One of the grooms had come down from the Hall, at six o'clock, to inquire how he was, and the message given by the girl, that he had been out, but that he had come back and was now sound asleep, satisfied Mrs. Walsham, and enabled her to devote her undivided attention to her charge, who needed her care more than her son. Before night, indeed, the squire had sent down to Sidmouth for Dr. Walsham's successor, who said that Aggie was very feverish, and must be kept perfectly quiet for some days. He sent her up a soothing draught, and Mrs. Walsham sat up with her all night. She slept but little, and talked almost incessantly, sometimes rambling a little.

The first thing in the morning, the doctor was again sent for, and on his recommendation the squire at once sent off a man, on horseback, to Exeter, for the leading physician of that town. When he arrived, late in the afternoon, Aggie was somewhat quieter, and his report was more cheering.

"Her pulse is very high," he said; "but Mr. Langford tells me that it is not so rapid as it was in the morning, and that he thinks the symptoms are abating. Undoubtedly, it is a sharp feverish attack, brought on by excitement and exposure. A very little more, and it would have been a case of brain fever, but I trust now that it will soon pass off. The sedatives that have been administered are taking effect, and I trust she will soon fall asleep.

"As you requested, I have made my arrangements for staying here tonight, and I trust that, by the morning, we shall have her convalescent."

Mr. Wilks had gone down, the first thing in the morning, to see James, and found him up and about as usual. He was very greatly concerned, at hearing that Aggie had passed a bad night, and came four times up to the Hall, during the day, to inquire about her; and on his last visit, late in the evening, he was told that she was sleeping quietly, and that the doctor had every hope that she would wake, in the morning, free from fever. This proved to be the case; but she was ordered to keep her bed for a day or two.

On the morning after the storm, the wind had gone down much, although a tremendous sea was still breaking on the shore. Messages arrived, in the course of the day, to say that all the missing boats, with one exception, had succeeded in gaining the shore before the storm was full on. The missing boat was never heard of again.

Two days later, James Walsham had strolled up the hill to the east of the town, and was lying, with a book before him, in a favourite nook of his looking over the sea. It was one of the lovely days which sometimes come late in autumn, as if the summer were determined to show itself at its best, before leaving. It could not be said that James was studying, for he was watching the vessels passing far out at sea, and inwardly moaning over the fact that he was destined for a profession for which he had no real liking, instead of being free to choose one of travel and adventure.

Presently, he heard voices behind him. The position, in which he was lying, was a little distance down on the slopes, on the seaward side of the path, and, as a screen of bushes grew behind it, he could not be seen by anyone passing along.

"All the men, with their pistols and cutlasses, are to assemble here at ten o'clock tonight, Johnson. But do not give them orders till late, and let them come up, one by one, so as not to attract attention. Lipscombe's men are to assemble at the same hour, and march to meet us. This time, I think, there is no mistake. The cargo is to be landed where I told you. It will be high tide at twelve o'clock, and they are sure to choose that hour, so that the cutter can run close in. I have sent off a man on horseback to Weymouth, for the revenue cutter to come round. If she's in time, we shall catch that troublesome lugger, as well as her cargo. She has been a thorn in our side for the last year. This time, I do hope we shall have her."

The speakers then moved on out of hearing, but James Walsham recognized the voice, as that of the revenue officer commanding the force at Sidmouth.

Smuggling was, at that time, carried on on a large scale along the coast, and there were frequent collisions between those engaged in it and the revenue officers. The sympathies of the population were wholly with the smugglers, and the cheating of the revenue was not at all considered in the light of a crime.

Many of the fishermen, from time to time, took a hand in smuggling cruises, and the country people were always ready to lend assistance in landing and carrying the cargoes.

When out in their boats at night, James had often heard the fishermen tell stories of their smuggling adventures, and more than once he had been with them, when they had boarded a lugger laden with contraband, to warn them that the revenue cutter was on the cruising ground, and it would not be safe to attempt to run cargo at present. He now determined, at once, that he would warn the smugglers of their danger. The question was, where was the cargo to be run? The officer had not mentioned the spot, but, as the force from the next station to the east was to cooperate, it must be somewhere between the two.

Waiting till the speakers must have gone well along the cliff, he rose to his feet, and returned to Sidmouth. He thought, at first, of telling some of the fishermen what he had heard, but as, in the event of an affray, it might come out how the smugglers had been warned of the intention of the revenue officers, he thought there would be less risk in giving them warning himself. He knew every path down the cliff for miles, and trusted that he should be able to make his way down, and give the boats notice of their danger, before the revenue men reached the shore.

At nine o'clock he dressed himself, in the rough sailor's suit he wore when he went out with the fishermen, and started along the cliff. For some distance he kept well inland, as the officer might have placed a man on the lookout, to stop anyone going towards the scene of action. The spot he thought the most likely was a mile and a half along the shore. There was a good landing place, and an easy path up the cliff, and he knew that cargoes had been more than once run here. Accordingly, when he reached this spot, he sat down among some bushes on the edge of the cliff, and waited for some sort of signal. Half an hour later, he heard the tramp of a number of men, passing along behind him.

"There go the revenue men," he thought to himself. "I suppose they are going to meet those coming the other way."

An hour passed without further sound, and James began to get uneasy. If this was the spot fixed for the landing, some of the country people ought to be arriving, by this time, to help to carry off the cargo. They might, for aught he knew, be already near, waiting for the signal before they descended the path. No doubt the revenue men would be lying in wait, a short distance off, and would allow the friends of the smugglers to go down to the water, without letting them know of their presence.

He kept his eyes fixed on the water to the east, watching anxiously for the appearance of a light. Presently he started. Immediately in front of him, about a mile at sea, a bright light was shown. In a second, it disappeared. Three times it flashed out, and then all was dark. The night was a very dark one. There was no moon, and the stars were obscured, and although he strained his eyes to the utmost, he could not make out the vessel from which the light had been shown.

"How foolish to show such a bright light!" he said to himself. "It would have been almost sure to attract the attention of anyone on the watch."

He made his way to the path, and descended to the edge of the water, and waited, expecting momentarily to be joined by people from above. But no one came. He strained his ears listening for the fall of approaching oars; but all was silent.

Half an hour passed, and then it flashed across him that the signal must have been made to deceive the revenue men, and to cause them to assemble at that spot, and so leave the point really determined upon free for operations.

With an exclamation of disgust at his own stupidity, in having been deceived, James ran up the path again at the top of his speed, and then took the road along the cliff. For two miles, he ran without interruption, and then saw a dark mass in front of him. He turned off, instantly, to the left. Doubtless he had been heard approaching, for two or three men detached themselves from the rest, and started to cut him off. James ran straight inland, and in the darkness soon lost sight of his pursuers. Then he turned, and made for the cliff again. Two or three hundred yards farther along, there was another path to the shore, and this he had no doubt, now, was the one the smugglers were about to use. He struck the cliff within a few yards of the spot. In an instant, two men jumped up and seized him.

"Who are you?"

For an instant, James thought that his assailants were revenue men, but, even in the darkness, he saw that they were countrymen.

"Quick!" he said. "The revenue men are close at hand. They are watching, two or three hundred yards along. Listen! Here they come."

A tramping of feet coming rapidly along the cliff was clearly heard, and the men, with an oath, released their hold and ran off, giving a loud whistle, and made for their carts, which were stationed a few hundred yards inland. James dashed down the path, shouting at the top of his voice. He had not gone many yards before he met a number of men, coming up with tubs of spirits on their shoulders.

"Throw them down," he cried, "and make along the shore. The revenue men are close behind."

His advice was taken at once. The tubs were thrown down, and went leaping and bounding down to the shore, while the men followed James, at full speed, down the path.

Their pursuers were close behind. There was no longer any use in concealment. Their officer shouted to them to press forward at full speed, while, from the beach below, a hubbub of voices suddenly broke out, and, at the same moment, a blue light was lit on the cliff above.

"Beat them back, my lads," one of the smugglers was shouting, as James ran down to the little crowd of men standing near two boats. "We are five to one against them. Come on."

"Surrender in the king's name," the revenue officer shouted, as he rushed forward, followed by his men.

The answer was a pistol shot, and, in a moment, a furious melee began. The advantage in numbers was all on the side of the smugglers. Those who had landed with the kegs were all armed with pistol and cutlass, and the countrymen had heavy sticks and bludgeons. The ten revenue men would have been overpowered, but suddenly a shout was heard, and another party of sailors ran up along the shore, and joined in the fray. It was the detachment from the other station, which had been waiting, at some little distance along the shore, for the signal from above.

