CHAPTER XI.

"THERE'S A STORM BREWING, AND YOU'LL BE IN IT, TOM."

"D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
    All as one as a piece of the ship,
And with her brave the world without offering to flinch,
    From the moment the anchor's atrip.
Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
    As with grief to be taken aback,
For the same little cherub that sits up aloft,
    Will look out a good berth for poor Jack."—DIBDIN.

"The Lowestoft," continued Merryweather, "arrived at Jamaica, and a proof was given now that Captain Locker was a true friend to Nelson. For knowing that he was running over with zeal for the service, he had him appointed to a separate command. Though, had the captain consulted his own wishes, he would much have preferred having the bold young lieutenant with himself.

"In the saucy wee schooner, Little Lucy, Nelson could lord it on his own quarter-deck, monarch of all he surveyed, and, in his own words, he made himself a complete pilot of all the passages through the islands situated to the north of Hispaniola.

"My friend's next preferment—through the interest of Locker—was to the third lieutenancy of the flagship Bristol, under Admiral Parker. But he was after a time promoted to the rank of first lieutenant. During his cruise in the Bristol, though Nelson himself says but little about it, he was not idle, and undoubtedly did his share of the duty of capturing no less than seventeen sail belonging to the enemy.

"Then Horace was appointed to the command of an old-fashioned, sturdy brig called the Badger, and was sent off to the coast of Mosquito and Bay of Honduras, to make it hot for the swarms of Yankee privateers that were cruising around there on the outlook for British shipping.

"I fear, Bob, that if I told you how excellently well young Nelson performed the duties required of him, you would imagine I was trying to make my friend too much of a hero; but if he joins our service, Tom will soon know that the Admiralty considers the performance of duty no act of heroism, however well it is done. But Nelson protected the settlers on this coast so faithfully and well, that he was not only admired, but in reality adored by them.

"It was while still in the Badger, and lying in Montago Bay, that the Glasgow, a 20-gun vessel, arrived. In about two hours' time she was wrapped in vast sheets of flame, and it was only through the extraordinary exertions of Nelson, aided by Captain Lloyd himself, that the crew were saved. Nelson, in speaking of the disaster, gives Captain Lloyd his due meed of praise. But he deserved it. There was one man on board the poor Glasgow who richly deserved flogging first and hanging afterwards; this was the steward."

"Was he flogged and hanged?" said Tom.

"I don't know, lad. I expect he was flogged at the very least. The scoundrel had gone to steal rum for himself and mates from the after hold. He succeeded in capsizing a cask of rum, and setting fire to it with the purser's dip he carried.

"Now the Glasgow was laden with gunpowder, and Captain Lloyd knew that if she blew up, not only would every one on board perish, but the magazines and warehouses on shore would also be destroyed. He immediately called all hands therefore, declaring that until every cask of powder was had up and thrown into the sea, not a man should leave the ship.

"The crew, who dearly loved their honest Welsh commander, obeyed his instructions, and saved themselves and him from a fearful death.

"Then Nelson came to the rescue, and the crew were got off before the charred timbers sank hissing in the waves.

"On the 28th of April, '79, my friend Horace, in his bold brig Badger, carried and captured La Prudente.

"Well, Tom, I haven't time to tell you all Nelson's brave deeds in the West Indies, and indeed I do not remember half of them, but about this time both France and Spain, you know or ought to know, were at war with Britain, and what with having now no men from America, we were not only rather short-handed, but somewhat short of ships, and by way of encouraging good men and officers to join the service, Prince William Henry became a midshipman, and many more of the scions and offshoots of nobility followed his example.

"Nelson received his post-captaincy, and Collingwood* became commander of the Badger. Horace was appointed to the Hinchinbrook, and during the cruise with the Major and Penelope took many prizes.

* Afterwards Lord Collingwood.

"But now, at the age of twenty-one, Horace had still higher promotion, for, as it was expected that the French admiral, Count d'Estainy, would attack Jamaica in force, he was appointed to the command of the batteries of Fort Charles, at Port Royal.

"But this bold count did nothing, and did it well.

"Nelson's next service was one of great importance. General Sir John Balling had formed a plan for an expedition against Fort St. Juan, in the Gulf of Mexico, and the sea operations were entrusted to Horace.

"It was the object of this expedition, by taking the fort and obtaining command of the Rio San Juan, running between the lake Nicaragua and the Atlantic, to obtain possession of the cities of Granada and Leon, and thus cut the communication of the Spaniards betwixt their northern and southern possessions in America.

"My friend's duty was the conveyance of the transports and the landing of the troops.

"But Nelson was not to be satisfied with so simple a share of the honour and glory of this expedition, and both Sir John and Captain Polson, of the 60th, testified in words of burning admiration to the great skill and indomitable energy of poor Horace. 'He was the first,' says Polson, 'on every service, whether undertaken by day or by night, and hardly a gun was pointed that was not laid by himself or by Lieutenant Despard.'*

* Twenty years after this, Despard was tried and executed for high treason with six of his fellow conspirators. He was, nevertheless, a brave and daring, though misguided man.

