Chapter Thirty Four.
On board once more.
There was an attempt at flight on the part of the Kestrels, but there was no room to fly, though the general impression was that the smugglers were about to hurl down pieces of rock upon them from above, but their dread was chased away by a well-known voice exclaiming:
“All right, my lads: I’m not killed.”
“But you’ve ’most killed me,” growled Tom Tully.
“Never mind, Tom. You shall have some grog when we get back aboard. Who’s in command?”
“I am, sir,” exclaimed the lieutenant from somewhere at the back; “and I beg to know what is the meaning of this indecorous proceeding.”
“Well, sir,” said Hilary, “I was in a hurry to rejoin the ship’s company, and I was coming down a rope when some one above cast it off.”
“Three cheers for Muster Leigh!” cried a voice.
“Silence!” roared the lieutenant. “Now, Mr Leigh, if you are not joined to the band of rascals show us the way to them.”
“There’s no way here, sir, unless we bring a long spar and rig up some tackle. The rock’s forty feet high, and as straight as a wall. Will you let me speak to you, sir?”
The lieutenant grunted, and Hilary limped to his side.
“Now, Mr Leigh,” he said, “I will hear what you have to say; but have the goodness to consider yourself under arrest.”
“All right, sir,” replied Hilary; “I’m used to that sort of thing now.”
“Where have you been, sir?”
“Made prisoner by the smugglers, sir. And now, if you will take my advice, sir, you will draw off the men and secure the lugger. By daylight I can, if we find a way up the cliffs, conduct you to the place they make their rendezvous.”
“I repeat, Mr Leigh, that you must consider yourself under arrest,” said the lieutenant stiffly. “Your plans may be very good, but I have already made my own.”
Hilary said nothing, for he knew his officer of old; and that, while he would profess to ignore everything that had been said, he would follow out the advice to the letter.
And so it proved; for, drawing off the men, they were led down to the boats, the lugger was pushed off, and those of her crew left on board made to handle the sweeps till she was secured alongside of the cutter, where the smugglers to the number of eight were made prisoners below.
The men were in high glee, for it proved next morning that there was still enough of the cargo on board to give them a fair share of prize-money, and there was the hope of securing more of the cargo at the old hall of which Hilary spoke.
“I am quite convinced of the existence of that place, Mr Leigh,” said the lieutenant pompously, “and I have been questioning the prisoners about it. If you give your promise not to attempt an escape, I will allow you to accompany the expedition under the command of the gunner, as I shall be obliged to stay on board.”
To his intense astonishment, Hilary, who longed to head the party and try to capture the rest of the smuggling crew, drew himself up.
“Thank you, sir, no,” he replied; “as I am a prisoner, I will wait until I have been before a court-martial. Shall I go below, sir?”
The lieutenant was speechless for a few moments.
“What, sir? go below, sir? and at a time like this when the ship is shorthanded, and we have eight prisoners to guard? This is worse and worse, Mr Leigh. What am I to think of such conduct?”
“What you please, sir,” said Hilary quietly.
“Then, sir, in addition to deserting, which you try to hide by professing to have been made a prisoner, you now mutiny against my orders!”
“Look here, Lieutenant Lipscombe,” cried Hilary, who was now in a passion; “if you want me to take command of the expedition, and to lead the men to the smugglers’ place, say so like a man. If you do not want me to go, send me below as a prisoner. I’m not going to act under our gunner.”
“Mr Leigh,” said the lieutenant, “I shall report the whole of your insubordinations in a properly written-out despatch. At present I am compelled to make use of your assistance, so take the gunner and six men.”
“Six will not be enough, sir.”
“Then take seven,” said the lieutenant, impatiently.
“Seven will not be enough, sir,” replied Hilary. “I must have at least a dozen.”
“Bless my soul, Mr Leigh! hadn’t you better take command of the cutter, and supersede me altogether?”
“No, sir; I don’t think that would be better,” said Hilary.
“I have eight prisoners on board, and they must be well guarded.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Then I am obliged to have four or five men in the lugger.”
“Yes, sir; so under the circumstances I think it will be best to place the eight prisoners in the lugger’s boat, and send them ashore.”
“What! to join the others?”
“No, sir; I should take care to land them after the expedition party were well on the way.”
“Bless me, Mr Leigh! this is beyond bearing. How dare you dictate to me in this way?” cried the lieutenant.
“And,” continued Hilary, “I would disable them for a few hours by means of the irons. There are five or six sets on board.”
“Ah! yes, yes; but what do you mean?”
“I’d let the gunner rivet them on, sir, joining the men two and two. They could not get them off without a blacksmith; and it would disable them for some hours.”
“Well, yes, I had some such an idea as that,” replied the lieutenant. “Under the circumstances, Mr Leigh, I will humour you in this.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hilary quietly, for he was so much in earnest as to the duty required at this special moment, that he would not let his annoyance keep him back.
“Perhaps, too, you had better take command of the expedition, Mr Leigh. Duty to the king stands first, you know.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“And, by the way, Mr Leigh, I would certainly change my uniform; for, you will excuse my saying so, you look more like a scarecrow than an officer.”
Hilary bowed, and soon after he was inspecting the men detailed for the duty in hand, one and all of whom saluted him with a grin of satisfaction.
“Well, Tom Tully,” he said, “how is your shoulder?”
“Feels as if it was shov’d out, sir,” growled the big sailor; “but lor’ bless your ’art, sir, I don’t mind.”