"To the boats, lads," the leader of the smugglers shouted. "We are caught in a trap."

The smugglers rushed to the boats, and James, who was standing by the water's edge, leaped on board with them. Most of the country people fled at once along the shore, pursued by some of the revenue men, while the others made a rush for the boats. These had been kept afloat a few yards from the shore. Grapnels had been dropped over their sterns, and, as the men in charge hauled out the moment the fight began, they were in water shoulder deep when the smugglers scrambled on board.

The revenue men dashed in after them, and strove to hold the boats; but they were beaten off with oars and cutlasses, and the boats were soon hauled out into deep water. The grapnels were lifted, and the men, many of whom were wounded more or less severely in the fray, got out their oars and pulled to the lugger, amid a dropping fire of pistol shots from shore.



Chapter 7: Pressed.

Many and deep were the maledictions uttered, as the smugglers climbed on board their vessel; but their captain said cheerily:

"Never mind, lads, it might have been worse. It was only the first cargo of tubs, and half of those weren't ashore. The lace and silk are all right, so no great harm is done. Set to work, and get up sail as soon as you can. Likely enough there is a cutter in the offing; that blue light must have been a signal. They seem to have got news of our landing, somehow."

The crew at once set to work to get up sail. Three or four of the countrymen, who had, like James, got on board the boats, stood in a group looking on, confused and helpless; but James lent his assistance, until the sails were hoisted and the craft began to move through the water.

"Now, then," the captain said, "let us go below and look at the wounds. We daren't show a light, here on deck."

The wounds were, for the most part, slashes and blows with cutlasses; for in the darkness and confusion of the fight, only two of the bullets had taken effect. One of the smugglers had fallen, shot through the head, while one of those on board had his arm broken by a pistol ball.

"Now for our passengers," the captain said, after the wounds had been bandaged.

"Who are you?" and he lifted a lantern to James's face.

"Why, it is young Mr. Walsham!" he exclaimed in surprise.

James knew the man now, for the lugger had several times put in at Sidmouth, where, coming in as a peaceable trader, the revenue officers, although well aware of the nature of her vocation, were unable to touch her, as vessels could only be seized when they had contraband on board.

"Why, what brings you into this affair, young master?"

James related the conversation he had overheard, and his determination to warn the smugglers of their danger.

"I should have managed it, in plenty of time, if I had known the exact spot on which you were going to land; but I saw a signal light, two miles down the coast, and that kept me there for half an hour. It struck me, then, it was a ruse to attract the officers from the real spot of landing, but though I ran as hard as I could, I was only just before them."

"Thank you heartily," the smuggler said. "I expect you saved us from a much worse mess than we got into. I have no doubt they meant to capture the tubs, as they were loaded, without raising an alarm; and the fellows on the shore would have come up quietly, and taken us by surprise as we were landing the last boat loads. Thanks to you, we have got well out of it, and have only lost one of our hands, and a score or so of tubs."

"You can't put me ashore, I suppose?" James said.

"That I can't," the smuggler replied. "I have no doubt that cutter from Weymouth is somewhere outside us, and we must get well off the coast before morning. If we give her the slip, I will send you off in a boat sometime tomorrow. I must go ashore, myself, to make fresh arrangements for getting my cargo landed."

James went on deck again. The breeze was light, and the lugger was slipping along quietly through the water. He could faintly see the loom of the cliffs on his right, and knew that the lugger was running west, keeping as close inshore as she could, to avoid the cutter watching for her outside. He wondered what they would say at home, when it was found that he was missing; but consoled himself by thinking that his mother, who was still up at the Hall, would no doubt suppose that he had gone out for a night's fishing, as he had often done before, and that, as she was away, he had forgotten to leave word with the servant.

Suddenly, a blue light burned out on the top of the cliff. An angry exclamation broke from the captain, who was standing at the helm.

"Confound it!" he exclaimed. "They have caught sight of us from the cliff, and are signalling our whereabouts to the cutter."

As he spoke, he turned the vessel's head seaward, and, for a quarter of an hour, sailed straight out.

"Now," he said quietly, "I think we must be out of sight of those fellows on shore. Get her on the other tack, lads, but be as quiet as you can about it. There's no saying how close the cutter may be to us."

The great sails were lowered, as the boat's head paid off to the east. The yards were shifted to the other sides of the masts, and the sails hoisted again, and the lugger began to retrace her way back along the coast.

"It's just a chance, now," the captain said to James, who was standing close by him, "whether the commander of the cutter guesses, or not, that we shall change our course. He will know we are likely enough to do it."

"What should you do if you were in his place?" James said.

"I should run straight out to sea, and lay to, eight or ten miles off. He would be able to make us out then at daylight, whichever course we take; whereas, by trying to follow in the dark, he would run the chance of missing us altogether. I wish the wind would get up a bit. We are not moving through the water more than three knots an hour, and it's dying away. However, I fancy it will blow up again in the morning."

"Do you know whether she is faster than you are?" James asked.

"There is not much difference," the captain replied. "If the wind is strong, we have the legs of her; but in a light breeze, she is the fastest. She has chased us half a dozen times already, but we have always given her the slip."

"Then, even if she does run out to sea, as you say," James said, "we ought to be safe, as we should be a dozen miles or so along the coast."

"Yes, but not that ahead of her," the captain answered, "for she would be so much to the seaward. Still, that would be far enough; but she will begin to fire long before we are in range, and will bring any other king's ship within hearing down on us. However, I daresay we shall give her the slip, as we have done before."

The hours passed slowly. The wind continued to drop, until the vessel scarcely moved through the water, and, after a while, the sweeps were got out, and were worked until the day broke. All eyes were on the lookout for the cutter, as the day dawn began to steal over the sky.

"There she is, sure enough," the captain exclaimed at length, "lying to on the watch, some eight miles to the west. She must have seen us, for we are against the light sky; but, like, ourselves, she is becalmed."

It was a quarter of an hour, however, before the position of the cutter was seen to change. Then her head was suddenly turned east.

"She has got the wind," the captain said. "Now we only want a good breeze, and you'll have a lively day of it, lads."

From the time when she had turned, the lugger had made only about eight miles along the coast to the east, and an equal distance seaward, for the tide had set against her. The morning was bright and clear, the sea was perfectly smooth. As yet, the sails hung idly down, but there were dark lines on the water that showed that a breeze was coming.

"We shall have plenty of wind presently," the skipper said. "See how light the sky is to the south. There will be white tops on the waves in an hour or two.

"Here comes a flaw. Haul in your sheets, lads, now she begins to move."

The puff did not last long, dying away to nothing in a few minutes, and then the lugger lay immovable again. The men whistled, stamped the deck impatiently, and cast anxious glances back at the cutter.

"She is walking along fast," the skipper said, as he examined her through a glass. "She has got the wind steady, and must be slipping along at six knots an hour. This is hard luck on us. If we don't get the breeze soon, it will be a close thing of it."

Another quarter of an hour passed without a breath of wind ruffling the water. The cutter was fully two miles nearer to them than when she had first been seen, and was holding the wind steadily.

"Here it comes, lads," the skipper said cheerfully. "Another ten minutes, and we shall have our share."

The time seemed long, indeed, before the dark line on the water reached the lugger, and there was something like a cheer, from the crew, as the craft heeled slightly over, and then began to move through the water. It was the true breeze this time, and increased every moment in force, till the lugger was lying well over, with a white wave at her bow.

But the cutter had first gained by the freshening breeze, and James Walsham, looking back at her, judged that there were not more than four miles of water between the boats. The breeze was nearly due west, and, as the lugger was headed as close as she would lie to it, the cutter had hauled in her sheets and lay up on the same course, so that they were now sailing almost parallel to each other.

"If we could change places," the skipper said, "we should be safe. We can sail nearer the wind than she can, but she can edge away now, and has all the advantage of us."

James had already perceived this, and wondered that the lugger did not pay off before the wind, so as to make a stern chase of it.

"I want to get a few miles farther out," the skipper said. "Likely enough there is another cutter somewhere inshore. It is quite enough to have one of these fellows at one's heels."

Another half hour and the cutter, edging in, was little over three miles distant. Then the skipper gave the word, the helm was put down, the sheets slackened off, and, in a minute, the lugger was running dead before the wind with her sails boomed out, one on either side. The cutter followed her example, and hoisted a large square sail.

The wind was blowing fresh now, and the sea was getting up. Not a cloud was to be seen in the sky, and the sun shone brightly on the white heads which were beginning to show on the water. The lugger was tearing along, occasionally throwing a cloud of spray over her bows, and leaving a track of white water behind her.

