One evening, as I turned to go back, my eye fell on the countenance of a man whose features I felt sure I knew. In an instant I recollected that they were those of Charles Iffley. Forgetting all I had heard to his disparagement, I was going to follow him, when he turned into a cross street among a crowd who were looking on at some itinerant tumblers, and I lost sight of him. I felt very sorry, for I should have been glad to have shaken him again by the hand and invited him to our house. My wife and aunt used constantly to walk out a little way on the common to meet me.

Two days after that, when they met me, they told me that, in the morning, as they were returning home, they had suddenly encountered Charles Iffley. He knew them at once, but did not speak. He stopped for an instant, stared hard at them, and then moved on. When, however, they reached our house door, they observed that he had followed them at a distance and remarked where they had gone in. Just as they had finished their account, the very person we were speaking of appeared at the further end of the road coming towards us. Directly, however, he saw us, he stopped short and looked at me with an astonished and inquiring gaze. He remained long enough, apparently, to ascertain positively who it was. At first he evidently was in doubt. He had heard of my death, and believed that I was dead, I concluded, and that when he saw me alive, and, as he might have suspected, married to the very woman who had refused to become his wife, he at first could not trust his senses.

My impulse was immediately to run forward to meet him, but my wife pressed my arm so tightly that I could not leave her.

"No, no, do not go," she whispered. "I do not like his look. He means us mischief." She must have felt very strongly, I knew, before she could have given way to such an expression. Of course, I yielded to her wish, though it went much against my feelings to turn away from my old associate, ill as I had too much reason to think of him. I could not help agreeing with my wife, as I watched him, that I did not like his look. There was something very evil in his expression as he watched us proceeding towards our home, and I could no longer have any doubt that he recognised me. I never before had seen his countenance wear so malignant an expression, and I feared, not without reason, that even at that moment he was plotting to do us some mischief. A picture I had once seen was forcibly recalled to my memory. It represented Satan watching our first parents in Paradise, and when he is envying them the happiness he can never enjoy, he is considering how he may the most effectually destroy it.

When we got home, we talked the matter over. I did not express my own suspicions to my wife, as they could not fail to agitate her, but I endeavoured rather to make light of it, and to appear as if I hoped, should Charles Iffley feel any desire of revenge, that he would be unable to effect it. I felt regret, also, that I had not hurried after Iffley. Whatever were his feelings, I thought that I might perhaps have turned his heart to better thoughts by talking of bygone days and of our early friendship. "Well, it may not yet be too late," I thought to myself; "I will seek him out and try to persuade him to discard those feelings of jealousy and envy which are now influencing him." When, however, I mentioned my intentions to Uncle Kelson, he rather laughed at my notion.

"An idle, conceited young puppy. What business has he to interfere with you or yours?" he exclaimed. "Because a girl, of whom he is utterly unworthy, does not choose to have anything to say to him, is he to set himself up and to look daggers at any man she may happen to marry? Let him alone. Let him go his own gait, as your Aunt Bretta would say. He'll find a rope long enough to hang himself, depend on it."

My uncle thought he was giving good advice, but even at the time I felt that better is given elsewhere. "Therefore, if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good." I felt that if I could have met with Iffley, I might have heaped coals of fire on his head. I might have softened his heart, just as the contents of a pot are melted by piling up coals, not only around it, but on the very head or top of it. I did not do what I felt and knew was right, and the result of my neglect will be seen.

Aunt Bretta was more indignant than any of us with Iffley. "If he does come to the door, in my opinion, he ought to be turned away!" she exclaimed. "The idea of a person whom I knew as a little boy, glad to receive a slice of gingerbread, giving himself such airs! I have no notion of it." This was very severe for Aunt Bretta, whose heart was kindness itself.

On making inquiries of the servant, she discovered that a man exactly answering his description had, while they were out, knocked at the door and asked all sorts of questions.

"She could not mind what exactly," she said. "They were about Mr Wetherholm. Where he had come from! When he had got married? What he was doing? And all sorts of such like things." After I had heard this account of the servant girl, I could not help feeling somewhat suspicious of Iffley's object. The mere asking them was very natural, and had he come frankly forward to meet us, I should not have entertained any ill thoughts of him; but now, in spite of all my resolution, I could not help dreading that he contemplated doing me some mischief or other. Still I did my best to get rid of such thoughts of an old friend, for they were not pleasant.

When the evening came, I forgot all about the matter. Old Jerry Vincent looked in, and several other friends, among them two former shipmates of Uncle Kelson's, and anecdotes and stories innumerable were told. We got on the subject of smuggling. In those days it was certainly not looked on in its proper light, and a smuggler, if he was bold and daring, was considered a very fine fellow. Most of our guests were Hampshire or Isle of Wight men, and had been personally acquainted with many of the smugglers in their day, and might, perhaps, not have refused to purchase any of the goods they had to offer.

"Some of you may have known Jim Dore?" began Jerry.

One or two nodded.

"I thought so," said Jerry. "Well, then, when he began the work he was very young, and there wasn't a bolder or more daring hand in the trade. We were boys together, and a braver fellow or better seaman never stepped. He was a Yarmouth man, born and bred, just inside the Needles there. There was a large family of them. He wasn't always as prudent as he might be, and one day he and the cutter he was in was taken with three hundred tubs on board. Of course he was sent to serve his Majesty. When he found that there was no help for it, he vowed that he would do his duty like a man, and he kept his word.

"He was sent aboard a brig of war employed in looking after smugglers, and though before she had never taken one, now scarcely a month passed that through his means she did not make a prize.

"Once upon a time the brig attacked a large armed smuggler, the crew of which had vowed that they never would be taken alive. There was a desperate fight for more than three hours, and in the end the smugglers kept their word, for they went down with colours flying, under the guns of the brig which was just about to board them. On this occasion, as on every other, Dore behaved so bravely that the captain put him on the quarter-deck, and if he had chosen to follow it, there was the road open to him to become an admiral. But you know there are people who cannot give up habits, so to speak, born and bred with them, as one may say.

"Well, Dore's time of servitude was up for the smuggling affair, and soon after that the brig put into Portsmouth harbour. The next day Dore got leave to go and see his friends, so he hired a wherry, and got ready for a start for Yarmouth. Just as he was shoving off, I saw him and asked him for a cast down there, as I had some friends in those days in the same place. Now, though he was an officer with a cocked hat on his head, and a sword by his side, I knew that he was in no way proud, at all events. He told me to jump into the boat, by all means. On our way down I asked him if he was going to be long away from his ship.

"'Long away, do you say?' he answered, in an indignant tone. 'I'll tell you what it is, Vincent, it will be long, I'm thinking, before I go back again. I've been made an officer of, it's true, but I haven't been treated as one or looked on as one, because I wasn't born a gentleman, and slavery in a cocked hat I, for one, will not bear.'

"In that way he talked till we got pretty nearly down to Yarmouth. At last he worked himself up into a regular rage, for he was a passionate man, do you see.

"'Give us a knife, some one of you,' he sang out.

"I handed him mine. When he got it, he began cutting off the buttons from his coat. Then he unbuckled his sword, and took off his hat. He jumped up, and holding all the things together, as it were in a lump, he hove them away into the sea as far from him as he could, uttering at the same time a loud and deep curse. 'There goes the last link of the chain that binds me to slavery!' he exclaimed. 'Now, my lads, I'm once more Jim Dore, the bold smuggler.'

"The men in the boat thought what he had done was very fine, and so did I in those days, and so we all cheered him over and over again. When he landed at Yarmouth, every one turned out to welcome him as if he had been an admiral just come home after a great victory; and certainly the people did make much of him. Those Yarmouth men are great smugglers, there's no doubt about it. I don't think, however, myself, as I did in those days. Dore was a brave man, and it's a great pity he had not been taught better, and he might have been an ornament to the service he deserted.

"When his leave was up, and he did not return, an officer with a boat's crew was sent to look for him. He got notice of their coming, and got stowed out of the way, for there were plenty of people to help him. He had to keep in hiding for a long time, and often, I dare say, he wished himself back aboard the brig. When the war was over he took to smuggling again, and he soon got command of a large cutter. At last he and some other Yarmouth men went away in her, and from that day to this have never been heard of. It is supposed that the cutter was run down or foundered in a tremendous gale of wind, which sprung up soon after she was last seen."

One of our friends who came from Poole in Dorsetshire, told us a very good story, when Jerry Vincent and one or two others sang out in chorus, "Howe! howe! howe!"

I asked what they meant.

"That is what we always say to a Poole man," answered Jerry. "Did you never hear tell of the Poole man and the owl?"

I told him that I never had, and asked him for the story.

"Well, you must know that once upon a time there was a homeward-bound Poole man just coming up Channel, and not far off the land, when, the night being somewhat dark, do ye see, an old owl flew by 'Howe! howe! howe!' cried the owl.

"The master, who had been dozing aft, thinking all the time, exactly as many another man does, that he was wide awake, just heard the sound as he roused up, and fancied that another skipper was hailing him.

"'From Newfoundland!' he sang out, rubbing his eyes, and dreaming that he saw the strange ship abeam.

