabitants of the whole of that part of the country having sent in their submission, the seamen and marines were able to return to their ships.

Jack and Terence, after this, were engaged in several other expeditions on shore, in which, though successful, several officers and a large number of men lost their lives. At length the Maoris discovered, what they might have known from the first, had they not been instigated by the knavish foes of England, who kept well in the background, that it was useless to contend against the power of Britain. Most of the rebel chiefs losing heart, tendered their submission, and promised in future to be faithful subjects of Queen Victoria.

The regular forces were consequently withdrawn, and the protection of the provinces left to the care of the colonial troops. Jack and Terence, greatly to their satisfaction and to that of their officers and crews, received orders to return home. They agreed, as far as they were able, to keep together, although they would have few opportunities of communicating, except by signal. They were of course to proceed under sail, except in the event of continued calms, when they would put on steam. They had filled up their bunkers with coal at Auckland, and they hoped to avoid the necessity of touching at Rio, or any other place for fuel. The Empress taking the lead, the two men-of-war steamed together out of Auckland harbour, when, having gained a good offing and a fair breeze springing up, all sail was made and they stood together on their homeward course.

Tom Rogers, having completely recovered, was able to resume his duty. Though he had often made Billy Blueblazes his butt, he had a sincere regard for the midshipman, who was placed in his watch.

He was one night, soon after leaving New Zealand, walking the deck, on which the full moon shone down with even more than its usual brilliancy, when he missed Billy. Leaving the poop he walked forward, when he found that he had slipped down with his back leaning against the bulwarks, just behind a gun, and was fast asleep with his eyes open.

"Well, Billy, what sort of a night is it?" he asked.

Billy, starting up, rubbed his eyes. "Very dark, sir; I've been looking out for some time, but can see nothing."

Tom was somewhat astonished at this answer.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked. "I don't like to suppose that you were asleep, but it did look like it."

"Oh, no, sir," answered Billy. "I never go to sleep if I can help it, at all events on duty. It is a dark night, although some time ago I know the moon was shining very brightly."

"You must be joking," said Tom; "why the moon is shining as brightly as ever I saw it in my life."

"On my word, I cannot see that or any thing else," answered Billy. "It seems to me that I have not been ten minutes on deck."

Just then it struck seven bells of the first watch. Again poor Billy rubbed his eyes.

"I'm very sorry, but if I've been asleep I didn't know it," he said, putting out his hands instinctively before him. "Do you know, I'm afraid I'm blind."

"I very much fear that you are," said Tom. "I'll send you below and you'd better turn in and have the doctor to see you in the morning; maybe that your eyes are only a little dazzled just now, and you will be all to rights by that time."

Tom called another midshipman and directed him to help Billy into his hammock and let him know how he was.

From the way poor Billy walked, it was very evident that he could not see an inch before his nose, although, when he had once got his feet on the after hatchway ladder, he easily made his way to his hammock. He felt about, however, where to place his clothes, and required some assistance in turning in. When there, he heaved a deep sigh. His messmates heard him murmur, "Oh, dear me! am I going to be blind all my life?"

"I hope not Billy, but Mr Rogers says that he thinks you have been struck by moon-blindness, from sleeping with your eyes open, gazing too long at Dame Luna. You would have got in a precious scrape if that had not happened. I suppose Mr Rogers won't report you now."

Again Billy groaned. He had much rather have been reported and punished than have lost his sight, as he now supposed was the case. As soon as Tom's watch was over, he came down to see Billy, who was still groaning at the thoughts of having lost his sight. Tom did not think matters so serious. Intending to comfort Billy, he told him that in consideration of what had happened, the captain would not be severe on him.

Billy at last groaned himself to sleep. He awoke just before daylight. All was as dark as ever, but, though he began to groan again, he very soon once more dropped off to sleep. At last he was aroused by hearing the hammocks piped up. He instinctively tumbled out of his, when what was his surprise to find that he could see as well as ever, though his eyes ached a little, and he felt an uncomfortable smarting about them.

He hastily dressed and went on deck. The discovery that he could see threw him into high spirits. He began to tell every one of his wonderful recovery. In a short time the doctor heard of what had happened, and called him up to hear about it and to examine his eyes.

"I don't wish to damp your spirits, but you must not be too sure of retaining your sight," observed the surgeon.

Still Billy would not believe this, and was perfectly satisfied that he was all right. At night, however, what was his disappointment when, directly the sun set, he became blind and had to be led below to his hammock. In vain the doctor applied remedies—none of them had the slightest effect. Poor Billy was under the impression that he should have to leave the service without a chance of becoming one of England's admirals, or even obtaining his lieutenancy.

The two ships, still keeping in company, had a long spell of fine weather, but at length one evening it came on to blow hard. The wind increased during the night, and on the following day a terrific storm of thunder and lightning burst over the ship. The Orion, which had hitherto kept company, was lost sight off. The thunder rolled and rattled, and flash succeeded flash, each more vivid than the first. Several times it appeared as if the ship herself would be struck, as the forked lightning, bursting from the mass of dark clouds above, went zig-zagging over the summits of the waves. It was Tom's watch. Billy, who, in the day time, could do duty as well as ever, was on deck, as indeed were most of the officers, who had come up to witness the terrific strife of the elements. Billy was standing by himself, when a flash, darting through the air, passed so close to him that it appeared as if he had been struck. It was seen to flash across the deck and to lose itself in the foaming ocean. Billy uttered a cry and put his hands to his eyes. Tom asked him if anything had happened.

