But the chief objects of attraction to George were two figures, which stood beside his cot. One of these was a tall, lanky individual, clad entirely in white, with red hair, prominent cheek-bones, and a pair of piercing grey eyes surmounted by shaggy eye-brows. The other was a shorter, stouter man, light-haired and blue-eyed, a genuine Saxon all over, his fair complexion tanned to a rich ruddy-brown hue, and with a hearty, kindly, genial expression of countenance which won George's heart in an instant. This individual was also in white, his clothing being reduced to a shirt and a pair of white duck trousers supported at the waist by a belt. George had no difficulty in deciding that he was on board one of his Majesty's frigates, and that the persons who stood beside him were her captain and the medico.

"Hoo's a' wi' ye the noo, my mon?" repeated the doctor, placing his fingers upon George's pulse.

"I—I—scarcely know," stammered George drowsily. "I feel all right and very comfortable. Is anything the matter? And—and where am I?"

"Ye feel a' richt, do ye?" returned the doctor, ignoring George's question. "Ye're no' hungry—nor thirsty, eh?"

"Not particularly," answered George. "And yet I think I could take some breakfast, if it would not be troubling—"

"Brackfast! Hear til him; brackfast! why, mon,"—drawing out a huge, turnip-like silver watch—"it's nearly sax o'clock p.m. Will a bite o' dinner no' serve ye as weel? Hech, hech," and the queer, grumpy-looking visage of the really genial-hearted doctor beamed into a smile, as his lips uttered the strange sounds which with him passed for laughter.

Doctor Pearson's laughter was infectious, perhaps because of its singularity. George smiled in response, and Captain Singleton smiled too; then, turning to the doctor, the latter said—

"My dinner will be served in a few minutes, doctor. If you think it would not injure your patient, I will send him in something from my table."

"Weel," responded the doctor with the caution characteristic of his countrymen, "I'll no' commit mysel' by any positeeve statement just; I'll wait and see, since ye've been so vera kind as to ask me to dine wi' ye. But I think I may venture to say that a wee drappie o' soup will no' hurt the chiel. And noo, wi' your leave, captain, I'll just tak' the sma' leeberty o' turnin' ye oot o' your ain cabin, as there's been an ample suffeecency o' conversation for the present."

The captain laughed good-naturedly, and turned, with a friendly nod to George, to leave the cabin. Doctor Pearson also turned to go, but paused for an instant to once more feel George's pulse, and then, with an amiable grunt of satisfaction, he also walked out, saying as he went—

"Never fash your brains, my mon, by wonderin' whaur ye are. Ye're in guid han's, ye may tak' my word for it, and in guid time, when ye're strong eneuch to talk, you'll be told everything. Noo lie still, and keep your 'ees open for a few minutes, and I'll see that ye hae a decent bit of dinner sent in til ye."

The worthy doctor was as good as his word; a substantial basin of nourishing soup, with a small quantity of fresh, white, wholesome cabin-biscuit broken into it—"soft tack" was a comparatively unknown luxury at sea in those days—and a glass of port wine being brought in to George by the captain's steward about ten minutes later; and, having demolished these, the patient once more dropped off to sleep, and passed a comfortable night.

Three days more of Doctor Pearson's skilful treatment sufficed to put both George and Tom upon their pins once more, and then, and not until then, Captain Singleton asked of the former an account of the circumstances which had resulted in placing them in the desperate situation in which they had been found.

"Well," said the captain at the conclusion of George's story, "I heartily sympathise with you, Mr Leicester, in all that you have suffered, and I as heartily congratulate you on your plucky escape. It was rather a clever trick, the way in which those rascals took your ship from you, I must say that. It is a wrinkle which, possibly, I may some day play off in turn upon their own countrymen. By your description of them, I should say that the fellows were undoubtedly pirates; the sea swarms with them all round about here—indeed, we are now cruising for the purpose of putting a stop to their depredations, and were returning from an unsuccessful chase after a very suspicious-looking schooner when we picked you up. There is one craft in particular—a barque of undoubtedly English build—which we are most anxious to lay our hands upon; her crew are a peculiarly bloodthirsty set of ruffians, and have perpetrated an unusually large number of atrocities. By-the-bye, did you not say that your vessel was barque-rigged and a fast sailer? I should not be at all surprised to find that she is the identical craft we are so anxious to get hold of. Would you mind giving me a particular description of the Aurora?"

George, of course, readily acceded to this request, detailing with seaman-like fidelity every peculiarity of hull and rigging. When he had finished, Captain Singleton said—

"Thank you. The set of the spars and rigging, and the cut of the canvas, does not coincide with the description with which I have been furnished; but your description of the hull tallies with mine in every particular, and I have not a doubt that it is the same vessel. And now, to turn to other matters, what do you propose to do with yourself when we land you at Kingston?"

"Well," said George, "I scarcely know; but I suppose I shall endeavour to get a berth on board a homeward-bound ship, or work my passage home. There is nothing else that I can do, for I am absolutely penniless."

"Well," said Captain Singleton, "if a sufficient sum to defray the expenses of your passage home would be of any service to you, I dare say I could manage to raise such an amount, and you shall be heartily welcome to it."

"Thank you, very much," returned George; "but I could not possibly accept your exceedingly kind offer, even as a loan, for I could not be certain of ever being in a position to repay it. No, I shall have to get a berth of some kind."

Four days after the above conversation the cruise of the Hebe terminated, and on the day following George and Tom found themselves cast adrift, as it were, in the sandy streets of Kingston.

