Stephen and Andrew Battiscombe had, without hesitation, given their
names and other particulars of their family to Cornet Bryce.
"Well, my friends, I can tell you that I think there is a chance, though
a slight one, that you may escape hanging," he observed, as he rode
alongside them in a familiar fashion, two of his men going in front and
two guarding the rear. "Our General and some of the officers under him
are not above taking bribes, and if you can persuade them that your
father will pay handsomely, you may possibly get off, provided they do
not hang you without asking questions. I give you the hint, as it may
be of value to you."
"Thank you," said Andrew. "I am very sure that our father will be ready
to pay any sum he can afford to save our lives; should we even now
obtain our liberty, the person who enables us to escape would be
handsomely rewarded."
"He will probably be shot or lose his commission if caught, besides
which, to do so he would neglect his duty as a soldier," answered the
Cornet. "No, no, young gentlemen, I gave you advice for your benefit,
not for my own. I am not surprised at your making the proposal to me;
some might take it. I thirst for no man's blood, and I have no wish to
handle blood-money. My father served under Cromwell, and though I am in
the service of King James, I have not forgotten the principles of my
ancestors. Would that I could free you without dishonour!"
These remarks accounted for the Cornet's kind treatment to his
prisoners. They had too much reason to fear that they should not find
many like him in the camp. As they could reach no town that night, all
the horses being too tired, the Cornet knocked at the door of a
farm-house and demanded admittance. The farmer cast an eye of
compassion on the two prisoners, but said nothing, and, without a
moment's hesitation, admitted the officer and his troopers, while he
sent two of his men to lead their horses to the stables. His wife, on
observing that two of the troopers were wounded, came forward and
offered at once to dress their hurts.
"I have some skill in that way," she said, "and I hope that if any of
the Duke of Monmouth's men were to come asking help, I should not be
hardly dealt with if I gave it."
"I would advise you, dame, not to try the experiment," said Cornet
Bryce. "I fear you and your goodman would run a great risk of being
hung up if you were to afford help to the youngest drummer-boy in the
rebel army."
"Alack! alack! these are cruel times," cried the good woman. "We hear
that the king's General is hanging up the poor people by scores; we do
not desire to get our necks into the same noose. You will note, good
sir, that we are peaceable people, that we gave you an instant welcome,
and will provide the best our house can afford."
"Do as you propose, good dame, and I will report as well of you as I
can," said the Cornet, placing himself at the table, where he directed
his two prisoners to sit, close to him. The farmer busied himself in
helping his wife. As Stephen examined his countenance, he thought he
recognised it as that of a man who had been in Monmouth's army. He made
no remark. Once or twice, while the Cornet and his men were engaged in
discussing their food, the farmer cast a glance at Stephen and Andrew,
which showed, Stephen thought, that he also recognised them, and said
very clearly, "Do not take any notice of me."
As soon as supper was over, Stephen, turning to the Cornet, said, "If
you will give me leave, sir, I will take this opportunity of writing to
my friends in Dorsetshire. I may not have another. Farmer Stubbs here
will, I doubt not, be able to despatch a letter; and when he knows that
life and death depend on it, he will exert himself to convey it in
safety."
The farmer started on hearing himself spoken of by name, which Stephen
did inadvertently.
"Ay, that I will, you may depend on it, young gentleman; I would rather
be the means of saving a man's life than killing one, even in fair
fight. If the Cornet will give me a safe pass that I may not be taken
for one of those running away from the fight, I will undertake to convey
the letter myself as soon as it is written."
The Cornet did not appear to think that there was anything unusual in
this proposal, and without hesitation promised to write a pass if Farmer
Stubbs would find the paper.
"Here it is, gentlemen," said the farmer's wife, who had got up and had
been searching about in a cupboard, as she produced several sheets of
coarse letter-paper, very different from the fine notepaper of the
present day, together with a bottle of ink, some quill pens, and a piece
of sealing-wax.
Stephen at once commenced to write his proposed letter to his father,
stating that he and Andrew had been captured on the supposition that
they were escaping from the field of Sedgemoor; that they should
probably be executed forthwith unless they were ransomed; and he pointed
out to his father the importance of at once sending a person of trust
with a sufficient sum, who might endeavour to obtain their liberation.