“Tom wishes you’d fell on his head, sir,” said Billy Waters, laughing; “it’s so thick, it wouldn’t have hurt him a bit.”
“I’ll try to manage better next time,” said the young officer; “but I had to look sharp to get away the best fashion I could.”
“Well, sir, the lads say as they’re all werry glad to see you again,” continued the gunner; “and they hopes you’re going to give them some fun.”
“I hope I am,” replied Hilary; “but I can’t feel sure, for they are slippery fellows we are after, and we may get there to find them gone.”
Meanwhile, in accordance with Hilary’s advice, which the lieutenant had adopted as his own idea, the cutter was sailing east in search of an opening in the cliff, through which the party could reach the higher ground; and, after going four or five miles, this was found, the party landed, and the cutter then sailed on to get rid of the boatload of prisoners she towed behind, some eight or ten miles farther away.
Hilary felt himself again, as, after he had said a few words to his men, they started off inland, mounting a rugged pathway, and then journeying due north.
It was rather puzzling, and the young officer did not anticipate finding the old hall without some trouble; but he had an idea that it lay to the east of the smugglers’ landing-place, as well as some miles inland.
Hilary’s first idea was to get upon one of the ridges, from which he hoped to recognise the hills which he had looked upon from his prison. Failing this he meant to search until he did find it, when a happy thought struck him.
He remembered the dam he had seen, and the great plashing water-wheel. There was, of course, the little river, and if he could find that he could track it up to the mill, from whence the old hall would be visible.
The place seemed singularly uncultivated, and it was some time before they came upon a cottage, where an old woman looked at them curiously.
“River? Oh, yes, there’s the little river runs down in the hollow,” she replied, in answer to Hilary’s questions. It was upon his tongue’s end to ask the old woman about the hall; but a moment’s reflection told him the cottagers anywhere near the sea would be either favourable to the smugglers, or would hold them in such dread that they would be certain to refuse all information. Even then he was not sure that the old woman was not sending them upon a false scent.
This did not, however, prove to be the case, for after a walk of about a couple of miles, through patches of woodland and along dells, where the men seemed as happy as a pack of schoolboys, a ridge was reached, from which the little streamlet could be seen; and making their way down to it, Hilary found that they were on the wrong side, a fact which necessitated wading, though he went over dry-shod, Tom Tully insisting upon carrying him upon his back.
Another couple of miles along the winding course brought them to the mill, where a heavy-looking man stood watching the unwonted appearance of a dozen well-armed sailors; but neither party spoke, and after a bit of a rest for the discussion of a few biscuits, Hilary prepared for his advance to the old hall.
They were just about to start when the heavy-looking man lounged up.
“Going by Rorley Place?” he said.
“Rorley Place?” said Hilary; “where’s that?”
“Yon old house,” was the reply. “Don’t go in; she’s harnted!”
“Oh! is she?” said Hilary.
“Ay, that she be,” said the man. “She’s been empty this hundred year; but you can see the lights shining in the windows of a night, and hear the groans down by the gate and by the little bridge over Rorley stream.”
“Thank you,” said Hilary, “we’ll take care. Now, my lads, forward. Now, Tom Tully, what’s the matter?”
“I’m a man as ’ll fight any man or any body any day,” said the big sailor; “but if we’re going again that there place I’m done. I can’t abide ghosts and them sort o’ things.”
“Stuff!” said Hilary. “Forward. Why, what are you thinking about, man? That’s where I was shut up night after night.”
“And did you see ’em, sir?”
“See what?” replied Hilary.
“Them there as yon chap talked about, sir.”
“I saw a good many very substantial smugglers, and I saw a cellar full of kegs and packages, and those are what we are going to get.”
Tom Tully seemed a bit reassured, and tightening his belt a little, he kept step with the others, as Hilary led the way right across country, so as to come out of the wood suddenly after a curve, just in front of the entrance to the narrow bridge over the moat.
Hilary managed well, and his men following him in single file, he led them so that, apparently unseen by the occupants of the old hall, they were at last gathered together in the clump of trees, waiting the order to advance.
The moat, as Hilary knew, was too deep to think of wading, and there was the old bridge quite clear, temptingly offering itself as a way to the front of the old house; but this tempting appearance rather repelled the young officer. He was no coward, but he was good leader enough to shrink from subjecting his men to unnecessary risk.
The smugglers would be, under the present circumstances, as desperate as rats in a corner; and as they would certainly expect an attack through his escape, and the events of the past night, it was not likely that they would have neglected to protect the one entrance to their stronghold.
“I say, wot are we awaiting for?” growled Tom Tully.
“Hold your noise!” said Waters; “don’t you see the orsifer as leads you thinks there’s a trap?”
“Wheer? I don’t see no trap. Wot sorter trap?” growled Tom Tully.
“Will yer be quiet, Tommy!” whispered the gunner. “What a chap you are!”
“Yes, ar’n’t I?” said the big sailor, taking his messmate’s remark as a compliment; and settling himself tailor-fashion upon the ground, he waited until the reconnaissance was over.
For Hilary was scanning the front of the old house most carefully. There was the room in which he had been imprisoned, with the window still open, and the thin white cord swinging gently in the air. There was Adela’s room, open-windowed too, and there also was the room where he had seen Sir Henry busy writing, with his child at his knee.
Where were they now? he asked himself, and his heart felt a sudden throb as he thought of the possibility of their being still in the house and in danger.
But he cast the thought away directly, feeling sure that Sir Henry, a proscribed political offender, would not, for his own and his child’s sake, run the slightest risk of being taken.
