Chapter Three.

Chapter Three.More Mischief—Julian’s Bad Advice—Digby’s First Tutor—How Time was Spent at Osberton—Toby Tubb and his Yarns.There was a large gathering at Bloxholme Hall, both from far and near, of most of the principal families in the county. The house was full of those acquaintances of Mr and Mrs Heathcote who lived too far off to return the same night, but numbers came who were to drive home again the same evening.There was an archery meeting in the morning, and then a dinner and a dance afterwards. Julian and Digby voted it very slow work. It was, probably, so to them. Kate liked the archery, and especially the dancing, for gentlemen asked her to dance, and chatted with her, and she skipped about like a little fairy, as merrily as possible. The boys had not gone in to the dinner, but they had helped themselves plentifully to the good things on which they could lay hands, and Julian especially had got hold of some wine. In consequence of this, he had become very pot-valorous.“I’ll tell you what, Digby,” said he, “we must do something, or I shall go to sleep. This dancing is all nonsense. Come into the garden. I dare say I shall knock out an idea; it’s seldom I fail, when I try.”That was true; but they were very bad ideas Master Julian knocked out.Before long they found their way into the court-yard, where the carriages of the company were left standing by themselves. The horses were in the stables, pleasantly munching their corn. The coachmen and grooms were in the servants’ hall, as agreeably occupied in eating their suppers.Julian went in and out among the carriages, and whatever rugs, or gloves, or wrappers, or halters he could find, he transferred from one carriage to the other.“I say, Digby, it will be a capital joke,” he exclaimed. “When the fat old coachmen come out, they’ll all set to quarrelling. One will think that the other has stolen his things; and they will never dream that we did it.”Digby thought the joke a good one, and helped to take the articles out of some carriages and to put them into others, till it was evidently almost impossible for any one, in the dark, to regain their lost property. When this was done, and the joke, as they called it, enjoyed, the boys sat down to consider what else they could do.“I have a notion of something,” said Julian. “It is dangerous, because, if we were found out, we should get into a terrible scrape; but I should like to try it.”“What is it?” asked Digby, eagerly. “As for the scrape, I don’t mind that; I rather like the risk.”“Well, young ’un, that’s according to fancy,” said Julian. “I like to take care of myself, but still I like fun. My notion is, that if we were to take the linch-pins out of the carriages we should see a scene not often beheld. As soon as they begin to move, the wheels will go spinning off in every direction, and the people will be spilt right and left into the road. Wouldn’t it be fun?”Digby did not think so. He could scarcely fancy that Julian was in earnest. “Why, some of the coachmen might be killed,” he exclaimed; “and the people inside would certainly be hurt.”“Oh, nonsense,” answered Julian. “You are qualmish. I’ll do it. You just stand by and see. Look, they are out in a minute. Just untwist the wire. Here’s somebody’s chaise; I suspect it is the parson’s. There, he’ll get a spill. Now, then, this old family coach; it belongs to those old frumps the Fullers. Lord, what fun, to see them all sprawling out into the road.”Thus Julian went on, Digby felt very much inclined to stop him, and to entreat him to replace the linch-pins; but Julian rattled away, and was so amusing, that his first feeling of the wrong to which he was a party wore off. It never occurred to him that, if he could not stop Julian, his wisest course would have been to tell the coachmen to look to their linch-pins. Fortunately, many of the carriages had been built in London, and were supplied with patent boxes, so that they escaped the contemplated mischief.While the boys were thus engaged they heard some footsteps, and they guessed that the coachmen were returning from their suppers to look after their horses. They therefore beat a precipitate retreat through the gate which led into the garden, and quickly made their way into the ball-room.Mr Bowdler was walking about the room, speaking a kindly word whenever he had an opportunity, both to young and old, of those among whom he had come to live, and whom he was anxious to instruct, and endeavouring, as he felt it most important to do, to win the confidence of all, when he saw the two boys return. Their hair was disordered, their shoes were far from clean, and there were thin lines of dust or mud on their jackets. Julian looked flushed, and Digby had a sheepish abashed manner, very different from that which usually distinguished him. He was very certain that they had been about something they should not, but the question as to what they had been doing he did not think fit to ask. It was already getting later than the hour which he liked to be away from home, so, wishing Mr and Mrs Heathcote good-night, in that pleasant cordial manner which had already gained him their good-will, he walked out to get ready his own carriage. The glass door of the house which led into the garden was open, and so was that which led from the garden into the court-yard. Near his own carriage he saw something shining on the ground. He stooped down, and picked up a clasp knife which he himself had given to Digby a few days before. A groom came and brought out his horse and harnessed it to his carriage. When, however, the man led it out to be clear of the other carriages, in crossing a shallow open drain, first one wheel came off, and then, to his surprise, another followed. As the carriage was moving very slowly, and no one was in it, there was little harm done.Mr Bowdler said nothing. “That was a cruel trick of those thoughtless boys,” he uttered to himself. “They could scarcely have wished to injure me, but I fear they are the guilty ones.”He and the groom hunted about till they found the linch-pins and the wires which kept them in, and, having examined the other wheels, he got in and drove off.The groom, of course, wondered how it could have happened, but it did not occur to him to accuse the young gentlemen.Soon after this, Mrs Fuller’s coach was ordered. The fat coachman put the horses to, and drove slowly up to the front door. She and four daughters, and two young sons, came down the steps, the first got in, and the latter got up outside, while Digby and Julian stood in the hall looking on. Digby nearly bit off the thumb of his glove in his eagerness, and hesitation and regret, as he watched for the catastrophe he expected. Julian, fancying that they were secure from detection, stood more in front, highly amused at the thoughts of seeing the fat coachman tumble off into the dust.Just as they were starting, a carriage was heard coming rapidly along the road. The fat coachman thought that he ought to move out of the way, so he whipped on his horses and away they trotted. A stone had been cast on to the carriage-way—the old family coach bumped over it—off flew a wheel—over went the carriage, the coachman and the two lads were thrown off with no little violence, right and left, greatly to Julian’s delight, and the ladies screamed.Fortunately the windows had not been drawn up, and no one was cut, but being stout people and closely packed, they were very much jammed together. The poor coachman was the most hurt, and the young men had their coats spoilt. They were on their legs in a moment, and while one helped up the coachman the other ran to the horses’ heads. The next thing was to get out the ladies, who, trembling and alarmed, reentered the hall. Grooms, and servants, and gentlemen, assembled from all quarters.“Look at the other wheels,” said a voice.It was that of Mr Bowdler. His mind had misgiven him that the trick which he had discovered might have been played to other carriages, and he had driven back. He returned to the coach-yard and warned the coachmen of what he suspected. He found them in a state of great commotion, all crying out for the things they had lost, one accusing the other of having appropriated them. Their anger was still further increased when, in accordance with Mr Bowdler’s advice, they discovered the linch-pins had been abstracted from several of the carriages, and that the necks of some of them had narrowly escaped being broken. They were loud in their threats of vengeance on the heads of the unknown ragamuffins who had committed the atrocious act.“It’s they gipsies,” said one; “they’ve done it to rob the ladies as we drove along.”“It’s some on old Dame Marlow’s tricks. I don’t think az how any one could a come in here to play zick a prank,” observed another, a believer in the Dame’s powers.Some, however, ventured to suggest that as there were young gentlemen at the Hall, and young gentlemen did play very bad tricks at times, they might have done it. Opinion was setting very much in this direction, when John Pratt appeared, and was highly indignant that any such reflection should be cast on his young master.Mr Bowdler having assured himself that no more harm was likely to occur, drove away again.“I am not justified in allowing the boys to go on in this way,” he said to himself. “I must inform Mr Heathcote of what has occurred, and get them sent to where they will be properly looked after; I should like to get them separated; one will learn no good from the other.”Meantime the disturbance in the coach-yard increased, and John Pratt had at last to summon his master from the ball-room to quell it. Mr Heathcote’s voice was now heard inquiring what was the matter, when a dozen people tried to give their own versions of the state of affairs.“Very well, my friends,” said Mr Heathcote, after listening to them patiently, “keep the peace among yourselves for the present, and if the culprits can be discovered, I will take care, I promise you, that they shall be properly punished. And John Pratt, get more lanterns, and have all the things in the carriages collected, and distributed to the proper owners as they are claimed.”Having said this, the master of the house returned to his guests. Julian and Digby, when they heard what Mr Heathcote had said, were in a great fright. Digby knew very well that what his father said he would do—that he assuredly would do. He had no hope of escaping detection, and was certain that he should be punished. Of course, he remembered that he had not actually taken the linch-pins out of the carriages, but he had stood by, if not aiding and abetting, at all events not making any strenuous effort to prevent the deed. He, therefore, never for a moment dreamed of sheltering himself under the plea that he had not touched the linch-pins. It scarcely occurred to him that Julian might have exonerated him in a great degree by generously declaring that he himself had proposed the trick and had carried it out. Had he been in Julian’s place, that is what he would have done; but he did not ask Julian to act thus for him, and he made up his mind to abide the consequences. He felt that any excuse he could offer for himself would throw more blame on Julian, and it did occur to him that even then his word might be doubted.In the meantime Mrs Fuller’s carriage was put to rights, the coachman mounted on his box, the ladies were handed in, and the young gentlemen got up once more on the rumble, all of them very angry and annoyed, as well they might be, and some not a little bruised. Mr Heathcote assured them of his vexation at what had occurred, and promised them, as he had the coachmen, that he would get the culprits properly punished.The party at length separated, and Digby, more unhappy and discontented with himself than he had been for a long time, went to bed and cried with very vexation till he fell asleep. It was a pity that his repentance was not of a more permanent nature.The next morning he arose refreshed, and though he felt an unusual weight at his heart, yet he looked at things in a brighter light. Julian looked immaterial (as Kate called his expression of countenance) when he came down to breakfast, and had evidently made up his mind to brazen out the affair, should suspicion fall on him. The event of the evening naturally, however, became the subject of conversation, and Digby felt conscious that he was blushing, while he dared not meet the eye of any one present. He eat away perseveringly at his breakfast, and bolted so hot a cup of tea, that he scalded his mouth, and was about to make his escape, when his father’s eye fell on him. Digby knew it, though he did not dare to look up, and Mr Heathcote felt very nearly certain that the culprit was his own son. Had he doubted it much, he would have asked him, in joke, if he could tell how the affair happened; but he was silent, and felt sad and annoyed. He was sorry to suppose that Digby had been guilty of so foolish and really wicked an act, and his pride too, of which he had a good deal, was hurt at the thought of having, in accordance with his word, publicly to punish him.All doubts were at an end when, in a short time, Mr Bowdler appeared, mentioned what he had ascertained, and firmly recommended the course he thought ought to be pursued.“You are right,” answered Mr Heathcote, “but he is such a child—it seems to me but the other day that he was a baby. Let me see, how old is he? Ah, to be sure, I went to school at an earlier age. Old or young, I am bound to punish him, however. Yet stay, we have no right to condemn him unheard.”Mr Heathcote rang the bell, and ordered the servant to send in Master Digby to him. He felt very like that Roman father we read about, who condemned his own son to death.“Digby,” said Mr Heathcote, when his son and heir stood before him, “did you take the linch-pins out of the carriages last night?”Digby thought a moment.“No, I did not,” he answered firmly.“Do you know anything about the matter,” said Mr Heathcote, somewhat astonished but firmly believing the assertion. Oh what a blessed thing is that perfect confidence in the honour and truthfulness of those connected with us.“Do you say that I must answer that question, papa?” said Digby.“I do not wish to force you to say anything,” remarked Mr Heathcote, “but I do wish to ascertain how the circumstance occurred.”Digby thought for some time, while his father sat looking at him.“I should like to know how you intend to punish the person who committed the mischief,” he said at last.“If you had done it, I should probably have flogged you, and have sent you off to school, as soon as I could find a suitable one. That would have been a lenient punishment for you. A poor boy would be flogged and sent to the house of correction.”“Then you must send me to school, papa, though I should be glad if you would omit the flogging,” replied Digby, frankly. “I will not say who played the trick; but, as I see somebody ought to be punished, I’m ready to suffer, as I think I ought.”Mr Bowdler was very much interested in hearing this conversation, and certainly thought very much better of Digby than he had before been inclined to do. “There is a great deal in that boy which may bring forth good fruit, if it is properly developed,” he said to himself. It made him very anxious that Digby should go to some school where the moral as well as intellectual qualities of the boys were attended to.Mr Heathcote did not wish to press the matter further on his son. He was convinced that he was innocent of the act committed, and he had no doubt of the real delinquent. Still he was very unwilling to have to punish Julian, and he wished to pass the matter over, unless the boy was positively accused before him of the crime. Digby was told that he might go back to the schoolroom and prepare for Mr Crammer.Mr Bowdler had heard Mr Nugent, Mrs Heathcote’s brother, very highly spoken of, and he recommended that Digby should be placed under him till a good school could be found.Mr Heathcote liked the notion. He could not bear the idea of having Digby far separated from him. Not that he saw much of the boy, but he liked to feel and know that he was near him. He fancied that he was getting on very well with Mr Crammer, and, now that so excellent a governess had come to instruct him, he thought that his education would be well provided for. He promised Mr Bowdler, therefore, that he would ride over to Osberton and get his brother-in-law to take charge of Digby.Mr Bowdler, on his part, undertook to make inquiries for a good school for the boy.“I will send young Julian home,” said Mr Heathcote. “I see no particular harm in him. He seems a quiet, inoffensive lad; but, as you think it advisable, it will be a good excuse for separating the two.”“Yes, a very good excuse,” said Mr Bowdler.Julian had been with Digby when the footman summoned him into his father’s presence. He waited anxiously for his return.“You’ve not peached, I hope, Digby?” said he.“No, indeed,” answered Digby, rather proudly. “I wasn’t going to tell a story, either. Your name wasn’t mentioned, so you need not be afraid.”“That’s jolly,” exclaimed Julian, brightening up. “I was afraid that you would be letting the cat out of the bag.”“I don’t know exactly what that means,” answered Digby; “I said that if some one was to be punished I was ready to suffer, and so I’m to be sent off to school, and that’s not very pleasant, let me tell you. Not that I mind the idea of school. It may be a very good sort of place; but I don’t like to have to leave so many pleasant things behind me. What will my poor dear old dog Tomboy do without me? And there’s my pretty pony Juniper, which papa only bought last spring for me, and which I’ve taught to know me and follow me about the field like a dog. How many pleasant rides I expected to have on him; and he will have forgotten all about me when I come back. Then I was to have gone out shooting with John Pratt in September; and I’m pretty certain papa would have got me a small gun, for I know he would like to see me a good shot; he’s a first-rate one himself. John says he’ll back me up to kill a brace of partridges within a week after I get my gun; but all that’s come to an end. Then we were to have had such capital fishing. John has been getting my tackle ready for me, and has made me a prime rod, much better than can be bought in the shops. Trap and ball, and hoops, and cricket, and marbles—not that I ever can endure marbles—and rounders, and prisoner’s base, and all those sort of games, can be had at school even better than at home, with the fellows one may pick up; so that won’t make any difference. But, as far as I can make out, they don’t let one go out birds’-nesting, or ferreting, or cross-bow shooting, or badger hunting, or any of those sort of things which John Pratt is up to. Schools must be very slow places, that’s my opinion. I don’t suppose we might even blow up a wasps’ nest, if we were to find one. If John Pratt might go and live near, and take me out every day, and have some fun or other, I shouldn’t mind it. Then, you see, I don’t like leaving Kate and little Gusty. What Kate will do without me I do not know at all. I hope Miss Apsley will treat her kindly; if he don’t I’ll—” and Digby looked very fierce, but said nothing more.“If you don’t like school, all you’ve to do is to run away,” said Julian, ever ready to offer evil counsel. “That’s what I would do, I know; or, if you don’t like the idea of going there, run away before. Send to me, and I’ll help you; I’m always ready to help a friend in need.”