"I think she still gains on us," the captain said to the mate, who had taken the helm.

"Ay, she is gaining," the sailor agreed, "but the wind is freshening every minute. She can't carry that topsail much longer. It's pressing her bows under now."

"She will go almost as fast without it," the skipper said.

The commander of the cutter seemed to be of the same opinion, for, just as he spoke, the topsail was seen to flutter, and then descended to the deck. It was a quarter of an hour before the skipper spoke again.

"I think we just about hold our own," he said. "I didn't think the Polly could have held her running."

"She couldn't, in a light wind," the mate replied; "but with this wind, it will want a fast boat to beat her."

The hands were now set to work, shifting the kegs further aft.

"That's better," the skipper said presently. "I am sure we are gaining ground, and our masts will stand it, if the cutter's will."

With her stern low in the water, the lugger was now tearing along at a tremendous pace. Stout as were her masts, and strong the stays, James Walsham wondered at their standing the strain of the great brown sails, as they seemed, at times, almost to lift her bodily out of the water. Buoyant as the craft was, the waves broke over her bows and flooded her decks, and sheets of spray flew over her.

The cutter, with her sharper bows and all her sail forward, was feeling it still more severely, and the spirits of all on board the lugger rose rapidly, as it was evident that they were dropping their pursuers. Suddenly, the gaff of the cutter's mainsail was seen to droop, and the boom was hauled on board.

"I thought it would be too much for them," the skipper said exultantly. "They are going to reef."

"We had better reef down too, I think," the mate said. "She has had as much as she could bear for some time."

"I'll hold on ten minutes longer," the skipper said. "Every half mile counts."

But before that time was up, the sails were one after another reefed, for the wind continued to freshen. The sky was still cloudless, but there was a misty light in the air, and a heavy sea was beginning to run.

Suddenly, a gun flashed out from the cutter. The skipper uttered an oath. Their pursuer was more than three miles astern, and he knew that she could only be firing as a signal.

There were several large ships in sight on their way up or down the Channel. To these, little attention had been paid. The skipper shaded his eyes with a hand, and gazed earnestly at a large ship on the weather beam, some four miles away.

"That is a frigate, sure enough," he exclaimed. "We are fairly caught between them.

"Haul in the sheets, lads, we will have a try for it yet."

The lugger was brought sharp up into the wind, and was soon staggering along seaward, with the lee bulwark almost under water. The cutter instantly lowered her square sail, and followed her example, continuing to fire a gun every minute. All eyes were turned towards the frigate, which was now on the port beam.

"We shall cross two miles to windward of her," the skipper said. "If she keeps on her course, a quarter of an hour will do it, but she is sure to notice the guns. The wind will take them down to her.

"Ah, there she goes."

As he spoke, a puff of smoke darted out from the frigate's bow. Her sails fluttered, and her head bore round, until she was on the same tack as the lugger.

The latter was now about equidistant from her two pursuers. The cutter and the lugger were nearly abreast, but the former, being to windward, could edge down. The frigate was three miles to leeward, but she was fully a mile ahead.

"There is no way out of it," the skipper said bitterly. "In a light wind we could run away from the frigate, but with this breeze we have no chance with her. Look how she is piling on sail!"

The crew shared the captain's opinion. Some shook their fists and cursed vainly at their pursuers, some stood sullenly scowling, while the French portion of the crew gave way to wild outbursts of rage. Rapidly the three vessels closed in towards each other, for the cutter edged in so rapidly that the lugger was obliged to bear off towards the frigate again. As a last hope, the lugger's course was changed, and she again tried running, but the superior weight and power of the frigate brought her rapidly down. Presently a heavy gun boomed out, and a shot came dancing along the water, a hundred yards away.

"Lower the sails," the skipper said. "It is no use going farther. The inside of a prison is better than the bottom of the sea, anyhow."

Down came the sails, and the lugger lay rolling heavily in the waves, as the frigate bore down upon her with a white roll of water on her stem.

"Get ready, lads," the skipper said. "There is just one chance yet. She will run by us. The instant she is past, up sail again. We shall be a mile away before they can get her round into the wind again. If she doesn't cripple us with her shot, we may weather her yet. We needn't mind the cutter."

The frigate came foaming along, the crew busy in taking sail off her. The instant she had passed, and was preparing to round to, the sails of the lugger flew up like magic, and she was soon tearing along almost in the eye of the wind, as if to meet the cutter, which was running down towards her.

"Down below, lads, every man of you," the captain shouted. "We shall have a broadside in a minute."

In a moment, the deck was clear of all save the skipper and his mate, who stood at the tiller. The frigate swept slowly round, and then, as her guns came to bear, shot after shot was fired at the lugger, already three-quarters of a mile to the windward. The shot hummed overhead, one struck the water alongside, a yard or two away, but still she was untouched.

"Some of her shots went as near the cutter as they did to us," the skipper said. "She won't fire again."

They were now fast approaching the cutter, which, when she was within a quarter of a mile, changed her course and was brought up again into the wind, firing the four guns she carried on her broadside as she came round. The lugger's head was paid off, and this placed the cutter on her starboard quarter, both going free. The former was travelling the faster, but a gun was fired from the cutter's bow, and the shot struck splinters from the lugger's quarter. The crew were on deck again now.

"Train that gun over the stern," the skipper said. "If we can knock her mast out of her, we are saved. If not, they will have us yet."

He had scarcely spoken when there was a crash. A shot from the cutter had struck the mizzen mast, a few feet above the deck, and the mast and sail fell over to leeward. There was a cry of rage and dismay.

"Luck's against us," the skipper said bitterly. "Down with the sail, lads. This time it is all up with us."

The sail was lowered, and the lugger lay motionless in the water, until the cutter came up and lay within fifty yards of her. A boat was at once lowered, and an officer was rowed to the lugger.

"So we have caught you, my friends, at last," he said, as he sprang on board.

"You wouldn't have done it, if it had not been for the frigate," the skipper said.

"No; I will say your craft sails like a witch," the officer replied. "I wish we could have done it without her. It will make all the difference to us. The frigate will get the lion's share of the prize. What is the value of your cargo?"

"Two hundred kegs of brandy," the skipper replied, "and fifteen hundred pounds' worth of lace and silks."

"A good prize," the officer said. "Not your own, I hope, for you have made a brave chase of it."

"No," the skipper answered. "Fortunately, I only took a very small share this time. It's bad enough to lose my boat; I own two-thirds of her."

"I am sorry for you," the officer said, for he was in high spirits at the success of the chase, and could afford to be pleasant. "Here comes a boat from the frigate. You played them a rare trick, and might have got off, if it hadn't been for that lucky shot of ours.

"I see you were just getting out a stern chaser," and he pointed to the gun. "It is well for you that you didn't fire it, as you can't be charged with armed resistance."

"I wish I had fired it, for all that. It might have been my luck to cripple you."

"It would have made no difference if you had," the officer replied. "The frigate would have overhauled you. With this wind she would sail five feet to your four."

The boat from the frigate now came alongside.

"How are you, Cotterel?" the officer said, as he stepped on board. "That was a lucky shot of yours; but I think it's lucky for the lugger that you hit her, for the captain was so savage, at that trick they played him, that I believe he would have sunk her when he came up to her again. I heard him say to the first lieutenant, 'I won't give her a chance to play me such a trick again.'"

"What orders have you brought?" the other asked.

"We are outward bound, so you are to put a crew on board and take her into port; but, as we are very short of hands, we will relieve you of the prisoners."

All on board the lugger were at once ordered into the frigate's boat, and were rowed off to the ship. On gaining the deck, they were drawn up in line, and the captain and first lieutenant came up. The good humour of the former had been restored by the capture of the lugger.

"Hallo!" he said, looking at the bandaged heads and arms of some of the men, "so you have been having a fight trying to run your cargo, I suppose. That will make it all the worse for you, when you get on shore. Now, I might press you all without giving you a choice, but I don't want unwilling hands, so I will leave it to you. Which is it to be—an English prison for two or three years, or a cruise on board the Thetis?"

The greater part of the men at once stepped forward, and announced their willingness to volunteer.

"Who have we here," the captain asked, looking at the three countrymen.

"They are passengers, sir," the skipper of the lugger said, with a half smile.

A few questions brought to light the facts of the surprise while the cargo was being landed.

"Well, my lads," the captain said, "you are in the same boat with the rest. You were engaged in an unlawful enterprise, and in resisting his majesty's officers. You will get some months in prison anyhow, if you go back. You had better stay on board, and let me make men of you."

The countrymen, however, preferred a prison to a man o' war.

