"Yes, you will go in charge of the gig as an officer; Mr Symonds will take command of the expedition in the pinnace; the masters of the whalers will go in the other boats: should Mr Symonds fall, the command will devolve on you," said Mr Handsel. Mr Symonds was a master's mate; one of the lieutenants being wounded and the other on board the Concorde, he was the next in rank able to go. Four boats were quickly in the water, the last nail being driven in by the carpenter as they were being lowered. Their crews were armed with pistols and cutlasses. It was resolved to attack the nearest vessel first; and as she was said to be the fastest sailer, should she be captured, it was hoped that the other would be quickly overtaken. Old Jacob and Dick were with Ralph. The boats shoved off from the ship's side and pulled for the nearest whaler. As they approached she opened a hot fire, on which Mr Symonds ordered them to keep apart and to steer for her stern. One of the masters in charge of the pinnace did not hear the order. Ralph saw that she was struck several times. Mr Symonds's boat also suffered. He with the second cutter dashed on, the others following: one boarded on each quarter. The Frenchmen had to quit their guns and to defend themselves with pikes and pistols, but their assailants quickly swarmed on board, Ralph, in spite of his wounded arm, getting up the side with Jacob's assistance. The fight on deck was short. The prize-crew gave way, and in three minutes the English were in possession of the ship. Ralph looked round for Mr Symonds. He lay dead in the stern of his boat, and Ralph found himself in command of the prize. The master of the whaler just captured was also killed. The other was badly wounded, and several of their men had fallen. Having secured the prisoners and released the crew below, he ordered the boats to tow ahead towards the other whaler. As they approached she opened her fire, but by steering to the eastward he kept directly ahead of her, out of range of her guns. Getting still nearer, he brought his broadside to bear on her, when the Frenchmen, to avoid the consequences, hauled down their colours. She was quickly taken possession of, when the prize-crew were secured and the Englishmen remaining on board were released. As each vessel had six boats they in a short time were towed near to the Falcon. As they approached they were received with a loud cheer, and Mr Handsel ordered Ralph to take command of the first re-captured, the Eagle, and to send all the hands he could spare to assist in refitting the Concorde and setting up jury-masts. Of the other vessel, the Penguin, her only surviving mate took charge; for both had fought bravely, and had not struck till after a long chase, and when several officers and men had fallen. Both vessels had also so severely suffered in hull and rigging, that it would have been dangerous without undergoing repairs to proceed on their voyage.

Lieutenant Handsel therefore determined to proceed with all the ships to Rio de Janeiro, the nearest port in the Brazils. Ralph could scarcely believe that he was not in a dream when he thus found himself in command of a fine ship, with the probability of having to navigate her home. Should, however, a fitting man be obtained at Rio to take charge of her, he would be superseded and have to return to the Falcon. He naturally hoped that no one would be forthcoming. He should then realise his fondest hopes—be united to Jessie—with a good sum from his prize-money and pay as captain of the Eagle with which to set up house. He might then rejoin the navy as an officer, or obtain his discharge, or go back to the Amity, should Captain Mudge wish him to do so. "I will not be ungrateful to my kind old friend, though I suspect that Jessie would wish me to remain in the service; and though I entered unwillingly, I should now be sorry to leave it," he thought. "Perhaps I may rise still higher—others have done so—why should not I, if I do my duty, and my life is preserved?"

Ralph quickly got accustomed to his new position. His scanty crew acknowledged that they had never had a better captain. They were kept of necessity at work, but he made that work as light as possible by setting them to do it in the best way it could be done, and only ordering them to do what was absolutely required. Sailors, as indeed is the case with most classes of men, are very quick in discovering when they have an efficient officer placed over them who knows his duty. Insubordination and mutiny are generally the consequences rather of the ignorance and sloth of the captain than of tyranny.

Fortunately, the calm continued. The decks were washed clean of their bloody stains; the dead were committed to their ocean graves, and their shipmates, if they did not forget, soon ceased to talk about them. Jury-masts were rigged on board the Concorde, and a breeze at length springing up, the four ships, thus partially repaired, made sail for Rio.

Old Jacob and Dick had accompanied Ralph on board the Eagle. It was an unfortunate circumstance for the latter. Spirits were more easily obtained than on board the frigate, and he very soon became quarrelsome and mutinous. Ralph, not observing his state, had directed him to perform some duty.

"Not for you, or any man like you. You, who were before the mast only yesterday—you think you can top the officer over me, do you? I told you I wouldn't stand it, and I won't," exclaimed Dick, reeling about and flourishing his arms as his excitement increased.

The whaler's crew laughed, and some of the rougher characters even encouraged Dick with their applause.

Ralph knew that discipline must be maintained, though ready himself to bear any insult, and most unwilling to punish his former messmate. A boat from the Falcon was alongside. He ordered the boatswain and some other men on whom he could depend to seize Dick and lower him into her. It was done before the unhappy man knew what was happening. Ralph then wrote a note to Lieutenant Handsel, saying that the proceeding was necessary to prevent worse consequences, but begging that, as Bracewell had behaved bravely in the action, his offence might be overlooked. Dick stormed and raged when he found himself being carried back to the frigate, and vowed that he would be revenged. Ralph regretted what had happened, the more as he had hoped that, by keeping Dick on board the Eagle, he might have prevented him from attempting to desert. He resolved, however, as soon as they arrived at Rio, to go on board the Falcon and to try and bring him to reason. Though the distance to be run was not great, they were very long about it. Light winds and calms prevailed, and when there was a breeze, the other ships had to wait for the Concorde, which, under jury-masts, made but slow progress. At length land was sighted, and all hoped to get in the next day. As, however, evening drew on the weather looked very threatening. Dark clouds gathered rapidly in the sky. Squalls in quick succession swept over the ocean, and a heavy sea got up, in which the ships plunged and rolled as they made their way towards the harbour's mouth. Night coming down on the world of waters, the rest were ordered by a signal from the Falcon to stand off the land till daylight. Ralph trembled for the masts of the Eagle, and was still more anxious about those of the Falcon, The night became very dark, and the gale increased. The lights from the other ships could be distinguished at some distance apart. The Falcon and Penguin appeared to be making fair way, and the Eagle behaved very well, but the Concorde was evidently dropping astern. Ralph had kept his eye on her lights. They grew dimmer and dimmer. It was doubtful whether she was even holding her own. The Eagle was under close-reefed topsails, and could with difficulty carry them. A perfect hurricane was blowing dead on shore. "Lord help those on board the prize! I can nowhere see her lights," exclaimed old Jacob, who had been looking out to leeward. "She must have carried away her jury-masts, or her canvas has blown to ribbons, I fear. If not, we shouldn't have lost sight of her."

Ralph looked in vain in the direction in which he had last seen the lights of the Concorde, while those of the frigate and the whaler were clearly visible, the former about a mile ahead of the Eagle, and the latter rather further off, astern.

"If the wind doesn't change soon there'll go a good lump of prize-money and the lives of a good many poor fellows," observed old Jacob.

"But won't she be able to steer for the harbour, Crane?" asked young Chandos, who was, however, thinking more of his two messmates and others on board than of prize-money.

"It will be a hard matter to find it, even if they can steer the ship at all: and considering the way we knocked her about, it will be a wonder to my mind if she doesn't go to the bottom before morning," answered old Jacob with a sigh.

The anxious night passed away. When day dawned, it was found that the ships were nearer the land, notwithstanding all their endeavours to beat off it, than they had been on the previous evening. Many a glass was turned westward in search of the Concorde, though the hope of discovering her was slight. Not a trace of her was to be seen. She, with her prize-crew, had probably foundered or gone on shore at the moment her lights had disappeared. Still it was thought possible that she might have been driven into some bay, or between high rocks, and be concealed by them from sight. Soon after dawn the Falcon made the signal to bear up for the harbour. She leading, and the two re-captured whalers following, they stood towards it. Though the sea broke impetuously on the rocks on either side, they safely entered the magnificent harbour of Rio de Janeiro, and dropped their anchors off the town.

Lieutenant Handsel at once applied to the authorities for guides, and a party was sent off, under the master and purser, to search the coast to the northward for the wreck of the Concorde, and to assist any of the crew who might have escaped. The sea was still too rough to allow of an expedition by water. Ralph in the meantime was ordered to return to the Falcon with Mr Chandos and the men-of-war's men who had accompanied him on board the Eagle. Mr Handsel then told him that as there was no probability of an English master being found at Rio to take the Eagle home, he should direct him to do so, and would furnish him with a document which would enable him to obtain a passage to rejoin the Falcon in India, should he desire to remain in the navy. "I would strongly advise you to do so," he added; "and it will not be my fault it you do not gain promotion."

Ralph heartily thanked his commander, and begged that he might be allowed to defer his decision till his arrival in England. Before going on shore, which he had to visit to obtain workmen for the repairs of the Eagle, he went below to speak to Dick Bracewell. He hoped to soothe his anger and to persuade him to give up his intention of deserting. He did not see him as he went along the decks. He ascertained that he had not formed one of the exploring party. He sent others to search for him, but he was nowhere to be found. A number of shore-boats had been going backwards and forwards all day between the ship and the shore, and Ralph had too much reason to fear that Dick had smuggled himself into one of them and made his escape. He felt it his duty to inform the commander, that watch might be kept to prevent others from following so bad an example; and he received orders to take a couple of men and to bring back the deserter if he could be found. He first returned to the Eagle to warn the boatswain, who was in charge, to look sharply after their own men.