“Thank you,” said Digby; “oh, I know you would be, but I promised my father that I would go willingly if he wished to send me; so go I must.”Julian might have urged that promises were like piecrust, as the vulgar saying runs, made to be broken: but he already knew enough of Digby to be aware that such an opinion would have no response in his bosom, so he only said, “Well, when you get there, and change your mind, only let me know, and I will help you if I ran.”Julian, two days after this, to his astonishment found that his things were packed, and his father’s carriage coming to the door, he was told that after he had had some luncheon he was to go home. Mr and Mrs Heathcote, however, wished him good-bye very kindly, and so did the Miss Heathcotes, and of course Digby did, so he began to hope that nothing had been discovered. No one, however, said that they hoped soon to see him again. He went away smiling in very good humour with himself, and tolerably so with the rest of the world. The next day Digby was sent off to Mr Nugent’s; this he did not at all like; he would rather have gone to school at once. He recollected how very slow he had always thought the life there—the hours were so regular and early, and he had no field-sports of any kind to indulge in. Kate, however, promised to keep up a constant correspondence with him, and to tell him all that went forward at home. He undertook to write long letters to her in return, at which she smiled, for hitherto he decidedly had not exhibited any proficiency either in orthography or calligraphy, indeed it required a considerable amount of patience and ingenuity to decipher his epistles. Digby loved his father and mother well, though I have not said so; he had an affectionate parting from them. John Pratt drove him over to Osberton. His uncle received him in a very kind way; he did not allude in the slightest way to any of his late misdemeanors. There were four or five other boys there as pupils, considerably older than he was. They seemed very quiet, well-behaved lads, and perfectly happy and contented with their lot. Mr Nugent, though strict in insisting on his directions being obeyed, evidently ruled by love rather than by fear. Mrs Nugent was also a very amiable, kind person, who took a warm interest in the lads committed to her husband’s charge. Digby had before seen very little of his aunt. Before he had been there many days he felt that he liked her very much. Really the time was much more pleasantly spent than he expected. Mr Nugent was never idle for a moment; when out of doors he was always moving about visiting his parishioners; in the house, he was superintending the studies of his pupils, or writing or reading himself. In an evening he would always read some interesting book to them—he never failed to select one with which they were anxious to go on; he encouraged those who could draw, or net, or make models of wood, or pasteboard, to go on at the same time with their manual occupations. Digby could do nothing of the sort. His notion of drawing was very limited indeed; however, his aunt undertook to teach him. By learning how to hold his pencil properly, and to move his hand freely, he was surprised to find what rapid progress he made; he first had very simple sketches to copy—houses and barns, the greater number of the lines in which were perpendicular or horizontal. She would not let him have any other sketches till he had learned to draw what he called the up and down, and the along lines properly.“You must do that again, Digby,” she used to say in her laughing, kind tone. “I make my houses stand upright, and I cannot allow you to let them tumble down. Till you have learned to build up a barn or a cottage you must not attempt to erect a church or a castle. See, you will be able, if you persevere, to do drawings like these.”And she showed him some very attractive coloured sketches, well calculated to excite his ambition to equal them. The books, too, his uncle read, or which he allowed one of the other boys to read, were frequently very amusing, though instructive fictions—accounts of the adventures and travels of lads, just such as boys like; sometimes history was read, and always once in the week some very interesting book on religious subjects. It is a great mistake to suppose that such subjects cannot be made interesting, independent of their vast, their unspeakable importance. Altogether Digby found the evenings pass much more pleasantly than he had when he spent them in the idle, do-nothing way to which he had been accustomed at home. What numbers and numbers of valuable hours are thrown away—not even spent in amusement, but literally in doing nothing, and in being discontented, and sleepy, and stupid, which might and ought to be employed in so profitable and interesting a manner. Mr Nugent frequently spoke to his pupils on the subject of the proper employment of their time, and although many had come to him as accustomed to idle and waste it, as was Digby, they very soon, from experiencing the pleasure and advantages it afforded them, began to wish to spend it profitably. He used to remark—“Never suppose that you are doing no harm when you are idle. Remember, in the first place, that ‘Satan finds some evil still for idle hands to do;’ so you are voluntarily exposing yourself to his temptations. In that alone you are wrong; but also understand that time is given us to be employed aright; that is tilt tenure, so to speak, on which we hold our existence; our intellects, our talents, our strength, our faculties of mind and body, were bestowed on us for that object. Boys and young people, and even grown men and women, fancy they were sent into the world only to amuse themselves. If they have wealth at their disposal they think that they are at liberty to spend their time in as pleasant a way as possible, and as for reckoning up each day what good thing they have done in the world, and saying how have I employed the talent entrusted by my Maker to my charge, such an idea never comes into their heads; but, my boys, I want it to come into your heads and hearts, and to fix it there firmly. If you have wealth at your disposal, consider, and reflect, and pray, that you may be guided how to employ it aright; if you are compelled to labour for your existence, work away with a willing heart and hand, always remembering that you are labouring in the sight of God, and that he approves of those who are doing their best to perform their duty in that state of life into which he has called them.” Digby listened to these remarks; they were quite new to him, and he did not entirely understand them; but they made an impression, and got stowed away somewhere in the crannies of his mind and heart, and in after years found their way to the surface to some effect. Digby got on much better with his lessons than he had done with Mr Crammer. All that gentleman seemed to aim at was to make himsaya lesson; he learnt to say his Latin grammar glibly enough, and to answer set questions in geography and history; and as to his comprehension of what he was repeating, no inquiries were made. The consequences may be supposed, and poor Digby, with fair natural abilities, possessed the very smallest modicum of the information which the books he had read were capable of affording. Mr Nugent, on the contrary, cared little how a pupil said his lessons from a book; his object was to put information into his head, and not only to make it stay there, but to show him how to employ it profitably when required. He used to explain that dictionaries, and grammars, and delectuses, and graduses, and pens, and ink, and paper, and the art of reading, were only so many mechanical contrivances for acquiring knowledge. The first thing to be done is to learn to use them to the best advantage.(Note: a Gradus is a textbook used to train people learning Latin in the art of writing Latin verse, especially hexameters and pentameters.)“Now, Marshall and Digby, take those two Latin dictionaries, and find me out the meaning of the wordsLuna circum terram movetur.”Marshall placed his dictionary well before him, rapidly turning over the leaves with the thumb of one hand, while he held them fast with the other: as his quick eye caught sight of them, he wrote them down on a piece of paper by his side.Digby fumbled away awkwardly, going backwards and forwards, showing clearly that he did not know how to handle a dictionary. “What were the words you said, Uncle?” he asked at last.Marshall had looked out and written all his down and poor Digby had actually forgotten them before he had been able to find one of them out.“The moon moves, or is moved, round the earth,” said Marshall, quietly.“Now you see, Digby, the advantage of being able to turn over the leaves of a dictionary rapidly,” said Mr Nugent. “Of two people with equal talents, the one who possesses that simple mechanical power to the greatest perfection will beat the other, in as far as he will gain the information for which he is seeking in so much less time. A rapid, clear writer, and a person with a quick observant eye, has a great advantage over those who do not possess those qualifications.”Digby very well understood these observations, and set to work to practise turning over the leaves of his dictionary and in looking out words, till, with no little triumph, he proved that he could find out a word almost as quickly as Marshall.It was not, however, all work and no play at Mr Nugent’s. He was near a river as well as near the sea, and, though he did not wish to give the boys a taste for a naval life, yet he was anxious that they should be instructed in rowing and sailing a boat, and in swimming. Digby had prided himself in being a proficient for his age in all manly sports, but he found that he was very inferior to his fellow-pupils with regard to those connected with the water. It was satisfactory, however, to find from Marshall, who became his chief friend, that when they first came they were no better than he was. They were mostly as ignorant, and accustomed to be idle, and knew nothing of aquatic amusements. Mr Nugent, who was very fond of boating, though he had little time to spend in it, occasionally went out with them; but on other occasions they were committed to the charge of an old seaman, Tobias Tubb by name. Of course he was always called Toby Tubb, or still more familiarly spoken of as Toby. Toby had served in all sorts of craft, from a line-of-battle ship to a collier, and, report said, at one time in a smuggling lugger; but he had good reasons for not wishing that circumstance to be alluded to. He was loquacious enough, however, with regard to all the other events of his life, which he pumped up from time to time from the depths of his memory, and sent them flowing forth in a rich stream for the benefit of his hearers. He was a great favourite with the boys, who delighted to listen to his yarns; and he took an interest in his young charges, and was equally pleased to describe the events of his nautical career. His boat was a fine wholesome craft, eighteen feet long, with good beam. She had a spritsail, jib, foresail, and mizen. Never did he appear so happy as when he had them all on board for an afternoon’s sail. Tubb was a very appropriate name for him. He was somewhat stout and short, with a round, ruddy, good-natured countenance, a bald forehead, and white hair on either side of it. He was all roundness. His head was round, and his face was round, and his eyes, and his nose, and his mouth were round. His nose was like a very funny little round button; but it looked so good-natured, and cocked up so quaintly, that the boys declared that they would not have it changed on any account for the first Roman nose in existence. No more, probably, would Toby, who had been very well contented with it for full sixty years, it having, as he said, served him many a good turn during that period. “No, no; we should never be ashamed of old friends who have been faithful and true, and wish to exchange them for finer folk,” he used to remark, when, as was sometimes the case, his fellow-boatmen humorously twitted him about his lose.The first day that Digby went out in the John Dory, as Toby called his boat, he discovered his ignorance of nautical affairs. He had day after day been on the ponds at Bloxholme, but then John Pratt had rowed him about, and he had never thought of learning to row himself.The river was wide at the mouth, and, as there were deep sheltered bays, it was a good place for rowing. When sailing, however, it was necessary to be careful, for gusts often came down suddenly between the cliffs, and had frequently upset boats the people in which had not been ready to let go the sheets in an instant. There was no wind this day.“Now, young gen’man,” said Toby, looking at Digby, “you’ll just take an oar and pull with the rest?”“Oh yes,” answered Digby, who was always ready to undertake any manual exercise, “I’ll row.”Marshall and the other boys got out the oars. Toby eyed Digby, and guessed, by the way he handled his oar the state of the case. However, Digby persevered in silence.The boat slowly receded from the shore, Toby steering. Digby, who sat about midships, looked at Marshall, and Easton, and Power, who sat further astern, and tried to imitate their movements. He did so very fairly. He thought that he was performing his part wonderfully well.Toby’s nose curled more than usual as he looked at him.“Give way, my lads, give way,” he sung out.The other boys instantly bent to their oars, and made much more rapid strokes than before. Digby had not the slightest notion what “giving way” meant. He only knew, to his cost, that he gave way, for his oar caught in the water, and over he toppled on his back to the bottom of the boat.“Caught a crab, caught a crab,” sung out the other boys, laughing.Digby jumped up immediately, full of eagerness, not minding his bruises a bit.“Have I? Where is he? where is he? Let me see him,” he exclaimed.This made the rest laugh still more.“It’s only the sort of crab most young ge’men catches when first they begins to learn to row,” said Toby; “jump up and take your oar, and you’ll soon catch another, I warrant.”So Digby found, but he was not a boy to be beat by such an occurrence. Each time he jumped up as quickly as he could, and grasping his oar, went on pulling as before.“What do you mean by ‘Give way?’” he asked, when he discovered that these words invariably produced the unpleasant results.“I means much the same as the soldier officers does when they says ‘Double quick march.’”“Oh, I see, we are to make the boat go as fast as we can,” observed Digby.After that he caught fewer crabs, Toby having also advised him not to dip the blade of his oar so deeply in the water. In a few days he learned how to feather his oar, that is, when lifting the blade out of the water, to turn it, so as to keep it almost horizontal with the surface. This is done that it may not hold wind, and in a rough sea, that it may be less likely to be struck by a wave, or if it is, that it may cut through the top. He also learned to keep time with the rest, a very essential requisite in rowing.“You’ve done capitally,” said Marshall, after they landed the first day, “many fellows have been here for some time before they have done as well.”This praise encouraged Digby, and he determined to learn to be a good boatman. He expressed his intentions to Toby. The old man laughed.“You’ll be good enough in time, I’ve no doubt, master, but it will take you some years before you are fit to be trusted. There’s nothing but experience will make a sailor. You must be out in gales of wind, and have all your sails blown away, and your masts carried over the side, and find yourself on a lee shore on a dark night, with rocks close aboard, and no room to wear, and the wind blowing great guns and small arms, and a strong current running here and there, and setting you on to the coast; and then, if you find means to save the ship, I’ll allow that you’re something of a sailor.”Digby did not know what all this meant, but he thought the description very dreadful, and certainly he had no notion how he should act. As, however, he had no wish to become a real sailor, that did not trouble him. Easton, however, took in every word that was said. He had set his heart on going to sea, and none of the descriptions of shipwrecks and disasters in which the old man indulged had any terrors for him. They only the more excited his ardour, and he longed to encounter and overcome them.When Toby Tubb saw that Digby could row fairly, he began to teach him to sail a boat.“First you have to learn how to steer, Master Digby,” he observed; “look over the stern, you see how the rudder is, now put your hand in the same line above it. Now I press against your hand, the water is pressing just in the same way against the rudder. If you keep your arm stiff, I should make you turn round. Now, the rudder is stiff as long as you don’t let the tiller move, and so the water turns the boat round. Now put the tiller over on the opposite side, then you see the boat also turns the opposite way. You understand, to steer you must be going on, or, what’s the same thing, a current must be running past you. If there is no movement in the water, you may wriggle the tiller about as much as you please, and you can’t turn the boat’s head. Just understand, too, that the water is a thing that presses. It will give way, certainly. It is not like a rock, but still it presses all around you. That’s the reason why a vessel sails stem first, that is to say, she cuts the water with the sharpest part, if the sails are trimmed properly to make her do so. You may trim the sails to make her sail stern first, or if there’s a gale of wind right abeam, she goes partly ahead, but also drives before it with her side, that’s what we call making lee way. Now as to the sails, you see, we have to balance them, or to trim them, as we call it. Once, I’m told, ships were only made to sail right before the wind. Funny voyages they must have been, I’m thinking. What a time they must have been about them, waiting for a fair wind; no wonder they didn’t get round the world in those days. Now, you see, we can sail not only with the wind abeam as close, as four and a half points to the wind in fore and after craft. Still if we want to get where the wind blows from, we could never do it if we couldn’t tack ship, and sail away four and a half points on the other side of the wind. That’s what we call working a traverse. Away a ship sails, zig-zagging along if there isn’t too much wind to blow her back, every tack making good some ground till she reaches the port to which she’s bound. That’s what I calls thephilusfyof navigation. But I haven’t yet told you how the sails act on the vessel. You see the wind presses on them, just as the water does on the hull. The better you can get the wind to blow on them at what they calls a right angle, the greater force it has. So in a square-rigged ship, if you can bring the wind a little on the quarter, so that every sail, studden-sails, alow and aloft, can be made to draw, you’ll have the greatest pressure on the sails, and send the ship on the fastest. But we come to balancing, when a ship is on a wind. If all the sail was set forward, it would turn her head round, or if all was set aft it would turn her stern round. So we set some forward, and some aft, and some amidships, and then we trim them together properly, and away she goes in the direction we put her head. Then, you see, if we want to turn her head round we shake the wind out of her after sails, or trice them up, and if we want her stem to go round, we do the same with her head sails, and that, Master Heathcote, is what I calls the theory of sailing. There’s a good deal more for you to learn before you will be fit to be trusted in a boat by yourself, but if you keeps close to those principles, you can’t be far wrong in the long run.”Such was Digby’s first lesson in seamanship. He did not take in all that was said to him; indeed he was rather young for comprehending the subject, but it made him think and inquire further; and Toby Tubb was perfectly satisfied that his lessons were not thrown away.“It’s very strange,” soliloquised Toby, “the fathers and mothers of these young ge’men pays lots of money to have ’em taught to ride and dance, and to speak Latin and French, and all sorts of gimcrack nonsense, and not one in a thousand ever thinks of making them learn how to knot, and splice, and reef, and steer, and to take an observation, or work a day’s work, which to my mind is likely to be far more useful to ’em when they comes to take care of themselves in the world. As for me, I don’t know what I should have done without the first, though the shooting the sun and the navigation was above me a good way.”“There’s nothing like leather.” Toby would have said, there is nothing like hemp, and pitch, and tar, and heart of oak. It is quite as well that different people should have different opinions. Thus the world is prevented from stagnating.

