Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Five.Oh, Murther!Rodd was early on deck next morning for his bath, which consisted of so many buckets of water fresh fished up and dashed upon him by the men as a makeshift, consequent upon Captain Chubb telling him that he could not have any swims on account of the sharks. “Can’t spare you, my lad,” he had said. “But I haven’t seen a shark,” grumbled Rodd. “No, my lad, but they would very soon see you. You never know where those gentlemen are.”So Rodd went on deck when sea and sky looked dim and a faint mist lay low upon the surface of the ocean, making everything indistinct. “She’s gone, sir; she’s gone!”“Who’s she, and where has she gone?” said Rodd, rather sleepily.“TheDiadem, sir.”“What, the sloop of war? Not she! You will see her come peeping out of the fog yonder before long.”“Nay, sir; she’s gone right off, and it’s all right. My word, I wish we had got a fiddle here!”“A fiddle! What for?”“Hornpipe, sir. The boys are all bubbling over and don’t know how to bear themselves. Nothing like a few kicks up and down the deck to a well-played old tune, to get rid of it all.”“Why, what are you talking about?” cried Rodd.“Talking about, sir? Ah, you never knowed what it was to be a sailor, and when you are free never knowing for a moment how soon you may be pressed. Why, I don’t believe there was a man Jack on us as slept a wink last night with thinking about this morning.”“What, for fear you would be pressed, after what uncle said?”“Ay, ay, sir. Your uncle meant right enough, and he believed what he said, and that there lieutenant was civil enough; but a second lieutenant aren’t a first lieutenant, sir, and a first lieutenant aren’t a post-captain. We all talked a bit last night, and put that and that together, and Isaac Gregg, who aren’t a very wise chap—you see, sir, he’s got too much fat about him to leave room for anything else—but he said something smart last night. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘my lads, that all sounds right enough, but suppose when that boat got back the captain says, Yes, he says, it’s all very well, and I dare say that there gent got leave from Government to man his schooner and come down here bottling sea-leeches and other insects of that kind; but I am short of men for the King’s ship, and that’s more consequence than what he’s doing of. So you just start back at daybreak in the boat with my compliments to Dr Robson, saying I’m very sorry, but he must please hand over six of the best lads he’s got.’”“Oh, nonsense, Joe! The captain would be too much of a gentleman.”“Being a gentleman, sir, is being a gentleman, but duty’s duty, and officers and sailors have to give up everything to that. Last night, whether we was on the watch, or turned in to our hot bunks, every man Jack of us felt that the Bun was right, and a bit envious of him, because, poor chap, he would have been safe. They wouldn’t have took him; but we all of us fully expected to see that boat coming back for us this morning. But not only aren’t there no boat, but the sloop’s slipped away in the night and gone.”“Where’s she gone, then?”“Well, that’s what we don’t know, sir, and we don’t care.”“But are you sure, Joe? She may be lying off yonder in the mist.”“Oh no, she aren’t, sir. Two on us have been up right aloft till we could lay our hands on the main truck; and when you are up there you are looking right over the fog. It’s wonderful how close it lies to the water. It’s all right, sir, and I believe we are safe. Aren’t you glad?”“Of course I am, Joe.”“I know you are, sir. But just you think what we must be, just about five hundred times as glad as you are, and we are all ready for anything you like. What’s it to be to-day?”“Well, I don’t think we shall do much. Uncle will consider it too hot.”“Hot, sir? Not it! Just right. We shan’t mind. Fishing, netting, rowing. You tell him not to think about us. It will just warm us up, for most on us had the shivers all night.”The low mist began to lift soon after Rodd had had his bath, for the level rays of the sun began to pierce the grey haze as the great orange orb slowly rolled up from the depths of ocean, investing it with the loveliest of pearly tints and iridescent hues, while not a speck of sail or the clearly marked lines of topmasts could be seen upon the horizon line.“Well,” said the doctor, at breakfast, as Rodd told him what the men had said, “the heat will be very great, but I shouldn’t spare myself. If I gave up my researches to-day it would be for the sake of the men.”“You needn’t consider them that way, sir,” said Captain Chubb. “They would rather you didn’t. But couldn’t you do something that would spare my deck a little?”“Well, I am afraid that’s impossible, Captain Chubb,” said the doctor.“Ah, well, sir,” said the captain, with a sigh, “I suppose you must go on; but it seems a pity when everything’s so white and clean.”So the captain’s decks suffered all day, and were swabbed clean again, while that evening before the mists began to gather there was a fresh surprise.Rodd took it into his head to go up to the main cross-trees with the glass. He had said nothing, but he had some idea as to the possibility of the sloop coming into sight again, and he had made up his mind if he could see her in the distance to give Captain Chubb a broad hint, and urge him to press on full sail right through the night.It was very glorious, Rodd thought, as he perched himself up aloft on the cross-trees, after finding the heavy glass very much in his way as he climbed.“It’s beautiful up here; but—”He did not finish his remark to himself, but got his left arm well round the mast, adjusted the glass, and began slowly to sweep the horizon.He felt in a state of doubt and suspicion, fully expecting that at any moment the tapering masts of the sloop might slowly creep into the field ready to damp his hopes, for his feelings were completely on the side of the men. But as slowly and carefully he ran the glass along what seemed to be the very edge of the world, his spirits rose.“Nothing—nothing,” he kept on muttering to himself. “Oh, how big the world is, after all! Here we are, just like a speck on the ocean, quite alone, and though there must be thousands of ships and boats sailing about, not one in sight, and in about another ten minutes all will be bright starlight again—and let’s see, I began here, and I’ve swept the sea right round, and just in time, for before I could go round again or half-way it will be quite dark—and— What’s that?” he cried excitedly.He started violently, and his hands trembled so that he had great difficulty in steadying the glass to fix it upon that which had suddenly caught his eye.“Nothing!” he muttered impatiently. “It was my fancy. I made as sure as possible, just as I was going to lower the glass, that I could see the three masts of the sloop standing right out yonder towards the west. All rubbish and imagination,” he muttered. “I pictured that because it was what I was afraid of seeing when— Oh–h–h! It wasn’t fancy! There she is! Oh, there she is, after all!”He looked sharply down at the deck, which was occupied only by four of the men, the skipper and Uncle Paul being in the cabin. But one of these men was Joe Cross, and Rodd chirruped faintly to attract’s the sailor’s attention.“Make out anything, sir?”“Come up here, Joe,” replied Rodd, in a low tone, and the man sprang to the ratlines and began rapidly to ascend till he was nearly on a level with the occupant of the cross-trees.“See a whale spouting, sir? I should have thought it was getting too dark.”“No, Joe; but I have just made out the sloop with the glass.”“Nay, sir! Don’t say that!” cried the man, in a startled tone.“Take the glass, Joe. I am afraid it’s true.”“Oh, murther! as Pat says,” groaned the sailor, as he hurriedly adjusted the glass and began to sweep the horizon in the direction Rodd pointed out, a few points on the starboard bow. “Can’t see nothing, sir. Were you sure?”“Yes, Joe; quite.”“But it’s getting dark too fast, sir. I can make nothing out. If you are right, though, she mayn’t have seen us and may be out of sight again by morning.—Ah, I’ve got her!”“There, I knew I was right, Joe.”“Not quite, sir. Yes, I’ve got her quite plain now, but she’s dying out fast. It aren’t a man-of-war. It’s a two-master of some kind. A big schooner or a brig. It’s all right, sir. There’s life in a mussel, after all. My word, though, didn’t it bring my heart up into my mouth!”“Are you sure it’s not a three-master, Joe?” cried Rodd joyously.“Sartin sure, sir. Why, you talk as frightened like as we poor lads were.”“What vessel was it, then?”“Oh, I don’t know what she was, sir. I only know what she warn’t. That’s enough for us, eh, sir? I say, sir; what weather! Rather different to what we had in the French port. Looks settled too. Nice and cool the air feels. There, it’s only fancy, but it’s just as if I could sniff the land.”“How far are we away, Joe?” asked Rodd.“Long way, sir. But I say, Mr Rodd, sir, I wouldn’t say anything down below. It’d only skeer the lads and set them thinking all night.”“But wouldn’t you say anything about having seen that ship?”“Oh, if you like, sir. The skipper ought to know. But I can swear she warn’t a man-of-war, and that’s enough for us. Oh, there is the skipper. My word, though, you can hardly see him! Curus, isn’t it, how the mist begins to gather? Pretty good sign we are not so very far off the shore. Will you hail him, sir, or shall I?”“You, Joe.”A brief conversation ensued, question and answer ending by Joe’s declaration that he believed it was a brig; and then they descended to the deck.

Rodd was early on deck next morning for his bath, which consisted of so many buckets of water fresh fished up and dashed upon him by the men as a makeshift, consequent upon Captain Chubb telling him that he could not have any swims on account of the sharks. “Can’t spare you, my lad,” he had said. “But I haven’t seen a shark,” grumbled Rodd. “No, my lad, but they would very soon see you. You never know where those gentlemen are.”

So Rodd went on deck when sea and sky looked dim and a faint mist lay low upon the surface of the ocean, making everything indistinct. “She’s gone, sir; she’s gone!”

“Who’s she, and where has she gone?” said Rodd, rather sleepily.

“TheDiadem, sir.”

“What, the sloop of war? Not she! You will see her come peeping out of the fog yonder before long.”

“Nay, sir; she’s gone right off, and it’s all right. My word, I wish we had got a fiddle here!”

“A fiddle! What for?”

“Hornpipe, sir. The boys are all bubbling over and don’t know how to bear themselves. Nothing like a few kicks up and down the deck to a well-played old tune, to get rid of it all.”

“Why, what are you talking about?” cried Rodd.

“Talking about, sir? Ah, you never knowed what it was to be a sailor, and when you are free never knowing for a moment how soon you may be pressed. Why, I don’t believe there was a man Jack on us as slept a wink last night with thinking about this morning.”

“What, for fear you would be pressed, after what uncle said?”

“Ay, ay, sir. Your uncle meant right enough, and he believed what he said, and that there lieutenant was civil enough; but a second lieutenant aren’t a first lieutenant, sir, and a first lieutenant aren’t a post-captain. We all talked a bit last night, and put that and that together, and Isaac Gregg, who aren’t a very wise chap—you see, sir, he’s got too much fat about him to leave room for anything else—but he said something smart last night. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘my lads, that all sounds right enough, but suppose when that boat got back the captain says, Yes, he says, it’s all very well, and I dare say that there gent got leave from Government to man his schooner and come down here bottling sea-leeches and other insects of that kind; but I am short of men for the King’s ship, and that’s more consequence than what he’s doing of. So you just start back at daybreak in the boat with my compliments to Dr Robson, saying I’m very sorry, but he must please hand over six of the best lads he’s got.’”

“Oh, nonsense, Joe! The captain would be too much of a gentleman.”

“Being a gentleman, sir, is being a gentleman, but duty’s duty, and officers and sailors have to give up everything to that. Last night, whether we was on the watch, or turned in to our hot bunks, every man Jack of us felt that the Bun was right, and a bit envious of him, because, poor chap, he would have been safe. They wouldn’t have took him; but we all of us fully expected to see that boat coming back for us this morning. But not only aren’t there no boat, but the sloop’s slipped away in the night and gone.”

“Where’s she gone, then?”

“Well, that’s what we don’t know, sir, and we don’t care.”

“But are you sure, Joe? She may be lying off yonder in the mist.”

“Oh no, she aren’t, sir. Two on us have been up right aloft till we could lay our hands on the main truck; and when you are up there you are looking right over the fog. It’s wonderful how close it lies to the water. It’s all right, sir, and I believe we are safe. Aren’t you glad?”

“Of course I am, Joe.”

“I know you are, sir. But just you think what we must be, just about five hundred times as glad as you are, and we are all ready for anything you like. What’s it to be to-day?”

“Well, I don’t think we shall do much. Uncle will consider it too hot.”