"It was a sad expedition this from beginning to end. The game, indeed, was hardly worth the candle; but Nelson was its real head. He not only landed with the men, and led them on to death or glory, but piloted them up the river, and took port after port from the astonished Spaniards, and all this in a climate so unhealthy, so rotten and malodorous, that pestilence was a greater foe to success than the resistance offered by the enemy. For on the march men fell dead in the ranks, others were poisoned by water, they were short of provisions, being forced to kill and eat monkeys, while several were killed by serpents. Not since the days of old Spanish buccaneering had any troops suffered as did those with bold Nelson. He says himself he carried troops a hundred miles up the river, he boarded the enemies' outposts situated on an island in the river, and made batteries and afterwards fought them, and was a principal cause of the success that attended our operations.

"Was it any wonder that in a place so pestilential fever broke out? It was fearful, Tom. I should not talk about such things to-day, but in Nelson's ship of 200 men, 87 were seized and confined to their beds in one night, and 145 were buried there, only ten men surviving the terrible expedition.

"Nelson himself was nearly dead, and but for the kindness of Sir Peter Parker, who appointed him to the 44-gun frigate Janus, at Jamaica, he would doubtless have succumbed. But even the tender nursing of Lady Parker and her little girl on shore was unable to restore my friend to health, and on the first of September, '80, he sailed for England with Captain Cornwallis.

"He lay ill for a year at Bath, and was then sent on a winter's cruise to Elsinore to protect the homeward trade. This cruise was but little relished by Horace, who rightly thought that his service in the West Indies, where he fought so well and so nearly lost his life in the service of king and country, deserved higher recognition.

"In '82 Horace sailed with a convoy of traders for Newfoundland, in his ship Albemarle.

"One clever action out there can be laid to Nelson's credit. It should be remembered that he was a perfect sailor and pilot. When chased, therefore, by three of the French ships of the line and the Iris frigate whilst cruising off Boston, and finding they were coming up with him hand-over-hand, he boldly sought the shoals. The frigate alone could follow, and Nelson made all preparation to fight her, but the Iris refused to accept the challenge, and sheered off.

"Horace next took a convoy to New York, and there he joined the fleet under Lord Hood. Here he was introduced to the Duke of Clarence—Prince William—and each found in the other a true-blue seaman and British sailor.

"On the return of the fleet, Lord Hood took Nelson to St. James' Palace, where he had the high honour of an introduction to the King. And, to use the words of Scripture, Tom, he found 'favour in the King's sight,' though there wasn't much to boast of in that.

* * * * *

"Peace was concluded with France in '83, and in July of that year Nelson was placed on half-pay.

"He next went to France—not to learn to dance Tom, but to improve his knowledge of the language. He, however, managed to fall over head and ears in love with a clergyman's daughter—a Miss Andrews. Many a ship and many a fort had my friend captured, and now, lo and behold, he himself had to haul down his flag to a girl.

"Oh, he would have died for her I doubt not, but she would not marry him. She showed bad taste in my opinion, Bob, but n'importe, there was happiness in store for Horace independently of this fair girl. Having sailed the ocean so long, no doubt he had found out the truth of the proverb, 'There's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.'

"In France, Nelson met two naval officers, to whom he seemed to take a dislike from the very first, for the simple reason that they tried to keep up the dignity of the service to which they belonged, by dressing in a somewhat dandified fashion, and wearing epaulettes. One of these was Captain Ball.

"Nelson, my friend and hero, is a man of deeds, and his hatred of vain-glory and show has ever been very marked. We did not find him digging in his garden, Tom, and planting cabbages, with his cocked-hat on his head and a sword by his side."

"No, sir," said Tom, laughing. "He would have looked funny like that; but he wore very old clothes indeed. He was droll."

"Yes, my lad, and when the Duke of Clarence first saw him, he seems to have been droller-looking still.

"'I was,' said his Royal Highness, 'then a midshipman on board the Barfleur, lying in the narrows off State Island, and had the watch on deck, when Captain Nelson came alongside in his barge. He appeared to be the merest boy of a captain I had ever beheld, and his dress made me smile. He had on a full-laced uniform, his lank, unpowdered hair was tied in a stiff Hessian tail of an extraordinary length, and the old-fashioned flaps of his waistcoat, added to the general quaintness of his figure, produced an appearance which quite riveted my attention. I had never seen anything like this before, and could not imagine who he was or what he had come about. My doubts were however removed, when Lord Hood introduced him to me. There was something irresistibly pleasing in his address and conversation, and an enthusiasm when talking on naval matters, that showed he was no ordinary being.

"'I found him,' continued the Duke, 'warmly attached to my father and singularly humane; indeed he had the honour of the King's service, and independence of the British Navy, particularly at heart. As for prize money, such a thing never entered his thoughts.'