“But suppose he trusts to me, and thinks that I care too much for them to betray their hiding-place?”
His brow turned damp at the thought, and for a moment, as he saw in imagination his old companion Adela looking reproachfully at him for having sent her father to the block, he felt that at all costs he must take the men back.
Then came reaction.
“No,” he thought, “I gave Sir Henry fair warning that I must do my duty, and that if we encountered again I should have to arrest him in the king’s name. He tried to tempt me to join his party, but I refused, and told him I had my duty to do. He must, I am sure he must, have made his escape, and I shall lead on my men.”
He hesitated a moment, and then thought that he was come there to capture smugglers, not political offenders, and that after all he would find a way out of his difficulty; but colouring the next moment, he felt that he must do his duty at all hazards; and he turned to Waters.
“I can see no trace of anything wrong, gunner,” he said, “but I feel that those rascals have laid a trap for us. They’ll open fire directly we attempt to cross that bridge.”
“Then let me and Tom Tully and some one else try it first,” said the gunner in reply.
“No, no, Waters; that would never do,” said Hilary. “If anyone goes first it must be I. Look all along the bottom windows. Can you see any gun barrels?”
“Not ne’er a one, sir,” replied the gunner; “and I ar’n’t seen anything but two or three pigeons and an old lame hen since we’ve come.”
“Then they must be lying in wait,” said Hilary. “Never mind, it must be done. Here, I shall rush over first with Tom Tully. Then, if all’s right, you bring the rest of the men. If I go down, why, you must see if you can do anything to take the place; and if you cannot, you must take the men back.”
“Hadn’t we better all rush it together, sir?”
“No; certainly not.”
“Then hadn’t I best go first, sir? I ar’n’t so much consequence as you.”
“No, Waters, I must go first. I can’t send my men to risks I daren’t attempt myself. Now then, are you ready, Tully?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Let me go first, sir,” pleaded the gunner.
“Silence, sir,” cried Hilary. “Now, Tully—off.”
Cutlass in hand and closely followed by the elephantine seaman, Hilary ran from his place of concealment across the open space to the bridge, and then without a moment’s hesitation he bounded across it, and on to the rough, ill-tended patch of grass.
To his intense surprise and delight he got over in safety, and then pausing he held up his sword, and with a cheer Billy Waters raced across with the rest of the men.
“Now, quick, Waters, take half the lads and secure the back—no, take four. Two of you keep the bridge. We must capture them all to a man.”
Not a shot was fired. There was no answering cheer. All was as silent as if there had never been a soul there for years, and after carefully scanning the window Hilary went up to the front door and battered it loudly with his sword-hilt.
This knocking he had to repeat twice over before he heard steps, and then a couple of rusty bolts were pushed back, the door was dragged open, and a very venerable old lady stood peering wonderingly in their faces as she screened her eyes with her hand.
“Ye’d better not come in,” she said in a loud, harsh voice. “The place is harnted, and it isn’t safe.”
“Where’s Allstone?” cried Hilary as he led his men into the desolate-looking hall.
“Hey?”
“I say where’s Allstone, the scoundrel?” shouted Hilary.
“I’m very sorry, but I can’t hear a word you say, young man. I’ve been stone-deaf ever sin’ I came to take care o’ this house five year ago. It’s a terrifying damp place.”
“Where are the men?” shouted Hilary with his lips to her ear.
“Men? No, no; I ar’n’t feared o’ your men,” said the old lady. “They won’t hurt a poor old crittur like me.”
“There, spread out and search the place,” said Hilary. “She’s as deaf as a post. Whistle for help whoever finds the rascals.”
Detaining four men Hilary made his way to the kitchen, and then to the passage by the vault-door and the chapel, to find all wide open; and upon a light being obtained Hilary was about to descend, but, fearing a trap, he left two of his men on guard and went down into the vault, to find it empty. There was some old rubbish and the nets, but that was all. Short as had been the time the smugglers had cleared the place.
He went into the chapel and to Sir Henry and Adela’s rooms, to find the old furniture there, but that was all; and at the end of a good half-hour’s search the party of sailors stood together in the hall, with the deaf old woman staring at them and they staring at each other, waiting their officer’s commands.
“Ar’n’t there not going to be no fight?” growled Tom Tully.
Evidently not; and after another search Hilary would have felt ready to declare that there had not been a soul there for months, and that he had dreamed about his escape, if the white cord had not still hung from the window.
Further investigation proving to be vain, for they could get nothing out of the deaf old woman, and a short excursion in the neighbourhood producing nothing but shakes of the head, Hilary had to lead his men back to the shore, where they arrived at last, regularly tired out and their commander dispirited. All the same, though, he could not help feeling glad at heart as he signalled to the cutter for a boat, that Sir Henry and his daughter were safe from seizure, for had he been bound to take them prisoners he felt as if he could have known no peace.
But Hilary had no time to give to such thoughts as these, for a boat was coming from the cutter, and in a very short time he knew that he would have to face the lieutenant and give his account of the unsuccessful nature of his quest; and as he thought of this he began to ask himself whether the injuries his commander had received at different times had not something to do with the eccentricity and awkwardness of his behaviour.
Hilary was still thinking this when he climbed to the deck of the cutter and saluted his officer with the customary “Come on board.”
Chapter Thirty Five.
A Risky Watch.
Lieutenant Lipscombe was so dissatisfied with the result of Hilary’s expedition that he landed himself the next day with a party of the Kestrels and went over and searched the old hall.