“Hot, sir? Not it! Just right. We shan’t mind. Fishing, netting, rowing. You tell him not to think about us. It will just warm us up, for most on us had the shivers all night.”

The low mist began to lift soon after Rodd had had his bath, for the level rays of the sun began to pierce the grey haze as the great orange orb slowly rolled up from the depths of ocean, investing it with the loveliest of pearly tints and iridescent hues, while not a speck of sail or the clearly marked lines of topmasts could be seen upon the horizon line.

“Well,” said the doctor, at breakfast, as Rodd told him what the men had said, “the heat will be very great, but I shouldn’t spare myself. If I gave up my researches to-day it would be for the sake of the men.”

“You needn’t consider them that way, sir,” said Captain Chubb. “They would rather you didn’t. But couldn’t you do something that would spare my deck a little?”

“Well, I am afraid that’s impossible, Captain Chubb,” said the doctor.

“Ah, well, sir,” said the captain, with a sigh, “I suppose you must go on; but it seems a pity when everything’s so white and clean.”

So the captain’s decks suffered all day, and were swabbed clean again, while that evening before the mists began to gather there was a fresh surprise.

Rodd took it into his head to go up to the main cross-trees with the glass. He had said nothing, but he had some idea as to the possibility of the sloop coming into sight again, and he had made up his mind if he could see her in the distance to give Captain Chubb a broad hint, and urge him to press on full sail right through the night.

It was very glorious, Rodd thought, as he perched himself up aloft on the cross-trees, after finding the heavy glass very much in his way as he climbed.

“It’s beautiful up here; but—”

He did not finish his remark to himself, but got his left arm well round the mast, adjusted the glass, and began slowly to sweep the horizon.

He felt in a state of doubt and suspicion, fully expecting that at any moment the tapering masts of the sloop might slowly creep into the field ready to damp his hopes, for his feelings were completely on the side of the men. But as slowly and carefully he ran the glass along what seemed to be the very edge of the world, his spirits rose.

“Nothing—nothing,” he kept on muttering to himself. “Oh, how big the world is, after all! Here we are, just like a speck on the ocean, quite alone, and though there must be thousands of ships and boats sailing about, not one in sight, and in about another ten minutes all will be bright starlight again—and let’s see, I began here, and I’ve swept the sea right round, and just in time, for before I could go round again or half-way it will be quite dark—and— What’s that?” he cried excitedly.

He started violently, and his hands trembled so that he had great difficulty in steadying the glass to fix it upon that which had suddenly caught his eye.

“Nothing!” he muttered impatiently. “It was my fancy. I made as sure as possible, just as I was going to lower the glass, that I could see the three masts of the sloop standing right out yonder towards the west. All rubbish and imagination,” he muttered. “I pictured that because it was what I was afraid of seeing when— Oh–h–h! It wasn’t fancy! There she is! Oh, there she is, after all!”

He looked sharply down at the deck, which was occupied only by four of the men, the skipper and Uncle Paul being in the cabin. But one of these men was Joe Cross, and Rodd chirruped faintly to attract’s the sailor’s attention.

“Make out anything, sir?”

“Come up here, Joe,” replied Rodd, in a low tone, and the man sprang to the ratlines and began rapidly to ascend till he was nearly on a level with the occupant of the cross-trees.

“See a whale spouting, sir? I should have thought it was getting too dark.”

“No, Joe; but I have just made out the sloop with the glass.”

“Nay, sir! Don’t say that!” cried the man, in a startled tone.

“Take the glass, Joe. I am afraid it’s true.”

“Oh, murther! as Pat says,” groaned the sailor, as he hurriedly adjusted the glass and began to sweep the horizon in the direction Rodd pointed out, a few points on the starboard bow. “Can’t see nothing, sir. Were you sure?”

“Yes, Joe; quite.”

“But it’s getting dark too fast, sir. I can make nothing out. If you are right, though, she mayn’t have seen us and may be out of sight again by morning.—Ah, I’ve got her!”

“There, I knew I was right, Joe.”

“Not quite, sir. Yes, I’ve got her quite plain now, but she’s dying out fast. It aren’t a man-of-war. It’s a two-master of some kind. A big schooner or a brig. It’s all right, sir. There’s life in a mussel, after all. My word, though, didn’t it bring my heart up into my mouth!”

“Are you sure it’s not a three-master, Joe?” cried Rodd joyously.

“Sartin sure, sir. Why, you talk as frightened like as we poor lads were.”

“What vessel was it, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know what she was, sir. I only know what she warn’t. That’s enough for us, eh, sir? I say, sir; what weather! Rather different to what we had in the French port. Looks settled too. Nice and cool the air feels. There, it’s only fancy, but it’s just as if I could sniff the land.”

“How far are we away, Joe?” asked Rodd.

“Long way, sir. But I say, Mr Rodd, sir, I wouldn’t say anything down below. It’d only skeer the lads and set them thinking all night.”

“But wouldn’t you say anything about having seen that ship?”

“Oh, if you like, sir. The skipper ought to know. But I can swear she warn’t a man-of-war, and that’s enough for us. Oh, there is the skipper. My word, though, you can hardly see him! Curus, isn’t it, how the mist begins to gather? Pretty good sign we are not so very far off the shore. Will you hail him, sir, or shall I?”

“You, Joe.”

A brief conversation ensued, question and answer ending by Joe’s declaration that he believed it was a brig; and then they descended to the deck.

Chapter Twenty Six.Dreamy.Very curious incidents are sometimes invented, but the most extravagant can be matched by others that have really occurred.One of the last things that had been talked about that evening had been the vessel of which Rodd had caught a glimpse in the short tropic twilight just as it was being swallowed up by the darkness and mist of night. Joe Cross had incidentally said that he believed it was a brig, and that night as Rodd lay half asleep, half wakeful, in his cot, kept from finding the customary repose of a tired lad by the heat of the narrow cabin below, the word brig brought to mind the vessel that had so nearly run upon them in Havre-de-Grace, and in a drowsy stupid way he had pictured her tall tapering spars, the flapping of her stay-sail, and the rush of the storm.Then all was blank, till all at once it seemed as if time had elapsed and he was picturing the French brig once more, knowing that it was theJeanne d’Arc, though all was darkness and he only caught sight of the vessel now and then, by the flashing of the fort guns, while the roar of their reports echoed loudly above the rush of the wind as the brave vessel tacked from side to side of the harbour, striving to reach the mouth and escape out to sea.It was all very vivid as in a dream.Flash went the fort gun, there was the roar of the report, and all was darkness, again and again, while somehow—he could not tell how it was—the heat was intense, and Rodd threw up one hand, which came in contact with the top of his cot with a sharp rap.“Bah! It hurts,” muttered the boy; and then dream and reality merged in one, for there was another flash and the roar as if of half-a-dozen guns.But the boy was awake now to the fact that he was not dreaming of the escape of the French brig, but far south of the Equator, lying half stifled in his cot, listening to the roar of a tropic storm, while every now and then the cabin which he shared with his uncle was lit up by the vivid flashes, which were succeeded by fresh roars.“What a storm,” thought Rodd, “and how hot!”He slipped out of his cot to go and thrust open the cabin window.“Hear the thunder, uncle?” he said.But it had ceased for the moment, the last peal dying softly away, and for answer to his question he had only the deep regular breathing of a sound sleeper.“He must have been tired,” thought the boy, and creeping closer to the cabin window he thrust out his hand to let in more air, but found the window wide open as it could be.“He must have found out how hot it was and done that himself,” thought Rodd, as he knelt softly upon the bulkhead to try and breathe the fresh air; but it was hot and half suffocating, while the blackness was intense. One moment there was a faint quivering somewhere above, and just enough to show him the murkiness of the sea which spread out from beneath him far away like so much blackened oil touched for a few brief instants with streaks of gold.“Why, there isn’t a breath of air,” thought Rodd, and then he started back, dazzled by the brilliant glare of the lightning, which made him involuntarily close his eyes and keep them shut till the terrific crash of thunder, which seemed to burst exactly over his head, had gone rolling away as if its echoes were composed of gigantic cannon balls passing slowly down metallic tunnels right away into space.“That was a startler,” said the boy to himself. “How awful, but how grand! It’s rather hard to think that the danger’s in the lightning, and that there is nothing in the thunder to hurt.”Then once more all was black silence above and below, and all beyond the cabin window seemed to be solid.“I never saw a storm like this at home,” thought the boy. “Uncle can sleep!”There was another brilliant flash, but this time Rodd felt prepared and did not shrink. He only knelt, gazing out of the stern window, impressed by the grandeur of that which he had seen.Behind him he felt that everything in the cabin had been as light as day, but away from him all around he had looked upon a vivid picture, a gloriously wondrous cloudscape stretching far above and reflected far beneath in the smooth, oily, gently heaving sea—a grand vision of mountains of blue and gold and purple, which quivered before his eyes for a few moments in such vivid intensity that his eyeballs ached; then all was black again for a few moments, and then came the deep-toned roar as of hundreds of distant mighty cannons; not a sudden, sharp, metallic crash as in the last instance, but a deep murmurous intonation which made the woodwork of the schooner tremble.Rodd felt no fear—nothing but a sense of awe at the grandeur of the storm, and it was with a feeling of eagerness that he waited for the next flash. But a minute passed before there was a faint quivering which slightly lit up the sea, to give place to blackness, silence and darkness. Then there was another faint quivering light that seemed to come from somewhere behind where he stood, and again he waited for one of those vivid flashes that should show up the configuration of the clouds shaped in mountain and valley and distant cave.And many minutes must have passed, during which time Rodd listened in the appalling silence for the distant soft and increasing rushing sound of the coming rain, even as he had listened before in far-off Devon to the coming of some summer storm.“There will be wind too,” he thought. “I wonder whether all is made fast aloft; for a storm like this,” he continued, in his ignorance, “can’t come without a tremendous wind and a rush of rain.”His next thought was that he would go on deck and see what the watch were about; but he hesitated to stir, for the thought of the gorgeous cloudscape he had seen fascinated him and held him to his place.“I needn’t worry about that,” he thought. “Captain Chubb’s sure to be on deck. He wouldn’t sleep like we do. If I go and open the cabin door it will wake uncle up. Hah! It’s quivering again. The storm can’t be over like this. Now there’s another big flash coming.”He had hardly formed the thought when from quite up in the zenith down into the depths of the sea the arch of heaven seemed to open out in a sharp jagged line of vivid blue light, shutting again instantaneously, and the boy knelt gazing before him in wonder, for there, about a mile away, with every spar and yard and rope standing out black against the blue light, was the picture—the model, it seemed to him to be—of a tall-masted brig sitting motionless upon the water; and then it was gone.“Why, that must have been the one we saw,” thought Rodd, and he strained his eyes again as he listened for the roar of the thunder that should have succeeded the vivid zigzag flash of electricity; but it did not come, and he waited and waited in the darkness in vain, trying to grasp how it could be that a storm should come to an end in so strange and unsatisfactory a way according to his lights, and why there should be neither rain nor wind.He waited, trying hard now to pierce the black darkness, but trying in vain.There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and in spite of the wonder and awe that had pervaded him, Rodd Harding now behaved like a very ordinary human being, for he yawned, felt sleepy and that he was not so hot as he was before, and thinking that it was no use to stop there any longer, and that he might as well dress, he crept softly back to his cot and stood thinking again.“Can’t be anything like morning,” he said to himself, “and I shall be able to see that brig then. Why, I remember now; I was dreaming about the storm at Havre, and that vessel—what was it? TheJeanne d’Arc—escaping, and the forts firing at her; and I saw the flashes from the guns. Of course; how absurd! That was the thunder and lightning, and—”Rodd slipped slowly on to his pillow, yawned again, muttered something about how sleepy he felt, and the next moment he was off as soundly as his uncle; but only, it seemed to him, to begin dreaming directly after about the escaping of the brig, and the storm, mingled with the noise and the shouting of people ashore, and a heavy bump from somewhere close at hand; and then the boy was wide awake again, springing up so suddenly in his cot that it was not his hand but his head that struck with a rap against the woodwork, as a voice that he hardly recognised in the confusion shouted—“Rodd, boy! Quick—on deck! The schooner’s going down!”

