Chapter Eight.

Chapter Eight.The Little Lady grew apace, and flourished under the careful nursing of my mother and the Misses Schank. They gave her the name of Emily, in compliment to an elder sister whom I have not before mentioned—a great invalid, who never left her room. I had, indeed, not seen her, for she was so nervous that it was feared I might agitate her. The Little Lady was, however, once taken in to her, and she was so pleased that she insisted on seeing her every day. She was, I afterwards learned, not only an invalid, but occasionally affected in her mind, from some great grief which had occurred to her in her youth.Time rolled on. I was somewhat spoiled, I think, by the kind ladies, who treated me completely as if I had been in their own position in life, and took great pains to teach me all I was then capable of learning.At length my father came back to Whithyford. He could not remain long, for he had been appointed to another ship. He told my mother that he had been so unhappy without her that he had got leave to take her and me with him, as I was now big enough to go to sea. My mother was too sensible a woman not to know that she must some day of necessity part from the Little Lady, and though it was like wrenching her very heartstrings, she, without hesitation, agreed to accompany her husband and take me with her. Our kind friends were, I know, very sorry to part with us. The old lady folded her arms round me, and kissed me on both cheeks, and on my forehead, and blessed me, and told me she hoped I should be as brave and good a man as her son, and also as my father. The frigate was fitting out at Portsmouth for the Mediterranean station. She was the “Grecian,” of thirty-eight guns, commanded by Captain Harry Oliver, who, three years before, had been a Master’s mate in the “Boreas”. He having since then served two years as Lieutenant, and one as Commander, had just been posted to her. Some men in Mr Schank’s position would have declined serving as First-Lieutenant under an officer who had before served under him, but Mr Schank had no pride of the sort, and when Captain Oliver applied for him he readily consented to accept the offer.There was every probability of our having a happy ship. I have mentioned a young midshipman—Leonard Bramston—he was our junior Lieutenant, having lately got his promotion; but the person above all others I was delighted to see was Mrs King, whose husband had joined the frigate. Bill King proposed also himself applying for a warrant as gunner. However, for the present, he had come to sea with his old rating as quarter-master. While the ship was fitting out, my mother and Mrs King lived on shore. One Sunday we went to the Marine Barracks, where we heard that Sergeant Killock and Tom Sawyer were stationed. They were greatly pleased to see me. The Sergeant tried to persuade my mother to let me remain on shore and turn into a drummer boy, at which I was very indignant, holding a blue-jacket to be a being of far superior grade, and a blue-jacket I hoped shortly to become. I was rather small just then, but not smaller than some of the midshipmen who had joined our frigate for the first time. Mere mites of boys were frequently then sent to sea, who looked more fit to wear pinafores, and be attended by nurses, as far as size was concerned; and yet, though now and then they got into mischief and did not do very wise things, yet occasionally they performed very gallant actions, such as men twice their age might have been proud of, requiring judgment and discretion as well as courage. At length we went out to Spithead and took our powder on board. Blue Peter was flying, the remainder of the stores for the officers came on board, the ship was cleared, the band struck up, the seamen tramped round with the capstan bars to a merry tune, the topsails were sheeted home, and with a blue sky above us and bright water below, we stood down the Solent towards the Needle passage. It was a gay and beautiful sight. I had been so long on shore that I had almost forgotten all about a ship. The men looked so smart and active, for Mr Schank had taken care to get a picked crew, which some officers in those days could get and some could not; the Captain and Lieutenants and midshipmen in their new uniforms looked so spruce, and the marines so trim and well set up, that I could not help rejoicing that I was once more afloat, though I did not forget my kind friends at Whithyford, nor the dear Little Lady. We passed out at the Needle passage, with Hurst Castle on one side and the tall pointed white rocks off the west end of the island on the other, not ill-called Needles, sighting Weymouth, where the good old King George the Third was accustomed to reside. Bless his memory, say I, for, though he might have had his faults, he was a right-honest true-hearted man—brave as the bravest of his subjects, and firm too; though those who opposed him called his firmness obstinacy. However, I am talking of things of which I knew at that period of my career nothing at all.I had grown by this time into a stout, hardy-looking lad, tall and proportionably broad, so that I looked much older than I was, and thus I was already rated as a boy on board the ship, though I was the youngest on board, and likely to remain so for a considerable time. When people saw my mother, who looked remarkably young, and pretty as ever, they could scarcely believe that I was her son. Few people retain their health and good looks as she did. Running across the Bay of Biscay we sighted Cape Finisterre, rounding which we stood in for the coast, in hopes of picking up some of the Spanish Guarda Costas or any of the enemy’s merchantmen. However, when standing in for Finisterre Bay the wind dropped and we lay perfectly becalmed, rolling gently to the swell which nearly at all times sets in on that coast.Evening was approaching. Our young Captain walked the deck with impatient strides. Though so gentle and quiet in his manners there was a spirit in him that ever desired activity. Several times his glass was turned towards the distant shore. He then summoned the master and examined the chart. We had fallen in, the day before, with a Portuguese Rasca, from the master of which a good deal of information had been obtained, and as an honest man and a patriot it was supposed that it could be relied on. Captain Oliver and Mr Schank were in consultation for some time. We guessed there was something to be done. Now, I thought to myself, I should like to see some fun. They are planning something, that is certain. I wonder what it can be. In a short time the cutter and barge were ordered away, it being understood that Mr Schank would take the command of the former and would be accompanied by Lieutenant Spry of the Marines, while the Third-Lieutenant, Mr Bramston, took charge of the barge. Including marines and blue-jackets the party mustered rather more than forty in all. They waited till dusk to leave the ship. This just suited my plan of operation. As the arms, provisions, and other articles were being lowered into the boat, I managed to slip down and to stow myself away in the barge forward under a sail. I required but little space for hiding away. Just at dusk the two boats shoved off, and away we went towards the shore; I heard the men say that the object of the expedition was to cut out several luggers lying in a small harbour with a town at the further end of it. We had a long pull, for we were at such, a distance from the coast that the frigate could not have been seen from it. At all events the inhabitants of the town would not have suspected that any boats would come from a vessel whose topgallant sails could only just have been visible. At length, after pulling for some hours, the lights on shore were seen, and in a short time the boats came off the mouth of the harbour; but then it was found that the luggers were some little way up it, and that a strong fort guarded the town and entrance. Mr Schank and the Lieutenant of Marines agreed that the first thing to be done was to take the fort. We could not land close to it on account of the rocks, and therefore had to pull some distance to the south before the party could get on shore.When they all left the boats I had no fancy to remain behind, and therefore scrambled out after the rest, although one of the boat-keepers attempted to stop me by catching hold of my leg. I escaped him, however, and ran on among the men.“Hillo, little chap! Where did you come from?” exclaimed several of them as they first discovered me.I replied that I wanted to go and help them fight the enemy. I was passed to Mr Schank. “Why, Ben,” he said, “what business have you to be here? What can you do?”“Please, sir, I can carry your flask if you will let me, or if anybody is hit I can stay by them and help them.”“I have a great mind to send you back, Master Ben.”I entreated that I might be allowed to go on. Perhaps he thought there might be as much risk for me if I remained in the boat as there would be should I accompany them. He therefore, greatly to my delight, allowed me to go on with the party. On we pushed. Mr Schank, it appeared, had been on shore before at the place and knew the position of the fort. We had a heavy tramp, however, especially for him with his wooden leg, which sank into the soft sand every step he took, and he sometimes had to rest his arm on a man’s shoulder to help him get along, but his courage and determination were at all times equal to any emergency. On we went till we could see the dim outline of the fort across the sand; it was a great thing to approach without being discovered, for, although we had determined to get in at all hazard, if we could take the Spaniards by surprise, the work would be far more easy. There was no cover, but we could only hope that the enemy would not be on the look-out for us, or that if they were, their eyes would be turned towards the harbour, the entrance-gate being on the land side. I own, at last, I felt my legs aching with walking over the soft sand. I began to wish that I had remained on board. The men must have suspected how it was with me, and at last one of them took me up and carried me on his shoulders, and then another and another, for even my additional weight was likely to tire the stoutest had they carried me long. At last the fort rose before us. Mr Schank in a low whisper ordered the men to move forward crouching down to the ground, to step softly, and not to utter a word. On we went, so close together, that had anybody watched us, we might have looked like some huge animal moving on, or the shadow of a cloud passing over the ground. Our leaders hurried on. The drawbridge was down. The marines were ordered to level their bayonets and the blue-jackets their pikes, and charge on. It was the work of an instant. The Spaniards were totally unprepared for our coming at that moment, although, as it turned out, they had been informed of our being in the neighbourhood, and a gun was found pointed for the purpose of sweeping the passage should the fort be attacked. Before, however, it could be fired, the gunners had taken to flight. In a few seconds we were in possession of the fort.Our men were pretty well knocked up with their long pull and march over the sand, and the country might soon be raised, and overwhelming forces sent against us. The order was, therefore, given to spike the guns, which was very speedily done. The fort was found to contain eight brass guns, twenty-four and twelve-pounders, with a considerable garrison. Part of them, as we entered, laid down their arms to save their lives, while the remainder scrambled over the walls, and made their escape to the town. Our boats had, meantime, made their way into the harbour, which, now that we had possession of the fort, they could do without molestation. As soon as all the damage had been done to the fort which time would allow, we once more embarked in the boats, and made a dash at the luggers, which yielded without striking a blow. Directly we had taken them, however, and had begun to move down the harbour, a battery on the opposite side, which we had not yet seen, opened its fire, and continued sending shot after us, which could not however have been very well aimed, for neither the boat nor the prizes were once struck. It is possible that the powder was bad, and the shot fell short. As we approached the mouth of the harbour we saw that the whole neighbourhood was roused. Beacon fires were blazing, guns firing, and musketry rattling away in all directions. As we were getting through the passage, a pretty sharp fire of musketry was opened on us, but though the shot fell thickly, no one was struck, though the boats and vessels were so frequently. It was my first battle, and a very bloodless one, for I do not believe a Spaniard or Englishman was hurt. Our six prizes were very acceptable, for they were laden with wine, which was pronounced very good of its sort. It was broad daylight by the time we got near the mouth of the harbour, and the land-breeze blowing enabled us to carry out our prizes without difficulty, and with them under convoy we sailed for Lisbon, where a good market could be found for their cargoes.When I got on board, instead of being received as a hero crowned with victory, my father seized hold of me, and looked me sternly in the face.“Ben,” said he, “have you thought of the misery and anxiety you have been causing your mother? She has been in a fearful taking about you ever since you went away. How could she tell that you had not slipped overboard? I could not say that you had not, myself; but I have heard of boys doing just as you have done, and so I guessed pretty well the state of the case. But I tell you, boy, I never saw her suffer so much. I almost thought it would be the death of her.”“Oh! Flog me, father! Flog me!” I cried out; for I could not bear the thoughts of having made my mother unhappy. “Tell Dick Patch to lay it on thick. The harder he hits the better. I did not think, father, what I was doing; indeed, I did not.”“No, Ben, I will not have you flogged,” he answered, “your mother’s sufferings have been punishment enough for you. I believe you did it without thought, indeed, I know you did; and just do you go and have a talk with her, and see how pale and ill she looks; and I hope that will be enough to make you never go and do a thing again which will cause her anxiety and grief. The time will come when you will have to run all sorts of risks and dangers, but it is a very different thing to run your head into danger from fool-hardiness, and to go into danger because it is your duty.” These remarks of my father made a deep impression on me. I hurried below, and there I saw my poor mother looking more ill and distressed than I had ever seen her:—her eyes red from weeping, and her cheeks pale and sickly; and then when she told me how much she had suffered, I burst into tears, and promised never to play her such a trick again.We took several other prizes on our way to the South; indeed, Captain Oliver showed, that, young as he was, few officers were likely to prove more active or energetic in their duties. He was well off and did not seem to care for the prize-money. He thought of duty above everything else. It was his duty to injure the trade of the enemy as much as possible, and he did so to the very best of his power.