He answered, "No, only the lightning looked very bright. I thought I was struck."

The gale continued. No one thought of leaving the deck. Night came on, yet Billy remained moving about as he had not done for several weeks past.

"Why, Billy, you seem, to be able to see your way as well as ever," said Tom, who observed him.

"So I do; although, between the flashes, the night is dark enough, I can make out objects as well as I ever could."

Though the gale continued, the thunderstorm blew over before midnight, and Billy, with the rest of the watch below, turned in. The next evening he found to his infinite satisfaction that his moon blindness no longer existed, and the doctor and all who pretended to any scientific knowledge, were of opinion that it had been cured by the electric fluid, which had glanced across his face.

"Another half-inch, however, and we might have had a different tale to tell of you," observed the doctor.

"How so?" inquired Billy.

"Why, that you would have been turned into a piece of charcoal, instead of being restored to sight. There is something to think of, my boy, for the rest of your days."

A look-out was kept for the Orion. Although the gale had ceased, and the horizon was clear, she was nowhere to be seen.

"I hope they've not been after killing a pig aboard," remarked Pat. "They may not get off so cheap as we have."

"What do you mean?" asked Tim Nolan.

"Why, for what we can tell, one of them zig-zag flashes may have struck her, and sent her down to Davy's locker, or fired her magazine and blown her up sky high."

"I hope that's not Captain Adair's fate," observed Jerry Bird. "I've sailed with him many a day, and a better officer and a nicer gentleman does not command one of her Majesty's ships. When I have been on shore with him, he has been kind and friendly like, and looked after the interests of his men, seeing that they have plenty of grub when it was to be got. Never made us work when there was no necessity for it, and I should be sorry indeed if any harm happened to him."

When, however, day after day went by, and the Orion was not seen, even Jack began to feel somewhat anxious. She was not likely to have gone ahead of the Empress, which was the faster ship of the two, nor could she have dropped so far astern as to be altogether out of sight in so short a time. Still, as Jack observed to Tom, "They had often, during their early days, been inclined to give each other up for lost, and always met again," and he still hoped that such would be the case. At last, however, when the shores of Old England appeared in sight, he began to dread having to tell his sister Lucy his anxiety about her husband. Proceeding up Channel, Spithead was reached, and the Empress immediately received orders to go into harbour to be paid off.

Jack wisely, when writing to his wife, who, with Lucy, was staying at Lady Rogers', did not speak of his anxiety about Adair, but merely said that he had parted from him at sea and hoped the Orion, which had proved herself rather a slower ship than the Empress, would soon make her appearance at Spithead. Murray and Stella, with their children, were, he learned, at Bercaldine, for which he was sorry, as he thought he might have had the satisfaction of meeting them in the south. Some days must elapse before he could pay off his ship; he fully expected that Julia and Lucy would forthwith come down with their elder girls to Southsea, though he felt very much inclined to advise them to wait. Tom was glad to find that Archie Gordon had been promoted for more than a year, and was now serving in the Channel squadron, so that he was very likely to fall in with him before long. As Jack had expected, scarcely two days had passed since the Empress had dropped anchor, before Julia and Lucy arrived at Southsea, each with a little girl, the very image of their mothers. Jack had the happiness of hearing that a little Jack had been born a few months after he had left England, and was grown into a fine chubby fellow, and that if the small Lucy was the image of her mamma, still more so was young Jack that of his papa. Poor Lucy began to look very sorrowful, when day after day went by, and the Orion did not appear.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A VISIT TO THE GRAVE OF AN OLD FRIEND—THE THREE OLD SHIPMATES MEET— DESMOND IN IRELAND—LAYS CLAIM TO A TITLE AND ESTATE—THE POST CAPTAINS TAKE TO YACHTING—CRUISES ON BOARD THE STELLA—A NAVAL REVIEW—DOWN CHANNEL—A GALE—A RUN UP THE IRISH SEA—DUBLIN REACHED—GERALD DESMOND HAS BECOME VISCOUNT SAINT MAUR—PLEASANT EXCURSIONS ROUND DUBLIN— COUNSELLOR MCMAHON AND HIS FAIR DAUGHTERS—THE STELLA AGAIN SAILS, WITH LORD SAINT MAUR ON BOARD—BECALMED IN THE CHOPS OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL— THE YACHT RUN DOWN BY A BIG SHIP—SAINT MAUR DISAPPEARS—ANXIETY AS TO HIS FATE—DANGEROUS CONDITION OF THE YACHT—FALMOUTH REACHED—DICK STOKES GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE COLLISION—RETURN TO RYDE—THE STELLA SAILS NORTHWARD—JACK APPOINTED TO THE BELLONA, ADAIR TO THE EMPRESS.

Two gentlemen, who might at a glance have been known as naval officers, were walking arm-in-arm towards a church in the midst of a burial ground, standing on the summit of a hill surrounded by woods in the Isle of Wight, overlooking the Solent. The trees were green with the bright leaves of early summer, the birds flew here and there, carrying food to their young, and chirping merrily. In several places openings had been cut, affording a view of the blue water down the Channel in the direction of Calshot Castle and towards Spithead and the entrance of Portsmouth harbour.

One of the gentlemen was strongly built, of middle height, with an open, well-bronzed countenance, a few grey hairs showing themselves amid his bushy whiskers, proving that he was getting on in life. The other was tall and of slender proportions, but had equally the air and bearing of a son of the ocean.

