Chapter Eighteen.
Job’s Plan for escaping—A Hint from Gerardin—A Rope brought in a Basket—Descent from the Tower—The Guard made Prisoner—Get on board a Fishing-boat.
“If I’d my way I’d break out of this here hole, knock the mounseers down that stands guard, and cut and run,” observed Job Truefitt, as he woke up after a sound sleep on some straw, in the afternoon of the day on which he and his companions had been shut up in the tower. “We might get hold of some fishing craft or other, and make good our escape. I’ve heard of such things being done afore now.”
The sentiment was warmly echoed by the speaker’s shipmates.
Mr Calder and the other officers had overheard what was said. It was intended that they should. Probably the same idea was occupying the lieutenant’s mind; he got up and took a survey of the interior of the tower. The upper part was of wood, and through a chink came a ray from the setting sun, and cast a bright light on the opposite wall. It showed the prisoners the direction of the ocean, and the point towards which they must make their way if they could escape from the tower.
Mr Calder, with no little exertion, climbed up to the chink to look out; the chamber was without any window; there had been one in the stone wall, but that had been blocked up. From the dome shape of the roof it appeared, too, that the chamber was the highest in the tower. Mr Calder having completed his survey of the surrounding country, as far as his position would allow him, descended to the floor. He said but little; he was pondering the means of escape. To be kept a prisoner now, almost at the commencement of what everybody said would be a long war, was more than his philosophy would enable him to bear with patience. Morton guessed what was passing in his superior’s mind.
“It would, indeed, be terrible to be shut up,” he observed. “It is only just what I ought to have expected,” said Rawson. “My ill-luck will stick to me to the end; no fear of that going, though everything else leaves me.”
His remark produced a laugh among his companions, who, if they even believed in ill-luck, had very little compassion on him when he complained of it; indeed, it was suspected that he rather liked to be joked on the subject.
“I should like to have a look out too,” said Ronald, climbing up by the inequalities in the stone wall and the planks which formed the side of the tower.
The sun was just sinking in the ocean, and casting a rich glow over the whole western sky. The storm had completely ceased, though the waves still rolled in with a loud roar, lining the coast with a fringe of foam.
The tide was low; a few ribs on the reef, almost abreast of the tower, was the only remnant of this once beautiful frigate, with the addition of the broken timbers and planks which strewed the shore, and which the peasantry had not yet carried off. The appearance of the coast indeed in the immediate neighbourhood of the tower offered no hopes of escape to the Englishmen, even should they succeed in getting out of their prison. To the north, however, Morton observed a high reef of black rocks, running out into the sea, and circling round so as to form a secure harbour. Two or three small craft were floating on the surface of this little haven, either launched after the gale, or which had ridden it out in safety, while several boats, appearing like black dots on the yellow sand, lay drawn up on the beach.
Ronald was still employed in making his survey, when steps were heard ascending the rickety creaking stairs of the tower, and Mr Calder ordered him down, that he might not excite the suspicion of the Frenchmen that they entertained the idea of escaping.
The door opened, and two soldiers entered with a jar of wine, and some bread and cheese and fruit. Placing the provisions before the lieutenant, they made signs that he might divide them among his people. Ronald, thinking it might be politic to get into conversation with them, mustering all his knowledge of French, thanked them warmly for what they had brought.
The man answered, somewhat gruffly, that they were only obeying orders, and that they had been directed by a young officer of the marine, who had been wrecked, to bring the provisions.
“Pray thank him for us, and say how grateful we feel for his gift,” said Ronald.
“We may not see him again,” answered one of the men. “He is ill in bed, and he will be going away into the interior, as soon as he is able to be removed.”
The men said that they did not know the young officer’s name. There could be little doubt, however, that Alfonse Gerardin had sent the provisions.
Ronald in vain tried to ascertain if the soldiers knew how they, the English prisoners, were to be disposed of, but the Frenchmen only shrugged their shoulders, and replied that that was no business of theirs. It was not likely that they would be kept for ever in the tower, which, as the rats had already deserted it, was very likely to tumble about their ears.
“It is a wonder, then, that it did not come down during the late gale,” observed Ronald.
“Ah,” said one of the men with a shrug and a wink, “it is a wonder truly, considering how rotten it is from the top to the bottom. But we must not stop here, talking with you Englishmen, or we shall be suspected of wishing to help you to escape. Adieu, adieu,—au revoir. You don’t seem much cast down. Perhaps you would be, if you knew the fate prepared for you.”
With another wink from the chief speaker, a corporal, by his uniform, the man took his departure.
“I am certain, sir, they had meaning in what they said,” observed Ronald to Mr Calder, explaining the Frenchman’s remarks. “Gerardin is not ungrateful, and wishes to help us to escape.”
Rawson laughed at the notion of a Frenchman being grateful, and even Mr Calder seemed to doubt that he, or any one else, had the slightest idea of helping them to escape.
“People are not fond of putting their lives in jeopardy, to help those in whom they have no interest,” he remarked.
It seemed too likely that the lieutenant was right, for the night passed, and noon of the following day arrived, and no one came near them. At that time the two soldiers who had before appeared brought in their food, but left it without saying a word, and again hurried down the stairs.
Ronald was persuaded that the corporal gave a significant look at him, as he followed his companion out of the door. It was probable that the two men did not trust each other.
“It is all your fancy, Morton,” said Rawson, gloomily. “Depend on it we shall be marched off to some horrible out of the way fortress, and be shut up for the next ten years of our lives, while our old shipmates are crowning themselves with laurels, or what is better, making no end of prize-money, and rising to the top of their profession. When we get back once more to the shores of old England, there we shall be wretched white-haired old mates and midshipmen, forgotten by our friends, and cared for by nobody. There’s one consolation,—I’ll not learn a word of their beastly lingo, they may depend on that.”
Although the picture Rawson had drawn was very melancholy, and too likely to be true, his latter observation so tickled the fancies of his hearers, that they all burst into a loud laugh, in which Rawson himself could not help joining.
“Well, my lads, though we may have some difficulty in breaking out of this, and more in making our escape, there’s no doubt that the alternative, as Rawson describes it, will be a very unpleasant one,” exclaimed Mr Calder. “We must all go, or none; and yet I would force none to go, for the attempt may cost us our lives.”
“Never fear, Mr Calder, sir; there’ll be no skulkers among us,” exclaimed Job Truefitt, from among the seamen. “Just you give the word as if you was on the quarter-deck of our own tight little frigate, and there is not a man here who won’t obey you as smartly, whatever you thinks fit to order, whether it is to jump off the top of this here tower, or to knock over every Frenchman we meet.”
“Yes, sir,—yes, sir,—that’s it. Job speaks the truth,” exclaimed several of the men simultaneously.
The men required no incitement to induce them to attempt escaping, although there was but little fault to find with the provisions which had been sent them. There was excellent bread and cheese, and fruit of various sorts, and some fried fish, though certainly there was neither beef nor pork, while the vin du pays was of a somewhat thin and sour description. A few bottles of fiery hot eau de vie would have suited the taste of the honest tars much better.