The Little Lady grew apace, and flourished under the careful nursing of my mother and the Misses Schank. They gave her the name of Emily, in compliment to an elder sister whom I have not before mentioned—a great invalid, who never left her room. I had, indeed, not seen her, for she was so nervous that it was feared I might agitate her. The Little Lady was, however, once taken in to her, and she was so pleased that she insisted on seeing her every day. She was, I afterwards learned, not only an invalid, but occasionally affected in her mind, from some great grief which had occurred to her in her youth.

Time rolled on. I was somewhat spoiled, I think, by the kind ladies, who treated me completely as if I had been in their own position in life, and took great pains to teach me all I was then capable of learning.

At length my father came back to Whithyford. He could not remain long, for he had been appointed to another ship. He told my mother that he had been so unhappy without her that he had got leave to take her and me with him, as I was now big enough to go to sea. My mother was too sensible a woman not to know that she must some day of necessity part from the Little Lady, and though it was like wrenching her very heartstrings, she, without hesitation, agreed to accompany her husband and take me with her. Our kind friends were, I know, very sorry to part with us. The old lady folded her arms round me, and kissed me on both cheeks, and on my forehead, and blessed me, and told me she hoped I should be as brave and good a man as her son, and also as my father. The frigate was fitting out at Portsmouth for the Mediterranean station. She was the “Grecian,” of thirty-eight guns, commanded by Captain Harry Oliver, who, three years before, had been a Master’s mate in the “Boreas”. He having since then served two years as Lieutenant, and one as Commander, had just been posted to her. Some men in Mr Schank’s position would have declined serving as First-Lieutenant under an officer who had before served under him, but Mr Schank had no pride of the sort, and when Captain Oliver applied for him he readily consented to accept the offer.

There was every probability of our having a happy ship. I have mentioned a young midshipman—Leonard Bramston—he was our junior Lieutenant, having lately got his promotion; but the person above all others I was delighted to see was Mrs King, whose husband had joined the frigate. Bill King proposed also himself applying for a warrant as gunner. However, for the present, he had come to sea with his old rating as quarter-master. While the ship was fitting out, my mother and Mrs King lived on shore. One Sunday we went to the Marine Barracks, where we heard that Sergeant Killock and Tom Sawyer were stationed. They were greatly pleased to see me. The Sergeant tried to persuade my mother to let me remain on shore and turn into a drummer boy, at which I was very indignant, holding a blue-jacket to be a being of far superior grade, and a blue-jacket I hoped shortly to become. I was rather small just then, but not smaller than some of the midshipmen who had joined our frigate for the first time. Mere mites of boys were frequently then sent to sea, who looked more fit to wear pinafores, and be attended by nurses, as far as size was concerned; and yet, though now and then they got into mischief and did not do very wise things, yet occasionally they performed very gallant actions, such as men twice their age might have been proud of, requiring judgment and discretion as well as courage. At length we went out to Spithead and took our powder on board. Blue Peter was flying, the remainder of the stores for the officers came on board, the ship was cleared, the band struck up, the seamen tramped round with the capstan bars to a merry tune, the topsails were sheeted home, and with a blue sky above us and bright water below, we stood down the Solent towards the Needle passage. It was a gay and beautiful sight. I had been so long on shore that I had almost forgotten all about a ship. The men looked so smart and active, for Mr Schank had taken care to get a picked crew, which some officers in those days could get and some could not; the Captain and Lieutenants and midshipmen in their new uniforms looked so spruce, and the marines so trim and well set up, that I could not help rejoicing that I was once more afloat, though I did not forget my kind friends at Whithyford, nor the dear Little Lady. We passed out at the Needle passage, with Hurst Castle on one side and the tall pointed white rocks off the west end of the island on the other, not ill-called Needles, sighting Weymouth, where the good old King George the Third was accustomed to reside. Bless his memory, say I, for, though he might have had his faults, he was a right-honest true-hearted man—brave as the bravest of his subjects, and firm too; though those who opposed him called his firmness obstinacy. However, I am talking of things of which I knew at that period of my career nothing at all.

I had grown by this time into a stout, hardy-looking lad, tall and proportionably broad, so that I looked much older than I was, and thus I was already rated as a boy on board the ship, though I was the youngest on board, and likely to remain so for a considerable time. When people saw my mother, who looked remarkably young, and pretty as ever, they could scarcely believe that I was her son. Few people retain their health and good looks as she did. Running across the Bay of Biscay we sighted Cape Finisterre, rounding which we stood in for the coast, in hopes of picking up some of the Spanish Guarda Costas or any of the enemy’s merchantmen. However, when standing in for Finisterre Bay the wind dropped and we lay perfectly becalmed, rolling gently to the swell which nearly at all times sets in on that coast.

Evening was approaching. Our young Captain walked the deck with impatient strides. Though so gentle and quiet in his manners there was a spirit in him that ever desired activity. Several times his glass was turned towards the distant shore. He then summoned the master and examined the chart. We had fallen in, the day before, with a Portuguese Rasca, from the master of which a good deal of information had been obtained, and as an honest man and a patriot it was supposed that it could be relied on. Captain Oliver and Mr Schank were in consultation for some time. We guessed there was something to be done. Now, I thought to myself, I should like to see some fun. They are planning something, that is certain. I wonder what it can be. In a short time the cutter and barge were ordered away, it being understood that Mr Schank would take the command of the former and would be accompanied by Lieutenant Spry of the Marines, while the Third-Lieutenant, Mr Bramston, took charge of the barge. Including marines and blue-jackets the party mustered rather more than forty in all. They waited till dusk to leave the ship. This just suited my plan of operation. As the arms, provisions, and other articles were being lowered into the boat, I managed to slip down and to stow myself away in the barge forward under a sail. I required but little space for hiding away. Just at dusk the two boats shoved off, and away we went towards the shore; I heard the men say that the object of the expedition was to cut out several luggers lying in a small harbour with a town at the further end of it. We had a long pull, for we were at such, a distance from the coast that the frigate could not have been seen from it. At all events the inhabitants of the town would not have suspected that any boats would come from a vessel whose topgallant sails could only just have been visible. At length, after pulling for some hours, the lights on shore were seen, and in a short time the boats came off the mouth of the harbour; but then it was found that the luggers were some little way up it, and that a strong fort guarded the town and entrance. Mr Schank and the Lieutenant of Marines agreed that the first thing to be done was to take the fort. We could not land close to it on account of the rocks, and therefore had to pull some distance to the south before the party could get on shore.

When they all left the boats I had no fancy to remain behind, and therefore scrambled out after the rest, although one of the boat-keepers attempted to stop me by catching hold of my leg. I escaped him, however, and ran on among the men.

“Hillo, little chap! Where did you come from?” exclaimed several of them as they first discovered me.

I replied that I wanted to go and help them fight the enemy. I was passed to Mr Schank. “Why, Ben,” he said, “what business have you to be here? What can you do?”

“Please, sir, I can carry your flask if you will let me, or if anybody is hit I can stay by them and help them.”

“I have a great mind to send you back, Master Ben.”

I entreated that I might be allowed to go on. Perhaps he thought there might be as much risk for me if I remained in the boat as there would be should I accompany them. He therefore, greatly to my delight, allowed me to go on with the party. On we pushed. Mr Schank, it appeared, had been on shore before at the place and knew the position of the fort. We had a heavy tramp, however, especially for him with his wooden leg, which sank into the soft sand every step he took, and he sometimes had to rest his arm on a man’s shoulder to help him get along, but his courage and determination were at all times equal to any emergency. On we went till we could see the dim outline of the fort across the sand; it was a great thing to approach without being discovered, for, although we had determined to get in at all hazard, if we could take the Spaniards by surprise, the work would be far more easy. There was no cover, but we could only hope that the enemy would not be on the look-out for us, or that if they were, their eyes would be turned towards the harbour, the entrance-gate being on the land side. I own, at last, I felt my legs aching with walking over the soft sand. I began to wish that I had remained on board. The men must have suspected how it was with me, and at last one of them took me up and carried me on his shoulders, and then another and another, for even my additional weight was likely to tire the stoutest had they carried me long. At last the fort rose before us. Mr Schank in a low whisper ordered the men to move forward crouching down to the ground, to step softly, and not to utter a word. On we went, so close together, that had anybody watched us, we might have looked like some huge animal moving on, or the shadow of a cloud passing over the ground. Our leaders hurried on. The drawbridge was down. The marines were ordered to level their bayonets and the blue-jackets their pikes, and charge on. It was the work of an instant. The Spaniards were totally unprepared for our coming at that moment, although, as it turned out, they had been informed of our being in the neighbourhood, and a gun was found pointed for the purpose of sweeping the passage should the fort be attacked. Before, however, it could be fired, the gunners had taken to flight. In a few seconds we were in possession of the fort.

Our men were pretty well knocked up with their long pull and march over the sand, and the country might soon be raised, and overwhelming forces sent against us. The order was, therefore, given to spike the guns, which was very speedily done. The fort was found to contain eight brass guns, twenty-four and twelve-pounders, with a considerable garrison. Part of them, as we entered, laid down their arms to save their lives, while the remainder scrambled over the walls, and made their escape to the town. Our boats had, meantime, made their way into the harbour, which, now that we had possession of the fort, they could do without molestation. As soon as all the damage had been done to the fort which time would allow, we once more embarked in the boats, and made a dash at the luggers, which yielded without striking a blow. Directly we had taken them, however, and had begun to move down the harbour, a battery on the opposite side, which we had not yet seen, opened its fire, and continued sending shot after us, which could not however have been very well aimed, for neither the boat nor the prizes were once struck. It is possible that the powder was bad, and the shot fell short. As we approached the mouth of the harbour we saw that the whole neighbourhood was roused. Beacon fires were blazing, guns firing, and musketry rattling away in all directions. As we were getting through the passage, a pretty sharp fire of musketry was opened on us, but though the shot fell thickly, no one was struck, though the boats and vessels were so frequently. It was my first battle, and a very bloodless one, for I do not believe a Spaniard or Englishman was hurt. Our six prizes were very acceptable, for they were laden with wine, which was pronounced very good of its sort. It was broad daylight by the time we got near the mouth of the harbour, and the land-breeze blowing enabled us to carry out our prizes without difficulty, and with them under convoy we sailed for Lisbon, where a good market could be found for their cargoes.

When I got on board, instead of being received as a hero crowned with victory, my father seized hold of me, and looked me sternly in the face.

“Ben,” said he, “have you thought of the misery and anxiety you have been causing your mother? She has been in a fearful taking about you ever since you went away. How could she tell that you had not slipped overboard? I could not say that you had not, myself; but I have heard of boys doing just as you have done, and so I guessed pretty well the state of the case. But I tell you, boy, I never saw her suffer so much. I almost thought it would be the death of her.”

“Oh! Flog me, father! Flog me!” I cried out; for I could not bear the thoughts of having made my mother unhappy. “Tell Dick Patch to lay it on thick. The harder he hits the better. I did not think, father, what I was doing; indeed, I did not.”

“No, Ben, I will not have you flogged,” he answered, “your mother’s sufferings have been punishment enough for you. I believe you did it without thought, indeed, I know you did; and just do you go and have a talk with her, and see how pale and ill she looks; and I hope that will be enough to make you never go and do a thing again which will cause her anxiety and grief. The time will come when you will have to run all sorts of risks and dangers, but it is a very different thing to run your head into danger from fool-hardiness, and to go into danger because it is your duty.” These remarks of my father made a deep impression on me. I hurried below, and there I saw my poor mother looking more ill and distressed than I had ever seen her:—her eyes red from weeping, and her cheeks pale and sickly; and then when she told me how much she had suffered, I burst into tears, and promised never to play her such a trick again.

We took several other prizes on our way to the South; indeed, Captain Oliver showed, that, young as he was, few officers were likely to prove more active or energetic in their duties. He was well off and did not seem to care for the prize-money. He thought of duty above everything else. It was his duty to injure the trade of the enemy as much as possible, and he did so to the very best of his power.