They were not absolutely penniless, however; for, in addition to a good serviceable suit of clothes apiece out of the slop-chest, Captain Singleton had insisted upon George's accepting a ten-pound note, to meet their more immediate needs, and, being in a friendly port now, the two seamen had very little doubt of getting employment of some kind or other before long.

Their idea was first to make the round of the various shipping agents' offices, and endeavour to obtain a berth on a homeward-bound ship. If that failed, then George thought they might possibly, aided by Captain Singleton's influence, obtain work in the dockyard at Port Royal; and, if the worst came to the worst, they could always depend with absolute certainty upon being received on board a man-o'-war.

In pursuance of the first-mentioned plan, they were wending their way along the street, when, as they passed the entrance to a large general store, they were violently jostled by a man who was making his exit from the place with considerable precipitation.

"Beg pardon, shipmates, no damage done, I hope. I ought to have kept a better lookout when crowding sail to the extent—why—why—no, it can't be; and yet—hang me if it ain't, after all. Well, this is a pleasant surprise, and no mistake. Cap'n, how are ye? And you, Tom, how did them damned slave-drivers treat you?"

It was Mr Bowen, the late chief mate of the Aurora. He was dressed in the somewhat rough garb of the mate of a coasting schooner, but was looking well and hearty nevertheless, and certainly had nothing of the appearance of a man who had recently been suffering the horrors of slavery.

George and Tom both shook hands heartily with their old friend, and then Mr Bowen—who seemed to be pretty well acquainted with the town—led the way into a quiet, respectable tavern near the water-side.

Having called for some sangaree in honour of the unexpected and very agreeable meeting, George, at his friend's request, proceeded to recount all that had happened since the eventful morning when they were separated (for life, as each then feared) in the square at Havana. When he had finished the story, he added—

"And now, Bowen, my dear old friend, let us know how you fared among the Dons."

"Badly enough, cap'n, badly enough," was the reply. "But you shall hear the whole story, such as 'tis. Maybe you happen to remember the chap as bought me—a tall, thin feller, with a nose like the beak of an eagle, and a wicked look in his glittering black eyes. Well, as soon as this here Don Christoval—that was his name—as soon as he'd bought all the slaves he wanted, we was all chained together, and started on a march to the south'ard. We travelled the whole width of that cursed island, taking two days over the trip, and was then shipped across in a little flat-bottomed sailin'-boat to the Isle de Pinos, where this here Christoval had a big 'baccy plantation. It took us a whole day, after we'd landed on the Isle of Pines, to reach the place, and on the following morning we were set to work.

"As it happened, I was the only white slave on the plantation, and, whether 'twas on this account, or whether 'twas because I was an Englishman, I can't tell, but I soon found out that all hands, from Don Christoval downwards, had a special spite against me, and seemed determined to make the place as hot as they could for me. I was put to all the heaviest and dirtiest work about the place, and if there was a job that had to be done after knockin'-off time, I was the man that had to do it.

"There was nothing but Spanish spoke about the place, so I very soon got acquainted with the lingo, whether I liked it or not; and almost the first thing I understood was that Mr Don Christoval had boasted that, fierce as I was, he'd tame me so that in six months I wouldn't dare to say my soul was my own.

"Well, you may be sure that my temper hadn't grown much more amiable from being made a slave of, and this palaver about taming just made me worse than ever. I vowed by all that was holy I wouldn't be tamed, let 'em do what they would, and a pretty miserable time of it this stupid vow and my own obstinacy brought me. They used to amuse themselves by seein' what they could do to rouse me; the overseers, as they were riding by, would pull up and begin to abuse and scoff at me, flicking at me with their whips all the time, and I dare say you know pretty well how clever those same overseers are with their whips— they'll hit a fly twenty feet off. And when they'd see my eyes begin to sparkle, they'd just let out with the infernal whip, fetching me a regular 'stinger' across the shoulders, and gallop off, laughing. I can tell you, they made a regular devil of me before all was done.

"Well, one morning there was a regular rumpus on the estate. Don Christoval had sold some cattle the day before, and had been paid for 'em. The money was stowed carefully away by him when he turned in that night, and next morning 'twas gone—somebody'd crept into the house during the night, and had stole it. Well, as there was nobody about the estate but the regular hands, it was clear enough that some of these must have got hold of the cash, and the lying scoundrels had the impudence to say that I was the thief. They came down, two of the overseers did, and searched my hut fore and aft, from deck to keelson; but, of course, they didn't find it, for the simple reason that I hadn't took it. Hows'ever, they would insist that I knew where 'twas, and at last they dragged me up to the house, and told the Don that I'd took it, but that they couldn't find it because I'd hid it away somewhere.

"The Don happened to be just starting off for a ride, and was mounted on a splendid black horse. He sat there in the saddle and listened to all that the overseers had to say, and when they'd finished, he spurred his horse at me, and swearing that he'd get the secret out of me, if he had to cut my heart out to find it, raised his heavy riding-whip, and made a slash at me.

"Well, cap'n, and Tom, old shipmate, you needn't be told that I had already been made pretty savage by all this business, and when this hawk-nosed Don Christoval struck out at me, why, it just roused all the devil there was in me. I put up my hand—so—as if to ward off the stroke, and as the whip came down, I caught it in my hand, wrenched it out of the Don's grasp, and, as quick as lightning, returned the blow with all my strength, lashing him fair across the face and cutting his cheek open. He reeled backwards in his saddle, and I, first letting out right and left at the two overseers, who stood one on each side of me, and bowling them over like a couple of ninepins, sprang upon him, seized him by the collar, and dragged him out of his saddle, and, leaping upon the frightened horse's back, gave the poor brute a lash across the flank, which sent him flying down the road, through the 'baccy plants, and out upon the open country like a shot out of a shovel.