This day, like the former one, passed away, and nobody came near the prisoners; they all wished that the time was come when they were to make the attempt to escape. The next day, at noon, a much larger supply of provisions was brought to them. Two men accompanied their friend, the corporal, to carry them. He also carried a good-sized basket, which he deposited in a corner of the chamber, and then nodding, without saying a word, hurried down the steps; as if their friends outside had divined their wishes, there were half-a-dozen bottles of brandy!
Morton and Rawson were examining the contents of the corporal’s basket.
“I thought so,” exclaimed Ronald, joyfully; and he pulled out a long rope, amply strong enough to support the weight of a man. There was no longer any doubt that they had friends outside, anxious to assist their escape.
The weather had now become perfectly serene. A light south-easterly breeze, and smooth water, would enable them to run along the coast just out of sight of those on land, while several small vessels in the harbour would supply them with a craft suited to their purpose.
The prospect in view put them all in high spirits, and with infinite relish they discussed the viands which had been brought them. While thus engaged the door of their prison opened, and two persons in naval uniform appeared before them. One Morton at once recognised as Alfonse Gerardin, though he looked even more pale and sickly than when he had been rescued from the wreck. Ronald sprang up to greet him. His companion, on whose arm he rested, was a strongly-built middle-aged man. Alfonse gave his hand to Ronald.
“I could not bear the thought of your going away without seeing you once more,” he said. “I could not have obtained leave had it not been for my father, Lieutenant Gerardin, of whom I told you.”
“What you told me was merely that he had been killed,” said Ronald.
“So I thought, but happily I was mistaken. He had been knocked overboard, but he was picked up by a boat, and unable to regain the ship was brought to shore, not far from this, when hearing of the shipwreck he found us out.”
“And you are the young gentleman to whom my dear boy here is indebted for his life,” said Lieutenant Gerardin, in broken English, grasping Ronald’s hand warmly. “I am grateful to you. Though my nation is at war with yours, I love your countrymen. I would serve you gladly at the risk of my life. You are to be removed into the interior to-morrow, and a far-off fortress will be your habitation. This night you must make your escape; I have provided part of the means. There is a fishing-boat in that little harbour to the north; she pulls fast, and has oars and sails aboard, as also some water and provisions, but not sufficient. Carry all you can with you. I have bribed some of the guards, but not all; you may meet with opposition; you will know how to deal with your enemies. Do not think me a traitor to France; I owe her no allegiance, and yet I am bound to her. Now farewell!—we may never meet again, but you will at least not think that he whom you so bravely saved from death is ungrateful.”
Alfonse Gerardin said but little; he warmly shook Ronald’s and Glover’s hands, and then he and his father hurriedly took their departure.
The rest of the day was spent by the party in talking over their escape, and the best mode of meeting all possible contingencies, and then most of the old hands lay down to sleep, that they might be fresher when the moment of action arrived.
No sooner was it dark than Mr Calder set to work to remove some of the planks above the brickwork. It was, as the corporal had hinted, very rotten, and quickly gave way to their pulls. An aperture of size sufficient to allow a man to force himself through was soon made. Mr Calder then securing the rope, and lowering it to the ground, directing his men to stand in the order they were to descend, told Rawson to bring up the rear, went himself through the hole, and slid down noiselessly to the ground. The midshipmen followed, and then came the men; not a word was spoken, but they imitated their leader’s example in picking up some large stones with which to defend themselves, should they be suddenly attacked. One after the other the men came gliding down in the rapid way none but seamen could have done; not the slightest noise was made; their feet, as they touched the ground, made no more sound than those of cats. All had descended except Rawson, when a noise was heard in the room above, as of a door opening. There was a scuffle, but no one cried out; in an instant Job Truefitt was swarming up the rope hand over hand; Morton, the most active of the party, followed him. Whatever there was to be done was to be effected quickly. With the deepest anxiety the rest of the party waited to ascertain what had happened, while two or three prepared to follow. Job crept in at the hole in the wall, and looked round the prison. At first he could see nothing. At last he fancied that he could distinguish something moving on the other side of the room. He sprang towards the spot, and so did Morton.
“Here we are, Mr Rawson; here we are, come to help you,” whispered Job. A deep groan was the response. It was soon evident that there were two people on the ground, struggling in a deadly embrace—but which was friend or foe, was the question. They had tight hold of each other’s throats, and were actually throttling each other.
“You catch hold of one, Mr Morton,” whispered Job, who had recognised Ronald. “I’ll take t’other, and then we’ll settle with the mounseer, whichever he may be.”
Ronald found by his jacket that he had got hold of Rawson, but it was not without digging his nails into the Frenchman’s wrist that he was able to make him relax his hold of Rawson’s throat. Still more difficult was it to induce the latter to take his gripe off his opponent’s neck. To bind the legs and arms of the Frenchman, and to gag his mouth, was the work of a few moments. Ronald stumbled against his lantern, at which Rawson must have struck when he entered.
“It may prove of service,” thought Ronald, as he hung it round his neck.
Rawson soon recovered. Two more seamen had come in by this time. Their first care was to barricade the door. At first they thought of leaving the Frenchman in the room, but it was agreed that, as he might make some noise, and give the alarm, it would be better to take him part of the way with them. He was speedily lowered down, much to the astonishment of those below, and to his own annoyance. Then Morton and the rest of the party followed. Who their prisoner was it was impossible to ascertain, for fear lest the moment the gag was removed he might cry out. He was a soldier, but not their friend the corporal, as he was a shorter and stouter man.
There could be little doubt that the guard was in the room below them, and when their comrade was missed, others probably would go up to look for him. No further time was to be lost. Mr Calder, therefore, ordered the men in a whisper to close up together, carrying their prisoner among them, and to move off in the direction of the harbour. As they began to advance, Morton recollected the rope which they ought to have taken with them, as should it be left behind and recognised, it might betray the friends who had supplied it to them. As the rope was long enough to allow of its being slipped round a beam, and then again to reach the ground, he was on the point of ascending once more to execute his project, hoping quickly to overtake his companions, when a noise in the room immediately above him arrested his movements. The guard was on the alert. His delay, contrary to the orders of his superior, might cause the ruin of the whole party. He let go the rope and sprang after his companions.
“It cannot much matter,” he thought; “our friends would have warned us to carry off the rope.”
The English seamen hurried on till they came to a deep hollow in the sands. Here Mr Calder ordered them to leave their prisoner.
“Remember, mounseer, if you hallo or make any row, we’ll be back and blow your brains out for you,” whispered Job Truefitt, as he placed him on the ground.
A grunt was the only answer. It was doubtful whether the prisoner understood what was said, though he might have guessed the meaning of the remark.
The seamen pushed on as fast as they could move. It was no easy matter to find their way, for the night was very dark, and though the sky was clear, there was a slight mist, which concealed all objects, except those close at hand, from view. This was, however, an advantage, as well as a disadvantage, to the fugitives. Though they had, in consequence of the mist, greater difficulty in making their way towards the shore, it assisted to conceal them from any persons who might chance to cross their path. They had made their escape at an early hour, that they might have longer time to get an offing before daylight.