Chapter Nine.Some time had passed since the “Grecian” had entered the Mediterranean. We had not been idle during the time—now cruising along the coast of Spain and France, now down that of Italy, now away to Malta, sometimes off to the East among the Greek Islands. We had taken a good many prizes; indeed, I may say that all our expeditions had been planned with judgment, and carried out with vigour. I had a very happy time on board, for the men treated me with kindness, and I was so young that even the officers took notice of me. To Mr Bramston, especially, I became much attached. As he had known me in my childhood, he took more notice of me than anyone else. It has been my lot through life to lose many kind friends, but I must acknowledge that they have been as often replaced by others. When Mr Schank heard from home, he never failed to send for me or my mother, to give us an account of the Little Lady; indeed, Mr Bramston and others, as well as our Captain, took a warm interest in her, and always seemed glad to hear that she was going on well. Altogether, we were looked upon as a very happy and fortunate ship. However, a dark reverse was to come.We were returning from Malta, and had run some way along the coast of Italy, when the look-out from the mast-head discovered a sail on the lee-bow. It was just daybreak. The sun rising over the distant land, which lay like a blue line on our starboard side, shed his beams on the upper sails of the stranger. The frigate was kept away a little, and all sail made in chase. We continued standing on for a couple of hours, when the wind drew more aft, and with studden-sails rigged on both sides we glided rapidly over the smooth water, gaining considerably on the chase. She must have discovered us, for she was now seen to rig out studden-sails, and to make every attempt to escape. She was pronounced to be a large polacca ship; and from the way she kept ahead of us, it was very evident she was very fast. This made us more eager than ever to come up with her. The general opinion was that she was a merchantman, very likely richly-laden, and would undoubtedly become an easy prize. Our people were in high spirits, making sure that they were about to add a good sum to their already fair amount of prize-money. I cannot say that these thoughts added much to my pleasure, considering the very small share which would fall to my lot, but my father would probably be very much the richer. In those days, it was no uncommon thing for a seaman to return from a cruise with a couple of hundred pounds in his pocket; and of course, under those circumstances, the share even of a warrant officer would be very considerable. Mr Schank, I doubt not, was thinking of the many comforts he would be able to afford his family at home; and Mr Bramston, who had another reason for wishing to add to his worldly store, was hoping that he might be able to splice his dear Mary all the sooner, and leave her better provided for when he had to come away again to sea.Hour after hour passed by. There was the chase still ahead and though we had gained considerably on her, still there were many probabilities of her escaping. The fear was that we might not get up to her before nightfall, and that then in the darkness she might escape. The men were piped to dinner, and of course the conversation at the mess-tables ran on the probabilities of our capturing the chase.Some time afterwards, just as the watch on deck had been relieved, the main topsail gave a loud flap against the mast. The other sails, which had before been swelling out, now hung down.“The wind is all up and down the masts,” I heard my father remark, with a sigh; and going on deck, such we found indeed to be the case. Scarcely a cat’s-paw played over the surface of the water, while our canvas hung down entirely emptied of wind. It was a time when Captain Cobb would have almost cracked his cheeks with blowing for the purpose of regaining it. Captain Oliver, however, did no such thing, but, taking his glass, directed it towards the chase.“She is in our condition,” he observed to Mr Schank.“She is not likely to get away from us, at all events,” remarked the First-Lieutenant, taking a look at her also.“I think, Schank; we may, however, make sure of her with the boats,” observed the Captain. “It will not do to give her a chance of escaping, and she may get the breeze before we do.”“Certainly, sir,” answered Mr Schank. “It will be as well to secure her, for fear of that.”“Well, as there is no great glory to be gained, I will let Mr Mason and Bramston go in the boats,” said the Captain.The frigate’s boats were accordingly called away. The two lieutenants and my father and a couple of midshipmen went in them, with altogether about seventy men. It was a strong force, but the ship was very likely to have sweeps, and even a merchantman might offer some resistance unless attacked by overpowering numbers. The people cheered as they pulled off, and urged them to make haste with the prize. Never did an expedition start with fairer prospects of success, and we fully hoped, before many hours were over, to have the chase under English colours. She was between four and five miles away at the time; but though the pull was a long one, the men laid their backs to the oars for fear of a breeze springing up before they could get alongside. My mother had shown considerable anxiety on former occasions when my father had gone away on dangerous expeditions, yet, in the present instance, she seemed quite at ease, as there appeared to be no danger or difficulty in the enterprise. Though no man ever loved his wife better than my father did my mother, yet this never prevented him volunteering whenever he felt himself called upon to do so, however hazardous and trying the work in hand. As may be supposed, no one thought of turning in that night. All hands were on the watch, expecting to see the ship towed by the boats, or some of the boats returning with an account of their capture. The Captain and First-Lieutenant walked the deck with easy paces, every now and then turning their night glasses in the direction of the ship, hoping to see her, but still she did not appear. At length the men began to wonder why the ship had not come in sight, or why the boats did not return to give notice of what had occurred. Afterwards they grew more and more anxious, and they imparted their anxiety to my mother. Our gunner, Mr Hockey, who was somewhat superstitious, now declared that he had dreamed a dream which foreboded disaster. The substance of it I never could learn, nor did he say a word about the matter till some time had passed and the boats did not appear. He was a man of proverbs, and remarked that “a pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last,” by which he insinuated that as we had been hitherto successful in our expeditions, a reverse might be expected. All the boats had been sent away. The Captain’s gig was under repair, but there was a small dinghy remaining. Mr Hockey went aft, and volunteered to pull in the direction the ship had been seen, in the hopes of ascertaining what had become of the boats. The Captain was as anxious apparently as he was.“Certainly, Mr Hockey,” he answered.Just then the sound of oars in the distance floated over the calm water.“Stay, there are the boats,” he said.They approached very slowly. At first it was hoped that they might be towing the ship; but though they were evidently drawing near, no ship could be distinguished. At length they came in sight. The Captain hailed them. The voice of a young midshipman answered: “Sad news, sir! Sad news!”“What has happened, Mr Hassel? Where is the ship?”“Beaten back, sir, beaten back!” was the answer, and the speaker’s voice was almost choked. The boats, as they got alongside, were seen to be full of people, but they were lying about over the thwarts in confused heaps, those only who were at the oars appearing to move. My mother was at this moment fortunately below. The gunner came down and entreated her to remain there. I, however, had gone up on deck, and was eagerly looking about, expecting to see my father arrive. Mr Hassel was the first to come up the side. He staggered aft to the Captain to make his report. Meantime whips were rove, and, one after one, those who that afternoon had left the frigate in high health and spirits were hoisted up dead and mangled in every variety of way. Nearly thirty bodies were thus brought on deck. Many others were hoisted up and carried immediately below, where the surgeon attended them, and of the whole number only seven were able to walk the deck steadily. I eagerly looked out for my father. He was not among those unhurt. Among the dead I dared not look. I hurried below, hoping to see him under the hands of the surgeon, but neither was he there. My heart sank within me. I hastened to the main-deck. There, with a lantern, I met my poor mother frantically scanning the faces of the slain, who were laid out in a ghastly row. Eagerly she passed along, bending over the pallid features of those who a few hours before had been so full of life and courage, jokes escaping their lips. Now as she looked at one, now at another, a glance told her that the corpse was not that of her husband.“Oh! Mother! Mother! Where is father?” I cried out at length, as I caught sight of her.“I know not, my boy, I know not,” she answered. “Oh! Burton, Burton! Where are you? Has no one seen my husband? Can anyone tell me of my husband? Where is he? Where is he?” she frantically exclaimed, running from one to the other, when she found that he was not among those brought on board.“The boatswain!” said some one. “Bless her poor heart, I don’t like to utter it, but I saw him knocked overboard as he was climbing up the polacca’s side. He would not have let go had it not been for a thrust in his shoulder, and he was hit, I know, while he was still in the boat.”“Who is that you speak of?” asked my mother, hearing the man’s voice.“Bless your heart, Mrs Burton, but I am sorry to say it,” answered Bill Houston, one of the few who had escaped unhurt. “I was close to him, but he fell by me before I could stretch out a hand to help him, and I doubt, even if we had got him on board, it would have been much the better for him, he seemed so badly hurt. I did not hear him cry out or utter a sound.”The lantern my mother had been holding dropped from her hand as she heard these words. All hope was gone. “Oh I give me back my husband I give me back my husband!” she shrieked out. “Why did you come away without him?”“Oh! Mother! Mother! Don’t take on so!” I exclaimed, running up to her. She put her hands on my shoulders and gazed in my face.“For you, Ben, I would wish to live, otherwise I would rather be down in the cold sea along with him.” Then again she cried out frantically for my poor father. Her grief increased mine. Seeing the state she was in, Bill King, who had remained near her, hurried down to fetch his wife, who was attending on the wounded. She did her best to soothe my poor mother’s grief, and not without difficulty she was led away to my father’s cabin; and there, placed on his bed, she found some relief in tears. I did my best to comfort her, but I could do little else than weep too. Perhaps that was the best thing I could do; there is nothing like sympathy.“Oh! My boy! My boy!” she exclaimed, “you are still left to me; but the day may come when you will be taken away, as your poor father has been, and I shall be all alone—alone! Alone!”Then she burst forth in an Irish wail such as I had never heard before. It was curious; because, though an Irish woman, her accent, under ordinary circumstances, was but slightly to be detected. Mrs King, having done all she could, returned to her duties among the wounded, of whom there were upwards of thirty, several of them mortally.From Bill Houston, who had come to inquire for my mother, shortly afterwards, I learned the particulars of what had occurred. The boats approached the ship, all hands being fully persuaded that they had little more to do than to climb up her sides and take possession. As, however, they drew near her, and were just about to dash alongside, a tremendous fire of grape, musketry, and round-shot was opened on them from her ports, which were suddenly unmasked. In spite of this, although numbers were hit, Mr Mason ordered them to board the ship. Scarcely had he uttered the words than a shot laid him low, poor Mr Bramston being wounded at the same time. Still the attempt to board was made, but as they climbed up the sides they found that boarding nettings were triced up the whole length of the ship, while pikes were thrust down on them, and a hot fire of musketry opened in their faces. Again and again they attempted to get on board, and not till nearly all were killed or wounded did they desist from the attempt. Young Mr Hassel, the midshipman, being the only officer left alive, then gave the order to retreat, though it was not without difficulty that they could push off from the ship’s sides. The darkness of the night saved them from being utterly destroyed. The enemy, probably, had not been aware of the tremendous effect of their own fire, and expected another attack from our men, or they would undoubtedly have continued firing at the boats after they had shoved off. Some distance had been gained, however, before the ship again commenced firing, and the aim being uncertain, very few of her shot took effect.The next day was the saddest I had ever known. Our kind young Captain felt the loss more than anyone. Really, it seemed as if his heart would break as he walked along the main-deck, where our dead shipmates were laid out. He paid a visit also to my mother, and endeavoured to comfort her as well as he could.“I owe your brave husband much, Mrs Burton,” he said. “We have been shipmates a good many years altogether, and he more than once saved my life; I cannot repay him, but I can be a friend to your boy, and I will do my utmost to be of assistance to you. I cannot heal your grief, and I cannot tell you not to mourn for your husband, but I will soothe it as far as I can.”Then came the sad funeral. Had the frigate been engaged in a desperate action with a superior force we could scarcely have lost so many men as we had done in this unfortunate expedition. I thought the Captain would break down altogether as he attempted to read the funeral service. Two or three times he had to stop, and by a great effort recover his composure. There were the two lieutenants and a young midshipman, and upwards of twenty men all to be committed to the ocean together. Curiosity brought me up to see what was going forward, and though I looked on quietly for some time I at length burst into bitter tears. I thought there is my poor father—he had to go overboard without any service being read over him.

Some time had passed since the “Grecian” had entered the Mediterranean. We had not been idle during the time—now cruising along the coast of Spain and France, now down that of Italy, now away to Malta, sometimes off to the East among the Greek Islands. We had taken a good many prizes; indeed, I may say that all our expeditions had been planned with judgment, and carried out with vigour. I had a very happy time on board, for the men treated me with kindness, and I was so young that even the officers took notice of me. To Mr Bramston, especially, I became much attached. As he had known me in my childhood, he took more notice of me than anyone else. It has been my lot through life to lose many kind friends, but I must acknowledge that they have been as often replaced by others. When Mr Schank heard from home, he never failed to send for me or my mother, to give us an account of the Little Lady; indeed, Mr Bramston and others, as well as our Captain, took a warm interest in her, and always seemed glad to hear that she was going on well. Altogether, we were looked upon as a very happy and fortunate ship. However, a dark reverse was to come.