Very curious incidents are sometimes invented, but the most extravagant can be matched by others that have really occurred.

One of the last things that had been talked about that evening had been the vessel of which Rodd had caught a glimpse in the short tropic twilight just as it was being swallowed up by the darkness and mist of night. Joe Cross had incidentally said that he believed it was a brig, and that night as Rodd lay half asleep, half wakeful, in his cot, kept from finding the customary repose of a tired lad by the heat of the narrow cabin below, the word brig brought to mind the vessel that had so nearly run upon them in Havre-de-Grace, and in a drowsy stupid way he had pictured her tall tapering spars, the flapping of her stay-sail, and the rush of the storm.

Then all was blank, till all at once it seemed as if time had elapsed and he was picturing the French brig once more, knowing that it was theJeanne d’Arc, though all was darkness and he only caught sight of the vessel now and then, by the flashing of the fort guns, while the roar of their reports echoed loudly above the rush of the wind as the brave vessel tacked from side to side of the harbour, striving to reach the mouth and escape out to sea.

It was all very vivid as in a dream.

Flash went the fort gun, there was the roar of the report, and all was darkness, again and again, while somehow—he could not tell how it was—the heat was intense, and Rodd threw up one hand, which came in contact with the top of his cot with a sharp rap.

“Bah! It hurts,” muttered the boy; and then dream and reality merged in one, for there was another flash and the roar as if of half-a-dozen guns.

But the boy was awake now to the fact that he was not dreaming of the escape of the French brig, but far south of the Equator, lying half stifled in his cot, listening to the roar of a tropic storm, while every now and then the cabin which he shared with his uncle was lit up by the vivid flashes, which were succeeded by fresh roars.

“What a storm,” thought Rodd, “and how hot!”

He slipped out of his cot to go and thrust open the cabin window.

“Hear the thunder, uncle?” he said.

But it had ceased for the moment, the last peal dying softly away, and for answer to his question he had only the deep regular breathing of a sound sleeper.

“He must have been tired,” thought the boy, and creeping closer to the cabin window he thrust out his hand to let in more air, but found the window wide open as it could be.

“He must have found out how hot it was and done that himself,” thought Rodd, as he knelt softly upon the bulkhead to try and breathe the fresh air; but it was hot and half suffocating, while the blackness was intense. One moment there was a faint quivering somewhere above, and just enough to show him the murkiness of the sea which spread out from beneath him far away like so much blackened oil touched for a few brief instants with streaks of gold.

“Why, there isn’t a breath of air,” thought Rodd, and then he started back, dazzled by the brilliant glare of the lightning, which made him involuntarily close his eyes and keep them shut till the terrific crash of thunder, which seemed to burst exactly over his head, had gone rolling away as if its echoes were composed of gigantic cannon balls passing slowly down metallic tunnels right away into space.

“That was a startler,” said the boy to himself. “How awful, but how grand! It’s rather hard to think that the danger’s in the lightning, and that there is nothing in the thunder to hurt.”

Then once more all was black silence above and below, and all beyond the cabin window seemed to be solid.

“I never saw a storm like this at home,” thought the boy. “Uncle can sleep!”

There was another brilliant flash, but this time Rodd felt prepared and did not shrink. He only knelt, gazing out of the stern window, impressed by the grandeur of that which he had seen.

Behind him he felt that everything in the cabin had been as light as day, but away from him all around he had looked upon a vivid picture, a gloriously wondrous cloudscape stretching far above and reflected far beneath in the smooth, oily, gently heaving sea—a grand vision of mountains of blue and gold and purple, which quivered before his eyes for a few moments in such vivid intensity that his eyeballs ached; then all was black again for a few moments, and then came the deep-toned roar as of hundreds of distant mighty cannons; not a sudden, sharp, metallic crash as in the last instance, but a deep murmurous intonation which made the woodwork of the schooner tremble.

Rodd felt no fear—nothing but a sense of awe at the grandeur of the storm, and it was with a feeling of eagerness that he waited for the next flash. But a minute passed before there was a faint quivering which slightly lit up the sea, to give place to blackness, silence and darkness. Then there was another faint quivering light that seemed to come from somewhere behind where he stood, and again he waited for one of those vivid flashes that should show up the configuration of the clouds shaped in mountain and valley and distant cave.

And many minutes must have passed, during which time Rodd listened in the appalling silence for the distant soft and increasing rushing sound of the coming rain, even as he had listened before in far-off Devon to the coming of some summer storm.

“There will be wind too,” he thought. “I wonder whether all is made fast aloft; for a storm like this,” he continued, in his ignorance, “can’t come without a tremendous wind and a rush of rain.”

His next thought was that he would go on deck and see what the watch were about; but he hesitated to stir, for the thought of the gorgeous cloudscape he had seen fascinated him and held him to his place.

“I needn’t worry about that,” he thought. “Captain Chubb’s sure to be on deck. He wouldn’t sleep like we do. If I go and open the cabin door it will wake uncle up. Hah! It’s quivering again. The storm can’t be over like this. Now there’s another big flash coming.”

He had hardly formed the thought when from quite up in the zenith down into the depths of the sea the arch of heaven seemed to open out in a sharp jagged line of vivid blue light, shutting again instantaneously, and the boy knelt gazing before him in wonder, for there, about a mile away, with every spar and yard and rope standing out black against the blue light, was the picture—the model, it seemed to him to be—of a tall-masted brig sitting motionless upon the water; and then it was gone.

“Why, that must have been the one we saw,” thought Rodd, and he strained his eyes again as he listened for the roar of the thunder that should have succeeded the vivid zigzag flash of electricity; but it did not come, and he waited and waited in the darkness in vain, trying to grasp how it could be that a storm should come to an end in so strange and unsatisfactory a way according to his lights, and why there should be neither rain nor wind.

He waited, trying hard now to pierce the black darkness, but trying in vain.

There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and in spite of the wonder and awe that had pervaded him, Rodd Harding now behaved like a very ordinary human being, for he yawned, felt sleepy and that he was not so hot as he was before, and thinking that it was no use to stop there any longer, and that he might as well dress, he crept softly back to his cot and stood thinking again.

“Can’t be anything like morning,” he said to himself, “and I shall be able to see that brig then. Why, I remember now; I was dreaming about the storm at Havre, and that vessel—what was it? TheJeanne d’Arc—escaping, and the forts firing at her; and I saw the flashes from the guns. Of course; how absurd! That was the thunder and lightning, and—”

Rodd slipped slowly on to his pillow, yawned again, muttered something about how sleepy he felt, and the next moment he was off as soundly as his uncle; but only, it seemed to him, to begin dreaming directly after about the escaping of the brig, and the storm, mingled with the noise and the shouting of people ashore, and a heavy bump from somewhere close at hand; and then the boy was wide awake again, springing up so suddenly in his cot that it was not his hand but his head that struck with a rap against the woodwork, as a voice that he hardly recognised in the confusion shouted—

“Rodd, boy! Quick—on deck! The schooner’s going down!”