Passing though a wicket gate, they went along a well-kept gravel path, and stopped before two monuments, side by side, one of granite, the other of white marble. On the first, surmounted by a naval crown, was engraved—"To the memory of Admiral Triton;" and on the other was inscribed the name of Deborah Triton, daughter of the late Captain Triton, RN, and sister of Admiral Triton, who lies interred by her side.

At a little distance followed two ladies, with a party of girls and boys, who had been laughing, chatting, and joking, as they ran in and out among each other, skipping and jumping, and darting here and there. Their voices were, however, hushed as they approached the wicket gate and discovered that they had arrived at the churchyard.

"I'm glad that my directions have been carried out," said Captain Adair, the taller of the two gentlemen. "It is but a poor mark, after all, of the gratitude and affection I owe to my kind old friends, by whom I have been so largely benefited. What do you think of them, Jack?"

"They are very much to my taste, and are exactly such as I should have wished to put up," answered Captain Rogers. "We shall hear what Julia and Lucy say."

Their two wives, who now arrived, were equally pleased. The elder girls, who had brought wreaths of flowers, placed them on the graves as a token of their visit—an idea of their mothers, though it is probable that neither Jack nor Terence would have thought of doing such a thing. They were still looking at the monuments when carriage wheels were heard, and a gentleman and lady soon afterwards appeared from the other side of the churchyard, and approached them, accompanied by a fine-looking lad in a midshipman's uniform.

"Why, Murray! My dear fellow! I little expected to see you here!" exclaimed Jack, hurrying forward to greet them, Adair following.

Captain Murray introduced his son, who had just left the Britannia, and expected every day to be appointed to a ship.

"But where have you come from, and where are you staying?" asked Jack.

"From Bercaldine, on board the Stella, but not the Stella you know. Our family having considerably increased, we had outgrown the old craft, so I purchased a fine schooner in Greenock, aboard which we arrived only yesterday evening. Finding you were staying at Ryde, we went to your house and there heard that you had gone in this direction. Guessing your object, we drove on here in the hopes of meeting you."

This of course gave Jack and Terence and their wives the greatest satisfaction. Thus the three old shipmates were again united, and together they stood round the grave of the friend they had known from their youth upwards. Of course they had a great deal to talk about, and Murray, sending away his carriage, walked back with his friends to Ryde.

Young Alick, as may be supposed, made himself agreeable to Miss Julia Rogers and Miss Lucy Adair—for both girls were christened after their mothers. He was a fine handsome boy, full of life and spirits, without a particle of bashfulness. Murray inquired after Tom and Desmond. Tom was at sea on board the Roarer, a lately launched composite frigate, which was expected to perform wonders both under sail and steam, but she had already had to put back twice into Plymouth with broken-down machinery and other injuries. It was hoped, however, now that she had undergone a thorough repair, that she would at all events be able to keep above water, although she might not succeed in running after a smaller enemy, or in running away from a big one.

"And where is your nephew Desmond?" asked Murray.

"In Dublin, closeted every day, he writes me word, with a lawyer, poring over papers, writing and receiving letters, and seeing witnesses. Our friend McMahon assures me that he is certain ultimately to succeed his father's relative, Viscount Saint Maur, a fifth, sixth, or seventh cousin, I believe, who has died lately. Several other persons, however, having laid claim to the title and estates, McMahon was somehow or other induced to look into the case, and became convinced that Gerald was the rightful heir. I thought that it was better while he was at sea not to unsettle his mind by holding out any great prospect of success."

"I heartily hope that he will succeed," said Jack. "He is a fine young fellow; although he has not particularly distinguished himself in the service, I'm sure he will, should he have an opportunity. I hope he'll stick to it even although he should become Viscount Saint Maur."

"I'm not very confident about his doing that, even should the Lords of the Admiralty offer to promote him," said Terence, laughing. "He may possibly imitate the example of our old school-fellow, Johnny Grant, who had been a mate eight or ten years, when, on his coming into a title, my lords wrote, offering at once to promote him and appoint him to a ship. He politely replied, that though hitherto overlooked, he was bound to thank them, but declined their noble offer. I suspect that Gerald also will prefer remaining at home looking after his property, and probably taking to himself a wife."

"Not one of our Australian friends?" asked Jack. "I didn't think he was so far gone as that."

"Oh no; he is as heart-sound as ever, but an Irishman with a title and good property is not likely to be allowed to remain in single blessedness. If he gains his cause at the trial, which is to come off shortly, I hope that he will come over and pay us a visit while the old house is undergoing repairs; we shall then probably go and stay with him during the winter. I wish that you and Murray would come and see us at Ballymacree—including, of course, Mrs Murray and Mrs Rogers and all your belongings. We have had the place put to rights, and I've bought back some of the dirty acres surrounding it which my poor father let slip through his fingers, so that it has regained some of its pristine greatness or glory, although we do not intend to carry on as was the custom in days of yore, when half-a-dozen hogsheads of claret were on tap at once, and anybody who asked for it got the key."

The young ladies were, perhaps, not quite so much interested with the account Adair gave of his nephew as were their parents, or in the prospect of seeing the future viscount. Murray feared that he should be unable to visit Ballymacree.

"We are due at Bercaldine in the autumn," he observed. "We are unwilling to disappoint the people there, who always look forward to our return, and we have been so many years absent that we do not like to remain away oftener than is necessary."

"You'll be getting your flag soon," observed Adair. "Then if you have an appointment offered you, surely you would not wish to decline it. It will be some time before Jack and I become admirals, although I shall scarcely feel myself neglected if I do not get a ship. In the mean time, I have paid several visits to the Admiralty lately to ascertain by ocular demonstration what are my prospects, and, judging by appearances, they are not so bad as may be supposed. By my calculations, you will have your flag in a couple of years at the outside."