We were returning from Malta, and had run some way along the coast of Italy, when the look-out from the mast-head discovered a sail on the lee-bow. It was just daybreak. The sun rising over the distant land, which lay like a blue line on our starboard side, shed his beams on the upper sails of the stranger. The frigate was kept away a little, and all sail made in chase. We continued standing on for a couple of hours, when the wind drew more aft, and with studden-sails rigged on both sides we glided rapidly over the smooth water, gaining considerably on the chase. She must have discovered us, for she was now seen to rig out studden-sails, and to make every attempt to escape. She was pronounced to be a large polacca ship; and from the way she kept ahead of us, it was very evident she was very fast. This made us more eager than ever to come up with her. The general opinion was that she was a merchantman, very likely richly-laden, and would undoubtedly become an easy prize. Our people were in high spirits, making sure that they were about to add a good sum to their already fair amount of prize-money. I cannot say that these thoughts added much to my pleasure, considering the very small share which would fall to my lot, but my father would probably be very much the richer. In those days, it was no uncommon thing for a seaman to return from a cruise with a couple of hundred pounds in his pocket; and of course, under those circumstances, the share even of a warrant officer would be very considerable. Mr Schank, I doubt not, was thinking of the many comforts he would be able to afford his family at home; and Mr Bramston, who had another reason for wishing to add to his worldly store, was hoping that he might be able to splice his dear Mary all the sooner, and leave her better provided for when he had to come away again to sea.

Hour after hour passed by. There was the chase still ahead and though we had gained considerably on her, still there were many probabilities of her escaping. The fear was that we might not get up to her before nightfall, and that then in the darkness she might escape. The men were piped to dinner, and of course the conversation at the mess-tables ran on the probabilities of our capturing the chase.

Some time afterwards, just as the watch on deck had been relieved, the main topsail gave a loud flap against the mast. The other sails, which had before been swelling out, now hung down.

“The wind is all up and down the masts,” I heard my father remark, with a sigh; and going on deck, such we found indeed to be the case. Scarcely a cat’s-paw played over the surface of the water, while our canvas hung down entirely emptied of wind. It was a time when Captain Cobb would have almost cracked his cheeks with blowing for the purpose of regaining it. Captain Oliver, however, did no such thing, but, taking his glass, directed it towards the chase.

“She is in our condition,” he observed to Mr Schank.

“She is not likely to get away from us, at all events,” remarked the First-Lieutenant, taking a look at her also.

“I think, Schank; we may, however, make sure of her with the boats,” observed the Captain. “It will not do to give her a chance of escaping, and she may get the breeze before we do.”

“Certainly, sir,” answered Mr Schank. “It will be as well to secure her, for fear of that.”

“Well, as there is no great glory to be gained, I will let Mr Mason and Bramston go in the boats,” said the Captain.

The frigate’s boats were accordingly called away. The two lieutenants and my father and a couple of midshipmen went in them, with altogether about seventy men. It was a strong force, but the ship was very likely to have sweeps, and even a merchantman might offer some resistance unless attacked by overpowering numbers. The people cheered as they pulled off, and urged them to make haste with the prize. Never did an expedition start with fairer prospects of success, and we fully hoped, before many hours were over, to have the chase under English colours. She was between four and five miles away at the time; but though the pull was a long one, the men laid their backs to the oars for fear of a breeze springing up before they could get alongside. My mother had shown considerable anxiety on former occasions when my father had gone away on dangerous expeditions, yet, in the present instance, she seemed quite at ease, as there appeared to be no danger or difficulty in the enterprise. Though no man ever loved his wife better than my father did my mother, yet this never prevented him volunteering whenever he felt himself called upon to do so, however hazardous and trying the work in hand. As may be supposed, no one thought of turning in that night. All hands were on the watch, expecting to see the ship towed by the boats, or some of the boats returning with an account of their capture. The Captain and First-Lieutenant walked the deck with easy paces, every now and then turning their night glasses in the direction of the ship, hoping to see her, but still she did not appear. At length the men began to wonder why the ship had not come in sight, or why the boats did not return to give notice of what had occurred. Afterwards they grew more and more anxious, and they imparted their anxiety to my mother. Our gunner, Mr Hockey, who was somewhat superstitious, now declared that he had dreamed a dream which foreboded disaster. The substance of it I never could learn, nor did he say a word about the matter till some time had passed and the boats did not appear. He was a man of proverbs, and remarked that “a pitcher which goes often to the well gets broken at last,” by which he insinuated that as we had been hitherto successful in our expeditions, a reverse might be expected. All the boats had been sent away. The Captain’s gig was under repair, but there was a small dinghy remaining. Mr Hockey went aft, and volunteered to pull in the direction the ship had been seen, in the hopes of ascertaining what had become of the boats. The Captain was as anxious apparently as he was.

“Certainly, Mr Hockey,” he answered.

Just then the sound of oars in the distance floated over the calm water.

“Stay, there are the boats,” he said.

They approached very slowly. At first it was hoped that they might be towing the ship; but though they were evidently drawing near, no ship could be distinguished. At length they came in sight. The Captain hailed them. The voice of a young midshipman answered: “Sad news, sir! Sad news!”

“What has happened, Mr Hassel? Where is the ship?”

“Beaten back, sir, beaten back!” was the answer, and the speaker’s voice was almost choked. The boats, as they got alongside, were seen to be full of people, but they were lying about over the thwarts in confused heaps, those only who were at the oars appearing to move. My mother was at this moment fortunately below. The gunner came down and entreated her to remain there. I, however, had gone up on deck, and was eagerly looking about, expecting to see my father arrive. Mr Hassel was the first to come up the side. He staggered aft to the Captain to make his report. Meantime whips were rove, and, one after one, those who that afternoon had left the frigate in high health and spirits were hoisted up dead and mangled in every variety of way. Nearly thirty bodies were thus brought on deck. Many others were hoisted up and carried immediately below, where the surgeon attended them, and of the whole number only seven were able to walk the deck steadily. I eagerly looked out for my father. He was not among those unhurt. Among the dead I dared not look. I hurried below, hoping to see him under the hands of the surgeon, but neither was he there. My heart sank within me. I hastened to the main-deck. There, with a lantern, I met my poor mother frantically scanning the faces of the slain, who were laid out in a ghastly row. Eagerly she passed along, bending over the pallid features of those who a few hours before had been so full of life and courage, jokes escaping their lips. Now as she looked at one, now at another, a glance told her that the corpse was not that of her husband.

“Oh! Mother! Mother! Where is father?” I cried out at length, as I caught sight of her.

“I know not, my boy, I know not,” she answered. “Oh! Burton, Burton! Where are you? Has no one seen my husband? Can anyone tell me of my husband? Where is he? Where is he?” she frantically exclaimed, running from one to the other, when she found that he was not among those brought on board.

“The boatswain!” said some one. “Bless her poor heart, I don’t like to utter it, but I saw him knocked overboard as he was climbing up the polacca’s side. He would not have let go had it not been for a thrust in his shoulder, and he was hit, I know, while he was still in the boat.”

“Who is that you speak of?” asked my mother, hearing the man’s voice.

“Bless your heart, Mrs Burton, but I am sorry to say it,” answered Bill Houston, one of the few who had escaped unhurt. “I was close to him, but he fell by me before I could stretch out a hand to help him, and I doubt, even if we had got him on board, it would have been much the better for him, he seemed so badly hurt. I did not hear him cry out or utter a sound.”

The lantern my mother had been holding dropped from her hand as she heard these words. All hope was gone. “Oh I give me back my husband I give me back my husband!” she shrieked out. “Why did you come away without him?”

“Oh! Mother! Mother! Don’t take on so!” I exclaimed, running up to her. She put her hands on my shoulders and gazed in my face.

“For you, Ben, I would wish to live, otherwise I would rather be down in the cold sea along with him.” Then again she cried out frantically for my poor father. Her grief increased mine. Seeing the state she was in, Bill King, who had remained near her, hurried down to fetch his wife, who was attending on the wounded. She did her best to soothe my poor mother’s grief, and not without difficulty she was led away to my father’s cabin; and there, placed on his bed, she found some relief in tears. I did my best to comfort her, but I could do little else than weep too. Perhaps that was the best thing I could do; there is nothing like sympathy.

“Oh! My boy! My boy!” she exclaimed, “you are still left to me; but the day may come when you will be taken away, as your poor father has been, and I shall be all alone—alone! Alone!”

Then she burst forth in an Irish wail such as I had never heard before. It was curious; because, though an Irish woman, her accent, under ordinary circumstances, was but slightly to be detected. Mrs King, having done all she could, returned to her duties among the wounded, of whom there were upwards of thirty, several of them mortally.

From Bill Houston, who had come to inquire for my mother, shortly afterwards, I learned the particulars of what had occurred. The boats approached the ship, all hands being fully persuaded that they had little more to do than to climb up her sides and take possession. As, however, they drew near her, and were just about to dash alongside, a tremendous fire of grape, musketry, and round-shot was opened on them from her ports, which were suddenly unmasked. In spite of this, although numbers were hit, Mr Mason ordered them to board the ship. Scarcely had he uttered the words than a shot laid him low, poor Mr Bramston being wounded at the same time. Still the attempt to board was made, but as they climbed up the sides they found that boarding nettings were triced up the whole length of the ship, while pikes were thrust down on them, and a hot fire of musketry opened in their faces. Again and again they attempted to get on board, and not till nearly all were killed or wounded did they desist from the attempt. Young Mr Hassel, the midshipman, being the only officer left alive, then gave the order to retreat, though it was not without difficulty that they could push off from the ship’s sides. The darkness of the night saved them from being utterly destroyed. The enemy, probably, had not been aware of the tremendous effect of their own fire, and expected another attack from our men, or they would undoubtedly have continued firing at the boats after they had shoved off. Some distance had been gained, however, before the ship again commenced firing, and the aim being uncertain, very few of her shot took effect.

The next day was the saddest I had ever known. Our kind young Captain felt the loss more than anyone. Really, it seemed as if his heart would break as he walked along the main-deck, where our dead shipmates were laid out. He paid a visit also to my mother, and endeavoured to comfort her as well as he could.

“I owe your brave husband much, Mrs Burton,” he said. “We have been shipmates a good many years altogether, and he more than once saved my life; I cannot repay him, but I can be a friend to your boy, and I will do my utmost to be of assistance to you. I cannot heal your grief, and I cannot tell you not to mourn for your husband, but I will soothe it as far as I can.”

Then came the sad funeral. Had the frigate been engaged in a desperate action with a superior force we could scarcely have lost so many men as we had done in this unfortunate expedition. I thought the Captain would break down altogether as he attempted to read the funeral service. Two or three times he had to stop, and by a great effort recover his composure. There were the two lieutenants and a young midshipman, and upwards of twenty men all to be committed to the ocean together. Curiosity brought me up to see what was going forward, and though I looked on quietly for some time I at length burst into bitter tears. I thought there is my poor father—he had to go overboard without any service being read over him.