"'Howe! howe! howe!' hooted the owl again.

"'With fish,' answered the Poole man.

"'Howe! howe! howe!' once more cried the old owl, as he was flying off.

"'Over Poole bar with the next tide, please the pigs,' sang out the skipper at the top of his voice, for fear those in the other craft wouldn't otherwise hear him. Nothing would ever persuade him that he hadn't been talking all the time with the skipper of some outward-bound craft.

"That's all very well, and it is not a bad story, and may be true, or it may not; but you Hampshire men are not all of you so very clever," answered Mr Bexley, our Poole friend, who had himself been skipper of a merchantman. "Have none of you ever heard speak of Botley assizes, eh?"

I asked him what he meant.

"Why," he answered, "you know Botley isn't very far from Southampton. Once upon a time a party of young chaps belonging to Botley were returning from a merry-making of some sort, and as it happened, all of them but one were more than three sheets in the wind. For some reason or other, nothing would make this one touch a drop of liquor. As they were walking along they began to jeer him, and at last they declared that he had been guilty of a capital offence, because he had let the glass pass by, and they agreed that they would try him. Well, they came to a place near a wood, where there were a number of trees cut down, and there they all sat round, and the accused was placed in the middle. The most drunk of the party was chosen as judge, and the others were the counsel, some to accuse and the others to defend him.

"The poor fellow tried to get away, but his friends would not let him. He, of course, had nothing to say for himself, except that he did not choose to drink, and the upshot of his trial was that he was condemned to be hung.

"Unfortunately one of them had a rope with him, and without more ado they ran up the culprit to the nearest tree. To be sure, they did intend to put the rope round his waist, but they were too drunk to know exactly what they were about, and by mistake slipped it, Jack Ketch fashion, round his neck. Having done this wise trick, they all ran away, shrieking with laughter at the cleverness of their joke.

"They were very much surprised to find, the next morning, that the poor fellow was missing. At last they went out to look for him, and found him hanging where they had left him, but as dead as a church door.

"So, gentlemen, you see that the people in those parts are very clever chaps, and if you take them at their own value, there are none to be found like them in all the world. I have another story for you to prove this.

"One day a poor Jew fell into the Itchen.

"'Oh, shave me! shave me! vil no one shave me?' he sang out; but of all the people standing round there wasn't one who would touch him with his fingers, because they looked on him as a dirty old Jew.

"At last they thought that though he was a Jew it was a shame to let him drown, so half-a-dozen or more of them ran off to get a rake to haul him out. One couldn't find a rake, and another couldn't find a rake; so, long before they came back, the poor Jew was drowned. That is the reason why we say, when a chap is a long time doing a thing that he ought to have done in a hurry, 'He's gone for a rake to haul out the Jew.'"

"Ay, ay, Mr Bexley, but you know what the Poole man did when his pig got his head through the bars of the gate?" exclaimed Jerry Vincent, with a good-natured laugh. "Why, you see, mates, when he found that he couldn't haul it out, to save trouble he cut off the beast's head. Some people in our parts would have sawed through the bars, but we don't pretend to be wise, you know.

"I don't mind telling a story against ourselves. Did any of you ever hear why the Downton people are called 'Moonrakers'? They themselves don't mind hearing the story. Once upon a time, some Downton men had sunk some tubs in a big pond, and they were hard at work all night raking them up. While they were still engaged, who should come by but a party of custom-house people.

"'What are you doing there, men?' they asked. 'Some mischief, no doubt.'

"'Oh, no! please, kind gentlemen, we are only trying to rake the moon out of this pond,' answered the Downton men, quite in a simple voice. You see that the moon was at the time shining brightly down into the pond.

"'Oh! is that all?' said the custom-house people, thinking that they were a few simpletons escaped out of a madhouse. On went the custom-house people. After a little time they came back. The smugglers had just got out their last tub. Some clouds meantime had come over the moon. 'Well, my men, have you got the moon at last?' said the custom-house officer.

"'Oh, yes! there's little doubt about it, for it's no longer there. If we haven't got it, perhaps you can tell us who has.'

"This made the custom-house people feel sure that they were right in their conjectures; so on they went, little dreaming of the prize they had lost."

We all laughed heartily at Jerry Vincent's and Mr Bexley's stories.

"I'll tell you a story, for the truth of which I can vouch," said Uncle Kelson. "The circumstance only lately happened. So, strange as it may seem, there is no doubt about it. You all have heard speak of Sir Harry Burrard Neale, who commands just now the King's yacht, the Royal Charlotte. The boatswain of her is a friend of mine, and last summer he got me a cast down to Weymouth, where I wanted to go to see the widow of an old shipmate I had promised to look after. We were just clear of the Needles. There was a light breeze and a smooth sea, when we made out a small boat standing towards us, seemingly as if she had come out of Poole harbour or Swanage.

"'She seems to me to be a fishing-boat, and as if she wanted to speak us, Sir Harry,' said the first lieutenant, who had been spying at her through his glass.

"'So I see,' answered the captain. 'There seem to be two people in her making signals. It will not delay us much, so heave the ship to, and let us learn what they want.'

"This was just like Sir Harry. Many a captain would have stood on and taken no notice of a poor fisherman's boat, even had there been a dozen people waving in her. In a little time the boat came alongside, with a man and a woman in her, and they were certainly the rummest old couple you ever saw in your life.

"A midshipman hailed them, and asked them what they wanted. As well as we could make out, for they spoke very broad Scotch, they said that they wanted their son.

"'Let them come aboard,' said Sir Harry kindly, 'and we will hear what they have to say.'

"With no little difficulty, after a good deal of pulling and hauling, we got the old couple upon deck, and led them aft to Sir Harry.

"'For whom are you inquiring, my good people?' asked the captain.

"'Our bairn, sir—our ain bairn,' answered the old lady. 'For many a weary week have we been looking for him, and never have our eyes rested on his bonnie face since the black day, near five long years ago, when he was carried away from us. Ah! it was a sair day, sirs.'

"'What is your son's name, my good people?' asked Sir Harry.

"'David, sir—Davie Campbell. He was so called after his grandfather, who died in '45, with mony other brave men,' answered the old dame.

"'We have a man of that name on board, sir,' remarked the first lieutenant to the captain. 'He is in the watch below. It will be strange if he should prove to be the man these poor souls are searching for.'

"'Let him be called on deck, and we will see if they acknowledge him as their son,' said Sir Harry. 'There must be many hundred David Campbells in the world, I suspect, so do not raise their hopes too high by letting them know that at all events we know the name on board.'

"'David Campbell! David Campbell!' was passed along the decks, and in a minute a fine active young fellow came tumbling up from below.

"A mother's eye was not to be deceived. She knew him in an instant, and toddled off as fast as her legs would carry her, followed by her husband, to meet him. 'He is, he is my ain bairn! There's none like him!' she cried; and not caring a fig for the officers and men standing around,—before even he knew who she was,—she had him clasped in her arms, and was covering his cheeks with kisses, while the old father had got hold of his hand and was tagging away at it just as a man in a hurry does at a bell-rope.

"Now comes the extraordinary part of the story. Campbell had been rather a wildish sort of a chap, and getting into some scrape, had gone on board a tender, at Leith I think it was, and entered the navy. He could not write, and was ashamed to get any one to write for him, so his old father and mother did not know where he was, or whether he was alive or dead.

"At last their hearts grew weary at not hearing tidings of him, and they resolved to set out together to look out for their lost sheep; for you see they were decent people and well to do in the world, so they had money to bear the expense, which was not slight. They had very little information to guide them. All they knew was, that their son had gone on board one of the King's ships. A mother's deep love and a father's affection was the only compass by which they could steer their course. That did not fail them. They went from port to port, and visited every ship in harbour, and asked every seaman they met about their son, but nothing could they hear of him. At last, that very morning, a waggon had brought them to Poole, and seeing a ship in the offing, which was no other than the Royal Charlotte, they had got a boatman to take them out to us.

"That, now, is what I call a providential circumstance; indeed, from all I have seen and learned since I came into the world, I am convinced that there is nothing happens in it by chance. The God of heaven orders all for the best in kindness to us. Sometimes, it is true, things do not occur exactly as we could wish, but that does not alter the rule; for if we could but see the end, we should discover that the very thing of which we most complain was in reality most for our good. Remember that, nephew, whenever you get into danger or difficulty; be sure that you do your duty, and all will come right at last. But I have not told you the end of my story.

"The Poole boatman was sent on shore, and the traps of the old couple were handed up on board. Like canny Scotch people, they had not let their property remain out of their sight, but had brought it with them. It was delightful to see their pleasure when Sir Harry invited them to go on to Weymouth, and to live on board as long as the ship remained there; and he gave orders to have a screen put up for their accommodation. That, too, was just like him. There is not another man in the service more considerate or kind to all below him. All, too, who know him love him; and his Majesty, I believe, trusts him more, and loves him more, than he does all his courtiers put together.

"Never have I seen a pair of old folks look more happy, as their son went about showing them round the ship, and when all the officers and crew spoke kindly to them as they passed.