"Well, I don't know that I'd ever been on horseback in my life before, but somehow I managed to stick to the saddle, it didn't seem at all difficult, and on I went, straight ahead, as fast as the horse could gallop, for an hour or more, and then we fetched up somewhere on the shore. There was a schooner in the offing with the British flag flying at her gaff-end, and, as luck would have it, I'd just managed to hit the spot where a boat's crew belonging to her were ashore, filling up their fresh water. I told the middy in charge who and what I was, and he shoved off at once with me, took me aboard, and told the lieutenant in command all about me; and, after knocking about with 'em for a fortnight, I landed here, just six months ago. And that ends my yarn."

"And what have you been doing since then?" asked George, after congratulating Bowen on his escape.

"Well, cap'n," was the reply, "I never once forgot the promise I made to you the day we were separated in Havana. I felt certain that you'd manage to get away somehow some day; and I felt just as certain that, sooner or later, you'd turn up here in Kingston. So, as soon as I was landed here, I made inquiries, and, not being able to learn that anything had been heard of you, I just looked about me a bit, and got a berth on board a little coaster, so's to be on the spot whenever you might happen to turn up. I'd told our story pretty freely here in Kingston, so that, even if I'd happened to have been at sea at the time, there's plenty of people that would have taken you in tow, and provided you with the needful until I came in again. Now that you've put in an appearance, of course I shall throw up my berth, and we'll all sink or swim together."

"Thanks, Bowen, thanks; that's just like your disinterestedness," answered George; "but what are we to do? The only thing I can see for it is to get berths, if possible, on board some homeward-bounder."

"Homeward-bounder?" exclaimed Bowen with contemptuous emphasis, "why— but there, I suppose you don't know anything about it, or you wouldn't talk like that."

"About what?" asked George, completely mystified.

"Why, about our prize that we took that dark night on the passage out— the privateer brig—the Jeune Virginie. She's lying down there at Port Royal, safe and sound, with a British crew on board her; and all you've got to do, cap'n, is to make your claim, and establish your identity, and the ship or her value will be handed over to you."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed George. "Then we are lucky indeed. But you must explain the whole affair to me."

"That's easy enough," answered Bowen. "The very first time I entered Port Royal harbour I saw the craft lying there, and knew her again at once. Thinks I to myself, 'Now, Dick Bowen, my lad, your first duty is to recover possession of that prize on behalf of the skipper.' So off I goes to the admiral, stated my case, and made my claim.

"'That's all very well, my fine fellow,' says he, 'and I don't doubt but what you're telling the truth; but, you see,' says he, 'you can't prove it. Now I must have something beyond your bare word before I give up possession of the brig. When you can bring me something in the shape of proof that what you say is true, come to me again, and I'll see what can be done in the matter.'

"Of course that was all right and straight-for'ard enough, so I went away, and troubled no more about it. The craft is safe enough; they've been using her as a cruiser, and taking care of her, and I don't doubt but what she's in just as good order as she was on the night when we took her. And now, all we've got to do is to go to the admiral again, and make our claim. There's three of us this time, so that there'll be no difficulty at all in getting her delivered over to us."



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE "AURORA" TURNS UP AGAIN.

That same day George waited upon the admiral and formally laid claim to the Jeune Virginie. He was very well received, his statement patiently listened to, and—to make a long story short—in about three weeks afterwards the claim was actually allowed, and the vessel handed over to her rightful owners.

George was agreeably surprised, for—notwithstanding Bowen's implicit confidence—he fully anticipated that there would be some trouble over the matter. Legal possession once obtained, Leicester had no difficulty in raising money by means of a bottomry bond, and with this he provisioned the brig for six months, intending to take out letters of marque, and endeavour to make good his losses—a resolution in which he was cordially seconded by Bowen.

But, though all this gave him plenty of occupation, he had not forgotten his old crew, and he found—or rather took—time, not only to prepare a complete list of the names and a full description of all those who were still—so far as he knew—in a state of slavery, but also to put it into the hands of the proper authorities, with such an urgent representation of their probable sufferings, that the matter was at once taken up; and he had the satisfaction of knowing, before he sailed, that negotiations were already in progress for their discovery and deliverance.

Considerable difficulty was experienced in obtaining a crew for the brig, good men being scarce; but at last this was overcome, and on a bright September morning the anchor was hove up, and the Virginie started upon her cruise. The shoals outside the harbour were cleared in due time, the brig working like a top, and sailing like a witch, to the unbounded delight of all hands; and then George hauled sharp up on the port tack, his intention being to cruise for a few days in the Windward and Caycos Passages before shaping a course for home.

For the first five days of their cruise they were singularly unlucky, seeing nothing but a man-o'-war schooner, which, on speaking, they found had been equally as unfortunate as themselves.

On the morning of the sixth day, however, being then in the neighbourhood of the Hogsties, the lookout aloft reported at daybreak a couple of sail dead to windward, hove-to close together. On the usual inquiries being made, the lookout further reported that one of the strangers was a barque; the rig of the other, which happened to be lying end-on, he could not clearly make out, but, from her size, he judged her to be a ship. Mr Bowen, whose watch it was, at once went below and informed George of this circumstance, and then, leaving him to don the most indispensable portions of his attire, returned to the deck, and proceeded thence aloft to have a look at the strangers for himself.

By the time that he had seen all that it was then possible to see, and had descended again to the deck, George was awaiting him there.

"Well, Bowen, what do you make of them?" was Leicester's first inquiry.

"Well, there's two of 'em there, sure enough, close together—a good deal too close together to be up to any good, to my thinking," was the reply.

"What do you think they are, then?" asked George.