Mr Calder strode on ahead, Rawson brought up the rear, Ronald pushed on, and ranged up alongside his lieutenant. He had a fancy that if there was danger, it would be there, and he wished to be near him. The road lay chiefly over sand-hills, very heavy walking. Now and then they came to rocks, which still further impeded their progress, but there were bits also of hard ground, over which they passed at a run. The wind being from the south, they kept at their backs, while the gentle ripple of the sea on the beach, assisted still further to guide them. At last Mr Calder stopped.
“We ought to be up to the harbour by this time,” he observed in a low voice. “I see no signs of it.”
All the party had now pulled up. As they did so, the sound of voices from no great distance reached their ears. The speakers were to the north of them. It was not likely that they were pursuers. Still, if they passed near, they might discover them. The seamen crouched down to the ground. The voices grew louder and louder. They seemed to be coming towards the very spot where the Englishmen were collected.
“Lads, we must master them, whether many or few,” whispered Mr Calder. “Take care none escape.”
Morton had been attentively listening to the speakers. “They are fishermen just landed,” he said, in a low tone. “They are on their way to their homes. I doubt, from what they say, if they have landed their fish.”
“Be ready, lads,” said Mr Calder, expecting that the next instant they would be grappling with the Frenchmen. “Each of you seize his man, bring him to the ground, and gag him. Take care none get away.”
Suddenly the voices ceased. Morton thought that they had been overheard, but once more the fishermen went on talking; their footsteps were heard, but gradually the strength of the sound decreased, their voices became less and less distinct, till they were altogether lost in the distance. The lieutenant now led the way rapidly onward.
“If we had been a minute sooner we should have been discovered,” thought Morton. “All is for the best.”
They had now reached the little harbour. Several boats were drawn up, but all at a considerable distance from the water. It would be difficult to launch one of them without making a noise. A small boat was distinguished a short distance from the shore. Ronald offered to swim off to it, and bring it in. His clothes were off in an instant.
“Stay, I may have to cut the cable,” he observed, putting his clasp knife between his teeth.
The water was somewhat cold, but he did not heed that. Excitement kept his blood in circulation. He soon reached the boat. His knife came into requisition, and though there were no oars, he found a loose bottom board, and managed to paddle in with it to the beach.
It was still necessary to be very cautious. Lights were seen in some huts not far off, and the inmates might hear them and suspect that something was wrong.
The boat would not hold the entire party, so Mr Calder and Glover, with some of the men, embarked first, to select the craft most likely to suit them.
It was an anxious time for those on shore. The crews might be on board some of the boats, and if one of those was selected, the alarm might be given.
“We shall have to knock some of the fellows on the head if they are, that will be all,” observed Rawson, coolly.
The boat, however, returned without any disturbance, and the rest of the seamen got into her, bringing her gunwale almost flush with the water. Scarcely had they got twenty yards from the shore, when a voice hailed in French, “Yes, you were before us; don’t wait—bon soir,” answered Ronald, promptly, in the same language.
They pulled out as fast as they could, and got on board a a large half-decked boat, with her sails on board, and pulling eight oars.
The question was now, how to get out of the harbour. Rawson in the punt went ahead, to pilot the way, while the anchor was noiselessly weighed. The oars being got out, the little craft stood after the boat.
The mouth of the harbour was discovered, they were in the open sea. How joyously beats the hearts of all to find themselves free! As they drew off the land, the breeze freshened, the punt was cast adrift, and sail was made; just then there were lights seen on the beach; shouts were heard. There was a grating sound as of a boat being launched. They were about to be pursued, there could be no doubt about that. Still sharp eyes would be required to see them. Impelled by wind and oars the boat stood out to the westward.
The wind was fair, the sea was smooth. Of course in the darkness it was impossible to select the best boat, but they had happily hit upon one which at all events seemed a fine little craft, and they hoped she might prove the fastest. The seamen bent their backs to the oars with right good will; the water hissed and bubbled under the bows.
“The mounseers must be in a precious hurry to catch us, if they do catch us,” exclaimed Job Truefitt. “Give way, mates: if we can’t keep ahead of a crew of frog-eaters, we desarves to be caught and shut up in the darkest prison in the land, without e’er a quid o’ baccy to chaw, or a glass o’ grog to freshen our nip.”
The men, however, required no inducement to exert themselves to the utmost.
“Avast pulling!” exclaimed Mr Calder, after they had made good three miles or more from the harbour.
There was no sound of oars. The Frenchmen, it was supposed, had thought the pursuit useless, and had given it up. Still daylight must find them far away from the coast, and spell and spell throughout the night the undaunted seamen laboured at their oars.
Chapter Nineteen.
A Sail in sight—A Gale comes on—Reach the Frigate—Ronald rejoins the “Thisbe”—Made Lieutenant.
When morning dawned, and hunger reminded the escaped prisoners that it was time for breakfast, they looked about and discovered in the forepeak a supply of water and provisions, and what was of most consequence, a compass. She was evidently, then, the very craft the Gerardins had intended for their use.
“I hope they won’t get into a scrape for what they have done for us,” observed Ronald. “Though he is an odd fish in some respects, I liked that fellow, Alfonse Gerardin; and from the glimpse I got of his father, I should say he is first-rate.”
The health of their friends was therefore drunk in some very fair claret, which was found among the stores, and never has a merrier party floated in an open boat out in the Atlantic.
Two days passed, and Mr Calder calculated that they were well into the Chops of the Channel.
Several vessels had been seen, but none had been approached. Mr Calder did not care about this; he hoped to carry the boat into Falmouth or Plymouth harbour in safety.
The evening was drawing on. “A sail on the starboard bow!” was the cry. She was a ship standing across channel; unless she or they altered their course, she could not help falling in with them. From the look of the vessel it was impossible to say whether she was a friend or an enemy.
“If them there tops’ls weren’t cut by an English sail-maker, I’m ready to pass for a Schiedam drinking big-breeched Dutchman for the rest of my born days,” observed Job Truefitt, in a decisive tone, as standing up on the forecastle deck, and holding on by the mast, he shaded his eyes with his hand, and took a severe scrutiny of the stranger.
“Maybe I’ve handed them more than once and again.”
“What do you make her out to be, Truefitt?” asked Mr Calder from aft.
“Why, sir, maybe I’m wrong, and maybe I’m right; but if I’m right, then I take it she’s no other than the thirty-two pounder frigate, ‘Thetis.’ I served aboard her better nor twelve months, so I don’t deserve to have eyes in my head if I shouldn’t know her again,” answered Job.
“I think that you are very likely to be right, Job, and I’ll trust that you are,” said Mr Calder. “Take a couple of reefs in the mainsail as you hoist it, lads. The sky gives promise of a blowing night, and we shall do well if we can have a stout ship under our feet.”