Supposing that Roger Willoughby was still in England, he wrote a short
letter to him to be forwarded by post, entreating that he would
communicate with Mr Kempson and get him to exert his influence. This
was done, it must be understood, under the idea which Stephen
entertained, that after the slaughter of the battle-field was over, the
prisoners captured would have a fair trial and time for their defence.
He little dreamed of the cruel way Colonel Kirk and his lambs would
treat those placed in their power, or the bloody assize under Judge
Jeffreys. As soon as the letters were finished, he asked the Cornet to
give his promised pass to the worthy farmer, as if it were a matter of
no great consequence.
"He shall have it, and I shall be very glad if he succeeds in obtaining
your release," said the Cornet.
At length the farmer proposed that his guests should retire to rest,
observing that his good woman would see them off in the morning, as his
journey being a matter of life and death, he intended to start a couple
of hours before daylight.
To this Cornet Bryce made no objection. "Very wise, as I suppose you
know the road," he observed.
More satisfied than they had been for some hours, Stephen and Andrew
placed their heads on the pillow of the rough pallet which had been
prepared for them; the soldiers stretched themselves on the floor,
except the two wounded men, for whom the good dame made up separate
beds, and again looked carefully to their hurts. They were all four
soon snoring in concert. Andrew had joined them. Stephen kept awake,
considering if there was any possibility of escaping. From what Cornet
Bryce had told him, he knew that there was a risk the moment they
arrived at Bridgewater of their being hung without examination or trial
of any sort, numbers having been so treated by Feversham and Colonel
Kirk. It was far safer, therefore, to escape, if it could be done. The
Cornet himself, though he sat up talking with the farmer for some time,
at length turned into the truckle bed provided for him, and was soon as
fast asleep as his men. Farmer Stubbs was making certain preparations
apparently for his journey, filling his saddle-bags with provisions, his
holsters with a brace of pistols and ammunition. They were thus engaged
as noiselessly as possible when the door opened, and two young men
entered. The old woman put her finger to her lips as they gazed
somewhat astonished at the number of occupants of the common room.
Presently another came in; then the old lady, beckoning to them,
accompanied them outside. On seeing this Stephen's hopes rose. If they
were all staunch men they might overpower their guard without the
slightest difficulty, but then serious consequences might ensue to the
farmer. Probably his house would be burnt down and his property
destroyed, should the troopers suffer any violence. It seems surprising
that Cornet Bryce should so far have neglected his duty as to go to
sleep without placing a watch over them. After some time one of the
young men returned and came up to Stephen's bed. Finding that he was
awake, he made a sign to him to get up, and arouse his brother as
noiselessly as possible. As soon as they were both on foot he beckoned
them out of the room.
"Our father's ale and cider are pretty strong, and if these fellows wake
we are more than a match for them. We may either bind them and keep
them prisoners somewhere in the neighbourhood, or we may put them to
death, or you may escape by yourselves, while you lame their horses to
prevent them from following you."
"If we had the power we would choose the latter course," said Stephen.
"May they not revenge themselves by imprisoning your father and
destroying his farm?"
"He will be far away from this before morning," answered young Stubbs.
"They will not catch a sight of any of us if we are in hiding, and they
can scarcely injure our poor old mother, who will know nothing of your
flight."
"Then by all means let us try the latter course," said Stephen, his
spirits rising as he thought of once more obtaining his liberty.
"Come along then," said young Stubbs. "One of us is going with you, the
rest remain, for we are safer in hiding close to the farm than we should
be in travelling across the country. We wish to serve you as we know
you well. Mother will remain in the house, and be as much surprised as
the soldiers when they find you, their prisoners, have gone. She is a
wonderful woman, and will not yield an inch, besides which, we shall be
at hand; should any violence be offered her by the soldiers, we will be
ready to astonish them."
Simon said this while he led the way to the stables. He quickly led out
Stephen's and Andrew's horses, with one for himself.
"Mount," he said. "There is no time to lose. My brothers will look
after the troopers' animals, and take good care that they are not in a
fit condition to follow us. They have had no food all this time, poor
brutes. Some they will lame, others they will let loose. Stay, there
is one thing we forgot. The uniforms you wear are likely to betray you.
It will be better to change them for my brothers' clothing. Wait here,
and I will be back in a minute." Simon, who had not yet mounted,
hurried into the house. He soon returned, bringing a couple of bundles,
with two countrymen's hats. "Now we will mount and away, and change
these when we are farther on the road, before daybreak."