"One of 'em is a privateer—or a pirate; and t'other is her prize, in my opinion," answered Bowen.

"Then we'll make their further acquaintance," said George. "Perhaps if we trim the canvas a bit slovenly, and act as though we had not seen these craft, we may coax down towards us the privateer, or whatever she is."

"That'll be the best plan, no doubt," acquiesced the chief mate; and he proceeded forthwith on a tour round the decks, easing up a brace here, and a halliard there, with a touch also at the sheets and bowlines, by way of insuring an agreeable and harmonious result. When he had finished, the brig looked like a collier, and her speed had decreased from eight to a little over five knots.

"There," said Bowen to George, with an admiring glance aloft at his own handiwork, "I think that'll do pretty well; we look helpless enough now for anything. Masthead, ahoy!"—to the lookout aloft—"what about the strangers now?"

"They've dropped alongside one another, sir," was the reply.

"Very well; keep your eye upon them, and let us know when you see any change in their movements."

The stereotyped "Ay, ay," by way of reply, was duly given, and then George and Bowen, side by side, and with hands folded behind them, began to trudge fore and aft, from the main-mast to the taffrail, patiently awaiting the course of events.

About a quarter of an hour elapsed, and then the lookout hailed again—

"On deck, there! The barque has cast off, and is standing down towards us. They're busy getting the stunsails upon her now, sir."

"All right; stay where you are, and let's hear, if you see anything worth reporting," replied Bowen.

A few minutes later another report was made to the effect that the other sail—a full-rigged ship—had filled, and was standing to the northward under all plain sail. That was the last news from either of the vessels, and, the barque shortly afterwards becoming visible from the deck, orders were given to clear the brig for action, and the lookout was ordered down on deck.

There was a capital working breeze, and not much sea; it was, consequently, not very long before the barque had raised her hull above the horizon. As soon as she was fairly in view, George brought his telescope to bear upon her, and ten minutes' careful scrutiny sufficed to satisfy him that, though her spars were heavier, and she now showed a wider spread of canvas than of old, she was undoubtedly, as he had suspected, his own old ship, the Aurora. He further noted that she was not very deep in the water, being in fact just in her very best sailing-trim; and, remembering her former capabilities, he was not long in making up his mind that, if her present crew happened to become suspicious of the character of the Virginie, and shunned an engagement, it would be a very difficult matter to bring the Aurora to action.

But if those in possession of the barque entertained any misgivings, they certainly gave no visible indication of them: on the contrary, they came sweeping down upon the Virginie under a perfect cloud of canvas, and in a manner so obviously threatening, that, in order to maintain the illusion to the last, George thought it advisable to exhibit some slight signs of uneasiness, and he accordingly ordered the royals to be loosed and set, and edged away a point or two off his course, at the same time, however, checking his weather braces to such an extent that the brig's speed was not very greatly improved by the manoeuvre. In the meantime the decks had been cleared, the guns loaded, and the crew fully armed with cutlass, pike, and pistol. The port-lids however, were kept carefully closed, so that the presence of the guns on board might not be revealed until an action should have become inevitable.

Mr Bowen had, in the midst of all his work, been watching the approach of the Aurora with grim satisfaction, gradually developing into a condition of supreme exhilaration. He rubbed his hands gleefully, laughed softly to himself, and exhibited, in short, all the outward characteristics of a thoroughly gratified man. Then he would draw a pistol from his belt, and carefully inspect the priming, pass his thumb meditatively along the edge of his cutlass, or casually test with his finger the sharpness of a pike-head, and at these times the expression of his countenance boded no good to the approaching enemy.

The Virginie's crew were kept carefully out of sight, except some three or four hands, who were ostentatiously posted on the forecastle, with orders to assume an appearance of deep interest in the approach of the barque; but Bowen had carefully placed each man exactly where he wanted him, and as the Aurora came sweeping down upon the brig, invisible hands on board the latter gradually tautened up halliard, brace, tack, sheet, and bowline, until by the time that the two ships were within a mile of each other, every trace of slovenliness on board the Virginie had vanished, every sail was standing as flat as a board, and the brig was once more in a condition to be worked to the best advantage. This done, the men were ordered to their guns, and all was ready for the commencement of the struggle.

When within a distance of about three-quarters of a mile from the brig, the studding-sails of the Aurora were seen to suddenly collapse, and in a few seconds they had entirely disappeared, being taken in, all at once, man-o'-war fashion. This showed George, not only that his old craft was heavily manned, but also that she was in the command of a man who knew how to handle her. But the sight did not greatly disturb him; he had had time to discover that his own crew was a good one; he had studied the brig, and mastered her little peculiarities; and he awaited with perfect calmness the conflict which was now inevitable.

As the Aurora's studding-sails fluttered out of sight, she sheered broadly to port; a flash, accompanied by a puff of white smoke, issued from her side, and in another instant a nine-pound shot skipped along the water and across the Virginie's bow.

George decided to take no notice of this hint, and the brig held steadily on her course. Another shot followed, with a like result; and the pirates then decided apparently to waste no more powder and shot upon so contumacious a craft, but to make short work of the affair by simply running alongside and taking possession. The Aurora was accordingly steered in such a way as would admit of her making a wide sweep and shooting up alongside on the brig's weather quarter. She was handled magnificently, there was no doubt of that; and presently, with a graceful sweep, she came surging up alongside, with the water spouting up in a clear transparent sheet under her sharp bows, her yards swinging simultaneously to meet her change of course, her white canvas gleaming in the brilliant sunlight, six long nine-pounders grinning through her bulwarks, and her deck crowded with men, as fair, yet as evil, a sight of its kind as the eye of man ever rested upon. At the same moment a blood-red flag streamed out over the taffrail and soared away aloft, until it fluttered out from the gaff-end—a fit emblem of rapine and murder.