As the lieutenant was speaking, a heavy squall passed over the boat, which, had her sails been set, she would have felt severely. As it was, the spray which it carried drove over her in thick masses, as she drifted before it. Dark clouds were breaking up heavily to the southward, while others drove across the sky, their outer edges glowing, like red-hot coals, with the beams of the setting sun. The squall, however, passed away, sail was made, and the boat sprang briskly over the rising seas towards the frigate. All were now as anxious to be seen by those on board her, as they were before to escape observation. It was very evident that a storm was brewing, and a pretty heavy one—such a gale as the French fishing-boat they were in could scarcely weather. Every instant the wind increased, and the seas rose higher and higher. The frigate, it was very probable, was outward bound, for as the wind got round she trimmed sails and steered to the westward. The boat was now close hauled. If not seen by the frigate, it was scarcely to be hoped that she would cut her off on the other tack. The gloom of evening was coming on also, causing the small sails of the boat to be less discernible.
“They’ll not see us,” sighed Rawson. “And as to this wretched little craft living out such a night as we are going to have, that’s a sheer impossibility.”
“The craft has carried us thus far in safety, and may carry us into Penzance or Falmouth harbour, I hope, even if we do miss the frigate,” observed Morton. “We shouldn’t so mistrust Providence, I think.”
“You think, you youngster!” said Rawson, contemptuously. “You haven’t been tried as I have.”
“But Rawson, suppose we are preserved. What will you Bay then?”
“That we have obtained more than we deserve,” answered the old mate, as if involuntarily.
“The frigate sees us,” shouted Job Truefitt, from forward, making use of a very common nautical figure of speech. “There’s port the helm—square away the yards—she’ll be down to us in a jiffy.”
“Time she was too,” observed Rawson, and he was right, for the gloom was increasing, the rising sea was tumbling and pitching the boat about, and even with two reefs down she could scarcely look up to her canvas.
The frigate, however, had not shortened sail, and on she came, looming large through the midst as she ploughed her way with irresistible force across the intervening space of tumbling foam-covered seas. Mr Calder gave the necessary orders to prepare for going alongside. It was a work of no little danger. The frigate had now got within a few hundred fathoms of the boat. Her canvas was reduced, and the helm being put down she rounded-to, and there she lay, dipping away heavily into the seas, making it appear to a landsman an utter impossibility to get near her, and even to a seaman a dangerous undertaking. The boat’s sails were lowered, and, if it could have been done, the mast would have been unstepped and pitched overboard; the oars were got out, and the boat approached the side of the frigate. Numerous friendly hands were ready to heave ropes for their assistance from various parts of the sides, from the chains and ports.
“Now give way, my good lads!” shouted Mr Calder, seeing that not a moment was to be lost.
The men pulled on, but the ship at the moment plunged forward, and the boat dropped astern. Should this again occur they might lose the chance of getting alongside altogether. With renewed efforts they again pulled up. A rope was hove on board and secured to the bits, and by its assistance they at length got alongside.
“Now, lads, up with you!” shouted the lieutenant.
The men caught hold of the ropes thrown into their outstretched hands. The greater number sprang up the side like cats, but Morton, with the right feeling that it is the officer’s duty to see his men in safety before seeking his own, hung back. Now the frigate rose on the side of a sea, leaving the boat in the trough far below her, then in another instant down she came striking the boat with a terrific crash. The side was crushed in, and the water rushing over her, down she went. More ropes were hove to those still on board. Morton caught hold of a rope with his left hand, but, at the same time, a spar struck his right a blow which rendered it powerless. He held on with all the energy of despair, for he knew that if he let go he should be lost. A poor fellow, one of his companions, was washed away close to him. His own was an awful position. He had received a second blow from a fragment of the boat. The sea was surging up round him. Should the ship roll over he must be submerged, and would inevitably be torn from his hold. He tried to cry out. The spray rushed into his mouth and almost choked him. Already it was so dark that he feared no one would see him. He believed that his last hour had come. The loud roar of waters was in his ears; he was losing all consciousness, and in another instant would have let go his hold, when his arm was grasped by a vice-like clutch, and he found himself lifted upwards till he was safely deposited on deck. He looked round to ascertain who had been his preserver. A tall gaunt young man was standing and shaking the water from his jacket, but just then an order was issued for all those who had been rescued from the boat to muster aft.
Lanterns were brought, and no sooner did the light of one of them fall on Mr Calder’s countenance, than one of the lieutenants, who proved to be the first of the ship, stepped forward, and grasped him warmly by the hand.
“What, old ship, is it you?” he exclaimed, almost wringing his hand off, and speaking rapidly, as if unable to restrain his feelings. “Where do you come from? What has happened to you? Tell me all about it.”
This Mr Calder briefly did, and warm and hearty was the reception he met with in the gun-room, to which Rawson was also invited, while the other midshipmen were taken care of in the berth.
The gale continued to increase in fury.
“We should have found ourselves in a bad way by this time on board the French fishing-boat,” observed Mr Calder. “Ah, Rawson! we have reason to be grateful, man, and we should do well if we left off grumbling for the rest of our lives.”
“You would deprive all poor old mates of the only privilege they possess,” answered Rawson; “that would be hard indeed.”
The frigate, it was found, was bound out to the North-American station. This was a great disappointment, as Mr Calder, especially, was anxious to rejoin the “Thisbe” as soon as possible, not to lose his chance of promotion.
However, although the gale continued to increase, Captain Markham was not the man to put back into port as long as he could possibly keep the sea. He had a good deal of the Flying Dutchman spirit about him, without the profanity of that far-famed navigator, which has so justly doomed him to so unenviable a notoriety.
The frigate was rolling and pitching somewhat heavily, as Ronald and his companions found their way into the midshipmen’s berth.
“Take your seats. You are welcome here, mates,” said the caterer as they entered. “We shall have food on the table in a jiffy. There’s cold beef, and salt pork, and soft tack, and here is some honest Jamaica rum. Not a bad exchange for the Frenchman’s wish-wash claret, I suspect.”
The reception, altogether, given to the new comers was cordial, if unrefined, and not many minutes had elapsed before they were all perfectly at home. Ronald, less accustomed than the rest to a midshipman’s berth, felt more inclined than usual to be silent. He found himself seated next to a midshipman, who differed considerably, both in manners and in many points, from his companions. His appearance was not at the first glance in his favour. He was red-haired, and tall, and thin; so tall, indeed, that when he stood up his shoulders touched the deck above, and his head and neck formed an arch over the table. He must have been eighteen or nineteen years old at least; indeed, he might have been older, though he still wore the uniform of a midshipman. Ronald thought that he was rather dogmatical, though his remarks were characterised by shrewd, good sense, not destitute of humour. It was not till he stood up that Ronald, who had been looking round the berth to discover the person who had just rendered him such essential service, felt sure that he was the one. Ronald suddenly put out his hand.
“I have to thank you for saving my life just now,” he exclaimed with genuine warmth. “If it had not been for you I should be floating away dead astern.”
“It cost me but little to haul you up, so say no more about it,” answered the tall midshipman. “I happened to be looking over the side, and caught a glimpse of your head as you were hanging on like a codfish just caught by a hook. Besides, I find you come from the far north, and we Scotchmen always help each other.”