"Half are drunk already, and as they have somehow or other managed to get liquor on board there is no fear of them," was the unsatisfactory answer.

Ralph could only hope that the boatswain himself would keep sober, and as he could not remedy matters by remaining, he pulled on shore. Having obtained an interpreter and guide from the British consul, he commenced his search for Dick. After looking for him for some time, he heard that an English seaman, answering to his description, had been seen to enter a house in the neighbourhood of the town. Though it was now nearly dark he set off at once in the hopes of finding him before he could make his escape. He knew that he was acting really a kind part towards Dick, who would, if left on shore, soon fall a victim to intemperance and the unhealthy climate. The house was reached. The inhabitants appeared to be very much surprised at the visit, and though they allowed a search to be made for the runaway, they protested that they had never seen or heard of him. With much regret Ralph returned to the quay to go on board his ship. As he and his party approached the shore they observed a bright glare in the sky over the harbour.

"As I'm alive, there's a ship on fire," exclaimed one of the seamen. "Hope it isn't our frigate."

"It is one of the ships which came in this morning, at all events," observed the guide.

Ralph with an anxious heart hurried down to the quay, where a number of people were already collected. A ruddy glare extended far and wide over the harbour from a fiery mass which floated on its surface, lighting up the buildings and the figures of the people on the shore, and the ships at anchor off it. Among them lay the Falcon, her sides and lofty masts and rigging brought prominently into view. At some distance from her was the Penguin; and what was Ralph's dismay when he discovered that the burning ship was the Eagle. His impulse was to go off at once to her—but what aid could he render? Already the flames were bursting through her hatchways and ports and encircling her masts and spars. The oil and casks in her hold once having ignited, no human means could extinguish the conflagration. He looked for his boat. A boy alone was in her; the men, as was to be expected, had gone off to a wine-house, and only just having heard that a ship was on fire, came reeling down to the quay, uttering exclamations of surprise when they discovered that she was their own. Having tumbled into the boat they were sufficiently sober to row, and Ralph ordering them to shove off, steered for the unfortunate Eagle. Numerous boats were moving about, and some around her, and he hoped, therefore, that the people on board had been rescued. It made him fear, however, that all hope of saving the ship had been abandoned. Still it was his duty to get on board if he could, to ascertain that every possible effort had been made. He had passed through an outer circle of native boats, and was dashing on, when he was hailed by a man-of-war's boat, but not hearing what was said, he was still continuing his course, and would soon have been close to the ship, when there came a thundering report as if a whole broadside had been fired. Her mizen mast shot up into the air, followed by a large portion of the afterpart of her deck and bulwarks and interior fittings; some parts in large pieces, others rent into numberless burning fragments, which hung suspended in the air, and then in a thick fiery shower came hissing down into the water, the lighter bits reaching considerably beyond where the boats lay. Ralph had scarcely time even to get his boat round before the shattered pieces of burning wood began to fall thickly round his boat, threatening in an instant to sink her, and to kill any one who might be struck. Happily no one was hurt. The downfall of the wreck ceased; still the fire in the forepart of the ship was raging on, when the bows and bowsprit rose in the air surrounded by flames which, tapering up into a vast cone of fire, suddenly disappeared as, the stern sinking first, the water swept over the remainder of this hapless ship, and all was instantly dark, except here and there where the smouldering ends of spars and planks floated above the calm surface of the harbour. Ralph with a sad heart pulled on board the Falcon, feeling himself reduced from the position of captain of a fine ship to that of a master's assistant; and what weighed still more on his spirits, that he had no longer the prospect of returning to England and to his dear Jessie. He was thankful to find that the boatswain and most of the crew of the Eagle had been rescued, with the exception of three unhappy men who, overcome by liquor, had been suffocated below. The whole of the survivors entered on board the Falcon—indeed, they were not offered a choice. A dozen of her best hands were also taken out of the Penguin—such being the custom of the times, when a King's ship wanted men. Their places were filled by Portuguese and other foreigners, thirty of whom were shipped by the Falcon to make up her complement, in addition to a few runaway English seamen reduced to beggary, and sent on board by the consul. The exploring party returned without a survivor from the Concorde, a few pieces of wreck alone having been found as evidence of her fate. Such is the sad result of warfare. Three hundred human beings had lost their lives on board the four ships, two only of which now remained afloat. Ralph did his utmost to discover Dick, but without success, and at length he began to fear that he had been drowned in trying to make his escape, or had—not an unlikely occurrence—been murdered on shore. The Falcon, her repairs being completed, and Mr Handsel having written his despatches to send home by the Penguin, and having given himself an acting order as commander, sailed for the East Indies.

Ralph, as may be supposed, did not fail to write to Jessie and Captain Mudge by the Penguin, and to leave duplicates of two letters with the consul, to be forwarded by another opportunity.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

Poor Jessie Flamank had good cause to be sad. For long she hoped against hope. Whenever the door opened her heart beat quick, and she looked up half ready to spring from her seat in expectation that her Ralph would appear. Her kind granny was unwilling to say anything which might quench the hope which kept up her spirits, yet the dame knew full well that Ralph was too good a seaman to be allowed his liberty. Captain Mudge looked in every evening when his work on board the Amity was over for the day, and did his utmost to comfort Jessie. He would not say, however, whether he thought that Ralph would come back soon, but he told her that he was sure to get on well, and be better off in many respects than on board the brig. "As to danger," he continued, "to my mind a man is as safe in one place as in another. God, remember, looks after those who trust in Him; they would be in a bad case if they had no other protection than such as they can find for themselves; so I don't see, Jessie, that any of us can do more for him than we are doing, that is, praying heartily for him. As I always say, it's a blessed thing that we can do that for ourselves and others, though we can do nothing else for our own or their help."

Jessie did trust to God, but her trial was hard to bear notwithstanding. Still it made her throw herself more than she might otherwise have done on His fatherly care, and she felt her heart lightened in a way she had not supposed possible. She had abundance of occupation; for Mrs Treviss was accustomed to take in needlework, to assist her limited means, and as her eyesight had of late become dim, Jessie endeavoured to relieve her by labouring with redoubled diligence.

Kind-hearted Captain Mudge seldom came to the cottage without some welcome present, which he said he had received as a gift from a brother skipper just returned from a foreign voyage. One day it was a Dutch cheese, another a few pounds of choice tea, or a box of dried fruit or some bottles of wine, and so on. One day, when the package was larger than would have been becoming for him, master of the good brig Amity, to carry through the streets, he was followed by a boy wheeling it along in a barrow. The lad, who was dressed in a neat sailor-like costume, set it down in the passage and was going away, when Jessie recognised, in spite of his changed appearance, her young tatterdemalion boatman, Peter Puddle. "What, Peter, I scarcely knew you again," she said. "You must stop and have something to eat."

"Thank ye, miss, I'm not hungry, as I used to be," he answered, in a tone of satisfaction. "Captain Mudge has taken me aboard the Amity, and I get as much grub as I want, though I shouldn't mind a bit of bread and cheese, thank you."

Jessie invited Peter into the kitchen and placed before him a loaf of bread and some cheese, to which, notwithstanding his assertion, he did ample justice. She observed that he had improved in his manners as well as in his appearance. Before beginning to eat, he said grace exactly in the words the captain used and in the same tone. He told her that Captain Mudge had given him an outfit, and was teaching him to read and say his prayers, and was ever so kind in all sorts of ways. "Oh, miss, there isn't no one like him," he added. "And only to think if I'd gone off at once that night and hadn't picked those fellows up, I might have saved your young man from going to sea in the frigate. I be main sorry, you may depend on't; but I'll do all the captain tells me, that I will."

Jessie sighed. "The men might have lost their lives had you not picked them up, though it was, indeed, careless of you to forget your commission," she said. "But what I have to forgive I heartily do forgive, and I hope that you will obey Captain Mudge, and follow his advice."

"That I will, miss, and thank you, too, for speaking so kindly to me," answered Peter warmly. "I hope I may have a chance of showing that I am grateful, some day, though it isn't likely, I'll allow."

The Amity was at length ready for sea. She was bound out to Riga for staves, a somewhat dangerous voyage in the autumn. Captain Mudge came to wish the widow and her granddaughter farewell. "I've got a fresh mate," he said, "a decent lad; but he isn't like Ralph, and I doubt if he's much of a navigator."

"Good-bye, Jessie, good-bye; heaven bless and protect you; keep a good heart, my girl, you'll see Ralph back some day," were his last words, as he wrung her hand at the porch and hurried down the road.

When he had gone, Jessie felt that she had lost the truest friend she possessed in the world next to her granny, and she could not help fearing that the days of her only relative were numbered. Every week Jessie saw a marked change in her. She could no longer get up and downstairs without the greatest difficulty, her eyesight grew worse, and her trembling fingers refused to hold a needle, while she could scarcely convey her food to her mouth. In one respect she had not changed: her mind remained clear and her trust in God as firm as ever. She knew that she was dying, though she was loth to say so to her grandchild, who would thus be left alone in the world. "God will look after the dear one," she said often to herself; "He is ever the father of the fatherless, and will not forsake her." She longed, however, for the return of Captain Mudge, but though it was the time for him to be back, no news had come from him. A letter at last arrived from Ralph, written from the West Indies, which gave her an account of his prospects of promotion, and cheered her up. He was well and as contented as could be, and she was thankful for that; still it compelled her to abandon all hopes of his speedy return. When his next letter arrived, giving an account of the battle and of the loss of the Eagle and of his own bitter disappointment, she was sitting by the death-bed of Mrs Treviss. Had it not been for the burning of the Eagle, Ralph might even now have been with her, but instead, he had certainly gone to that far, far off Indian Ocean, where he might be kept for years. Jessie restrained her tears that she might not disturb her grandmother's last hours.