At first they walked the horses, till they had got out of hearing of the
house, then stuck their spurs into the animals' flanks and galloped on.
Simon knew the road, and did not pull rein for a dozen miles or more.
He proposed, he said, riding right across Devonshire so as to reach the
southern coast, where they might find a vessel going over to France, or
still better, to Holland, where they would be among friends. Stephen
and Andrew felt their spirits rise at thus finding themselves again at
liberty, and they doubted not that this time they should make their
escape. Simon was evidently a very intelligent fellow, and up to all
sorts of plans and projects for eluding the enemy. As daylight
approached he proposed entering a thick wood, in which he said he had no
doubt a stream could be found for watering their horses; they could here
change their clothes, and hide their uniforms in some place where they
were not likely to be found. Stephen was inclined implicitly to follow
his advice, and without hesitation did as he suggested; but after
refreshing themselves, they changed their dresses, as proposed. Hunting
about they found a hollow beneath an old tree; here they put in their
uniforms, and covered the hole up again with light earth and leaves;
they then remounting their horses, rode on again for a couple of hours
more. Even should the Cornet and his men follow them, it was impossible
that they could reach thus far for several hours to come; they
accordingly dismounted by the side of a stream where there was
sufficient grass for their horses; thanks to Simon's forethought, they
had food to last them, he calculated, till they could reach the coast.
The next two stages were made at night, thus avoiding any dangerous
questions being asked by the people they would have met if they had
travelled by day. At length they considered that they might venture to
travel during part of the day. Accordingly, after breakfasting near a
stream, of which they found an abundance on their road, they pushed
forward during the morning. As they kept as much as possible on the
by-roads, and avoided the villages, they met but few people. Some of
them looked at them askance, others addressed them and inquired where
they were going, but the greater number took but little notice of them,
supposing, probably, that they were farmers from a distance. A few,
seeing that they were coming from the north, asked for information
regarding the Duke of Monmouth's misadventure. Of course, they could
say they knew nothing of the Duke's movements, and as to the battles
which had been fought, the less said about them the better; they might
be taken for partisans of one side or the other, and all they wanted
just now was to attend to their own affairs, important enough to them,
whatever they might be to others. This answer satisfied the inquirers,
and the travellers got on with less inconvenience than they had
expected. They were not generally very acute persons, or they might
have suspected that Stephen and his brother, who were fine-looking young
men, were not farmers, though Simon, both in his dialect and appearance,
showed his real character. At length the coast was reached. It was one
of those rocky secluded little bays, or coves as they are called, which
abound on the shores of Devonshire; three or four fishermen's cottages
were scattered about on the sides of the cliffs; one was considerably
larger and better built than the rest. In the centre of the bay floated
a boat, or rather a little vessel.
"The probabilities are that that boat belongs to the owner of the
cottage. She is large enough to carry us to France or Holland. If the
owner will let her to us we can procure sufficient provisions."
"Let us inquire then," said Andrew. "Simon and I will stand by the
horses, you will go down to the cottage."
Stephen, agreeing to this, set off, and was soon at the door of the
cottage. A superior-looking seafaring man opened it and bade him enter.
"Does the boat brought up in the bay belong to you, friend?" he asked.
"Yes, and as wholesome a one as ever floated on salt water; she will go
through any amount of sea, always provided she is properly handled."
"Then I should think she is just the craft to suit my two friends and
me. I want to know whether you will let her to us for a couple of weeks
or so."
"Where do you want to go to in her?" asked the old man, eyeing his
visitor.
"To be honest with you, we desire to be put across either to the coast
of France, or should the wind prove favourable, we should prefer running
on to Holland."
The old man eyed Stephen narrowly as he was speaking. "You have some
particular reason, I conclude, for wishing to get off," he remarked.
"It is not merely a pleasure trip you wish to make, and if you go, I
need not expect you to bring the boat back again."
"To be frank with you, we have a particular reason," said Stephen. "We
are willing to pay accordingly. We will hand over to you a security,
and pay a certain sum down, and give you a promissory note for the
remainder."
The old man seemed to be turning the matter in his mind. "I cannot send
the boat alone, but you shall have the man who usually sails her since I
have been laid by, Joe Savin, and my lad Tom Peddler, provided you pay
their wages from the time they sail to the time they return into
harbour."