Ronald had detected a slight Scotch accent in his new friend.
“You must let me be grateful, at all events,” he answered. “And you won’t heave me overboard again when I tell you that I am not a Scotchman, but a Shetlander.”
“I knew that when you began to speak,” observed the tall midshipman; and they went on to talk about Shetland, and before long the latter had learned several particulars of Ronald’s history.
“We must be friends for the future,” he observed, as the master-at-arms appeared at the door of the berth, with the announcement that it was time to douse the glim, and the various members whose watch it was below hurried off to their hammocks with as little concern as if the ship lay snug at her anchors, instead of being exposed to the full fury of a heavy gale.
The frigate was kept thrashing at it, in the hopes that she might hold her own till the storm abated. The important result of the first lieutenant’s constant care and attention to the fitting of the rigging was now fully exhibited. Not a strand of a rope parted, not a spar was sprung.
Ronald soon saw that the tall midshipman was a great favourite with Mr Lawrence, the rough diamond of a first lieutenant, nor was he surprised when he found that he was a lord, and yet the most attentive to his duty, and most eager to master all the details of his profession.
Lord Claymore, the tall midshipman, and Ronald soon became fast friends. Ronald admired him especially for the good sense and judgment he displayed in conversation, and the coolness and courage he exhibited in danger.
The gale continued, and the frigate lay her course to cross the Atlantic.
“She has been making much lee-way,” Ronald heard the master observe to the captain.
“We shall weather Cape Clear for all that,” was the answer; “once free we may run before it with a flowing sheet to the banks of Newfoundland.”
“Ay, if we are once free,” muttered the master, who was not at all of the touch-and-go school.
On stood the frigate. It was night. The midshipmen who had been rescued from the fishing-boat were allowed, after their fatigues, to remain below without doing duty for some days. Ronald could not sleep. This was very un-midshipmanlike; he knew that it was Claymore’s watch on deck, and he thought he would take a turn with him. He dressed and went on deck; it was not a tempting night; it was still blowing very hard, and the frigate under close-reefed topsails was heeling to the breeze till her lee-ports were deeply submerged, while the spray in thick showers flew over her. Ronald soon found his tall friend.
“I like this,” observed the latter with enthusiasm, rubbing his hands; “the wind is strong enough to blow every inch of canvas out of the bolt ropes, if it wasn’t all good and new, or to send the masts over the side if they were not well stayed up. We have the land under our lee, and if anything was to go we should in all probability drive on to it. Now, just consider the satisfaction of knowing that everything is as strong and good as wood, iron, and hemp can be, and of feeling that one has contributed to that end. There isn’t a block, or a spar, or a rope, that Jack Lawrence or I haven’t overhauled. See the advantage. He sleeps as soundly as if we were in harbour, when most other first lieutenants would have been up and down fifty times to ascertain that all was going right, and not have slept a wink. Take a leaf out of his book, Morton—it’s what I am doing, and intend continuing to do.”
“Land on the lee-bow!” cried one of the looks-out forward.
Had any one been drowsy, that sound would have made them rouse up very rapidly. All eyes were directly turned towards the quarter indicated. The clouds had broken away in that direction, and a gleam of light fell on the threatening headland. The officer of the watch sent a midshipman down to call the captain and master. They were on deck almost as soon as he was. The compass was consulted, and the bearing of the land taken. The master then went below to consult the chart. Claymore begged Morton to go and call the first lieutenant.
“We take things coolly aboard here, but he would not like to be below at this time, and would thank you for summoning him.”
Mr Lawrence sprang on deck after Morton. A consultation was held; it was the general opinion that the land seen was Mizen Head, and that if there were light sufficient, Cape Clear would be seen on their quarter. They might take shelter in Crook Haven; but under the uncertainty that the point seen was Mizen Head, the master refused to undertake the fearful responsibility. The determination to keep the sea was also more in accordance with the captain’s inclinations.
“She has drifted to leeward more than I suspected; we must yet shake another reef out of the topsails,” he observed. “What say you, master—do you think she will bear it?”
“She must bear it,” was the answer.
“She will bear it,” said Jack Lawrence, positively.
The united strength of all the crew was required to perform the operation.
“All hands on deck!” shouted the boatswain, giving emphasis to the summons with his shrill whistle.
Directly the order was given one of the first aloft was Claymore; Morton followed him on to the main-yard; it was not his duty to go aloft, but he could not resist the impulse which made him do so. It was fearful work, holding on to that yard, up in the darkness, with the fierce gale howling round their heads and the ship pitching furiously, while at the same time she heeled down over the roaring seas. The word was given to let go; but before the sail could be sheeted home it shook and struggled, almost freeing itself from the sturdy crew who were hauling away on the sheet.
Morton felt as if he should be shaken off the yard, but a hand with a firm grasp held him, nor let him go till he had reached the top. They descended on deck.
“Thank you, Lord Claymore,” said Morton, warmly; “had you not held me I might have lost my life.”
“I don’t say you would have deserved it,” said the tall midshipman; “but why rush to a post of danger without necessity? stronger and older men are better fitted for the task you attempted. It was my duty, and I went. However, I like your spirit, Morton. If we weather this cape we shall know more of each other; if our masts go over the side, or we otherwise fail, we may none of us see another sunrise.”
He spoke as coolly and calmly as if talking on some ordinary topic.
Away the ship plunged through the seas more furiously than ever, bending down till it seemed as if her yard-arms literally touched the foaming tops of the seas as they came rolling and hissing by. Every officer was at his post: the captain, with his lips compressed and teeth clenched, stood watching, now the bending masts, now the compass, now the dark threatening land. The frigate drew nearer and nearer to it; still she flew ahead. A quartermaster and two of the best seaman in the ship were at the helm; Jack Lawrence stood near them; they were doing as well as he could desire.
“Keep your luff, lads,” he said once in a quiet tone; “steady—that will do.”
Not another word was spoken by him, or by any one on deck; all eyes were riveted on the land. The ship seemed to be making no progress, for there it still lay on the lee-bow. Some thought they could hear the roaring of the surges, as with the whole force of a south-westerly gale they were hurled against the cliffs. Still the canvas held the fierce wind, and the well-set-up rigging supported the masts.
“Morton, the land is drawing abeam,” exclaimed Claymore suddenly; “the ship will be saved. I did not think so at one time, though.”
He was right: gradually it seemed to rise up more broad on the lee-beam; but as the ship surged onward amid wildly-leaping waves, the water, lashed into masses of foam, was seen over the lee-quarter leaping over the cliff from which she had so narrowly escaped. Still there were other points and headlands farther to the north, from which she was not altogether clear. For another two hours or more the same press of canvas was kept on her. Few breathed freely till the order was being given to take another reef in the topsails; the order was accomplished without a casualty, and the watch below were allowed to turn in.
Some days after this the “Thetis” fell in with a line-of-battle ship homeward bound: she took Mr Calder and his companions on board.