"Now, Bob, I want you to note this, my friend Nelson, God bless his honest heart, hated dress and foppery, and he hated Captain Ball because he was a fop; but, as I said once to Horace, Miss Andrews would have thought a deal more of him, had he too donned the epaulettes and been a little less old-fashioned, for, Bob, the ladies are attracted by gay colours. It is nature you know. Look even at the birds of the air, they don't care a slug how they knock about all winter; but as soon as spring time comes, and they go a-wooing, behold how gay and brave they are. They know precisely when to put on their fancy waistcoats, and when to leave them off. But Nelson didn't.

"Well by-and-by Horace was appointed to the Boreas, twenty-eight guns, and sailed for Barbadoes.

"Sir Richard Hughes was then commander-in-chief of these colonies, but he was an easy-going commander and did not trouble his head very much about British interests.

"But Nelson meant to do his duty maugre fear maugre favour, although the big soldier men out there did not thank him for his interference. So he seized many vessels that he knew had no business at all to trade in British colonies, and got persecuted in consequence, as Horace himself says, 'from one island to another.'

"Out on this station Nelson met the charming widow Nisbet, and married her.

"Tom, the story stops here. You know pretty well all the rest, how the Boreas came back in 1787 and was paid off on the 4th of July, and how my dear friend went on half-pay, and has been left high and dry to fret and fume and 'rot,' as he calls it, ever since, waiting in vain for the appointment that, it seems to him, will never, never come.

"Tom, look eastward, lad, there is a storm brewing, and we better take the advantage of the cat's paws before it breaks and get homewards."

Tom did as he was desired, poled round the barge, set sail and got home before the rain and high wind ruffled the lake.

Just as they had landed, however, and Bob's cot was being wheeled towards his own wing of the cottage, Mr. Merryweather touched young Tom on the shoulder.

"Tom," he said, "look eastward, there is a storm brewing."

"Yes," said Tom, "but didn't you——"

"Didn't I tell you that before?

"Yes, lad, but I mean it now in a figurative sense. There is a storm brewing in the east, and you'll be in it, I'll be in it, and brave Horatio Nelson too."

"You mean war, sir?'"

"I mean war, Tom."

"Hurrah!"

CHAPTER XII.

"DAN WILL NE'ER BE DAN AGAIN," THEY SAID.

"A boding voice is in my ear,
    "We're parting now to meet no more."—OLD SONG.

"See yon bark, sae proudly bounding,
    Soon shall bear me o'er the sea.
Hark! the trumpet loudly sounding,
    Calls me far frae love and thee."—A. HUME.

It was a sad day for my hero, young Tom Bure, when Mr. Merryweather resigned command of the sloop, and went on half-pay. When he came to bid good-bye to Dan and his old shipmate, Uncle Bob, to say nothing of little Ruth and her mother, everyone was as sad as sad can be. It was one of those dull, depressing days in December; great waves tumbling in from the east and breaking in thunder upon the sands of Yare; hosts of seagulls flying in-land; snow in the air; general gloom everywhere.

"Good-bye, Bob, my good fellow, I hope to see you again, and see you well. I'm coming back from the wars with my post-captaincy, Bob; then you and your good brother Dan here will be the first to bid be welcome, I know."

There was a huskiness in poor Bob's voice when he made answer that was not difficult to account for, and there was moisture in his eyes.

"Ah, mate," he said, "you must forgive an invalid for showing the white feather at the last. I didn't think, you know, I'd be so sorry to part with you, but your presence, coming back and fore to the cottage here, brought back old memories, and I've had a right happy time. Good-bye, mate. Heaven preserve you. I'll pray for you, an honest tar's prayer. But something whispers to me—we'll meet again no more."

Ruth went as far as the rustic bridge with Mr. Merryweather.

He kissed her as he bade her farewell.

"I'll meet many a maiden ere I return again, Ruth," he said, "but none more modest and fair than you, my winsome lassie."

Ruth went away sobbing, with her apron to her face.

Tom walked as far as the beach with Merryweather, for he was Tom's hero.

Besides, he had promised to use his influence at the Admiralty to get Tom appointed as a middie in the same ship as he himself joined.

"Good-bye, Tom."

"Good-bye, Mr. Merryweather."

They were now on the cliff.

"Good-bye, sir, I wouldn't cry for the world, I—wouldn't—good-bye."

"There! there! lad. Never be ashamed of honest tears. Just let them fall. The bravest men that ever drew sword or wielded cutlass on the blood-slippery battle-deck have wept when saying that little word 'good-bye.'"

He patted the boy most kindly on the shoulder. "Tom," he said, smiling, "do you know what I'm going to do?"

"No," said Tom, smiling himself, though his eyes were wet.

"Well, as soon as I get up anchor and wear round I'll fire a gun for you. And do you know what that gun will say?"

"No, sir."

"It'll say 'Good-bye, Tom,' as plainly as ever a gun can speak. Now sit there and look and listen."

And off ran this honest sailor, while Tom sat down on the cliff-top to wait for developments.

He saw the boat hauled up. He heard the rattle of the windlass as the men got up the anchor. He saw the loosened sails fill as the little craft wore round, then there was a quick wicked-looking puff of white smoke, with a tongue of fire in the centre of it, and next moment the cliffs reverberated with the sound of the farewell gun.