There was a large gathering at Bloxholme Hall, both from far and near, of most of the principal families in the county. The house was full of those acquaintances of Mr and Mrs Heathcote who lived too far off to return the same night, but numbers came who were to drive home again the same evening.

There was an archery meeting in the morning, and then a dinner and a dance afterwards. Julian and Digby voted it very slow work. It was, probably, so to them. Kate liked the archery, and especially the dancing, for gentlemen asked her to dance, and chatted with her, and she skipped about like a little fairy, as merrily as possible. The boys had not gone in to the dinner, but they had helped themselves plentifully to the good things on which they could lay hands, and Julian especially had got hold of some wine. In consequence of this, he had become very pot-valorous.

“I’ll tell you what, Digby,” said he, “we must do something, or I shall go to sleep. This dancing is all nonsense. Come into the garden. I dare say I shall knock out an idea; it’s seldom I fail, when I try.”

That was true; but they were very bad ideas Master Julian knocked out.

Before long they found their way into the court-yard, where the carriages of the company were left standing by themselves. The horses were in the stables, pleasantly munching their corn. The coachmen and grooms were in the servants’ hall, as agreeably occupied in eating their suppers.

Julian went in and out among the carriages, and whatever rugs, or gloves, or wrappers, or halters he could find, he transferred from one carriage to the other.

“I say, Digby, it will be a capital joke,” he exclaimed. “When the fat old coachmen come out, they’ll all set to quarrelling. One will think that the other has stolen his things; and they will never dream that we did it.”

Digby thought the joke a good one, and helped to take the articles out of some carriages and to put them into others, till it was evidently almost impossible for any one, in the dark, to regain their lost property. When this was done, and the joke, as they called it, enjoyed, the boys sat down to consider what else they could do.

“I have a notion of something,” said Julian. “It is dangerous, because, if we were found out, we should get into a terrible scrape; but I should like to try it.”

“What is it?” asked Digby, eagerly. “As for the scrape, I don’t mind that; I rather like the risk.”

“Well, young ’un, that’s according to fancy,” said Julian. “I like to take care of myself, but still I like fun. My notion is, that if we were to take the linch-pins out of the carriages we should see a scene not often beheld. As soon as they begin to move, the wheels will go spinning off in every direction, and the people will be spilt right and left into the road. Wouldn’t it be fun?”

Digby did not think so. He could scarcely fancy that Julian was in earnest. “Why, some of the coachmen might be killed,” he exclaimed; “and the people inside would certainly be hurt.”

“Oh, nonsense,” answered Julian. “You are qualmish. I’ll do it. You just stand by and see. Look, they are out in a minute. Just untwist the wire. Here’s somebody’s chaise; I suspect it is the parson’s. There, he’ll get a spill. Now, then, this old family coach; it belongs to those old frumps the Fullers. Lord, what fun, to see them all sprawling out into the road.”

Thus Julian went on, Digby felt very much inclined to stop him, and to entreat him to replace the linch-pins; but Julian rattled away, and was so amusing, that his first feeling of the wrong to which he was a party wore off. It never occurred to him that, if he could not stop Julian, his wisest course would have been to tell the coachmen to look to their linch-pins. Fortunately, many of the carriages had been built in London, and were supplied with patent boxes, so that they escaped the contemplated mischief.

While the boys were thus engaged they heard some footsteps, and they guessed that the coachmen were returning from their suppers to look after their horses. They therefore beat a precipitate retreat through the gate which led into the garden, and quickly made their way into the ball-room.

Mr Bowdler was walking about the room, speaking a kindly word whenever he had an opportunity, both to young and old, of those among whom he had come to live, and whom he was anxious to instruct, and endeavouring, as he felt it most important to do, to win the confidence of all, when he saw the two boys return. Their hair was disordered, their shoes were far from clean, and there were thin lines of dust or mud on their jackets. Julian looked flushed, and Digby had a sheepish abashed manner, very different from that which usually distinguished him. He was very certain that they had been about something they should not, but the question as to what they had been doing he did not think fit to ask. It was already getting later than the hour which he liked to be away from home, so, wishing Mr and Mrs Heathcote good-night, in that pleasant cordial manner which had already gained him their good-will, he walked out to get ready his own carriage. The glass door of the house which led into the garden was open, and so was that which led from the garden into the court-yard. Near his own carriage he saw something shining on the ground. He stooped down, and picked up a clasp knife which he himself had given to Digby a few days before. A groom came and brought out his horse and harnessed it to his carriage. When, however, the man led it out to be clear of the other carriages, in crossing a shallow open drain, first one wheel came off, and then, to his surprise, another followed. As the carriage was moving very slowly, and no one was in it, there was little harm done.

Mr Bowdler said nothing. “That was a cruel trick of those thoughtless boys,” he uttered to himself. “They could scarcely have wished to injure me, but I fear they are the guilty ones.”

He and the groom hunted about till they found the linch-pins and the wires which kept them in, and, having examined the other wheels, he got in and drove off.

The groom, of course, wondered how it could have happened, but it did not occur to him to accuse the young gentlemen.

Soon after this, Mrs Fuller’s coach was ordered. The fat coachman put the horses to, and drove slowly up to the front door. She and four daughters, and two young sons, came down the steps, the first got in, and the latter got up outside, while Digby and Julian stood in the hall looking on. Digby nearly bit off the thumb of his glove in his eagerness, and hesitation and regret, as he watched for the catastrophe he expected. Julian, fancying that they were secure from detection, stood more in front, highly amused at the thoughts of seeing the fat coachman tumble off into the dust.

Just as they were starting, a carriage was heard coming rapidly along the road. The fat coachman thought that he ought to move out of the way, so he whipped on his horses and away they trotted. A stone had been cast on to the carriage-way—the old family coach bumped over it—off flew a wheel—over went the carriage, the coachman and the two lads were thrown off with no little violence, right and left, greatly to Julian’s delight, and the ladies screamed.

Fortunately the windows had not been drawn up, and no one was cut, but being stout people and closely packed, they were very much jammed together. The poor coachman was the most hurt, and the young men had their coats spoilt. They were on their legs in a moment, and while one helped up the coachman the other ran to the horses’ heads. The next thing was to get out the ladies, who, trembling and alarmed, reentered the hall. Grooms, and servants, and gentlemen, assembled from all quarters.

“Look at the other wheels,” said a voice.

It was that of Mr Bowdler. His mind had misgiven him that the trick which he had discovered might have been played to other carriages, and he had driven back. He returned to the coach-yard and warned the coachmen of what he suspected. He found them in a state of great commotion, all crying out for the things they had lost, one accusing the other of having appropriated them. Their anger was still further increased when, in accordance with Mr Bowdler’s advice, they discovered the linch-pins had been abstracted from several of the carriages, and that the necks of some of them had narrowly escaped being broken. They were loud in their threats of vengeance on the heads of the unknown ragamuffins who had committed the atrocious act.

“It’s they gipsies,” said one; “they’ve done it to rob the ladies as we drove along.”

“It’s some on old Dame Marlow’s tricks. I don’t think az how any one could a come in here to play zick a prank,” observed another, a believer in the Dame’s powers.

Some, however, ventured to suggest that as there were young gentlemen at the Hall, and young gentlemen did play very bad tricks at times, they might have done it. Opinion was setting very much in this direction, when John Pratt appeared, and was highly indignant that any such reflection should be cast on his young master.

Mr Bowdler having assured himself that no more harm was likely to occur, drove away again.

“I am not justified in allowing the boys to go on in this way,” he said to himself. “I must inform Mr Heathcote of what has occurred, and get them sent to where they will be properly looked after; I should like to get them separated; one will learn no good from the other.”

Meantime the disturbance in the coach-yard increased, and John Pratt had at last to summon his master from the ball-room to quell it. Mr Heathcote’s voice was now heard inquiring what was the matter, when a dozen people tried to give their own versions of the state of affairs.

“Very well, my friends,” said Mr Heathcote, after listening to them patiently, “keep the peace among yourselves for the present, and if the culprits can be discovered, I will take care, I promise you, that they shall be properly punished. And John Pratt, get more lanterns, and have all the things in the carriages collected, and distributed to the proper owners as they are claimed.”

Having said this, the master of the house returned to his guests. Julian and Digby, when they heard what Mr Heathcote had said, were in a great fright. Digby knew very well that what his father said he would do—that he assuredly would do. He had no hope of escaping detection, and was certain that he should be punished. Of course, he remembered that he had not actually taken the linch-pins out of the carriages, but he had stood by, if not aiding and abetting, at all events not making any strenuous effort to prevent the deed. He, therefore, never for a moment dreamed of sheltering himself under the plea that he had not touched the linch-pins. It scarcely occurred to him that Julian might have exonerated him in a great degree by generously declaring that he himself had proposed the trick and had carried it out. Had he been in Julian’s place, that is what he would have done; but he did not ask Julian to act thus for him, and he made up his mind to abide the consequences. He felt that any excuse he could offer for himself would throw more blame on Julian, and it did occur to him that even then his word might be doubted.

In the meantime Mrs Fuller’s carriage was put to rights, the coachman mounted on his box, the ladies were handed in, and the young gentlemen got up once more on the rumble, all of them very angry and annoyed, as well they might be, and some not a little bruised. Mr Heathcote assured them of his vexation at what had occurred, and promised them, as he had the coachmen, that he would get the culprits properly punished.

The party at length separated, and Digby, more unhappy and discontented with himself than he had been for a long time, went to bed and cried with very vexation till he fell asleep. It was a pity that his repentance was not of a more permanent nature.

The next morning he arose refreshed, and though he felt an unusual weight at his heart, yet he looked at things in a brighter light. Julian looked immaterial (as Kate called his expression of countenance) when he came down to breakfast, and had evidently made up his mind to brazen out the affair, should suspicion fall on him. The event of the evening naturally, however, became the subject of conversation, and Digby felt conscious that he was blushing, while he dared not meet the eye of any one present. He eat away perseveringly at his breakfast, and bolted so hot a cup of tea, that he scalded his mouth, and was about to make his escape, when his father’s eye fell on him. Digby knew it, though he did not dare to look up, and Mr Heathcote felt very nearly certain that the culprit was his own son. Had he doubted it much, he would have asked him, in joke, if he could tell how the affair happened; but he was silent, and felt sad and annoyed. He was sorry to suppose that Digby had been guilty of so foolish and really wicked an act, and his pride too, of which he had a good deal, was hurt at the thought of having, in accordance with his word, publicly to punish him.

All doubts were at an end when, in a short time, Mr Bowdler appeared, mentioned what he had ascertained, and firmly recommended the course he thought ought to be pursued.

“You are right,” answered Mr Heathcote, “but he is such a child—it seems to me but the other day that he was a baby. Let me see, how old is he? Ah, to be sure, I went to school at an earlier age. Old or young, I am bound to punish him, however. Yet stay, we have no right to condemn him unheard.”

Mr Heathcote rang the bell, and ordered the servant to send in Master Digby to him. He felt very like that Roman father we read about, who condemned his own son to death.

“Digby,” said Mr Heathcote, when his son and heir stood before him, “did you take the linch-pins out of the carriages last night?”

Digby thought a moment.

“No, I did not,” he answered firmly.

“Do you know anything about the matter,” said Mr Heathcote, somewhat astonished but firmly believing the assertion. Oh what a blessed thing is that perfect confidence in the honour and truthfulness of those connected with us.

“Do you say that I must answer that question, papa?” said Digby.

“I do not wish to force you to say anything,” remarked Mr Heathcote, “but I do wish to ascertain how the circumstance occurred.”

Digby thought for some time, while his father sat looking at him.

“I should like to know how you intend to punish the person who committed the mischief,” he said at last.

“If you had done it, I should probably have flogged you, and have sent you off to school, as soon as I could find a suitable one. That would have been a lenient punishment for you. A poor boy would be flogged and sent to the house of correction.”

“Then you must send me to school, papa, though I should be glad if you would omit the flogging,” replied Digby, frankly. “I will not say who played the trick; but, as I see somebody ought to be punished, I’m ready to suffer, as I think I ought.”

Mr Bowdler was very much interested in hearing this conversation, and certainly thought very much better of Digby than he had before been inclined to do. “There is a great deal in that boy which may bring forth good fruit, if it is properly developed,” he said to himself. It made him very anxious that Digby should go to some school where the moral as well as intellectual qualities of the boys were attended to.

Mr Heathcote did not wish to press the matter further on his son. He was convinced that he was innocent of the act committed, and he had no doubt of the real delinquent. Still he was very unwilling to have to punish Julian, and he wished to pass the matter over, unless the boy was positively accused before him of the crime. Digby was told that he might go back to the schoolroom and prepare for Mr Crammer.

Mr Bowdler had heard Mr Nugent, Mrs Heathcote’s brother, very highly spoken of, and he recommended that Digby should be placed under him till a good school could be found.

Mr Heathcote liked the notion. He could not bear the idea of having Digby far separated from him. Not that he saw much of the boy, but he liked to feel and know that he was near him. He fancied that he was getting on very well with Mr Crammer, and, now that so excellent a governess had come to instruct him, he thought that his education would be well provided for. He promised Mr Bowdler, therefore, that he would ride over to Osberton and get his brother-in-law to take charge of Digby.

Mr Bowdler, on his part, undertook to make inquiries for a good school for the boy.

“I will send young Julian home,” said Mr Heathcote. “I see no particular harm in him. He seems a quiet, inoffensive lad; but, as you think it advisable, it will be a good excuse for separating the two.”

“Yes, a very good excuse,” said Mr Bowdler.

Julian had been with Digby when the footman summoned him into his father’s presence. He waited anxiously for his return.

“You’ve not peached, I hope, Digby?” said he.

“No, indeed,” answered Digby, rather proudly. “I wasn’t going to tell a story, either. Your name wasn’t mentioned, so you need not be afraid.”

“That’s jolly,” exclaimed Julian, brightening up. “I was afraid that you would be letting the cat out of the bag.”

“I don’t know exactly what that means,” answered Digby; “I said that if some one was to be punished I was ready to suffer, and so I’m to be sent off to school, and that’s not very pleasant, let me tell you. Not that I mind the idea of school. It may be a very good sort of place; but I don’t like to have to leave so many pleasant things behind me. What will my poor dear old dog Tomboy do without me? And there’s my pretty pony Juniper, which papa only bought last spring for me, and which I’ve taught to know me and follow me about the field like a dog. How many pleasant rides I expected to have on him; and he will have forgotten all about me when I come back. Then I was to have gone out shooting with John Pratt in September; and I’m pretty certain papa would have got me a small gun, for I know he would like to see me a good shot; he’s a first-rate one himself. John says he’ll back me up to kill a brace of partridges within a week after I get my gun; but all that’s come to an end. Then we were to have had such capital fishing. John has been getting my tackle ready for me, and has made me a prime rod, much better than can be bought in the shops. Trap and ball, and hoops, and cricket, and marbles—not that I ever can endure marbles—and rounders, and prisoner’s base, and all those sort of games, can be had at school even better than at home, with the fellows one may pick up; so that won’t make any difference. But, as far as I can make out, they don’t let one go out birds’-nesting, or ferreting, or cross-bow shooting, or badger hunting, or any of those sort of things which John Pratt is up to. Schools must be very slow places, that’s my opinion. I don’t suppose we might even blow up a wasps’ nest, if we were to find one. If John Pratt might go and live near, and take me out every day, and have some fun or other, I shouldn’t mind it. Then, you see, I don’t like leaving Kate and little Gusty. What Kate will do without me I do not know at all. I hope Miss Apsley will treat her kindly; if he don’t I’ll—” and Digby looked very fierce, but said nothing more.

“If you don’t like school, all you’ve to do is to run away,” said Julian, ever ready to offer evil counsel. “That’s what I would do, I know; or, if you don’t like the idea of going there, run away before. Send to me, and I’ll help you; I’m always ready to help a friend in need.”