From thence he followed the lane down to the cliffs, where, as Billy Waters afterwards told Hilary, they found the place where the smugglers had been in the habit of landing their goods, and the cottage he had described. But the people seemed stupid and ignorant, professing to know nothing, and it was not until after a search that the rope was found with the tackle and block lying amongst some stunted bushes; and by means of this tackle the party descended, afterwards signalling to the cutter and getting on board.
The next thing was to take the prize into port and report to the superior officer what had been done, when orders were at once received to put out to sea and watch the coast.
For the emissaries of the Pretender had, it seemed, been busy at work, and there were rumours of risings and landings of men from France. In spite of the watchfulness of the various war-vessels on the coast messengers seemed to come and go with impunity. So angry were the authorities that, instead of the lieutenant receiving praise for what he had done, he only obtained a severe snubbing. He was told that the capture of a lugger with some contraband cargo was nothing to the taking of the political emissaries. These, it seemed, he had allowed to slip through his fingers, and he returned on board with his sailing orders, furious with the treatment he had received.
“Look here, Mr Leigh,” he said sternly; “out of consideration for your youth I refrained from reporting your late desertion.”
“I was taken prisoner, sir.”
“Well, there, call it taken prisoner if you like,” said the lieutenant impatiently. “I say I did not report it; but I consider that you are to blame for our late ill success.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hilary in an undertone.
“It seems,” continued the lieutenant, “that there is a Sir Henry Norland who comes and goes with fishermen and smugglers, and I am as certain as can be that we had him once on board that fishing lugger when you were stupid enough to let him go; I mean that ill-looking scoundrel with the girl. There, there; it is of no use for you to try and defend yourself. You were in fault, and the only way for you to amend your failing is by placing this man in my hands.”
“But really, sir—” began Hilary.
“Go to your duty, sir!” exclaimed the lieutenant sternly; and, biting his lips as he felt how awkwardly he was situated, Hilary went forward, and soon after the cutter was skimming over the waves with a brisk breeze abeam.
Time glided on, with the young officer fully determined to do his duty if he should again have an opportunity of arresting the emissary of the would-be king; but somehow it seemed as if the opportunity was never to come. They cruised here and they cruised there, with the usual vicissitudes of storm and sunshine. Fishing-boats were rigorously overhauled, great merchant ships bidden to heave-to while a boat was sent on board, but no capture was made.
They put into port over and over again, always to hear the same news—that the young Pretender’s emissaries were as busy as ever, and that they came and went with impunity, but how no one could say.
The lieutenant always returned on board, after going ashore to see the port-admiral, in a furious temper, and his junior and the crew found this to their cost.
Days and nights of cruising without avail. It seemed as if the Kestrel was watched out of sight, and then, with the coast clear, the followers of the young Pretender’s fortunes landed in England with impunity. Hilary heard from time to time that Sir Henry had grown more daring, and had had two or three narrow escapes from being taken ashore, but he had always been too clever for his pursuers, and had got away.
Of Adela he had heard nothing, and he frequently hoped that she was safe with some of their friends, and not leading a fugitive life with her father.
It was on a gloomy night in November that the Kestrel was well out in mid-channel on the lookout for a small vessel, of whose coming they had been warned by a message received the day before from the admiral.
A bright lookout was being kept, in spite of the feeling that it might be, after all, only a false scent, and that while they were seeking in one direction the enemy might make their way to the shore in another.
There was nothing for it but to watch, in the hope that this time they might be right, and all that afternoon and evening the cutter had been as it were disguised. Her sails had been allowed to hang loosely, her customary smartness was hidden, and the carpenter had been over the bows with a pot of white paint, and painted big letters and a couple of figures on each side, to give the Kestrel the appearance of a fishing-boat. This done, the jollyboat was allowed to swing by her painter behind, and thus they waited for night.
As the darkness came on, in place of hoisting the lights they were kept under shelter of the bulwarks, and then, in spite of the preparations, Hilary saw and said that their work would be in vain, for the night would be too dark for them to see anything unless it came within a cable’s length.
It was not likely; and the young officer, as he leaned over the side, after some hours’ watching, talking in a low voice to the gunner, who was with him, began to think how pleasant it would be to follow the lieutenant’s example and go below and have a good sleep, when he suddenly started.
“What’s that, Billy?” he whispered.
“Don’t hear nothing, sir,” said the gunner. “Yes, I do. It’s a ship of some kind, and not very far-off. I can hear the water under her bows.”
“Far-off?—no. Look!” cried Hilary, in a hoarse whisper. “Down with the helm! hard down!” he cried. “Hoist a light!”
But as he gave the orders he felt that they were in vain, for they had so well chosen their place to intercept the French vessel they hoped to meet, that it was coming, as it were, out of a bank of darkness not fifty yards away; and in another minute Hilary, as he saw the size and the cloud of sail, knew that the Kestrel would be either cut down to the water’s edge or sunk by the coming craft.
Chapter Thirty Six.
Without Lights.
In those moments of peril Hilary hardly knew how it all happened, but fortunately the men with him were men-of-war’s men, and accustomed to prompt obedience. The helm was put down hard as the strange vessel came swiftly on, seeming to the young officer like his fate, and in an instant his instinct of self-preservation suggested to him that he had better run forward, and, as the stranger struck the Kestrel, leap from the low bulwark and catch at one of the stays. His activity, he knew, would do the rest.
Then discipline set in and reminded him that he was in charge of the deck, and that his duty was to think of the safety of his men and the cutter—last of all, of himself.