"The king, too, when he came on board and heard the story, was very much interested, and sent for them to have a talk with them. They did not know who he was, but when they came out of the cabin they said that he was one of the kindest old gentlemen they had ever seen; that he had had a long crack with them all about bonnie Scotland and Scotch people; and that he had asked them a heap of questions about their adventures.

"You should have seen their look of surprise when they heard that it was his gracious Majesty himself. [Note. Admiral Sir Harry Burrard Neale was a great-uncle of the author, and the account is given as it was narrated to him many years ago.] They wanted to go back to fall down on their knees, and to ask his pardon for talking so freely with him, and it was not till we assured them that the king talked just in the same way with any of the crew, that we could quiet them and make them believe that all was right.

"At last, having assured themselves that their son was well and happy, they returned with contented hearts to Scotland, and many has been the long yarn they have spun, I doubt not, about King George and all the wonders they have seen on their travels."

Every one was very much interested in my uncle's story. A young man who was present, a friend of mine, belonging to a revenue cutter, observed, "We were talking of smugglers just now. There is no end to the dodges they are up to.

"Not long ago, soon after I joined the Lively, it had come on to blow pretty fresh, and we had had a dirty night of it, when just as morning broke we made out a cutter standing in for the land to the eastward of Weymouth, and about two miles from us. The wind was from the north-west, and it had kicked up a nasty sea, running pretty high, as it well knows how to do in that part of the Channel.

"Our old mate, Mr Futlock, had the morning watch. It was never his brightest time, for though he did not actually get tipsy, the reaction following the four or five pretty stiff glasses of grog which he drank at night, generally at this time took place. I was in his watch.

"'Youngster,' said he to me, 'hand me the glass, and let us see if we can make out what that fellow is.'

"I brought him the glass, which was kept hung up in beckets within the companion-hatch. I had got my sea-legs aboard pretty well, but I confess that I felt very queer that morning in certain regions, ranging from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and I doubt not looked very yellow in the cheeks, with every instant an irresistible drawing down of the mouth, and that worst of signs, a most unyoungsterlike disinclination to eat.

"Mr Futlock took the glass, and with his lack-lustre eye had a long look at the cutter, which was bobbing away into the seas, while she kept her course on a wind as if in no manner of a hurry.

"'She is honest, I believe,' he observed, with a wise nod. 'Probably a Poole or Exmouth trader; but we must overhaul her notwithstanding. Shake a reef out of the mainsail, my lads.'

"This was quickly done, and the sail hoisted up. 'Now, keep her away a couple of points more, and we shall about fetch her.'

"Our mate's orders being executed, away we went tearing through the foaming, hissing water, now looking, in the morning's pale light, of a dark, melancholy hue. The stranger continued on as steady as before.

"'Oh, there's no use in the world giving ourselves the trouble of boarding her,' muttered Mr Futlock; and he was just going to order the cutter to be kept on a wind, when we saw the stranger haul up his foresail, and let fly his jib sheets, evidently intending to wait our coming.

"'What cutter is that?' shouted old Futlock.

"'The Polly of London, bound for Weymouth,' answered a man, who stood at the taffrail, through a speaking-trumpet. 'We hove-to, sir, that we might tell you we have just run over a large number of tubs away there to the southward.'

"'Thank you, thank you,' shouted Mr Futlock in return, as we ran by and were soon out of speaking distance. 'I knew that fellow was honest,' he observed to me, rubbing his hands at the thought of making some prize-money. 'Come, rouse aft the main-sheet. We must haul up a little again. Can any one see the tubs?'

"There were plenty of busy eyes looking out for the prize, and it was not long before we discovered them on the weather bow. By keeping our luff we were quickly up to them.

"The commander was by this time called, and now came a difficulty. With the heavy sea there was running, it was a work not free from danger to lower a boat. We first shortened sail; the helm was put down, and the cutter hove-to, and then, after several attempts by waiting for a lull, we got the boat with a crew safe in water.

"Mr Futlock jumped into the boat, and pulled towards the tubs which were first seen, we meantime keeping a bright look-out for any more which might be floating near.

"Not being accustomed to this sort of work, I felt not a little alarmed for the safety of my shipmates, as I saw the boat tumbling about among the white-crested waves.

"Mr Futlock soon got hold of ten tubs, lashed together, and hauled them into the boat. A little further on he made a prize of ten more. This was no bad beginning. He was returning with them, having in vain searched for others, when we made out another collection just ahead of the cutter. We soon had them all aboard, though the boat was nearly swamped alongside. We hoisted her in at last, and seeing no more tubs, let draw the foresail, and again stood on. When at last we looked about for our communicative friend, he was not visible; but some of the men said they thought they had seen him standing in for the land.

"We cruised about all the morning in the neighbourhood, but not a tub more could we discover. Three days after that we dropped our anchor in Weymouth roads. The commander went on shore to communicate with the officer of the coast-guard on the station.

"'We were looking out for a cutter with a large cargo the other day, but somehow or other we managed to miss her, and she managed to land every tub. We understand that there has not been such a run for years,' observed the coast-guard officer.

"Something made our commander fancy that she might have been the very craft we spoke, and which had been so ready with information.

"'A cutter of about fifty tons, with her bulwarks painted yellow inside?' he asked.

"'The very same,' answered the lieutenant. 'That cunning rascal, Dick Johnstone, was on board of her himself. Hearing that we were on the look-out for his craft, the Seagull, he shifted his cargo into her.'

"'Then we were cleverly done!' exclaimed our commander, stamping his foot with vexation. 'The very fellow old Futlock thought looked so honest that he would not take the trouble to board him. It is the very last time in my life that I will trust to outside appearances.'

"All hands of us aboard the cutter felt very foolish when we found that we had lost so good a chance of taking one of the richest prizes we were ever likely to fall in with. However, revenue officers must have all their seven senses wide awake to compass the artful dodges of determined smugglers. After that, we took very good care to be smart about boarding every vessel we fell in with."

After the conclusion of this yarn we had several other accounts of smugglers and their daring deeds. Some even, it was asserted, had ventured to defend themselves against king's ships, and had fought severe actions, one or two having gone down with their colours flying rather than surrender. On one point all were agreed, that no smugglers had ever become permanently wealthy men. As my uncle observed, they take a great deal of trouble and undergo great risk to obtain a very uncertain advantage.

All the rest of the guests were gone; old Jerry remained behind. We told him what had occurred in the morning, and I asked him if he could find out anything about Charley Iffley; what was his rank, and to what ship he belonged. I begged him, if he could find him, to take a message to him from me, and to assure him that far from bearing him any ill-will, I would gladly welcome him as an old friend.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

OLD JERRY'S REPORT OF IFFLEY—FEARS OF THE PRESSGANG—RESOLVE TO GO INLAND—COMMENCE OUR JOURNEY—SEIZED BY MEN-OF-WAR'S MEN—IFFLEY'S TREACHERY—FIND MYSELF ABOARD A MAN-OF-WAR BOUND FOR INDIA—IFFLEY'S CONDUCT—A GALE—FALL OVERBOARD—SAVED—PUNISHMENT ABOARD—ACCUSED OF STEALING—SENTENCED TO BE FLOGGED—IFFLEY'S TRIUMPH.

Several days passed by, and I heard nothing of Iffley. The fears of my dear wife in consequence at length subsided, and she began to see that, after all, she had probably thought worse of my old shipmate than he deserved. We agreed that he must have been somewhat astonished at seeing me alive, and the husband of one whom he had hoped to marry himself, and that chiefly through bashfulness he had not been able to bring himself to come up and address us.

"Bashfulness!" said Aunt Bretta, when she heard this remark; "I cannot say that I should ever have given Charles Iffley the credit for a superabundance of that quality. However, strange things happen. He may have picked it up at sea, or among his associates on shore; but I doubt it."

So did I, on reflection. Still, I was glad by any means to calm my wife's apprehensions, which were the more painful because they were so very indefinite. In the evening there was a knock at the door, and old Jerry Vincent walked in.

"Sarvant, ladies; sarvant all," said he, pulling off his hat to Aunt Bretta and my wife, who handed him a chair.

"Have you heard anything of that young man we told you of?" asked my wife. It was evidently the question she was most anxious to put.

"Yes, I have, marm, and not much good either," was the answer. "I've found out that he is aboard the Royal William; she's the flagship just now at Spithead. He doesn't often come ashore, and that made me so long hearing of him."

"What is he on board? Is he an officer?" asked Aunt Bretta.

"An officer, indeed, whew!" exclaimed Jerry. "Well, he is a sort of one, maybe. Not a very high rating, though. He's neither more nor less than a boatswain's mate. What do you think of that, marm?"

"Charles Iffley a boatswain's mate!" said my wife in a tone of pity. "I thought he was an officer long ago."