“Thank you,” said Digby; “oh, I know you would be, but I promised my father that I would go willingly if he wished to send me; so go I must.”

Julian might have urged that promises were like piecrust, as the vulgar saying runs, made to be broken: but he already knew enough of Digby to be aware that such an opinion would have no response in his bosom, so he only said, “Well, when you get there, and change your mind, only let me know, and I will help you if I ran.”

Julian, two days after this, to his astonishment found that his things were packed, and his father’s carriage coming to the door, he was told that after he had had some luncheon he was to go home. Mr and Mrs Heathcote, however, wished him good-bye very kindly, and so did the Miss Heathcotes, and of course Digby did, so he began to hope that nothing had been discovered. No one, however, said that they hoped soon to see him again. He went away smiling in very good humour with himself, and tolerably so with the rest of the world. The next day Digby was sent off to Mr Nugent’s; this he did not at all like; he would rather have gone to school at once. He recollected how very slow he had always thought the life there—the hours were so regular and early, and he had no field-sports of any kind to indulge in. Kate, however, promised to keep up a constant correspondence with him, and to tell him all that went forward at home. He undertook to write long letters to her in return, at which she smiled, for hitherto he decidedly had not exhibited any proficiency either in orthography or calligraphy, indeed it required a considerable amount of patience and ingenuity to decipher his epistles. Digby loved his father and mother well, though I have not said so; he had an affectionate parting from them. John Pratt drove him over to Osberton. His uncle received him in a very kind way; he did not allude in the slightest way to any of his late misdemeanors. There were four or five other boys there as pupils, considerably older than he was. They seemed very quiet, well-behaved lads, and perfectly happy and contented with their lot. Mr Nugent, though strict in insisting on his directions being obeyed, evidently ruled by love rather than by fear. Mrs Nugent was also a very amiable, kind person, who took a warm interest in the lads committed to her husband’s charge. Digby had before seen very little of his aunt. Before he had been there many days he felt that he liked her very much. Really the time was much more pleasantly spent than he expected. Mr Nugent was never idle for a moment; when out of doors he was always moving about visiting his parishioners; in the house, he was superintending the studies of his pupils, or writing or reading himself. In an evening he would always read some interesting book to them—he never failed to select one with which they were anxious to go on; he encouraged those who could draw, or net, or make models of wood, or pasteboard, to go on at the same time with their manual occupations. Digby could do nothing of the sort. His notion of drawing was very limited indeed; however, his aunt undertook to teach him. By learning how to hold his pencil properly, and to move his hand freely, he was surprised to find what rapid progress he made; he first had very simple sketches to copy—houses and barns, the greater number of the lines in which were perpendicular or horizontal. She would not let him have any other sketches till he had learned to draw what he called the up and down, and the along lines properly.

“You must do that again, Digby,” she used to say in her laughing, kind tone. “I make my houses stand upright, and I cannot allow you to let them tumble down. Till you have learned to build up a barn or a cottage you must not attempt to erect a church or a castle. See, you will be able, if you persevere, to do drawings like these.”

And she showed him some very attractive coloured sketches, well calculated to excite his ambition to equal them. The books, too, his uncle read, or which he allowed one of the other boys to read, were frequently very amusing, though instructive fictions—accounts of the adventures and travels of lads, just such as boys like; sometimes history was read, and always once in the week some very interesting book on religious subjects. It is a great mistake to suppose that such subjects cannot be made interesting, independent of their vast, their unspeakable importance. Altogether Digby found the evenings pass much more pleasantly than he had when he spent them in the idle, do-nothing way to which he had been accustomed at home. What numbers and numbers of valuable hours are thrown away—not even spent in amusement, but literally in doing nothing, and in being discontented, and sleepy, and stupid, which might and ought to be employed in so profitable and interesting a manner. Mr Nugent frequently spoke to his pupils on the subject of the proper employment of their time, and although many had come to him as accustomed to idle and waste it, as was Digby, they very soon, from experiencing the pleasure and advantages it afforded them, began to wish to spend it profitably. He used to remark—“Never suppose that you are doing no harm when you are idle. Remember, in the first place, that ‘Satan finds some evil still for idle hands to do;’ so you are voluntarily exposing yourself to his temptations. In that alone you are wrong; but also understand that time is given us to be employed aright; that is tilt tenure, so to speak, on which we hold our existence; our intellects, our talents, our strength, our faculties of mind and body, were bestowed on us for that object. Boys and young people, and even grown men and women, fancy they were sent into the world only to amuse themselves. If they have wealth at their disposal they think that they are at liberty to spend their time in as pleasant a way as possible, and as for reckoning up each day what good thing they have done in the world, and saying how have I employed the talent entrusted by my Maker to my charge, such an idea never comes into their heads; but, my boys, I want it to come into your heads and hearts, and to fix it there firmly. If you have wealth at your disposal, consider, and reflect, and pray, that you may be guided how to employ it aright; if you are compelled to labour for your existence, work away with a willing heart and hand, always remembering that you are labouring in the sight of God, and that he approves of those who are doing their best to perform their duty in that state of life into which he has called them.” Digby listened to these remarks; they were quite new to him, and he did not entirely understand them; but they made an impression, and got stowed away somewhere in the crannies of his mind and heart, and in after years found their way to the surface to some effect. Digby got on much better with his lessons than he had done with Mr Crammer. All that gentleman seemed to aim at was to make himsaya lesson; he learnt to say his Latin grammar glibly enough, and to answer set questions in geography and history; and as to his comprehension of what he was repeating, no inquiries were made. The consequences may be supposed, and poor Digby, with fair natural abilities, possessed the very smallest modicum of the information which the books he had read were capable of affording. Mr Nugent, on the contrary, cared little how a pupil said his lessons from a book; his object was to put information into his head, and not only to make it stay there, but to show him how to employ it profitably when required. He used to explain that dictionaries, and grammars, and delectuses, and graduses, and pens, and ink, and paper, and the art of reading, were only so many mechanical contrivances for acquiring knowledge. The first thing to be done is to learn to use them to the best advantage.

(Note: a Gradus is a textbook used to train people learning Latin in the art of writing Latin verse, especially hexameters and pentameters.)

“Now, Marshall and Digby, take those two Latin dictionaries, and find me out the meaning of the wordsLuna circum terram movetur.”

Marshall placed his dictionary well before him, rapidly turning over the leaves with the thumb of one hand, while he held them fast with the other: as his quick eye caught sight of them, he wrote them down on a piece of paper by his side.

Digby fumbled away awkwardly, going backwards and forwards, showing clearly that he did not know how to handle a dictionary. “What were the words you said, Uncle?” he asked at last.

Marshall had looked out and written all his down and poor Digby had actually forgotten them before he had been able to find one of them out.

“The moon moves, or is moved, round the earth,” said Marshall, quietly.

“Now you see, Digby, the advantage of being able to turn over the leaves of a dictionary rapidly,” said Mr Nugent. “Of two people with equal talents, the one who possesses that simple mechanical power to the greatest perfection will beat the other, in as far as he will gain the information for which he is seeking in so much less time. A rapid, clear writer, and a person with a quick observant eye, has a great advantage over those who do not possess those qualifications.”

Digby very well understood these observations, and set to work to practise turning over the leaves of his dictionary and in looking out words, till, with no little triumph, he proved that he could find out a word almost as quickly as Marshall.

It was not, however, all work and no play at Mr Nugent’s. He was near a river as well as near the sea, and, though he did not wish to give the boys a taste for a naval life, yet he was anxious that they should be instructed in rowing and sailing a boat, and in swimming. Digby had prided himself in being a proficient for his age in all manly sports, but he found that he was very inferior to his fellow-pupils with regard to those connected with the water. It was satisfactory, however, to find from Marshall, who became his chief friend, that when they first came they were no better than he was. They were mostly as ignorant, and accustomed to be idle, and knew nothing of aquatic amusements. Mr Nugent, who was very fond of boating, though he had little time to spend in it, occasionally went out with them; but on other occasions they were committed to the charge of an old seaman, Tobias Tubb by name. Of course he was always called Toby Tubb, or still more familiarly spoken of as Toby. Toby had served in all sorts of craft, from a line-of-battle ship to a collier, and, report said, at one time in a smuggling lugger; but he had good reasons for not wishing that circumstance to be alluded to. He was loquacious enough, however, with regard to all the other events of his life, which he pumped up from time to time from the depths of his memory, and sent them flowing forth in a rich stream for the benefit of his hearers. He was a great favourite with the boys, who delighted to listen to his yarns; and he took an interest in his young charges, and was equally pleased to describe the events of his nautical career. His boat was a fine wholesome craft, eighteen feet long, with good beam. She had a spritsail, jib, foresail, and mizen. Never did he appear so happy as when he had them all on board for an afternoon’s sail. Tubb was a very appropriate name for him. He was somewhat stout and short, with a round, ruddy, good-natured countenance, a bald forehead, and white hair on either side of it. He was all roundness. His head was round, and his face was round, and his eyes, and his nose, and his mouth were round. His nose was like a very funny little round button; but it looked so good-natured, and cocked up so quaintly, that the boys declared that they would not have it changed on any account for the first Roman nose in existence. No more, probably, would Toby, who had been very well contented with it for full sixty years, it having, as he said, served him many a good turn during that period. “No, no; we should never be ashamed of old friends who have been faithful and true, and wish to exchange them for finer folk,” he used to remark, when, as was sometimes the case, his fellow-boatmen humorously twitted him about his lose.

The first day that Digby went out in the John Dory, as Toby called his boat, he discovered his ignorance of nautical affairs. He had day after day been on the ponds at Bloxholme, but then John Pratt had rowed him about, and he had never thought of learning to row himself.

The river was wide at the mouth, and, as there were deep sheltered bays, it was a good place for rowing. When sailing, however, it was necessary to be careful, for gusts often came down suddenly between the cliffs, and had frequently upset boats the people in which had not been ready to let go the sheets in an instant. There was no wind this day.

“Now, young gen’man,” said Toby, looking at Digby, “you’ll just take an oar and pull with the rest?”

“Oh yes,” answered Digby, who was always ready to undertake any manual exercise, “I’ll row.”

Marshall and the other boys got out the oars. Toby eyed Digby, and guessed, by the way he handled his oar the state of the case. However, Digby persevered in silence.

The boat slowly receded from the shore, Toby steering. Digby, who sat about midships, looked at Marshall, and Easton, and Power, who sat further astern, and tried to imitate their movements. He did so very fairly. He thought that he was performing his part wonderfully well.

Toby’s nose curled more than usual as he looked at him.

“Give way, my lads, give way,” he sung out.

The other boys instantly bent to their oars, and made much more rapid strokes than before. Digby had not the slightest notion what “giving way” meant. He only knew, to his cost, that he gave way, for his oar caught in the water, and over he toppled on his back to the bottom of the boat.

“Caught a crab, caught a crab,” sung out the other boys, laughing.

Digby jumped up immediately, full of eagerness, not minding his bruises a bit.

“Have I? Where is he? where is he? Let me see him,” he exclaimed.

This made the rest laugh still more.

“It’s only the sort of crab most young ge’men catches when first they begins to learn to row,” said Toby; “jump up and take your oar, and you’ll soon catch another, I warrant.”

So Digby found, but he was not a boy to be beat by such an occurrence. Each time he jumped up as quickly as he could, and grasping his oar, went on pulling as before.

“What do you mean by ‘Give way?’” he asked, when he discovered that these words invariably produced the unpleasant results.

“I means much the same as the soldier officers does when they says ‘Double quick march.’”

“Oh, I see, we are to make the boat go as fast as we can,” observed Digby.

After that he caught fewer crabs, Toby having also advised him not to dip the blade of his oar so deeply in the water. In a few days he learned how to feather his oar, that is, when lifting the blade out of the water, to turn it, so as to keep it almost horizontal with the surface. This is done that it may not hold wind, and in a rough sea, that it may be less likely to be struck by a wave, or if it is, that it may cut through the top. He also learned to keep time with the rest, a very essential requisite in rowing.

“You’ve done capitally,” said Marshall, after they landed the first day, “many fellows have been here for some time before they have done as well.”

This praise encouraged Digby, and he determined to learn to be a good boatman. He expressed his intentions to Toby. The old man laughed.

“You’ll be good enough in time, I’ve no doubt, master, but it will take you some years before you are fit to be trusted. There’s nothing but experience will make a sailor. You must be out in gales of wind, and have all your sails blown away, and your masts carried over the side, and find yourself on a lee shore on a dark night, with rocks close aboard, and no room to wear, and the wind blowing great guns and small arms, and a strong current running here and there, and setting you on to the coast; and then, if you find means to save the ship, I’ll allow that you’re something of a sailor.”

Digby did not know what all this meant, but he thought the description very dreadful, and certainly he had no notion how he should act. As, however, he had no wish to become a real sailor, that did not trouble him. Easton, however, took in every word that was said. He had set his heart on going to sea, and none of the descriptions of shipwrecks and disasters in which the old man indulged had any terrors for him. They only the more excited his ardour, and he longed to encounter and overcome them.

When Toby Tubb saw that Digby could row fairly, he began to teach him to sail a boat.

“First you have to learn how to steer, Master Digby,” he observed; “look over the stern, you see how the rudder is, now put your hand in the same line above it. Now I press against your hand, the water is pressing just in the same way against the rudder. If you keep your arm stiff, I should make you turn round. Now, the rudder is stiff as long as you don’t let the tiller move, and so the water turns the boat round. Now put the tiller over on the opposite side, then you see the boat also turns the opposite way. You understand, to steer you must be going on, or, what’s the same thing, a current must be running past you. If there is no movement in the water, you may wriggle the tiller about as much as you please, and you can’t turn the boat’s head. Just understand, too, that the water is a thing that presses. It will give way, certainly. It is not like a rock, but still it presses all around you. That’s the reason why a vessel sails stem first, that is to say, she cuts the water with the sharpest part, if the sails are trimmed properly to make her do so. You may trim the sails to make her sail stern first, or if there’s a gale of wind right abeam, she goes partly ahead, but also drives before it with her side, that’s what we call making lee way. Now as to the sails, you see, we have to balance them, or to trim them, as we call it. Once, I’m told, ships were only made to sail right before the wind. Funny voyages they must have been, I’m thinking. What a time they must have been about them, waiting for a fair wind; no wonder they didn’t get round the world in those days. Now, you see, we can sail not only with the wind abeam as close, as four and a half points to the wind in fore and after craft. Still if we want to get where the wind blows from, we could never do it if we couldn’t tack ship, and sail away four and a half points on the other side of the wind. That’s what we call working a traverse. Away a ship sails, zig-zagging along if there isn’t too much wind to blow her back, every tack making good some ground till she reaches the port to which she’s bound. That’s what I calls thephilusfyof navigation. But I haven’t yet told you how the sails act on the vessel. You see the wind presses on them, just as the water does on the hull. The better you can get the wind to blow on them at what they calls a right angle, the greater force it has. So in a square-rigged ship, if you can bring the wind a little on the quarter, so that every sail, studden-sails, alow and aloft, can be made to draw, you’ll have the greatest pressure on the sails, and send the ship on the fastest. But we come to balancing, when a ship is on a wind. If all the sail was set forward, it would turn her head round, or if all was set aft it would turn her stern round. So we set some forward, and some aft, and some amidships, and then we trim them together properly, and away she goes in the direction we put her head. Then, you see, if we want to turn her head round we shake the wind out of her after sails, or trice them up, and if we want her stem to go round, we do the same with her head sails, and that, Master Heathcote, is what I calls the theory of sailing. There’s a good deal more for you to learn before you will be fit to be trusted in a boat by yourself, but if you keeps close to those principles, you can’t be far wrong in the long run.”

Such was Digby’s first lesson in seamanship. He did not take in all that was said to him; indeed he was rather young for comprehending the subject, but it made him think and inquire further; and Toby Tubb was perfectly satisfied that his lessons were not thrown away.