"How is that?" asked Mrs Murray.

"Why, I will tell you. Your husband, as well as Rogers, well knows the waiting-room to which officers are ushered, who desire to pay their respects to the First Lord of the Admiralty, to obtain anything they can out of him. When I see a number of old post-captains collected, I generally drop a remark that I have not come to ask for employment, but to inquire how soon I am likely to obtain my flag. Some one is sure to think I'm cracked, and to beg that I will say how I can possibly learn that? My reply is that I watch the way in which my seniors go upstairs. If they run nimbly up when summoned, I am pretty sure that they are likely to remain on the books as long as I am, and become admirals. But if they drag their legs up after them, and ascend at a slow pace, I feel certain that they will be placed on the retired list, or perhaps go out of the world altogether. On hearing this my respected seniors have generally cast angry looks at me; and when they are summoned I follow them out. The first few steps they go up nimbly enough, but by the fourth or fifth they drag their legs slower. Before they are out of sight I see them creeping on, and often blowing like grampuses with the unusual exertion they have made. I generally pull out my watch too, and time them, making a note also of their mode of progress. In nine cases out of ten I have found that I have been right. Since the idea first occurred to me fifty at least have gone off the list."

Mrs Murray looked somewhat grave. "I had rather Alick remained a captain than see a number of officers put aside or die to make room for him," she answered.

"Why, my dear Mrs Murray, it's all we have to look to," answered Terence. "We must grow old, it's certain; and we wish to become admirals before we are laid up with the gout, or become too decrepit to go to sea. I hear the Admiralty are taking the matter into consideration, and intend to increase the retired list, so that we juvenile captains may have a better chance of our flags."

Jack and Terence accompanied Murray and Stella down to the pier, where their boat was waiting to take them off to the yacht, which lay among several other fine craft a short distance from it. Both promised to go on board with their wives and children the next morning.

"Have you got Ben Snatchblock as master?" asked Jack.

"No, no," said Murray, laughing. "He modestly declined taking so responsible a charge, and I thought he was right, so he has subsided into the more retiring character of boatswain or second mate. I brought the craft round myself, but I intend to look out for a Cowes man as first mate and pilot, as I wish to have no anxieties, and be able to send the vessel anywhere I wish, without going in her. I propose engaging a couple of good men as master and mate, if they are to be found at this season of the year. Most of the well-known men are, of course, already engaged."

Next morning Jack and Terence, with their belongings, went down to the pier, where the Stella's boat, with the young Alick, was waiting to receive them with oars in the air. Young Alick gave the word to shove off in a very officer-like way, and the blades dropping flat on the water, scarcely making a splash, the boat with rapid strokes was pulled alongside the yacht. Even to Jack's critical eye she was as neat and trim as any craft could be, and, moreover, a thoroughly comfortable, wholesome vessel, as are most of the Scotch yachts.

Captain Murray stood in the gangway to hand in his guests, who were soon seated in easy camp chairs, on cloaks and cushions round the skylight. The anchor was hove up. The vessel's head, under her jib and foresail, payed round before a light air from the eastward, and the mainsail being hoisted, she stood away with several other yachts, which got under way at the same time, standing to the westward. The sky was blue and clear, and the sun shone brightly on the glittering water, just rippled over by the breeze, on the polished sides of the yacht, on the burnished brass work, and on the sails white as snow.

As the Stella's squaresail was set, she ran by several of the yachts, showing that, although a comfortable craft, she was no laggard. Every thing on board was perfect. The men in their white duck trousers, blue shirts, their hats having a band on which the name of the yacht was inscribed in gold letters, the decks without a spot, the ropes neatly flemished down, the bulwarks of a pale salmon colour, the stanchions, belaying-pins, and other brass work burnished to a nicety, all betokened a thoroughly well-ordered yacht, Murray himself setting the example in his own person. The yacht soon glided by the wooded heights of Binsted. The royal domain of Osborne, surrounded by trees, with its green lawn, was passed, Cowes Point rounded, and its harbour opened out full of yachts of every size and rig, some at anchor, others just getting under way. Its club house and picturesque villas, amid its groves of trees and bright lawns, were seen close on the port side; while on the opposite shore, at the mouth of Southampton Water, could be distinguished Calshot Castle, once the residence of a general well known in the Peninsular War, the predecessor in the command of the British army of Sir Arthur Wellesley. Beyond Calshot rose the tower of Eaglehurst, and to the west of it, reaching to the shore, the outskirts of the New Forest. Then further on could be seen the town of Lymington, at the end of a river meandering through mud flats, with Jack-in-the-basket at its mouth; on the Isle of Wight shore the village of Newton, peeping out amongst the thick foliage, with a line of downs rising far beyond it, extending to the extreme west of the island; and Yarmouth, with its long street and sturdy little castle at one end, a church tower rising in its midst; and Freshwater, with its attractive-looking residences, perched on the hillside; and to the west of it, its formidable but unpicturesque-looking forts, scientifically placed on heights commanding the entrance to the Solent. On the right, at the end of a long spit of sand, were the red light-houses, and the castle, and newly erected batteries of Hurst, such as no hostile fleet would dare to encounter; outside of which could be distinguished, by the broken water, the dangerous shoal of the Shingles, well marked also by its huge black buoys.