"Well, marm, I made inquiries on board, and among several people who knew him on shore, and from what I could learn, he would have been an officer long ago if he had conducted himself well. He was placed on the quarter-deck, for you see he has plenty of education, and knows how to act the gentleman as well as any man. But there are some men who never get up the tree but what they slip down again, and never can keep a straight course long together. Charles Iffley is of that sort. For something or other he did, he got disrated and dismissed the service; but he entered it again, and, from what I am told, I shouldn't be surprised but what, if his early history isn't known, he'll work his way up again. The thing that is most against him is his extravagance. Every farthing he makes in prize-money or pay he spends on shore, in acting the fine gentleman. People can't, indeed, tell how he gets all the money he spends. Of course, if it was known on board the pranks he plays on shore, his leave would be stopped; but he is so clever that he humbugs the officers, and they think him one of the most steady and best men. You see there's another thing which brings him into favour with the captain and first lieutenant; he has a knack of finding men and getting them to join the ship, by making her out to be the most comfortable ship in the service, and there's no man knows better how to ferret out seamen, and to lead a pressgang down upon a score of them together. I learned all these things from different people, do ye see, but putting this and that together, I made out my story as I tell it to you. To my mind, Charles Iffley is a man I would stand clear of. Depend on't, he's a deep one."

Jerry Vincent stayed with us some time, and then he said he had an engagement and must go away. As he did so he beckoned me out of the room, and I accompanied him to the door.

"I'll tell you what it is, Mr Weatherhelm," said he, "you have been bred a seaman, and the pressgangs are very hot at work just now. They take everybody who has been at sea, no matter what his present calling— whether he has a wife and family depending on him or not. Now Iffley knows that you have no protection, and he has the power of getting hold of you. From what I hear, he's just the man to use it. If you was his bosom friend, he'd do it; but if he owes you a grudge, depend on it he'll not let you slip out of his gripe. He'd have been down on you before now, but he got a broken head the other night, in attacking the crew of a merchantman just come home from a three years' cruise round the Horn, and had no fancy to be sent off to sea again when they had only just put their foot on shore. However, he is now on his legs again. If you stay here, you'll hear something of him before long; but take my advice, just rig out as an old farmer, or a black-coated preacher, or something as unlike yourself as you can, and take your wife and go and live away somewhere up in the country. It's your only chance. If you stay you'll be nabbed, as sure as my name is Jerry Vincent."

I thanked the old man very much for his advice, and replied that I had no doubt, on consideration, I should follow it.

"Oh, there's a good lad! Don't be waiting and considering. There's no good comes of that. When a thing is to be done which must be done, go and do it at once."

"Well, I will, Jerry, I will," I answered, shaking him by the hand. I waited at the door, and while I watched him down the street I considered what course I would pursue. I was unwilling to tell my wife what he had said, because I knew it would agitate her very much, and I hoped that Jerry thought worse of Iffley than he deserved. Of course, however, I determined to consult Uncle Kelson, and to abide by his advice. It was a serious consideration whether I would, on the mere chance of Iffley's being able to get hold of me, give up my occupation, in which I was succeeding so well, and go and live, for I knew not how long, in comparative poverty, without anything to do. I made an excuse for stepping out of the room to talk to Jerry, and my wife did not appear to suspect that he had had anything more to say about Iffley. As soon as she and my aunt had gone upstairs, I told Uncle Kelson all that I had learned. He looked graver than usual while he listened to the account.

"Well, he must be a scoundrel if he could do it!" he exclaimed at last, clenching his fist. "Still, such things have been done, but I did hope that no seaman would be guilty of them." He was silent for some time, and lost in reflection. "I'll tell you what, Will," said he at last, "you must follow old Jerry's advice. It's sound, depend on it. That old man has more wisdom in his little finger than many a man has in the whole of his head. Go to your work to-morrow morning, and I'll look down in the course of the day and see your employer, and explain matters to him frankly. He, I have no doubt, will give you leave of absence for a few weeks, and when you come back you can work double tides. If you stay, you see, you'll be lost to him probably altogether."

So the matter was arranged. I was rather ashamed, however, at the thought of having to go into hiding, as it were; but still I felt that my wife's mind would be relieved from apprehension when once I was safe away out of Portsmouth. Uncle Kelson had a sister married to a farmer living in the north of Hampshire, and there we resolved to go.

The next day I went to my work as usual, and my uncle came down and had a talk with my employer, and the whole matter was arranged to the satisfaction of all parties.

"Come," said Uncle Kelson, "you had better at once take your places by the coach, and start to-morrow. There is no time to be lost."

We found on getting to the coach-office that all the coaches were full. At that time there was an immense traffic between Portsmouth and London. A post-chaise was somewhat beyond our means, but we found a light waggon starting, which took passengers, and Uncle Kelson and I agreed that this would prove a convenient and very pleasant conveyance, as we were in no hurry, and would not object to being some time on the road. It was to start pretty early in the morning. My dear wife was delighted at the thoughts of the journey, and speedily made the necessary preparations. We sent on our trunk by a wheelbarrow, while we followed, accompanied by Uncle Kelson. Even at that early hour the High Street was astir,—indeed, in those busy times, both during day and night, something or other was going forward. We passed several gangs of men-of-war's men. Three or four men evidently just pressed, and who showed a strong disinclination to go and serve their country, were being dragged along by one of the gangs. I could not help pitying the poor fellows; so did my wife.

"Oh, Willand," said she, "how thankful I am that you are not among them!"

Our waggon was a very nice one, covered over with a clean white tilt, and our waggoner, I saw at a glance, was an honest, good-hearted chaw-bacon. He was dressed in the long white frock, thickly plaited in front, which has been worn from time immemorial by people of his calling. Our trunk and bags were put in; we shook hands with Uncle Kelson, and having taken our seats just inside in the front part, with plenty of straw for our feet to rest on, the waggoner whipped up his four sturdy horses, and we began to move on. My dear wife pressed closer to my side, and we began to breathe more freely; she thought I was safe from the pressgang. We were just clear of the fortifications, and were getting into the open country, when I saw the waggoner turn round once or twice, and look over his shoulder behind him.

"What can they be after?" I heard him say. A minute more passed. "Hillo, men, what does ye want here?" he exclaimed suddenly, as half a dozen or more seamen sprang forward, and seized the horses' heads, while others leaped up into the waggon.

"We are looking for a deserter," cried two or three of them. "Turn out, my hearty; where are you stowed away?"

I felt, the instant the seamen appeared, that they had come to press me, but these words revived my hopes of escape.

"There is no one here, my men, besides my wife and me that I know of," I observed. "You have made a mistake, I suspect."

"Well, we must look," said the men; "we are not quite so green as to take your word for it."

"You may look as much as you like, measters," said the waggoner; "you'll find no one among my goods, unless he's stowed hesself away unknowest to me."

The seamen began to poke their cutlasses in between the packages, and would undoubtedly have run any one through who had been inside them. While they were thus employed, three or four other men came up.

"What are you about, mates?" exclaimed one of them, whose voice I felt sure I knew. "The man you want is sitting in the front of the waggon!"

On hearing these words my poor wife uttered a piercing shriek, and fell fainting into my arms. She, too, had recognised the voice, though the speaker had kept out of her sight; it was that of Charles Iffley. The seamen instantly sprang on me, and seized me by the arms.

"Hillo, mate, you were going to give us the go-by," said one of them as they passed a rope round my elbows before I could lift an arm in my defence.

They literally dragged me from my poor wife. She would have fallen, but the waggoner humanely scrambled up into his waggon, and placed her securely at the bottom of it. She was still, I saw, completely insensible. I scarcely regretted that she was so, for I did not at the moment foresee the consequences. The honest carter was in vain expostulating with the seamen for seizing one whom he considered placed under his especial charge, to be delivered safe at the journey's end.

"I don't think as how you have any right to take that gentleman; he's no more a sailor nor I bes," I heard him say.

"Not a sailor! Why, the man has been at sea all his life till the last year or so," said Iffley, now coming up, and throwing off all disguise; "he's, moreover, to my certain knowledge, a deserter from his Majesty's ship Brilliant, so attempt to detain him if you dare."

These words had a great effect on the honest waggoner, who did not attempt to make any further efforts to detain me.

Generally speaking, the most ruffian-like and least scrupulous of the crew were employed in the pressgangs, for they often had very brutal work to perform. The men into whose hands I had fallen were as bad as any I had ever met. They seized me with the greatest ferocity, dragged me out of the waggon, and would not listen to my prayers and entreaties to be allowed to wait till my wife came to her senses; and before even I had time to speak to the waggoner, in spite of all the violent struggles I made to free myself, they hauled me off along the road as if I had been one of the worst of malefactors. In this they were encouraged by Iffley, who seemed to take a malignant pleasure in seeing me ill-treated, though he did not himself attempt to lay hands on me. When I tried to cry out, I found a gag thrust into my mouth, and thus I was rendered speechless as well as in every other way powerless.

My captors hurried me away, and with a feeling amounting to agony, I lost sight of the waggon. At first it occurred to me that Iffley had gone back for the purpose, as I dreaded, of speaking to my wife, and perhaps adding to her misery; but had he entertained such a thought, he had not dared to face her, for I saw him directly afterwards following close behind me, encouraging the other men to hasten along.

Though I made all the resistance of which I was capable, in the hopes that something or other might occur to enable me to free myself, we soon reached the entrance to Portsmouth.