Chapter Ten.Soon after the funeral was over I was sent for into the Captain’s cabin. I found him and Mr Schank seated there.“Ben,” he said, “my boy, we have been talking over what we can do for your poor mother. The best thing, I think, will be for her to return to her home on the first opportunity, and I daresay we shall find a ship homeward-bound at Malta, on board which she can get a passage, while we will do our best to raise funds to place her as much as possible at her ease as to money matters. Now, Ben, I wish to stand your friend; but you are very young still to knock about at sea without a father to look after you, and I propose, therefore, that you should return with your mother. After you have had schooling for a year or two on shore, you shall rejoin this ship or any other I may command, and then your future progress will much depend on your own conduct. You will behave well, I have no doubt you will; but if not, I cannot help you forward as I desire.”I did not quite comprehend what the Captain proposed, but I understood enough to know that I had a friend in him, and I accordingly thanked him for his good intentions. I was still standing hat in hand in the cabin, for the Captain seemed disposed to ask me further questions, when the surgeon entered to make his report of the state of the wounded.“What, more dead I more dead!” exclaimed the poor Captain, as his eye glanced on the paper.“Yes, sir,” was the answer. “Turner and Green have both slipped their cables. I had very little hopes of either from the first. There are one or two more I am afraid will follow them before many days are over.”The Captain hid his face in his hands, and a groan burst from his bosom. “I would that I had gone myself. It would be better to be among the sufferers than have this happen,” burst from his lips.Mr Schank tried to console him. “No blame, sir,” he said, “could be attached to you. It was very unlikely that such a ship should have made so determined a defence, and no forethought could have enabled you to act differently.”“Yes, yes,” answered the Captain, “but to lose all these brave fellows in such a way,” and again he groaned.No one spoke for some minutes, till at length the surgeon observed that he hoped Mr Hassel would do well, as his wounds, though severe were not dangerous.“From what I can learn, sir,” he observed, “he behaved with great judgment and courage, and I believe it was through him that the boats got away without further damage.”When the surgeon had gone, the Captain once more addressed me, and made inquiries about my mother’s family and the place of their residence. I, of course knew very little, but I gave him all the information I possessed.“But, perhaps, Mr Schank,” I said, “you will let us go and pay your family a visit. Those were happy times we had there. I think my mother would rather go there than anywhere else.”Mr Schank who was not at all offended by the liberty I took, replied that he thought the idea a very good one. When, however, my mother was asked, she said that she would rather go and be among her own people, if they would receive her. The truth was, I think I remarked, that her friends were much above my father’s position; and now that she would have a pension, and a good deal of prize-money, she felt that she could return and be on an equality with them, as far as fortune was concerned. These ideas were, however, not on her own account as much as on mine, as her great ambition was that I might rise in the world. It was, I truly believe, her only weakness, if weakness it could be called, for she was proud of me, and I suspect thought a good deal more of me than I deserved. After this misfortune, we shaped a course for Malta, for the purpose of replacing the officers and men we had lost, and from thence the Captain intended to send home my mother and me. Towards evening, three or four days after the occurrences I have described, several sail were perceived inside of us, that is to say, to the east. As we were to windward, we stood down towards them till we made out a line-of-battle ship, two frigates and a brig. As there was no doubt they were enemies’ ships, our Captain determined to watch them during the night, to ascertain in what direction they were proceeding. They, however, objected to this, and were soon seen crowding all sail in chase. We had now to run for it; and though the “Grecian” was a fast frigate, we well knew that many of the Frenchmen were faster, and that, short-handed as we were, it was too certain that we should be captured if they came up with us. Fortunately the breeze continued, and we made all sail the frigate could carry. But not only could we distinguish the enemy still in chase, but the opinion was that they were rapidly gaining on us. I remember coming on deck and looking out, seeing on our lee-quarter, far away through the gloom, their dark outlines as they came on in hot chase. I, saw that everybody was anxious, and I heard several of the men talking of Verdun, and the way prisoners were treated there. For the men this was bad enough, but for the officers to be made prisoners was sad work. Unless they could make their escape or get exchanged, all prospect of advancement was lost, as was the case with many; the best part of their years spent in idleness. I understood enough, at all events, to be very anxious about the matter.I went below, I remember, and told my poor mother; she, however, seemed indifferent as to what might occur. Indeed her grief had stunned her, and she was incapable of either thinking or speaking. As morning approached the wind fell, and when daylight broke the sails hung up and down against the masts. We were in a perfect calm, while not three miles off appeared the French squadron. All hopes of escape seemed over, and the men began putting on additional clothing and stowing away their money in their pockets, as seamen generally do when capture is certain, and often when they expect to be wrecked. The officers walked the deck looking very anxious, but the Captain and Mr Schank kept their eyes about on all sides. At length a few cat’s-paws were seen playing over the water. The First-Lieutenant pointed them out to the Captain. His eyes brightened somewhat. They came faster and faster. And now the sails once more felt the power of the wind, and away we went pretty quickly through the water. Ahead of us lay a small island, towards which the frigate steered. As we approached it we saw the ship-of-the-line still following us, while the two frigates and corvette stood away round the west side. Their object was very clear. They hoped thereby to cut us off.“We may still disappoint them,” I heard Mr Schank observe.“I trust so,” said the Captain; but though he kept up his confidence, his countenance was very grave. For some time we kept well ahead till we reached the southernmost end of the island, when once more the wind falling we lay almost becalmed. We could see to the east the two frigates and the corvette, their canvas filled by a strong breeze, but the line-of-battle ship was out of sight, hid by a point of land. The former might have been five or six miles off, but they were coming up at the rate of six knots an hour. There was no sign of the breeze reaching us. Our escape seemed almost impossible. Mr Schank’s courage, however, never failed—at least, it never looked as if it did, and he seemed to be saying something to the Captain which gave him encouragement. One of the frigates was considerably ahead of the rest. At all events we were not likely, therefore, to yield without striking a blow, and if we could by any means cripple her before her consorts could come up, we might afterwards be better able to deal with them. Still there was the line-of-battle ship, and she would be down upon us before long. A French prison in very vivid colours stared even the bravest of our men in the face. The officers were looking at their watches. Within little more than half-an-hour, unless we could get a breeze, we should be hotly engaged, and then, unless we could beat our enemy in ten minutes, there would be little prospect of getting away. On she came over the blue ocean. Looking at the land, we could see a line, as it were, drawn between us. On our side the water was smooth as a mirror; on the other, still crisped by the fresh breeze, and glittering in the sunlight. It was very tantalising. On the leading Frenchman came, faster and faster. Still the breeze did not touch our sails. At length we could clearly count her ports, and she appeared in the pure atmosphere even nearer than perhaps she was. Suddenly she yawed. A white puff of smoke was seen, and a shot came whizzing across our bows. Another followed. It struck us, and the yellow splinters were seen flying from our sides. The men stood at their quarters ready to begin the fight.“Not a gun is to be fired till I give the order,” cried the Captain.“That will not be long, I fancy,” I heard one of the men say, as I with other boys brought up the powder from below.The frigate still held the breeze and was approaching. Yet our Captain let her get nearer and nearer. In vain, however, our people waited for the order to fire. Several more shots came flying over the water, and the Frenchmen seemed now convinced that they had got us well within range. Suddenly luffing up, the enemy fired her whole broadside. The shot came flying about us, but did no great damage.“Trim sails!” cried the Captain, and we edged away towards the blue line I have mentioned, the wind just then filling out our canvas. Meantime the Frenchman remained involved in a cloud of smoke. Again and again she fired her broadside, only hiding herself more completely from view; while her sails, which had hitherto been full, were now seen to flap against her masts, and away we went with an increasing breeze. We could just see the line-of-battle ship hull down on one side, and the two frigates and corvette becalmed on the other, utterly unable to move, while we were slipping through the water at the rate of seven or eight knots an hour.“I thought it would be so!” exclaimed Mr Schank, increasing the rapidity of his strides as he paced the deck, and rubbing his hands with glee. On we went. In a short time not a trace of the Frenchmen could be discovered, nor did we sight another enemy till we entered Malta harbour.Captain Oliver and Mr Schank were as good as their words. They mentioned among the inhabitants the circumstance of my father’s death, and that his widow and child were on board, and very soon collected a considerable sum of money, which they presented to my poor mother. Her excessive grief had now subsided, and a settled melancholy seemed to have taken possession of her. An armed store-ship which had discharged her cargo at Malta was returning home, bound for Cork; and on board her our kind friends procured a passage for my mother and me. We had a sad parting with our numerous shipmates. The men exhibited the regard they had for my mother by bestowing on me all sorts of presents; indeed, the carpenter said he must make me a chest in which to stow them away. My mother felt leaving our kind friend, Mrs King, more than anything else. It was curious to see the interesting young woman, as she still was, embracing the tall, gaunt, weather-beaten virago, as Mrs King appeared to be.“Cheer up, Polly, cheer up,” said the latter. “You have lost a kind husband, there is no doubt of that, but you have got your boy to look after, and he will give you plenty to think about—bless his heart! The time will come, Polly, when we will meet again, and you will have grown more contented, I hope; and if not, we shall know each other up aloft there, where I hope there will be room for me, though I cannot say as how I feel I am very fit for such a place.” Mrs King went talking on, but my poor mother could make no answer to her remarks, sobs choking her utterance. Her tears did her good, however, so Mrs King observed, and told her not to stop them. I was glad to find that the Captain had appointed Bill King as acting boatswain of the frigate. The midshipman, Mr Hassel, who had been seriously injured in the unfortunate expedition, took a passage home in the store-ship. Who should we see on going on board but my old friends Toby Kiddle and Pat Brady. Pat was overjoyed at seeing us, though he looked very sad when he heard of my father’s death.“Arrah, it’s a pity a worse man hadn’t been taken in his stead,” he observed, “but it can’t be helped, Polly. Better luck next time, as Tim Donovan said when he was going to be hung!”Pat had been to see his friends, he said, in the West of Ireland, and Toby Kiddle had been wrecked on the same coast, and having found his way across to Cork had there, with his old messmate, entered on board the store-ship. She was to return to Cork, which was very convenient to us, as my mother could thus more easily travel to the West of Ireland where her family resided.The name of the vessel was the “Porpoise,” and she was commanded by Captain Tubb. He put me very much in mind of Captain Cobb, except that he was considerably stouter. We sailed with a convoy of some fifty other vessels of all sizes and rigs; the larger portion having generally to lay to for the “Porpoise,” which, with her Captain, rolled away over the surface of the Atlantic in the wake of the rest. Captain Tubb declared that his ship was very steady when she had her cargo on board, but certainly she was very much the contrary under the present circumstances, and Toby Kiddle remarked that it was a wonder she did not shake her masts out of her.My poor mother could very seldom be persuaded to come on deck, but lay in her cabin scarcely eating anything, or speaking to anyone except to me, and even then it seemed a pain to her to utter a few words.From the account I gave Toby and Pat of Captain Oliver, they were very eager to serve again with him, and they promised that should they ever have the chance of finding him fitting out a ship, they would immediately volunteer on board.I was very glad to hear this, because I hoped they would do so, and that I again should be with them. We had not a few alarms on our homeward voyage from the appearance of strange sails which it was supposed were enemies’ cruisers. We, of course, should have been among the first picked out. However, we escaped all accidents, and at length arrived in the Cove of Cork. As may be supposed, Toby Kiddle made many inquiries about the Little Lady. When my mother got to Cork, her heart somewhat failed her at the thought of going among her own kindred under the present circumstances, and she began to regret that she had not agreed to pay a visit in the first place to Lieutenant Schank’s family, where she would have had the consolation of looking after the little girl. However, it was now too late to do that. We therefore prepared for our journey to the West. Pat insisted on escorting us, declaring that he had plenty of money and did not know what else to do with it. Toby, however, remained on board the old “Porpoise,” intending to go round in her to Portsmouth, where she was next bound with provisions. It was no easy matter making a journey in the West of Ireland in those days. There were the coaches, but they were liable to upset and to be robbed.Although, therefore, posting was dear, Pat settled that such was the only becoming way for the widow of the “Grecian’s” late boatswain to travel. My mother at length consented to go part of the way in a coach, performing the remainder in a chaise, when no coach was available.The place for which we were bound was Ballybruree, a town, it called itself, on the west coast of the green island. Her father, Mat Dwyer, Esquire, he signed himself, and her mother, were both alive, and she had a number of brothers and sisters, and a vast number of cousins to boot. But I must reserve an account of our reception at Rincurran Castle, for so my grandfather called his abode, for another chapter.

Soon after the funeral was over I was sent for into the Captain’s cabin. I found him and Mr Schank seated there.

“Ben,” he said, “my boy, we have been talking over what we can do for your poor mother. The best thing, I think, will be for her to return to her home on the first opportunity, and I daresay we shall find a ship homeward-bound at Malta, on board which she can get a passage, while we will do our best to raise funds to place her as much as possible at her ease as to money matters. Now, Ben, I wish to stand your friend; but you are very young still to knock about at sea without a father to look after you, and I propose, therefore, that you should return with your mother. After you have had schooling for a year or two on shore, you shall rejoin this ship or any other I may command, and then your future progress will much depend on your own conduct. You will behave well, I have no doubt you will; but if not, I cannot help you forward as I desire.”