Mrs Treviss, who was thinking of Captain Mudge, asked faintly if he was coming.

"No hope of it, dear granny," she answered, in a faltering voice.

"God's will be done! Trust to Him! Trust to Him!" whispered, the old woman, closing her eyes as if she were weary and wanted sleep.

Jessie sat long watching her anxiously. There was no movement. She took her hand. It was icy cold. Her granny was dead, and she was alone in the world. The doctor some time after looked in and found the young girl still seated by the bedside. He sent a woman, Dame Judson by name, to assist her, and promised to make arrangements for the funeral, but he had a large family of his own, and could do little more except in the way of sympathy and advice. Mrs Treviss was carried to her grave, Jessie being the only mourner, while Dame Judson walked by her side to afford her support.

When she came back to her solitary home she could not for some time arouse herself from her grief, though Dame Judson, a motherly sort of woman, tried her best to console her. Jessie, however, felt that it was necessary to consider what she should do for her support. The cottage was hers, and she had about ten pounds a year left her, the interest of a sum in the hands of Messrs. Grayson and Company, shipowners, of Plymouth. She could make something by her needle, but scarcely sufficient, though she was resolved to try her best. She would have let her cottage and looked for a situation as a lady's-maid or a nursery-governess, but then should Ralph come back he would be disappointed at not finding her there, and she might not even hear of his return, so she would not entertain the idea for a moment. She might find an old lady to lodge with her, and her last idea was to open a school for little girls. She had no one to consult with. Worthy Dame Judson hadn't an idea above charing; with her neighbours she was but slightly acquainted. Messrs. Grayson and Company had paid her grandmother's interest regularly, but were not pleasant people to speak to. They had been part owners with her father in the Dolphin, the ship in which he had been wrecked. Having neglected to insure her they had lost a good deal of money by the circumstance, and being especially narrow-minded entertained an ill feeling even for poor Jessie herself, which they exhibited whenever she went to their office. She had been to a good school in Exeter, but the lady who kept it, and who would have been of great assistance, was dead, and the school broken up.

The clergyman of the church Jessie attended, on hearing of her unprotected condition, immediately called on her to offer such consolation and assistance as he had the power to bestow. He was, however, the vicar of an extensive parish, which, in addition to its usual large number of poor, contained at the time very many widows and orphans of the soldiers and sailors killed during the long protracted war, who demanded all his sympathy and attention. Having also but a limited income, insufficient for the extensive demands on his purse, he was unable to afford her any pecuniary assistance. His visits, few and far between, like those of angels, as they of necessity were, afforded her much comfort and support, as he never failed to urge her to seek for that strength from on high which will always be granted when asked for with a believing heart; and to place her reliance on Him who orders all for the best, though man, with his finite powers of mind, often fails to perceive it.

The only other person she could consult was Mr Barry, the apothecary, and he had but little time to give his thoughts to the subject.

The Amity had in the meantime gone back to London, and had made several other distant voyages without returning to Plymouth. The captain had written to her, but on each occasion had again sailed without receiving her replies, and was thus not aware of her grandmother's death. At length a letter reached him while he lay in the Thames, and in his answer he promised to come and see her without fail at the end of the next voyage. A long time passed after this, and no tidings came of him. She lived on in hopes, however, of his promised visit, till at length she heard from Mrs Judson of a rumour that the Amity was lost with all hands.

"But don't ye take on so now, my dear," exclaimed the good woman when she saw the effect her announcement had produced. "We often hear of vessels going to the bottom which are all the time snug in some port or other, and perhaps the Amity, which has to be sure been a terrible long time missing, will come back some day with her old captain all right."

These remarks slightly revived poor Jessie's hopes, but weeks and weeks went by and the old captain did not appear. Still she thought that the Amity might have been captured by the enemy and be in some foreign port; but the brokers had not heard from Captain Mudge, and even though a prisoner he would have managed to send a letter. She had long been expecting also to hear from Ralph. She was certain that he would have written if he had had the opportunity, but no news came of him. India was a long way off, and letters were often six months or even a year in coming, she knew. She was, therefore, though anxious, not alarmed, but she could not help watching with a beating heart each day at the hour the postman was wont to pass her door, in the expectation that he would stop with a letter in his hand.

Months and months passed, none came. Her heart sickened, her cheeks grew pale. Again Dame Judson was the bearer of bad tidings. "She didn't wish to alarm Miss Flamank, not she, but she had heard a report that one of his Majesty's ships had been lost in the Indian seas with all hands, and she was greatly afraid that it might be the Falcon. There were many other ships, though, on the station, and it might just as likely be one of them."

Jessie had never before fainted in her life, but she would have fallen to the ground had not Mrs Judson caught her and carried her to the sofa. The good woman was dreadfully frightened, for she thought that Jessie was dead, and that she had killed her by her incautious announcement. She tried all the usual expedients to restore animation, and at length the poor girl opened her eyes, but there was a pained yet vacant expression in them which the dame could not fail to remark.

Mr Barry happened soon afterwards to look in to say that he had the promise of four or five pupils, but he at once saw that poor Jessie would be unable to receive them for a long time to come. For weeks she remained in a sadly prostrated state, attended by Dame Judson, who looked after her, as she said truly, without hope of fee or reward. Youth and a good constitution prevailed at length, and Jessie recovered her health, though her heart seemed crushed, and she was unable to exert herself as she knew was necessary to obtain a livelihood. Poor girl! she felt utterly alone in the world. Still, though the news of the Falcon's loss was confirmed beyond all doubt, and the widows and children of her officers and crew entitled to pensions had received them she heard, she herself would not abandon all hope of seeing Ralph. Had she not prayed to God that he might be preserved from all dangers with the truest faith? and oh, how earnestly! though, as in duty bound, she had added, "Thy will be done." She even now tried from her heart to repeat those words and to bow meekly to the will of her Heavenly Father. "He knows what is best, and does all for the best, as granny used to tell me, and as the kind vicar often says," she repeated to herself; "I am sure of that, though I cannot see it in this case, but that arises from my blindness and little faith."



CHAPTER NINE.

Kind Mrs Judson had gone to her own house. Jessie was seated at her work near the window for the sake of the light on an evening in the spring of the year, when she saw a man in a sailor's dress pass the garden gate, then stop and make inquiries of a passer by. Presently he came back, and opening the gate, knocked at the door. Her heart beat violently. He was a stranger, not at all like Ralph; but could he have brought news of him? She flew to open the door.

"Beg pardon, ma'am; are you Jessie Flamank?" asked the stranger, pulling off his hat with a sailor's courtesy.

"Oh, who are you? Oh, tell me why you have come!" exclaimed Jessie, scarcely able in her agitation to utter the words.

"Why, do you see, I'm an old shipmate of one you knew once upon a time, and I thought as now I was at Plymouth I'd come and look you up and see how you were getting on, and have a talk about him," answered the man, stepping in as Jessie made way for him.

"Then do you bring me no news of him—of Ralph Michelmore?" she asked, in a trembling voice.

"Not what you may call news; seeing as how it's better than two years since I last set eyes on my old messmate," answered the stranger, taking a chair, while Jessie, unable to support herself, sank into the one she had left. "He told me all about you," he continued, "how you were to be married when he was pressed along with me and others, and so I came to know you: and, said I to myself, now that he's gone, poor fellow, and she's all forlorn-like, maybe, I'll try and comfort her a bit."

Poor Jessie! This strange address from the rough sailor, though apparently kindly meant, had anything but the effect intended, for she burst into tears.

"Now don't take on so," said the sailor, "I didn't think as how I'd have made you cry, or I wouldn't have talked about Ralph. Maybe he wasn't lost with the old Falcon. I've known men turn up after ever so many years, whom I thought fathoms deep below the waves long afore. Not but what he'd have been sure to come back to you if he could, that's certain."

"You have not told me who you are. How did you escape from the shipwreck?" said Jessie, at length becoming calm enough to speak.

"I've had a purser's name [see note 1] for some time past, but I don't mind telling you I'm Dick Bracewell, who sailed along with Captain Mudge in the Amity once upon a time," answered her visitor. "And as to how I escaped, why I'd left the ship after we took the Frenchman and put into Rio, and I didn't know but what Ralph was still aboard her, and a lieutenant by that time, till I heard when I came ashore last that she was lost with all hands."

Jessie did not quite like Dick's way of speaking, still it was a melancholy satisfaction to her to talk of Ralph; and as her visitor appeared to mean kindly, she did not express any wish that he would take his departure. He sat and sat on telling her many particulars about Ralph while on board the Falcon; how well he had behaved in the action, and how he had been made an officer, and been placed in command of the Eagle, Dick did not, however, tell her everything that had occurred regarding himself; but though he was not aware of it his tone betrayed the feeling of jealousy which he had entertained, and which her quick perception detecting, did not raise him in her estimation. At last she had to tell him that it was getting late, and to beg that he would go away.