Tom took off his jacket and waved it in the air; his cap would not have been sufficient for the requirements of so auspicious an occasion.

"Good-bye, Tom," said the gun.

And Tom went sadly home all by himself.

* * * * *

There is one method of getting over sorrow that every boy has in his power, namely, sticking to his books and his studies.

Many a time and oft, dear reader, has sorrow in this world been the parent of fame, and Tom Bure found that after a somewhat gloomy fortnight the time did not hang so wearily on his hands.

Hadn't Mr. Merryweather assured him that war was coming, and that he would exercise all the influence he possessed to obtain him an appointment as midshipman.

How glorious that would be! How he wished for the storm to break, for the war to begin. He did not think of the fine uniform he might wear, or of the dirk that should hang by his side. He resolved to emulate Horatio Nelson, and despise dandyism; but whenever a chance offered to do all kinds of daring, plucky things, he was sure he should rise rapidly in the service, and have his name written on the scroll of fame.

Tom had heard of the scroll of fame, but possessed very hazy notions indeed as to what it was or wasn't. But in an old copy-book Mr. Curtiss, his tutor, one day discovered the following ready-made scroll of fame—

"Tom Bure, midshipman.
Lieutenant Tom Bure, R.N.
Commander Thomas Bure, R.N.
Captain the Hon. Thom. Bure, R.N.
Admiral of the Red the Hon. Thom. Bure.
Admiral of the Fleet Lord——."

The scroll of fame was left unfinished just there; it was evident that young Tom was uncertain what title as a lord he should confer on himself.

But he happened to enter the room just as Mr. Curtiss was examining this scroll of fame and laughing heartily over it. Forgetting for the moment all the respect that was due to his tutor, Tom rushed forward, seized the paper and tore it in pieces, his eyes flashing with anger, his face burning like a coal.

"Oh! forgive me, Mr. Curtiss," he said immediately after, "I didn't mean to be rude, but I really felt so ashamed."

"Say no more, my boy, no more," said Mr. Curtiss, "we all of us manufacture for ourselves a scroll of fame, though we don't all transcribe it in an old copy-book. Never be ashamed of ambition, my boy, so long as it is honest ambition."

* * * *

Christmas of 1792 came round at last, and Tom Bure had the distinguished honour of being included among the invited guests to a ball given by his little inamorata, Miss Colmore, at the Hall. This party was not held on Christmas-day, however, else Tom, much as he loved the fascinating fair one, would have declined the invitation. Christmas-day was Uncle Bob's day par excellence, for he happened to have been born on this day of all days; so it was the one festival of the year at Dan's cottage. The dinner was spread in Bob's own wing, the room was specially decorated for the purpose with evergreens and holly-berries and mistletoe nearly a week beforehand, Bob himself superintending, Ruth and Tom doing the work.

The table, with its snow-white cloth and sparkling glasses, and Mrs. Dan's very best delf, was placed so that, as Bob lay in his cot and Dan sat at the foot of the table, the two brothers were close together, and Dan could attend to Bob's every want.

There were always a few neighbours invited, and mirth and jollity and songs and yarns were the rule of the evening.

And this Christmas formed no exception. Poor Bob was never merrier, and declared that he had been able to move his fingers in the morning better than ever he had done, so that a new hope was awakened within him. No wonder he was happy.

And Bob being happy, his brother Dan's face was all the evening brimming over with joy. Even Meg, the collie, knew that something extra was on the tapis, and when everybody drank to Bob, wishing him many happy returns of the day, and Dan his brother patted his cheek, the dog jumped up and licked his ear, then seemed to go to sleep with her head sideways on his chest in her old loving fashion.

This was indeed a never-to-be-forgotten evening.

Two days after the party at the Hall took place, and though perhaps Tom was not the greatest dandy there, he nevertheless looked as well as anyone. And, singular to say, Bertha was kinder to Tom than ever she had been. She gave him more dances than she gave to the Honourable Fred Langridge, although the latter wore silver buckles in his shoes besides silk stockings and a satin waistcoat, and sported a bunch of seals at his fob as large even as Mr. Merryweather's.

Tom was accordingly very happy indeed, and the evening wore away with magical quickness. Bertha had never looked so like a fairy before, but nevertheless this fairy maiden even condescended to let Tom——; but stay, I shall not tell tales out of school, and the least said about the mistletoe the better.

But that, too, was a never-to-be-forgotten evening.

Our young hero was now in his twelfth year, and began to think he really and truly was a man.

It being winter Uncle Bob spent nearly all his time indoors, but Tom went often to the crow's-nest, and came back and reported to Bob all about the weather and how the wind was, how the sea looked and what was in sight, and this used to make Bob so happy.

Tom often went out in the Fairy yawl with the Ashleys. They were a rather rough lot, but really capital seamen, and taught the boy quite a deal that was useful to him in after life.

And with all due respect for classical education, the knowledge of how to reef and steer and splice and knot, and of how to look a gale of wind and dashing seas in the teeth, is not thrown away even on a midshipman of the present day.