James Walsham had been turning over the matter in his mind. He had certainly taken no part in the fray, but that would be difficult to prove, and he could not account for his presence except by acknowledging that he was there to warn them. It would certainly be a case of imprisonment. Surely, it would be better to volunteer than this. He had been longing for the sea, and here an opportunity opened for him for abandoning the career his mother intended for him, without setting himself in opposition to her wishes. Surely she would prefer that he should be at sea for a year or two to his being disgraced by imprisonment. He therefore now stepped forward.

"I do not belong to the lugger's crew, sir, and had nothing to do with running their cargo, though I own I was on the spot at the time. I am not a sailor, though I have spent a good deal of time on board fishing boats. Mr. Horton, whom I see there, knows me, and will tell you that I am a son of a doctor in Sidmouth. But, as I have got into a scrape, I would rather serve than go back and stand a trial."

"Very well, my lad," the captain said. "I like your spirit, and will keep my eye on you."

The three countrymen and four of the French sailors, who declined to join the Thetis, were taken back to the cutter, and the Thetis at once proceeded on her way down channel. James had given a hastily scribbled line, on the back of an old letter which he happened to have in his pocket, to the men who were to be taken ashore, but he had very little hope that it would ever reach his mother. Nor, indeed, did it ever do so. When the cutter reached Weymouth with the lugger, the men captured in her were at once sent to prison, where they remained until they were tried at assizes three months afterwards; and, although all were acquitted of the charge of unlawful resistance to the king's officers, as there was no proof against any of the six men individually, they were sentenced to a year's imprisonment for smuggling.

Whether Jim's hurriedly written letter was thrown overboard, or whether it was carried in the pocket of the man to whom he gave it until worn into fragments, James never knew, but it never reached his mother.

The news that James was missing was brought to her upon the day after the event by Mr. Wilks. He had, as usual, gone down after breakfast to report how Aggie was getting on, with a message from his mother that her charge was now so completely restored that it was unnecessary for her to stay longer at the Hall, and that she should come home that evening at her usual time. Hearing from the girl that James had not returned since he went out at nine o'clock on the previous evening, the old soldier sauntered down to the beach, to inquire of the fishermen in whose boat James had gone out.

To his surprise, he found that none of the boats had put to sea the evening before. The men seemed less chatty and communicative than usual. Most of them were preparing to go out with their boats, and none seemed inclined to enter into a conversation. Rather wondering at their unusual reticence, Mr. Wilks strolled along to where the officer of the revenue men was standing, with his boatswain, watching the fishermen.

"A fine morning, lieutenant."

"Yes," the latter assented. "There will be wind presently. Have you heard of the doings of last night?"

"No," Mr. Wilks said in surprise, "I have heard nothing. I was just speaking to the fishermen, but they don't seem in as communicative a mood as usual this morning."

"The scamps know it is safest for them to keep their mouths shut, just at present," the officer said grimly. "I have no doubt a good many of them were concerned in that affair last night. We had a fight with the smugglers. Two of my men were shot and one of theirs, and there were a good many cutlass wounds on each side. We have taken a score of prisoners, but they are all country people who were assisting in the landing; the smugglers themselves all got off. We made a mess of the affair altogether, thanks to some fellow who rushed down and gave the alarm, and upset all the plans we had laid.

"It is too provoking. I had got news of the exact spot and hour at which the landing was to take place. I had my men all up on the cliff, and, as the fellows came up with kegs, they were to have been allowed to get a hundred yards or so inland and would there have been seized, and any shout they made would not have been heard below. Lieutenant Fisher, with his party from the next station, was to be a little way along at the foot of the cliffs, and when the boats came with the second batch, he was to rush forward and capture them, while we came down from above. Then we intended to row off and take the lugger. There was not wind enough for her to get away.

"All was going well, and the men were just coming up the cliff with the tubs, when someone who had passed us on the cliff ran down shouting the alarm. We rushed down at once, but arrived too late. They showed fight, and kept us back till Fisher's party came up; but by that time the boats were afloat, and the smugglers managed to get in and carry them off, in spite of us. We caught, as I tell you, some of the countrymen, and Fisher has taken them off to Weymouth, but most of them got away. There are several places where the cliff can be climbed by men who know it, and I have no doubt half those fishermen you see there were engaged in the business."

"Then the smuggler got away?" Mr. Wilks asked.

"I don't know," the lieutenant said shortly. "I had sent word to Weymouth, and I hope they will catch her in the offing. The lugger came down this way first, but we made her out, and showed a blue light. She must have turned and gone back again, for this morning at daylight we made her out to the east. The cutter was giving chase, and at first ran down fast towards her. Then the smugglers got the wind, and the last we saw of them they were running up the Channel, the cutter some three miles astern.

"I would give a couple of months' pay to know who it was that gave the alarm. I expect it was one of those fishermen. As far as my men could make out in the darkness, the fellow was dressed as a sailor. But I must say good morning, for I am just going to turn in."

Mr. Wilks had been on the point of mentioning that James was missing, but a vague idea that he might, in some way, be mixed up with the events of the previous night, checked the question on his lips; and yet he thought, as the officer walked away, it was not probable. Had James been foolish enough to take part in such a business, he would either have been taken prisoner, or would, after he escaped, have returned home. He had evidently not been taken prisoner, or the officer would have been sure to mention it.

Much puzzled, he walked slowly back to the fishermen. Some of the boats had already pushed off. He went up to three of the men, whose boat, being higher up than the rest, would not be afloat for another quarter of an hour.

"Look here, lads," he said. "My young friend Jim Walsham is missing this morning, and hasn't been at home all night. As none of the fishing boats put out in the evening he cannot have gone to sea. Can any of you tell me anything about him?"

The men gave no answer.

"You need not be afraid of speaking to me, you know," he went on, "and it's no business of mine whether any of the men on the shore were concerned in that affair. The lieutenant has just been telling me of last night; but hearing of that, and finding Jim is missing, I can't help thinking there is some connection between the two things. Nothing you say to me will go further, that I can promise you; but the lad's mother will be in a terrible way. I can't make it out, for I know that, if he had anything to do with this smuggling business, he would have told me. Again, if he was there and got away, he would naturally have come straight home, for his absence would only throw suspicion upon him."

"Well, Mr. Wilks," the youngest of the sailors said, "I don't know nothing about it myself. No one does, so far as I know, but I have heard say this morning as how he was there or thereabouts; but don't you let out as I told you, 'cause they would want to know who I heard it from."

"You can rely upon my silence, my lad, and here's half a guinea to drink my health between you. But can't you tell me a little more?"

"Well, sir, they do say as how it war Mr. Jim as came running down into the middle of them on the beach, shouting the alarm, with the revenue men close at his heels. I don't say as it were he—likely enough it weren't—but that's the talk, and that's all I have heared about the matter. How he came for to know of it, or how he got there, no one knows, for sartin he has had nought to do with any landings afore. He was a lot among us, but I know as he never was told about it; for, though everyone would have trusted Jim, still, seeing how he was placed, with his mother up at the Hall, and the squire a magistrate, it was thought better as he shouldn't be let into it. Everyone on the shore here likes Jim."

"But if he was there, and he hasn't been taken prisoner—and I am sure the lieutenant would have told me if he was—why shouldn't he have got home?"

"We didn't know as he hadn't got home, did us, Bill?" the fisherman appealed to one of his comrades.

"No," the other said. "We thought likely he had got safely away with the rest. It war a dark night, and I expect as everyone was too busy looking after himself to notice about others."

"He may have been wounded," the old soldier said anxiously, "and may be in hiding in some house near the place."

The fisherman was silent. Such a thing was, of course, possible.

"He might that," one of the sailors said doubtfully, "and yet I don't think it. The chase was a hot one, and I don't think anyone, wounded so bad as he couldn't make his way home, would have got away. I should say as it wur more likely as he got on board one of the boats. It seems to me as though he might have come to warn us—that is to say, to warn them, I mean—just to do em a good turn, as he was always ready to do if he had the chance. But he wouldn't have had anything to do with the scrimmage, and might have been standing, quiet like, near the boats, when the other lot came along the shore, and then, seeing as the game was up, he might, likely enough, have jumped on board and gone off to the lugger."

"That is possible," Mr. Wilks said. "Anyhow, I will go off at once, and make inquiries at all the houses within a mile or so of the landing place."



Chapter 8: Discharged.