"Red this time, by way of a change," remarked Bowen to George, in allusion to their encounter with the pirate schooner, which fought under a black flag. "Well, a change is good sometimes," he added philosophically. "Shall we give her a taste of our quality now, cap'n; she's just shooting into the right position to get the full benefit of the dose of 'round' and 'grape' I've prepared for her?"

"Yes, give it her," answered George, drawing his cutlass with one hand, and a pistol with the other.

"Throw open your ports, lads!" commanded Bowen; and at the word the port-lids flew apart, six twelve-pounders were run out on each side, and, as the barque was in the very act of sheering alongside, the Virginie's starboard broadside was poured into her with murderous effect, as was evidenced by the frightful outburst of yells, groans, and imprecations which at once arose on board her. The broadside was returned, but without inflicting much damage, the pirates evidently having been taken completely by surprise by the sudden and unexpected unmasking of the brig's guns.

The next moment the two vessels collided with a crash.

"Now look alive with your grappling-irons, and heave! Boarders, follow me!" cried George, dashing to the rail, and making a spring thence in upon the Aurora's deck, Mr Bowen at the same time leading his detachment on board by way of the fore-rigging.

The Englishmen were met by a very formidable party, which had evidently been told off to board the brig, and in an instant a fierce and sanguinary melee arose on the Aurora's deck. The Spaniards—for such they proved to be—though taken by surprise, and greatly disconcerted by the unexpectedly warm reception which they had met with from the brig, fought with the fury and desperation of demons, and for perhaps five minutes the crew of the Virginie had all their work cut out to maintain their position on the deck of the barque. The pirates, with that sanguinary symbol floating over their heads, and believing that they had been entrapped into attacking a man-o'-war, felt that the halter was already about their necks, and that there was literally no alternative but victory or death for them; and they pressed forward with such recklessness and ferocity that the deck speedily assumed the aspect of a human shambles, and the planking grew so slippery with blood that it became difficult to retain one's footing upon it. There was one Spaniard in particular who appeared to possess the gift of ubiquity; he seemed to be in all parts of the ship at the same time, notwithstanding the crowded state of the confined space wherein the fight was raging, and in him George speedily recognised the truculent-looking individual who had led the pirates on the eventful night of the Aurora's capture, and who had so brutally ill-used poor Bowen on the morning of the sale in the square at Havana. There could be no possible doubt as to his identity. There was the same ferocious cast of countenance, the same mahogany-brown skin, even the same filthy red handkerchief—now more filthy than ever—bound about his ragged locks, apparently the same broad-brimmed straw hat, in short, every mark of identification; nothing was wanting. This individual dashed from point to point, apparently by a mere effort of his will, encouraging here, chiding there, and helping everywhere. The mere fact of his presence, the mere sound of his voice, appeared to endue the pirates with renewed life and courage, and George speedily saw that there would be little hope of victory until this man could be placed hors de combat. He therefore pressed in toward him, plying his cutlass vigorously with one hand, and laying manfully about him with the butt of his empty pistol with the other, and calling upon the fellow by every despicable epithet he could think of to turn and meet him. He had very nearly reached him—there were only some half-a-dozen people between the two—when another voice, that of Bowen, was heard, and the next instant the chief mate, his eyes literally blazing with fury, appeared, forcing his way into the thickest of the throng. With the strength of a madman he seized and dashed aside all who ventured to bar his path, and in a single moment, so it seemed to George, forced himself within reach of his especial enemy.

"At last—at last—you bloodthirsty scoundrel—you white-livered coward—you who were not ashamed to strike a chained man—at last we meet again, as I told you we should!—and the time has come for me to pay off part of the debt I owe you—no, you don't,"—skilfully guarding a savage down-stroke from the Spaniard's cutlass, "and take that," he added, launching out a terrific blow with his left fist, catching the Spaniard fairly between the eyes, and felling him to the deck senseless, as neatly as a butcher fells an ox. In another moment George was at Bowen's side, and, placing themselves back to back, these two managed to successfully defend themselves until the crew of the Virginie, inspired by their leader's example, had pressed in to their assistance, when the pirates, becoming scattered, were driven irresistibly to opposite ends of the ship, and some were actually driven overboard. Then recognising that they were defeated, and suddenly losing heart, they threw down their weapons, and cried for quarter. But the worst passions of the Virginia's crew were by this time fully aroused; they thought of nothing but the fact that their enemies were pirates, men steeped to the lips in crime of the vilest description, and guilty of unnumbered deeds of blood-curdling atrocity, and many of the Spaniards were ruthlessly slaughtered before George and Bowen could induce them to stay their hands. Then, when order and authority were once more restored, heads were counted, and it was found that, out of a crew of over eighty, twenty-three pirates only—their leader included—remained alive, and these were promptly clapped in irons and bundled unceremoniously below. Strange to say, notwithstanding the desperate character of the fighting, the Virginie's crew had suffered but slightly in comparison—nine killed and thirteen wounded being the total of the casualties. A short breathing-space was allowed the men to recover themselves after their extraordinary exertions, and then all hands set to work to clear the decks of the sickening evidences of the contest; the crew were next divided equally between the two ships, and, with Mr Bowen in command of the Aurora, both craft then made sail to windward in company.

The third craft—the full-rigged ship—meanwhile was still in sight from aloft, dodging about under easy canvas, and evidently waiting for the Aurora to rejoin. There could be little doubt, therefore, that she was in the possession of a prize-crew of the pirates, and George earnestly hoped he might be able to reach her in time to save the lives of some at least of those to whom she rightfully belonged.