“We shall meet again, I hope,” said Lord Claymore, as Morton was about to go down the side.
“I should be sorry if I did not think so,” answered Morton, as the young men grasped each other’s hands.
Westward steered the “Thetis,” and eastward the huge old “Thunderer;” the latter reached England, and the officers and men of the “Thisbe” once more rejoined her, to the satisfaction of most of their friends, who had given them up for lost.
The “Thisbe” finished her commission with considerable credit to her captain, officers, and crew, who had likewise not a small amount of prize-money to boast of. Ronald Morton on his being paid off joined a sloop-of-war in the West Indies; here he especially distinguished himself, and, to the great delight of his father, obtained his promotion. He returned home, and was immediately appointed second lieutenant of his old ship, the “Thisbe,” now commanded by Captain Calder, and bound out to the East Indies.
Chapter Twenty.
Ronald Second Lieutenant of the “Thisbe”—a Ball at Calcutta—Ronald’s Gallantry—A Challenge—His Reply.
Ronald Morton had gone through the usual vicissitudes of a midshipman’s career, during the full swing of a hot and somewhat bloody war. He had run a good many chances of being knocked on the head, but he had done a good many things also to be proud of, though he was not overmuch so, and he had gained a fair amount of credit.
Once more he was on board his old ship, the “Thisbe.” When he first joined he was a ship’s boy; he was now her second lieutenant. The first was Rawson—he was a totally changed man. He had performed a very gallant action under the eye of the admiral, had been highly spoken of in the “Gazette,” had in consequence at once received his promotion, and had been an active, enterprising officer ever since. He seldom or never grumbled now, or talked of his bad luck; indeed he seemed to think that the world was a very good sort of place for some men to live in, and that the British navy was not a bad profession after all for a fellow to belong to. He and Ronald Morton had not met for some years. They were glad to find themselves once again shipmates.
The “Thisbe” was commanded by one they both loved and respected—honest, gallant, fighting Tom Calder. Tom had won his upward way by courage and zeal, rarely surpassed. The Lords of the Admiralty could not refuse him his promotion, had they wished it. The whole navy would have cried out at the injustice. Happily, honest Tom had no one to whisper evil against him. He had not an enemy in the world—so, to be sure, it is sometimes said of a goose, but then the goose is his own enemy. Tom, on the contrary, had proved true to himself, and that, in fact, lay at the bottom of his success.
Of the old “Thisbes,” as they were pleased to call themselves, Dicky Glover was the only officer. He was, however, still a mate. He was senior mate, though he could not help now and then just thinking that it would not be so very unfortunate—only a merciful dispensation of Providence—should they go into action, seeing that somebody must be killed, should a shot happen to knock over the third lieutenant, and give him a chance of promotion—not but what Dicky had a very kind feeling for the said third lieutenant. He was always ready to do him any service, to lend him his books or money; the latter the lieutenant was most fond of borrowing: still Dicky and he were very good friends; Dicky had plenty of money, and Peter Sims, the third lieutenant, had none. How he had got his promotion was surprising to those who knew him, till it was whispered about that he had a very near relative in a high position, who had no difficulty in obtaining it for him. Sims was, however, generally liked; he was very inoffensive, he never talked about himself or his friends, seemed to wish to be let alone, and to let others alone. He was always ready to do a good-natured action, to take a brother officer’s watch, or to give up his own leave to accommodate another.
Before the mast there were several hands who had served in the “Thisbe,” when commanded by Captain Courtney. Two had attached themselves especially to Ronald—one was Job Truefitt, and the other Bobby Doull. No men could have been more faithful or attached than they were to him—Job regarded him as his son, and constituted himself his guardian, while Bobby looked up to him as to a superior being whom it was an honour to follow and obey.
The frigate was bound out to the land so famed for tigers, and curry, palanquins, pagodas, and prize-money—the East Indies; she had a quick run down Channel, when a northerly breeze carried her almost to the tropics.
Rio was visited; the frigate touched at the Cape, and finally anchored at the mouth of the Hooghly, near the flag-ship of the admiral on the station.
The usual compliments passed, the sails were furled, and shore-boats, manned by strange-looking natives, with stranger-looking fruits and vegetables, chattering unknown tongues intended to be English, came alongside. The admiral himself was up at Calcutta, and everybody on board the “Thisbe” was anxious to pay a visit to the city of palaces. Sims offered to stop, but Rawson bluntly told him that he could not trust the ship to his charge; so he, pocketing the compliment, accompanied the captain and Morton, with two or three more of the gun-room officers, and Glover and several of the midshipmen, up to the city. They luckily took their full-dress uniforms with them; and having lionised the city in palanquins all the day, they found themselves in the evening at a magnificent ball, given by one of the principal officers of the Company’s Civil Service.
The officers of the “Thisbe” stopped near the entrance to admire the brilliant spectacle. Superb chandeliers hung from the ceiling or projected from the walls, amid gay coloured banners, and wreaths of exquisite flowers; while below them moved the fairest of Eve’s daughters to be found in the capital of the East, amid numerous military officers in various handsome uniforms; and rajahs, and nabobs, and princes, and chiefs of every description, habited in the richest and most picturesque of oriental costumes, with turbans and daggers and sword-hilts sparkling with gold and silver, and gems of fabulous value.
The gallant captain of the frigate, and most of the officers who accompanied him, were more accustomed to the quarterdeck, and the battle and the breeze, than to ball-rooms or palaces, and they stood for some time totally entranced, and scarcely able to express their surprise to each other at the gay scene.
Morton had in his boyhood learned most of the dances then in vogue, and a quick eye and perfect self-possession enabled him to appear to advantage when at rare intervals he entered a ball-room. Still, feeling himself a stranger among a crowd, he very naturally preferred remaining in a quiet spot, that he might at his leisure watch what was going forward. Captain Calder felt very much as he did, for he was even still less accustomed to ball-rooms, though his true gentlemanly feelings and innate sense of propriety prevented him from committing any solecism in good manners. Sims and Dicky Glover stood together.
“This is very slow work, sir, I think,” observed Dicky to his superior, with whom, bye-the-bye, he felt himself in a ballroom on the most perfect equality. “I vote we shove forward, and look out for partners. There are lots of pretty girls, and I flatter myself that if they were asked they would prefer us blue-jackets to the red-coats.”
“As to that I am not quite certain,” answered the lieutenant. “You see these soldier officers out here, at all events, are generally matrimonially inclined, while such would be a very inconvenient inclination for us to indulge in; and so not from superior merit but from the force of circumstances the soldiers are likely to carry the day.”
“That argument of yours is irresistible, but still I don’t see that it should make us give up our chance of a dance,” answered Glover, pushing a little more forward.
Like riflemen they advanced, skirmishing, one supporting the other. Dicky, however, was the most adventurous; without him, probably, Sims would have remained in the background. Sims had some modesty. Glover had the allowance with which, for wise ends, midshipmen are usually gifted.