Instead, however, of proceeding down the High Street, Iffley led the way down one of the by-streets to the right. Just as we were passing under the ramparts I looked up, and there I saw walking up and down, as if to enjoy the breeze, a person whom I recognised at a glance as Uncle Kelson. The moment I saw him, hope revived in my breast. I could at all events tell him to go in search of my wife. Perhaps he might even find means to liberate me; but when I tried to sing out, the horrible gag prevented me speaking. I could only utter inarticulate cries and groans.

In vain I shrieked. He did not even turn his head; the sounds were too common. He thought, probably, that it was only some drunken seaman, who had outstayed his leave, dragged back to his ship.

At length, for a moment, he looked round. I struggled more vehemently than before. I fancied that he must recognise me, but, urged by Iffley, my captors dragged me on faster than ever, and turning a corner we were hid from his sight. My strength was now almost exhausted. I could offer but a faint resistance. Hope, too, had abandoned me. Still I tried to make myself heard, on the possibility of some one knowing me and undertaking to carry a message to my uncle and aunt. People stopped and looked, but the same idea occurred to all—my frantic gestures made them believe that I was a miserable drunken sailor.

We reached the water's edge. I was shoved into a boat with several other men who had been captured during the night. They all were sitting stunned, or drunken, or sulky (or some too probably broken-hearted and miserable), at the bottom of the boat, not exchanging a word with each other or with those who had pressed us. I also fell down stunned and unconscious. Who could have discovered the difference between me and my companions in misfortune? When I again opened my eyes, I found that the boat was almost at Spithead. I tried to sit up to look about me, but I could not, and, after a feeble attempt to rise, I again sank back, and once more oblivion of all that had passed stole over my senses. I had a sort of dreamy feeling that I was lifted up on the deck of a big ship, and then handed below and put into a hammock. Then I was aware that some one came and felt my pulse and gave me medicine, but I had no power to think, to recollect the past or to note the present.

At last, by degrees, I found that I was becoming more alive to what was taking place. I felt the movement of the ship. She was heeling over to a strong breeze. Then suddenly the recollection of my wife, of the way I had been torn from her, of the wretchedness I knew she must suffer, of the uncertainty she must feel for my fate, burst like a thunder-clap on me, and almost sent me back into the state from which I was recovering. I groaned in my agony. I wished that death might kindly be sent to relieve me of my misery. But the instant after I felt that such a wish was impious.

I lay quiet for some time, thinking and praying that strength might be given for my support. No, no, I'll try to live, that I may get back to comfort her. What joy it would be once more to return to her! The very contemplation of such an idea revived me. "Whatever comes, I'll do my duty like a man."

"That's right, my lad; that's the proper spirit in which to take our misfortunes," said a voice near me.

Unconsciously, I had spoken aloud. I turned round my head, and saw a gentleman I knew at once was the doctor of the ship.

"I know your story. You have told me a good deal about yourself while you have been lying there," he remarked, in a kind voice. "I pity you from my heart, and will do what I can for you."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," I answered warmly, and almost melting into tears, for I was very weak. "Where are we? Where are we going? What ship is this? Is Iffley here?"

"One question at a time, my lad, and you will have a better chance of an answer, as a general rule," he answered, smiling.

He was a Scotchman, and as warm-hearted, generous a man as the north ever produced, though somewhat peculiar in his manners. To a stranger he appeared slow; but, when time would allow it, he knew the advantage of deliberation.

"First, then, I will tell you that you are on board the Albion, and that we have under our convoy a large fleet of merchantmen. We are somewhere to the southward of Cape Finisterre. What you are thinking about is, how you can write home to let your wife know what has become of you. You'll very likely soon have an opportunity. Let that comfort you." He said all this that he might break more gradually all that was coming.

"But where are we going, sir?" I asked, in a trembling voice.

"You may perhaps have an opportunity of getting home," he answered. "But you see, my lad, we are bound for the East Indies, and shall probably have a somewhat long cruise of it."

"To the East Indies!" I cried, my voice sinking almost to a whisper. "When, when, Margaret, may I ever meet you again?"

"Cheer up, my lad, it's a long road which has no turning, ye ken," cried the kind doctor. "Remember your resolution to do your duty like a man. You'll be well in a few days, I hope."

He did not reply to my question about Iffley. Somehow or other, I could not bring myself again to repeat that man's name. I did not forget the command to forgive our enemies, but I felt that flesh and blood—the depravity of human nature—must be struggled with and overcome, before the divine precept could be obeyed.

Once more I was on my feet again, and a man who attended on the sick helped me up on deck. It was a fine day—the sky was blue, the sea was calm, and some thirty ships, with all their canvas set, were grouped close around us. They were huge lumbering tea-chests, as we used to call Indiamen, but they were fine-looking craft for all that. The fresh sea-breeze revived me. Every hour I felt myself growing stronger and better. I looked round for Iffley. I had a nervous dread of meeting him, and yet I felt anxious to ascertain that he was on board.

A person may be on board a big ship like the Albion for several days without meeting another, provided they are not on duty together. Such was my case. I had been for two days on deck, an hour or so at a time, without seeing the man who had proved himself so bitterly my enemy. The doctor told me he thought that in a day or two more I might go to my duty, and that I should be the better for having work to do. I looked forward to work with satisfaction, and begged that I might as soon as possible be struck off the sick list. He told me that I should be so on the following day, and that he would speak to the first lieutenant about me, as he was a very kind man, and would see that I was not sent aloft till I had sufficiently recovered my strength. I thanked him with a hearty blessing for his kindness and consideration.

The very first man on whom my eyes rested when I went on deck returned fit for duty was Charles Iffley. He was going along the deck with his cat-o'-nine-tails in his hand. I knew by this that he still held only the rating of boatswain's mate on board. My heart turned sick at the sight; in a moment my vivid imagination pictured all I might have to suffer at his hands.

He saw me, but pretended not to know me, and went on his way as if I was a stranger. I was immediately sent for aft, and found that I had been entered in the ship's books as an able seaman and a deserter from his Majesty's ship the Brilliant.

"What have you to say to this, my man?" said the captain, looking sternly at me.

"That I am not a deserter, sir," I answered in a firm voice; and I then gave him a clear and succinct account of the cutting-out expedition in Santa Cruz harbour, in which I had been engaged, and the way in which my life had been preserved on that occasion.

The captain, after a moment's consideration, sent a midshipman down into his cabin for a printed book. When it was brought to him he turned over the pages and asked me a few more questions. "I find that your account agrees exactly with the description I here have of the affair, and I believe you."

I saw Dr McCall, who came up at the moment and heard the captain's words, look evidently pleased. They exchanged glances, I thought. At all events, I fancied that I had just and kind-hearted superiors, and that my condition was far better than I might have expected to find it. Still this reflection could not mitigate the great source of my grief— my sudden separation from my wife and my ignorance of her fate. After this I was placed in a watch, and went regularly about my duty. I did my best to perform it, and quickly recovered my strength.

Ours had always been considered a smart ship, and though our captain was a kind man, he sacrificed a great deal to smartness. The most active and bustling men who could make the most show of doing things smartly, often gained more credit than they deserved.

It was one forenoon my watch below when I heard the cry of "All hands shorten sail!" I had been stationed in the fore-top. I sprang on deck as fast as my strength would allow, but I had not recovered my usual activity. "Fly aloft, there! fly aloft, you lazy scoundrel, or a rope's-end will freshen your way a bit!" I heard a voice cry, close to my ear. It was Iffley's. His countenance showed that he was capable of executing his threats. My blood boiled. I could do nothing. I could say nothing. In a moment I understood the bitter enmity which he had allowed to enter and to rankle in his bosom. I scarcely dared again to look at him. I hurried on. A sudden squall had struck the ship— unexpected after the long calms to which we had been subject. She was heeling over to her lower deck ports. The exertion of all hands was indeed required to shorten sail. I found Iffley following close after me. I sprang up the rigging and quickly reached the fore-top. I could not help seeing his face as he came up. It wore the expression of most malignant hatred. "Lay out; be smart about it, my lads!" cried the captain of the top, as the fore-topsail-yard came rattling down.

In an instant the yard was covered with active forms hurrying out to its extreme ends. I made a spring to get out to the weather-earing. I had got it in my hand and was hauling on it, when I saw the countenance of Iffley, wearing the same expression as before, close to me. There was now in it a triumphant expression, as if he hoped that his vindictive feelings were about to be gratified. Still not a word did he utter. No one on board would have guessed that we had ever before met. I still kept to my resolution.

The gale came down on us stronger than ever. The officers were urging the men to greater speed. Suddenly I felt the earing in my hand give way, and before I could grasp at the yard to save myself I lost my balance, and to my horror found myself falling into the seething ocean raging beneath me. A strange, hideous, mocking strain of laughter sounded in my ears as I fell, and after that I knew no more till I discovered that I was struggling in the foaming waters.

I had gone down once, but had quickly come up again. I threw myself on my back till I had somewhat recovered my senses, and then turned myself round and kept treading the water while I looked out to see how far I was from the ship.

Away she flew, close-hauled though, with the foam dancing round her, and already at some distance. "And is this to be my fate?" I thought; "to die thus a victim to the foul revenge of that man?"