I did not quite comprehend what the Captain proposed, but I understood enough to know that I had a friend in him, and I accordingly thanked him for his good intentions. I was still standing hat in hand in the cabin, for the Captain seemed disposed to ask me further questions, when the surgeon entered to make his report of the state of the wounded.

“What, more dead I more dead!” exclaimed the poor Captain, as his eye glanced on the paper.

“Yes, sir,” was the answer. “Turner and Green have both slipped their cables. I had very little hopes of either from the first. There are one or two more I am afraid will follow them before many days are over.”

The Captain hid his face in his hands, and a groan burst from his bosom. “I would that I had gone myself. It would be better to be among the sufferers than have this happen,” burst from his lips.

Mr Schank tried to console him. “No blame, sir,” he said, “could be attached to you. It was very unlikely that such a ship should have made so determined a defence, and no forethought could have enabled you to act differently.”

“Yes, yes,” answered the Captain, “but to lose all these brave fellows in such a way,” and again he groaned.

No one spoke for some minutes, till at length the surgeon observed that he hoped Mr Hassel would do well, as his wounds, though severe were not dangerous.

“From what I can learn, sir,” he observed, “he behaved with great judgment and courage, and I believe it was through him that the boats got away without further damage.”

When the surgeon had gone, the Captain once more addressed me, and made inquiries about my mother’s family and the place of their residence. I, of course knew very little, but I gave him all the information I possessed.

“But, perhaps, Mr Schank,” I said, “you will let us go and pay your family a visit. Those were happy times we had there. I think my mother would rather go there than anywhere else.”

Mr Schank who was not at all offended by the liberty I took, replied that he thought the idea a very good one. When, however, my mother was asked, she said that she would rather go and be among her own people, if they would receive her. The truth was, I think I remarked, that her friends were much above my father’s position; and now that she would have a pension, and a good deal of prize-money, she felt that she could return and be on an equality with them, as far as fortune was concerned. These ideas were, however, not on her own account as much as on mine, as her great ambition was that I might rise in the world. It was, I truly believe, her only weakness, if weakness it could be called, for she was proud of me, and I suspect thought a good deal more of me than I deserved. After this misfortune, we shaped a course for Malta, for the purpose of replacing the officers and men we had lost, and from thence the Captain intended to send home my mother and me. Towards evening, three or four days after the occurrences I have described, several sail were perceived inside of us, that is to say, to the east. As we were to windward, we stood down towards them till we made out a line-of-battle ship, two frigates and a brig. As there was no doubt they were enemies’ ships, our Captain determined to watch them during the night, to ascertain in what direction they were proceeding. They, however, objected to this, and were soon seen crowding all sail in chase. We had now to run for it; and though the “Grecian” was a fast frigate, we well knew that many of the Frenchmen were faster, and that, short-handed as we were, it was too certain that we should be captured if they came up with us. Fortunately the breeze continued, and we made all sail the frigate could carry. But not only could we distinguish the enemy still in chase, but the opinion was that they were rapidly gaining on us. I remember coming on deck and looking out, seeing on our lee-quarter, far away through the gloom, their dark outlines as they came on in hot chase. I, saw that everybody was anxious, and I heard several of the men talking of Verdun, and the way prisoners were treated there. For the men this was bad enough, but for the officers to be made prisoners was sad work. Unless they could make their escape or get exchanged, all prospect of advancement was lost, as was the case with many; the best part of their years spent in idleness. I understood enough, at all events, to be very anxious about the matter.

I went below, I remember, and told my poor mother; she, however, seemed indifferent as to what might occur. Indeed her grief had stunned her, and she was incapable of either thinking or speaking. As morning approached the wind fell, and when daylight broke the sails hung up and down against the masts. We were in a perfect calm, while not three miles off appeared the French squadron. All hopes of escape seemed over, and the men began putting on additional clothing and stowing away their money in their pockets, as seamen generally do when capture is certain, and often when they expect to be wrecked. The officers walked the deck looking very anxious, but the Captain and Mr Schank kept their eyes about on all sides. At length a few cat’s-paws were seen playing over the water. The First-Lieutenant pointed them out to the Captain. His eyes brightened somewhat. They came faster and faster. And now the sails once more felt the power of the wind, and away we went pretty quickly through the water. Ahead of us lay a small island, towards which the frigate steered. As we approached it we saw the ship-of-the-line still following us, while the two frigates and corvette stood away round the west side. Their object was very clear. They hoped thereby to cut us off.

“We may still disappoint them,” I heard Mr Schank observe.

“I trust so,” said the Captain; but though he kept up his confidence, his countenance was very grave. For some time we kept well ahead till we reached the southernmost end of the island, when once more the wind falling we lay almost becalmed. We could see to the east the two frigates and the corvette, their canvas filled by a strong breeze, but the line-of-battle ship was out of sight, hid by a point of land. The former might have been five or six miles off, but they were coming up at the rate of six knots an hour. There was no sign of the breeze reaching us. Our escape seemed almost impossible. Mr Schank’s courage, however, never failed—at least, it never looked as if it did, and he seemed to be saying something to the Captain which gave him encouragement. One of the frigates was considerably ahead of the rest. At all events we were not likely, therefore, to yield without striking a blow, and if we could by any means cripple her before her consorts could come up, we might afterwards be better able to deal with them. Still there was the line-of-battle ship, and she would be down upon us before long. A French prison in very vivid colours stared even the bravest of our men in the face. The officers were looking at their watches. Within little more than half-an-hour, unless we could get a breeze, we should be hotly engaged, and then, unless we could beat our enemy in ten minutes, there would be little prospect of getting away. On she came over the blue ocean. Looking at the land, we could see a line, as it were, drawn between us. On our side the water was smooth as a mirror; on the other, still crisped by the fresh breeze, and glittering in the sunlight. It was very tantalising. On the leading Frenchman came, faster and faster. Still the breeze did not touch our sails. At length we could clearly count her ports, and she appeared in the pure atmosphere even nearer than perhaps she was. Suddenly she yawed. A white puff of smoke was seen, and a shot came whizzing across our bows. Another followed. It struck us, and the yellow splinters were seen flying from our sides. The men stood at their quarters ready to begin the fight.

“Not a gun is to be fired till I give the order,” cried the Captain.

“That will not be long, I fancy,” I heard one of the men say, as I with other boys brought up the powder from below.

The frigate still held the breeze and was approaching. Yet our Captain let her get nearer and nearer. In vain, however, our people waited for the order to fire. Several more shots came flying over the water, and the Frenchmen seemed now convinced that they had got us well within range. Suddenly luffing up, the enemy fired her whole broadside. The shot came flying about us, but did no great damage.

“Trim sails!” cried the Captain, and we edged away towards the blue line I have mentioned, the wind just then filling out our canvas. Meantime the Frenchman remained involved in a cloud of smoke. Again and again she fired her broadside, only hiding herself more completely from view; while her sails, which had hitherto been full, were now seen to flap against her masts, and away we went with an increasing breeze. We could just see the line-of-battle ship hull down on one side, and the two frigates and corvette becalmed on the other, utterly unable to move, while we were slipping through the water at the rate of seven or eight knots an hour.

“I thought it would be so!” exclaimed Mr Schank, increasing the rapidity of his strides as he paced the deck, and rubbing his hands with glee. On we went. In a short time not a trace of the Frenchmen could be discovered, nor did we sight another enemy till we entered Malta harbour.

Captain Oliver and Mr Schank were as good as their words. They mentioned among the inhabitants the circumstance of my father’s death, and that his widow and child were on board, and very soon collected a considerable sum of money, which they presented to my poor mother. Her excessive grief had now subsided, and a settled melancholy seemed to have taken possession of her. An armed store-ship which had discharged her cargo at Malta was returning home, bound for Cork; and on board her our kind friends procured a passage for my mother and me. We had a sad parting with our numerous shipmates. The men exhibited the regard they had for my mother by bestowing on me all sorts of presents; indeed, the carpenter said he must make me a chest in which to stow them away. My mother felt leaving our kind friend, Mrs King, more than anything else. It was curious to see the interesting young woman, as she still was, embracing the tall, gaunt, weather-beaten virago, as Mrs King appeared to be.

“Cheer up, Polly, cheer up,” said the latter. “You have lost a kind husband, there is no doubt of that, but you have got your boy to look after, and he will give you plenty to think about—bless his heart! The time will come, Polly, when we will meet again, and you will have grown more contented, I hope; and if not, we shall know each other up aloft there, where I hope there will be room for me, though I cannot say as how I feel I am very fit for such a place.” Mrs King went talking on, but my poor mother could make no answer to her remarks, sobs choking her utterance. Her tears did her good, however, so Mrs King observed, and told her not to stop them. I was glad to find that the Captain had appointed Bill King as acting boatswain of the frigate. The midshipman, Mr Hassel, who had been seriously injured in the unfortunate expedition, took a passage home in the store-ship. Who should we see on going on board but my old friends Toby Kiddle and Pat Brady. Pat was overjoyed at seeing us, though he looked very sad when he heard of my father’s death.

“Arrah, it’s a pity a worse man hadn’t been taken in his stead,” he observed, “but it can’t be helped, Polly. Better luck next time, as Tim Donovan said when he was going to be hung!”

Pat had been to see his friends, he said, in the West of Ireland, and Toby Kiddle had been wrecked on the same coast, and having found his way across to Cork had there, with his old messmate, entered on board the store-ship. She was to return to Cork, which was very convenient to us, as my mother could thus more easily travel to the West of Ireland where her family resided.

The name of the vessel was the “Porpoise,” and she was commanded by Captain Tubb. He put me very much in mind of Captain Cobb, except that he was considerably stouter. We sailed with a convoy of some fifty other vessels of all sizes and rigs; the larger portion having generally to lay to for the “Porpoise,” which, with her Captain, rolled away over the surface of the Atlantic in the wake of the rest. Captain Tubb declared that his ship was very steady when she had her cargo on board, but certainly she was very much the contrary under the present circumstances, and Toby Kiddle remarked that it was a wonder she did not shake her masts out of her.

My poor mother could very seldom be persuaded to come on deck, but lay in her cabin scarcely eating anything, or speaking to anyone except to me, and even then it seemed a pain to her to utter a few words.

From the account I gave Toby and Pat of Captain Oliver, they were very eager to serve again with him, and they promised that should they ever have the chance of finding him fitting out a ship, they would immediately volunteer on board.

I was very glad to hear this, because I hoped they would do so, and that I again should be with them. We had not a few alarms on our homeward voyage from the appearance of strange sails which it was supposed were enemies’ cruisers. We, of course, should have been among the first picked out. However, we escaped all accidents, and at length arrived in the Cove of Cork. As may be supposed, Toby Kiddle made many inquiries about the Little Lady. When my mother got to Cork, her heart somewhat failed her at the thought of going among her own kindred under the present circumstances, and she began to regret that she had not agreed to pay a visit in the first place to Lieutenant Schank’s family, where she would have had the consolation of looking after the little girl. However, it was now too late to do that. We therefore prepared for our journey to the West. Pat insisted on escorting us, declaring that he had plenty of money and did not know what else to do with it. Toby, however, remained on board the old “Porpoise,” intending to go round in her to Portsmouth, where she was next bound with provisions. It was no easy matter making a journey in the West of Ireland in those days. There were the coaches, but they were liable to upset and to be robbed.

Although, therefore, posting was dear, Pat settled that such was the only becoming way for the widow of the “Grecian’s” late boatswain to travel. My mother at length consented to go part of the way in a coach, performing the remainder in a chaise, when no coach was available.

The place for which we were bound was Ballybruree, a town, it called itself, on the west coast of the green island. Her father, Mat Dwyer, Esquire, he signed himself, and her mother, were both alive, and she had a number of brothers and sisters, and a vast number of cousins to boot. But I must reserve an account of our reception at Rincurran Castle, for so my grandfather called his abode, for another chapter.