"Well, I hope that I may call again and spin another yarn about old times," he answered, as he took up his hat.

She did not like to say no, and yet his conversation had not left a pleasant impression on her mind. When she had closed the door behind him, she sat down and cried bitterly. It seemed to her more certain than ever that Ralph was lost. Her evening reading of the Bible and her prayers, that solace of the afflicted, restored calmness to her mind.

Day after day Dick Bracewell came to pay her a visit, and, believing him to have been Ralph's particular friend, she did not like to decline seeing him. He told her that after he had left the Falcon he had joined a privateer, which had been wonderfully successful; that they had taken a rich Spanish galleon and many other valuable vessels, and that he, having become one of the mates of the ship, had had a large share of prize-money; enough, he declared, to set him up as an independent gentleman for life. To wind up his good luck he had come home in charge of the last prize they had made, which was fully as rich as any of the rest.

"My old shipmate, he that's gone, told me that I should be ruined if I left the frigate, but he was wrong, you see," added Dick. "He thought, too, that I hadn't the sense to take care of my money, if I got any; but I had had a sharp lesson or two, and I made up my mind not to touch liquor, whether afloat or ashore, and I've kept to it for better than two years."

Jessie had heard Ralph mention Dick Bracewell once or twice, but knowing nothing about his character, did not doubt the truth of his statements. Still Dick had not, as he supposed, gained her confidence. His frequent visits were, as might have been expected, noticed by Jessie's neighbours, and Dame Judson looked in one morning on purpose to tell her of the remarks she had heard, and to give her advice on the subject. She concluded by saying, "If you think that he is worthy of you, my dear, which I don't, why, there is nothing to say. You are your own mistress, and can marry him when—"

"I marry him!" interrupted Jessie. "Oh, Mrs Judson, how can you think of such a thing? I did not suppose that he or any one else dreamed for a moment that I fancied he was making up to me, or I would not have received him after his first visit. Do, Mrs Judson, stay with me to-day, and if he comes tell him that I cannot see him, and beg that he will not come again."

Mrs Judson very readily consented to do as Jessie wished. She had made inquiries about Dick Bracewell, and did not altogether believe in the capture of the Spanish galleon, though she heard that he had come ashore from a prize brought into Plymouth to be sold. The dame had brought her work, and took Jessie's usual place by the window to watch for Dick. She had not been there long before she saw a young sailor approach the house, and, without stopping, walk straight up to the door. "That isn't Dick Bracewell. I wonder who he can be," she exclaimed, as a knock was heard.

"Can it be Ralph?" gasped out Jessie, rising from her seat.

"Oh, no, my dear, he's much too young-looking. You mustn't have such a fancy. I'll see what he wants," said the dame, going to the door.

"Please, ma'am, does Miss Flamank still live here?" asked the young sailor.

"What do you want to say to her?" said the dame.

"I've a great deal to say to her, and I think shell know me when I tell her who I am," replied the sailor.

"Do let him come in, Mrs Judson," exclaimed Jessie, eagerly, her heart beating with the belief that she should hear news of Ralph.

The stranger, doffing his hat, advanced into the room and stood before Jessie with a smile on his countenance as if expecting instantly to be recognised. "I thought, Miss Flamank, that you'd have known me," he said at length; "I've never forgotten you and your kindness to me. Don't you remember Peter Puddle?"

"Oh! yes, yes; indeed I do," exclaimed Jessie, putting out her hand. "And is the Amity not lost? Is Captain Mudge still alive?"

Peter shook his head. "I wish I could say there was any chance of that," he answered. "When the old brig went down in the dead of night, I was left afloat on a hen-coop, which the old captain had just before cast loose and told me to cling to, for all our boats were stove in. And I never saw him, nor any one belonging to the Amity alive again. Next morning I was picked up by a ship bound out to the West Indies, and I've been knocking about in those seas ever since. The captain had taught me navigation, and, what was better still, to read the Bible; and as I just did what that tells me to do, I got a good character aboard. I was made third mate, and the other two dying, I became first mate for want of a better man; though I was very young for such a charge. But I did my best, and the captain was satisfied, and says that, as he didn't want a better, I should sail with him again next voyage. We sailed for home at last, bound for London; but having sprung a leak, and carried away our fore-mast, we put into Plymouth for repairs—and that's how I've been able to come up to see you. But I've not yet spun all my yarn. Tell me, Miss, have you never got any letters from me?"

"No," answered Jessie, "I have not received a single letter from abroad for three long years or more," and she sighed sadly.

"I thought 'twas so when I got no answers to three I wrote," said Peter. "What I had to tell you was this,—that just before the brig went down the captain made fast to the hen-coop a bag with fifty golden guineas in it, and charged me, if I escaped, to take it to you. I unlashed it and managed to get it into my pocket just before I was hoisted on board. There would have been small chance of my keeping it, however, if I had not fallen among honest people; but when I came to know the captain, I was sure that it would be safe in his hands, so I gave it into his charge, and he stowed it away for me, and showed me where it was kept. If he hadn't done this I should have lost it, for a few months ago, when we were down in the Bay of Honduras, we were chased and overtaken by a schooner under Spanish colours. Her crew, a set of fellows of all nations, calling themselves privateer's-men, though they were more like pirates, robbed us of everything they could lay hands on, and all the specie they could find belonging to the captain and owners, and had begun to scuttle the ship, and would, no doubt, have set fire to her besides and carried off our boats, when an English man-of-war hove in sight, bringing up a strong breeze. The pirates, some of whom I was sure were Englishmen, in spite of their dress, for I heard them speaking, and should know two or three of them again, made off, and allowed us to stop the auger holes and pump out the water. Their schooner, being a fast craft, escaped; but the man-of-war, having seen us safe on our way to Barbadoes, went back to look for her. If she didn't find her, she would at all events have made those seas too hot for the pirate. I was better pleased than anything else that your money was saved, and here it is all right, just as the captain did it up for you."

As Peter spoke he placed on the table before Jessie a small weather-stained canvas bag, and, undoing the string, counted out fifty guineas.

"They are all right," he continued, "and my heart is lightened of the thought I've always had that I might lose them, though I would have made it up to you somehow or other—that I would."

Tears choked Jessie's utterance as she thought of the kind captain who had remembered her in his last moments, and of the sturdy honesty and faithfulness of Peter.

"I am, indeed, grateful to you as I am to Captain Mudge," she said at length; "but surely you are entitled to some of this."

"Not a dollar would I touch, not if all the judges in the land were to order me to take it," answered Peter, replacing the money in the bag, which he tied up and pressed into her hands. "There, it's all for you, and I wish you knew how happy I am to give it to you safe at last."

Before Jessie could reply there was a knock at the door. Mrs Judson went to open it. "Miss Flamank cannot see you," Jessie heard her say.

"She never sent that message," exclaimed Dick Bracewell, brushing by her and entering the room. He cast an angry glance at Peter, as if he considered him an intruder, and advanced to shake hands with Jessie. She drew back, greatly annoyed at his conduct.

"Mrs Judson told you I was engaged," she said.

"She told me you couldn't see me; but when a man loves a girl, and knows pretty well that she likes him, he isn't to be stopped by trifles," he answered, throwing himself into a chair, as if he felt perfectly at home.

A feeling of indignation prevented Jessie from saying anything. Meantime Peter had been narrowly eyeing her unwelcome visitor, and, stepping up to him, said—

"You've just come from the West Indies, mate, I've a notion?"

"Yes, I've been in those seas," answered Dick, for, having told Jessie so, he could not deny the fact.

"I thought as much; and we met there not long ago in a way I'm not likely to forget," said Peter, quietly. "Maybe you don't remember me, but I do you, I can tell you; and there are not a few of the crew of the Kate who will remember you, too, if they set eyes on you."

Dick; taken by surprise, turned pale, and declared he did not know what the young man meant; but Peter again minutely described how his ship had been boarded by pirates on the Spanish main, and positively asserting that Dick was one of them, advised him, if he valued his life and liberty, to clear out of Plymouth without delay.

Dick, as might have been expected, swore that the young man, as he called Peter, was mistaken; but shortly after, observing that it was clear he was not wanted, took up his hat, and, without much leave-taking, hurried out of the house.

Jessie, who feared that Peter was right in his suspicions, thanked him for giving Dick the warning.

"He was once, at all events, Ralph Michelmore's friend, and I should have grieved if you had been the means of bringing him to punishment," she said.

"I'd not hurt him, Miss Jessie, on any account," answered Peter; "but as I judged by the way you spoke to him that he was not welcome, I thought I would just say what would make him keep away for the future."

Peter remained to dinner and amused Jessie and Mrs Judson with an account of his adventures, in all of which his honesty and courage were remarkable, though he was not aware that what he said exhibited it.

"That's what the right training of good Captain Mudge has done for him," observed Mrs Judson, when he had gone. "I remember him a regular pickle; and, if he had been left to himself, he would have been a vagabond all his life, like many others who have had no kind friends to look after them."

Peter's warning had not, it appeared, been lost upon Dick Bracewell; for from that day Jessie saw him no more.

Peter came constantly, while he remained in Plymouth, to see her. At his last visit he put the sum of thirty pounds into her hands. "I want you to take this, Miss Flamank, and to spend any of it you like," he said, while a blush spread over his sunburnt countenance. "It's my savings since I was picked up by the Kate, and I always intended it for you.—Well, if you won't accept it as a gift, remember, if what happens to many a sailor happens to me, it will be yours. Now, don't say no, and you'll make me more happy than I can tell you."