I resolved to struggle for life. I looked round me on every side. The Indiamen were scattered far and wide, none of them were coming up on our track. Still I swam on, but I felt how hopeless was the struggle.

Just then my eye fell on a grating, floating not five fathoms from me, and which had evidently been thrown to me by some one on board, when I was seen to fall from aloft. I exerted all my strength, and at length reached it. The time appeared to be very long. It is impossible, on such occasions, to measure it. Moments appeared minutes—minutes hours. I threw myself on the grating in a position to avoid being washed off it or thrown under it; but it required no slight exertion to hold on. As the dark seas came rolling up, and breaking, with a loud, crashing sound, above my head, I felt as if they must inevitably overwhelm me. Still I did not give up hope.

Unhappy as I had thought myself, I desired life that I might return home once more and ascertain the fate of my wife. I prayed that for this object I might be preserved; that we might once more be united, and once again be happy on earth. Even at that moment, surrounded by the boiling seas, with my ship flying fast away from me, I pictured, with all the vividness of reality, the unspeakable joy of once again being restored to her. I remembered the numberless dangers to which I had been exposed, and the merciful way in which I had been preserved from them.

Not for an instant did I think of Iffley. I forgot that he had been the cause of my present position, and thus I was prevented from harbouring any feeling of revenge against him.

As I was saying, I could not judge how long I was clinging to the grating. Tossed about as I was—now lifted to the summit of a foaming sea—now sinking down into the trough—I kept my eye constantly turning towards my ship.

Suddenly I saw the fore-topsail thrown aback—a boat was lowered—my shipmates were coming to my rescue. I felt even then that I was to be saved. I forgot the distance they had to pull and the heavy sea which might both endanger them and hide me from their sight. Still more eagerly did I try to make out the boat, as she laboured among the foaming seas. I caught a glimpse of her as I rose to the top of a wave, but she was not pulling towards me. Those in her could not have seen me.

Then suddenly the horrid thought came across me, that Iffley might have pretended to have seen where I was and to have guided the boat wrongly. Then I blamed myself for thinking even Iffley capable of an act so atrocious. Still, I thought if he had purposely thrown me into the sea, he would be as likely to play the foul trick of which I now suspected him.

Again I sank down into a deep trough of the sea, and could only for a time distinguish the topsails of the ship above the masses of foam which flew around. When I next rose again, there was the boat pulling away from me.

I shrieked out, I raised my voice louder and louder, as if I could by possibility be heard. I might as well have tried to howl down the hurricane in its fiercest mood. This was more trying than all that had gone before.

At length, exhausted by my exertions, I threw myself back on the grating, scarcely attempting to hold on. I was then in the trough of a sea. In another moment I was raised again to the summit of a sea, and, though hopeless, my eyes mechanically turned towards the boat.

Some one on board had seen me—she was pulling towards me. I felt conscious in a moment how wrong I had been to despair. I again exerted all my strength to keep myself on the grating. I saw some one standing up in the bows looking out for me. He pointed to where I floated, that the helmsman might steer the boat aright.

"Hurra! hurra!" A shout reached my ears. I knew that my shipmates had given it to encourage me. A few minutes more, and I found myself hauled into the boat.

The first person on whom my eyes rested was Iffley. He looked, I fancied, conscience-struck and defeated.

"Charley said as how he thought he saw you away to the eastward there; but Tom Potts caught sight of you, and now we know he was right," said one of the men who were hauling me in.

I was placed in the bottom of the boat, for there was little time in that heavy sea to attend to me, and she pulled back towards the ship. I felt that I was saved. I did not expect to be much the worse for my ducking, and I knew when I got back to the ship that the doctor would look after me. I had now no doubt that Iffley had endeavoured to prevent the boat from coming to my assistance. How bitter must be his hatred to allow me—his shipmate—to die thus horribly, struggling in the sea, when he had the power to save me!

As I was helped up the side, I caught his eye fixed on me, and again I observed that evident look of baffled vengeance which I had before remarked. I felt sure that he would take the first opportunity of giving further proof of his hatred of me. I did not see any means of escaping from it. Had he even spoken to me, I might have expostulated with him; but he kept aloof as if I were a total stranger to him. He carefully avoided even addressing me directly. I felt sure, indeed, that had I spoken to him, he would have stoutly denied all former knowledge of me, and who was to prove it? No one whom I knew on board. I felt as if I were pursued by some monster with supernatural powers, from whom I could not get free.

When I got on board, Dr McCall kindly ordered me to go to my hammock, and he came and gave me some medicine. He said that after the illness from which I had so long been suffering, the consequences might be serious if I caught cold from my ducking. However, I turned out the next morning not in the slightest degree the worse for what had occurred I resolved to be as attentive and exact in my duty as possible; I wished to behave thus, at all events; but I also knew that in that case I should give my enemy less opportunity of injuring me.

Two days after this a man was convicted of stealing on board. He was sentenced to receive fifty lashes. Iffley was one of the boatswain's mates chosen to inflict the punishment. The crew were mustered on deck, and the man was led forward. He was one of those wretched men who are both rogues and cowards.

Iffley and the other boatswain's mates stood with their cats, those dreadful instruments of power, in their hands ready for use. While preparations were being made, the miserable wretch looked round on every side, as if seeking for some one who could save him from the punishment he was about to receive. Not a glance of pity did he get from his messmates. They knew him too well. At last he looked towards Iffley. I saw them exchange glances. Iffley, of course, did not speak, but his looks said something which gave the other courage.

"Captain," said the man, turning round to our captain, "you are going to make the innocent suffer for the guilty. I wanted to shield a shipmate; but he will be found out at last, I know, and I shall only suffer without doing any one any good, otherwise I could have borne the punishment willingly."

I at the time thought that the man spoke in that whining tone which a person in spite of himself uses when he is uttering a falsehood, or saying what has been put into his mouth by another.

"Cast him loose," said the captain; "I'll inquire into this. Bring him aft here. Now tell me at once who is the man who has committed this theft, if you are not guilty of it."

"I'd rather not say, sir," replied the culprit. "I don't like to peach on another. He'll be found out before the day is over, and then I shan't be accused of having told of him."

"That excuse will not serve your turn, my man," answered the captain sternly. "Unless you can point out the real culprit, you will have to suffer the punishment awarded you."

"Oh no, sir, I'd rather not. Do not be hard on me. I don't like to hurt another man, even to save myself," again whined out the man. "Let me off, sir, let me off, and the real thief will be found—that he will; you have my word for it."

"Trice him up again," said the captain to the boatswain. "The true thief is about to be punished, I am very certain of that."

"I'll tell, sir, I'll tell!" shrieked out the wretched man. "He's one who has been skulking his duty ever since he came on board. I'd rather not speak his name."

The captain shook his head, and made a sign to the boatswain to proceed.

"Well, if I must tell," cried out the man, Saull Ley by name, "the thief is Will Weatherhelm."

I almost fainted when I heard the accusation, and I am sure that I must have looked as guilty as if I had committed the theft.

A triumphant smile flitted across Iffley's features, and he passed the knotted tails of his cat, as if mechanically, through his fingers, while he cast a glance at me which I too well understood. The captain turned towards me.

"What is this I hear?" he asked. "Do you acknowledge the theft, Weatherhelm?"

"No, sir; certainly not," I answered, with as firm a voice as I could command, though I felt conscious that it was faltering as I spoke.

"What proof have you that Weatherhelm committed the theft?" asked the captain of the culprit.

"Because two men, if not more, watched him, and knew that it was him," was the answer; and now the man spoke in a firmer voice than I had done, and I fancied looked more innocent.

"Produce your witnesses," said the captain.

The man hesitated for a minute, and his eye ranged with an uneasy glance along the lines of men drawn up on deck, as if anxiously scanning their countenances, for he must have felt that they knew him, and that he was not generally believed. At last his eyes rested on two who were standing together.

"Bill Sykes and Dick Todd saw him, sir; they know all about it. They'll tell you; they'll prove I am innocent."

The theft had been committed on the purser's stores. Some tobacco and sugar and some other things had been stolen. Now Saull Ley, the accused, had been seen coming out of the store-room on one occasion when the purser's clerk had left the keys in the door for a short time and gone away. The purser, on his return, had missed some tobacco and sugar, and that same evening a small quantity of both those articles had been found in Ley's possession.

"Stand out, Bill Sykes and Dick Todd, and let me hear what you know about this matter."

Bill Sykes was a landsman, and had soon shown that he was totally unfit for a sailor. Dick Todd had entered as a boy. He was not worth much, and had become a great chum of Sykes'. Still, from the little I had seen of them, I did not think that they would have been guilty of falsely accusing a shipmate. I had therefore little fear of what they could say against me.

I was, however, somewhat startled when they stepped forward, and Sykes, as the eldest, began in a clear way to state that he had seen a man, whom he took to be me, open the door of the purser's room with a key, and, after being absent for a minute or more, return and lock it. He at once knew this was wrong, so he watched what the man he took to be the thief would next do. He said that he met with Todd, and told him as a friend what he had observed. The thief crept along the deck, and the two then saw him go to his bag and deposit something which he took out of his pockets. Both the men acknowledged that they might be mistaken, but that they thought that it was me.