Chapter Twenty Seven.Strange Proceedings.“Is it a wreck, uncle?” panted Rodd.“I thought so, boy,” cried Uncle Paul; “but don’t talk. Slip on two or three things.”He was still speaking, when there was a rush down the cabin stairs, and the captain shouted—“Quick, doctor! Your pistols and a gun! We are attacked!”The words thrilled through Rodd, and the next minute he had seized a double gun and was ready to follow his uncle and the skipper on deck, where in the faint light of morning he found nearly the whole of the crew gathered across the after part of the deck, armed with capstan bars for the moment, while the mate and Joe Cross were rapidly handing round cutlasses and pikes. The forward part of the schooner was in the hands of strangers, all well-armed; others were climbing over the bows from a boat which was made fast alongside, while hurried orders were being given to them in French by a tall, dark, grey-haired man, sword in one hand, pistol in the other.“What’s the meaning of this?” panted Uncle Paul to the skipper, while Rodd felt as if he were not yet awake, and suddenly recalled the fact that he had armed himself with a perfectly useless weapon, for in his excitement he had forgotten powder flask and bullets, having instead of the latter brought a belt containing small shot.“Pirates or privateers, sir,” replied the skipper hotly, “but just give us time. Be smart, my lads. Pikes and cutlasses, and then all together with a will!”“For heaven’s sake let’s have no bloodshed, Captain Chubb!” cried Uncle Paul, catching the skipper by the arm.“Not my wish, sir,” said the captain shortly; “but this is my schooner while I command her, and I’m going to clear this deck.”“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a low, eager murmur from the men.“There, sir,” said the skipper; “you and the lad stand back. Ready, my lads?”“No, no!” cried Uncle Paul, who saw that the strangers forward, all as well-armed as the schooner’s crew, were eagerly waiting for the order to advance from their leader, each party being ready to be let slip for what might prove to be a desperate encounter.Rodd grasped this, and then felt puzzled as he saw a youth of about his own age suddenly elbow his way to the front to stand beside the leader.Suddenly awakened as he had been from sleep, Rodd felt more confused than ever, for the sight of the youth, who from his dress seemed to be the second officer, added to his confusion, though for the moment he could hardly tell why.And this just as Uncle Paul was grasping the skipper’s arm and saying—“Don’t be hasty. These cannot be pirates. There must be some mistake.”“Maybe, sir, but these fellows who have boarded us have made it. Now, sir, once more, stand back and let us clear the deck. They can talk when they are back in their boats.”There was a few moments’ silence, each side seeming unwilling to begin, and taking advantage of an apparent hesitancy on the part of the strange leader, Uncle Paul instead of stepping back raised his hand and advanced, Rodd springing to his side, while their movement was exactly followed by the chief intruder and the youth who stepped to his side.“Now, sir,” cried Uncle Paul firmly, in French.“I understand English,” was the reply.“I am very glad,” said Uncle Paul. “Now, sir, you see that we are well-armed and prepared. What is the meaning of this attack?”“Ah, I am glad, sir,” said the stranger courteously. “Pray keep your men back, and I will mine.”“Tell them to clear off the deck, then, doctor. There must be no talk here.”“Be silent, Captain Chubb!” cried Uncle Paul sternly. “We must have no bloodshed.”“No, sir,” cried his opponent quickly, and in very excellent English. “We are no pirates. I am the captain of that brig, and in urgent need of help.”“And this is a very strange way of asking for it, sir.”“Yes, yes, I know, my friend,” cried the other hotly, “but it was forced upon me by circumstances. I have need of your vessel, and I must have it at all costs—peacefully if you will, and I am ready to recompense you, the owner, for any loss of cargo at your destination which you may incur; but I must have the use of this little ship.”“Indeed, sir!” said Uncle Paul, with a peculiar smile. “And if I say you cannot have it; what then?”“Then, sir,” said the stranger haughtily, “you see we are prepared. I shall be compelled to take it from you by force.”“Ah–h–h!” came like a low growl of satisfaction from the schooner’s crew, and Rodd was conscious of a rather ominous movement on the part of the men, who began moistening their hands and taking a firmer grip of their weapons.Rodd was drinking in this colloquy, which filled him with wild excitement; but all the time he kept glancing from the young officer who stood sword in hand to the brig he had seen over-night and again thrown up by the storm, still lying about the same distance away from the schooner, and then with his head suddenly seeming to become clearer he cried out aloud—“Uncle, those are the officers we saw at Havre, and that’s the brig that escaped.”“You—you were at Havre!” cried the elder officer excitedly; and he stepped closer to Rodd, his young companion, watchful and on the alert, following his example and keeping close as if to defend him from any attempted seizure.“Yes, yes, of course,” cried Rodd, without looking at the speaker, his eyes being fixed upon the young man.“Then this is a French vessel?” cried the officer.“No, sir,” replied Uncle Paul. “It is my schooner, and I am not in pursuit of your brig.”“Why, it is!” cried Rodd suddenly, as he dropped the butt of his unloaded gun with a thud upon the deck. “I thought I knew you again!—Uncle, this is the young French prisoner I helped to escape from Dartmoor.”Before he could say another word the sword the young Frenchman held dropped from his hand to the extent of its gold-laced knot, and to Rodd’s confusion a pair of thin arms were flung about his neck and he was held tightly to the young stranger’s breast.“Oh,mon ami!mon ami! My dear friend!” he cried. “Do we meet once more like this?Mon père, c’est le jeune Anglais qui nous a sauvés dans cet affreux temps.”“Moray!” cried the officer, looking stunned. “Is this true?”“True? Oh yes! Oh yes!” cried the lad, speaking now in English. “You, young angler, fisherman, this is my dear father.”To Rodd’s false shame and confusion, he had to submit to another embrace, for before he could realise what was about to happen the officer had followed his son’s example and not only embraced him, but kissed him on both cheeks.“Well, this is a queer set out,” said Uncle Paul. “Then you are the two fellows who broke into my bedroom and helped yourselves to my purse?”“Ha, ha! Yes, my friend,” cried the officer, laughing; “but you and your brave son will forgive. We were poor exiles and prisoners fighting for our liberty, and you will let us make amends.”“Oh, well, you did,” said Uncle Paul bluffly; “but that is no excuse for turning pirates and trying to rob me of my ship at the point of the sword.”“No, no,” cried the officer hastily, “but you are a brave Englishman, and you and your son—”“No, sir, my nephew.””—will forgive. One moment; let me think!” cried the officer, as he dragged his hand from out of his sword-knot and thrust the blade into its sheath. “Yes, yes, let me think. I have it, Morny,” and turning to his followers he uttered a short sharp command which resulted in his men swinging themselves over the side and entering the two boats in which they had effected the surprise of the schooner.At their first movement in retreat the skipper’s crew burst into a loud jeering laugh, and made as if to rush forward; but at a word from Captain Chubb they were silenced and held back.“I thank you, sir,” said the French officer, raising his hat to the skipper. “It was well done. Now let me speak; let me explain,” and he looked from Rodd to his uncle and back, and then gave a glance at the skipper, while the two lads stood hand in hand.“It was like this,” he said; “you saw us at Havre that stormy day, and of course my brig nearly crushed into your vessel. Then we lay at anchor close together till that order came down from a vile insensate Government to seize upon my vessel and my crew. It was the work of enemies, and I had to set sail at once, or once more my son and I would have had to pass years in the inside of a prison, not as culprits, monsieur, but as honourable gentlemen, French nobles, whose only crime was fidelity to one,”—and as he spoke he stopped short, uttering the wordonewith grave reverence, as he took off his hat—an example followed by his son. “Well, gentlemen, I cannot explain to you. There is not time. Only this—you saw that I made what you English call a dash for it—for freedom. It was like madness, but we said we would rather trust the storm than the French Government. They sent boats full of soldiers to seize us, but we kept on. They opened fire upon us from the forts, but we did not shrink.”“Yes, yes, we saw all,” cried Uncle Paul, “and a very brave dash you made.”Captain Chubb, who had listened, frowning heavily the while, uttered a low grunt.“And a very fine bit of seamanship, sir,” he said, and the officer turned to him and raised his hat.“It was desperate, sir,” he said gravely, “and I knew that I was risking the lives of my dear son and all on board; but no man there shrank. Well, sir, my story is long, but I must excuse myself for my conduct here. It is enough. We battled with the storm, as you saw, and escaped.”“I always said you had gone down,” grunted Captain Chubb.“No, sir. We escaped with but one wound, and that was to my poor vessel; and since the night when we left Havre-de-Grace upon my mission it has been one long struggle, as you would say, for life.”“Indeed, sir?”“Yes,” said the officer sadly, and he pointed over the side towards where the beautiful duck-like brig with its taper spars sat the smooth sea, but with a steady stream of water trickling down her side. “My chief officer and my men have worked in every way they knew long days and weeks; but it is of no use. I would not give up the great object upon which I have come, but it is forced upon us at last that before many days have gone over our heads that vessel will lie far down in the depths of the ocean. Do you not see how low she is in the water?”“Eh?” cried the skipper eagerly. “Eh? I thought she was low down with cargo. You’ve sprung a leak?”“A cannon ball crashed through her, sir, and we have never been able to master that leak.”“Then why in the name of thunder didn’t you put into port?” cried the skipper contemptuously.The officer smiled.“I cannot explain,” he said. “There was not time. I had work to do—a task that I had promised to fulfil, and we held on till it was forced upon me that I must get another vessel or stand with my men upon the deck and let our braveRoi Dagobertsink beneath our feet.”“That wasn’t her name at Havre,” said the downright skipper.“No, sir,” said the officer, smiling; “but were we not pursued? Would not news of our escape be sent far and wide? We were obliged to assume another disguise. TheJeanne d’Arc, we said, sank at Havre. That is theRoi Dagobertfloating still; but for how long?”“I don’t quite see that,” said the skipper bluntly.“No?” said the officer. “Monsieur has never passed long years as a prisoner of war.”“Well, no,” grunted the skipper. “Maybe that might have made me a bit shifty.”“There, sir,” said the officer, turning now to Uncle Paul; “that is my excuse for this desperate venture—this attempt to seize your vessel. My business is urgent. I am a nobleman, a count of the French Empire, and I offer you any recompense you like to name if you will give up to me your vessel, leaving me full command for a week—a month—such time as I may need.”“And if I say, sir, that I cannot accede to what you must own are wild demands,” said Uncle Paul, “what then?”“What then?” said the officer slowly.“You mean that you will attack us, and the strongest wins?”The officer was silent, and he turned his eyes upon his son, who left Rodd and took his extended hands, both standing silent for a few moments.“No, sir,” he said at last, slowly and gravely. “Neither my son nor I can raise our hands against those who gave us liberty, almost life. Morny, my boy, we will do our duty to the last, and try to keep the poorRoi Dagobertafloat. She may live long enough, even as she has kept afloat so long. If she sinks with us—well, my boy, we shall have done our duty to him we serve, and our names may not be forgotten in our country’s rolls.”There was silence for a few moments, which was broken at last by Rodd.“But I say, uncle,” he cried eagerly, “you always said you had plenty of time, and—”The young officer turned quickly upon the speaker with an eager questioning look, but before Uncle Paul could speak, Captain Chubb took off his cap and stood scratching his head in the now bright morning sunshine.“Look here, Mr Count,” he said; “I am only a rough Englishman, and a lot of what you have been saying about mission and that sort of thing is just so much Greek to me. But do you mean to tell me that you got a ball through the bottom of your smart brig that night in Havre, and have never been able to stop the leak?”“Yes, yes; that is so, my friend. My chief officer has tried everything that he could do, but we could not get at the place. And look yonder! The pump has been kept going ever since.”“Well, sir,” continued Captain Chubb, “I don’t know your first mate, and I don’t want to say hard things of a man who could take that there smart craft out of the French harbour as he did that night. He is a very fine sailor, sir. But if I aren’t got a carpenter on board this schooner as would give him ninety out of a hundred and then beat him, without bringing to work the little bit I knows myself, why, I’m a Dutchman, and that I aren’t.”“Ah!” cried the Count excitedly. “You think—”“No, sir; I don’t say I think anything without having a look. But as there don’t seem to be any fighting going on, and you and the doctor here turns out to be old friends, why, before you talk of throwing up your job and taking to your boats—which would be a much more sensible thing to do than going down with colours flying when there warn’t no need, and setting aside getting some fresh water and provisions into your boats and making for a place on the West Afric coast—I should just like to come on board your craft with my man and see what mightn’t be done by stopping that there leak.”“My friend!” cried the Count excitedly, and he caught the skipper by the hands.“Well, sir,” said the skipper, with a grim smile, “if you are Mr Rodd’s and the doctor’s friend and wants to be friends with me, why, Tom Chubb aren’t the man to say no and want to keep enemies. So there’s my fin. But look ’ere, you know,” he continued, as he gave the Count’s thin white hand a tremendous grip, “yours was a very queer way of coming upon us, and might have meant some nasty marks on my white decks. You can’t help being a Frenchman, but do you know what an Englishman would have done? He’d have just come here civil like and said, ‘Look here, strangers, we have sprung a leak, and we are going down. Come and lend us a hand at the pumps.’”“Ah, yes, of course,” said the Count warmly. “It is what I should have done.”“And you would like me to come aboard and see if there’s anything we can do?”“Yes, yes!” cried the Count eagerly.“All right, then, sir,” said the skipper coolly; “I am sailing under the doctor’s orders, and if he’s willing, I’m your man.”

“Is it a wreck, uncle?” panted Rodd.

“I thought so, boy,” cried Uncle Paul; “but don’t talk. Slip on two or three things.”

He was still speaking, when there was a rush down the cabin stairs, and the captain shouted—

“Quick, doctor! Your pistols and a gun! We are attacked!”

The words thrilled through Rodd, and the next minute he had seized a double gun and was ready to follow his uncle and the skipper on deck, where in the faint light of morning he found nearly the whole of the crew gathered across the after part of the deck, armed with capstan bars for the moment, while the mate and Joe Cross were rapidly handing round cutlasses and pikes. The forward part of the schooner was in the hands of strangers, all well-armed; others were climbing over the bows from a boat which was made fast alongside, while hurried orders were being given to them in French by a tall, dark, grey-haired man, sword in one hand, pistol in the other.

“What’s the meaning of this?” panted Uncle Paul to the skipper, while Rodd felt as if he were not yet awake, and suddenly recalled the fact that he had armed himself with a perfectly useless weapon, for in his excitement he had forgotten powder flask and bullets, having instead of the latter brought a belt containing small shot.

“Pirates or privateers, sir,” replied the skipper hotly, “but just give us time. Be smart, my lads. Pikes and cutlasses, and then all together with a will!”

“For heaven’s sake let’s have no bloodshed, Captain Chubb!” cried Uncle Paul, catching the skipper by the arm.

“Not my wish, sir,” said the captain shortly; “but this is my schooner while I command her, and I’m going to clear this deck.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a low, eager murmur from the men.

“There, sir,” said the skipper; “you and the lad stand back. Ready, my lads?”

“No, no!” cried Uncle Paul, who saw that the strangers forward, all as well-armed as the schooner’s crew, were eagerly waiting for the order to advance from their leader, each party being ready to be let slip for what might prove to be a desperate encounter.

Rodd grasped this, and then felt puzzled as he saw a youth of about his own age suddenly elbow his way to the front to stand beside the leader.

Suddenly awakened as he had been from sleep, Rodd felt more confused than ever, for the sight of the youth, who from his dress seemed to be the second officer, added to his confusion, though for the moment he could hardly tell why.

And this just as Uncle Paul was grasping the skipper’s arm and saying—

“Don’t be hasty. These cannot be pirates. There must be some mistake.”

“Maybe, sir, but these fellows who have boarded us have made it. Now, sir, once more, stand back and let us clear the deck. They can talk when they are back in their boats.”

There was a few moments’ silence, each side seeming unwilling to begin, and taking advantage of an apparent hesitancy on the part of the strange leader, Uncle Paul instead of stepping back raised his hand and advanced, Rodd springing to his side, while their movement was exactly followed by the chief intruder and the youth who stepped to his side.

“Now, sir,” cried Uncle Paul firmly, in French.

“I understand English,” was the reply.

“I am very glad,” said Uncle Paul. “Now, sir, you see that we are well-armed and prepared. What is the meaning of this attack?”

“Ah, I am glad, sir,” said the stranger courteously. “Pray keep your men back, and I will mine.”