Peter would take no refusal, so at last Jessie consented to receive the money, though she resolved not to spend it on any account. After Peter had sailed, Jessie lived on much as before, except that with the money she had received she was able to obtain many of the necessaries she had before denied herself. Still her pale cheek told of a sad heart, and though more than one young man well to do in the world asked her to become his wife, she remained faithful to the memory of her lost Ralph.

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Note 1: A fictitious name sailors who have deserted generally assume to escape recognition.



CHAPTER TEN.

The Falcon proceeded on her voyage to India. Though she was refitted as thoroughly as was possible in a foreign port, her commander had no wish to encounter another enemy with so large a proportion of his crew untried and inexperienced. He did his utmost, however, to get them into efficient order, and every day that the weather permitted they were exercised at the guns, as well as at making and shortening sail, and taught the use of the small arms.

Ralph Michelmore was fully occupied, and had but little time to think of his bitter disappointment at not returning home in the Eagle. By the time the Falcon reached the Hoogly, the crew had been brought into excellent order, and were highly complimented by the admiral on the station. There being no post-captain to supersede him, Mr Handsel received an acting order to continue in the command. The Falcon was allowed just time to take on board a fresh supply of powder, shot, and other stores and provisions, when she was ordered to proceed in search of an enemy's cruiser, said to have captured several English merchantmen in the southern part of the Indian Ocean. She was supposed to be a heavy frigate, equal, if not superior, in force to the Falcon, but neither Captain Handsel nor any of his ship's company had the slightest doubt as to what would be the result of an action should they be fortunate enough to fall in with her.

A sharp look-out was kept, and the ocean traversed in all directions for several weeks, but no traces of her could be discovered, till at length a prize she had taken only two days before was re-captured. Her probable whereabouts having been ascertained from the prisoners, the prize being sent on to Calcutta, the Falcon under all sail steered in the direction where it was hoped the enemy would be found. The stormy season was approaching. The weather, indeed, had already changed for the worse; but still Captain Handsel was unwilling to return to port, when on the point, as he hoped, of meeting the long looked-for foe.

A strong breeze was blowing from the northeast, and the frigate was steering south, under all the canvas she could bear. The crew had just been piped to breakfast.

"A sail on the lee bow," shouted the look-out at the mast-head.

Ralph was sent aloft to examine the stranger. She was standing close-hauled to the northward. From the squareness of her yards, he had little doubt, seen even at that distance, that she was a man-of-war, but as the two ships were rapidly nearing each other, the matter would soon be decided. The course of the Falcon was altered so as to intercept the stranger. Suddenly, however, the latter was seen to wear ship, and, setting more sail, to stand away before the wind. The Falcon was already carrying as much as she could well stagger under; still, eager to overtake the fugitive the captain ordered the topgallant sails to be loosed, and on flew the Falcon, like the bird from which she took her name, in chase of her expected prey. A stern chase is proverbially a long chase. It seemed doubtful, after the lapse of several hours, whether she was gaining ground on the stranger. The evening was drawing on: the gale was increasing.

"Hand the topgallant sails!" shouted the captain. The crew were going aloft when there came a loud crash. The fore and main topgallant masts were carried away. Two poor fellows were struck—one fell dead on the deck, the other was knocked overboard. To heave-to was impossible. The wreck of the masts was cleared away, and two reefs taken in the topsails, and the courses brailed up. The frigate flew on at her utmost speed. It was now almost night, and it was feared that the chase would escape in the darkness. Still it was possible, with the heavy gale blowing, that she might continue on the course she was steering.

When darkness came down over the ocean the chase could still be seen through the night-glasses, standing as before. As night, however, drew on, clouds gathered thickly in the sky, the obscurity became greater, the gale heavier, and after a tremendous squall, which struck the frigate, had passed over, those on the look-out could nowhere discern the chase.

The captain, however, did not believe that she had hauled her wind, and hoped to come up with her perhaps with her masts gone. The master, after speaking with the captain, had gone below to examine the chart, but even that could not be relied on, as the part of the ocean they were then in, was, in those days, but imperfectly known, and prudence dictated that they should heave-to till daylight.

The captain, in the meantime, expecting every instant again to sight the chase, kept the ship on her course. Ralph was standing aft with his two young messmates, Chandos and Dickenson, who had become much attached to him.

"What do you think of it, Michelmore? I don't like running into the darkness as we are doing," observed the former.

"The darkness will not hurt us, and provided there are no rocks or shoals in our course we may run on as safely as in the daytime," answered Ralph. "I examined the chart, and the nearest islands marked on it are, if they are correctly laid down, full fifty leagues to the south of us, though there are some shoals rather nearer."

The master, who had been below, returned hurriedly on deck, and spoke to the captain.

"If so, we'll heave the ship to," was the answer.

Scarcely had the order been given to "Put the helm a-lee," than the look-out forward shouted "Breakers ahead!" and the next instant a fearful crashing sound was heard. The ship quivered from stem to stern, the tall masts rocked, and those on deck, unable to hold on to the bulwarks, were thrown off their feet. It was a moment of intense suspense. The head-sheets had been let fly. Would the ship answer her helm? No. A tremendous sea met her bows, sweeping over her deck, and carrying several men in its relentless grasp into the raging surf to leeward. Again she struck, with greater violence than before; the next sea hove her on her beam ends. The carpenter reported twelve feet of water in the hold, and rapidly increasing—a rock had gone through her. The captain ordered the masts to be cut away. He had abandoned all hopes of saving the ship, and his only thought now was how to preserve the lives of his people. A party of the crew, led by Ralph and other officers, with gleaming axes quickly severed the weather rigging, and a few strokes were sufficient to send the tall masts, with their spars, crashing over to leeward. The furious seas in quick succession struck the devoted ship, carrying away her bulwarks, and destroying several of her boats. The officers and crew were collected on the quarter-deck, for the stern of the ship having swung round it was least exposed to the assaults of the waves. Ralph had sought out his two young friends, Chandos and Dickenson, wishing to help them if he could. Looking over the larboard quarter, he observed that the water in that direction was less broken than elsewhere, and he felt sure that he saw the land rising to a considerable height at no great distance. He told the captain that he thought he might reach the shore, and, if it was inhabited, bring assistance to the ship. A small boat hung at the after-davits capable of carrying four or five people.

"You can try it," said the captain; "choose any two of the men on whom you can rely to accompany you, and take these two youngsters," touching Chandos and Dickenson on the shoulders, "there will be less risk for them than by their remaining on board, I fear. Remember, Michelmore, if you escape, that I was in chase of an enemy when the ship was lost, and that there was an error in the chart. Heaven bless and preserve you!" he wrung Ralph's hand as he spoke.

The two young midshipmen were placed in the boat, which was carefully lowered, with Jacob Crane, and another man, Ned Hawkins, whom Ralph selected, he himself following. He put Jacob at the helm, confident of the old man's judgment, and got out an oar, the rest doing the same. Sheltered by the wreck, the boat at first floated in comparatively smooth water, but scarcely had her head been got round than she was in the foaming waves, which rolled in towards the shore. They, however, did not break as they did at the fore part of the ship, and Ralph knew from this that she had struck on the extreme point of a reef, and he hoped that, could the remaining boats or rafts be launched, his shipmates might yet be saved. Anxious to communicate this information, he directed Jacob to steer back to the ship, but after pulling for some time they found that they had made no progress, and it became evident that a strong current was sweeping round the point, and that their utmost efforts would be in vain. The boat's head was therefore once more turned towards the shore. The current, however, swept them at a rapid rate to the westward, so that they soon lost sight of the ship. Not a glimpse either of the land could be obtained, and they began to fear that they should be carried out to sea.

"Never say die if we are," observed Jacob; "it may be better for us than having to run through the surf with the chance of being rolled over and over in it."

The storm raged with greater fury than before. Jacob advised, as the only hope of preserving their lives, that they should keep the boat's head to the sea, and allow her to drift on till daylight, when they might discover some spot where they could attempt to land with a prospect of success. In spite of all their efforts the seas continually washed into the boat, and compelled the two midshipmen to work hard at baling out the water, while Ralph and Ned Hawkins, with their two oars, kept the boat in a right position. Their anxiety about the fate of their shipmates prevented them from contemplating as much as they would otherwise have done the perils of their own situation. To return to the wreck was impossible; to land in safety seemed equally so. At any moment a raging sea might overwhelm them, and it required their utmost strength and skill to avert the catastrophe. Now and then, as the boat rose to the summit of a billow, Ralph fancied that he could distinguish through the darkness the dim outline of the coast, and as its form had changed since first seen, he was convinced that they were still drifting along it. He feared that, unless the direction of the current changed, they might be carried far away out to sea, when death from hunger and thirst must be their lot; still, trusting in God's mercy, he did his utmost to keep up the courage of his companions. The midshipmen behaved as became them, not a word of complaint escaping their lips, while every time a sea broke on board, Chandos cried out, "Hurrah, here's more work for us; bale away, Dickenson; we must clear her before the next comes." It seemed, indeed, wonderful that so small a boat could live in such a sea. Thus the night wore on.