A couple of hours later they were alongside—the Virginie on the weather and the Aurora on the lee quarter—with ports open, guns run out, and the English ensign flying at the peak, the red flag having been allowed to remain aloft on board the Aurora until ranging alongside the strange ship, when it was hauled down, and the English flag run up on board the barque and the brig simultaneously.

The pirates in possession were completely paralysed by the turn events had taken; they had evidently been under the impression that the Aurora, and not the Virginie had proved victorious; and now that they found themselves under the guns of both ships their mistake was past rectification.

Accordingly, at George's order, they backed the main-yard and hove-to the ship, upon which a strong party, armed to the teeth, proceeded on board and took possession.

The ship proved to be the Vulcan, of and from Liverpool, bound to Kingston with a valuable general cargo and several passengers. She was a noble ship, being of nearly a thousand tons register, and a regular clipper.

On boarding her, George found the state of affairs pretty much what it had been on board the Aurora after her capture by these same pirates, her crew and the male passengers being discovered scattered about the deck, lashed helplessly neck and heels together, or chained to ring-bolts in the deck and bulwarks, whilst the pirates had taken possession of the cabin and had held a regular saturnalia there, in the progress of which the unfortunate lady passengers had been subjected to the vilest outrages, and one poor little child had been cruelly murdered before its distracted mother's face. The captain and the chief mate of the ship were both found in the cabin in a dying condition, they having been mutilated in a most cruel and horrible manner in an ineffectual effort to wring from them the secret of the hiding-place of a large amount of specie which the pirates had somehow ascertained was on board. A tall and burly negro, the identical one who had acted as lieutenant to the Spaniard in charge of the Aurora on the occasion of her first capture, was at the head of the gang, and had been the instigator and chief perpetrator in the many outrages which had followed the capture of the Vulcan.

No time was lost in freeing the passengers and crew from their exceedingly unpleasant situation; and this done, the pirates, ten in number, heavily ironed, were transferred to the Virginie and stowed carefully away below. The Vulcan then proceeded on her voyage, in charge of her second mate, by whom George forwarded a letter to the admiral at Jamaica, informing him of the capture of the now notorious Aurora.

George now felt that, with two ships and so many desperate men to look after, he had his hands full, and he therefore decided to make the best of his way to England forthwith. He accordingly hailed Bowen, requesting him to give the Aurora's stores an overhaul, and to ascertain whether her provisions and water were sufficient in quantity to justify them in making a push across the Atlantic. In about an hour an answer was returned to the effect that not only was there an abundance of everything, but that the ship herself was more than half full of a varied and very rich cargo, the spoils, doubtless, from many a missing vessel. Upon the receipt of this intelligence, orders were at once given for both ships to fill and make the best of their way to the northward in company, and by nightfall they were clear of the Caycos Passage and standing to the northward on a taut bowline under a heavy press of canvas.

The Virginie and Aurora made an excellent passage across the Atlantic. They stood to the northward until the Trades were cleared, when they fell in with fresh westerly winds, which carried them all the way across; and, as the weather was fine, they had no difficulty in keeping each other in sight during the whole passage, the two craft regulating their spread of canvas so that neither should outsail the other.

The passage was consequently an uneventful one, nothing worthy of note occurring until they were in the chops of the Channel. Then, indeed, an adventure befell them, which proved George to have been wise in his determination that the two vessels should make the voyage in company.

It was the last week in October. They had just struck soundings, when the two craft ran into a dense, raw fog, which compelled all hands to seek warmth and comfort in their thickest jackets, and necessitated, as a matter of prudence, the immediate shortening of sail.

The fog lasted a couple of hours, and when it cleared up the Aurora was discovered about two miles astern of the brig, and a large ship was at the same moment made out directly ahead. The stranger was hove-to under single-reefed topsails, with her head to the northward, her topsail-yards being just visible from the deck. The fact of her being hove-to in such a position seemed to point to the conclusion that she was a man-o'-war, and this supposition was confirmed when George took a look at her through his glass from the fore-topgallant-yard. She was a frigate, and French apparently, from the cut of her canvas; but of course it was quite possible that she might be in English hands, the English often taking French prizes into their own navy, and sending them to sea again with little or no alteration. Still, George thought it best to be on the safe side, and he accordingly at once ordered the Virginie to clear for action, the Aurora being signalled to do the same, his intention being to attack the frigate, if an enemy, since, as far as he could make out, she carried only twenty-four guns.

In the meantime, however, the brig and the barque had been discovered by the frigate, which at once made sail, and manoeuvred in such a manner as to intercept them.

Bowen, on the other hand, guessing at once what was in the wind, crowded sail upon the Aurora, and soon recovered his position alongside the Virginie, approaching the latter vessel within hailing distance, in order the better to concert plans for the possible coming engagement. These were soon arranged, but not before it had become pretty evident, from the comparatively clumsy handling of the stranger, that she was indeed French. Their doubts, such as they were, were set at rest when the frigate had approached within a mile of them, by her hoisting a tricolour at her gaff-end, and soon afterwards she sent a shot across their fore-foot as a polite intimation that they would oblige her by heaving-to.

They, however, did nothing of the kind; a piece of discourtesy which so preyed upon the French captain's mind that, without more ado, he bore down upon them, and opened fire from his starboard broadside.