"How beautiful and curious those cliffs are coloured!" exclaimed the children in chorus, pointing to a bay in the Isle of Wight shore, a short distance inside the white Needle rocks.

"That is Alum Bay," answered Captain Murray. "The cliffs are composed of fine sand of different colours, as you see. You shall land there some day, when we will come down on purpose; and you can collect specimens for your museum. There are tints sufficient for forming a picture, and you may try who can produce the prettiest landscape with them."

Beyond Alum Bay the cliffs rose to a great height, continuing to the very end of the island, where the white Needle rocks ran out into the blue waters. The most northern one had been scarped so as to form a platform, on which a granite light-house had been built, instead of one on the downs, which, frequently shrouded by mists, was not to be seen in thick weather by vessels entering from the westward. The Needle rocks were soon rounded, while the tide was still ebbing, and Scratchel's Bay was opened out, its perpendicular cliff rising sheer out of the water several hundred feet. The pilot Murray had engaged narrated how once upon a time a transport on a dark night ran in on the rocks, and the crew and passengers escaped over the fallen masts, and succeeded in scrambling up the more accessible part of the cliff; when the morning broke the white rocks looked as if sprinkled over by lady-birds, as the soldiers in their red jackets attempted to make their way to the summit.

The yacht stood on until Christchurch Head was passed, and Bournemouth, peeping out amid pine groves, and Studland Bay, and the pretty little town of Swanage appeared, when she hauled her wind to save the tide back, as with a light breeze she would require every inch of it to reach Ryde before nightfall.

The ladies, who had never sailed down the Solent before, were delighted with the scenery. Even the three captains, who had so often come in and out through the Needle passage, declared that they enjoyed the views more than they had ever done before. The sea was so smooth that there was no necessity to bring up for luncheon, while before dinner-time the Stella was again inside the Isle of Wight.

It was the first of several pleasant trips the three old friends with their young people took on board the Stella. The captains declared that they felt like boys again, and that it was the happiest time in their lives. They had picnics at Alum Bay, Netley Abbey, on the shores of Southampton Water; they pulled up Beaulieu River in the boats, and several times sailed round the Isle of Wight.

Adair received a letter from his nephew Gerald, giving a hopeful account of his prospects.

"What do you say to a trip round to Dublin to congratulate him if he succeeds, or to console the poor fellow if he fails?" said Murray. "You will come, I am sure, and I dare say Jack will have no objection to the trip."

Both Adair and Jack were perfectly ready to accept the invitation. Mrs Rogers expressed her readiness, and Lucy undertook to remain at Ryde to look after the children. It was finally settled that the eldest Miss Murray and Miss Rogers should go with the yacht, with, of course, young Alick, while the rest remained behind. It was arranged that the Stella should sail as soon as a grand review of the fleet, which was about to take place, was over. The review was in honour of a visit paid to the Queen by the Sultan of Turkey and the Pasha of Egypt, or rather to exhibit Britannia's might and power to the two Eastern potentates. Murray had invited several friends of his own, as well as of Jack's and Adair's, to see the fleet. As soon as they were on board, the Stella got under way, and making sail ran down the two lines, the one composed of lofty line-of-battle ships and frigates, relics of days gone by, consisting of the Victory, the Duke of Wellington, the Donegal, the Revenge, the Saint Vincent, the Royal George, the Saint George, the Dauntless, and many others, whose names recalled the proudest days of England's glory, but which were probably three or four times the size of the old ships, with a weight of metal immensely surpassing their predecessors. In the other line were cupola or turret-ships; iron-clads, with four or five huge guns, armoured screw frigates, and screw corvettes, and rams—hideous to look at, but formidable monsters—and gun-boats innumerable, like huge beetles turned on their backs, each with a single gun capable of dealing destruction on the proudest of the ancient line-of-battle ships.

The fleet getting under way stood to the eastward, when they formed in perfect order, the sailing ships taking the port line, the iron-clads the starboard. The Stella, having stood back to Spithead, saw them approaching, presenting a magnificent spectacle as they gradually emerged from the broad wreaths of smoke issuing from their funnels.

"Gaze at yonder sight, ladies and gentlemen; it will probably be the last time you will see the ancient and modern fleets of Great Britain placed in juxtaposition. All those magnificent three-deckers will be cut down into turret-ships, as the Royal Sovereign has been treated, or be broken up as useless, unable to contend with the smallest gun-boat afloat." Jack heaved a deep sigh as he spoke, adding, "I cannot help wishing at times that things had remained as they were, and that smoke-jacks and iron-clads, and rams and torpedoes, and other diabolical inventions had never been thought of; but we must take them as they are and make the best use of them in our power. In the next naval war, whenever it takes place, there will be some extraordinary naval events to be recorded. Instead of stately ships and light frigates, with their white canvas reaching to the skies, the ocean will be covered with low black monsters, darting here and there seeking for antagonists, others ramming, and some sending their vile torpedoes beneath an enemy's keel; others thundering away from their monster guns; not a few blowing up and foundering with all hands on board."

"You do not draw a pleasant picture of the battles of the future," observed Adair, laughing. "My idea is that if the British fleet is kept up as it should be, no enemy will venture out to attack it."

A strong south-westerly gale kept the Stella in Cowes harbour for some days, but the weather again clearing, and promising to continue fine, she sailed with a northerly breeze down Channel. By this time the ladies had got so well accustomed to the yacht that they felt themselves perfectly at home. Murray had a good supply of books, and a box from Mudie's was added to the store, with creature comforts of all sorts on board.