“Tell them to clear off the deck, then, doctor. There must be no talk here.”

“Be silent, Captain Chubb!” cried Uncle Paul sternly. “We must have no bloodshed.”

“No, sir,” cried his opponent quickly, and in very excellent English. “We are no pirates. I am the captain of that brig, and in urgent need of help.”

“And this is a very strange way of asking for it, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I know, my friend,” cried the other hotly, “but it was forced upon me by circumstances. I have need of your vessel, and I must have it at all costs—peacefully if you will, and I am ready to recompense you, the owner, for any loss of cargo at your destination which you may incur; but I must have the use of this little ship.”

“Indeed, sir!” said Uncle Paul, with a peculiar smile. “And if I say you cannot have it; what then?”

“Then, sir,” said the stranger haughtily, “you see we are prepared. I shall be compelled to take it from you by force.”

“Ah–h–h!” came like a low growl of satisfaction from the schooner’s crew, and Rodd was conscious of a rather ominous movement on the part of the men, who began moistening their hands and taking a firmer grip of their weapons.

Rodd was drinking in this colloquy, which filled him with wild excitement; but all the time he kept glancing from the young officer who stood sword in hand to the brig he had seen over-night and again thrown up by the storm, still lying about the same distance away from the schooner, and then with his head suddenly seeming to become clearer he cried out aloud—

“Uncle, those are the officers we saw at Havre, and that’s the brig that escaped.”

“You—you were at Havre!” cried the elder officer excitedly; and he stepped closer to Rodd, his young companion, watchful and on the alert, following his example and keeping close as if to defend him from any attempted seizure.

“Yes, yes, of course,” cried Rodd, without looking at the speaker, his eyes being fixed upon the young man.

“Then this is a French vessel?” cried the officer.

“No, sir,” replied Uncle Paul. “It is my schooner, and I am not in pursuit of your brig.”

“Why, it is!” cried Rodd suddenly, as he dropped the butt of his unloaded gun with a thud upon the deck. “I thought I knew you again!—Uncle, this is the young French prisoner I helped to escape from Dartmoor.”

Before he could say another word the sword the young Frenchman held dropped from his hand to the extent of its gold-laced knot, and to Rodd’s confusion a pair of thin arms were flung about his neck and he was held tightly to the young stranger’s breast.

“Oh,mon ami!mon ami! My dear friend!” he cried. “Do we meet once more like this?Mon père, c’est le jeune Anglais qui nous a sauvés dans cet affreux temps.”

“Moray!” cried the officer, looking stunned. “Is this true?”

“True? Oh yes! Oh yes!” cried the lad, speaking now in English. “You, young angler, fisherman, this is my dear father.”

To Rodd’s false shame and confusion, he had to submit to another embrace, for before he could realise what was about to happen the officer had followed his son’s example and not only embraced him, but kissed him on both cheeks.

“Well, this is a queer set out,” said Uncle Paul. “Then you are the two fellows who broke into my bedroom and helped yourselves to my purse?”

“Ha, ha! Yes, my friend,” cried the officer, laughing; “but you and your brave son will forgive. We were poor exiles and prisoners fighting for our liberty, and you will let us make amends.”

“Oh, well, you did,” said Uncle Paul bluffly; “but that is no excuse for turning pirates and trying to rob me of my ship at the point of the sword.”

“No, no,” cried the officer hastily, “but you are a brave Englishman, and you and your son—”

“No, sir, my nephew.”

”—will forgive. One moment; let me think!” cried the officer, as he dragged his hand from out of his sword-knot and thrust the blade into its sheath. “Yes, yes, let me think. I have it, Morny,” and turning to his followers he uttered a short sharp command which resulted in his men swinging themselves over the side and entering the two boats in which they had effected the surprise of the schooner.

At their first movement in retreat the skipper’s crew burst into a loud jeering laugh, and made as if to rush forward; but at a word from Captain Chubb they were silenced and held back.

“I thank you, sir,” said the French officer, raising his hat to the skipper. “It was well done. Now let me speak; let me explain,” and he looked from Rodd to his uncle and back, and then gave a glance at the skipper, while the two lads stood hand in hand.

“It was like this,” he said; “you saw us at Havre that stormy day, and of course my brig nearly crushed into your vessel. Then we lay at anchor close together till that order came down from a vile insensate Government to seize upon my vessel and my crew. It was the work of enemies, and I had to set sail at once, or once more my son and I would have had to pass years in the inside of a prison, not as culprits, monsieur, but as honourable gentlemen, French nobles, whose only crime was fidelity to one,”—and as he spoke he stopped short, uttering the wordonewith grave reverence, as he took off his hat—an example followed by his son. “Well, gentlemen, I cannot explain to you. There is not time. Only this—you saw that I made what you English call a dash for it—for freedom. It was like madness, but we said we would rather trust the storm than the French Government. They sent boats full of soldiers to seize us, but we kept on. They opened fire upon us from the forts, but we did not shrink.”

“Yes, yes, we saw all,” cried Uncle Paul, “and a very brave dash you made.”

Captain Chubb, who had listened, frowning heavily the while, uttered a low grunt.

“And a very fine bit of seamanship, sir,” he said, and the officer turned to him and raised his hat.

“It was desperate, sir,” he said gravely, “and I knew that I was risking the lives of my dear son and all on board; but no man there shrank. Well, sir, my story is long, but I must excuse myself for my conduct here. It is enough. We battled with the storm, as you saw, and escaped.”

“I always said you had gone down,” grunted Captain Chubb.

“No, sir. We escaped with but one wound, and that was to my poor vessel; and since the night when we left Havre-de-Grace upon my mission it has been one long struggle, as you would say, for life.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Yes,” said the officer sadly, and he pointed over the side towards where the beautiful duck-like brig with its taper spars sat the smooth sea, but with a steady stream of water trickling down her side. “My chief officer and my men have worked in every way they knew long days and weeks; but it is of no use. I would not give up the great object upon which I have come, but it is forced upon us at last that before many days have gone over our heads that vessel will lie far down in the depths of the ocean. Do you not see how low she is in the water?”

“Eh?” cried the skipper eagerly. “Eh? I thought she was low down with cargo. You’ve sprung a leak?”

“A cannon ball crashed through her, sir, and we have never been able to master that leak.”

“Then why in the name of thunder didn’t you put into port?” cried the skipper contemptuously.

The officer smiled.

“I cannot explain,” he said. “There was not time. I had work to do—a task that I had promised to fulfil, and we held on till it was forced upon me that I must get another vessel or stand with my men upon the deck and let our braveRoi Dagobertsink beneath our feet.”

“That wasn’t her name at Havre,” said the downright skipper.

“No, sir,” said the officer, smiling; “but were we not pursued? Would not news of our escape be sent far and wide? We were obliged to assume another disguise. TheJeanne d’Arc, we said, sank at Havre. That is theRoi Dagobertfloating still; but for how long?”

“I don’t quite see that,” said the skipper bluntly.

“No?” said the officer. “Monsieur has never passed long years as a prisoner of war.”

“Well, no,” grunted the skipper. “Maybe that might have made me a bit shifty.”

“There, sir,” said the officer, turning now to Uncle Paul; “that is my excuse for this desperate venture—this attempt to seize your vessel. My business is urgent. I am a nobleman, a count of the French Empire, and I offer you any recompense you like to name if you will give up to me your vessel, leaving me full command for a week—a month—such time as I may need.”

“And if I say, sir, that I cannot accede to what you must own are wild demands,” said Uncle Paul, “what then?”

“What then?” said the officer slowly.

“You mean that you will attack us, and the strongest wins?”

The officer was silent, and he turned his eyes upon his son, who left Rodd and took his extended hands, both standing silent for a few moments.

“No, sir,” he said at last, slowly and gravely. “Neither my son nor I can raise our hands against those who gave us liberty, almost life. Morny, my boy, we will do our duty to the last, and try to keep the poorRoi Dagobertafloat. She may live long enough, even as she has kept afloat so long. If she sinks with us—well, my boy, we shall have done our duty to him we serve, and our names may not be forgotten in our country’s rolls.”

There was silence for a few moments, which was broken at last by Rodd.

“But I say, uncle,” he cried eagerly, “you always said you had plenty of time, and—”

The young officer turned quickly upon the speaker with an eager questioning look, but before Uncle Paul could speak, Captain Chubb took off his cap and stood scratching his head in the now bright morning sunshine.

“Look here, Mr Count,” he said; “I am only a rough Englishman, and a lot of what you have been saying about mission and that sort of thing is just so much Greek to me. But do you mean to tell me that you got a ball through the bottom of your smart brig that night in Havre, and have never been able to stop the leak?”

“Yes, yes; that is so, my friend. My chief officer has tried everything that he could do, but we could not get at the place. And look yonder! The pump has been kept going ever since.”

“Well, sir,” continued Captain Chubb, “I don’t know your first mate, and I don’t want to say hard things of a man who could take that there smart craft out of the French harbour as he did that night. He is a very fine sailor, sir. But if I aren’t got a carpenter on board this schooner as would give him ninety out of a hundred and then beat him, without bringing to work the little bit I knows myself, why, I’m a Dutchman, and that I aren’t.”

“Ah!” cried the Count excitedly. “You think—”

“No, sir; I don’t say I think anything without having a look. But as there don’t seem to be any fighting going on, and you and the doctor here turns out to be old friends, why, before you talk of throwing up your job and taking to your boats—which would be a much more sensible thing to do than going down with colours flying when there warn’t no need, and setting aside getting some fresh water and provisions into your boats and making for a place on the West Afric coast—I should just like to come on board your craft with my man and see what mightn’t be done by stopping that there leak.”

“My friend!” cried the Count excitedly, and he caught the skipper by the hands.

“Well, sir,” said the skipper, with a grim smile, “if you are Mr Rodd’s and the doctor’s friend and wants to be friends with me, why, Tom Chubb aren’t the man to say no and want to keep enemies. So there’s my fin. But look ’ere, you know,” he continued, as he gave the Count’s thin white hand a tremendous grip, “yours was a very queer way of coming upon us, and might have meant some nasty marks on my white decks. You can’t help being a Frenchman, but do you know what an Englishman would have done? He’d have just come here civil like and said, ‘Look here, strangers, we have sprung a leak, and we are going down. Come and lend us a hand at the pumps.’”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said the Count warmly. “It is what I should have done.”

“And you would like me to come aboard and see if there’s anything we can do?”

“Yes, yes!” cried the Count eagerly.