The stranger showed no lights, a suspicious fact which Hilary afterwards recalled, and she came on as the cutter rapidly answered her helm, seeming at first as if she would go right over the little sloop of war, but when the collision came, so well had the Kestrel swerved aside, the stranger’s bowsprit went between jib and staysail, and struck the cutter just behind the figurehead.
There was a grinding crash, a loud yell from the oncoming vessel; the Kestrel went over almost on her beam-ends, and then the stranger scraped on by her bows, carrying away bowsprit, jibboom, and the sails.
“Chien de fool Jean Bool, fish, dog!” roared a voice from the side of the large schooner, for such Hilary could now see it was. “Vat for you no hoist light? I run you down.”
“Hoist your own lights, you French idiot!” shouted back Hilary between his hands. “Ahoy, there! heave-to!”
There was a good deal of shouting and confusion on board the schooner, which went on several hundred yards before her way was stopped; but before this Hilary had ordered out the two boats; for there was no need to hail the men below, with “All hands on deck!”
The men came tumbling up in the lightest of costumes, one of the foremost being the lieutenant, with his nether garments in one hand, his cocked hat in the other.
“Quick!” he shouted. “Into the boats before she goes down!”
“No, no, sir!” cried Hilary excitedly. “Let’s see the mischief first. Is she making water, carpenter?”
“Can’t see as she is,” replied that worthy. “We’ve lost the bowsprit and figurehead, and there’s some planks started; but I think we shall float.”
“Of course; yes,” cried Lieutenant Lipscombe. “Back from those boats, men! I’ll blow the brains out of the mutinous dog who dares to enter first. Discipline must be maintained. Here, Waters, let me lean against you.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” said the gunner; and the lieutenant proceeded to insert his legs in the portion of his uniform intended to keep his lower man warm.
“Now, Mr Leigh,” he shouted, as he stamped upon the deck with his bare feet; “what have you to say to this?”
“Regular wreck forward, sir,” replied Hilary, who had been examining the extent of the mischief.
“My fate for leaving you in charge,” cried the lieutenant. “Where was the lookout?”
“Two boats coming from the schooner, sir,” said Tom Tully. “They’ve got lanterns, and they’re full of men.”
“Then it’s the vessel we were looking for,” cried Hilary. “Quick, sir, give orders, or they’ll board and take us before we can stir.”
“Mr Leigh,” said the lieutenant, with dignity, “I command this ship.”
He walked slowly to the side, and peered at the coming boats, while Hilary stood fretting and fuming at his side. There was, however, something so ominous in the look of the boats, dimly-seen though they were through the murky night, that the lieutenant did give orders, and cutlasses and boarding-pikes were seized, the men then clustering about their officers.
“She ar’n’t making a drop o’ water,” said the carpenter just then—an announcement which seemed to put heart into the crew, who now watched the coming of the boats.
“Hey! Hoop!” shouted a voice. “What sheeps is that? Are you sink?”
“May I answer, sir?” whispered Hilary.
“Yes, Mr Leigh; and be quick.”
“Ahoy! What ship’s that?” cried Hilary.
There was no response, only a buzz of conversation reached their ears, and the boats came rapidly on, the occupants of the Kestrel’s deck seeing that they separated and changed position, so as to board on each bow, for the cutter now lay with her sail flapping, like a log upon the water.
“She’s an enemy, sir,” whispered Hilary; and he did not alter his opinion as the boats neared.
“All raight. We come take you off, sailor boy,” cried the same voice that had hailed. “You shall be safe before you vill sink you sheep.”
The lieutenant seemed to have come to himself, and to be a little more matter-of-fact and sane in his actions, for he now ordered Waters to load the long gun, and the gunner eagerly slipped away.
“There, that will do,” cried the lieutenant now. “We are not sinking. What ship’s that?”
The boats stopped for a moment, and there was again a whispering on board; but the next instant they came on.
“Stop there, or I’ll sink you!” cried the lieutenant. But the boats now dashed on, and it was evidently a case of fighting and beating them off.
Every man grasped his weapon, and a thrill of excitement ran through Hilary as he felt that he was really about to engage in what might be a serious fight. Fortunately for the crew of the Kestrel, both of the boats were not able to board at once, for that on the larboard bow was driven right into the wreck of the jibboom and sail, which, with the attendant cordage, proved to be sufficient to hamper their progress for the time being, while the other boat dashed alongside with a French cheer, and, sword in hand, the crew swarmed over on to the deck.
It was bravely done; and, had they met with a less stout resistance, the Kestrel would have been captured. But, as it was, they had Englishmen to deal with, and Hilary and about ten of the crew met them bravely, Hilary going down, though, from the first blow—one from a boarding-pike. This, however, so enraged the Kestrels that they beat back the attacking party, cutting down several and literally hurling others over into their boat, which hauled off, not liking its reception.
Meanwhile, after a struggle, the crew of the other boat got itself clear of the tangle, and came on to the attack, to find themselves, after a sharp struggle, repulsed by the lieutenant and his party, the leader fighting bravely and well.
It was evident that the commander of the schooner had realised the character of the vessel with which he had been in collision, and had hoped to make an easy capture of her, if she did not prove to be in a sinking state. If she were, motives of humanity had prompted him to take off the crew, if they needed help. The task, however, had proved more severe than he anticipated, and the two boats were now together, with their leaders evidently in consultation.
The next minute an order was evidently given, and the boats turned, separated, and began to row back.