“It’s very strange,” soliloquised Toby, “the fathers and mothers of these young ge’men pays lots of money to have ’em taught to ride and dance, and to speak Latin and French, and all sorts of gimcrack nonsense, and not one in a thousand ever thinks of making them learn how to knot, and splice, and reef, and steer, and to take an observation, or work a day’s work, which to my mind is likely to be far more useful to ’em when they comes to take care of themselves in the world. As for me, I don’t know what I should have done without the first, though the shooting the sun and the navigation was above me a good way.”

“There’s nothing like leather.” Toby would have said, there is nothing like hemp, and pitch, and tar, and heart of oak. It is quite as well that different people should have different opinions. Thus the world is prevented from stagnating.

Chapter Four.Digby Gains a Knowledge of Boating and other Manly Employments—The Wonders of the Sea-Side—A Shipwreck—Digby Proves himself a Hero—How he gained a Friend.Digby, as he became more practised in the arts, gained a keen relish for boating, not mere pulling, but for sailing—the harder it blew, the better pleased he was. In this he was joined by Easton, who was always delighted when old Toby would take them out on a stormy day. Marshall and the others confessed that they liked fine weather sailing.“But, suppose the boat was capsized, what would you do?” said Marshall to Digby.“Hold on to her, I suppose,” was the answer.“But very likely you would be thrown to a distance, what then?”“Why I should try and catch what was nearest to me,” replied Digby.“But suppose there was nothing near you,” remarked his friend.“Then, I suppose I should—. Let me see, I scarcely know what I should do—I should try to swim,” said Digby, after some hesitation.“That is just what I wanted to bring you to,” said Marshall. “You have not learned to swim, you know, and you assuredly would not then swim for the first time, so that if no one was near to help you, you would inevitably be drowned. Take my advice—learn to swim forthwith; Toby will teach you. If you were to go to Eton, you would not be allowed to go in the boats till you had learnt. Everybody should know how to swim, both for their own sakes and for the benefit of their fellow-creatures. It is really disgraceful for an English boy not to know how to do what even savages can do so well.”Marshall went on in this style till Digby felt perfectly ashamed of himself, and resolved to learn as soon as possible if Toby would teach him. He was manly enough, as has been seen, in disposition, but all his knowledge of manly exercises he had acquired from John Pratt, except riding, which his father had taken a pride in teaching him. Swimming was not among John Pratt’s accomplishments, and so Digby had remained ignorant of it. There are many boys like him, brought up at home or at small private schools, who are even worse off. In many instances their education is very carefully attended to, but for fear of accidents they are not allowed to bathe, or climb trees, or to shoot. Numbers have suffered from this mistake when they have had to go out into the world and take care of themselves—they have been drowned, when, had they been able to swim, their lives would have been saved; had they been accustomed to climb, they might have scaped from a burning house, a wrecked ship, or a wild beast, while they have been called upon to use fire-arms before they know how to load a gun.“Toby,” said Digby, “I want to learn how to swim.”“Then come along, master,” replied the old man, and they rowed across to a quiet little bay, with a sandy shore, sheltered by rocks, on the side of the river opposite the town. “Pull off your clothes, master,” said Toby, as they were still some little way from the shore.Digby did as he was bid.“Now, jump overboard,” added Toby.Digby stood up, but as he looked into the water and could see no bottom, he shuddered at the thought of plunging in. Toby passed a band round his waist with a rope to it, but Digby scarcely perceived this—he felt himself pushed, and over he went, heels over head, under the water.“Oh, I’m drowning, I’m drowning,” he cried out when he came to the surface.“Oh no, you’re not, master, you’re all right,” said the old man. “Strike out for the shore, and try if you can’t swim there.”Digby did strike out, but wildly, and not in a way that would have kept him afloat.“That’s the way you’d have done if the boat was capsized, and you’d have drowned yourself and any one who came to help you,” remarked Toby; “but catch hold of this oar. Now strike away with your feet, right astern; not out of the water, though; keep them lower down. That’s the way to go ahead. Steady, though; strike both of them together. Slow, though; slower. We’re in no hurry, there’s plenty of time; you can learn the use of your hands another day. Draw your legs well under you. Now, as I give the word—strike out, draw up; strike out, draw up. That will do famously. If you keep steadily at it you’ll learn to swim in a very few days.”Digby felt rather tired when he and the boat at length reached the shore. He had some notion that he had towed her there, which he had not, though. He had learned an important part of the art of swimming. When he came out of the water, and had dressed, Toby showed him how to use his hands.“Now, Master Heathcote, look here. Do as I do.”Toby put his hands together, with the fingers straight out and close to each other, and the palms slightly hollowed. Then he brought them up to his breast, and darting them forward, separated his hands and pressed them backwards till he brought his elbows down to the hips, close to his body, and again turned his wrists till his hands once more got back to the attitude with which he had started. He made Digby do this over and over again, till he was quite eager to jump into the water and put his knowledge into practice.“No, no, master,” said Toby, “you’ve had bathing enough to-day. Just do you keep on doing those movements whenever you have a spare moment, and to-morrow we’ll see how well you can do them in the water.”Digby was certain that not only would he do them perfectly, but that he should be able to swim any distance.Toby said nothing, but his nose curled up in its quiet funny way.The next day was very fine, and all the boys came down to bathe, and to see Digby swim, as he boasted he could do perfectly well. They crossed over to the bay, all of them getting ready for a plunge.“Now, Digby,” cried Marshall, when they got near the shore, “overboard we go.”“All right,” cried Digby, putting his hands into the scientific attitude, as far as he could recollect it; and, with great courage, he jumped into the water.Somehow or other, he could not tell why, down he went some way under the surface, and when he came up he had forgotten all about the way to strike out which Toby had taught him. Instead of that, he flung about his arms and kicked his legs out in the wildest manner, and would have gone down again had not Marshall swam up alongside him, and, putting his hand under his chin, told him to keep perfectly quiet till he had collected his senses. He had resolution enough to do this, and was surprised to find himself floating on the surface of the water with so little support.“Bravo, Master Marshall,” cried Toby. “Now strike out, Master Heathcote, as I showed you.”The recollection of how to strike came back to Digby, and, to his great delight, he found himself making some progress towards the shore, his friend still holding him up by the chin.“Let me go, I am sure I can swim alone,” he cried.Marshall did so, but, after a few strokes, down he went, and again he forgot what he had done so satisfactorily on dry land. His feet, however, touched the bottom, and, hopping on one leg, he went on striking out with his hands, and fancying that he was swimming, till he reached the shore. His companions, of course, laughed at him, but he did not mind that, and, running in again, he made one or two more successful attempts, but he forbore boasting any more of the distance he was going to swim. When once again he had gone out till the water reached his chin, he found the boat close to him.“Don’t be swimming any more, Master Heathcote, but give me your hand,” said Toby, taking it. “There, now throw yourself on your back, stick your legs out, put your head back as far as it will go, lift up your chest, now don’t move, let your arms hang down. There, I’ll hold you steady; a feather would do it. Now you feel how the water keeps you up. There, you might stay there for an hour, or a dozen hours for that matter, if it wasn’t for the cold, in smooth water. You’ll learn to swim in a very few days now, I see, without your clothes, and then you must learn with your clothes on. If I couldn’t have done that I should not have been here; I should have been drownded long ago.”Thus discoursing, the old man let Digby float by the side of the boat till he had been long enough in the water, and then he helped him out and made him dress quickly.The other boys then got in, and consulted together how they should spend the remainder of the afternoon. Power, who was the chief fisherman of the party, voted for going outside and trying to catch some mackerel. No objections were made. Toby consented: he had lines and hooks in the boat.They pulled down to the mouth of the river, and were very soon in the open sea. There was scarcely any wind, the sea was blue and bright, the coast was picturesque, with rocky headlands, and white sandy bay; and green downs above, and cliffs on which numberless wildfowl had taken up their habitations. As they pulled close under the rocks, numbers of gulls flew out, screaming loudly at the intruders on their domains.“I have often thought, when I have heard people talking of their ancient families and their ancient homes, how much more ancient are the families and the abodes of those white-coated gentry,” observed Marshall. “Up there, now, perhaps, the ancestors of those birds have lived, from generation to generation, since the flood. They witnessed the first peopling of our tight little island by the painted savages, who were as barbarous as the New Zealanders or the Fejee Islanders of the present century; the landing of Julius Caesar and his warriors, the battles of the Norsemen, the Danes, and the Saxons, and the defeat of the Spanish armada. I wish that they could tell us all the interesting things they have seen.”Easton liked the idea. Digby did not understand it, for his knowledge of history was very limited.“I know what they’ve seen,” observed Toby. “They’ve seen many a cargo of smuggled silks, and teas, and brandies run hereabouts, in days gone by.”“Oh, those smugglers are jolly fellows!” exclaimed Digby. “I should like to see something of their fun. I can’t fancy any finer sport than landing a cargo and having to run the gauntlet among a whole posse of revenue officers.”“Something like prisoners’ base, you would say,” observed Marshall, “only, I suspect, with a greater chance of being caught and shut up for a longer time than would be pleasant.”“I’ll tell you what it is, young gentlemen,” said Toby, who had been listening in silence to Digby’s and the other boys’ thoughtless remarks, “smuggling is a very bad business, let me tell you. I’ve seen something of it, and I know what it is. I’ve seen money made by it, I’ll allow, just as I’ve seen money made by other evil practices; but I’ve seen very many fine fellows brought to a bad end by it, and have never known any to prosper long at it. Laws were made for the good of all, and no man has a right to break them for his own advantage or pleasure. Though I’m only a poor boatman I’ve found that out, and it’s my duty to make others understand the truth, as well as I can.”The boys confessed that they had never before seen the matter in that light. They had thought smugglers, and pirates, and bandits, and highwaymen, and outlaws of all descriptions very fine fellows; and it had never occurred to them that they should be looked upon as base scoundrels, who deserved to be hung, or severely punished in some other way.“Now let us have out the lines,” exclaimed Power, who was eager to begin fishing. Two of the party paddled the boat on, relieving each other, at the rate of about two miles an hour.Toby produced four long, thin lines, wound up on wooden reels. The lines were considerably slighter than log-lines. Five hooks were fastened to each, about a yard apart.“But where is the bait?” asked Digby. “You cannot catch fish without bait.”“Oh, mackerel are in no ways particular,” answered Toby; “a bit of tin or white rag will attract them; but see, I have some hooks with some capital bait. It is called a white cock’s hackle. The feathers are fastened on to the butt, and project an inch or more beyond the bend, so as to cover the barb. This is certain to catch any fish which see it.”The lines were thrown overboard, one on each side, and one over each quarter. Toby assisted Digby to manage his.Digby was quite delighted when he felt a sharp tug at the end of his line.“Haul in, haul in; you’ve got him,” said Toby.Digby hauled away, and soon he saw a fish skimming and jumping along on the smooth surface of the blue water, leaving a thin wake behind him, while his bright scales glistened in the sun. Digby shouted with glee,—“I’ve the first, I’ve the first. Huzza!”He almost tumbled overboard in his eagerness to catch hold of the fine mackerel which came with what he called a hop, skip, and a jump alongside. He lifted the fish in. The poor mackerel, with his dark back and white belly, did not look nearly so bright out of the water as he had done in it. Digby thought it a very elegant-looking fish, and very unlike any he had ever before caught with John Pratt.“Now we shall catch a plenty,” said Toby, as, to Digby’s dismay, he took the fish, and, cutting it up into strips, baited each of the hooks with it. “These mackerel like nothing better than their own kind.”Two or three dozen mackerel were quickly caught, of which Digby hauled up several.“But have we no chance of catching any carp, or tench, or perch?” he asked, seriously. “I should have thought that there must be plenty about here.”His companions laughed heartily.“What is the taste of the water alongside?” asked Marshall.“Salt,” said Digby, tasting it.“Do you think freshwater fish will live in salt-water?” observed his friend.“Oh, you fine sportsman! You laugh at us for not knowing so much about dogs, and horses, and shooting, and racing, and hunting as you pretend to do, and yet you are ignorant of far more important, and just as interesting matters.”“Still, young gentlemen, I’m thinking that every man shines most in his own element, as the mackerel would say, if they could speak, and would rather be left there,” observed Toby, who was a great philosopher in many respects, although no man could be much more prejudiced with regard to his own calling of a sailor than he was. Such is often the ease. When judging of the opinion of others, we should always try to discover whether we are not prejudiced too much in favour of our own.The boys had a capital evening’s sport, and Digby learned much more about conger-eels, and whiting, and bass, and mullet, and turbot, and plaice, and John Dories, and brill, and other salt-water fish, than he had ever known before. He was daily discovering, by practical experience, that there are many things in creation “of which he had never before dreamed in his philosophy.” In other words, he began to suspect, that though he was a very fine fellow, daring to do anything, and ready to fight any boy of his age, he was in reality a remarkably ignorant young gentleman. This, to a lad of Digby’s disposition, was a very important discovery. He was, I hope, on the high road to improvement. There is a saying, that “Where ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise;” but depend on it, the moment the ignorance is suspected, it is much greater folly not to set strenuously to work to correct it.When the lads got home, they recounted with great glee their adventures, and offered, with much satisfaction, their baskets of fish to Mrs Nugent. They were served up fresh for breakfast and dinner the next day, and for two or three days afterwards, cut open and salted.Digby heard Mr Nugent speaking of the wonders of the deep.“What, uncle, are there any things besides fish in the sea?” he asked with, what the other boys thought, an almost incredible amount of simplicity.One of the few recreations Mr Nugent allowed himself, was a fishing expedition on board a trawler. Not that he cared much for the fish which the trawl caught, but his delight was to examine the numberless specimens of animal marine life which came up at the same time. Digby heard his uncle and Marshall talking about Noctilucae, and Medusae, and Cydippi Actiniae, and Asterias, and Echini, and Terebellae, and Nereides, and Cirripedes, and Solens, and Gastropods, and numberless other creatures with hard names, which he thought that he could never recollect, and about which he was persuaded he could not understand.“And are all these animals found in the sea near here?” he asked.“Yes, and thousands more,” answered his uncle; “it would take a lifetime to catch and note the habits of those found on this coast alone. Each person can only hope to add a little to the stock of knowledge which others have obtained, and to ascertain what has been discovered by others. Still, the pursuit of that knowledge is so delightful, as is, indeed, the study of all God’s works, that those occupied in it find themselves amply repaid for all the physical and mental exertion they have to take to attain it.”“Are the things you speak of like horses, and dogs, and cats, or more like fish?” asked Digby, seriously. “I should think with such curious names they must be very curious looking things.”Marshall and Power laughed heartily, and even his uncle could not help smiling as he replied:“Curious and wonderful, indeed, they are, but they are not fish in appearance, and still less like terrestrial quadrupeds. Some have their heads at the end of their feet, and their eyes at the extremities of their arms. Some walk on their heads, and others have their arms growing from the top of their heads. Some, too, can turn themselves inside out, and others of their own accord, break themselves to pieces, and then, what is more wonderful still, like one of the tricks to be seen at a pantomime, the bits send forth arms, and legs, and heads, and tails, and become perfect animals again.”Digby listened with mute astonishment. He knew that his uncle would not tell him an untruth, and yet he fancied that, somehow or other, he must be laughing at him. The account he had heard, however, made him look forward eagerly to the promised trawling expedition.The day approached, but Digby was doomed to be disappointed. A heavy gale of wind sprung up in the evening, and blew with great violence during the night.The next day was Saturday, and was a half-holiday. Just as the boys had finished their lessons, a servant-girl came running in, exclaiming:“Oh, sir, they say that there is a big ship driving on the shore, and that all the poor souls in her will be lost. Oh, it’s very dreadful! oh dear! oh dear!”Mr Nugent seized his hat and stick, and the boys prepared to follow him.“Stay, we will take a brandy-flask, and any rope to be had—a long pole may be useful.”These articles being quickly found, the boys carrying them, they hurried out to the beach.Not the eighth of a mile from the shore was a dismasted vessel, rolling and tumbling about in the most fearful manner. The crew were trying to get up jury-masts, or sheers rather, which are formed of two spars, the butt ends resting against the sides of the ship, and the others joined together. The sheers were got up, and then an endeavour was made to hoist a sail on them, to beat the ship off the shore. It was utterly useless. The sail was blown to ribbons, and the sheers blown away. The last resource was to anchor. This was done, and the ship rode head to wind, plunging, however, even more violently than before. Toby Tubb just then joined Mr Nugent and his pupils.