Chapter Eleven.“Ben, my boy, you are approaching the home of your ancestors,” exclaimed Pat Brady, who was seated on the box of the old battered yellow post-chaise, on the roof of which I had perched myself, while my poor mother sat in solitude inside. “They are an honoured race, and mighty respected in the country. You will see the top of the ould Castle before long if you keep a bright look-out, and a hearty welcome we’ll be after getting when they see us all arrive in this dignified way—just like a great foreign ambassador going to court. It is a fine counthry this of ours, Ben, barring the roads, which put us too much in mind of our run home in the ‘Porpoise’. But we have mighty fine hills, Ben. Do you see them there? And lakes and streams full of big trout, and forests. But the bogs, Ben, they beat them all. If it was not for them bogs, where should we all be? Then the roads might be worse, Ben. Hold on there, lad, or you will be sent into the middle of next week. But Ben, my boy, as the song says:—“‘If you’d seen but these roads before they were made,You would have lift up your hands and blessed General Wade’.”Thus Pat continued running on as he had been doing the whole of our journey. It was certainly hard work holding on at the top of the chaise, as it went pitching and rolling, and tumbling about over the ill-formed path, which scarcely deserved the name of a road. Still every now and then I sprang to my feet to look out for the castle which he talked about. I had seen of late a good many castles on the coast of the Mediterranean, Gibraltar, and Malta besides. I had some idea that Rincurran Castle must be a very fine place.“Arrah! Ben, and there it is as large as life. Sure it’s a grand mansion, barring it’s a little out of repair!” shouted Pat, as, turning an angle of the road, we came in sight of a tall, stone, dilapidated building, with a courtyard in front, and two round pillars on either side of the entrance-gate. The pigs had possession of the chief part of the yard, which was well littered for their accommodation, leaving but a narrow way up to the entrance-door.I quickly scrambled down from the roof to assist Pat Brady in helping my mother out of the chaise. Poor dear, overcome by her feelings, she was leaning back, almost fainting, and scarcely able to move. At length the door opened, and an old gentleman appeared in a scratch wig, with an ominously red nose, and clothed in a costume which, in its condition, greatly resembled his habitation. An old lady followed him, somewhat more neatly dressed, who, on seeing my mother, hastened to the door to receive her.“What! Is this our daughter Mary?” exclaimed the old gentleman; “and that young spalpeen, can that be her boy?” he added, looking at me in a way which did not seem to argue much affection.“Of course it is, Mat; and is it you, Mat, the head of the Dwyers, not remembering your childer?” exclaimed the old lady, casting on him a scornful glance. On this my grandfather gave my mother a paternal kiss, a repetition of which I avoided by slipping round on the other side, where Pat caught me, and presented me to the old lady. She then took me in her arms and gave me an affectionate embrace. The tears dropped from her eyes as she looked at my mother’s pale countenance and widow’s dress.“I don’t ask what has happened, Mary,” she said; “but though the one for whom you forsook all is gone, you are welcome back to the old home, child.”“Ay, that you are, Mary!” exclaimed my grandfather, warming up a little. “To be sure, grand as it once was, it has been inclined for many a day to be tumbling about our ears. But it will last my day, and there is small chance of your brothers, Jim, or Pat, or Terence, ever wishing to come and stop here, even if it’s living they are when I am put under the green turf.”While Pat was settling with the post-boy, my grandmother conducted my mother and me into the parlour. The more elegant portions of furniture, if they ever existed, had disappeared, and a table, with a number of wooden-bottomed chairs and a huge ill-stuffed sofa, were all that remained. A picture of my grandfather in a hunting-suit, and a few wretched daubs, part of them of sporting scenes and part of saints, adorned the walls. Such was the appearance of the chief room in Rincurran Castle. My aunts were not at home, two of them having ridden to market, and the others being on a visit to some neighbours. At length two of them came riding up on rough, ungroomed ponies, with baskets on their arms. Having taken off the saddles, they sent their animals to find their way by themselves into the open stable, while they entered the house to greet my mother. They were not ill-looking women, with rather large features, and fine eyes, but as unlike my mother as could well be. So also were my other two aunts, who shortly after came in. They all, however, gave their sister Mary a hearty welcome, and, with better tact than might have been expected, made no inquiries about her husband, her dress showing them that he was gone. I found that she had been brought up by a sister of her mother’s—a good Protestant woman, residing near Cork, where my father had met her. My grandfather was a Romanist, though my grandmother still remained as she had originally been, a Protestant. The rest of her daughters attended the Romish chapel. My mother had not been at home since she was quite a girl, and I soon found had entirely forgotten her family’s way of living, and their general habits and customs. She therefore very soon began to regret that she had not accepted Lieutenant Schank’s invitation to visit his family. Pat Brady made himself very agreeable to his cousins, and had such wonderful stories to tell them that he was a great favourite. I had plenty to amuse me; but there seemed very little probability of my getting the education which Captain Oliver had recommended. The castle also was not over well provisioned, potatoes and buttermilk forming the staple of our meals, with an over-abundance of pork whenever a pig was killed; but as it was necessary to sell the better portions of each animal to increase the family income, the supply was only of an intermittent character. My grandfather made up for the deficiency by copious potations of whisky; but as my mother objected to my following his example, I was frequently excessively hungry. I was not surprised therefore that my uncles did not often pay the paternal mansion a visit; they all considering themselves above manual labour, in consequence of being sons of a squireen, were living on their wits in various parts of the world, so I concluded from the bits of information I picked up about them.I could not help remarking the contrast between Rincurran Castle and Mr Schank’s neat little cottage in Lincolnshire—the cleanliness and comfort of one, and the dirt and disorder and discomfort of my grandfather’s abode. My mother, who had sufficient means to live comfortably by herself, had had no intention of remaining long with her parents, but had purposed taking a cottage in the neighbourhood. When she discovered the state of things at home she had offered to assist in the household expenses, and having done this her family were doubly anxious to retain her. As however, she found it impossible to mend matters, she resolved to carry out her original intention. The search for a house was an object of interest. In a short time she discovered one at the further end of Ballybruree, which, if not perfection, was sufficient to satisfy her wishes. Here, at the end of a couple of months, she removed, in spite of the disinterested entreaties of her relatives that she should take up her permanent abode with them. Her health soon improved, and I grew fatter than I had been since I landed on the shores of old Ireland.Our new abode, though very much smaller than Rincurran Castle, was considerably neater, yet not altogether such as would be considered tidy in England. The roof was water-tight, and the chimneys answered their object of carrying up the smoke from the fire beneath. The view from the front window was extensive, ranging down the broad and unpaved street, along which I could watch the boys chasing their pigs to market, seated on the hinder parts of donkeys, urging them forward by the blows of their shillalahs. Now and then we enjoyed the spectacle of a marriage party returning from the chapel, at the further end of the street, or still more boisterous funeral procession; when, of course, as Pat Brady observed, “It ’ud be showing small honour to the decased if all the mourners weren’t respectably drunk, barring the praist, and bad luck to him if he could not stand up steady at the end of the grave. Sure he couldn’t have a head for his office.”Such, however, as was our new house, my poor mother was glad to get it. We had been located there two or three weeks, and my mother had now time to give me some instruction in the arts of reading and writing. She was thus engaged, leaning over the book placed on her lap by the side of which I stood, when we were startled by a voice which said, “Top of the morning to you, Mistress Burton.”We looked up, and there stood in the doorway a rubicund-nosed gentleman, in a green coat and huge wonderfully gay coloured cravat, leather breeches, and top-boots, with a hunting-whip under his arm, a peony in his buttonhole, and a white hat which he flourished in his right hand, while he kept scraping with his feet, making his spurs jingle.“Your servant, Mistress Burton. It is mighty touching to the heart to see a mother engaged as you are, and faith I would not have missed the sight for a thousand guineas, paid down on the nail. Ah! Mistress Burton, it reminds me of days gone by, but I won’t say I have no hopes that they will ever return,” and our visitor twisted his eyes about in what I thought a very queer way, trying to look sentimental.“To what cause do I owe this visit, Mr Gillooly?” asked my mother, perhaps not altogether liking his looks, for I rather think his feelings had been excited by a few sips of potheen. Her natural politeness, however, induced her to rise and offer him a chair, into which, after a few more scrapes and flourishes of the hat, he sank down, placing his beaver and his whip upon it by his side.“It is mightily you bring to my mind my dear departed Mistress Gillooly,” he exclaimed, looking very strangely I thought at my mother. “She was the best of wives, and if she was alive she would be after telling you that I was the best of husbands, but she has gone to glory, and the only little pledge of our affection has gone after her; and so, Mistress Burton, I am left a lone man in this troublesome world. And sure, Mrs Burton, the same is your lot I am after thinking, but there is an old saying, ‘Off with the old love and on with the new;’ and, oh! Mistress Burton, it would be a happy thing if that could come true between two people I am thinking of.”My mother might have thought this very plain speaking, but she pretended not to understand Mr Gillooly, and made no answer.“Is it silence gives consent?” he exclaimed at last with one of those queer turns of his eyes, stretching out his hands towards my mother.“Really, Mr Gillooly, seeing I have been a widow scarcely a year, and have seen but little of you at my father’s house, I cannot help thinking this is strange language for you to use. I loved my husband, and I only wish to live for the sake of our boy, and I hope this answer will satisfy you.”“But when you have seen more of me, Mistress Burton, ye’ll be after giving a different answer,” exclaimed our visitor. “Ye’ll be after making a sweet mistress for Ballyswiggan Hall, and it’s there I’d like to see ye, in the place of the departed Molly Gillooly. It was the last words she said to me—‘Ye’ll be after getting another partner when I’m gone, Dominic, won’t ye now?’ and I vowed by all the holy saints that I would obey her wishes, though to be plain with you, Mistress Burton, I little thought I could do so to my heart’s content, as I did when I first set my eyes on your fair countenance.”Much more to the same effect did Mr Gillooly utter, without, however, I have reason to believe, making any impression on my mother’s heart. Without rudeness she could not get rid of him; and he, believing that he was making great way in her affection, was in no wise inclined to depart. Mr Gillooly, I may remark, was a friend of my grandfather’s, a squireen, with a mansion of similar description to Rincurran Castle, though somewhat less dilapidated. His property enabled him to keep a good horse, drink whisky, wear decent clothes, attend all wakes, marriages, and fairs, and other merrymakings, and otherwise lead a completely idle life. Mr Gillooly’s visit had extended to a somewhat unconscionable length, when a rap was heard at the door, and my mother told me to run and open it; observing as she did so, “It’s not all people who so want manners as not to knock before they intrude into a lone woman’s house.”This severe remark of my gentle mother showed me that she was by this time considerably annoyed by our visitor’s continued presence. The person who now entered wore a brown suit, with a low crowned hat on the top of his curled wig. I recognised him as Mr Timothy Laffan, one of the lawyers of Ballybruree. Though short, he was a broad-shouldered, determined-looking man, with a nose which could scarcely be more flattened than it was, and twinkling grey eyes which looked out knowingly from under his shaggy eyebrows. He cast an inquisitive glance round, and then, paying his respects to my mother, took the seat which I had brought him.“A good boy, Ben,” he said, patting my head. “I came to see how you were getting on in your new house, Mrs Burton, as is my duty as a neighbour. Your servant, Mr Gillooly. I was after thinking that the next time you came into Ballybruree ye would be giving me a call to settle about that little affair. There’s nothing like the present time, and may be you will stop at my office as you go by, and arrange the matter offhand.”The lawyer’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. Mr Gillooly began to fidget in his chair, and his countenance grew redder and redder. He cast a glance at his whip and hat. Suddenly seizing them, he paid a hurried adieu to my mother, and turning to the lawyer, added, “Your servant, Tim Laffan. I will be after remembering what you say”; and away he bolted out of the door.I almost expected to hear the lawyer utter a crow of victory, for his comical look of triumph clearly showed his feelings. I had reason to believe that he also was a suitor for the hand of my mother, but I do not think he gained much by his stratagem. Her feelings were aroused and irritated, and at length he also took his departure, after expressing a tender interest in her welfare.