“All right, then, sir,” said the skipper coolly; “I am sailing under the doctor’s orders, and if he’s willing, I’m your man.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.A Ship Surgeon.“Well, Mr Rodd, sir,” said Captain Chubb, as he and the lad stood watching the regular dip of oars in the brig’s two boats as they glided back over the tranquil sea to where their vessel lay motionless in the calm. “Well, Mr Rodd, sir, don’t you wish you’d been born a Frenchman?”“No,” cried the boy sharply. “I am thankful I was born English.”“And so you ought to be, my lad. Of all the crackbrained, sentimental, outrageous chaps I ever met there’s none of them comes up to a Frenchman.”“Oh, you are too bad, Captain Chubb.”“Too bad, eh? Why, aren’t they always kicking up a dust and making revolutions, cutting off their kings’ and queens’ heads, and then going to war with all the world, with their Napoleons and Bonapartes and all the rest of them? Call themselves men!”“Why, you are as bad as uncle,” cried Rodd merrily. “You and he ought to be always the best of friends. But, if you speak fairly you must own that they are very gallant men.”“Gallant men!” cried the skipper scornfully. “I don’t call them men. I call them monkeys! Men! Butchers, as cut off the head of their beautiful Queen Mary What-you-may-call-it, and then after shedding blood like that, sending no end of poor women who never did them a bit of harm to that guillotine. I’d be ashamed of myself, Mr Rodd, to take their part.”“Oh, nonsense!” cried Rodd warmly. “I say that the Count and his son have proved themselves to be very brave fellows. Why, you owned as much yourself about the way in which they escaped with the brig.”“Oh, that was right enough,” grumbled the skipper.“I am not going to deny,” continued Rodd, “that there are plenty of horrible wretches amongst the French. And that Revolution was awful; but haven’t we plenty of bad men amongst the English?”The skipper chuckled.“Well, yes, we have had some pretty tidy ones, if you come to read your histories. But I don’t know so much about those chaps being brave. It was a very clever bit of seamanship, mind you, that taking the brig out in the teeth of the storm with hardly room to tack. I am not a bad pilot in my way when I like to try, but I will be honest over it; I daren’t have tried that job. It was a very clean thing. But look here, my lad. It’s no use for you to try and crack that up, because him who did it must have been as mad as a hatter, and between ourselves, that’s what I think that Count is.”“Oh, fudge, captain!” cried Rodd. “No more mad than you or I.”“Well, I can answer for myself, my lad,” said the skipper, with a chuckle, “but that’s more than I’d do for you, for you do some precious outrageous things sometimes.”“I?” cried Rodd.“Yes, you, my lad.”“What a shame!” cried Rodd indignantly. “I defy you to prove that I have done anything that you could call mad. Now tell me something. What have you ever known me do that wasn’t sensible?”“Oh, that’s soon done,” cried the skipper. “Didn’t you go and gammon the soldiers when they were after the escaped French prisoners? Don’t you call that a mad act? Fighting against the laws of your country like that!”“Ah, well, I suppose I oughtn’t to have helped them, captain; but I couldn’t help it.”“No, sir, and that’s what the Frenchmen would say. Now, what in the world is that chap after, with his mission, as he calls it? What does he mean by coming rampaging out south with a hole in the bottom of his brig and the pumps going straight on to keep the water down? Would any one but a lunatic go risking his crew and his vessel like that?”“Well, it does seem rather wild,” replied Rodd thoughtfully.“Wild? Well, that’s only your way of saying he’s stick, stark, staring mad. And here he’s been out weeks and weeks, knowing as he says that his brig was sinking, when he could have put in at Gib, or the Azores, or Las Palmas, or brought up in one of the West Coast rivers, where he could run up on the tidal mud, careened his vessel, and set his ship’s carpenter to work to clap patches upon her bottom outside and in. Don’t you call that mad?”“No. He might have had reasons for not doing so.”“Ah, that’s right, sir; argufy. You young scholarly chaps who have been to big schools and got your heads chock-full of Latin and Greek, you are beggars to argufy—chopping logic, I suppose you calls it—and I give in. You could easily beat me at that; just as easily as I could turn you round my little finger at navigation. But I’ll have one more go at you; I says that there French Count is mad.”“And I say he is not,” said Rodd, “only a brave, eccentric nobleman who may have a good many more reasons for what he does than we know.”“All right, youngster. I give you my side. Now that’s yours. Now, just answer me this. Warn’t it the crack-brainedest bit of ask-you-to-go-and-borrow-a-new-strait-waistcoat-to-put-me-in sort of a job for him to bring his two boat-loads of men, like a black-flag-and-cross-boned Paul Jones sort of a pirate, aboard our schooner in the dark, thinking he’s going to take possession of it to use instead of his own brig, when if he’d had any gumption he might have managed to patch her up, and— Here, I say, I can’t go on talking like this before breakfast, my lad. I must have my bowl of coffee and a bit of salt pork and biscuit before I say another word.”“Oh, very well,” cried Rodd merrily. “I see we shan’t agree; and we don’t want to quarrel, do we, captain?”“Quarrel? Not us, my lad! It takes two to do that, and we knows one another too well.”“Then look here,” cried Rodd, “you are taking it very coolly and talking about breakfast; aren’t you going to order the boat out and go aboard the brig at once?”“I aren’t a-going to do anything till I have had my breakfast,” said the captain. “They’ve spoilt my morning snooze, but I aren’t going to let them spoil my morning meal, nor my lads’ neither.”“But it’s urgent,” cried Rodd. “Suppose while you are thinking of eating and drinking the brig goes down?”“Yah! She won’t go down. If she’s floated for weeks like that she’ll keep her nose above water while I swallow two bowls of coffee. I can’t work without something to keep me going. Let them pump for another half-hour, and then we’ll go.”“We!” said Rodd sharply. “That means me too?”“Oh, ah, if you like to come; only we shall have to keep a sharp look-out.”“What, for fear it should sink under us?”“Nay, I didn’t mean that, my lad. I mean, you see, we are dealing with a lunatic.”“Captain!” cried Rodd indignantly.“Ay, but we are, and there’s no knowing what sort of games fellows like that will be up to. I mean to give the mate strict orders to load all three guns, and if he sees the Count coming off again with his two boats full of men to take possession while he’s got us tight, to sink them without mercy. Ah, here’s the stooard, welcome, as you might say, as the flowers in spring. Come along, my lad, and let’s lay in stores.”In spite of his words and deliberate way of proceeding, Captain Chubb had made his arrangements so that within half-an-hour of going down to breakfast he had the schooner’s boat lowered down with Joe Cross, five men, and the carpenter, who had already handed into the boat what he called his bag of tricks, the said tricks being composed of an adze, saws, chisels, augers, and nails, and very shortly afterwards the oars were dipping, and with Uncle Paul and Rodd in the stern-sheets they were gliding over the glittering sea and rapidly shortening the distance between them and the beautiful brig, which won a string of encomiums from the skipper as they drew near.“Yes, she is a beauty,” he said. “It would be a pity to let her go down. Look at her lines, and the way she’s rigged. If I wanted to sail a brig I wouldn’t wish for a better; but then, you see, I don’t. She’s a bit low in the water, though, and no mistake. Well, we shall see; we shall see.”The Count and his son were eagerly awaiting their coming, and welcomed them warmly as they mounted the side, while, casting off his show of indifference, the skipper cast an admiring glance round the deck of the brig, and then gruffly exclaimed—“Now then, sir, I want your bo’sun. But look here, can he parley English?”“No,” said the Count, “but my son and I will interpret everything you wish to hear.”“I don’t know as I want to hear anything, sir,” growled the skipper. “I want to see for myself, and after that mebbe I shall want to give a few orders, which I will ask you to have carried out.”“Yes; everything you wish shall be done directly.”“Umph!” grunted the skipper, looking round. “Pump rigged, and two men trying to keep the water under. Ought to be four.”“Yes, of course,” cried the Count, and he turned to give an order; but Captain Chubb clapped his hand upon his arm.“Hold hard,” he said. “They’ll do for a bit. Now then, I want to go below and sound the well.”The Count and his son led the way below, the French crew standing aloof and displaying the discipline of a man-of-war, no man leaving his place while the skipper made all the investigations he required, and then came up on deck with his mahogany face more deeply lined with wrinkles than before.“Well, captain,” said Uncle Paul, while Rodd, who had kept close to his young friend of the Dartmoor stream, eagerly listened for what their expert had to say.“Well, sir,” he said, at last, as he took out a little seal-skin bag and deliberately helped himself to a little ready-cut scrap of pigtail tobacco, “your craft’s in a bad way, and if something isn’t done pretty smart she’ll be down at the bottom before long.”“Yes, yes,” cried the Count impatiently, “but we have tried everything, and it is impossible to get at the leak.”“Hah! Tried everything, have you, sir?”“Yes, yes,” cried the Count. “Some of my brave fellows have been half-drowned in diving, trying to plug from inside, using yards to force bags of oakum into the holes.”“Yes,” said the skipper. “The ball went right through, I suppose?”“Yes, yes,” cried the Count, and Rodd noted that he was having hard work to master his impatience and annoyance at the skipper’s annoyingly deliberate treatment of their urgent needs.“So I suppose,” said the skipper coolly, “but mebbe you haven’t done quite all; leastwise I should like to try my little plan, and if it don’t answer, why, you won’t be any worse off than you are now; and when I give it up as a bad job, why, you will have to take to your boats and we shall have to find room for you aboard the schooner. Now then, please, you will just order two more men at that pump, and four more ready to take their places so as to keep on pumping hard.”“Yes, yes,” cried the Count eagerly. “What next?”“Order up what spare sails you’ve got from the store-room, and a few coils of new line.”The Count gave his orders quickly, and his men went off to carry them out.“Good,” said the skipper coolly. “That’s smart.”“What next?” cried the Count.“Well, sir, as quickly as I can, I want to do something to lighten the ship.”“No; I must protest!” cried the Count excitedly. “You are going to throw the guns overboard?”“Humph!” grunted the captain. “Who said so? I didn’t. Nay, that’d be a pity. I wouldn’t do that till the very last.”“Ah!” sighed the Count, as if deeply relieved.“Well, the next thing is, sir, just you leave me and my men alone and let yours look on till I want their help.”The Count was silent, and all looked on whilst in obedience to the skipper’s orders the English sailors, led by the carpenter, set busily to work, seized upon the new spare sails that were brought up on deck, and cast loose the coils of fresh hemp line that were placed ready. Then with the skipper putting in a word here and there, resulting in the lines being attached to the corners of the largest square-sail, these latter were seized by a couple of the men, who dragged the sail forward as the brig glided very gently along, for it was nearly calm, and then passing the new sail deftly beneath the bowsprit, two of the men climbing out and seeming to cling with their feet to the bobstay until little by little they had got the edge right beneath the stay. Then while their mates at the corners helped at the lines, they passed down the sail right into the sea till they had lowered it to its full extent and they could do no more, save once or twice when they hung down from the stay and gave the canvas, which was slowly growing saturated, a thrust or two with the foot where it seemed disposed to hitch against the brig’s keel.And now the skipper took his post upon the bowsprit and gave his orders by word or sign to the men who governed the movement of the great square of canvas by means of the lines attached to the corners, the two at the fore corners of the sail getting outside the bulwarks, barefooted, to walk along the streak, and hauling just as much as was necessary to drag the sail right beneath the keel, their two messmates preparing to follow, and under the captain’s guidance keeping all square and exact in the effort to get the keel to act as the dividing line to mark the oblong into two exact portions.It was very slow work, for the canvas was stiff and moved unwillingly downward beneath the keel; but after a time it began to yield to the steady drag of the ropes upon the two fore corners, and, once started, progress began to be faster. For, so to speak, the brig began to help, sailing as it were gently more and more over the canvas, till at the end of about half-an-hour it was in the position at which the skipper had aimed, having while below in the hold pretty well marked down the position of the two holes made by the shot from the fort. These were about amidships, some few feet, as far as he could make out, on either side of the keel, one naturally being much higher than the other in the diagonal course taken by the heavy ball.At last he called to his men to halt, and took off his cap, to stand thinking, the position now being that the sail was drawn right under the brig, and the sailors at the four corners were holding on tight to prevent the vessel from sailing clear.So far not a word had been uttered by the Frenchmen, all of whom had stood clear or mounted the rigging or deck-house, so as to give the Englishmen ample room; but now in the silence Rodd advanced to the skipper eagerly, to say—“Are you sure you have got the canvas well over the holes?”Captain Chubb made no reply, but stood with his cap in his left hand gazing aft, and then he moved his right arm two or three times, as if forming an imaginary line through the brig’s hull.“Did you hear me, captain?” said Rodd eagerly. “Are you sure you have got the sail over the holes?”“No,” granted the skipper. “Are you?”“No; but I thought—”“Yes, my lad; so did I. You thought we ought to get the sail in the right place.”“Yes,” said Rodd.“Well, then, now, my lad, I should be much obliged to you if you’d tell me which is exactly the right place.”Rodd looked at him in despair.“Thank you, my lad,” said the skipper dryly. “I am much obliged. But all right, Mr Rodd; you can’t tell, and I can’t tell. We know that the ball that came from the fort must have gone downwards a bit, so that it went out from lower than where it went in; but there’s no knowing whether she was hit from starboard or from larboard, and that’s where I’m bothered. But never say die. I think we will make this bit of canvas fast now, for I’m pretty sure of one thing; it will be a plaister for one hole if it isn’t for the other.”“But look here, captain,” cried Rodd.“What now?”“Won’t the water run under the canvas just the same as it did before?”“No, my lad, it won’t; and I’ll tell you the reason why when we have done. Of course you know I am not going to stop all the water from coming in below, but if I can get it checked a bit so that they can keep it down easy with one man at the pump instead of two, she won’t go to the bottom just yet, and they will have time enough to get into port to set the carpenter at work.”“Then you won’t let our carpenter try to stop the holes?”“No, my lad. You see, he never learned to be a fish, so that he could work under water; and though he’s a bit of a crab in his way, I don’t think he could manage it for all that. Now I’m ready to go on. Come, my lads, put your backs into it and haul them sheets tight. Here, master, let two of your men go to each corner and help my lads. All together as hard as they can!” shouted the skipper, and the Count quickly translated his order.“That’s right! Haul away, my lads!” shouted the skipper. “That new canvas won’t give. Harder! Harder! Now then, one more—all you know!—Make fast!”“Excellent! Superb!” cried the Count, as the men ceased from making fast the ropes, which were brought over the bulwarks and passed round the belaying pins. “Do you think that will stop the leak?”“Maybe yes, sir; maybe no. If it don’t do it we will put another plaister on, and another, and another. You have got plenty of spare sails and rope, and when we have used all yours I dare say we can find some more in the schooner. Now then, set your men going at that pump, and rig up another as quick as you can.”One pump began to clank heavily at once, and a short time after another was at work, and the clear bright water began to sparkle out of the scuppers, while, moved as it were by the same spirit, the French crew burst into a shrill involuntary cheer.“How can I ever thank you, captain?” cried the Count, while his son snatched at Rodd’s hand.“Ah, I haven’t done yet, sir,” said the skipper coolly. “This is only a try.”“Oh, it’s grand,” cried the French lad, clinging to Rodd’s arm. “You have saved our ship.”“Don’t you holloa till you are out of the wood, young fellow,” said the skipper, as he heard the words. “Now, Mr Rodd, sir, what was it you wanted to know?”“Why the water will not still rim in underneath the canvas.”“Only because of this, my lad. Aren’t they pumping the water out now as fast as ever they can?”“Yes,” cried Rodd; “but more will run in.”“Yes, my lad, and as it runs in won’t the weight of the water outside push the canvas closer and closer in round the leak?”“Yes, of course,” cried Rodd. “I didn’t think of that. And as there gets less inside it will seem to suck the canvas closer to.”“Quite right, my lad. That’s about the way it works; and now we have got to wait for about an hour before we can know whether we have got both holes covered, or only one.”“Wait for an hour?” cried Rodd.“Well, perhaps, before we are sure; but I dare say I shall be going down and sounding the well a time or two before that.”But long before the hour had elapsed the skipper found that though the water in the brig had subsided to a certain extent, one of the holes must be still uncovered, and he began at once to repeat his proceedings, coming to the conclusion that one of the bullet-holes was beyond the reach of the canvas. This time, after all was drawn tight, half-an-hour’s pumping proved that his surmises were correct, and the skipper smiled with satisfaction as the Count and his men cheered them in delight on finding after a good deal of pumping that there was a very perceptible diminution of the water in the hold.“It is superb, and so simple,” cried the Count to Uncle Paul; “but I feel humbled, sir. Why could not our French sailors have been able to do this?”“Well,” said Uncle Paul good-humouredly, “the only reason I can give is that they were not English.”“That’s it, sir,” said the skipper. “You have hit the right nail on the head. But look here, Mr Count—I don’t know your name.”“Des Saix,” said the Count, smiling.“Look here, sir; this is nothing to make a fuss about. It will keep you afloat while the weather’s fine, but just come a rough time, those sails will be ripped off as easily as pocket-handkerchiefs. Besides, they will hinder your sailing no end.”“Ah, that is bad,” said the Count, changing countenance.“Oh no, not it. There’s worse disasters than that at sea.”“But will it not be possible for the carpenters to stop the leaks?”“No, sir; not unless you do what I say.”“Ah! What is that?”“Run your craft up one of the rivers to where you can careen on the mad, and then a few hours between tides will be enough to put everything straight.”“Is there no other way?” asked the Count.“Only downwards, sir,” cried the skipper; and the French lad glanced questioningly at Rodd, who shook his head.“No,” said the boy, almost in a whisper. “I don’t think there is any other way. He is quite right.”After another hour’s pumping, the skipper gave out his intention of going back to the schooner; but the Count would not hear of it. He begged and implored Uncle Paul to give him their company at the breakfast he was having prepared, and after a little hesitation the doctor gave way, and suggested to the skipper that they should leave their departure till late in the afternoon, when a far better opinion could be given of the state of the brig.“What do you say, squire?” said the skipper, looking at Rodd.“Oh yes, let’s stay!” And his impulsive young French friend grasped him by the wrist.“Very well, gentlemen, I have only one thing to say, for I don’t suppose the schooner will sail away and leave us behind. Let them call it dinner, and I’ll stop. I aren’t been in the habit of eating my breakfast at two o’clock in the day.”