"After all, though we are somewhat closer packed than we should be on board a line-of-battle ship, I must say that yachting is a mighty pleasant way of spending the time," exclaimed Adair.

"Lucy, I suspect, will be well content if you are satisfied with indulging your nautical propensities in this way, instead of going afloat for three or four long years," observed Julia.

"It's as well not to think about the future. If the Lords of the Admiralty insist on my taking the command of a ship, unless I make up my mind to give up the service, I must accept their offer. However, at present, as they do not know where to find me, I am not likely to hear about the matter, even should they offer me a ship, so let's be happy while we can, and drive dull care away."

The fine weather continued until the Stella had got to the westward of the Eddystone, when it came on to blow pretty hard from the southward. Murray proposed running into Falmouth for the sake of the ladies.

"Will there be any danger if we continue the voyage?" asked his wife.

"Not the slightest; at the utmost we need only expect a summer gale, and though we may have a heavy sea when doubling the Lizard, once round it there will be a fair wind for us," was the answer.

The ladies were unanimous in their desire to keep at sea, so the yacht stood on her course. They certainly did repent of their resolve when the beacon on the Wolf Rock appeared on the starboard hand, and the gale came down with redoubled force, while a heavy sea got up, such as those who have often been in the chops of the Channel have experienced to their cost. The ladies, however, showed not a shadow of fear.

The yacht behaved beautifully. Murray knew that he could trust to her spars and rigging, for Ben had superintended the fitting out of the vessel, and set up each shroud and stay, and carefully examined every inch of her masts and yards, so that he felt confident that not a flaw existed. In a short time the helm was put up and the yacht stood for the passage between the Land's End and the Scilly Isles, guided by the two magnificent lights, the Longships on the starboard bow and those of the light vessel off the Seven Stones on the port.

"Why, I expected that we should have a terrible night of it; how suddenly the gale has gone down!" exclaimed Julia, not aware that the yacht had been just put before the wind, as she and the other ladies were seated on the sofas in the luxurious cabin.

The yacht, instead of heeling over as she had hitherto been doing, was on a tolerably even keel, though she gave now and then a little playful roll or pitch into the seas as she rapidly clove her way over them.

Jack came down and invited them to come on deck and see the two lights, which now appeared before them on each bow.

"Before the light vessel on the port bow was stationed there, no ship on a dark night and bad weather would willingly run through this channel," he observed. "But now it can be done as safely as in the broadest daylight, or indeed even more so."

"But I see two lights close together," said Julia.

"Yes," answered Jack, "one is at each mast-head of the vessel. It can thus be distinguished from the larger light of the Longships, which is a single light of much greater power. We can also thus distinguish the Longships from the revolving light of Saint Agnes, on the southern rocks of Scilly. You can see it low down over the port quarter. Now you see it is hidden, but it will appear again in another minute, whereas the Longships light is fixed and is always visible."

As Murray had prognosticated, the wind moderated, and the Stella had a pleasant run across the mouth of the Bristol Channel, sighting the Smalls light-house the next forenoon to the westward of Milford Haven on the starboard hand, the revolving Tuscar lights off the Irish coast being seen over the port quarter as it grew dark.

The wind now fell, and not until next morning did a light breeze spring up, which wafted the Stella along the Wicklow coast. Just before dark she brought up in the beautiful Bay of Dublin, the wind not allowing her to get into Kingstown harbour. Adair being especially anxious to go on shore to learn how it fared with Desmond, the boat was manned, and Jack accompanied him on shore, the ladies preferring to remain on board.

The eventful day of the trial was over, and already it had been decided whether Gerald Desmond was to remain a poor lieutenant with his half-pay alone to depend upon, or become the owner of a handsome estate—albeit somewhat encumbered—and the possessor of a title, at all events worth something, whatever cynics might think about the matter. Jack felt almost as much interested as Adair, and could talk of nothing else during their passage up to Dublin. The crew seemed to guess there was something in the wind, and gave way with a will. On arriving at Dublin, having sent the boat back to the yacht, they hastened up to the residence of the Counsellor McMahon, with whom Desmond was staying. They intended to sleep that night in Dublin, and to return the next morning by way of Kingstown to the Stella.

Captain Adair, excited by his feelings, pulled the bell with more than his usual vehemence.

"Is Counsellor McMahon at home?" he asked.

"No, your honour, the master, with the lieutenant, is out, but they'll not be long before they're home," was the answer.

Adair thought the term lieutenant augured ill. Surely the servant would speak of Desmond as the young lord if he had gained his cause. He, however, considered that it would be undignified to put the question.

"Are any of the family at home?" asked Jack, as he and Adair tendered their cards.

"Sure, yes, capt'ns; the mistress and the young ladies are at home, and they'll be mighty glad to see ye."

"Take up our cards, at all events," said Adair, "and we will wait in the hall."

The servant hurried off, while Jack and Adair stood waiting his return. The man soon returned.

"Come up, come up, capt'ns; the mistress will be mighty pleased to see you," he said, beginning, in a way no English servant would have thought of doing, to relieve them of their hats.

"Sure, I'll just take charge of these; they'll be after incommoding you in the drawing-room," he said, taking possession of their beavers by gentle force.

Adair smiled, but made no objection, although Jack was very unwilling to give up his hat.

They were ushered into a handsome drawing-room, and the lady of the house—a buxom dame—came smiling forward, while three young damsels rose and put down the work on which they had been engaged.

"The Counsellor must have had good hope of success, or he would scarcely have invited the young lieutenant to remain at his house with three such attractive girls as those are," thought Jack, as he cast a glance at the young ladies, while he advanced across the room.