To this Stephen willingly agreed, highly pleased to make the bargain
with so little trouble. He accordingly, mounting his horse, rode back
to where he had left Andrew and Simon, who at once accompanied him to
the house of the old pilot, for such he appeared to be. Here they all
three underwent a further scrutiny.
"Here are our horses, which, if I mistake not, are worth a considerable
portion of the value of the boat; I will, in addition, pay you five
pounds down, and will give you a promissory note for a further 10
pounds, which my father, Mr Stephen Battiscombe of Langton Hall, will
pay you."
"That is tolerably good payment, I will allow, for the risk I run of
losing my boat," said the pilot; "but that risk is very considerable,
and you must understand that if I did not suspect more than you have
told me, I would not enter into the venture. I do not ask questions."
From this remark Stephen knew that the old pilot suspected him and his
companions to be fugitives from the field of Sedgemoor, and entertained
a sympathy which he was unwilling to allow.
"As there is no time to be lost, we will ask you, friend, to give
directions to your men to go on board to store the craft with such
provisions as we shall require for the voyage. I, of course, shall be
ready to pay for them in addition; five mouths to feed, we will require
a good store."
"I have a cask of salted herrings, some dried cod, and I will see what
my good wife, who is out marketing, can supply when she comes home,"
said the pilot. "May be we shall find some bread and other things in
the village."
Fortunately for the fugitives the goodwife soon returned home. On
hearing the account they gave of themselves, she seemed to take as warm
an interest in them as did her husband, by her exertions. Joe Savin and
his mate being summoned, the little vessel was quickly provisioned.
There was still some time of daylight when they finally went on board,
having bid farewell to the old pilot and his wife.
"Now, Joe, let us get under weigh," said Stephen. "As I have been to
sea I can lend you a hand, and will either take the helm or help you
forward."
"You will take the helm, and let the other young men come forward and do
as I tell them," said Joe, eyeing Simon's muscular form and Andrew's
active figure. "We are stronger-handed than usual, for even when old
Mr Headland is aboard, though he has got a head on his shoulders, he
has not much bodily strength remaining." The main-sail was soon set,
the anchor, with the assistance of Andrew and Simon, quickly hove up and
secured, when the little vessel began to glide out of the cove. They
had just got off the southern point of the bay when they saw a number of
men running along the cliff towards them. As Stephen was steering he
did not observe them particularly, but Andrew and Simon, after
attentively looking at them, exclaimed, "They are soldiers!"
As they caught sight of the boat, the soldiers were seen to beckon
vehemently, as if to call her back.
"Very unlikely that we will do that," said Stephen. "The fellows have
somehow or other found out who we are, and old Mr Headland will, I
fear, be the sufferer."
"If those soldiers want us, should not we put back?" asked Joe.
"The very reason we should not," said Stephen. "We should do no good,
and should certainly have our voyage delayed."
Just as he was speaking the sail gave a flap; the boat was becalmed
under the high ground.
"Get out the oars, lads; we must make the best of our way from the
shore."
Joe and the lads got out the oars, and Andrew and Simon assisted them to
pull. They had not made many strokes before several shot came whistling
over their heads.
"Pull away," cried Stephen; "we shall soon be out of range, and in a few
minutes will catch the breeze again."
The soldiers once more fired; two bullets struck the boat, but did no
damage; the third went through the main-sail. The soldiers shouted and
gesticulated more vehemently than before. The party in the boat, at
Stephen's suggestion, took not the slightest notice of them, though they
pulled on with might and main till the breeze once more filled the sails
and rapidly freshened. The boat now stood away to the southward, and
was soon out of range of the soldiers' muskets.
"Perhaps after all we shall be followed," remarked Andrew.
"No fear of that," said Joe. "There is not a man left in the harbour to
take out a boat; the chances are the soldiers are not able to pull
themselves or they would have been after us by this time. See, the
breeze is freshening, and by nightfall we shall be well away from the
land."