“Well, Mr Rodd, sir,” said Captain Chubb, as he and the lad stood watching the regular dip of oars in the brig’s two boats as they glided back over the tranquil sea to where their vessel lay motionless in the calm. “Well, Mr Rodd, sir, don’t you wish you’d been born a Frenchman?”

“No,” cried the boy sharply. “I am thankful I was born English.”

“And so you ought to be, my lad. Of all the crackbrained, sentimental, outrageous chaps I ever met there’s none of them comes up to a Frenchman.”

“Oh, you are too bad, Captain Chubb.”

“Too bad, eh? Why, aren’t they always kicking up a dust and making revolutions, cutting off their kings’ and queens’ heads, and then going to war with all the world, with their Napoleons and Bonapartes and all the rest of them? Call themselves men!”

“Why, you are as bad as uncle,” cried Rodd merrily. “You and he ought to be always the best of friends. But, if you speak fairly you must own that they are very gallant men.”

“Gallant men!” cried the skipper scornfully. “I don’t call them men. I call them monkeys! Men! Butchers, as cut off the head of their beautiful Queen Mary What-you-may-call-it, and then after shedding blood like that, sending no end of poor women who never did them a bit of harm to that guillotine. I’d be ashamed of myself, Mr Rodd, to take their part.”

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Rodd warmly. “I say that the Count and his son have proved themselves to be very brave fellows. Why, you owned as much yourself about the way in which they escaped with the brig.”

“Oh, that was right enough,” grumbled the skipper.

“I am not going to deny,” continued Rodd, “that there are plenty of horrible wretches amongst the French. And that Revolution was awful; but haven’t we plenty of bad men amongst the English?”

The skipper chuckled.

“Well, yes, we have had some pretty tidy ones, if you come to read your histories. But I don’t know so much about those chaps being brave. It was a very clever bit of seamanship, mind you, that taking the brig out in the teeth of the storm with hardly room to tack. I am not a bad pilot in my way when I like to try, but I will be honest over it; I daren’t have tried that job. It was a very clean thing. But look here, my lad. It’s no use for you to try and crack that up, because him who did it must have been as mad as a hatter, and between ourselves, that’s what I think that Count is.”

“Oh, fudge, captain!” cried Rodd. “No more mad than you or I.”

“Well, I can answer for myself, my lad,” said the skipper, with a chuckle, “but that’s more than I’d do for you, for you do some precious outrageous things sometimes.”

“I?” cried Rodd.

“Yes, you, my lad.”

“What a shame!” cried Rodd indignantly. “I defy you to prove that I have done anything that you could call mad. Now tell me something. What have you ever known me do that wasn’t sensible?”

“Oh, that’s soon done,” cried the skipper. “Didn’t you go and gammon the soldiers when they were after the escaped French prisoners? Don’t you call that a mad act? Fighting against the laws of your country like that!”

“Ah, well, I suppose I oughtn’t to have helped them, captain; but I couldn’t help it.”

“No, sir, and that’s what the Frenchmen would say. Now, what in the world is that chap after, with his mission, as he calls it? What does he mean by coming rampaging out south with a hole in the bottom of his brig and the pumps going straight on to keep the water down? Would any one but a lunatic go risking his crew and his vessel like that?”

“Well, it does seem rather wild,” replied Rodd thoughtfully.

“Wild? Well, that’s only your way of saying he’s stick, stark, staring mad. And here he’s been out weeks and weeks, knowing as he says that his brig was sinking, when he could have put in at Gib, or the Azores, or Las Palmas, or brought up in one of the West Coast rivers, where he could run up on the tidal mud, careened his vessel, and set his ship’s carpenter to work to clap patches upon her bottom outside and in. Don’t you call that mad?”

“No. He might have had reasons for not doing so.”

“Ah, that’s right, sir; argufy. You young scholarly chaps who have been to big schools and got your heads chock-full of Latin and Greek, you are beggars to argufy—chopping logic, I suppose you calls it—and I give in. You could easily beat me at that; just as easily as I could turn you round my little finger at navigation. But I’ll have one more go at you; I says that there French Count is mad.”

“And I say he is not,” said Rodd, “only a brave, eccentric nobleman who may have a good many more reasons for what he does than we know.”

“All right, youngster. I give you my side. Now that’s yours. Now, just answer me this. Warn’t it the crack-brainedest bit of ask-you-to-go-and-borrow-a-new-strait-waistcoat-to-put-me-in sort of a job for him to bring his two boat-loads of men, like a black-flag-and-cross-boned Paul Jones sort of a pirate, aboard our schooner in the dark, thinking he’s going to take possession of it to use instead of his own brig, when if he’d had any gumption he might have managed to patch her up, and— Here, I say, I can’t go on talking like this before breakfast, my lad. I must have my bowl of coffee and a bit of salt pork and biscuit before I say another word.”

“Oh, very well,” cried Rodd merrily. “I see we shan’t agree; and we don’t want to quarrel, do we, captain?”

“Quarrel? Not us, my lad! It takes two to do that, and we knows one another too well.”

“Then look here,” cried Rodd, “you are taking it very coolly and talking about breakfast; aren’t you going to order the boat out and go aboard the brig at once?”

“I aren’t a-going to do anything till I have had my breakfast,” said the captain. “They’ve spoilt my morning snooze, but I aren’t going to let them spoil my morning meal, nor my lads’ neither.”

“But it’s urgent,” cried Rodd. “Suppose while you are thinking of eating and drinking the brig goes down?”

“Yah! She won’t go down. If she’s floated for weeks like that she’ll keep her nose above water while I swallow two bowls of coffee. I can’t work without something to keep me going. Let them pump for another half-hour, and then we’ll go.”

“We!” said Rodd sharply. “That means me too?”

“Oh, ah, if you like to come; only we shall have to keep a sharp look-out.”

“What, for fear it should sink under us?”

“Nay, I didn’t mean that, my lad. I mean, you see, we are dealing with a lunatic.”

“Captain!” cried Rodd indignantly.

“Ay, but we are, and there’s no knowing what sort of games fellows like that will be up to. I mean to give the mate strict orders to load all three guns, and if he sees the Count coming off again with his two boats full of men to take possession while he’s got us tight, to sink them without mercy. Ah, here’s the stooard, welcome, as you might say, as the flowers in spring. Come along, my lad, and let’s lay in stores.”

In spite of his words and deliberate way of proceeding, Captain Chubb had made his arrangements so that within half-an-hour of going down to breakfast he had the schooner’s boat lowered down with Joe Cross, five men, and the carpenter, who had already handed into the boat what he called his bag of tricks, the said tricks being composed of an adze, saws, chisels, augers, and nails, and very shortly afterwards the oars were dipping, and with Uncle Paul and Rodd in the stern-sheets they were gliding over the glittering sea and rapidly shortening the distance between them and the beautiful brig, which won a string of encomiums from the skipper as they drew near.