* * * * *

The cold dreary winter wore away at last, and spring began to clothe the marshes in tender green, and scatter wild flowers everywhere. The catkins were showered groundwards from the tall poplar trees, and yellow-green leaves covered them like the shimmer of evening sunshine, the tassels hung on the larches, the gold covered the furze, gentler winds went whispering through the young shoots of the bulrushes, and the song of birds was heard in all the land.

Happiness, joy, and hope were universal.

Uncle Bob began to look forward now to his first glad day on the broad in his barge. Dan his brother was to come with him, Ruth and Meg and all were to go, and Tom intended to invite little Bertha herself.

It was indeed to be a day of rejoicing.

One evening the stars shone with unusual brilliancy, and yet Dan told Bob there wasn't an air of frost in it either. Dan sat longer up with his brother that night than usual. They were talking of dear old times when father and mother were alive, and they were boys together. Such joyous days those used to be, and how free from care and thought.

When at last the old clock in the corner groaned out the hour of twelve, Dan bade his brother a kindly good-night, and prepared to go.

The last thing Bob asked him to do was to draw back the curtains, that he might see the beautiful stars.

"Take the candle, brother, take the candle," Bob said. "Good-night, dear Dan. Now I shall see the stars. Oh, what glory!"

These were the last words ever Dan heard his brother utter. Mayhap they were the last he ever spoke on earth.

When Tom went in next morning he found Uncle Bob apparently asleep. But his face was white.

Tom touched his brow; it was hard and cold.

He stood in the chamber of death.

It was Bob's wing no longer.

Tom felt for a moment as if turned to stone, then, uttering one long and bitter cry, he sank down on his knees beside the bed and burst into tears.

When brother Dan went in he found two mourners there; one was little Tom, the other Bob's collie, Meg. Her paws were on the bed, her cheek leant lovingly against the hard, dead chest of her master.

* * * * *

A very humble funeral. Only a plain deal coffin, and only a few friendly neighbours to follow it to its last resting-place.

But when these neighbours looked in the face of poor Dan, who erst was ever so cheerful, they shook their heads.

"Dan has aged sadly," they said.

"Dan will ne'er be Dan again."

Book II.

CHAPTER I.

TOM'S BAPTISM OF BLOOD.

"Set every inch of canvas
    To woo the favouring breeze.
Oh, gaily goes the ship
    When the wind blows free!"—OLD SONG.

"Luff, lad, luff," said the skipper to Tom Bure, who was at the wheel. "We'll give them a race for it anyhow. They'll think none the less of us for that."

"See," he added, a minute after, but talking now to his mate. Tom was too busy to look about. "Yonder was a shot, it fell plump into our wake a quarter knot astern. Blaze away, Frenchie, but we're not overhauled yet, and not a herring o' mine crosses your throat for the next two hours anyhow.

"Ah! mate, they don't know the life that's in the Yarmouth Belle when she gets a wind on the quarter. And the more it blows the faster she goes. Another shot! Ah! Frenchie, you haven't run us aboard yet even. Keep her as she goes, Tom, lad, keep her as she goes."

The skipper and his mate might have been taken for brothers, so much alike were they in face and build. Short, squat almost; men about forty years of age, with faces as rough as a crab shell, and not unlike to a crab in colour when that dainty has been boiled; noses that seemed to have sunk considerably by the pressure of gales of wind innumerable; eyes that were mere slits from the same cause; dressed in sea-boots and blue sweaters, with black sou'-westers. They carried their hands deep in their trousers' pockets when not handling anything; kept them stowed away, as it were, till wanted; and they chewed tobacco, as a rule, walking down to leeward when they wanted to expectorate, which they did apparently for the benefit of the sharks.

The men belonging to this schooner were five in number, and hardy-looking fellows every one of them, though not so tough as mate and master. They wore blue night-caps, and were naked as to feet, in other respects they were dressed like their superiors.

There was little or no lording it over the men displayed by the senior officers of the Yarmouth Belle, Equality and fraternity was displayed fore and aft. Even the skipper himself would be seen forward at times, talking and laughing and yarning with the forecastle hands, and any one of these would take a pull at sheet or brace without an order from the officer on duty, if he thought the sails needed trimming.

But both master and mate looked pleasant enough, and good-natured too, for men like these, who have been, literally speaking, reared upon the waves, are not easily put out. At the present moment, for instance, they were running away from a French cruiser, and it did seem too that they were likely to win the race.

The stage of action was the Mediterranean sea, or blue Levant, as novelists often call it. It was blue as blue could be to-day, as blue as the sky above it, albeit there was a white horse visible here and there on its surface, for a stiff but steady breeze was blowing, and if it only held, Mr. Hughes, the skipper, felt sure he could show that Frenchman a clean pair of heels.

"Wo! wo!" he cried presently, as a shot fell closer astern than was agreeable.

"I'd let her pay off a trifle, George," said the mate.

"Have it your own way, Tim, only don't let us get hulled."