Mrs McMahon received them with Irish cordiality and begged them to be seated. "I'm expecting the counsellor back every moment, and I conclude that our young friend, Lord Saint Maur, will return with him; for so I may call Lieutenant Desmond, as only a few technicalities have to be gone through before he can properly assume the title."

"Has he really gained the cause?" exclaimed Adair. "I am delighted, and grateful to Counsellor McMahon, without whose aid he would have had no chance of success."

"The counsellor has done his best, and his success has afforded him as much satisfaction as it can any one else," answered the lady, bowing. "Indeed, it is a pleasure to have been of service to so excellent and delightful a young man as your nephew, Captain Adair."

Jack looked round to see whether any of the young ladies gave responsive looks to the encomiums passed on Gerald. They all three smiled sweetly, with precisely the same expression, so that it would have required a better physiognomist than was Captain Rogers to have discovered what was passing in their innocent minds.

"I fully believe that the counsellor was disinterested in the efforts he made to forward Desmond's cause," he thought to himself.

There was not much time for conversation before Counsellor McMahon, a round, ruddy-faced, white-haired, bright-eyed man, accompanied by Desmond, entered the room. He took Adair's hand in both his own and shook it cordially, saying in a hearty tone—

"I congratulate you, my dear captain, on your nephew's success."

"Oh, don't thank me; I merely took care justice was done—that's all a lawyer has to do, from his client's point of view at all events. We triumphed, as I knew we should, notwithstanding the forgeries, the falsehood, and the perjury brought in array against us. It was truly a satisfaction to fight in the cause of your nephew, who bore his blushing honours with so much equanimity. I believe that had he lost, he would again have gone to sea and done his duty with as much zeal as ever. Whether or not he will now return to tempt once more the tempest and the waves, not to speak of round shot and bullets, is more than I can say. I only know that if I were in his place I should stick to terra firma. But I never much admired a life on the ocean wave, albeit feeling the deepest respect for its gallant sons who hazard their lives in their country's cause."

The lawyer ran on, scarcely allowing Jack or Adair to get in a word. At last, however, they had an opportunity of congratulating Desmond on his good fortune.

He spoke very sensibly, and was evidently in no way unduly elated by his success. Jack rightly thought that he had been too busy to dream of making love to the lawyer's fair daughters, attractive as one and all of them were.

In a few minutes supper was announced, and Jack, as the senior officer, handed down the lady of the house, Desmond modestly slipping behind and refusing to move.

Mrs McMahon was affability itself, the counsellor brimful of jokes and good humour, laughing and talking for everybody else. On hearing that Jack and Adair had part of their families on board, he insisted that they should come on shore, and allow his wife to show them the lions of Dublin and its neighbourhood. "You'll not be going away without taking a drive into Wicklow, the most perfect paradise on the surface of the globe in my opinion," he added. "Carriages shall be in waiting for the ladies, and I'll take all the trouble off your hands."

So pressing an invitation was not to be refused. The various excursions Mrs McMahon and her friends made on shore need not be described. They were delighted with all they saw of the country, if not of Dublin itself and the Misses Murray at once declared that they should be perfectly ready to come and live in Ireland, though they had seen no spot which could equal Bercaldine.

As Captain Murray had to return to Ryde to take on board his younger children, before returning to Scotland, his stay in Dublin could not be prolonged. "We can give you a berth, Saint Maur, if you are inclined to take a trip to sea again, although we will not make you keep watch unless you specially wish it," he said, scarcely expecting, however, that the invitation would be accepted.

"I shall be delighted," answered Desmond; "I can spare a couple of weeks, as McMahon will not immediately require my signature and will do all that is necessary in the mean time. I feel as fond of the sea as ever, though I shall certainly not seek for employment, and may possibly retire and start a yacht next year if I can afford it, although on that score I am not very sanguine, as the old house, I understand, requires extensive repairs, and there is much to be done on the estate: decent cottages, instead of pigsties, to be built; land to be drained and fences put up—the tenantry must be looked after."

Murray, as the only way of returning the attentions he had received from Counsellor McMahon, took him, his wife, and daughters, a trip on board the Stella, their cruise being along the Wicklow coast, and highly delighted the young ladies were, though the counsellor acknowledged that he was much happier when the Stella brought up in Kingstown Harbour, and he found himself at the dinner table in the comfortable cabin at perfect rest.

"It may be very pleasant for you young people to be tumbled and tossed about while you are gazing at the scenery of our incomparable mountains, but I confess that I can only enjoy the beauties of nature while I find my feet securely placed on terra firma," he remarked.

The following day, with a spanking breeze from the westward, the Stella sailed on her return to the Isle of Wight. The fine weather continued until she had got clear of Scilly. While she was still in the chops of the Channel it fell a dead calm, and a thick fog came on. There the Stella lay, drifted slowly up by one tide and to the westward again by the other. Night came on. The officers agreed that they had never been in the Channel with such perfect darkness as hung over the water. Lights were hoisted, and a look-out kept for any steamers which might be coming up or down the Channel, although to get out of their way was impossible.

Captain Murray and his friends felt far more anxiety than they would have experienced had it been blowing a strong gale. The evening was unusually chilly. Moisture dropped from the sails and rigging, preventing the ladies from remaining on deck. Adair went below, as he said, to amuse them; but Murray, Jack, and Desmond remained looking out, ready to shout should they see a steamer approaching. Of sailing vessels there was no fear, for they, as was the Stella, would be becalmed.