“Yes, she is a beauty,” he said. “It would be a pity to let her go down. Look at her lines, and the way she’s rigged. If I wanted to sail a brig I wouldn’t wish for a better; but then, you see, I don’t. She’s a bit low in the water, though, and no mistake. Well, we shall see; we shall see.”

The Count and his son were eagerly awaiting their coming, and welcomed them warmly as they mounted the side, while, casting off his show of indifference, the skipper cast an admiring glance round the deck of the brig, and then gruffly exclaimed—

“Now then, sir, I want your bo’sun. But look here, can he parley English?”

“No,” said the Count, “but my son and I will interpret everything you wish to hear.”

“I don’t know as I want to hear anything, sir,” growled the skipper. “I want to see for myself, and after that mebbe I shall want to give a few orders, which I will ask you to have carried out.”

“Yes; everything you wish shall be done directly.”

“Umph!” grunted the skipper, looking round. “Pump rigged, and two men trying to keep the water under. Ought to be four.”

“Yes, of course,” cried the Count, and he turned to give an order; but Captain Chubb clapped his hand upon his arm.

“Hold hard,” he said. “They’ll do for a bit. Now then, I want to go below and sound the well.”

The Count and his son led the way below, the French crew standing aloof and displaying the discipline of a man-of-war, no man leaving his place while the skipper made all the investigations he required, and then came up on deck with his mahogany face more deeply lined with wrinkles than before.

“Well, captain,” said Uncle Paul, while Rodd, who had kept close to his young friend of the Dartmoor stream, eagerly listened for what their expert had to say.

“Well, sir,” he said, at last, as he took out a little seal-skin bag and deliberately helped himself to a little ready-cut scrap of pigtail tobacco, “your craft’s in a bad way, and if something isn’t done pretty smart she’ll be down at the bottom before long.”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Count impatiently, “but we have tried everything, and it is impossible to get at the leak.”

“Hah! Tried everything, have you, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Count. “Some of my brave fellows have been half-drowned in diving, trying to plug from inside, using yards to force bags of oakum into the holes.”

“Yes,” said the skipper. “The ball went right through, I suppose?”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Count, and Rodd noted that he was having hard work to master his impatience and annoyance at the skipper’s annoyingly deliberate treatment of their urgent needs.

“So I suppose,” said the skipper coolly, “but mebbe you haven’t done quite all; leastwise I should like to try my little plan, and if it don’t answer, why, you won’t be any worse off than you are now; and when I give it up as a bad job, why, you will have to take to your boats and we shall have to find room for you aboard the schooner. Now then, please, you will just order two more men at that pump, and four more ready to take their places so as to keep on pumping hard.”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Count eagerly. “What next?”

“Order up what spare sails you’ve got from the store-room, and a few coils of new line.”

The Count gave his orders quickly, and his men went off to carry them out.

“Good,” said the skipper coolly. “That’s smart.”

“What next?” cried the Count.

“Well, sir, as quickly as I can, I want to do something to lighten the ship.”

“No; I must protest!” cried the Count excitedly. “You are going to throw the guns overboard?”

“Humph!” grunted the captain. “Who said so? I didn’t. Nay, that’d be a pity. I wouldn’t do that till the very last.”

“Ah!” sighed the Count, as if deeply relieved.

“Well, the next thing is, sir, just you leave me and my men alone and let yours look on till I want their help.”

The Count was silent, and all looked on whilst in obedience to the skipper’s orders the English sailors, led by the carpenter, set busily to work, seized upon the new spare sails that were brought up on deck, and cast loose the coils of fresh hemp line that were placed ready. Then with the skipper putting in a word here and there, resulting in the lines being attached to the corners of the largest square-sail, these latter were seized by a couple of the men, who dragged the sail forward as the brig glided very gently along, for it was nearly calm, and then passing the new sail deftly beneath the bowsprit, two of the men climbing out and seeming to cling with their feet to the bobstay until little by little they had got the edge right beneath the stay. Then while their mates at the corners helped at the lines, they passed down the sail right into the sea till they had lowered it to its full extent and they could do no more, save once or twice when they hung down from the stay and gave the canvas, which was slowly growing saturated, a thrust or two with the foot where it seemed disposed to hitch against the brig’s keel.

And now the skipper took his post upon the bowsprit and gave his orders by word or sign to the men who governed the movement of the great square of canvas by means of the lines attached to the corners, the two at the fore corners of the sail getting outside the bulwarks, barefooted, to walk along the streak, and hauling just as much as was necessary to drag the sail right beneath the keel, their two messmates preparing to follow, and under the captain’s guidance keeping all square and exact in the effort to get the keel to act as the dividing line to mark the oblong into two exact portions.

It was very slow work, for the canvas was stiff and moved unwillingly downward beneath the keel; but after a time it began to yield to the steady drag of the ropes upon the two fore corners, and, once started, progress began to be faster. For, so to speak, the brig began to help, sailing as it were gently more and more over the canvas, till at the end of about half-an-hour it was in the position at which the skipper had aimed, having while below in the hold pretty well marked down the position of the two holes made by the shot from the fort. These were about amidships, some few feet, as far as he could make out, on either side of the keel, one naturally being much higher than the other in the diagonal course taken by the heavy ball.

At last he called to his men to halt, and took off his cap, to stand thinking, the position now being that the sail was drawn right under the brig, and the sailors at the four corners were holding on tight to prevent the vessel from sailing clear.

So far not a word had been uttered by the Frenchmen, all of whom had stood clear or mounted the rigging or deck-house, so as to give the Englishmen ample room; but now in the silence Rodd advanced to the skipper eagerly, to say—

“Are you sure you have got the canvas well over the holes?”

Captain Chubb made no reply, but stood with his cap in his left hand gazing aft, and then he moved his right arm two or three times, as if forming an imaginary line through the brig’s hull.

“Did you hear me, captain?” said Rodd eagerly. “Are you sure you have got the sail over the holes?”

“No,” granted the skipper. “Are you?”

“No; but I thought—”

“Yes, my lad; so did I. You thought we ought to get the sail in the right place.”

“Yes,” said Rodd.

“Well, then, now, my lad, I should be much obliged to you if you’d tell me which is exactly the right place.”

Rodd looked at him in despair.

“Thank you, my lad,” said the skipper dryly. “I am much obliged. But all right, Mr Rodd; you can’t tell, and I can’t tell. We know that the ball that came from the fort must have gone downwards a bit, so that it went out from lower than where it went in; but there’s no knowing whether she was hit from starboard or from larboard, and that’s where I’m bothered. But never say die. I think we will make this bit of canvas fast now, for I’m pretty sure of one thing; it will be a plaister for one hole if it isn’t for the other.”

“But look here, captain,” cried Rodd.

“What now?”

“Won’t the water run under the canvas just the same as it did before?”

“No, my lad, it won’t; and I’ll tell you the reason why when we have done. Of course you know I am not going to stop all the water from coming in below, but if I can get it checked a bit so that they can keep it down easy with one man at the pump instead of two, she won’t go to the bottom just yet, and they will have time enough to get into port to set the carpenter at work.”

“Then you won’t let our carpenter try to stop the holes?”

“No, my lad. You see, he never learned to be a fish, so that he could work under water; and though he’s a bit of a crab in his way, I don’t think he could manage it for all that. Now I’m ready to go on. Come, my lads, put your backs into it and haul them sheets tight. Here, master, let two of your men go to each corner and help my lads. All together as hard as they can!” shouted the skipper, and the Count quickly translated his order.

“That’s right! Haul away, my lads!” shouted the skipper. “That new canvas won’t give. Harder! Harder! Now then, one more—all you know!—Make fast!”

“Excellent! Superb!” cried the Count, as the men ceased from making fast the ropes, which were brought over the bulwarks and passed round the belaying pins. “Do you think that will stop the leak?”

“Maybe yes, sir; maybe no. If it don’t do it we will put another plaister on, and another, and another. You have got plenty of spare sails and rope, and when we have used all yours I dare say we can find some more in the schooner. Now then, set your men going at that pump, and rig up another as quick as you can.”

One pump began to clank heavily at once, and a short time after another was at work, and the clear bright water began to sparkle out of the scuppers, while, moved as it were by the same spirit, the French crew burst into a shrill involuntary cheer.

“How can I ever thank you, captain?” cried the Count, while his son snatched at Rodd’s hand.

“Ah, I haven’t done yet, sir,” said the skipper coolly. “This is only a try.”

“Oh, it’s grand,” cried the French lad, clinging to Rodd’s arm. “You have saved our ship.”

“Don’t you holloa till you are out of the wood, young fellow,” said the skipper, as he heard the words. “Now, Mr Rodd, sir, what was it you wanted to know?”

“Why the water will not still rim in underneath the canvas.”

“Only because of this, my lad. Aren’t they pumping the water out now as fast as ever they can?”

“Yes,” cried Rodd; “but more will run in.”

“Yes, my lad, and as it runs in won’t the weight of the water outside push the canvas closer and closer in round the leak?”

“Yes, of course,” cried Rodd. “I didn’t think of that. And as there gets less inside it will seem to suck the canvas closer to.”

“Quite right, my lad. That’s about the way it works; and now we have got to wait for about an hour before we can know whether we have got both holes covered, or only one.”

“Wait for an hour?” cried Rodd.

“Well, perhaps, before we are sure; but I dare say I shall be going down and sounding the well a time or two before that.”

But long before the hour had elapsed the skipper found that though the water in the brig had subsided to a certain extent, one of the holes must be still uncovered, and he began at once to repeat his proceedings, coming to the conclusion that one of the bullet-holes was beyond the reach of the canvas. This time, after all was drawn tight, half-an-hour’s pumping proved that his surmises were correct, and the skipper smiled with satisfaction as the Count and his men cheered them in delight on finding after a good deal of pumping that there was a very perceptible diminution of the water in the hold.

“It is superb, and so simple,” cried the Count to Uncle Paul; “but I feel humbled, sir. Why could not our French sailors have been able to do this?”

“Well,” said Uncle Paul good-humouredly, “the only reason I can give is that they were not English.”

“That’s it, sir,” said the skipper. “You have hit the right nail on the head. But look here, Mr Count—I don’t know your name.”

“Des Saix,” said the Count, smiling.

“Look here, sir; this is nothing to make a fuss about. It will keep you afloat while the weather’s fine, but just come a rough time, those sails will be ripped off as easily as pocket-handkerchiefs. Besides, they will hinder your sailing no end.”

“Ah, that is bad,” said the Count, changing countenance.

“Oh no, not it. There’s worse disasters than that at sea.”

“But will it not be possible for the carpenters to stop the leaks?”

“No, sir; not unless you do what I say.”

“Ah! What is that?”

“Run your craft up one of the rivers to where you can careen on the mad, and then a few hours between tides will be enough to put everything straight.”

“Is there no other way?” asked the Count.

“Only downwards, sir,” cried the skipper; and the French lad glanced questioningly at Rodd, who shook his head.

“No,” said the boy, almost in a whisper. “I don’t think there is any other way. He is quite right.”

After another hour’s pumping, the skipper gave out his intention of going back to the schooner; but the Count would not hear of it. He begged and implored Uncle Paul to give him their company at the breakfast he was having prepared, and after a little hesitation the doctor gave way, and suggested to the skipper that they should leave their departure till late in the afternoon, when a far better opinion could be given of the state of the brig.

“What do you say, squire?” said the skipper, looking at Rodd.

“Oh yes, let’s stay!” And his impulsive young French friend grasped him by the wrist.

“Very well, gentlemen, I have only one thing to say, for I don’t suppose the schooner will sail away and leave us behind. Let them call it dinner, and I’ll stop. I aren’t been in the habit of eating my breakfast at two o’clock in the day.”

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