"For'ard there!" he shouted. "Have the jollyboat all ready. Now, Tim, let her rip. Sandie, run aft here and haul up the British Jack. The red rag that makes the Frenchman as mad's a bull. See, I knew it would, and yonder comes another shot. Short this time though. Short, you dirty old frog-eating Moosoors. Mate, I'll have a tot o' rum. Don't see why we shouldn't splice the main brace, eh?"

"Steward!" cried Tim, "fill black-jack, and bring him up here."

The steward, in shirt and trousers, and a pair of slippers down at the heels, soon appeared, with a cup in one hand and a black iron measure with rum in it in the other. These were days of can-tossing.

"Here's confusion to the French!" cried the skipper.

Then he tossed his can.

The mate followed suit.

"No good offerin' you, younker, any, I daresay," he said, looking at Tom.

"Not to-day, thanks."

"Keep her full then, Tom. Keep your eyes aloft, lad. Steward, take a pull yourself, then trot for'ard with black-jack."

* * * * *

In order to understand how Tom Bure happens to be down here in the blue Levant, taking his trick at the wheel on board the saucy Yarmouth Belle, it will be necessary to hark back a month or two in our story, but I promise you that we shall soon make up our leeway.

* * * * *

After poor Uncle Bob was laid in his quiet grave, then, Tom received several letters from Mr. Merryweather, the last of which was very brief. He (Mr. Merryweather) was appointed to a ship at Chatham which was fitting out for sea, the letter explained, and as soon as possible he meant to have an interview with no less a personage than Lord Hood himself, with whom he had served out in America. Tom might rest assured that it was on his account wholly he was going to see the admiral, and he, Tom, might really hold himself in readiness to join a ship at any time.

Now, at this date, '93, history was moving on at a very rapid pace indeed.

Things had not gone over well with Horatio Nelson in '92. Hope itself seemed dead within him. His applications for service were utterly ignored by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty.

It was not very long, however, before Nelson had proof that the darkest hour of night is next the dawn, and that "post nubila Phœbus," after clouds come sunshine. He had still two good friends in high quarters, namely, Lord Hood and the Duke of Clarence. Both knew how good and enthusiastic an officer he was. Both knew that the cloud in the east would soon break. The French were, to use a slang but expressive adjective, "cockie." The French were insolent. They were already proved to be—so they themselves thought—the best soldiers in the world, and they thought also there would not be the slightest difficulty in proving their superiority to the British at sea.

They had already fired on British ships, and, with every desire to maintain the peace of the world, our Government saw there was nothing for it but fight.

Very much to his surprise, therefore, as well as intense delight, Nelson found himself appointed to the Agamemnon, a 64-gun ship of great excellence.

And so he sailed from England on the 27th of June, making one of the squadron of Lord Hood, whose ships were bound south, with a large convoy of merchantmen under their lee.

It was upon the 25th day of this very June that our bold young Tom Bure set out on a cruise of his own seeking. The Fairy, Ashley's yawl, was running round Hunstanton way, and Tom begged for a passage, or rather he asked for one. There was very little begging needed in it, for gruff old Ashley was as proud and fond of Tom as he was of any of his sons. So in a day or two—the Fairy being delayed by wicked wee winds—Tom found himself on shore at Wells. His object was to see Captain Nelson, and beg him to take him with him even as a cabin-boy.

Alas! Nelson was gone. His father was there, however, and as Tom sat in a high-backed chair opposite the kind old parson, he was for fifteen minutes under a fire of good advice, the text of which was, "Stay at home, boy, and become a useful member of society. Don't go to the sea to become a target for French gunners, and to feed the fishes eventually." Of course the worthy parson fixed his sermon up in a more appropriate guise than this. And there sat Tom as quiet as a mute; but, in the interests of truth, I am bound to say that, like round shot which go clean through a wooden ship at close quarters without doing much harm, the rector's advice went in at one of Tom's ears and out at the other, making no impression whatever.

"Now, my dear boy," said old Mr. Nelson at last, "you have listened most attentively to what I have said, and I pray heaven you may benefit by it."

Tom Bure had hardly heard a word of it.

"Thank you," he said, "and now, sir, might I write to your son?"

"Down you sit, lad, right here at this desk, and scribble away. I'll forward your epistle in one of mine."

Here is Tom Bure's letter to Horatio Nelson:

"DEAR CAPTAIN NELSON,—This comes hoping you are well and fighting the french, O, sir, I want to fite the french too. My father was a galant offiser and fought the french and the americans and Spanish and all. So did you, sir. You, sir, wanted the admiralty to give you a cockle-boat if you could not go as captain, if I cannot go as a midshipman sir, I want to go as a cabin boy.

"Yours Respectably,
        "TOM BURE."

It must be confessed that this letter was not free from some errors, but then action and common-sense were more admired in these brave old times than grammar and orthography.

Old Mr. Nelson promised faithfully to send the letter, and having given the lad a good dinner and a little more good advice, Tom marched boldly and hopefully away to Hunstanton and met the Ashleys.

On the passage back the Fairy ran into Yarmouth harbour, and Tom went with old Ashley on board a schooner to see a friend of his.