Contrary to his usual habits of punctuality, Mr. Wilks did not return to luncheon at the Hall, and it was two hours later before he came in, looking fagged and anxious. He had been to all the farm houses within two miles of the scene of the fight, and had ascertained, for certain, that Jim was not lying wounded at any of them. At first, his inquiries had everywhere been coldly received. There was scarce a farm house near the coast, but the occupants had relations with the smugglers, assisting with their carts and men at the landings, or having hiding places where goods could be stowed away. At first, therefore, all professed entire ignorance of the events of the previous night; but, when persuaded by the earnestness of the old soldier's manner that his mission was a friendly one, they became more communicative, and even owned that some of their men had been taken prisoners and marched to Weymouth; but none of them had heard of any wounded man being in hiding.

Convinced, at last, that James must have gone off to the lugger, Mr. Wilks returned to Sidmouth, a prey to great anxiety. Everything depended now on whether the lugger was captured. If so, James would have to stand his trial for being concerned in the fight on the beach, and, as two of the revenue men had been killed, his sentence might be a heavy one.

If she got away, all would be well. They would doubtless hear by letter from Jim, and it would be better that he should not return at present to Sidmouth, but should at once take up his residence in London, and commence his studies there.

He met the squire just as the latter was starting for Sidmouth.

"Well, Wilks, we began to think that you were lost," he said, cheerfully. "Aggie was downstairs to lunch, and was mightily offended that you should not be there at her first appearance.

"But you look tired and fagged. Has anything gone wrong?"

"Things have gone very wrong, squire."

And he related to his friend all the news that he had gathered, and his conviction that James Walsham was on board the lugger.

"This is a pretty kettle of fish," the squire said irritably. "What on earth did the boy mean by getting himself mixed up with such an affair as that?"

"It is a foolish business, squire," the old soldier agreed. "But we can't expect wise heads on young shoulders, I suppose. He, somehow or other, learnt the surprise which the revenue men intended, and as most of his friends, the fishermen, would probably be concerned in it, he went to give them notice, intending, no doubt, to go quietly back again before the revenue men arrived. I don't know that he's altogether to be blamed in the matter. Most young fellows would do the same."

"Well, I suppose they would," the squire agreed reluctantly; "but it is a most awkward business. If the lad gets caught, and gets two or three years' imprisonment, it will ruin his prospects in life. His mother will be broken hearted over the business, and I am sure Aggie will take it terribly to heart. They were great friends of old, though she hasn't seen much of him for the last two or three years, and, of course, that affair of the other day has made quite a hero of him."

"We must hope the lugger will get safely over to France," his companion said. "Then no great harm will have been done."

"We must hope so," the squire assented moodily. "Confound the young jackanapes, turning everything upside down, and upsetting us all with his mad-brain freaks."

Mrs. Walsham was greatly distressed, when the news was broken to her by Mr. Wilks, and Aggie cried so that the squire, at last, said she must go straight up to bed unless she stopped, for she would be making herself ill again. When she was somewhat pacified, the matter was discussed in every light, but the only conclusion to be arrived at was, that their sole hope rested in the hugger getting safely off.

"Of course, my dear madam," the squire said, "if they are taken I will do my best to get a pardon for your son. I am afraid he will have to stand his trial with the rest; but I think that, with the representations I will make as to his good character, I may get a mitigation, anyhow, of a sentence. If they find out that it was he who gave the alarm, there will be no hope of a pardon; but if that doesn't come out, one would represent his being there as a mere boyish freak of adventure, and, in that case, I might get him a free pardon. You must not take the matter too seriously to heart. It was a foolish business, and that is the worst that can be said of it."

"I think it was a grand thing," Aggie said indignantly, "for him to risk being shot, and imprisoned, and all sorts of dreadful things, just to save other people."

"And I think you are a goose, Aggie," the squire said. "If everyone were to go and mix themselves up in other people's business, there would be no end of trouble. I suppose next you will say that, if you heard me arranging with the constable to make a capture of some burglars, you would think it a grand thing to put on your hat to run off to warn them."

"Oh, grandpapa, how can you say such a thing!" the girl said. "Burglars and smugglers are quite different. Burglars are wicked men, and thieves and robbers. Smugglers are not, they are only trying to get goods in without paying duty."

"They try to rob the king, my dear, and in the eyes of the law are just as criminal as burglars. Both of them are leagued to break the law, and both will resist and take life if they are interfered with. I allow that, in general estimation, the smugglers are looked upon in a more favourable light, and that a great many people, who ought to know better, are in league with them, but that does not alter the facts of the case."

The girl did not argue the question, but the squire was perfectly aware that he had in no way convinced her, and that her feeling, that James Walsham's action was a highly meritorious one, was in no way shaken. It was agreed that nothing was to be said about James's absence, and, after taking some refreshment, Mr. Wilks went down into Sidmouth again, to tell the girl at Mrs. Walsham's that she was not to gossip about James being away.

Three days later, a letter was received by the squire from Richard Horton.

"I am taking the opportunity of writing a few lines to you, my dear uncle, as I have a chance of sending it ashore by the revenue cutter Thistle, which is lying alongside of us. Between us, we have just captured a rascally smuggling lugger, with a cargo of lace, silk, and spirits. You will, I am sure, be surprised and grieved to hear that among the crew of the lugger was James Walsham. I could hardly believe my eyes, when I saw him in such disreputable company. It will be a sad blow for his poor mother. As we were short of hands, our captain offered the crew of the lugger the choice of shipping with us, or being sent on shore for trial. Most of them chose the former alternative, among them James Walsham, of which I was glad, as his mother will be spared the disgrace of his being placed in the dock with his associates. I need not say that if I could have obtained his release, I should have done so, knowing that you had a high opinion of him; but it was, of course, out of my power to interfere."

The squire was alone in his study when he received the letter, for it was midday before the post arrived at Sidmouth, when a man from the Hall went down each day, with a bag, to fetch the letters. He rang the bell, and ordered the servant to tell Mr. Wilks he should be glad if he would step in to him. When his friend came, he handed him the letter without a word.

"That settles the matter," he said, as he threw the letter angrily down upon the table. "A malicious young viper! I wish I had him here."

"It is not nicely worded," the squire said gravely; "but it was an unpleasant story to have to tell."

"It was not an unpleasant story for him to tell," the old soldier said hotly. "There is malice in every line of it. He speaks of the men as James's associates, talks about the disgrace he would bring on his mother. There's malice, squire, in every line of it."

"I'm afraid it's a bad letter," the squire assented gravely.

"It's a natural letter," Mr. Wilks said savagely. "It is written in a hurry, and he's had no time to pick and choose his words, and round off his sentences, as he generally does in his letters to you. He was so full of malicious exultation that he did not think how much he was showing his feeling, as he wrote."

"It's a bad letter and a nasty letter," the squire assented; "but let that pass, now. The first question is—How are we to tell Jim's mother? Do you think it will be a relief to her, or otherwise?"

"It will be a blow to know that the lugger has been captured," Mr. Wilks said—"a severe blow, no doubt, for her escape is what we have been building our hopes upon. It will be a heavy blow, too, for her to know that James is a seaman before the mast; that it will be years before she will see him again, and that all her plans for his future are upset. But I think this will be much better for her than if she knew he was a prisoner, and would have to stand a trial.

"Between ourselves, squire, as far as the lad himself is concerned, I am not sure that he will be altogether sorry that events have turned out as they have. In our talks together, he has often confided to me that his own inclinations were altogether for a life of activity and adventure; but that, as his mother's heart was so set upon his following his father's profession, he had resolved upon never saying a word, to her, which would lead her to suppose that his own wishes lay in any other direction. This business will give him the opportunity he has longed for, to see the world, without his appearing in any way to thwart his mother's plans."

"At any rate," the squire said, "I am heartily glad he has got off being tried. Even if I had got a free pardon for him, it would have been a serious slur upon him that he had been imprisoned, and would have been awkward for us all in the future. I think, Wilks, I will leave it to you to break it to his mother."

"Very well," the other agreed. "It is an unpleasant business, squire; but perhaps I had better do it. It may console her if I tell her that, at heart, he always wanted to go to sea, and that, accustomed as he is to knock about in the fishermen's boats, he will find it no hardship on board a man o' war, and will come back, in the course of two or three years, none the worse for his cruise. She may think he will take up doctoring again after that, though I have my doubts whether he will do that. However, there is no use in telling her so. Shall I show her that letter, squire?"

"No," the squire replied, "of course you can tell her what's in it; but I will keep the letter myself. I would give a good deal if he had not written it. It is certainly badly worded, though why he should feel any malice, towards the other, is more than I can tell."

His companion was about to speak, but thought better of it, and, without another word, went to break the news to Mrs. Walsham.