"What have you got to say to this, Weatherhelm?" asked the captain. "You are accused by the mouths of two witnesses."

"The accusation is false, sir," I answered calmly. "I was not long ago at my bag, and I observed neither tobacco nor sugar in it. If you will send for it, you will find that I speak the truth."

"Very well. Mr Marvel, take a couple of hands with you, and bring up Weatherhelm's bag," said the captain, addressing the mate of the lower deck.

I felt very little anxiety during the time the officer was absent, for I was sure that nothing would be found among my things. He soon returned, bringing the bag. It was placed before the captain.

"Open it," said he. It was opened on deck in sight of all the officers and ship's company. What was my horror and dismay, to see drawn forth, wrapped up in a shirt, a large lump of tobacco and a paper containing several pounds of sugar! "Now what have you got to say?" asked the captain, turning to me.

"That I have not the slightest notion how those things came into my bag," was my prompt answer.

"That is the sort of reply people always give when they are found out," said the captain. "It will not serve your turn, I fear."

"I cannot help it, sir," I replied, with a feeling of desperation. "Appearances are certainly against me, sir; I know not by whom those things were put into my bag. I did not put them in, and I did not know that they were there."

"You said that another man was a witness of this affair," said the captain, turning to Ley. "Who is he?"

Ley began to hum and haw and look uncomfortable. "I'd rather not say, sir," whined out Ley, "if it is not necessary."

"But it is necessary," thundered out the captain, evidently annoyed at the man's coolness and canting hypocrisy. "Who is he? or you get the four dozen awarded you."

I had watched all along the countenance of Iffley. I felt sure that a plot had been formed against me, and that he was its framer and instigator. I saw that he began to grow uneasy at this stage of the proceedings.

"Who is this other man?" repeated the captain.

Ley saw that he must speak out, or that he would still get the punishment he was so anxious to escape. "There he is; Charles Iffley is the man, sir, who, besides those two, saw Weatherhelm go to his bag and put the stolen things into it."

"How is this, Iffley? If you saw a man committing a robbery, it wag your duty to give notice of it, sir," exclaimed the captain, in an angry voice, turning towards him.

"I am very sorry, sir," replied Iffley. "I am aware of what I ought, strictly speaking, to have done, but I did not like to hurt the character of a shipmate. He always seemed a very respectable man, and I fully believed that I must have been mistaken. It is only now that the things are found in his bag that I can believe him guilty."

"You are ready to swear to this?" asked the captain.

"Quite ready, sir, certainly," replied Iffley calmly. "I add nothing and withhold nothing on the subject."

Even I was startled by what Iffley said, and the way he said it. I could not help supposing that he believed what he said.

"Have you anything more to say in your defence, Weatherhelm?" said the captain.

"Nothing, sir, except that those men are mistaken. I can only hope that they believe what they say," I answered, with a firmer voice than I had before been able to command.

"I am very sorry for it, and do not just now altogether believe it," I heard Dr McCall observe as he walked off. "You will expect your punishment—six dozen," said the captain. "Pipe down."

Could a painter at that moment have observed Iffley's countenance, it might have served him as a likeness of Satan when he is assured that Eve has fallen. The officers walked aft, the crew dispersed, and I was placed under charge of the master-at-arms.

Two days passed by. How full of agony and wretchedness they were! The pain I was to expect was as nothing compared to the disgrace and degradation. I who had always borne an unsullied name, whose character had always stood high both with my officers and messmates, to be now branded as a thief! How could I ever face those I loved, conscious of the marks of the foul lash on my back? There was no one on board to speak in my favour; no one who had known me before—and how incapable I was of the act imputed to me—except Iffley; and he, I felt too well assured, would do his utmost to destroy me.

The two days passed—no circumstance occurred, as I had hoped it might, to prove that I was innocent—when the boatswain's call summoned all hands on deck to witness punishment. This time I was to be the victim.

The boatswain's mates stood ready. One of them was Iffley. He played eagerly with his cat as I was led forward. "If come it must." I ejaculated, "the Lord have mercy on me—I will bear my punishment as a man."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

PUNISHMENT INTERRUPTED—PREPARATIONS FOR ACTION—BOAT OFF THE ENEMY—A CONFESSION—I AM PROVED TO BE INNOCENT—CAPTURE TWO PRIZES—ORDERED HOME IN ONE OF THEM—DESERTED BY OUR CONSORT—SPRING A LEAK—MUTINY OF PRISONERS.

"Strip!" said the captain.

I prepared to lay my shoulders bare to receive the lash.

"The Indiamen to windward are signalling to us, sir," shouted the signal midshipman, turning over the pages of the signal-book. "An enemy in sight on the weather-beam."

"Master-at-arms, take charge of the prisoner; punishment is deferred," cried the captain, springing on to the poop.

I was led below. I almost wished that the punishment was over. I had nerved myself up to bear it, dreadful as it was, without flinching. Now I knew not for how long it might be postponed, but I had no hopes of escaping it altogether.

In another minute, the stirring cry of "Prepare ship for action!" was passed along the decks. Every one in a moment was full of activity. The cabin bulk-heads were knocked away, fire-screens were put up, the doors of the magazine were thrown open, and powder and shot were being handed up on deck.

For some time I was left alone, with a sentry only stationed over me. I longed to be set free. I trusted that I was not to remain a prisoner during the action which it was expected was about to take place. I thought that if I could but send a message to the captain, and entreat that I might be allowed to do my duty at my gun, he would liberate me while the action lasted.

For a long time, not an officer came near me. At length, to my great satisfaction, I saw Dr McCall. He was on his way to see that all proper preparations had been made in the space devoted to his service on the orlop deck for the reception of the wounded.

"Dr McCall," I cried out to him. "I would not have ventured to have spoken to you, situated as I now am, under any other circumstances, but I have a great favour to ask of you, sir."

He stopped and listened.

"I need not say that I trust you do not believe me guilty, and I would entreat you to go to the captain and to ask him to allow me to return to my duty during the action. Tell him only what you think of me, and he will, I am sure, give me my freedom till the fight is over. I do not wish to avoid punishment, but it would be a double one to remain manacled here while my shipmates are fighting the enemy."

"I'll go," said the doctor, who had quietly listened to all I said. "I do not believe you guilty. There is little time to lose, though."

How anxiously I awaited the result of my petition! Every moment I expected to hear the first shot fired, and to find that the action had begun. About three minutes passed. I fancied six times the period had elapsed, when a master's mate and two men came below.

"The captain gives you leave, Weatherhelm, to return to your duty," said the officer. "He hopes that you will show you are worthy of the favour."

"Indeed I will, sir," I answered as the men knocked the handcuffs off my wrists.

"We've a tough job in hand, depend on that."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," I exclaimed, as I sprang to my feet and followed my liberators to the upper deck, where the sentry joined his comrades.

The moment I reached the deck I looked out for the enemy. Just out of gun-shot appeared a seventy-four gun ship and two frigates. They were firing away at the Indiamen, which were still within range of their guns. The greater number were, however, clustering together, and standing down to leeward of us, so that those nearer the Frenchmen were not idle, and were bravely returning shot for shot.

The three ships came on, the Frenchmen little doubting that we should continue on the same course we were then holding; but our captain was determined to get the weather-gage, and just as their shot came aboard us, he tacked and stood to the northward, which brought the two frigates nearer to us than the line-of-battle ship. One of them bravely stood on till she got close under our guns. The order was given to fire. Our shot took the most deadly effect on her, and she completely heeled over as our whole broadside went crashing in through her decks and sides. Of the three hundred men or more, who an instant before stood up full of life and strength, fall fifty must have been struck down, many never to rise again, while her spars and rigging went tumbling down in terrible confusion over her deck.

Again we tacked, and this brought our starboard broadside to bear on the second frigate. While we were especially engaged with the first, she had fired two or three broadsides at us, and as we tacked she managed to rake us, to our no little damage. The success attending our first effort inspirited us to give due effect to the second. Every shot we fired seemed to tell. Besides numbers of men killed and wounded, the foremast of the frigate came toppling down on her deck almost before the smoke which hung around us had cleared away.

Seldom had greater execution been effected in so short a time, but our ship was thoroughly well maimed, and every one of us had been well trained at our guns. We knew what we were about, and had strength to do it. Leaving the two frigates almost helpless, we stood on to meet our larger opponent. With her, to all appearance, we were thoroughly well matched. While we had been engaged with the frigates, she had severely handled some of the Indiamen. She had now, however, to look after herself.

Our captain, as soon as we got clear of the frigates, signalled to the Indiamen to go and attack them. This he did in the hope that they would be prevented from repairing damages and be enabled to escape. The Indiamen to leeward, in the most spirited way, instantly began to beat up towards the frigates.

We had not escaped altogether free of harm. Though no material damage had been done to the ship, we had already several men killed and wounded by the shot from our two first antagonists. As we closed with the line-of-battle ship she opened fire on us. We soon found that we had an opponent which would require all our strength and perseverance to overcome, but every man stood to his gun, as British seamen always will stand when well commanded, however great may be the odds against them.