"As plucky a fellow as ever hauled a net," he explained to Tom before they crossed the plank. "Netted a bit o' money too. For five years now he's been running down the Levant wi' dried herrings, and comin' back wi' fruit. But what I tells him is this, 'You may do a thing in peace times ye can't in war.' Only George is as headstrong as a mule. And there he is. Ha, George, me and this younker was just talkin' about you. Here is a young sailor for you, if you like!"

"Can he do aught? A gent, ain't he?"

"Ay, a gent; but I brought him up, and, look see, he's going to be something yet. Tom Bure'll be a credit to me. He won't miss stays, you wager. But, George, I was just telling him what an old idget ye was."

"Oh, thank you!" said George, laughing. "I'm sure I'm obliged. Come below and have a tot of rum and bit o' baccy. Don't the Yarmouth Belle look nice?"

"Ah! yes, slick and trim. I'd have no fear o' her and you, George, if 't weren't war time."

While these two men were talking, Tom Bure had a happy thought. Why shouldn't he sail with George—as Ashley called the skipper. Nelson went in a merchant ship. "Sir," he said, "will you take me for a cruise? I'll obey orders, and do all I can to help you sail the schooner."

George laughed in a rough but kindly way, and the three went below together, and it all ended by young Tom Bure becoming one of the crew, or say rather an apprentice, on board the saucy Yarmouth Belle.

Honest old Dan was much distressed when he heard that Tom had engaged himself, and poor Ruth, whom Tom always called sister, was inconsolable.

"However, it may be all for the best," said Dan. "He's been well brought up, though I say it, wife, and Providence can protect him."

"Besides," said Mr. Curtiss, "he must begin to see life some time, and the sooner the better, Dan, now-a-days."

Tom's things were gotten ready with all speed. Rough wearing every-day articles they were, warm and useful. Mrs. Brundell saw to their abundance and utility.

His outfit for the navy had already been bought and packed, and as Tom's chest was a good-sized one, Ruth proposed that he should take his uniform clothes in the bottom. "It may bring Tom luck, mother," she said. So this was agreed to.

On the evening before his departure, the Colmores being then at the hall, Tom launched his boat, and with Meg at the prow started off up the Broad to bid farewell to his Bertha.

Poor Bertha cried bitterly for a little while; but she brightened up considerably when Tom told her it was all to win honour and glory for her he was going to brave the dangers of the treacherous ocean. She put it to him very straight though.

"What will you bring me, Tom?" she said.

And there wasn't a thing in the world that Tom did not promise to bring home and lay at his love's feet, so it is no wonder she dried her eyes and laughed at last. Bertha indeed seemed at this early stage of her existence quite cut out for a sailor's bride.

"That girl, who fain would choose a mate
    Should ne'er in fondness fail her,
May thank her lucky stars if fate
    Decree her to a sailor.
He braves the storm, the battle's heat,
    The yellow boys to nail her,
Diamonds—if diamonds she could eat,
    Would seek her honest sailor."

* * * * *

So away went Tom.

And the voyage had all along been a most pleasant one. In a few days' time the skipper of the Yarmouth Belle had reckoned upon reaching the port of destination, selling off his cargo, and investing in another. But it seemed at present that it was not going to be all plain sailing with him.

Whizz! Another shot. Much nearer this time too. "That privateersman," said the skipper, "is a wonderful craft to fly. Well, it'll be a feather in her cap if she runs the Yarmouth Belle aboard."

Whizz!

"I say, George, ain't it getting a trifle too hot?" said the mate.

When the next shot went ripping through the fore topsail, George turned his quid in his mouth, and nodded to his mate.

"I must admit, matie," he said, "it's getting a bit warmish. We've done all we could as Englishmen to maintain the honour and glory of the flag, now we'll haul her down."

The Yarmouth Belle was now brought to, and ere long was boarded by an officer from the cruiser.

When he came on the quarter-deck he was in a terrible passion, and swore roundly in French.

But as no one except Tom Bure understood a word he said, it did not matter a deal.

Tom did all he could to pacify the French officer, by explaining that being Englishmen, they were obliged either to fight or retire. Being unable to fight they naturally ran away to save their cargo, just as they hoisted the British flag to save their honour.

"Where is that flag?" hissed the officer, striking his sword-scabbard on the deck. "Give me the rag."

Now Tom had the old Bure blood in him, and his face glowed with anger to hear his country's flag called a rag. He determined it should not be surrendered.

"Here is the flag, sir," he said. "Let me roll it up for you."

As he did so he deftly managed to tie within it two marline spikes, old-fashioned, heavy articles.

Then he coolly pitched the crimson bundle overboard.

"There, sir; a gentleman knows how to respect even the flag of an enemy. You are not one, and shall never finger flag of ours."

This, it must be confessed, was a bold as well as pretty speech for a lad of Tom's age. Those, however, were the days of bold speeches, and doughty deeds as well.

But dire were the results that followed.

The Frenchman drew his sword, and struck poor Tom Bure a terrible blow with the hilt.

Tom fell senseless to the deck.