Mrs. Walsham was terribly upset. After suffering her to cry for some time in silence, Mr. Wilks said:

"My dear madam, I know that this news must distress you terribly; but it may be that in this, as in all things, a providence has overruled your plans for your son, for his own good. I will tell you now what you would never have known had this affair never occurred. Jim, at heart, hates his father's profession. He is a dutiful son and, rather than give you pain, he was prepared to sacrifice all his own feelings and wishes. But the lad is full of life and energy. The dull existence of a country surgeon, in a little town like this, is the last he would adopt as his own choice; and I own that I am not surprised that a lad of spirit should long for a more adventurous life. I should have told you this long ago, and advised you that it would be well for you both to put it frankly to him that, although you would naturally like to see him following his father's profession, still that you felt that he should choose for himself; and that, should he select any other mode of life, you would not set your wishes against his. But the lad would not hear of my doing so. He said that, rather than upset your cherished plans, he would gladly consent to settle down in Sidmouth for life. I honoured him for his filial spirit; but, frankly, I think he was wrong. An eagle is not made to live in a hen coop, nor a spirited lad to settle down in a humdrum village; and I own that, although I regret the manner of his going, I cannot look upon it as an unmixed evil, that the force of circumstances has taken him out of the course marked out for him, and that he will have an opportunity of seeing life and adventure."

Mrs. Walsham had listened, with a surprise too great to admit of her interrupting the old soldier's remarks.

"I never dreamed of this," she said at last, when he ceased. "I cannot remember, now, that I ever asked him, but I took it for granted that he would like nothing better than to follow in his father's steps. Had I known that he objected to it, I would not for a moment have forced him against his inclinations. Of course it is natural that, being alone in the world, I should like to have him with me still, but I would never have been so selfish as to have sacrificed his life to mine. Still, though it would be hard to have parted from him in any way, it is harder still to part like this. If he was to go, he need not have gone as a common sailor. The squire, who has done so much for him, would no doubt, instead of sending him to school, have obtained a midshipman's berth for him, or a commission in the army; but it is dreadful to think of him as a common sailor, liable to be flogged."

"Well, Mrs. Walsham, perhaps we may set the matter partly to rights. I will speak to the squire, and I am sure he will write to his friend at the admiralty, and have an order sent out, at once, for Jim's discharge. At the same time, it would be better that he should not return here just at present. His name may come out, at the trial of the smugglers, as being concerned in the affair, and it would be better that he should stay away, till that matter blows over. At any rate, if I were you I should write to him, telling him that you know now that he has no taste for the medical profession, and that, should he see anything that he thinks will suit him in America, you would not wish him to come home immediately, if he has a fancy for staying out there; but that, if he chooses to return, you are sure that the squire will exert himself, to give him a start in any other profession he may choose."

Mrs. Walsham agreed to carry out the suggestion and, that afternoon, the squire sent off a letter to his friend at the admiralty, and three letters were also posted to James himself.

The voyage of the Thetis was uneventful. Her destination was Hampton, at the opening of Chesapeake Bay, where the troops on board would join the expedition under General Braddock, which was advancing up the Potomac. When she arrived there, they found several ships of war under Commodore Keppel. Braddock's force had marched to Wills Creek, where a military post named Fort Cumberland had been formed. The soldiers on board were at once disembarked, and marched up the banks of the Potomac to join the force at Fort Cumberland. The sailors were employed in taking stores up the river in boats.

James Walsham had done his best, during the voyage, to acquire a knowledge of his duties. His experience in the fishing boats was useful to him now, and he was soon able to do his work as an able-bodied seaman. His good spirits and willingness rendered him a general favourite. He was glad that he was not put in the same watch with Richard Horton, as, after their first meeting, the young lieutenant showed no signs of recognition. He was not, James found, popular among the men. He was exacting and overbearing with them, and some on board, who had served with him on his previous voyage, had many tales to his disadvantage.

A fortnight after the arrival of the Thetis at Hampton, orders were issued among the ships of war for thirty volunteers for Braddock's expedition, of which the Thetis was to furnish ten. So many sent in their names, that the first lieutenant had difficulty in choosing ten, who were looked upon with envy by the rest of the ship's company; for there seemed little chance, at present, of fighting at sea, and the excitement of a march on shore, with adventures of all sorts, and encounters with the French and their Indian allies, seemed delightful to the tars.

Upon the following day a ship arrived from England and, an hour afterwards, an order was passed forward that the first lieutenant wanted James Walsham upon the quarterdeck.

"Walsham," he said, "an order has just come from the admiralty for your discharge, and you are to have a passage in the first ship returning, if you choose to take it. I am sorry you are leaving the ship, for I have noticed that you show great willingness and activity, and will make a first-rate sailor. Still, I suppose, your friends in England did not care about your remaining before the mast."

James touched his hat and walked forward. He was scarcely surprised, for he had thought that his mother would probably ask the squire to use his influence to obtain his discharge. He scarcely knew whether he was glad or sorry. He was in a false position, and could not hope for promotion except by some lucky chance, such as was not likely to occur, of distinguishing himself.

At the same time, he sighed as he thought that he must now return and take up the profession for which his mother had intended him. A quarter of an hour later, however, the ship's corporal came round and distributed the mails, and James, to his delight, found there were three letters for him. He tore open that from his mother. It began by gently upbraiding him for getting himself mixed up in the fight between the smugglers and the revenue men.

"In the next place, my dear boy," she said, "I must scold you, even more, for not confiding in your mother as to your wishes about your future profession. Mr. Wilks has opened my eyes to the fact that, while I have all along been taking it for granted, that your wishes agreed with mine as to your profession, you have really been sacrificing all your own inclinations in order to avoid giving me pain. I am very thankful to him for having opened my eyes, for I should have been grieved indeed had I found, when too late, that I had chained you down to a profession you dislike.

"Of course, I should have liked to have had you with me, but in no case would have had you sacrifice yourself; still less now, when I have met with such kind friends, and am happy and comfortable in my life. Therefore, my boy, let us set aside at once all idea of your becoming a doctor. There is no occasion for you to choose, immediately, what you will do. You are too old now to enter the royal navy, and it is well that, before you finally decide on a profession, you have the opportunity of seeing something of the world.

"I inclose bank notes for a hundred pounds so that, if you like, you can stay for a few weeks or months in the colonies, and then take your passage home from New York or Boston. By that time, too, all talk about this affair with the smugglers will have ceased; but, as your name is likely to come out at the trial of the men who were taken, so the squire thinks it will be better for you to keep away, for a time."

The rest of the letter was filled up with an account of the excitement and alarm which had been felt when he was first missed.

"We were glad, indeed," she said, "when a letter was received from Richard Horton, saying that you were on board the Thetis. Mr. Wilks tells me it was an abominably spiteful letter, and I am sure the squire thinks so, too, from the tone in which he spoke this afternoon about his nephew; but I can quite forgive him, for, if it had not been for his letter, we should not have known what had become of you, and many months might have passed before we might have heard from you in America. As it is, only four or five days have been lost, and the squire is writing tonight to obtain your discharge, which he assures me there will be no difficulty whatever about."

The squire's was a very cordial letter, and he, too, enclosed notes for a hundred pounds.

"Mr. Wilks tells me," he said, "that you do not like the thought of doctoring. I am not surprised, and I think that a young fellow, of such spirit and courage as you have shown, ought to be fitted for something better than administering pills and draughts to the old women of Sidmouth. Tell me frankly, when you write, what you would like. You are, of course, too old for the royal navy. If you like to enter the merchant service, I have no doubt I could arrange with some shipping firm in Bristol, and would take care that, by the time you get to be captain, you should also be part owner of the ship. If, on the other hand, you would like to enter the army—and it seems to me that there are stirring times approaching—I think that, through one or other of my friends in London, I could obtain a commission for you. If there is anything else you would like better than this, you may command my best services. I never forget how much I am indebted to you for my present happiness, and, whatever I can do for you, still shall feel myself deeply your debtor."

The old soldier wrote a characteristic letter. In the first place, he told James that he regarded him as a fool, for mixing up in an affair in which he had no concern whatever. Then he congratulated him on the fact that circumstances had broken the chain from which he would never otherwise have freed himself.

"You must not be angry with me," he said, "for having betrayed your confidence, and told the truth to your mother. I did it in order to console her, by showing her that things were, after all, for the best; and I must say that madam took my news in the very best spirit, and I am sure you will see this by her letter to you. There is no one I honour and esteem more than I do her, and I was sure, all along, that you were making a mistake in not telling her frankly what your wishes were. Now you have got a roving commission for a time, and it will be your own fault if you don't make the best of it. There is likely to be an exciting time in the colonies, and you are not the lad I take you for, if you dawdle away your time in the towns, instead of seeing what is going on in the forest."