“There’s no use in it. There’s no ground here will hold an anchor ten minutes together.” His prediction proved too true. On drove the hapless ship. She had parted from her anchors, no human power could avert the expected catastrophe. The only hope that any of those on board could be saved, would be that the ship might drive into the sandy cove in which they were standing. If she struck on the dark ledges of rock outside, not a person on board, it was thought, could be saved. The sea was breaking with tremendous violence over them, creating sheets of foam, which were driven towards the shore, almost blinding the lookers-on.Digby thought he could almost hear the shrieks of the unfortunate people on board. He could see them, clearly, throwing up their arms, as if imploring aid from their fellow-men, who were utterly unable to afford it.“Could no boat go off to them?” asked Mr Nugent, eagerly.“No, sir, no boat would live a second in that sea, alongside those rocks,” answered Toby; “what men can do we will do, when the time comes; more is unpossible.”“I have a rope and some poles, you see,” said Mr Nugent; “they may be useful.”“So have I, sir, but two ropes may be better than one,” was Toby’s reply. “Now, lads, be ready to do what I tells you; follow me.”He addressed a party of seamen and fishermen, not all very young though, who were standing near with their hands in their pockets, exhibiting, apparently, very little interest in what was going forward. The ill-fated ship rose on the top of the huge waves which rolled onward towards the shore. Now it appeared that she would be engulphed between them. No further effort was made on board to save her. Such would have been hopeless. Each person was intent on making preparations for his own safety. Digby gazed with horror; he felt inclined to shriek out himself, as he saw the danger of the poor fellows on board. He would gladly have run away and forgotten all about it, but yet he could not tear himself from the spot, or his eyes from the driving ship. A few minutes more, and her fate would be sealed.“Follow me, lads,” suddenly exclaimed old Toby, and led the way towards a ledge of rocks which jutted out into the sea, and formed one side of the bay of which I have spoken.In a moment the fishermen had their hands out of their pockets, and were all life and activity. Carrying some long spars and several coils of rope, they hurried after Toby to the end of the reef. Toby was seen to stop. Digby and his companions held their breath—well they might. It seemed as if the ship must strike the very end of that black reef, over which the sea was breaking with violence so fearful that it must have shattered to fragments the stoutest ship that ever floated. On she came; there was a pause it seemed; a cross-sea struck her, and amidst a deluge of foam she was hurled past the point, and driven in towards the bay. Another sea lifted her up, and then down she came on the beach, still far out among the breakers, with a tremendous crash, which seemed to shake the very shore. Now was the moment of greatest peril to those on board—the seas meeting with a resistance they had not hitherto found, dashed furiously over the hull, carrying away the bulwarks, and the boats, and caboose, and everything still remaining on deck. The crew clung to ropes made fast to the stumps of the masts, or to ring-bolts in the decks, but the strength of many of them could not withstand the fury of the seas. One after the other was torn from his hold, and hurled among the boiling breakers. In vain the poor fellows struck out; the receding waves dashed them against the side of the ship, or carried them struggling hopelessly far out to sea, where they were lost to sight among the foam.While this was going forward, Toby and his companions were trying every means they could think of to get a rope carried to the wreck. Unfortunately they were unprovided with Captain Manby’s apparatus, or any other contrivance for throwing a shot with a line attached to it over a wreck, so that by the line a hawser might be hauled on shore. There were none of those excellent inventions—life-boats—in the neighbourhood, which are now, happily, stationed all along the British coast, and have been the means of saving the lives of numbers of human beings; even the coastguard officer and most of his men had gone that morning to a distance. Toby had, therefore, to trust to his own resources. The crew seemed utterly unable to make any effort to save themselves; indeed they saw that should they let go their hold, any moment they might be washed overboard and drowned. Toby had got a small keg, to which he fastened a line, and seemed to hope that it might be carried out by the receding wave towards the wreck, but though it went some way, another wave came in before it got far enough to be of any use, and sent it rolling back again with a coil of seaweed, mixed with sand and foam, on the beach. Toby next fastened a rope round his own waist, and seemed to contemplate the possibility of swimming off himself to the wreck, but the men round him held him back, persuading him that the risk was too great. He stood, evidently seeing that there was very little chance of success. Now another huge wave came foaming up. The crew turned their heads with a gaze of horror and alarm as they watched its approach. On it came, roaring loudly. All on board grasped with a gripe, in which the force of every sinew and muscle was exerted to the utmost, the masts and ropes to which they were holding. The wave struck the ship, shaking her huge hull to the keel, and driving her still further on the beach. One poor fellow must have had a less secure gripe than the rest, or else its fury must have been concentrated on him. It tore him from his hold, lifted him up, and as it passed over, he was seen struggling in the water. He struck out boldly. Now the roaring hissing sea carried him onward, then back again, now a side wave took him and drove him in the direction of the spot where Toby and his companions were standing. Toby signed to the men to hold the rope, and plunging in amid the foam, struck out towards the struggling seaman. Now they were separated, now they were brought nearer together. Now it seemed as if the stranger would be carried out, as had been the others, by the receding wave. But the brave fellow still struggled on. It was too evident, however, that his efforts were growing weaker and weaker. Toby sung out to him to encourage him to persevere. Toby got close to him, but just then a hissing wave went rolling back, the stranger threw up his arms in despair, and was buried beneath the foam. Toby darted forward and disappeared beneath the water.“Oh, he is gone, he is drowned, our poor Toby!” exclaimed Digby, giving way to his feelings.But Toby had only dived, and the next instant appeared grasping the body of the seaman, but was being carried at a fearful rate out to sea. His friends on shore hauled in, however, gently on the rope, and gradually drew him and the seaman towards them. Still, Toby had much to contend with; the sea tumbled about and broke wildly around him, and now the water would make a rush in one direction and then in another, rendering swimming almost impossible. At length the rocks were reached. Several of the fishermen who had fastened ropes to their waists, rushed into the sea to his assistance, and at length he and the nearly drowned man were hauled up on the rocks.“Bravo! excellent, brave fellow!” exclaimed Mr Nugent, enthusiastically, “thank heaven, too, that the poor man is saved.”Digby shouted with delight. “Oh, Toby is a grand fellow!” he exclaimed; in which sentiment he was joined by his fellow-pupils.Meantime, Mr Nugent hurried off to be of assistance, if required, to the rescued man.The escape of one of their shipmates seemed to give courage to the other people on board. Another man leaped off the wreck with a line, and boldly struck out for the rocks. Toby, notwithstanding his previous exertions, dashed into the sea to meet him, but whether or not he would succeed appeared very doubtful.Meantime, another sea came rolling over the wreck. Directly afterwards, two human forms were seen struggling in the waves. Sometimes the sea carried them so close to the beach, that it seemed as if they could almost touch the sand with their feet; then out they were carried once more, and it appeared that they would be lost altogether. This was the more sad as Toby and the man, who had jumped off the wreck with the line, had almost succeeded in establishing a communication between it and the shore. One of the people got so close to them that they could see his features. He was evidently a lad, not so old as Marshall.“I am certain I could get hold of him,” cried Digby, suddenly fastening the rope round his own waist in the way Toby had taught him. “Here, do you hold the rope tight.”“I ought to go,” said Marshall, throwing off his jacket.“No, no—no time to be lost—now or never,” cried Digby, rushing into the sea just as the wave, having brought the almost senseless lad close to the beach, was about to carry him off again.Had he hesitated for a moment he would have been too late. He thought not of his own safety. On he rushed. The receding water took him off his legs. He struck out; he was turned heels over head. Still he dashed on. He was within half an arm’s-length of the drowning lad. “Oh, I must have him,” he thought to himself. He sprung on; he caught him by the collar of his jacket. “Haul away,” he sung out.Marshall and the rest saw that he had got hold of the boy, though they could not hear him speak.Nothing but death would have made him relinquish that grasp, he felt.His companions hauled away, and much force was required, for so strong was the reflux of the wave that all his own strength would not have opposed it.Almost drowned himself, and scarcely sensible, holding tight on to the boy, he at length was caught hold of by his friends, who ran up with him and his burden out of the reach of the waves.They undid the lad’s collar and handkerchief. He was breathing, but insensible. He was as well dressed as they were, and was certainly not a poor sailor-boy, as Digby had fancied,—not that that would have made any difference, of course.Easton ran off to call Mr Nugent, while Marshall, Power, and Norton attended to the stranger and Digby.Meantime, they were anxiously looking out for the other person they had seen in the water. They could just distinguish him, but he had drifted a long way out, and was making no effort to save himself.Digby very soon came to his senses, as did the boy he had so gallantly rescued. No sooner did the latter open his eyes than he looked up and exclaimed, “Oh, my father, my father; where is he?” He gazed with a countenance expressive of the greatest fear towards the ocean. Then he started up, and would have rushed back into the water, had not Marshall and Digby prevented him.In the mean time, some more fishermen and other persons had assembled at the scene of action. One of them was noted for being a first-rate swimmer. He was somewhat of a rival, too, of Toby’s, though they were excellent friends. Fastening a rope round his waist, he plunged in and swam out boldly and strongly amid the foaming breakers towards the drowning man. When the rescued boy saw what he was doing, he was immediately calm, and kneeling down on the sand, with uplifted hands, regardless of the bystanders, was evidently praying. What mattered it to him what others thought; the life of a beloved parent was in the greatest extreme of danger. He saw clearly that no help which he could afford him or could obtain would be of any avail, and thus wisely and with right faith he sought it whence alone it could be given.The other boys stood around. Marshall joined his prayers to those of the young stranger, that his father might be saved. Digby wished it, and would have done anything to assist the struggling man; but how to pray he knew not. It was a moment of awful suspense; he felt it so himself. How must that kneeling boy have felt it!The brave fisherman—John Holmes was his name—swam on. He was joined by Toby, and at the same time the cask was floated out. It was let go at the light moment. The person struggling in the water saw it, and endeavoured to reach it. Twice he was washed away far off from it. No exclamation all the time was heard from the lips of his son. He gazed intently on what was going forward. Sometimes he appeared to be about to rise and rush towards the ocean; but he restrained himself, and continued kneeling. A shriek, it was one of joy, escaped him when he saw his father at length grasp hold of the cask.The two brave fishermen now swam up near him and assisted to hold him on, while all three were hauled through the foaming surf towards the rocks.Then, and not till then, did the young stranger rise from his knees, and hurry on towards the spot where he believed his father was about to be landed.Those in the water were, however, still exposed to a very great danger. This was from the pieces of wreck which were dashing about in every direction, and a blow from which might prove fatal.The boy hurried along over the slippery rocks. He got near enough to see his father’s countenance turned with eyes of affection towards him. The son knew that he was recognised, and that his father was aware of his safety. A piece of timber came dashing by. Had not the fishermen been near him, it would have torn him from his hold. As it was, Holmes received a severe blow which almost disabled him, but he held on, and in another minute all three were in the grasp of the men collected on the rock to assist them.The first impulse of the father and his son was to throw themselves into each other’s arms, and then the father knelt down and returned thanks to Heaven for his preservation.While this episode in the fearful history of that shipwreck was going forward, a hawser or stout rope had been carried from the stranded ship to the shore. Several seamen worked their way along it, and readied the rock in safety. Then another came, but a sea rolled by, and, sweeping him from his hold, he was carried far away out of sight.The tide was rising, and rendering it more dangerous every moment to those remaining on the wreck. This made the seamen hurry on along the hawser. Dangerous was the transit, requiring a strong arm and firm nerves. Another huge sea came rolling in. The already shattered vessel could not withstand its force, and in a moment, as if it had been formed of the most brittle materials, was shivered into a thousand fragments, which came rolling on in tangled masses towards the shore.Most of the men, and two of the officers, had reached the rocks; but the master and one of his mates, who had refused to leave the ship till all had left her, with two or three of the men, still remained on board at the moment she broke up. They were now seen struggling in the waves among the broken masses of the wreck.In vain the brave fishermen dashed into the sea to save them. One after the other, struck by pieces of timber, or spars, or floating packages, were seen to go down without further efforts to save themselves. At last, one only remained alive. On him all the interest of those on shore was concentrated.“Our captain, our captain,” cried some of the rescued crew; “oh, how can we save him? how can we save him?”He seemed a fine old man, with a noble forehead and grey hair. He reached a spar, and threw his arms over it. Thus supported, he lifted himself out of the water, and looked calmly around, as if considering how he might best reach the shore. The spar was sent rushing on towards the beach. Many of his crew, all indeed who were uninjured, got ropes ready to dash forward to his assistance. He seemed to observe the efforts preparing to aid him. Digby was struck with the wonderful calmness of the old man. Death and destruction on every side, he seemed not for a moment to have lost his presence of mind. He fancied even that he could see him smile, as the fishermen and his own people made a rush towards him. It proved unsuccessful. He looked in no way disconcerted. Another wave came on and carried him forward; now he beckoned them to come to him; on they dashed. It was the work of a moment. They seized him by the collar of his coat, and Digby saw that they had him safely landed on the beach. Digby could not help running forward and saying—“I am very glad that you are saved, sir.”“Thank you, my boy,” answered the old master, “if I mistake not, you are one of the lads who saved my young Haviland there. His father will thank you, I know. I saw it all from the wreck. Nobly done, it was!”Digby felt highly pleased at being thus praised; not that he thought that he had done any great thing after all.The master having thus expressed himself, called the rescued people round him, and spoke a few words to them, telling them how thankful they ought to be at being saved. When he looked round and missed so many of his late shipmates, he dashed his hand across his eyes as if he felt severely their loss. “God’s will be done,” he said, in a voice trembling with agitation. It was clear that, though his nerves were strong, his heart was tender.Mr Nugent, who had all along been attending to those who most required his aid, now came forward and invited the gentleman who had been saved and his son, as well as the old master, to his house. The chief magistrate and other authorities of Osberton undertook to look after the crew, while Toby and Holmes were appointed to take charge of the cargo which might be washed on shore.Mr Haviland and his son, as well as Captain Burton, gladly accepted Mr Nugent’s invitation, greatly to the delight of the boys, who were eager to know where the ship had come from, and how she had been wrecked. Mr Nugent hurried them up to his house, where he had beds immediately made ready for them, into which he insisted on their getting, although the old captain protested that, for his part, he was not a bit the worse for his ducking.That evening all the family, with the rescued strangers, were seated round Mrs Nugent’s tea-table. Mr Haviland seemed to be a very gentlemanly person, and his son, Arthur, quickly won the regards of all the party by his kind and gentle manners, his intelligence, and the affectionate and dutiful way in which he treated his father. Captain Burton was a fine old seaman; he had been so knocked about in the world, and had met with so many adventures and mishaps, that he seemed to make very light of the mere wreck of his ship, much as he grieved for the loss of so many of his crew.“We seamen know well what we have to expect one day or other. We may well be thankful when we are able to reach the shore alive in a civilised land,” he remarked; “sad is the fate of the poor fellows who may be cast on a barren coast, or one inhabited by savages, cannibals may be, who may knock them on the head as soon as they set foot on shore. Now I hope in a few days to be at home with my wife and family, and soon to forget all my misfortunes.”The ship had come, he told them, from South America. Owing to the thick weather, they had not made the land; though he knew that he was running up channel, he was not aware how near the shore he was when he was struck by the gale and dismasted. The ship in that condition, no seamanship was of any avail to preserve her.The next morning he and his crew took their departure from Osberton, after he had collected all the articles of his private property which had come on shore.Mr Haviland gladly accepted Mr Nugent’s invitation to remain some days longer, that he might sufficiently recover his strength to enable him to travel to London. Again and again he expressed his gratitude to Digby for having rescued his son from the waves, and Arthur himself endeavoured to show how much he felt, and how unable he was to repay him.Mr Haviland was able to repay both Toby and Holmes, as well as the other men, in a more substantial mode, for the gallant way in which they had exerted themselves to save him. Remittances from London supplied him amply with funds; and all those who had assisted on the occasion of the wreck declared, that so liberal a gentleman had never before appeared in their town.