“There’s a pretty girl! she hasn’t footed it for a long time; there’s nothing like trying it. I’ll go and ask her,” exclaimed Dicky, as if suddenly seized with an irresistible impulse; and before Sims could make any remark he had crossed the intervening space to where the lady at whom he had pointed was sitting, and was bowing and scraping, and smiling with the greatest self-confidence.
The young lady looked rather astonished, and not over well pleased, but this did not in any way abash Mr Glover. While he with praiseworthy perseverance was still scraping away, requesting the hand of the lady for a cotillion, a minuette, or a country-dance, a gentleman came up and spoke to her. Glover looked at her earnestly, and spoke a few words; she put out her hand, he took it, and wrung it till she almost cried out.
“Cousin Susan!” he exclaimed. “Well, I didn’t think it was you, and yet I ought to have known you among a thousand. But you know you were but a little girl when we last met, and now you are grown up and married. Well—but I’m so very glad!—how jolly! I didn’t expect to enjoy this ball; but now I shall like it very much.”
Thus Glover rattled on, and to the surprise of Morton and Sims, and his other shipmates, who had not overheard the conversation, was seen standing up to dance with an air of conscious superiority and perfect self-satisfaction. Sims was rather jealous. Morton was highly amused. Glover flew up and down the room, enjoying the dance to the full. What cared he for the heat. What mattered to him that he trod on the toes of innumerable rajahs and nabobs, who would gladly have stuck their jewel-hilted daggers into him, or given him an embrace with a tiger’s claw; an instrument worthy of Asiatic invention. His cousin, however, had soon introduced Glover to a more active partner, and so engrossed was he at first that he quite forgot to come back to his friends.
While Morton was watching the dancers an officer with a young lady stood up near him to join them. His eye was attracted to her countenance, and he was struck by its excessively pleasing expression. He looked and looked again: he thought her exquisitely beautiful, and while he looked he could not help half fancying that he had seen that countenance before. Still where it had been he could not discover; he had seen so few ladies during his sea-life that he was convinced he should, before long, remember. Yet what puzzled him was, that he felt so very familiar with the countenance. Eyes have a remarkable sympathy for each other; after a time the lady knew that she was observed—not with idle, careless admiration, but especially noticed. She looked up for a moment and observed a countenance of manly beauty and intelligence not easily forgotten. There were none in that vast assemblage to be compared to it, she thought, and yet she tried not to allow herself to dwell on the thought; her partner carried her off in the rapid dance.
Morton stood watching her with greater interest than he would have allowed even to himself.
“Yes, I must have seen her—but where? In my dreams—in my fancy,” he muttered to himself as his eyes continued following the fair young girl. “Nonsense! I am allowing my imagination to run away with me. And yet I do know that countenance, I am certain of it.”
Perhaps the young lady saw his eyes following hers. She seemed at all events to be paying but very little attention to the observations of her partner.
Morton at length noticed him; he was a young man, and had the air of a person thoroughly well satisfied with himself; but as Ronald watched him more narrowly he was convinced that he had taken more wine than his head could bear; his flushed countenance and unsteady movements after a time showed this. His partner probably had made the same discovery; and though in those days his condition would not have excited the disgust it would at the present in the mind of a well-educated girl, she was evidently anxious to obtain a seat, and to release herself from his society. Still he held her hand with a look of maudlin admiration, and insisted on forcing her once more down the dance. It was evident that she would have to struggle to escape from him, and rather than attract observation she allowed herself to be dragged once more towards the bottom of the room.
Such was the interpretation Morton put on what he witnessed, and he felt strongly inclined to rush forward to assist her. The couple had got close to him, by which time the gentleman had become still more excited and unsteady—his foot slipped—the fair girl looked up imploringly at Morton’s countenance, so he thought—her partner fell to the ground, and would have dragged her with him, when Ronald sprang forward and saved her from the threatened catastrophe.
“Thank you—thank you!—oh take me to my friend!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with nervousness.
Ronald led her through the crowd; her partner picked himself up, and uttering an exclamation would have followed them, had not some acquaintance near at hand held him back, and ultimately persuaded him quietly to retire to another room; leave the ball altogether, he would not.
“To be cut out by a sea-monster, a porpoise, a mere nautilus—that will never do!” he hiccupped out. “No, no—I must have my revenge on the fellow. I’ll insult him; drill a hole in him; my honour requires it. Couldn’t show my face again until I have killed my man.”
The young man did not give vent to these expressions until his more sensible acquaintance had retired; but two or three much of his own character remained, who partly from a love of mischief, utterly regardless of the consequences, persuaded him that he had received so gross an insult that it could be atoned for only by mortal combat.
“We’ll settle matters for you,” said Lieutenant Bolton, a chum of Maguire’s. “Go back when you feel a little better; tread on his toe, or dig your elbow into his ribs, and tell him quietly you intended to do so. It will wonderfully facilitate our arrangements.”
Meantime Morton—totally unconscious of the annoyance preparing for him, and with the fair stranger whom he had rescued resting on his arm, was looking for a vacant seat in which to place her.
“Who is your chaperone?” he asked. “Where do you think we can find her?”
“Mrs Edmonstone,” she answered. “Mamma was unwell, and papa could not come till late in the evening, and so she took charge of me. She is one of the few ladies we know well in Calcutta, and whom mamma liked to ask to take her place. Ah, there she comes: she will, I am sure, thank you, as I do, for saving me from so very disagreeable an accident.”
“I rejoice that you escaped it,” answered Morton before he looked up; when he did so he saw approaching them the very lady with whom Glover seemed to be so well acquainted: she now had his arm.
“That is Mrs Edmonstone,” said Morton’s companion. “There are two seats; she is going to take one. I am afraid I must sit down.”
Morton led her to the seat next her friend, and would have retired, though most unwilling so to do, when Glover caught him by the arm, exclaiming, “Mr Morton, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Mrs Edmonstone—she wishes to make your acquaintance; she knows that if it had not been for you, I should have been food for the sharks long ago.”
Dicky had indeed been saying a number of complimentary things about Morton, which he fully deserved. Mrs Edmonstone held out her hand and said frankly, “I am indeed glad to have an opportunity of thanking you for saving my cousin’s life, and affording him the advantage of your friendship; your name, and, I may say, your many gallant deeds, have long been familiar to me: all his family are grateful to you.”
Morton bowed and felt gratified, for Mrs Edmonstone’s manner was so frank and cordial that he experienced none of the oppression which a sensitive person is apt to feel when receiving compliments, however well merited, if not bestowed with tact. She, supposing naturally that he had already been introduced to her younger companion, did not think it necessary again to go through that ceremony.
Encouraged by her manner, Morton remained talking in an animated way to her and her friend, Glover standing by and occasionally indulging in amusing remarks, which savoured more of the salt ocean than of the ball-room, but had no want of refinement to shock the ears of his auditors. Morton felt himself altogether in a new world; it was not very strange, but it was very different to anything he had ever before enjoyed; he put forth powers of conversation which he had not supposed himself to possess. He also was struck with the lively and intelligent remarks of the younger lady, and at the same time enchanted with the perfect simplicity which they betokened.