At dawn of day Ralph discovered, less than half a mile to the south-west, a rocky point, the extreme eastern end, he supposed, of a somewhat elevated island, along the northern coast of which they had been drifting during the night. The light rapidly increased, while the clouds cleared away, and the wind abated. As far as the eye could reach to the westward appeared an unbroken line of raging surf, into which, had the boat been carried, her destruction would have been certain. He pointed out to his companions how mercifully they had hitherto been preserved; "and if we can get round yonder point we shall be in smooth water, under the lee of the island, and shall probably without difficulty get on shore," he added.

Once more he cast an anxious look westward, but not a trace of the wreck could be seen. Had the Falcon and her gallant crew been totally engulfed by the waves?

"I fear that it's all over with them," said Jacob; "I don't think we could have come so far as to lose sight of the wreck altogether if she still hung together."

The boat's head was now cautiously got round, and the midshipmen resuming their oars, they pulled away in a direction which would enable them to round the point clear of the surf. They were round it at last, but a fringe of black rocks, over which the sea leaped and foamed, warned them to keep at a distance. On and on they rowed. The coast was uninviting. No trees were to be seen; no signs of human habitation. At length a small sandy bay appeared, with high rocks on either side of it, while beyond was a valley, its sides clothed with trees and green herbage. No spot could be more desirable. Pulling in, they landed, and hauled up their boat on the beach.

"We are not ashamed, I hope, of thanking Him who preserved us through the dangers of the last dark night, and asking Him to take care of us for the future," said Jacob.

"No, indeed," answered Ralph and the midshipmen, and at once they knelt down on the sand, and, led by the old man, together offered up their prayers to the All Merciful One, to Whom they acknowledged their safety was alone due; for vain would have been all their efforts and skill without His aid. Rising from their knees, they set off in search of water, and their eyes were soon gladdened by the sight of a clear stream running down the valley. Having quenched their thirst, they looked about for food.

They had not gone far when, to their surprise, they saw close under the hill, shaded by trees, a well-built hut, evidently not the habitation of a savage. They hurried towards it, expecting to find the occupant within. No one appeared. The door was open. They entered. There was a bedstead with the clothes still on it, a fireplace built of rough stone, the ashes of a recently burning fire within it. Hung against the wall were several cooking utensils, and on some shelves were arranged some plates and dishes and cups and knives and forks. In the centre of the hut was a cabin table, and placed round it were three chests, which had apparently served as seats. They contained only a few old shoes and worn-out clothes. No books or writing materials were found, or anything to show who had been the occupants of the hut. If it had contained any articles of value, they had been carried away. Both Ralph and Jacob were of the opinion, from the workmanship of the chests and table, that they were French. As no food was found in the hut, they were eager to continue their search for some. At a short distance off was a small garden, but it had lately been dug up, and all the vegetables and roots it had contained had been carried off.

"It's my opinion that there were three people who messed together in the hut. One lived in it—either the captain or another officer—and the other two slept elsewhere," observed Jacob. "We shall find their roosting place not far off. One thing seems certain, that they are not here now, and there's little doubt that a vessel visited the place lately, and that they and everything of value were carried away by her, as well as the produce of the garden."

Ralph and the rest thought that Jacob was probably right in his conjectures.

"Well, I can't make it out at all," exclaimed Jacob, who had gone ahead of his companions. He pointed, as they came up, to three long, narrow, grass-covered mounds on a level spot at some distance from the hut. They were evidently graves.

"If the poor fellows lie there they can't have got away; but, then, how could the last have managed to bury himself?"

Chandos remarked that perhaps there were four people, and that a survivor had performed that office for the rest; but the old man was positive that there were only three, as he had counted that number of plates and knives and forks, and had, moreover, found three worn-out pairs of shoes. Their hunger put a speedy end to the discussion, and made them continue their search for food. Birds flitted by them, but they had no fowling-pieces, and in vain they tried to knock some down. Berries and some larger fruits hung temptingly on the trees out of reach above their heads.

"Those birds do not live upon nothing," observed Chandos. "If we cannot catch them, we may at all events eat the fruit they live on."

"A bright idea," exclaimed Dickenson. "I see a big fellow pecking away at a yellow, juicy-looking fruit up there. Depend on it, he finds it ripe. Now, if you and Ned will give me a hoist, I can manage to reach the lowest branch, and though the boughs might break with the weight of a heavier man, they will bear me—if not, look out and catch me."

Dickenson, with the aid of Chandos and Ned—the first of whom mounted on the others' shoulders—soon clambered up the tree, and though the branches bent with his weight, he managed to throw down several ripe fruit. Having put two or three in his pocket, he retired to the inner end of a branch to stop the cravings of hunger, while Chandos and Ned were employed in the same way below. The fruit had stones in the centre, and was more mealy and much richer than a pear.

Ralph and Jacob had in the meantime gone down to the beach to collect mussels or other shell-fish. Chandos shouted to them, but as they did not hear him, he set off with a supply of the fruit in his pockets. They had found shell-fish in abundance, and had collected as many as they could require. Having no means of lighting a fire, they were obliged to eat them uncooked; but notwithstanding this, with the aid of the fruit, they contrived to make a hearty meal. Having thus somewhat recruited their strength, although they would gladly have thrown themselves on the ground and gone to sleep, they determined at once to set out in search of any of their shipmates who might have escaped from the wreck. The distance, Ralph feared, would, however, prove considerable, and tax their strength to the utmost. He proposed, therefore, that the midshipmen should remain behind, and, after taking the rest they required, employ themselves in searching for food.

"No! no! we'll hold out as well as any of you," exclaimed Chandos. "If our friends require help, the more there are to give it the better."

As Ralph could not object to this he agreed that they should come.

The bay in which they had landed looked towards the rising sun, and was thus near one end of the island, while the wreck had occurred, Ralph calculated, close to the other. They would have probably ravines to cross, hills to ascend, and other impediments to encounter. Having collected as many shell-fish and fruit as they could carry, they— notwithstanding their expected difficulties—set out with sturdy hearts, determined to overcome them.

The country was generally rocky and barren. Bleak hills destitute of vegetation, narrow ravines, and savage gorges appeared on every side. Often it seemed impossible that they could make any further progress; but after several hours spent in climbing and scrambling they at length reached the point for which they had been directing their course, on the north-western shore. As they approached it they observed a few spots of a more fertile character, and below them on level ground, forming the shores of a small bay, waved several cocoa-nut and other tropical trees. As no other huts were seen, or any plantations, they were convinced that the island was uninhabited. Their chief attention was, however, directed seaward in search of the wreck. Though the wind had gone down, the surf still beat furiously along the whole line of coast, so that no boats or rafts could have reached the shore in safety. About half a mile off rose, from amid a mass of foam, the black rugged points of a reef, now for a minute in sight, now concealed by the heavy rollers which dashed over them and came rushing on with an angry roar towards the cliffs which formed that end of the island.

"That must be the reef on which the frigate struck," said Ralph, with a deep sigh, and tears of manly sorrow sprang to his eyes. "Poor fellows! Not one can have escaped."

"It's too likely," said Jacob, gazing at the spot; "the ship must have fallen off the reef, and the current would have swept her and all on board away."

The rest of the party shared Ralph's grief, but they had no time to indulge in it. He was anxious to examine the coast on the bare possibility of any one having been washed on shore alive, and they then would have to search for water and some sheltered spot where they might pass the night. With some difficulty they descended the cliffs to the first line of beach they could discover, which extended for some distance towards the east. Here and there lighter pieces of the wreck strewed the shore, but the heavier fragments had been carried away by the current. The wreck would serve for fire-wood, but then they had no means of lighting a fire, and none of the pieces were large enough to be of use towards building a hut. They did not therefore stop to collect them, but pushed on, still not without some faint hopes that one or more of their shipmates might have reached the shore alive on planks or spars. The midshipmen, though their spirits kept them up, were, however, much fatigued, and were longing to find a sheltered spot where they might stop and rest.

An object in the surf now caught their sight, some way ahead, at a spot free from rocks. Hastening forward they found that it was a cask, and after several efforts, at the risk of being carried off by the sea, they succeeded in rolling it upon the beach. It was full of beef, which, though they were compelled to eat it raw, greatly restored their strength. Further on a tangled mass of rigging had already been thrown on the shore. Perhaps a human being might be found among it. They ran on, eager to examine it. It consisted of spars and ropes and torn canvas. The latter might assist to form a roof for a hut, if not large enough for a tent. They were cutting it clear, when Chandos discovered the stock of a musket, with part of the barrel broken off, rolled up in its folds.

"That will not be of much use as we have no powder or shot," observed Dickenson.

"No, but see, the lock and flint are still on it," answered Chandos. "Hurrah! We shall now have the means of lighting a fire."

This success encouraged them to make further search. Several casks of pork, and flour, and other provisions, an invaluable iron saucepan with the lid tightly jammed on, as well as two sea-chests, with clothing and numerous useful articles, rewarded their labours. The wide bay they had before seen was reached at last. The extent of fertile ground was smaller than they had supposed, and but few cocoa-nut trees grew on it. Still, as the evening was advancing, and a sheltered nook near a rill of water was discovered, they settled to go no further. While Ralph with Jacob and Ned were putting up a rough hut the midshipmen collected some dry grass and broken branches. As they were hunting about they discovered several fungi growing near the roots of the trees.

"This stuff looks very like tinder," said Chandos. "Let us try if it will take a spark."