The schooner could only be made out now by a light she had hoisted; but this was quite sufficient for Billy Waters, who stood ready by his gun waiting for orders. Possibly he might have hit and sunk one of the boats, but the lieutenant did not seem to wish for this, but began giving his orders with unwonted energy, trying to make sail upon the Kestrel, which lay there upon the water, with one of her wings, as it were, so crippled that he found it would take quite half an hour before she could be cleared.
“It’s of no use, Mr Leigh,” he cried excitedly. “I wanted to board and take this schooner, and we cannot get alongside. Take charge of the gun, sir, and try and bring down one of her spars. Let’s cripple her too. I’ll order out the boats to board her.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Hilary, delighted at the energy shown by his chief. “Now, Billy Waters, send a shot through her mainmast. I’d aim straight at her light.”
“Which on ’em, sir?” said the gunner drily.
“Why, that one! There’s only one,” cried Hilary sharply.
“Look alive! and—ah—how provoking, the light’s out!”
“Ay, sir, they’ve dowsed their light now the boats know where to go, and it would be only waste o’ good powder and round shot to go plumping ’em into that there bank o’ blackness out yonder.”
“Well, Mr Leigh, why don’t you fire?” shouted the lieutenant.
“Beg pardon, sir, but there’s nothing to fire at,” replied Hilary.
“Fire at the schooner’s light, sir,—fire at her light,” cried the lieutenant indignantly. “Bless my soul, Mr Leigh,” he said, bustling up. “Here, let me lay the gun, and—eh?—what?—the light out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why, in the name of common sense, Mr Leigh, didn’t you fire before it went out?”
“Didn’t get no orders,” growled Billy Waters.
“Silence, sir; how dare you speak!” cried the lieutenant. “But are you sure the light’s out, Mr Leigh?”
“There isn’t a sign of it, sir.”
“Then—then how are we to manage about the boats?”
There was a momentary silence, during which, as the men stood ready to man the two boats that had been lowered, the lieutenant and his junior tried to make out where the schooner lay, but on every side, as the Kestrel lay softly rolling in the trough of the sea, a thick bank of darkness seemed to be closing them in, and pursuit of the schooner by boats would have been as mad a venture as could have been set upon by the officer of a ship.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
Repairing Damages.
During the excitement, the bustle of the attack, the lieutenant had seemed more himself, and he had given his orders in a concise and businesslike way; but now that they were left to themselves all seemed changed, and he reverted to his former childish temper, turning angrily upon Hilary as the cause of all his misfortunes.
“Never in the whole career of the English navy,” he cried, stamping his bare foot upon the deck, “was officer plagued with a more helpless, blundering junior than I am. Bless my heart! it is very cold, and I’ve no coat on. Mr Leigh, fetch my coat and waistcoat.”
“Yes,” he continued, as he put on the two garments, “as I said before, never was officer plagued with a more helpless, blundering, mischievous junior.”
“Very sorry, sir. I do my best,” said Hilary bluntly.
“Exactly, sir. You do your best,” said the lieutenant; “and your best is to lay the Kestrel—His Majesty’s ship Kestrel—right in the track of that French schooner, and but for my fortunate arrival upon deck we should have been sunk.”
Hilary recalled the fact that he had ordered the helm hard down, and saved the vessel himself, but he did not say so.
“I’ll be bound to say,” continued the lieutenant, “that you were sailing slowly along without a light.”
“Yes, sir, we had no light hoisted,” said Hilary, who, in spite of his annoyance, could not help feeling amused.
“Exactly. Just what I expected,” continued the lieutenant. “Then pray, sir, why, upon a dark night like this, was there no light?”
“My superior officer gave me orders, sir, that we were to keep a sharp lookout for French boats cruising the channel, and burn no light.”
“Hah! Yes, I think I did give some such orders, sir, but how was I to know that it would turn out so dark, eh, sir? How was I to know it would turn out so dark?”
“It was very dark, sir, certainly,” said Hilary.
“Yes, atrociously dark. And I distinctly told you to keep a sharp lookout.”
“Yes, sir, and we did.”
“It looks like it, Mr Leigh,” said the lieutenant, pointing forward. “Bowsprit gone, and all the forward bulwarks, leaving us helpless on the water, and you say you kept a good lookout. Mr Leigh, sir, you will be turned out of the service.”
“I hope not, sir. I think I saved the ship.”
“Saved? saved? Good gracious me, Mr Leigh,” said the lieutenant, bursting out laughing; “what madness! Here, Waters—Tully—do you hear this?”
“Ay, ay, your honour.”
“And what do you think of it?”
“As we’d all have gone to the bottom, sir, if it hadn’t been for Mr Leigh here,” said Waters, pulling his forelock.
“Oh!” said the lieutenant sharply; “and pray what do you think, Tully; and you, bo’sun?”
“Think just the same as Billy Waters, your honour,” said the boatswain.
“And that ’ere’s just the same with me,” growled Tom Tully, kicking out a leg behind. “He’s a won’ful smart orsifer Muster Leigh is, your honour; and that’s so.”
“Silence, sir! How dare you speak like that?” cried the lieutenant furiously. “Now, Mr Leigh,” he added sarcastically, “if you will condescend to assist, there is a good deal to see to, for the forepart of His Majesty’s ship Kestrel is a complete wreck from your neglect. I am going below to finish dressing, but I shall be back directly.”
Hilary returned his officer’s sarcastic bow, and then gave a stamp on the deck.