“Ben, my boy, you are approaching the home of your ancestors,” exclaimed Pat Brady, who was seated on the box of the old battered yellow post-chaise, on the roof of which I had perched myself, while my poor mother sat in solitude inside. “They are an honoured race, and mighty respected in the country. You will see the top of the ould Castle before long if you keep a bright look-out, and a hearty welcome we’ll be after getting when they see us all arrive in this dignified way—just like a great foreign ambassador going to court. It is a fine counthry this of ours, Ben, barring the roads, which put us too much in mind of our run home in the ‘Porpoise’. But we have mighty fine hills, Ben. Do you see them there? And lakes and streams full of big trout, and forests. But the bogs, Ben, they beat them all. If it was not for them bogs, where should we all be? Then the roads might be worse, Ben. Hold on there, lad, or you will be sent into the middle of next week. But Ben, my boy, as the song says:—

“‘If you’d seen but these roads before they were made,You would have lift up your hands and blessed General Wade’.”

“‘If you’d seen but these roads before they were made,You would have lift up your hands and blessed General Wade’.”

Thus Pat continued running on as he had been doing the whole of our journey. It was certainly hard work holding on at the top of the chaise, as it went pitching and rolling, and tumbling about over the ill-formed path, which scarcely deserved the name of a road. Still every now and then I sprang to my feet to look out for the castle which he talked about. I had seen of late a good many castles on the coast of the Mediterranean, Gibraltar, and Malta besides. I had some idea that Rincurran Castle must be a very fine place.

“Arrah! Ben, and there it is as large as life. Sure it’s a grand mansion, barring it’s a little out of repair!” shouted Pat, as, turning an angle of the road, we came in sight of a tall, stone, dilapidated building, with a courtyard in front, and two round pillars on either side of the entrance-gate. The pigs had possession of the chief part of the yard, which was well littered for their accommodation, leaving but a narrow way up to the entrance-door.

I quickly scrambled down from the roof to assist Pat Brady in helping my mother out of the chaise. Poor dear, overcome by her feelings, she was leaning back, almost fainting, and scarcely able to move. At length the door opened, and an old gentleman appeared in a scratch wig, with an ominously red nose, and clothed in a costume which, in its condition, greatly resembled his habitation. An old lady followed him, somewhat more neatly dressed, who, on seeing my mother, hastened to the door to receive her.

“What! Is this our daughter Mary?” exclaimed the old gentleman; “and that young spalpeen, can that be her boy?” he added, looking at me in a way which did not seem to argue much affection.

“Of course it is, Mat; and is it you, Mat, the head of the Dwyers, not remembering your childer?” exclaimed the old lady, casting on him a scornful glance. On this my grandfather gave my mother a paternal kiss, a repetition of which I avoided by slipping round on the other side, where Pat caught me, and presented me to the old lady. She then took me in her arms and gave me an affectionate embrace. The tears dropped from her eyes as she looked at my mother’s pale countenance and widow’s dress.

“I don’t ask what has happened, Mary,” she said; “but though the one for whom you forsook all is gone, you are welcome back to the old home, child.”

“Ay, that you are, Mary!” exclaimed my grandfather, warming up a little. “To be sure, grand as it once was, it has been inclined for many a day to be tumbling about our ears. But it will last my day, and there is small chance of your brothers, Jim, or Pat, or Terence, ever wishing to come and stop here, even if it’s living they are when I am put under the green turf.”

While Pat was settling with the post-boy, my grandmother conducted my mother and me into the parlour. The more elegant portions of furniture, if they ever existed, had disappeared, and a table, with a number of wooden-bottomed chairs and a huge ill-stuffed sofa, were all that remained. A picture of my grandfather in a hunting-suit, and a few wretched daubs, part of them of sporting scenes and part of saints, adorned the walls. Such was the appearance of the chief room in Rincurran Castle. My aunts were not at home, two of them having ridden to market, and the others being on a visit to some neighbours. At length two of them came riding up on rough, ungroomed ponies, with baskets on their arms. Having taken off the saddles, they sent their animals to find their way by themselves into the open stable, while they entered the house to greet my mother. They were not ill-looking women, with rather large features, and fine eyes, but as unlike my mother as could well be. So also were my other two aunts, who shortly after came in. They all, however, gave their sister Mary a hearty welcome, and, with better tact than might have been expected, made no inquiries about her husband, her dress showing them that he was gone. I found that she had been brought up by a sister of her mother’s—a good Protestant woman, residing near Cork, where my father had met her. My grandfather was a Romanist, though my grandmother still remained as she had originally been, a Protestant. The rest of her daughters attended the Romish chapel. My mother had not been at home since she was quite a girl, and I soon found had entirely forgotten her family’s way of living, and their general habits and customs. She therefore very soon began to regret that she had not accepted Lieutenant Schank’s invitation to visit his family. Pat Brady made himself very agreeable to his cousins, and had such wonderful stories to tell them that he was a great favourite. I had plenty to amuse me; but there seemed very little probability of my getting the education which Captain Oliver had recommended. The castle also was not over well provisioned, potatoes and buttermilk forming the staple of our meals, with an over-abundance of pork whenever a pig was killed; but as it was necessary to sell the better portions of each animal to increase the family income, the supply was only of an intermittent character. My grandfather made up for the deficiency by copious potations of whisky; but as my mother objected to my following his example, I was frequently excessively hungry. I was not surprised therefore that my uncles did not often pay the paternal mansion a visit; they all considering themselves above manual labour, in consequence of being sons of a squireen, were living on their wits in various parts of the world, so I concluded from the bits of information I picked up about them.

I could not help remarking the contrast between Rincurran Castle and Mr Schank’s neat little cottage in Lincolnshire—the cleanliness and comfort of one, and the dirt and disorder and discomfort of my grandfather’s abode. My mother, who had sufficient means to live comfortably by herself, had had no intention of remaining long with her parents, but had purposed taking a cottage in the neighbourhood. When she discovered the state of things at home she had offered to assist in the household expenses, and having done this her family were doubly anxious to retain her. As however, she found it impossible to mend matters, she resolved to carry out her original intention. The search for a house was an object of interest. In a short time she discovered one at the further end of Ballybruree, which, if not perfection, was sufficient to satisfy her wishes. Here, at the end of a couple of months, she removed, in spite of the disinterested entreaties of her relatives that she should take up her permanent abode with them. Her health soon improved, and I grew fatter than I had been since I landed on the shores of old Ireland.

Our new abode, though very much smaller than Rincurran Castle, was considerably neater, yet not altogether such as would be considered tidy in England. The roof was water-tight, and the chimneys answered their object of carrying up the smoke from the fire beneath. The view from the front window was extensive, ranging down the broad and unpaved street, along which I could watch the boys chasing their pigs to market, seated on the hinder parts of donkeys, urging them forward by the blows of their shillalahs. Now and then we enjoyed the spectacle of a marriage party returning from the chapel, at the further end of the street, or still more boisterous funeral procession; when, of course, as Pat Brady observed, “It ’ud be showing small honour to the decased if all the mourners weren’t respectably drunk, barring the praist, and bad luck to him if he could not stand up steady at the end of the grave. Sure he couldn’t have a head for his office.”

Such, however, as was our new house, my poor mother was glad to get it. We had been located there two or three weeks, and my mother had now time to give me some instruction in the arts of reading and writing. She was thus engaged, leaning over the book placed on her lap by the side of which I stood, when we were startled by a voice which said, “Top of the morning to you, Mistress Burton.”

We looked up, and there stood in the doorway a rubicund-nosed gentleman, in a green coat and huge wonderfully gay coloured cravat, leather breeches, and top-boots, with a hunting-whip under his arm, a peony in his buttonhole, and a white hat which he flourished in his right hand, while he kept scraping with his feet, making his spurs jingle.

“Your servant, Mistress Burton. It is mighty touching to the heart to see a mother engaged as you are, and faith I would not have missed the sight for a thousand guineas, paid down on the nail. Ah! Mistress Burton, it reminds me of days gone by, but I won’t say I have no hopes that they will ever return,” and our visitor twisted his eyes about in what I thought a very queer way, trying to look sentimental.

“To what cause do I owe this visit, Mr Gillooly?” asked my mother, perhaps not altogether liking his looks, for I rather think his feelings had been excited by a few sips of potheen. Her natural politeness, however, induced her to rise and offer him a chair, into which, after a few more scrapes and flourishes of the hat, he sank down, placing his beaver and his whip upon it by his side.

“It is mightily you bring to my mind my dear departed Mistress Gillooly,” he exclaimed, looking very strangely I thought at my mother. “She was the best of wives, and if she was alive she would be after telling you that I was the best of husbands, but she has gone to glory, and the only little pledge of our affection has gone after her; and so, Mistress Burton, I am left a lone man in this troublesome world. And sure, Mrs Burton, the same is your lot I am after thinking, but there is an old saying, ‘Off with the old love and on with the new;’ and, oh! Mistress Burton, it would be a happy thing if that could come true between two people I am thinking of.”

My mother might have thought this very plain speaking, but she pretended not to understand Mr Gillooly, and made no answer.

“Is it silence gives consent?” he exclaimed at last with one of those queer turns of his eyes, stretching out his hands towards my mother.

“Really, Mr Gillooly, seeing I have been a widow scarcely a year, and have seen but little of you at my father’s house, I cannot help thinking this is strange language for you to use. I loved my husband, and I only wish to live for the sake of our boy, and I hope this answer will satisfy you.”

“But when you have seen more of me, Mistress Burton, ye’ll be after giving a different answer,” exclaimed our visitor. “Ye’ll be after making a sweet mistress for Ballyswiggan Hall, and it’s there I’d like to see ye, in the place of the departed Molly Gillooly. It was the last words she said to me—‘Ye’ll be after getting another partner when I’m gone, Dominic, won’t ye now?’ and I vowed by all the holy saints that I would obey her wishes, though to be plain with you, Mistress Burton, I little thought I could do so to my heart’s content, as I did when I first set my eyes on your fair countenance.”

Much more to the same effect did Mr Gillooly utter, without, however, I have reason to believe, making any impression on my mother’s heart. Without rudeness she could not get rid of him; and he, believing that he was making great way in her affection, was in no wise inclined to depart. Mr Gillooly, I may remark, was a friend of my grandfather’s, a squireen, with a mansion of similar description to Rincurran Castle, though somewhat less dilapidated. His property enabled him to keep a good horse, drink whisky, wear decent clothes, attend all wakes, marriages, and fairs, and other merrymakings, and otherwise lead a completely idle life. Mr Gillooly’s visit had extended to a somewhat unconscionable length, when a rap was heard at the door, and my mother told me to run and open it; observing as she did so, “It’s not all people who so want manners as not to knock before they intrude into a lone woman’s house.”

This severe remark of my gentle mother showed me that she was by this time considerably annoyed by our visitor’s continued presence. The person who now entered wore a brown suit, with a low crowned hat on the top of his curled wig. I recognised him as Mr Timothy Laffan, one of the lawyers of Ballybruree. Though short, he was a broad-shouldered, determined-looking man, with a nose which could scarcely be more flattened than it was, and twinkling grey eyes which looked out knowingly from under his shaggy eyebrows. He cast an inquisitive glance round, and then, paying his respects to my mother, took the seat which I had brought him.

“A good boy, Ben,” he said, patting my head. “I came to see how you were getting on in your new house, Mrs Burton, as is my duty as a neighbour. Your servant, Mr Gillooly. I was after thinking that the next time you came into Ballybruree ye would be giving me a call to settle about that little affair. There’s nothing like the present time, and may be you will stop at my office as you go by, and arrange the matter offhand.”

The lawyer’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. Mr Gillooly began to fidget in his chair, and his countenance grew redder and redder. He cast a glance at his whip and hat. Suddenly seizing them, he paid a hurried adieu to my mother, and turning to the lawyer, added, “Your servant, Tim Laffan. I will be after remembering what you say”; and away he bolted out of the door.

I almost expected to hear the lawyer utter a crow of victory, for his comical look of triumph clearly showed his feelings. I had reason to believe that he also was a suitor for the hand of my mother, but I do not think he gained much by his stratagem. Her feelings were aroused and irritated, and at length he also took his departure, after expressing a tender interest in her welfare.

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