The three ships at that moment formed the three angles of a nearly equilateral triangle, the sides of which measured each about a quarter of a mile; the Virginie and the Aurora occupying, as it were, the two ends of the base, and the Frenchman being at the apex. This allowed both English ships to attack their enemy on the same side—the starboard—and compelled the Frenchman to fight them both with only half his battery. He soon saw how great a disadvantage he laboured under by this arrangement, and did all he could to get between them. But it was all to no purpose; George and Bowen were fully as wide-awake as he was, and they successfully defeated every effort of his in this direction, principally, it must be confessed, by some lucky shooting on their part, whereby the Frenchman's spars and rigging were so cut up that the craft soon became practically unmanageable. At length, after a brisk fight of about twenty minutes, the Frenchman's fore and main-topmasts both went simultaneously over the side, the frigate luffed into the wind, and obstinately remained there, and she was at George's mercy. The Virginie at once made sail and took up a position across the enemy's bows, the Aurora placed herself across his stern, and from these two advantageous positions a raking fire was opened, which, in less than five minutes, caused the Frenchman to haul down his flag and surrender.

The prize—which proved to be the twenty-four-gun frigate Cigne—was at once taken possession of by boats from both the Virginie and the Aurora, her crew secured, and her damages repaired; and about midnight the three vessels made sail in company, arriving without further adventure at Spithead on the day but one following.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL."

The anchors were no sooner on the bottom than George found himself a busy man. There were certain authorities to be communicated with as to the disposal of the French prisoners, other authorities to be consulted as to the disposal of the pirates, and still others, again, to be seen and arranged with as to the disposal of the prizes. Then there were the owners of the Vulcan to be dealt with in the matter of the salvage of that vessel, so that, altogether, he was kept going to and fro from morning until night.

Then there was Lucy to be called upon. But knowing—or thinking he knew—that the sad news he had to communicate would go far toward breaking the heart of the poor girl, he eagerly availed himself of every excuse which offered, to defer his visit; and so it happened that whilst Lucy—who had heard, with astonishment and joy unspeakable, the news of his strange reappearance and good fortune—waited impatiently for the longed-for visit, George was postponing it day after day, until nearly a fortnight had passed.

And in truth he was so worried and harassed with unexpected difficulties that, even if he could have found the time, he lacked the heart for such a call. To his intense surprise, he learned that, though he had arrived at Spithead with three ships, neither of them belonged to him. To begin with, the Virginie, having been captured whilst her captors were under the protection of a convoying squadron, was claimed as being actually the prize of that squadron, though not one of the ships belonging to it had fired a shot or struck a blow to aid in the capture. Then, as to the Aurora, having not only bought and paid, but also fought, for her, George was strongly of opinion that she at least was his. But, here again, it appeared that he was mistaken. She had been taken from him by pirates, and had been out of his possession more than twenty-four hours: she was therefore, de facto, a pirate, and the lawful prize of the Virginie, or rather, of the Virginie's owners, namely, the convoying fleet aforesaid. And the same reasoning applied with equal effect to the Cigne. The naval authorities certainly were good enough to admit that George and his crew were, in virtue of their having been the actual captors of these vessels, entitled to a certain moderate share of the prize-money accruing therefrom, but further than that they would not go.

But if George found himself a busy man, he also found himself—outside the circle ruled by official jealousy—famous. The story, not only of his gallant achievements, but also of his misfortunes, leaked out, as such stories will; and he soon found himself a much-sought-after man, quite a lion, in fact. To such an extent, indeed, was this the case, that even the curiosity of royalty itself was aroused, and in the very midst of all his perplexities Leicester received a summons to present himself at court. This summons George of course dutifully and promptly obeyed, and whilst there not only told the whole story of his adventures, but also laid before his most gracious Majesty the grievances from which he considered himself to be suffering. He was well rewarded for his pains; for, when the king came to be fully informed of the details of the case, he took the matter in hand himself, with the result that a speedy and, on the whole, fairly satisfactory settlement was arrived at. He was also offered a commission in the navy, his Majesty sagely remarking that so good a man ought to be serving his country in some better way than by commanding a mere merchant-ship, and this time George was sensible enough to accept the offer. At his suggestion a commission was also offered to and accepted by Bowen.

All this business being at length satisfactorily concluded, George had no further excuse for shunning Sea View, and accordingly, on the first opportunity, he set out with considerable perturbation of spirit for Alverstoke.

It was about seven o'clock in the evening, and quite dark when George reached the house, and, passing through the gate, strode up the well-remembered pathway, and administered a sounding rat-tat at the door. A smart, fresh-looking maid-servant answered the summons, and, on his inquiry for Miss Walford, showed him into the familiar parlour, and asked for his name.

"Captain Leicester," answered George.

"Yes, sir, certainly, sir," said the girl, eyeing George with such undisguised curiosity and admiration as showed that she had undoubtedly heard some portion at least of his story. "Missus 'll be down in a minute, sir. Please to take a seat, sir."

George settled himself comfortably in a chair near the fire, and, looking round at the well-remembered pictures and "curios" which still adorned the room, fell into a reverie in which his mind travelled backward and took him again in imagination through all that had happened to him since he last sat in that room. From this he was brought back abruptly to the present by the opening of the door and the entrance of Lucy.

Ah! how George's heart leapt within his bosom as he looked at her. She was just the same charming girl as when he had seen her last, and yet there was a subtle difference. She was a trifle more womanly, her form was more fully developed, and if she was a shade paler, it only made her loveliness more distractingly bewitching than ever.

"Lucky Ned!" thought George. "To have been the chosen lover of such a woman as this—ay, though only for a few short hours, how willingly would I change places with you!"

"So you have come at last, captain," said Lucy, offering her delicate little hand. "I was beginning to think that, with all the honours which have been showered upon you, you had quite forgotten your former friends."

"No, Lucy, I have not," answered George; "I have not forgotten one of them—least of all have I forgotten you. Forgotten! Why, I have never ceased to remember you; I do not believe a single waking hour has passed over my head since we last met, that I have not thought of you."