These letters filled James with delight, and, without an hour's delay, he sat down to answer them. In his letter to the squire he thanked him most warmly for his kindness, and said that, above all things, he should like a commission in the army. He wrote a very tender and affectionate letter to his mother, telling her how much he felt her goodness in so promptly relinquishing her own plans, and in allowing him to choose the life he liked.

"Thank Aggie," he concluded, "for the message she sent by you. Give her my love, and don't let her forget me."

To the old soldier he wrote a gossipping account of his voyage.

"It was impossible," he said, "for the news of my discharge to have come at a better moment. Thirty sailors from the fleet are going with General Braddock's force, and everyone else is envying their good luck—I among them. Now I shall go up, at once, and join the Virginian regiment which is accompanying them. I shall join that, instead of either of the line regiments, as I can leave when I like. Besides, if the squire is able to get me a commission, it would have been pleasanter for me to have been fighting here as a volunteer, than as a private in the line.

"By the way, nobody thinks there will be much fighting, so don't let my mother worry herself about me; but, at any rate, a march through the great forests of this country, with a chance of a brush with the redskins, will be great fun. Perhaps, by the time it is over, I may get a letter from you saying that I have got my commission. As I hear there is a chance of a regular war between the French and us out here, the commission may be for a regiment on this side."

After finishing his letters, and giving them to the ship's corporal to place in the next post bag, James said goodbye to his messmates, and prepared to go on shore. The ten men chosen for the expedition were also on the point of starting. Richard Horton was standing near, in a state of great discontent that he had not been chosen to accompany them in their expedition. James Walsham stepped up to him, and touched his hat respectfully.

"I wish to thank you, Lieutenant Horton, for your extremely kind letter, telling my friends that I was on board this ship. It has been the means of my obtaining my discharge at once, instead of having to serve, for many months, before I could send the news home and obtain an answer in return."

Without another word he turned and, walking to the gangway, took his place in a boat about starting with some sailors for the shore, leaving Richard Horton in a state of fury, with himself, for having been the means of obtaining James's discharge. He had already, more than once, felt uncomfortable as he thought of the wording of the letter; and that this indulgence of his spite had had the effect of restoring James's liberty, rendered him well-nigh mad with rage.

On landing, James Walsham at once disposed of his sailor's clothes, and purchased a suit similar to those worn by the colonists; then he obtained a passage up the river to Alexandria, where the transports which had brought the troops were still lying. Here, one of the companies of the Virginia corps was stationed, and James, finding that they were expecting, every day, to be ordered up to Wills Creek, determined to join them at once.

The scene was a busy one. Stores were being landed from the transports, teamsters were loading up their waggons, officers were superintending the operations, the men of the Virginia corps, who wore no uniform, but were attired in the costume used by hunters and backwoodsmen; namely, a loose hunting shirt, short trousers or breeches, and gaiters; were moving about unconcernedly, while a few of them, musket on shoulder, were on guard over the piles of stores.

Presently a tall, slightly-built young man, with a pleasant but resolute face, came riding along, and checked his horse close to where James was standing. James noticed that the men on sentry, who had, for the most part, been sitting down on fallen logs of wood, bales, or anything else which came handy; with their muskets across their knees, or leaning beside them; got up and began pacing to and fro, with some semblance of military position.

"Who is that young man?" he asked a teamster standing by.

"That is Colonel Washington," the man replied, "one of the smartest of the colonial officers."

"Why, he only looks two or three and twenty," James said in surprise.

"He is not more than that," the man said; "but age don't go for much here, and Colonel Washington is adjutant general of the Virginian militia. Only a few months back, he made a journey with despatches, right through the forests to the French station at Port de Beuf, and, since then, he has been in command of the party which went out to build a fort, at the forks of the Ohio, and had some sharp fighting with the French. A wonderful smart young officer they say he is, just as cool, when the bullets are flying, as if sitting on horseback."

James resolved, at once, that he would speak to Colonel Washington, and ask him if he could join the Virginian militia. He accordingly went up to him, and touched his hat.

"If you please, sir, I am anxious to join the Virginian militia, and, as they tell me that you are adjutant general, I have come to ask you if I can do so."

"I see no difficulty in it, my lad," the colonel said; "but if you have run away from home, in search of adventure, I should advise you to go back again, for we are likely to have heavy work."

"I don't mind that, sir, and I have not run away. I am English. I was pressed on board a frigate, and was brought over here, but my friends in England procured my discharge, which came for me here, a fortnight after my arrival. They are, I believe, about to obtain for me a commission in a king's regiment; but, as I was here, I thought that I should like to see some service, as it may be some months before I hear that I have got my commission. I would rather if I could join as a volunteer, as I do not want pay, my friends having supplied me amply with money."

"You seem to be a lad of spirit," Colonel Washington said, "and I will at once put you in the way of doing what you desire. You shall join the Virginian corps as a volunteer. Have you money enough to buy a horse?"

"Yes, plenty," Jim said. "I have two hundred pounds."

"Then you had better leave a hundred and fifty, at least, behind you," the colonel said. "I will direct you to a trader here, with whom you can bank it. You can get an excellent horse for twenty pounds. I asked you because, if you like, I can attach you to myself. I often want a mounted messenger; and, of course, as a volunteer, you would mess with me."

"I should like it above all things," James said thankfully.

"Then we will at once go to the tent of the officer commanding this company," Washington said, "and enroll you as a volunteer."

On reaching the tent, Washington dismounted and led the way in.

"Captain Hall," he said, "this is a young English gentleman, who will shortly have a commission in the king's army, but, in the meantime, he wishes to see a little brisk fighting, so he is to be enrolled as a volunteer in your company; but he is going to obtain a horse, and will act as a sort of aide-de-camp to me."

Captain Hall at once entered James's name as a volunteer on the roll of his company.

"Do you know of anyone who has a good horse for sale?" Washington asked.

"Yes," the captain replied, "at least, there was a farmer here half an hour ago with a good-looking horse which he wants to sell. I have no doubt he is in the camp, still."

Captain Hall went to the door of the tent, and told two of the men there to find the farmer, and tell him he had a purchaser for his horse.

Ten minutes later the farmer came up, and James bought the horse, Captain Hall doing the bargaining for him.

"Now," Washington said, "we will go round to the storekeeper I spoke of, and deposit the best part of your money with him. I should only take a pound or two, if I were you, for you will find no means of spending money when you once set forward, and, should anything happen to you, the Indians would not appreciate the value of those English notes of yours. You will want a brace of pistols and a sword, a blanket, and cooking pot—that is about the extent of your camp equipment."



Chapter 9: The Defeat Of Braddock.

England and France were, at this time, at peace in Europe, although the troops of both nations were about to engage in conflict, in the forests of America. Their position there was an anomalous one. England owned the belt of colonies on the east coast. France was mistress of Canada in the north, of Louisiana in the south, and, moreover, claimed the whole of the vast country lying behind the British colonies, which were thus cooped up on the seaboard. Her hold, however, of this great territory was extremely slight. She had strong posts along the chain of lakes from the Saint Lawrence to Lake Superior, but between these and Louisiana, her supremacy was little more than nominal.

The Canadian population were frugal and hardy, but they were deficient in enterprise; and the priests, who ruled them with a rod of iron, for Canada was intensely Catholic, discouraged any movements which would take their flocks from under their charge. Upon the other hand, the colonists of New England, Pennsylvania, and Virginia were men of enterprise and energy, and their traders, pushing in large numbers across the Alleghenies, carried on an extensive trade with the Indians in the valley of the Ohio, thereby greatly exciting the jealousy of the French, who feared that the Indians would ally themselves with the British colonists, and that the connection between Canada and Louisiana would be thereby cut.

The English colonists were greatly superior to the French in number; but they laboured under the disadvantage that the colonies were wholly independent of each other, with strong mutual jealousies, which paralysed their action and prevented their embarking upon any concerted operations. Upon the other hand, Canada was governed by the French as a military colony. The governor was practically absolute, and every man capable of bearing arms could, if necessary, be called by him into the field. He had at his disposal not only the wealth of the colony, but large assistance from France, and the French agents were, therefore, able to outbid the agents of the British colonies with the Indians.