"Oh, those horrible steam-kettles! I never before so heartily hated them as I do now. If one of them was to come thundering along now, without a bright look-out, she might be into us before our lights could be seen, or our warning shouts heard!" exclaimed Adair.

"Yes, indeed," answered Murray. "I'm almost inclined to get the ladies on deck and to have a boat lowered, in case a steamer should run into us. We should have a better hope of saving their lives, for the sides of a yacht are but ill able to withstand a blow from a steamer going at even a moderate speed; and some of those steam-boat skippers, provided they make a fast passage, care very little what damage they may do to small craft in their way."

Murray, however, kept all fast. He felt ashamed of making preparations for a catastrophe which might never occur. Hour after hour passed by, while they paced the deck with their hands in their pockets, whistling for a breeze. It was very trying, as they were in a hurry to get back.

"You had better go below, Saint Maur," said Murray; "there is no necessity for us all to remain on deck."

"Thank you; but I would rather assist in keeping a look-out, while either you or Captain Rogers turn in. I'll keep moving, though, for I feel it rather cold;" and Desmond continued walking up and down at a quick pace.

Captain Rogers at last said he would go below to see what the ladies were about, and to advise them to turn in.

Scarcely had his head descended below the companion hatch than Murray exclaimed—

"Here's a breeze at last! Its dead ahead though; but it will blow away the fog, I hope, and we shall be able to keep the yacht moving."

Two or three minutes, however, passed before the vessel's sails, feeling the influence of the wind, enabled her to gather way. Contrary to Murray's expectations, the fog still hung as thickly as before above the water.

"Here, Murray, the ladies want you to settle a knotty point," exclaimed Jack, from the foot of the companion ladder.

Murray, seeing that the schooner had now got way on her, dived below. Not a minute after, a crash was heard. He, followed by Jack, sprang on deck, when they saw a large dark hull, with a pyramid of canvas, rising above the deck, over the after part of which a long projecting bowsprit made a rapid sweep, tearing a hole through the mainsail, and carrying away the leech. They both instinctively sprang aft to the helm, the man at which had been knocked down. In another instant the schooner was clear, and the stranger had disappeared in the darkness.

Jack, taking the helm, kept it up, for the blow had brought the vessel to the wind, while Murray hastened to ascertain what damage had been done.

"She has only torn away our bulwarks, sir," cried Ben. "Try the well," said Murray.

Ben reported—

"She's making no water, but I don't know what she may do when we go on t'other tack."

"Clear the boats ready for lowering," exclaimed Murray.

That on the port side, however, was found to have been carried away, with the davits, and now hung crushed to pieces, held by the falls. The darkness prevented all the damage which had been done from being discovered for some time. Adair had remained a minute behind his friends, to quiet the alarm of the ladies, who were naturally somewhat agitated at hearing the sound caused by the collision. He now sprang on deck, just as Murray was ordering a boat to be lowered.

"Here, Desmond," he sang out, "lend me a hand at the after falls."

"Hold on!" cried Murray; "there's no necessity for lowering a boat. There's no great damage done, after all, I hope; though it would have been the same to that big fellow, for no one on board him even hailed to know whether we required assistance."

The breeze was every instant freshening. The schooner heeled over to starboard.

"Where are you, Desmond?" exclaimed Adair.

No one answered.

"Good Heavens! where's Saint Maur?" cried Jack. "Can he have gone below?"

"That's not likely. Alick, where are you?" cried Captain Murray, the fearful idea occurring to him that some accident might have happened to his son.

"Here, sir," cried Alick, who had been forward talking to Ben Snatchblock.

Murray uttered his thanks to Heaven. "Bring a light here, and look round the deck," he exclaimed. "He may have been struck down."

The search was in vain. The man who had been at the helm seemed to have been seriously injured, as he was found senseless close to the taffrail. It became too sadly evident that the young lord had been carried overboard.

He must have been struck on the head; for no cry had been heard, and, owing to the pitchy darkness, no one had seen him. The crew, with the exception of the helmsman, having been gathered forward, they were now mustered to ascertain if any one else had been carried overboard, but all answered to their names.

Murray and Jack blamed themselves bitterly for having left the deck when they ought to have been on the look-out; but even had they remained, the collision might not have been avoided, so suddenly had the stranger appeared running down before the wind. Adair could scarcely restrain his grief for the loss of his nephew. Murray immediately put the schooner about, and then kept away, so as to pass over the spot where the accident had occurred. Desmond might possibly have recovered his senses, and kept himself afloat, either by swimming or holding on to the fragments of the boat. Every eye was strained in looking ahead and on both sides, in the possibility of discovering him; but no voice replied to their repeated shouts, and nothing was seen floating on the water. Hands were stationed at the falls to lower the boat, should it become necessary. The schooner was frequently tacked, so that every inch of water was explored; but the search was in vain.

Murray considered that it would be useless to attempt to overtake the stranger, to ascertain who she was, and to demand reparation for the damage inflicted. At length the search was abandoned as hopeless; and the yacht once more hauled her wind. She was destined, to all appearance, to have a long beat up Channel.

Jack undertook to convey the sad intelligence to his wife and Mrs Murray, who had remained below, wondering what had occurred.

It was a sad event in the trip, which had otherwise been so agreeable. The wind continued to increase, and Murray felt too anxious to go below. The schooner had been put about and was now standing to the northward. He had made up his mind to run into Falmouth to wait for a fair wind, should the weather not improve. Ben Snatchblock came aft.