Lucy laughed blithely; she saw by the earnestness of his manner that he was speaking the literal truth; he had not forgotten her, and all would yet be well.

"Fie, fie, captain," said she, "it is easily to be seen that you have been to court; you have learned so thoroughly the art of flattery."

"Ha!" exclaimed George, "have you heard of my visit to his Majesty, then?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Lucy, "I have heard not only that, but, I believe, your whole story. Is it possible you are ignorant of the fact that your name is in everybody's mouth, and that your story is public property?"

"So you have heard all about me?" remarked George. "Then I hope to Heaven that you have also already heard the sad news which I came over to break to you this evening. I see you are in black."

"Yes," said Lucy, growing very grave at once, "I am in mourning for poor mother; she died nearly a year ago. But what is the sad news of which you have to speak to me?"

"You have not heard, then?" said George. "Well, it is about your cousin Edward. I regret to say that I bring you bad news of him."

"Are you referring to his death?" asked Lucy with just the faintest suspicion of a tremor in her voice. "Because, if so, I have already heard of it, and of all your noble, self-sacrificing behaviour on his behalf. And as a relative, as indeed his only surviving relative, let me here and now thank you, George, in all earnestness and sincerity, for your devotion to my unfortunate cousin."

"By Jove, she bears it well; she can't have cared so very much for him, after all," thought George.

"No thanks are necessary, I assure you," was the reply. "I only did for him what I would have done with equal readiness for a stranger. But I had vowed that I would be a protector to him, and that I would—if God willed it—restore him to your arms; and I am grieved that I failed to keep my vow. Believe me, it was through no fault of mine that I failed, Lucy; I did the best I could, but God willed it otherwise."

"Yes—yes," answered Lucy in a dazed sort of way; "yes, God willed it otherwise. But—whatever do you mean, George, by talking about restoring him to my arms? Any one would think, to hear you speak, that I was married to him."

"Well," said George, "betrothal is a sort of marriage, is it not?"

"Betrothal!" exclaimed Lucy, looking more bewildered than ever. "Pray explain yourself, Captain Leicester; I assure you I have not the slightest idea of what you mean."

It was now George's turn to look mystified.

"No idea of what I mean?" he stammered. "Why—why—you were engaged to your cousin, Edward Walford, were you not?"

A new light suddenly flashed into Lucy's mind. All along she had been convinced that there was some reason for George's failure to visit her on the occasion of his previous arrival in port, and now the matter was assuredly on the eve of explanation. So she looked up into George's face, and said quietly—

"No, George, I never was engaged to my cousin. He proposed to me, but I refused him, explicitly and in most unmistakable terms."

"You did?" panted George, his heart throbbing tumultuously. "When was that?"

"On the evening of the day when you last arrived in Portsmouth harbour in the Industry."

Then, all in a moment, a suspicion of the truth dawned upon George.

"And it was on that same evening that I met him out there, close to the church, and he confided to me, as a great secret, the circumstance that you had just accepted him."

"You were so near as that, and yet you never called? For shame, George!" exclaimed Lucy.

"Well, you see—I—that is—in fact I could not. The—the plain truth is that I—I was on my way to you at the time, to try my own fortune with you, and when I was told that you had accepted your cousin, I— well, I felt that I couldn't meet you just then," stammered George with desperate energy.

"Poor George!" murmured Lucy. "How well my cousin understood your unsuspicious character! He knew it would never occur to you to doubt his word, and he told you that tale to keep you away from—from—"

"From what? from whom?" asked George. "Oh Lucy! is it possible that, if I had carried out my original resolution that night, you would have accepted me?"

"Yes, George, I would indeed," was the murmured reply. "I have loved you, and you only, for a long time. But not longer than you have loved me," she added roguishly, as George took her in his arms and—

But, avast there! whither are we running? It is high time that we should 'bout ship and haul off on the opposite tack, if we would not be regarded as impertinent intruders. Love-making is a most delightful pastime, particularly when it comes in at the end of a long period of suffering, hardship, and misunderstanding; but it loses all its piquant charm if it has to be performed in the presence of strangers, no matter how sympathetic. So we will leave it to the lively imagination of the intelligent reader to picture for him, or herself, according to his, or her, particular fancy, the way in which the remainder of the evening was spent, merely mentioning that the lovers found time to come to a thoroughly and mutually satisfactory understanding, and that, when George left Sea View that evening, he was—to make use of a somewhat hackneyed expression—"the happiest of men."

My story is now ended, or nearly so, the intelligent reader aforesaid having doubtless already anticipated the little that remains to be told.

The pirates were tried, found guilty, and executed, as a matter of course; the evidence of the crew of the Virginie alone being sufficient to insure their conviction. Captain Bowen went, at considerable personal inconvenience, to witness the execution, being desirous, as he said, of assuring himself with his own eyes that the wretches were so effectually dealt with as to render any further trouble from them an absolute impossibility.

George Leicester did not accompany his friend, being, in fact, more agreeably engaged at the time in spending with Mrs Leicester—nee; Walford—a brief honeymoon in London, prior to taking command of the frigate Cigne, which had been purchased into the navy, and was then undergoing the process of refitting at Portsmouth.

In this ship, and in others, George afterwards fought many gallant actions, greatly distinguishing himself, and eventually retiring from the service, at an advanced age, with a wooden leg, a baronetcy, and the title of rear-admiral. His wife Lucy, with most commendable liberality, presented him with no fewer than seven sons, all of whom grew up to be fine stalwart fellows, and, entering the navy one after the other, followed worthily in the footsteps of their gallant father.

THE END.