“Certainly her manners and conversation do not belie her looks; she is charming, she is perfect,” he more than once said to himself.
Few men can so conceal their feelings, especially if they are not aware what those feelings are, when in conversation with a lady, without her having an idea, undefined and uncertain though it may be, of the matter. The party were so interested in each other’s conversation that they might have continued talking till supper was announced, entirely regardless of what was going forward in the rest of the room, had they not been interrupted by the appearance of another person on the stage, who came up to claim the young lady’s hand.
He was slight and, though not very tall, of a good figure, with handsome features, and a remarkably dark complexion; he was dressed in a rich semi-oriental military costume, and had a dashing independent air about him, which Morton thought approached very much to a swagger, but perhaps at that moment he was not a very unprejudiced judge. Ronald could not help staring at him in a somewhat marked manner.
“Extraordinary!” he exclaimed to himself, “that I should come unexpectedly into this ball-room and meet two persona with whose countenances I am so familiar, and yet not have the slightest notion who they are. That young man’s face I know perfectly well; I must have met him over and over again, in a very different dress to what he now wears, and under very different circumstances, and I must have known him intimately, of that I am certain.”
“Do you not dance, Mr Morton?” asked Mrs Edmonstone, seeing him look about the room, as he was doing, in an abstracted manner, and fancying that he wished probably to be introduced to a partner. The instant her voice recalled his scattered senses, “Thank you,” he answered; “I so seldom have had opportunities of doing so that I can scarcely call myself a dancer; at present I confess that I feel more amusement in looking on than I should in dancing.”
“Can you tell me,” said Morton, “who is that young man in the handsome costume, who is dancing with your friend?”
“I can indeed say very little about him,” was the answer. “He is a Captain Gerardo, I understand,—a foreigner, that is to say, not English; either a Frenchman, or Spaniard, or Portuguese. He has been attached to one of the native courts in the East—I do not know which—and has come here on his travels before returning home. He seems to have come with several good introductions, especially to natives of high rank, and must be wealthy, as he is lavish in his expenditure. My husband, however, is not quite satisfied about him, and is making inquiries to ascertain whether or not he is an impostor. Numbers come to this country expecting to find a fine field for the exercise of their talents. They now and then, however, have to beat a precipitate retreat. I would not willingly have allowed my sweet friend, Edda, to dance with him, but he has been introduced to her father, who rather affects him, and I could not interfere.”
“Edda!” repeated Ronald to himself, the name conjuring up a thousand recollections of his far-distant home, for he had there heard it frequently. “What is your friend’s surname?” he asked; “I did not hear it.”
“She is the daughter of Colonel and Mrs Armytage, who are at present in Calcutta. He is on the staff—a somewhat haughty, proud man, and not a favourite of mine, but she is a gentle, amiable woman; only yields too much to him, I think.”
“How strange!” repeated Ronald aloud.
“Do you know them, Mr Morton?” she asked.
“If Mrs Armytage is the daughter of Sir Marcus Wardhill, of Lunnasting Castle, in Shetland, I know of them, though I have not seen her since I was a child. I was born on the estate, and brought up by her elder sister, who had lost her own child. Her story is a very romantic and sad one. You probably have heard of it.”
“Something, but I do not recollect all the particulars; Edda herself knows but little. The families keep up no communication, I fancy.”
“But slight,” said Morton, not liking to enter too minutely into particulars, and yet deeply interested. “I have news from Shetland occasionally, but I have not been there since I was a boy.”
“Shall I tell Miss Armytage that you know her family?” asked Mrs Edmonstone, with some hesitation.
Ronald considered a moment. “I will beg you not to do so,” he answered. “There can be no object gained. She knows nothing of my family, and probably takes but little interest in Shetland itself, while I have reason to know that her father has not for many years been on good terms with Sir Marcus Wardhill.”
“Probably you are right; I will do as you wish,” said the lady, and she kept her word.
Supper was over, and the guests began to take their departure. Morton and Glover saw Mrs Edmonstone and Miss Armytage to their carriage, and were going back to wait for the rest of their shipmates, when a young man in military uniform stepped up to the former, and, politely bowing, said that he had been deputed by his friend, Lieutenant Maguire, to demand the only reparation which one gentleman could afford another, for an insult he had that evening received.
“Assuredly, sir, you mistake my identity,” answered Morton, calmly. “I am not acquainted with Lieutenant Maguire, nor have I insulted, intentionally or otherwise, any human being.”
“Some people entertain very different notions to others as to what is an insult,” said the officer, with a sneer, intended to excite Morton’s anger. “My friend Maguire is exceedingly sensitive as to his honour. Not to lose time, sir, by any circumlocution in my remarks, you are, sir, I am led to understand, Lieutenant Morton, of his Majesty’s frigate ‘Thisbe’?”
“I am, sir,” said Morton; “your information on that point is correct.”
“I knew I was right, sir,” said the young officer, with a bullying air, mistaking a look of astonishment, which Morton could not suppress, for an exhibition of fear. “Mr Maguire conceives that early this evening you purposely tripped him up, and when you had brought him to the ground, you carried off his partner and laughed at him. Any one of these acts, sir, was an insult, to be washed out only with blood, as any man with a spark of honour in his composition will allow.”
Morton, though very much inclined to laugh at this absurd assertion, felt at the same time it was annoying. The only reply he could give was, that the young man was tipsy, and fell in consequence, and that he had nothing whatever to do with the matter. This answer would not be satisfactory to the gentleman who had brought the challenge. Still, it seemed too preposterous that he should allow himself to be drawn into a quarrel, against his will, by hair-brained young men who had lost the few wits they possessed by drinking. His own high sense of honour had never before been called in question—his gallantry had always been conspicuous.
“I cannot reply to you at once,” he answered quietly, turning to Lieutenant Maguire’s second. “Leave me your card and address, and I promise you you shall hear from me. Perhaps, in the meantime, your friend and his advisers may think better of the matter, and, at all events, you can convey him my assurance that I had no intention of insulting him, or of hurting his feelings in any way.”
“Well, sir, I must be content with your reply, though I cannot say that I conceive it to be a very satisfactory one. My name is Bolton, a brother officer of Maguire’s. Here is my card and address. I shall expect your friend.” Saying this, the young man, with a pompous air, turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
“This is indeed provoking, to have a quarrel thus pertinaciously fixed on me,” said Morton, taking Glover’s arm. “I must see the captain, and put the matter into his hands.”
Morton told Captain Calder what had occurred.
He looked considerably vexed, though he laughed as he answered, “I will act as your friend, as it is called, with all my heart, and go and see these young donkeys. If they insist on fighting, it shall be with cutlasses or boat stretchers. Do they think sailors are accustomed to handle their little pop-guns, and practise to commit murder with a steady hand? But seriously, my dear Morton, what do you wish?”
“To abide by God’s laws, Captain Calder, and to set at nought those of men,” answered the lieutenant.
“Spoken like yourself, Morton, and I have no fear that discredit will be brought on the service if we all so act,” said the captain. “And now let us collect our forces, and beat a retreat to our quarters.”