For years there had been occasional troubles between the New England States and the French, the latter employing the Indians in harassing the border; but, until the middle of the eighteenth century, there had been nothing like a general trouble. In 1749 the Marquis of Galissoniere was governor general of Canada. The treaty of Aix la Chapelle had been signed; but this had done nothing to settle the vexed question of the boundaries between the English and French colonies. Meanwhile, the English traders from Pennsylvania and Virginia were poaching on the domain which France claimed as hers, ruining the French fur trade, and making friends with the Indian allies of Canada. Worse still, farmers were pushing westward and settling in the valley of the Ohio.

In order to drive these back, to impress the natives with the power of France, and to bring them back to their allegiance, the governor of Canada, in the summer of 1749, sent Celoron de Bienville. He had with him fourteen officers, twenty French soldiers, a hundred and eighty Canadians, and a band of Indians. They embarked in twenty-three birch-bark canoes, and, pushing up the Saint Lawrence, reached Lake Ontario, stopping for a time at the French fort of Frontenac, and avoiding the rival English port of Oswego on the southern shore, where a trade in beaver skins, disastrous to French interests, was being carried on, for the English traders sold their goods at vastly lower prices than those which the French had charged.

On the 6th of July the party reached Niagara, where there was a small French fort, and thence, carrying their canoes round the cataract, launched them upon Lake Erie. Landing again on the southern shore of the lake, they carried their canoes nine miles through the forest to Chautauqua Lake, and then dropped down the stream running out of it until they reached the Ohio. The fertile country here was inhabited by the Delawares, Shawanoes, Wyandots, and Iroquois, or Indians of the Five Nations, who had migrated thither from their original territories in the colony of New York. Further west, on the banks of the Miami, the Wabash, and other streams, was a confederacy of the Miami and their kindred tribes. Still further west, in the country of the Illinois, near the Mississippi, the French had a strong stone fort called Fort Chartres, which formed one of the chief links of the chain of posts that connected Quebec with New Orleans.

The French missionaries and the French political agents had, for seventy years, laboured hard to bring these Indian tribes into close connection with France. The missionaries had failed signally; but the presents, so lavishly bestowed, had inclined the tribes to the side of their donors, until the English traders with their cheap goods came pushing west over the Alleghenies. They carried their goods on the backs of horses, and journeyed from village to village, selling powder, rum, calicoes, beads, and trinkets. No less than three hundred men were engaged in these enterprises, and some of them pushed as far west as the Mississippi.

As the party of Celoron proceeded they nailed plates of tin, stamped with the arms of France, to trees; and buried plates of lead near them, with inscriptions saying that they took possession of the land in the name of Louis the Fifteenth, King of France.

Many of the villages were found to be deserted by the natives, who fled at their approach. At some, however, they found English traders, who were warned at once to leave the country; and, by some of them, letters were sent to the governor of Pennsylvania, in which Celoron declared that he was greatly surprised to find Englishmen trespassing in the domain of France, and that his orders were precise, to leave no foreign traders within the limits of the government of Canada.

At Chiningue, called Logstown by the English, a large number of natives were gathered, most of the inhabitants of the deserted villages having sought refuge there. The French were received with a volley of balls from the shore; but they landed without replying to the fire, and hostilities were avoided. The French kept guard all night, and in the morning Celoron invited the chiefs to a council, when he told them he had come, by the order of the governor, to open their eyes to the designs of the English against their lands, and that they must be driven away at once. The reply of the chiefs was humble; but they begged that the English traders, of whom there were, at that moment, ten in the town, might stay a little longer, since the goods they brought were necessary to them.

After making presents to the chiefs, the party proceeded on their way, putting up the coats of arms and burying the lead inscriptions. At Scioto a large number of Indians were assembled, and the French were very apprehensive of an attack, which would doubtless have been disastrous to them, as the Canadians of the party were altogether unused to war. A council was held, however, at which Celoron could obtain no satisfaction whatever, for the interests of the Indians were bound up with the English.

There can be no doubt that, had they been able to look into the future, every Indian on the continent would have joined the French in their effort to crush the English colonies. Had France remained master of America the Indians might, even now, be roaming free and unmolested on the lands of their forefathers. France is not a colonizing nation. She would have traded with the Indians, would have endeavoured to Christianize them, and would have left them their land and freedom, well satisfied with the fact that the flag of France should wave over so vast an extent of country; but on England conquering the soil, her armies of emigrants pressed west, and the red man is fast becoming extinct on the continent of which he was once the lord.

Celoron's expedition sailed down the Ohio until it reached the mouth of the Miami, and toiled for thirteen days against its shallow current, until they reached a village of the Miami Indians, ruled over by a chief called, by the French, La Demoiselle, but whom the English, whose fast friend he was, called Old Britain. He was the great chief of the Miami confederation.

The English traders there withdrew at the approach of the French. The usual council was held, and Celoron urged the chief to remove from this location, which he had but newly adopted, and to take up his abode, with his band, near the French fort on the Maumee. The chief accepted the Frenchman's gifts, thanked him for his good advice, and promised to follow it at a more convenient time; but neither promises nor threats could induce him to stir at once.

No sooner, indeed, had the French departed, than the chief gathered the greater part of the members of the confederation on that spot; until, in less than two years after the visit of Celoron, its population had increased eightfold, and it became one of the greatest Indian towns of the west, and the centre of English trade and influence.

Celoron reached Miami, and then returned northward to Lake Erie, and thence back to Montreal, when he reported to the governor that English influence was supreme in the valley of the Ohio.

In the following year, a company was formed in Virginia for effecting a settlement in Ohio, and a party proceeded west to the village of the chief called Old Britain, by whom they were received with great friendship, and a treaty of peace was solemnly made between the English and the Indians. While the festivities, consequent on the affair, were going on, four Ottawa Indians arrived from the French, with the French flag and gifts, but they were dismissed with an answer of defiance. If, at this time, the colonists could have cemented their alliance with the Indians, with gifts similar to those with which the French endeavoured to purchase their friendship, a permanent peace with the Indians might have been established; but the mutual jealousies of the colonies, and the nature of the various colonial assemblies, rendered any common action impossible. Pennsylvania was jealous of the westward advance of Virginia, and desired to thwart rather than to assist her.

The governors of New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia were fully conscious of the importance of the Indian alliance, but they could do nothing without their assemblies. Those of New York and Pennsylvania were largely composed of tradesmen and farmers, absorbed in local interests, and animated but by two motives; the cutting down of all expenditure, and bitter and continuous opposition to the governor, who represented the royal authority. Virginia and Pennsylvania quarrelled about their respective rights over the valley of the Ohio. The assembly of New York refused to join in any common action, saying, "We will take care of our Indians, and they may take care of theirs."

The states further removed from the fear of any danger, from the action of the Indians and French, were altogether lukewarm.

Thus, neither in the valley of the Ohio, nor on the boundaries of the New England states, did the Indians receive their promised gifts, and, as the French agents were liberal both in presents and promises, the Indians became discontented with their new friends, and again turned their eyes towards France. Old Britain, however, remained firm in his alliance; and the English traders, by constant presents, and by selling their goods at the lowest possible rates, kept him and his warriors highly satisfied and contented.

The French, in vain, tried to stir up the friendly tribes to attack Oswego on Lake Ontario, and the village of Old Britain, which were the two centres to which the Indians went to trade with the English; but they were unsuccessful until, in June, 1752, Charles Langlade, a young French trader, married to a squaw at Green Bay, and strong in influence with the tribes of that region, came down the lakes with a fleet of canoes, manned by two hundred and fifty Ottawa and Ojibwa warriors. They stopped awhile at the fort at Detroit, then paddled up the Maumee to the next fort, and thence marched through the forests against the Miamis.

They approached Old Britain's village in the morning. Most of the Indians were away on their summer hunt, and there were but eight English traders in the place. Three of these were caught outside the village, the remaining five took refuge in the fortified warehouse they had built, and there defended themselves.

Old Britain and the little band with him fought bravely, but against such overwhelming numbers could do nothing, and fourteen of them, including their chief, were killed. The five white men defended themselves till the afternoon, when two of them managed to make their escape, and the other three surrendered. One of them was already wounded, and was at once killed by the French Indians. Seventy years of the teaching of the French missionaries had not weaned the latter from cannibalism, and Old Britain was boiled and eaten.

The Marquis of Duquesne, who had succeeded Galissoniere as governor, highly praised Langlade for the enterprise, and recommended him to the minister at home for reward. This bold enterprise further shook the alliance of the Indians with the English, for it seemed to them that the French were enterprising and energetic, while the English were slothful and cowardly, and neglected to keep their agreements. The French continued to build forts, and Dinwiddie, governor of Virginia, sent George Washington to protest, in his name, against their building forts on land notoriously belonging to the English crown.