He produced the flint from the lock of the musket. In a few minutes, by dint of blowing and puffing, they had a blazing fire, and the iron pot with a piece of beef in it was put on to boil. The flour, though damaged by the salt water, supplied them with cakes cooked under the ashes. They had now no longer the fear of suffering from starvation. After an ample meal they lay down to rest, and it was broad daylight before any of the party awoke. The next day they resumed their search along the shore. More casks of beef and pork were secured, and numerous other articles. Among the things in one of the chests was a Bible, which being enclosed in a leathern case had escaped injury. The owner had apparently but seldom opened it. To Ralph and his companions it was of unspeakable value. Though he had been accustomed to read the Scriptures on a Sunday on board ship he had seldom gone to them for guidance and strength on other days in the week. Now morning and evening he read aloud from the precious volume, which from henceforth became the source of comfort and support to the castaways. Several days were spent in collecting whatever the sea had thrown on the shore from the wreck, but not a human body was found. Probably the ship had broken suddenly up, and all on board had been engulfed together. Having dried the contents of the chests, and stored them and their provisions in the hut, they returned to the bay in which they had landed. Its attractions being far greater than those of any other part of the coast, in addition to its possessing a well-built abode, they resolved to settle there.

The direct distance across the island was less than three miles, and by a bird's-eye survey from the highest point in the centre, they calculated that the most practicable path would be about five miles. By this they at once set about removing their goods; carrying them in some parts on their shoulders, and in others dragging them on a truck, built out of wreck timber. The whole north shore presented no safe landing-place, or could they have taken them round by sea much labour would have been saved. One of the most welcome prizes was a bundle of fish-hooks, found in the boatswain's chest. Lines were easily manufactured, and less than an hour's fishing gave them food for the day. Birds were frequently caught in snares; and roots and fruits were not wanting. Thus, sterile as the island at first appeared, they had reason to be thankful that it supplied them with everything absolutely necessary for sustaining life.

The end of three months found them settled in the hut, following an almost regular routine of labour. Men-of-war's men, from their training, dislike idleness; and the three young officers and the two men cut out ample employment for themselves during every hour of the day. They did not fail, however, to discuss every possible means of escaping.

The midshipmen and Ned proposed to raise the sides of their small boat and to put to sea in her in the hopes of reaching India, or of finding some inhabited island at which ships were likely to touch, so that they might ultimately find their way home.

To this proposal Jacob Crane strongly objected, though Ralph was at first rather inclined to favour it, desperate as it appeared.

"Nothing we can do to the boat can make her fit for a long voyage, even if the weather should prove fine," observed Jacob. "To my mind, we ought to be thankful at being as well off as we are. God has mercifully saved our lives and placed us here, and here we should be content to remain and make the best use of our time till He thinks fit to send us relief. If we were likely to be starved, or if there were savages threatening to kill us, the case would be different. It then would be perfectly right for us to put off in our boat, and we might trust to Him for protection. If we had been supplied with tools, it might then have been our duty to try and build a vessel large enough for the voyage to India or the Cape of Good Hope; but we haven't got them, and there isn't a shipwright among us. Perhaps some vessel may be wrecked on the coast, and we may be the means of saving the lives of the people aboard her. Depend on it God has always got a purpose in all that He does or allows, though we don't see it—that's my firm belief—therefore I say again, let us be content with the blessings God has sent us, and be resigned to His will."

Jacob's argument decided Ralph, and won over the rest of the party.

Though their boat was not large enough for a voyage, they made frequent trips in her along the coast, and were by her means able to catch many more fish than they could have caught from the rocks.

A few seeds were found in the hut, and several plants which had been left in the ground sprang up, so that they were able to restore the garden, which had been destroyed, and also greatly to increase its size.

The discovery of some strong fibre enabled them to manufacture twine, which served not only for fishing-lines, but as they improved in the art of making it, they produced a fishing-net of fair size. With this they caught at times far more fish than they could consume, so they pickled the remainder with salt collected from the hollows of the rocks, and had consequently a supply during stormy weather.

Happily in one of the chests were a couple of books on navigation, and three or four others of an interesting character. By means of the first Ralph was able to give instruction to the midshipmen in the science so necessary to them in their professional career. He also made the model of a ship's deck and rigging, which, while it afforded a source of amusement, gave them a more thorough knowledge than they possessed of seamanship, while the other books were read till nearly got by heart. Thus the youngsters' time, which might otherwise have been utterly lost, was usefully employed.

Flagstaffs were erected on high points at the northern and southern sides of the island: and a board was nailed to the former, with a direction carved on it to their cove. They were constantly on the look-out; but months and months went by and not even a distant sail was seen, to give them hopes that deliverance was near. At length, even Ralph began to fear that they were doomed to a life-long imprisonment on that unknown islet.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Bells were ringing; bonfires blazing throughout England. The battle of Waterloo had been fought. Peace, broken by the return of Napoleon from Elba, was restored; and the great agitator of Europe was a captive on board a British man-of-war, about to sail for Saint Helena. Though the nation was rejoicing, the hearts of many of all ranks, who had lost loved ones on the field of battle, were mourning.

Jessie Flamank was not alone in her sorrow. She was resigned; but time had not assuaged it, nor lessened her tender love for Ralph's memory. She had, of late, ample work, as several ladies in the neighbourhood who had heard her history were in the habit of sending for her to assist in making dresses for their families. Among them was a Mrs Chandos, whose husband, Colonel Chandos, had just returned home wounded from Waterloo, in which battle their only son had fallen.

The bereaved mother, while arranging the mourning for her little girls, spoke of him to Jessie, adding, with tears in her eyes, "His younger brother perished on board the Falcon, five years ago, in the Indian Ocean."

Jessie naturally became deeply interested in the poor lady, and could not help telling her that her intended husband was an officer in the same ship.

"We long hoped against hope that some might have escaped, and that our son might be among the number," said Mrs Chandos; "but now we know that we have lost both our brave boys."

"All things are possible with God, ma'am; He orders all for the best; we should trust Him," answered Jessie, gently.

Scarcely had she reached home, when a young sailor, whom she at once recognised as Peter Puddle, hurried up to the door.

"Oh, Miss Flamank, I am so glad to find you!" he exclaimed eagerly; "I have been twice to the house, and was afraid that you had left it. May I come in?"

Jessie assured him that he was welcome.

"I have news for you. Wonderful news, which you little expected to hear," he continued.

"Oh, tell me! What is it?" cried Jessie, gasping for breath, and her heart beating violently.

"I had always heard say, what you thought also, that your father, Captain Flamank, perished at sea; now I've got to tell you that he didn't, for I've seen him, and he is alive and well, and he sent me on to tell you that he would be with you soon."

"My father alive!" ejaculated Jessie. Is she to be blamed if she felt disappointed at hearing his name instead of Ralph's as she had expected? Her affection for her father, long supposed dead, however, quickly revived, and she became eager to welcome him home.

Peter told her that the captain of the ship to which he himself belonged having died at the Cape of Good Hope, it became necessary for the consignees to find another. That one had been selected who, with other officers, had just arrived after having been prisoners to the French for several years in a remote island in the Indian Ocean. The crews of the captured vessels had been sent away and exchanged; but the officers had been detained till the termination of the war, for fear that they might give information to the English of the position of the island, the favourite rendezvous of French privateers.

"You may suppose how surprised I was to hear that our new captain's name was Flamank," continued Peter. "I at once told him that I knew you, and how kind you had been to me, and soon found that he was your father. He seemed never tired of asking me questions about you, and so of course I gave him a full account of all that I thought would interest him. He, in return, told me a great deal about himself. His ship had not been wrecked, as was supposed, but had been captured by a French privateer, on board which he had been taken. She was shortly afterwards wrecked on an island in the Indian Ocean, when the Frenchmen attempted to reach the shore in their boats, leaving the prisoners on board. The boats were swamped, and all in them perished. Notwithstanding this, most of the prisoners having built a raft, pushed off on it and shared their fate. Captain Flamank and two others, seeing signs of the gale abating, refused to join them, and the next day landed safely in a sheltered cove, in the neighbourhood of which they took up their abode, having brought on shore a large store of provisions and everything they required from the wreck before she went to pieces. His two companions, one of whom was wounded, died, and he was left alone for several years till taken off by another French privateer. From what the captain said I have an idea that he thinks of going back there if he has an opportunity, as he had hidden away no small amount of treasure, taken out of the wreck, which he didn't tell the French privateer's-men of, for more reasons than one. First, he couldn't speak their lingo; secondly, as bad weather was coming on, they were in a hurry to be off; and as it was property which their countrymen had taken from English vessels, he had no fancy to let them get it. But I've still another strange thing to tell you. Soon after the captain was taken aboard the privateer, she was chased by an English frigate during a heavy gale. The privateer narrowly escaped shipwreck on the island they had left; and it was the opinion of the Frenchmen, and the captain thinks they were right, that the frigate was cast away. There can be no doubt that she was the Falcon, and he thinks that some, if not all the crew, may have escaped, and be still living on the island."

Jessie was making many eager inquiries on the subject, when Peter, looking at his watch, jumped up, and telling her that she would soon see the captain, hurried away. Before an hour was over she was clasped in her father's arms. He had much to hear from her of her numerous trials and difficulties, and she in return longed to learn more about his adventures and the supposed wreck of the Falcon than Peter had told her. He confirmed in all points the account she had heard.