Digby, as he became more practised in the arts, gained a keen relish for boating, not mere pulling, but for sailing—the harder it blew, the better pleased he was. In this he was joined by Easton, who was always delighted when old Toby would take them out on a stormy day. Marshall and the others confessed that they liked fine weather sailing.

“But, suppose the boat was capsized, what would you do?” said Marshall to Digby.

“Hold on to her, I suppose,” was the answer.

“But very likely you would be thrown to a distance, what then?”

“Why I should try and catch what was nearest to me,” replied Digby.

“But suppose there was nothing near you,” remarked his friend.

“Then, I suppose I should—. Let me see, I scarcely know what I should do—I should try to swim,” said Digby, after some hesitation.

“That is just what I wanted to bring you to,” said Marshall. “You have not learned to swim, you know, and you assuredly would not then swim for the first time, so that if no one was near to help you, you would inevitably be drowned. Take my advice—learn to swim forthwith; Toby will teach you. If you were to go to Eton, you would not be allowed to go in the boats till you had learnt. Everybody should know how to swim, both for their own sakes and for the benefit of their fellow-creatures. It is really disgraceful for an English boy not to know how to do what even savages can do so well.”

Marshall went on in this style till Digby felt perfectly ashamed of himself, and resolved to learn as soon as possible if Toby would teach him. He was manly enough, as has been seen, in disposition, but all his knowledge of manly exercises he had acquired from John Pratt, except riding, which his father had taken a pride in teaching him. Swimming was not among John Pratt’s accomplishments, and so Digby had remained ignorant of it. There are many boys like him, brought up at home or at small private schools, who are even worse off. In many instances their education is very carefully attended to, but for fear of accidents they are not allowed to bathe, or climb trees, or to shoot. Numbers have suffered from this mistake when they have had to go out into the world and take care of themselves—they have been drowned, when, had they been able to swim, their lives would have been saved; had they been accustomed to climb, they might have scaped from a burning house, a wrecked ship, or a wild beast, while they have been called upon to use fire-arms before they know how to load a gun.

“Toby,” said Digby, “I want to learn how to swim.”

“Then come along, master,” replied the old man, and they rowed across to a quiet little bay, with a sandy shore, sheltered by rocks, on the side of the river opposite the town. “Pull off your clothes, master,” said Toby, as they were still some little way from the shore.

Digby did as he was bid.

“Now, jump overboard,” added Toby.

Digby stood up, but as he looked into the water and could see no bottom, he shuddered at the thought of plunging in. Toby passed a band round his waist with a rope to it, but Digby scarcely perceived this—he felt himself pushed, and over he went, heels over head, under the water.

“Oh, I’m drowning, I’m drowning,” he cried out when he came to the surface.

“Oh no, you’re not, master, you’re all right,” said the old man. “Strike out for the shore, and try if you can’t swim there.”

Digby did strike out, but wildly, and not in a way that would have kept him afloat.

“That’s the way you’d have done if the boat was capsized, and you’d have drowned yourself and any one who came to help you,” remarked Toby; “but catch hold of this oar. Now strike away with your feet, right astern; not out of the water, though; keep them lower down. That’s the way to go ahead. Steady, though; strike both of them together. Slow, though; slower. We’re in no hurry, there’s plenty of time; you can learn the use of your hands another day. Draw your legs well under you. Now, as I give the word—strike out, draw up; strike out, draw up. That will do famously. If you keep steadily at it you’ll learn to swim in a very few days.”

Digby felt rather tired when he and the boat at length reached the shore. He had some notion that he had towed her there, which he had not, though. He had learned an important part of the art of swimming. When he came out of the water, and had dressed, Toby showed him how to use his hands.

“Now, Master Heathcote, look here. Do as I do.”

Toby put his hands together, with the fingers straight out and close to each other, and the palms slightly hollowed. Then he brought them up to his breast, and darting them forward, separated his hands and pressed them backwards till he brought his elbows down to the hips, close to his body, and again turned his wrists till his hands once more got back to the attitude with which he had started. He made Digby do this over and over again, till he was quite eager to jump into the water and put his knowledge into practice.

“No, no, master,” said Toby, “you’ve had bathing enough to-day. Just do you keep on doing those movements whenever you have a spare moment, and to-morrow we’ll see how well you can do them in the water.”

Digby was certain that not only would he do them perfectly, but that he should be able to swim any distance.

Toby said nothing, but his nose curled up in its quiet funny way.

The next day was very fine, and all the boys came down to bathe, and to see Digby swim, as he boasted he could do perfectly well. They crossed over to the bay, all of them getting ready for a plunge.

“Now, Digby,” cried Marshall, when they got near the shore, “overboard we go.”

“All right,” cried Digby, putting his hands into the scientific attitude, as far as he could recollect it; and, with great courage, he jumped into the water.

Somehow or other, he could not tell why, down he went some way under the surface, and when he came up he had forgotten all about the way to strike out which Toby had taught him. Instead of that, he flung about his arms and kicked his legs out in the wildest manner, and would have gone down again had not Marshall swam up alongside him, and, putting his hand under his chin, told him to keep perfectly quiet till he had collected his senses. He had resolution enough to do this, and was surprised to find himself floating on the surface of the water with so little support.

“Bravo, Master Marshall,” cried Toby. “Now strike out, Master Heathcote, as I showed you.”

The recollection of how to strike came back to Digby, and, to his great delight, he found himself making some progress towards the shore, his friend still holding him up by the chin.

“Let me go, I am sure I can swim alone,” he cried.

Marshall did so, but, after a few strokes, down he went, and again he forgot what he had done so satisfactorily on dry land. His feet, however, touched the bottom, and, hopping on one leg, he went on striking out with his hands, and fancying that he was swimming, till he reached the shore. His companions, of course, laughed at him, but he did not mind that, and, running in again, he made one or two more successful attempts, but he forbore boasting any more of the distance he was going to swim. When once again he had gone out till the water reached his chin, he found the boat close to him.

“Don’t be swimming any more, Master Heathcote, but give me your hand,” said Toby, taking it. “There, now throw yourself on your back, stick your legs out, put your head back as far as it will go, lift up your chest, now don’t move, let your arms hang down. There, I’ll hold you steady; a feather would do it. Now you feel how the water keeps you up. There, you might stay there for an hour, or a dozen hours for that matter, if it wasn’t for the cold, in smooth water. You’ll learn to swim in a very few days now, I see, without your clothes, and then you must learn with your clothes on. If I couldn’t have done that I should not have been here; I should have been drownded long ago.”

Thus discoursing, the old man let Digby float by the side of the boat till he had been long enough in the water, and then he helped him out and made him dress quickly.

The other boys then got in, and consulted together how they should spend the remainder of the afternoon. Power, who was the chief fisherman of the party, voted for going outside and trying to catch some mackerel. No objections were made. Toby consented: he had lines and hooks in the boat.

They pulled down to the mouth of the river, and were very soon in the open sea. There was scarcely any wind, the sea was blue and bright, the coast was picturesque, with rocky headlands, and white sandy bay; and green downs above, and cliffs on which numberless wildfowl had taken up their habitations. As they pulled close under the rocks, numbers of gulls flew out, screaming loudly at the intruders on their domains.

“I have often thought, when I have heard people talking of their ancient families and their ancient homes, how much more ancient are the families and the abodes of those white-coated gentry,” observed Marshall. “Up there, now, perhaps, the ancestors of those birds have lived, from generation to generation, since the flood. They witnessed the first peopling of our tight little island by the painted savages, who were as barbarous as the New Zealanders or the Fejee Islanders of the present century; the landing of Julius Caesar and his warriors, the battles of the Norsemen, the Danes, and the Saxons, and the defeat of the Spanish armada. I wish that they could tell us all the interesting things they have seen.”

Easton liked the idea. Digby did not understand it, for his knowledge of history was very limited.

“I know what they’ve seen,” observed Toby. “They’ve seen many a cargo of smuggled silks, and teas, and brandies run hereabouts, in days gone by.”

“Oh, those smugglers are jolly fellows!” exclaimed Digby. “I should like to see something of their fun. I can’t fancy any finer sport than landing a cargo and having to run the gauntlet among a whole posse of revenue officers.”

“Something like prisoners’ base, you would say,” observed Marshall, “only, I suspect, with a greater chance of being caught and shut up for a longer time than would be pleasant.”

“I’ll tell you what it is, young gentlemen,” said Toby, who had been listening in silence to Digby’s and the other boys’ thoughtless remarks, “smuggling is a very bad business, let me tell you. I’ve seen something of it, and I know what it is. I’ve seen money made by it, I’ll allow, just as I’ve seen money made by other evil practices; but I’ve seen very many fine fellows brought to a bad end by it, and have never known any to prosper long at it. Laws were made for the good of all, and no man has a right to break them for his own advantage or pleasure. Though I’m only a poor boatman I’ve found that out, and it’s my duty to make others understand the truth, as well as I can.”

The boys confessed that they had never before seen the matter in that light. They had thought smugglers, and pirates, and bandits, and highwaymen, and outlaws of all descriptions very fine fellows; and it had never occurred to them that they should be looked upon as base scoundrels, who deserved to be hung, or severely punished in some other way.

“Now let us have out the lines,” exclaimed Power, who was eager to begin fishing. Two of the party paddled the boat on, relieving each other, at the rate of about two miles an hour.

Toby produced four long, thin lines, wound up on wooden reels. The lines were considerably slighter than log-lines. Five hooks were fastened to each, about a yard apart.

“But where is the bait?” asked Digby. “You cannot catch fish without bait.”

“Oh, mackerel are in no ways particular,” answered Toby; “a bit of tin or white rag will attract them; but see, I have some hooks with some capital bait. It is called a white cock’s hackle. The feathers are fastened on to the butt, and project an inch or more beyond the bend, so as to cover the barb. This is certain to catch any fish which see it.”

The lines were thrown overboard, one on each side, and one over each quarter. Toby assisted Digby to manage his.

Digby was quite delighted when he felt a sharp tug at the end of his line.

“Haul in, haul in; you’ve got him,” said Toby.

Digby hauled away, and soon he saw a fish skimming and jumping along on the smooth surface of the blue water, leaving a thin wake behind him, while his bright scales glistened in the sun. Digby shouted with glee,—“I’ve the first, I’ve the first. Huzza!”

He almost tumbled overboard in his eagerness to catch hold of the fine mackerel which came with what he called a hop, skip, and a jump alongside. He lifted the fish in. The poor mackerel, with his dark back and white belly, did not look nearly so bright out of the water as he had done in it. Digby thought it a very elegant-looking fish, and very unlike any he had ever before caught with John Pratt.

“Now we shall catch a plenty,” said Toby, as, to Digby’s dismay, he took the fish, and, cutting it up into strips, baited each of the hooks with it. “These mackerel like nothing better than their own kind.”

Two or three dozen mackerel were quickly caught, of which Digby hauled up several.

“But have we no chance of catching any carp, or tench, or perch?” he asked, seriously. “I should have thought that there must be plenty about here.”

His companions laughed heartily.

“What is the taste of the water alongside?” asked Marshall.

“Salt,” said Digby, tasting it.

“Do you think freshwater fish will live in salt-water?” observed his friend.

“Oh, you fine sportsman! You laugh at us for not knowing so much about dogs, and horses, and shooting, and racing, and hunting as you pretend to do, and yet you are ignorant of far more important, and just as interesting matters.”

“Still, young gentlemen, I’m thinking that every man shines most in his own element, as the mackerel would say, if they could speak, and would rather be left there,” observed Toby, who was a great philosopher in many respects, although no man could be much more prejudiced with regard to his own calling of a sailor than he was. Such is often the ease. When judging of the opinion of others, we should always try to discover whether we are not prejudiced too much in favour of our own.

The boys had a capital evening’s sport, and Digby learned much more about conger-eels, and whiting, and bass, and mullet, and turbot, and plaice, and John Dories, and brill, and other salt-water fish, than he had ever known before. He was daily discovering, by practical experience, that there are many things in creation “of which he had never before dreamed in his philosophy.” In other words, he began to suspect, that though he was a very fine fellow, daring to do anything, and ready to fight any boy of his age, he was in reality a remarkably ignorant young gentleman. This, to a lad of Digby’s disposition, was a very important discovery. He was, I hope, on the high road to improvement. There is a saying, that “Where ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise;” but depend on it, the moment the ignorance is suspected, it is much greater folly not to set strenuously to work to correct it.

When the lads got home, they recounted with great glee their adventures, and offered, with much satisfaction, their baskets of fish to Mrs Nugent. They were served up fresh for breakfast and dinner the next day, and for two or three days afterwards, cut open and salted.

Digby heard Mr Nugent speaking of the wonders of the deep.

“What, uncle, are there any things besides fish in the sea?” he asked with, what the other boys thought, an almost incredible amount of simplicity.

One of the few recreations Mr Nugent allowed himself, was a fishing expedition on board a trawler. Not that he cared much for the fish which the trawl caught, but his delight was to examine the numberless specimens of animal marine life which came up at the same time. Digby heard his uncle and Marshall talking about Noctilucae, and Medusae, and Cydippi Actiniae, and Asterias, and Echini, and Terebellae, and Nereides, and Cirripedes, and Solens, and Gastropods, and numberless other creatures with hard names, which he thought that he could never recollect, and about which he was persuaded he could not understand.

“And are all these animals found in the sea near here?” he asked.

“Yes, and thousands more,” answered his uncle; “it would take a lifetime to catch and note the habits of those found on this coast alone. Each person can only hope to add a little to the stock of knowledge which others have obtained, and to ascertain what has been discovered by others. Still, the pursuit of that knowledge is so delightful, as is, indeed, the study of all God’s works, that those occupied in it find themselves amply repaid for all the physical and mental exertion they have to take to attain it.”

“Are the things you speak of like horses, and dogs, and cats, or more like fish?” asked Digby, seriously. “I should think with such curious names they must be very curious looking things.”

Marshall and Power laughed heartily, and even his uncle could not help smiling as he replied:

“Curious and wonderful, indeed, they are, but they are not fish in appearance, and still less like terrestrial quadrupeds. Some have their heads at the end of their feet, and their eyes at the extremities of their arms. Some walk on their heads, and others have their arms growing from the top of their heads. Some, too, can turn themselves inside out, and others of their own accord, break themselves to pieces, and then, what is more wonderful still, like one of the tricks to be seen at a pantomime, the bits send forth arms, and legs, and heads, and tails, and become perfect animals again.”

Digby listened with mute astonishment. He knew that his uncle would not tell him an untruth, and yet he fancied that, somehow or other, he must be laughing at him. The account he had heard, however, made him look forward eagerly to the promised trawling expedition.

The day approached, but Digby was doomed to be disappointed. A heavy gale of wind sprung up in the evening, and blew with great violence during the night.

The next day was Saturday, and was a half-holiday. Just as the boys had finished their lessons, a servant-girl came running in, exclaiming:

“Oh, sir, they say that there is a big ship driving on the shore, and that all the poor souls in her will be lost. Oh, it’s very dreadful! oh dear! oh dear!”

Mr Nugent seized his hat and stick, and the boys prepared to follow him.

“Stay, we will take a brandy-flask, and any rope to be had—a long pole may be useful.”

These articles being quickly found, the boys carrying them, they hurried out to the beach.

Not the eighth of a mile from the shore was a dismasted vessel, rolling and tumbling about in the most fearful manner. The crew were trying to get up jury-masts, or sheers rather, which are formed of two spars, the butt ends resting against the sides of the ship, and the others joined together. The sheers were got up, and then an endeavour was made to hoist a sail on them, to beat the ship off the shore. It was utterly useless. The sail was blown to ribbons, and the sheers blown away. The last resource was to anchor. This was done, and the ship rode head to wind, plunging, however, even more violently than before. Toby Tubb just then joined Mr Nugent and his pupils.