“Which I don’t wonder at it, your honour,” said Tom Tully, in his low deep growl: “I ain’t said not nowt to my messmates, but I’ll answer for it as they’ll all be willing.”
“Willing? willing for what?” cried Hilary.
“Shove the skipper into the dinghy with two days’ provision and water, sir, and let him make the shore, if you’ll take command of the little Kestrel.”
“Why, you mutinous rascal,” cried Hilary. “How dare you make such a proposal to me? Hold your tongue, and go forward, Tom Tully. Duty on board is to obey your superiors, and if they happen to be just a little bit unreasonable, you must not complain.”
“All right, your honour,” said Tom Tully, giving his loose breeches a hitch; “but if the skipper was to talk to me like he do to you—”
“Well, sir, what?”
“I’d—I’d—I’d—”
Tom Tully had taken out his tobacco-box, and opened his jack-knife, with which he viciously cut off a bit of twist, exclaiming:
“That I would!”
He said no more, but it seemed probable that he meant cut off his commander’s head; and he then rolled forward to help the carpenter, and the whole strength of the crew, whom the first rays of a dull grey morning found still at work hauling in the tangle of spar and rope; and soon after, a stay having been secured to the wreck of the cutwater, a staysail was hoisted, and the cutter pretty well answered her helm.
Hilary felt less disposed to take the lieutenant’s words to heart, for he knew that if he were charged with neglect of duty the evidence of the men would be quite sufficient to clear him; so, after turning the matter over and over in his mind, he had cheerily set to work to try and get the cutter in decent trim, and, as the morning broke, crippled as she was in her fair proportions, she sailed well enough to have warranted the lieutenant in making an attack, should the schooner have come in sight.
But there was no such good fortune. Both the lieutenant and he swept the horizon and the cliff-bound coast with their glasses, and the Kestrel was sailed along close inshore in the hope that the enemy might be seen sheltered in some cove, or the mouth of one of the little rivers; but there was no result, and at last, very unwillingly, the cutter’s head was laid for Portsmouth, and the lieutenant went below to prepare his despatch.
“How long shall we be refitting, carpenter?” asked Hilary, after a long examination of the damages they had received, and a thorough awakening to the fact that if it had not been for that turn of the helm they must have been struck amidships, and sent to the bottom.
“All a month, sir,” said the carpenter. “There’ll be a deal to do, and if we get out of the shipwright’s hands and to sea in five weeks I’ll say we’ve done well.”
It was galling, for it meant four or five weeks of inaction, just at a time when Hilary was getting intensely interested in the political question of the day, and eagerly looking forward for a chance of distinguishing himself in some way.
“Who knows,” he said to himself, “but that schooner may have borne the Young Pretender and his officers to the English coast. If it did I just lost a chance of taking him.”
Ah! he thought, if he could have taken the young prince with his own hand. It would have been glorious, and he could have shown Sir Henry that he was on the way to honour and distinction without turning traitor to his king.
And so he went on hour after hour building castles in the air, but with little chance of raising up one that would prove solid, till they passed by the eastern end of the Isle of Wight, went right up the harbour, and the lieutenant had a boat manned and went ashore to make his report to the admiral.
To Hilary’s great disgust he found that he was not to go ashore, but to remain in charge of the cutter during the repairs, for the lieutenant announced his intention of himself remaining in the town.
But Hilary had one satisfaction—that of finding that the lieutenant had made no report concerning his conduct on the night of the collision. In fact, the lieutenant had forgotten his mad words almost as soon as he had spoken them, for they were only the outcomings of his petty malicious spirit for the time being.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Off his Guard.
The carpenter’s four weeks extended to five, then to six, and seven had glided away before the cutter was pretty well ready for sea. Urgent orders had been given that her repairs were to be hastened, and the crew was kept in readiness to proceed to sea at once, but still the dockyard artificers clung to their job in the most affectionate manner. There was always a bit more caulking to do, a little more paint to put on, new ropes to reeve; and when at last she seemed quite ready, an overlooker declared that she would not be fit to go to sea until there had been a thorough examination of the keel.
It was during these last few days that Hilary found a chance of going ashore, and gladly availed himself of his liberty, having a good run round Portsmouth, a look at the fortifications; and finally, the weather being crisp, sunshiny, and the ground hard with frost, he determined to have a sharp walk inland for a change.
“I declare,” he cried, as he had a good run in the brisk wintry air, “it does one good after being prisoned in that bit of a cutter.”
He had been so much on board of late that he experienced a hearty pleasure in being out and away from the town in the free country air. The frost was keen, and it seemed to make his blood tingle in his veins. He set off running again and again, just pausing to take breath, and it was only when he was some miles away from the port and the evening was closing in that he began to think it was time to turn back.
As he did so he saw that three sailors who had been for some time past going the same way were still a short distance off, and as he passed them it seemed to him that they had been indulging themselves, as sailors will when ashore for a holiday.
“What cheer, messmate!” said one of them in his bluff, frank way. “Is this the way to London?”
“No, my lad; you’re on the wrong road. You must go back three miles or so, and then turn off to the right.”
“I told you so, Joe,” the man exclaimed in an injured tone. “What’s the good o’ trusting to a chap like you? Here, come along and let’s get back.”
“I sha’n’t go back,” said the one addressed; “shall you, Jemmy?”
“Not I,” said the other. “Can’t us get to London this way, captain?”
“Yes,” said Hilary laughing; “if you go straight on, but you’ll have to go all round the world first.”