"It has always been supposed, I find, that my ship, the Dolphin, was driven on shore during a hurricane in the Indian Ocean, and that all on board had perished," continued Captain Flamank. "The report was brought home as you know by another English ship, the Chieftain, which had been in company with us. She herself narrowly escaped the outer end of a reef, and was driven far away to the southward, and her master having observed our perilous position, and not again falling in with us, naturally concluded that we had been lost. This I have only lately learned. We were truly in great danger, but happily, being carried through an opening in the reef, were able to anchor in safety under the lee of the land.

"We congratulated ourselves on our escape. Scarcely, however, had we made sail after the gale was over, than we saw standing out of a bay, a short distance off, which a lofty headland had concealed from us, a large ship which we soon knew to be a French privateer. In vain we did our utmost to escape, while we fired our stern guns in the hopes of crippling her. She soon ranged up alongside, when, finding that further resistance would be useless, with a sad heart I hauled down my flag. I was at once transferred to the privateer with several of my men, and a prize-crew was put on board the Dolphin, which sailed to the northward. As I never heard of her again, I suspect that she went down in a hurricane before she reached her destination. The privateer cruised for some time in the southern part of the Indian Ocean, and after taking another prize with a large amount of specie, which was of course removed on board her, she one night was wrecked on a small rocky island, of the existence of which no one appeared to be aware. I will not describe the horrors which ensued. All discipline was lost, each man, regardless of the rest, thinking only how he could secure his own safety."

Captain Flamank then gave Jessie a full account of the occurrences of which Peter had already told her.

"The years spent on that lone island, especially after the death of my two companions, were indeed sad ones," he continued. "Often I believed that I should never again see the face of a fellow-creature. I thought of you, too, my child, left as I feared you would be when your grandmother was taken away, alone in the hard, cruel world, with no one to protect you from its snares, or to help you in your distress."

"But God protects those who trust in Him, and He never forsook me, but sent me kind friends who gave me all the help I needed," exclaimed Jessie, looking up in her father's face.

"I know that now, Jessie, but I did not then. I should have borne my misfortunes much better had I done so," he answered. "That good young fellow Peter, my mate, first put the truth before me on the voyage home. Many men would not dare to speak as faithfully to their captain as he did to me. He got me to read the Bible, and showed me throughout the Psalms God's numberless gracious promises to those who trust to Him, and His boundless love to sinful men in the Gospels, and what ample rules under all circumstances in life He has afforded us in the Epistles."

"Peter did not tell me of this," said Jessie.

"No, I should have supposed that he would not," answered her father; "he is too modest and humble to boast of anything he has done. I need not tell you, after the years I had spent in solitude, with what joy I welcomed the sight of a ship approaching the island. It was greatly damped, however, when I discovered that she was French. Still I resolved if I could to go on board her, hoping ultimately to make my escape. The very day before the wreck I had discovered the latitude and longitude we were in, and had noted it in my pocket-book, so that I could calculate the exact position of the island. I had also buried all the treasure which my companions and I had landed, and had raised over it a mound exactly resembling those I had placed over their graves. I thus should be able at any time to find the spot, I thought, while no one else was likely to disturb it. On ascertaining from the Frenchmen who landed that their ship was a privateer, and that they were still at war with the English, I said nothing about the treasure, determined rather to let it remain concealed for ever than allow them to possess it, for I knew that though I might claim it they would without scruple take it from me. Of this I was convinced from the way in which they pulled up all the vegetables in my garden and carried off everything of value which they found in the hut. Among other articles were my sextant, chronometer, and nautical almanacks, which I had brought in my chest from the Dolphin, though unable to use them on board the privateer till the day I spoke of. The chronometer I had carefully wound up every day, and it was still going when I returned to the wreck. I was thus able when on the island to verify my previous calculations and to ascertain its exact position.

"Having claimed the sextant and chronometer when I was carried on board, I was told that they were no longer mine, and care was taken that I should not ascertain the ship's position. In short, for several days I was kept below, so that I could not even discover the course we were steering. From what I overheard, however, I found that three days after leaving the island we were chased during a heavy gale by an English frigate, when we narrowly escaped destruction on a reef at its western end, on which it was supposed the frigate had been cast away. She, I have no doubt from what I have since heard, was the Falcon, to which Ralph Michelmore belonged. From my own experience, I have hopes if such was the case that some of the people may have reached the shore, and are still living there."

"Oh, father! I cannot doubt it; and that Ralph is among them," exclaimed Jessie, clasping her hands.

"I pray for your sake, my child, that he may be," said Captain Flamank. "Such scenes as took place when I was wrecked in the privateer are not likely to have occurred on board a well-disciplined man-of-war. After again, as I have described, narrowly escaping shipwreck, I began to hope that the time when I should be free and able to return to England was approaching. Notwithstanding the vigilance of the Frenchmen, I managed on several occasions to creep on deck at night, when a glance at the stars in the clear sky overhead assured me that the ship was steering to the northward, and as I supposed to one of the French settlements in India. What was my surprise, therefore, to find one morning that we were standing towards a small hilly island, with the appearance of which I was totally unacquainted. On being seen by the captain I was sent below, and when I was allowed to return on deck I discovered that we were in a completely land-locked harbour, with several other ships at anchor, most of which I knew from their build to be English. Lofty cliffs circled nearly round the harbour, concealing the masts even of the largest ships from being seen by any passing stranger. In one place the land sloped more gradually from the water, and on it were a number of huts, mostly well-built and of considerable size, forming a regular village. Some way above the village were several more huts surrounded by a high palisade with a gateway, before which paced a couple of sentries. I had not had much time to make my observations when I was ordered into a boat, and on landing was at once conducted up to the last-mentioned group of huts. Entering the gate I was led into a hut close to it, in which sat an officer who told me that I must consider myself a prisoner of war, and that as the English shut up the French who fell into their hands in Porchester Castle, I had no reason to complain. I urged that I had not been taken prisoner, and that after years of absence from my home I was anxious to return there. He shrugged his shoulders, smiling grimly, and made no reply. I found between thirty and forty persons living within the palisade, most of them masters and mates of captured ships. Several had been there from nearly the commencement of the war. They told me that they were strictly watched, and that they found it impossible to send letters home to inform their friends of their fate. Civilians and common seamen had of late not been allowed to land, but had been sent away immediately; the object of the French being, it was evident, to conceal this convenient rendezvous of their privateers from the enemy. I found this account too true, and though I made many attempts to send letters to you I was unable to succeed. We were not otherwise harshly treated, but we all pined for freedom, and great was our joy when peace was concluded, and we were sent off to the Cape. Care was even then taken to prevent us from learning the exact position of the island of our captivity; but we ascertained it pretty correctly, and should another war break out it is not likely to be again used for the same purpose. On reaching the Cape I at once obtained, as you know, the command of a ship, and thus had no means of informing you of my existence before my arrival."

Much more interesting conversation, as may be supposed, passed between the father and daughter.

Jessie was very anxious to repeat what she had heard to her friend Mrs Chandos, and Captain Flamank consented to accompany her to the house of that lady. What mother could listen to such a narrative without the hope arising that her son might be among those who had escaped? Colonel Chandos, though less sanguine than his wife, was willing to make every effort necessary to ascertain the truth.

With the aid of the friends of other officers of the Falcon, a fine brig, the Hope, was chartered and quickly fitted out, Captain Flamank taking the command of her, with Peter as one of his mates. A picked crew having been easily obtained, she sailed on her long voyage.

Jessie knew that she must pass many anxious months before the brig could return; but would not He Who had restored her father to her have preserved also her still fondly loved Ralph? She had many kind friends to comfort and encourage her; and the warm sympathy of Mrs Chandos assisted greatly to keep up her spirits.

We might follow the Hope on her course. We can picture the delight of the exiles as they saw a brig, with English colours flying, heave-to off the bay, and her boat approach the shore. We can imagine their surprise, as they warmly grasped his hand on landing, when Captain Flamank announced himself as the former occupant of the hut, and, after the first greetings were over, led them to the spot which they had supposed was a grave, and with their assistance unearthed the long-hidden treasure.

We need scarcely speak of the eager questions Ralph put to the captain about Jessie, or say that before night the exiles with the treasure were on board the brig, and that she was on her homeward voyage.

Seven months had passed since the Hope had sailed, and Jessie had begun anxiously to count the days and hours as they went slowly by. That her Ralph would return she felt sure. Often she went to a spot whence she could gaze down the Sound, in expectation of seeing the brig with her white canvas spread gliding up it; but as often was she disappointed. Many a vessel left the harbour with a favouring breeze which kept the homeward bound at a distance. She had one day been asked to visit Mrs Chandos, with whom she was seated, when voices were heard in the hall, and soon afterwards the colonel entered the room.

"Prepare yourselves for a joyful event," he said, looking at his wife and Jessie. "Some young naval officers have just arrived, and if you will accompany me, Miss Flamank, I will lead you to the dining-room, where you will find one of them whom you know."

As they left the room a stranger sprang by them, and Jessie heard Mrs Chandos exclaim, "My son! My own dear boy!" In another instant Jessie was weeping tears of joy, supported in the arms of Ralph.

They were soon joined by her father and Dickenson, who, after spending a few hours with his friends, set off to afford a happy surprise to his own family in Hampshire.

THE END