“There’s no use in it. There’s no ground here will hold an anchor ten minutes together.” His prediction proved too true. On drove the hapless ship. She had parted from her anchors, no human power could avert the expected catastrophe. The only hope that any of those on board could be saved, would be that the ship might drive into the sandy cove in which they were standing. If she struck on the dark ledges of rock outside, not a person on board, it was thought, could be saved. The sea was breaking with tremendous violence over them, creating sheets of foam, which were driven towards the shore, almost blinding the lookers-on.

Digby thought he could almost hear the shrieks of the unfortunate people on board. He could see them, clearly, throwing up their arms, as if imploring aid from their fellow-men, who were utterly unable to afford it.

“Could no boat go off to them?” asked Mr Nugent, eagerly.

“No, sir, no boat would live a second in that sea, alongside those rocks,” answered Toby; “what men can do we will do, when the time comes; more is unpossible.”

“I have a rope and some poles, you see,” said Mr Nugent; “they may be useful.”

“So have I, sir, but two ropes may be better than one,” was Toby’s reply. “Now, lads, be ready to do what I tells you; follow me.”

He addressed a party of seamen and fishermen, not all very young though, who were standing near with their hands in their pockets, exhibiting, apparently, very little interest in what was going forward. The ill-fated ship rose on the top of the huge waves which rolled onward towards the shore. Now it appeared that she would be engulphed between them. No further effort was made on board to save her. Such would have been hopeless. Each person was intent on making preparations for his own safety. Digby gazed with horror; he felt inclined to shriek out himself, as he saw the danger of the poor fellows on board. He would gladly have run away and forgotten all about it, but yet he could not tear himself from the spot, or his eyes from the driving ship. A few minutes more, and her fate would be sealed.

“Follow me, lads,” suddenly exclaimed old Toby, and led the way towards a ledge of rocks which jutted out into the sea, and formed one side of the bay of which I have spoken.

In a moment the fishermen had their hands out of their pockets, and were all life and activity. Carrying some long spars and several coils of rope, they hurried after Toby to the end of the reef. Toby was seen to stop. Digby and his companions held their breath—well they might. It seemed as if the ship must strike the very end of that black reef, over which the sea was breaking with violence so fearful that it must have shattered to fragments the stoutest ship that ever floated. On she came; there was a pause it seemed; a cross-sea struck her, and amidst a deluge of foam she was hurled past the point, and driven in towards the bay. Another sea lifted her up, and then down she came on the beach, still far out among the breakers, with a tremendous crash, which seemed to shake the very shore. Now was the moment of greatest peril to those on board—the seas meeting with a resistance they had not hitherto found, dashed furiously over the hull, carrying away the bulwarks, and the boats, and caboose, and everything still remaining on deck. The crew clung to ropes made fast to the stumps of the masts, or to ring-bolts in the decks, but the strength of many of them could not withstand the fury of the seas. One after the other was torn from his hold, and hurled among the boiling breakers. In vain the poor fellows struck out; the receding waves dashed them against the side of the ship, or carried them struggling hopelessly far out to sea, where they were lost to sight among the foam.

While this was going forward, Toby and his companions were trying every means they could think of to get a rope carried to the wreck. Unfortunately they were unprovided with Captain Manby’s apparatus, or any other contrivance for throwing a shot with a line attached to it over a wreck, so that by the line a hawser might be hauled on shore. There were none of those excellent inventions—life-boats—in the neighbourhood, which are now, happily, stationed all along the British coast, and have been the means of saving the lives of numbers of human beings; even the coastguard officer and most of his men had gone that morning to a distance. Toby had, therefore, to trust to his own resources. The crew seemed utterly unable to make any effort to save themselves; indeed they saw that should they let go their hold, any moment they might be washed overboard and drowned. Toby had got a small keg, to which he fastened a line, and seemed to hope that it might be carried out by the receding wave towards the wreck, but though it went some way, another wave came in before it got far enough to be of any use, and sent it rolling back again with a coil of seaweed, mixed with sand and foam, on the beach. Toby next fastened a rope round his own waist, and seemed to contemplate the possibility of swimming off himself to the wreck, but the men round him held him back, persuading him that the risk was too great. He stood, evidently seeing that there was very little chance of success. Now another huge wave came foaming up. The crew turned their heads with a gaze of horror and alarm as they watched its approach. On it came, roaring loudly. All on board grasped with a gripe, in which the force of every sinew and muscle was exerted to the utmost, the masts and ropes to which they were holding. The wave struck the ship, shaking her huge hull to the keel, and driving her still further on the beach. One poor fellow must have had a less secure gripe than the rest, or else its fury must have been concentrated on him. It tore him from his hold, lifted him up, and as it passed over, he was seen struggling in the water. He struck out boldly. Now the roaring hissing sea carried him onward, then back again, now a side wave took him and drove him in the direction of the spot where Toby and his companions were standing. Toby signed to the men to hold the rope, and plunging in amid the foam, struck out towards the struggling seaman. Now they were separated, now they were brought nearer together. Now it seemed as if the stranger would be carried out, as had been the others, by the receding wave. But the brave fellow still struggled on. It was too evident, however, that his efforts were growing weaker and weaker. Toby sung out to him to encourage him to persevere. Toby got close to him, but just then a hissing wave went rolling back, the stranger threw up his arms in despair, and was buried beneath the foam. Toby darted forward and disappeared beneath the water.

“Oh, he is gone, he is drowned, our poor Toby!” exclaimed Digby, giving way to his feelings.

But Toby had only dived, and the next instant appeared grasping the body of the seaman, but was being carried at a fearful rate out to sea. His friends on shore hauled in, however, gently on the rope, and gradually drew him and the seaman towards them. Still, Toby had much to contend with; the sea tumbled about and broke wildly around him, and now the water would make a rush in one direction and then in another, rendering swimming almost impossible. At length the rocks were reached. Several of the fishermen who had fastened ropes to their waists, rushed into the sea to his assistance, and at length he and the nearly drowned man were hauled up on the rocks.

“Bravo! excellent, brave fellow!” exclaimed Mr Nugent, enthusiastically, “thank heaven, too, that the poor man is saved.”

Digby shouted with delight. “Oh, Toby is a grand fellow!” he exclaimed; in which sentiment he was joined by his fellow-pupils.

Meantime, Mr Nugent hurried off to be of assistance, if required, to the rescued man.

The escape of one of their shipmates seemed to give courage to the other people on board. Another man leaped off the wreck with a line, and boldly struck out for the rocks. Toby, notwithstanding his previous exertions, dashed into the sea to meet him, but whether or not he would succeed appeared very doubtful.

Meantime, another sea came rolling over the wreck. Directly afterwards, two human forms were seen struggling in the waves. Sometimes the sea carried them so close to the beach, that it seemed as if they could almost touch the sand with their feet; then out they were carried once more, and it appeared that they would be lost altogether. This was the more sad as Toby and the man, who had jumped off the wreck with the line, had almost succeeded in establishing a communication between it and the shore. One of the people got so close to them that they could see his features. He was evidently a lad, not so old as Marshall.

“I am certain I could get hold of him,” cried Digby, suddenly fastening the rope round his own waist in the way Toby had taught him. “Here, do you hold the rope tight.”

“I ought to go,” said Marshall, throwing off his jacket.

“No, no—no time to be lost—now or never,” cried Digby, rushing into the sea just as the wave, having brought the almost senseless lad close to the beach, was about to carry him off again.

Had he hesitated for a moment he would have been too late. He thought not of his own safety. On he rushed. The receding water took him off his legs. He struck out; he was turned heels over head. Still he dashed on. He was within half an arm’s-length of the drowning lad. “Oh, I must have him,” he thought to himself. He sprung on; he caught him by the collar of his jacket. “Haul away,” he sung out.

Marshall and the rest saw that he had got hold of the boy, though they could not hear him speak.

Nothing but death would have made him relinquish that grasp, he felt.

His companions hauled away, and much force was required, for so strong was the reflux of the wave that all his own strength would not have opposed it.

Almost drowned himself, and scarcely sensible, holding tight on to the boy, he at length was caught hold of by his friends, who ran up with him and his burden out of the reach of the waves.

They undid the lad’s collar and handkerchief. He was breathing, but insensible. He was as well dressed as they were, and was certainly not a poor sailor-boy, as Digby had fancied,—not that that would have made any difference, of course.

Easton ran off to call Mr Nugent, while Marshall, Power, and Norton attended to the stranger and Digby.

Meantime, they were anxiously looking out for the other person they had seen in the water. They could just distinguish him, but he had drifted a long way out, and was making no effort to save himself.

Digby very soon came to his senses, as did the boy he had so gallantly rescued. No sooner did the latter open his eyes than he looked up and exclaimed, “Oh, my father, my father; where is he?” He gazed with a countenance expressive of the greatest fear towards the ocean. Then he started up, and would have rushed back into the water, had not Marshall and Digby prevented him.

In the mean time, some more fishermen and other persons had assembled at the scene of action. One of them was noted for being a first-rate swimmer. He was somewhat of a rival, too, of Toby’s, though they were excellent friends. Fastening a rope round his waist, he plunged in and swam out boldly and strongly amid the foaming breakers towards the drowning man. When the rescued boy saw what he was doing, he was immediately calm, and kneeling down on the sand, with uplifted hands, regardless of the bystanders, was evidently praying. What mattered it to him what others thought; the life of a beloved parent was in the greatest extreme of danger. He saw clearly that no help which he could afford him or could obtain would be of any avail, and thus wisely and with right faith he sought it whence alone it could be given.

The other boys stood around. Marshall joined his prayers to those of the young stranger, that his father might be saved. Digby wished it, and would have done anything to assist the struggling man; but how to pray he knew not. It was a moment of awful suspense; he felt it so himself. How must that kneeling boy have felt it!

The brave fisherman—John Holmes was his name—swam on. He was joined by Toby, and at the same time the cask was floated out. It was let go at the light moment. The person struggling in the water saw it, and endeavoured to reach it. Twice he was washed away far off from it. No exclamation all the time was heard from the lips of his son. He gazed intently on what was going forward. Sometimes he appeared to be about to rise and rush towards the ocean; but he restrained himself, and continued kneeling. A shriek, it was one of joy, escaped him when he saw his father at length grasp hold of the cask.

The two brave fishermen now swam up near him and assisted to hold him on, while all three were hauled through the foaming surf towards the rocks.

Then, and not till then, did the young stranger rise from his knees, and hurry on towards the spot where he believed his father was about to be landed.

Those in the water were, however, still exposed to a very great danger. This was from the pieces of wreck which were dashing about in every direction, and a blow from which might prove fatal.

The boy hurried along over the slippery rocks. He got near enough to see his father’s countenance turned with eyes of affection towards him. The son knew that he was recognised, and that his father was aware of his safety. A piece of timber came dashing by. Had not the fishermen been near him, it would have torn him from his hold. As it was, Holmes received a severe blow which almost disabled him, but he held on, and in another minute all three were in the grasp of the men collected on the rock to assist them.

The first impulse of the father and his son was to throw themselves into each other’s arms, and then the father knelt down and returned thanks to Heaven for his preservation.

While this episode in the fearful history of that shipwreck was going forward, a hawser or stout rope had been carried from the stranded ship to the shore. Several seamen worked their way along it, and readied the rock in safety. Then another came, but a sea rolled by, and, sweeping him from his hold, he was carried far away out of sight.

The tide was rising, and rendering it more dangerous every moment to those remaining on the wreck. This made the seamen hurry on along the hawser. Dangerous was the transit, requiring a strong arm and firm nerves. Another huge sea came rolling in. The already shattered vessel could not withstand its force, and in a moment, as if it had been formed of the most brittle materials, was shivered into a thousand fragments, which came rolling on in tangled masses towards the shore.

Most of the men, and two of the officers, had reached the rocks; but the master and one of his mates, who had refused to leave the ship till all had left her, with two or three of the men, still remained on board at the moment she broke up. They were now seen struggling in the waves among the broken masses of the wreck.

In vain the brave fishermen dashed into the sea to save them. One after the other, struck by pieces of timber, or spars, or floating packages, were seen to go down without further efforts to save themselves. At last, one only remained alive. On him all the interest of those on shore was concentrated.

“Our captain, our captain,” cried some of the rescued crew; “oh, how can we save him? how can we save him?”

He seemed a fine old man, with a noble forehead and grey hair. He reached a spar, and threw his arms over it. Thus supported, he lifted himself out of the water, and looked calmly around, as if considering how he might best reach the shore. The spar was sent rushing on towards the beach. Many of his crew, all indeed who were uninjured, got ropes ready to dash forward to his assistance. He seemed to observe the efforts preparing to aid him. Digby was struck with the wonderful calmness of the old man. Death and destruction on every side, he seemed not for a moment to have lost his presence of mind. He fancied even that he could see him smile, as the fishermen and his own people made a rush towards him. It proved unsuccessful. He looked in no way disconcerted. Another wave came on and carried him forward; now he beckoned them to come to him; on they dashed. It was the work of a moment. They seized him by the collar of his coat, and Digby saw that they had him safely landed on the beach. Digby could not help running forward and saying—

“I am very glad that you are saved, sir.”

“Thank you, my boy,” answered the old master, “if I mistake not, you are one of the lads who saved my young Haviland there. His father will thank you, I know. I saw it all from the wreck. Nobly done, it was!”

Digby felt highly pleased at being thus praised; not that he thought that he had done any great thing after all.

The master having thus expressed himself, called the rescued people round him, and spoke a few words to them, telling them how thankful they ought to be at being saved. When he looked round and missed so many of his late shipmates, he dashed his hand across his eyes as if he felt severely their loss. “God’s will be done,” he said, in a voice trembling with agitation. It was clear that, though his nerves were strong, his heart was tender.

Mr Nugent, who had all along been attending to those who most required his aid, now came forward and invited the gentleman who had been saved and his son, as well as the old master, to his house. The chief magistrate and other authorities of Osberton undertook to look after the crew, while Toby and Holmes were appointed to take charge of the cargo which might be washed on shore.

Mr Haviland and his son, as well as Captain Burton, gladly accepted Mr Nugent’s invitation, greatly to the delight of the boys, who were eager to know where the ship had come from, and how she had been wrecked. Mr Nugent hurried them up to his house, where he had beds immediately made ready for them, into which he insisted on their getting, although the old captain protested that, for his part, he was not a bit the worse for his ducking.

That evening all the family, with the rescued strangers, were seated round Mrs Nugent’s tea-table. Mr Haviland seemed to be a very gentlemanly person, and his son, Arthur, quickly won the regards of all the party by his kind and gentle manners, his intelligence, and the affectionate and dutiful way in which he treated his father. Captain Burton was a fine old seaman; he had been so knocked about in the world, and had met with so many adventures and mishaps, that he seemed to make very light of the mere wreck of his ship, much as he grieved for the loss of so many of his crew.

“We seamen know well what we have to expect one day or other. We may well be thankful when we are able to reach the shore alive in a civilised land,” he remarked; “sad is the fate of the poor fellows who may be cast on a barren coast, or one inhabited by savages, cannibals may be, who may knock them on the head as soon as they set foot on shore. Now I hope in a few days to be at home with my wife and family, and soon to forget all my misfortunes.”

The ship had come, he told them, from South America. Owing to the thick weather, they had not made the land; though he knew that he was running up channel, he was not aware how near the shore he was when he was struck by the gale and dismasted. The ship in that condition, no seamanship was of any avail to preserve her.

The next morning he and his crew took their departure from Osberton, after he had collected all the articles of his private property which had come on shore.

Mr Haviland gladly accepted Mr Nugent’s invitation to remain some days longer, that he might sufficiently recover his strength to enable him to travel to London. Again and again he expressed his gratitude to Digby for having rescued his son from the waves, and Arthur himself endeavoured to show how much he felt, and how unable he was to repay him.

Mr Haviland was able to repay both Toby and Holmes, as well as the other men, in a more substantial mode, for the gallant way in which they had exerted themselves to save him. Remittances from London supplied him amply with funds; and all those who had assisted on the occasion of the wreck declared, that so liberal a gentleman had never before appeared in their town.

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