“There!” cried the one addressed as Jemmy; “I told you so, matey. Come along.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said the first sailor. “Lay holt of his arm, Joe, and let’s get him back; it’ll be dark afore long.”
Hilary could not help feeling amused at the men; but as he trudged on back towards Portsmouth he saw that they were trying to make up for lost ground, and were following him pretty quickly.
Once they made such good use of their legs that they got before him; then Hilary walked a little faster and passed them, and so on during the next two miles they passed and repassed each other, the sailors saying a cheery word or two and laughing as they went by. But soon this was at an end; they seemed to grow tired, and during the next mile it had grown dark, and the sailors walked on one side of the road, Hilary on the other.
At last the sailors seemed to have made up their minds to get right away from him, walking on rapidly, till all at once Hilary heard voices talking loudly, and as he came nearer he could distinguish what was said.
“Come on. Come, Jem, get up.”
“I want a glass,” growled another voice.
“Never mind. Wait till we get on the London road,” cried the man who had been addressed as Joe.
“I want a glass,” growled the man again; and as Hilary came close up he saw that one of the men was seated in the path just in front of a roadside cottage, and that his two companions were kicking and shaking him to make him rise.
“I say, your honour,” said one of the men, crossing to Hilary, “you’re an officer, ar’n’t you?”
“Yes, my man.”
“Just come and order him to get up, quarterdeck fashion, sir, and I’d be obleeged to you. He won’t mind us; but if you, an officer, comes and orders him up, he’ll mind what you say. We want to get to the next town to-night.”
Hilary hesitated for a moment, feeling loath to trouble himself about the stupid, drunken sailor, but his good nature prevailed and he crossed the road.
“Here, my lad,” he said sharply, “get up directly.”
“Going to turn in!” said the fellow sleepily.
“No, no. Nonsense,” cried Hilary, giving him a touch with his foot. “Get up and walk on.”
“Sha’n’t,” said the man. “Going to sleep, I tell you.”
“Lookye here, Jemmy,” said the sailor who had first spoken, “you’ll get your back scratched, you will, if you don’t get up when you’re told. This here’s a officer.”
“Not he,” grumbled the man sleepily. “He ar’n’t no officer, I know. Going to sleep, I tell you.”
“Get up, sir,” cried Hilary sharply. “I am an officer.”
“Bah! get out. Only officer of a merchant ship. You ar’n’t no reg’lar officer.”
“If you don’t get up directly, you dog, I’ll have the marines sent after you,” cried Hilary.
The man sat up and stared.
“I say,” he said, “you ar’n’t king’s officer, are you?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“What ship?”
“The Kestrel.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he grumbled. “Beg your honour’s pardon. I’ll get up. Give’s your hand.”
Half-laughing and at the same time proud of the power his rank gave him, Hilary held out his hands to the man, who took them tightly and was in the act of drawing himself up, when the young officer felt himself seized from behind and held, as it were, in a vice. Just at the same moment the door of the cottage was opened, there was a bright light shone out, and before he could realise his position he was forced into the place, and awoke to the fact, as the door was banged to, that he had fallen into a trap.
“You scoundrels!” he cried furiously; “do you want to rob me?” And he saw that he was in the presence of half a dozen more men.
“Silence, sir!” cried an authoritative voice. “Stand back, my lads. It was very cleverly done.”
“Cleverly done!” cried Hilary. “What do you mean, sir? I desire you let me go. Are you aware that I am a king’s officer?”
“Yes, I heard you announce it, and you are the man we have been looking after for days,” said the one who seemed to be in authority; and by the light of a bright wood fire Hilary could make out that he was a tall, dark man in a long boat-cloak, which he had thrown back from his breast.
“Then I advise you to set me free directly,” said Hilary.
“Yes, we shall do that when we have done,” said the leader, from whom all the others stood away in respect; and as the light burned up the speaker took off his cocked hat, and Hilary saw that he was a singularly handsome man of about forty.
“When you have done!” cried Hilary. “What do you mean?”
“Be silent and answer my questions, my good lad,” said the other. “You are the young officer of the Kestrel, and your name is Hilary Leigh, I believe?”
“Yes, that is my name,” cried Hilary sharply. “By what right do you have me seized?”
“The right of might,” said the man. “Now look here, sir. Your vessel is now seaworthy, and to-morrow you will get your sailing orders.”
“How do you know?” cried Hilary.
“Never mind how I know. I tell you the fact, my good lad. You will be despatched to watch the port of Dunquerque, to stop the boat that is supposed to come to land from this coast on the king’s business.”
“I suppose you mean the Pretender’s business,” cried Hilary quickly.
“I mean His Majesty Charles Edward,” said the man, “to whom I wish you to take these papers.” And he pulled a packet from his pocket.
“I? Take papers? What do you suppose I am?”
“One who will obey my orders,” said the man haughtily, “and who will never be able to play fast and loose with his employers; for if he were false, no matter where he hid himself, he would be punished.”
“And suppose I refuse to take your papers and become a traitor?” said Hilary.
“I shall make you,” said the stranger. “I tell you that the voyage of your cutter suits our convenience, and that you will have to take these papers, for which service you will be amply rewarded.”
“Then I do refuse,” said Hilary firmly.
“No; don’t refuse yet,” said the stranger with a peculiar look in his countenance. “The despatches must be taken. Think of the proposal, my good lad, and then reply.”
As he spoke Hilary saw him take a pistol from his breast-pocket, and, if physiognomy was any index of the mind, Hilary saw plainly enough that if he refused to obey this man’s orders he would have no compunction in shooting him like a dog.