Next moment the Frenchman lay beside him.

"Fair play, you cowardly frog-eater," the skipper had shouted, bringing his fist to bear full between the officer's eyes.

It was too late now to draw back.

"Overboard with the lot," shouted skipper Hughes.

As he spoke he tore the sword from the grasp of the fallen man, and the pistol from his belt.

The mate seized a capstan bar. The crew followed his example. A few pistol shots were fired, and cutlasses were drawn by the Frenchmen; but the attack had been all too quick and unexpected to be met. In less than a minute the crew of the boat were overpowered and disarmed, then pitched pell-mell overboard.

Those Norfolk sailors had fought like demons.

The foreyard was hauled forward, and away once more went the Yarmouth Belle, skimming over the water like a living thing.

By the time the cruiser had picked up her boat the schooner had secured such an offing that, as night was coming on, the baffled privateer was fain to give up pursuit and go off on another tack.

And this was Tom Bure's baptism of blood.

He certainly lost some, and there was an ugly gash on his brow; but he was soon sufficiently recovered to sit up and look about him.

The skipper had bound up his brow, and the steward was kneeling beside him, trying hard to get him to swallow a little three-water-grog.

Tom couldn't believe his eyes when he looked about him.

There was the Yarmouth Belle once more under full sail, and there was the French officer sitting disconsolately under the lee rails, side by side with one of his own men, both with their legs in irons.

And now Tom showed his generosity by begging that both men should be placed en parole.

The skipper consented, and with his own hands Tom unlocked the irons and set them free.

"The English are von brave nationg," said the officer, and, much to Tom's astonishment, he was caught and kissed on both cheeks.

The Frenchmen, however, settled down very happily in their new quarters, and were as merry as merry could be.

After all, it was only the fortune of war.

CHAPTER II.

HOW TOM BURE JOINED THE SERVICE.

"Let cannons roar loud, burst their sides let the bombs,
    Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle;
The rough and the pleasant, Jack takes as it comes,
    And laughs at the storm and the battle."—DIBDIN.

The Yarmouth Belle had baffling winds for a few days after this, which considerably delayed her progress to Naples, the port of her destination. But the weather was beautiful on the whole, and the skipper and the mate were both philosophers of the happy-go-lucky school.

"I'm not going to fret my little self," said Mr. Hughes one morning at breakfast, when Tom reported that the Belle's head was not directed to that point of the compass he should wish.

"We're not going to fret our little selves," said the mate. "Pass the ham, skipper. We've plenty to eat, we've plenty to drink, and we have 'baccy, and there's no hurry home."

"You are rich men den?" said the French officer.

"Oh, no, sir. Rich in content, that is all."

"You veel make one profitabeal voyage?"

"I hope to make fifty," said the skipper.

"Ah, dat is not vot I mean. Dis voyage, saar. Here, I veel pay you tres bien if you take me to Tunis."

The Briton shook his head.

"That cock won't fight, sir," he said. "I'm a poor man, but I trust I'm an honourable one; least I hope so."

"Ah, good! I make my respects to you. I honour you, I love you. Good-bye."

He stretched his hand over the table, seized Hughes' rough fist, and shook it heartily.

"Are you off then?" said the mate, laughing

"Ah, saar! I not mean that, my good-bye is not all de same as yours."

At this moment Tom entered once more.

He looked excited.

"Three frigates in sight, Mr. Hughes, sir," he said. "I've been to the mast-head with the glass, and they look like Frenchmen."

It was the officer's turn to laugh now.

"Ah!" he cried, "now it may be 'Good-bye' after all in de Eenglish way. Ha! ha!"

"Don't you whistle till you're out of the wood, Moosoo," said Hughes, nodding to him good-humouredly. "You don't know yet what the Belle can do on a wind."

Stout though he was, the skipper found his way into the top, while the mate stood below looking up.

"Right the boy is!" he shouted down presently. "They are French as sure's I'm Yarmouth. Ready about, mate! We may as well keep out o' the way. But, bless you, mate," he added, when he got down again, "they seem far too busy to bother us."

"May I take the glass and go into the cross-trees, sir?" asked Tom.

"Go on to the truck if ye like, lad. Why, you've got eyes like a lynx."

Away aloft went Tom. No cat could have gone aloft half so neatly. Honest pride was swelling his young heart as he brought the telescope to bear on the Frenchmen.

"On deck!" he shouted presently.

"Ay, ay, lad!" cried Hughes.

"There are three big frigates, a smaller" (? corvette), "and a brig."

Hughes laughed and turned to Moosoo, as he called his prisoner. Hughes was fond of a joke.

"We can't do it, Moosoo," he said. "Had there been only three frigates now, we might have boarded and carried them one after another. But four and a brig to boot—that's just two more 'n we can eat. Ha! ha! ha! See the point?"

If Moosoo didn't see the point he felt it; for in order to emphasise his joke Hughes dug him in the ribs with his red fat forefinger.

"One of the frigates has dropped astern, sir," was the next hail from the cross-trees. "A bigger one than any is coming up on her, hand over hand."

"Is she French?"