We passed each other on opposite tacks as the line-of-battle ship stood on towards the frigates. As our respective guns were brought to bear, we discharged them into each other's sides. We all cheered loudly and heartily as we saw the result of our fire, but the enemy were not idle. The shot from their broadside came crashing on board us with fearful effect, while the marines in the tops, poop, and forecastle, kept up a heavy fire of musketry. Blocks and spars came tumbling down from aloft; splinters were flying in every direction; round shot were whizzing through the ports and across the decks; the smoke from the guns hung over us in dense masses, obscuring the sky and scarcely enabling us to see from one side of the ship to the other.

Many a poor fellow sank to rise no more; numbers were sorely wounded; the heads of some, the arms and legs of others, were shot away; groans and shrieks arose from those who were struck, while the rest of the crew uttered shouts of defiance and anger. All of us were stripped to the waist, begrimed with smoke, and often sprinkled with our own blood or that of our comrades; our handkerchiefs bound round our heads, and our countenances, with the muscles strained to the utmost, exhibiting the fierce passions which animated our hearts.

Yet, though I have attempted to describe the scene, no words can do adequate justice to its savage wildness. I felt, I doubt not, like the rest. In a moment all recollection of the past vanished; I thought only of punishing the foe, of gaining the victory. I saw others killed and wounded near me, but it never occurred to me that at any moment their fate might be mine. As our foremost guns had been fired, they had been instantly run in and loaded, and directly the enemy had passed us, putting down our helm, we luffed up and passed under her stern, raking her fore and aft, to the very great surprise of the Frenchmen, who little expected that we should so quickly again be able to deliver our fire.

The rapidity with which we worked our guns was the chief cause of our success. Instead of tacking, as the enemy fancied we were going to do, we once more filled and ran after him. A loud shout burst from our crew. The Frenchman's fore-topmast came tumbling down on deck. We quickly came up after him and gave him a full dose of our larboard broadside.

The two frigates, seeing how their consort had been handled, and that several of the Indiamen were crowding sail towards them, now set all the canvas they could spread in the hope of making their escape, very indifferent to the fate of their big consort, whom they seemed to think was powerful enough to take very good care of herself. She, meantime, was signalling to them to remain to render her assistance while she brought us up towards them.

We, by this time, had been pretty severely handled. We had fully twenty killed and twice as many wounded, while several of our spars had been shot away, and we were much cut up in sails and rigging. Night, too, was coming on, and it was important to keep our convoy together. We could not tell whether other French ships were near at hand, and if so, not only we, but many of the merchantmen under our charge might have been captured. All these things I thought of afterwards, but not then, depend on it. Flushed with our success, we fully expected that we were going to make all the three Frenchmen strike. The enemy's line-of-battle ship sailed well, and she quickly led us up in chase, so that we were exposed to the fire of her consorts as well as to hers.

Under other circumstances, I believe that our captain was the last man to have left a victory half won; but just as we were once more getting within range of the enemy's guns, we hove-to, and he signalled to the convoy to collect together and to continue their course to the southward.

All on board were eager to see what was to happen. We thought that we were going to make sail after the Indiamen, but we had not yet quite done with the enemy. We replied by a loud cheer as the ship's head was once more kept towards them, and then running along their line we delivered another crashing broadside into them. We got something in return, though, and the shot from all the three ships came more thickly about us than ever.

Not far from the gun at which I was serving I saw Saull Ley. Once he had disappeared, and I thought he had been wounded, but when the firing ceased he had come back to his gun. He had evidently attempted the same trick a second time, when we were once more unexpectedly brought into action, for a couple of men with rope's ends were driving him back to his station. He had no help for himself but to remain, though fear had rendered his services of very little avail.

At last the shot he so much dreaded reached him, and I saw him struck down bleeding on the deck. He shrieked out with terror and pain when he found himself wounded.

"Oh, help me! help me! I shall die! I shall die! What will become of me?" he cried out.

"Why, you'll have to go where many a better man has gone before you," answered the rest of the crew of his gun, who, on account of his arrant cowardice, had no feeling of compassion for him. He was, however, lifted from the deck and carried below, to be placed under the doctor's care.

The enemy, who had laid to for us, seeming to consider that nothing was to be gained by them if they continued the fight, but that they were far more likely to have to haul down their flags or to be sunk, once more filled and stood away from us to the northward. It seemed a question whether we should follow or not, and I am very certain that no one felt more regret than did our captain at having to allow the enemy to escape when he had almost secured the victory.

The property, however, entrusted to his care on board the fleet of Indiamen was of such vast amount that he could not venture to run the risk of any disaster. We had gallantly done our duty by beating off so far superior a force. The enemy was in fall flight—we might have overtaken them—but if we had, and captured them all, we should have so completely weakened our crew that we could not have ventured to continue our voyage, and should certainly have had to put into port to refit. Our helm was accordingly put up, and once more we stood to the southward after our convoy.

Having to leave the enemy was, I believe, a far greater trial and exertion of moral courage in our captain, than having to follow and attack them once more would have been.

Some officers I have known would have gone after them, and perhaps have risked the loss of the richly-laden merchantmen under their charge. Our crew, to a man, felt this, and not a complaint or a growl was heard at our allowing the enemy to escape.

Darkness soon hid them from our sight. The battle was over, but our work was not. All night long we were busy in repairing damages, and daylight still found us engaged in the same occupation. The magazine was once more closed, the blood-stained decks were washed down, and in the course of the day the ship resumed much of her wonted appearance, though it was no easy work to get rid of the traces of the severe conflict in which we had lately been engaged.

At length the hands were piped below, the watch on deck was set, and the others allowed to turn in and get some of that rest we so much needed. Then it was that the recollection of my painful position returned to me. I was a prisoner released for a time, with a severe punishment hanging over me. Suppose even the captain were to remit my punishment, in consequence of the way in which I knew that I had behaved in the fight, I should still be loaded with disgrace. I should be looked upon as a convicted thief. Such were the feelings with which I went to my hammock. I was just about to turn in, when I heard my name called.

"The doctor has sent for you, Weatherhelm," said the messenger, who was one of the hospital attendants. "There is a man dying, and he wants to see you."

I slipped on my clothes and hurried down to the orlop deck. I found the purser, with the chaplain, standing near the hammock of a seaman. The surgeon came up at the same time. "I am glad to see you, Weatherhelm," he said in his usual kind way. "That poor wretch exonerates you from the charge he made against you, and begged to set you that he might ask your forgiveness."

I drew near the hammock, and in the features of the dying man I recognised those of Saull Ley.

"Weatherhelm, I'm a great villain, I know I am," he cried out as soon as he saw me. "There's a greater, though, and he put me up to it. I would have let you be punished to save my own worthless carcase, and, oh! now I'm suffering greater pain than ever the cat could give me. I stole all the things—I've been telling Mr Nips. Then we persuaded those two silly lads that it was you, and when they saw me go and put them into your bag, they had no doubt about it, and so Iffley made them believe that they had seen you coming out of the store-room. That's all about it. I've been speaking the truth and nothing but the truth. But you'll forgive me, won't you, Weatherhelm, and let me die easy?"

"I forgive you with all my heart, and I believe that I should have forgiven you even had I suffered the punishment awarded me," I answered. "I would ask you but one thing. Why do you fancy that Iffley is desirous to get me falsely accused?"

"Because he hates you, he told me so," he said. "He has a long score to wipe off against you, and he vowed if you escaped him this time, he would find means, before long, to be revenged on you."

"You hear what the man says," observed Dr McCall to the other officers present. "This is what I suspected, but had not the means of proving. We must not allow that ruffian Iffley to obtain his ends; for ruffian he is, notwithstanding his plausible manners. It's an old story— Weatherhelm would rather it were not told—but there is nothing in it to do him discredit."

"All I desire, sir, is, that I may be freed from the imputation cast on me, and that, thanks to your consideration in calling witnesses to hear this poor man's dying confession, will, I am sure, be done."

"Rest assured of that," remarked the chaplain. "And now I would say a few words to Saull Ley. You spoke of dying with a quiet conscience if you got forgiveness from the man you might have so cruelly injured, had you not been struck down by the hand of an avenging God; but you have not only forgiveness to seek from man, but from One who is mighty to save, who has the power and the will to wash away all your sins, if you put your entire faith and trust in Him, and repent you heartily of your former life."

"I cannot, I dare not. He wouldn't listen to such a wretch as me. Don't tell me to go to Him. Find some other means of saving me—isn't there? There must be. Do tell me of it!"

"There is none—none whatever," answered the chaplain. "Do not refuse the only means—a sure means—by which even the greatest of sinners may be saved."

"Oh, go on, sir, go on; tell me all about it," moaned the unhappy man. "I've often before now thought of giving up my bad ways. I wish that I had done it long ago."

The chaplain looked at Dr McCall, to learn whether he might continue talking to the wounded man. The doctor signified that he might, but that it would be better if there were fewer persons present.

"Yes; but he must first sign the evidence he has given," observed the purser, who was of necessity a good man of business. "Not only must the innocent escape punishment, but the guilty must be punished."