This information greatly relieved the minds of the fugitives; they had
now every hope of getting free, and, should the fine weather continue,
be able to land in Holland. Stephen's chief anxiety was for the old
pilot; the horses would very likely be taken from him, and he might too
probably be carried off as a prisoner for having enabled rebels to
escape. Though they had not witnessed the cruelties practised by
Colonel Kirk and his lambs, Simon had told him of what he had heard, and
of the hundreds who had been hung up on the Bussex oak directly after
the action. They were justly afraid that Mr Headland might be treated
in the same cruel manner; and "if we had gone back we could have done no
good," Stephen said to himself over and over again. For some hours the
weather continued fine, and the boat made fair progress, but towards
midnight a dark bank of clouds rose to the eastward, threatening a gale.
"What do you think of it, Joe?" asked Stephen.
"We shall catch it, but the boat will float like a cork; we will shorten
sail in good time, though we shall not make much of our way towards
Holland till it is over, I have a notion."
The boat, it should be understood, was only half-decked; but she had
good high sides, and was provided with water-ways, so that unless the
gale should prove of unusual violence, they had no reason to fear for
their safety. Though Andrew had lived near the sea, he had seldom been
afloat, and Simon had never even seen the ocean before. At first he had
been highly pleased with its appearance, but now that he saw the dark
leaden foam-topped waves rising up, he began to look as if he would
rather have been safe on shore; but he was a stout-hearted fellow, and
was not disposed to give way to idle fears. The boat began to pitch and
tumble about, and to take the water over her bows.
"I will go to the helm now," said Joe to Stephen, "for though I see you
know how to handle a boat in smooth water, it is a very different matter
in a heavy sea."
Stephen gladly gave up the helm, and stood by with the lad to shorten
sail, should it be necessary. Two reefs had already been taken down,
and the little vessel went bobbing away over the dark foaming seas,
making but little progress. She might, as Joe affirmed, be the best
sea-boat out of Kenway Cove, but she was certainly not a fast craft, and
was inclined to make as much way to leeward as she did ahead. She was
now standing over to the French coast, but Stephen and his friends were
unwilling to land there except in a case of great necessity. Should
they be discovered, the French Government, who were friendly with James,
would be very likely to hand them over to him. Their only hope was to
get into some retired place on the coast of Normandy, where they might
live unnoticed, and engage themselves in fishing or some other
employment. The wind increased; now the rain came down in torrents,
drenching through those who were but ill-protected, old Joe, in a thick
woollen coat, and a pipe in his mouth, and a tarpaulin drawn down over
his head, looking as unconcerned as if it were a fine summer day. He
advised Andrew and Simon to get into the cuddy.
"You ain't of much use," he observed, "and there is no reason why you
should get wet through to do no one good. Mr Stephen here may do as he
pleases; we are likely enough to want his help; he has shown that he can
give it."
Andrew and Simon, though they did not feel complimented, followed the
old sailor's advice, but the tossing and the tremendous thumps which
they heard every instant against the bow of the vessel, effectually
prevented them from going to sleep, and made them wish to get out again.
They felt also very sick and uncomfortable: the cuddy was hot and
close. The gale increased, and old Joe deemed it necessary to take down
the last reef and lower the fore-sail, keeping only the small storm-jib
set. The operation took some time, and while Stephen was assisting in
shifting the jibs, a sea struck the bows, and carried him off his legs.
Providentially he clung to the forestay, or he would have, the next
instant, been overboard; but he saved himself. He got the storm-jib
hauled well on board before the next sea struck the vessel. Sail being
reduced, everything was made snug, and he came aft. Looking into the
cuddy, he inquired how his friends were getting on.
"Very badly," they both answered. "How soon is the gale likely to be
over?"
"It is impossible to say," he answered. "It may likely enough come on
to blow harder; we shall then have to heave the vessel to, and wait till
it decreases."
Andrew and Simon groaned on hearing this, and wished themselves safe on
shore. In a few minutes Joe determined to heave the vessel to, which
was done under the storm-jib and mizzen, while the main-sail was lowered
down and stowed. When morning broke, there the little vessel lay,
riding on the leaden seas, and the dark clouds overhead, and masses of
spray driving against her. Old Joe said they were pretty nearly about
the spot where they were the night before--no nearer the French coast,
no farther from that of England. There seemed to be little likelihood
of the gale abating. Joe put the lad, who had been sleeping most of the
night, to watch the helm while he took a snooze. The rest of the party
had slept but little. Stephen had not closed his eyes, but he now felt
very weary, and could no longer keep awake, so he lay down in the cuddy,
caring less for the thumping sound than Andrew had done. He slept on
for some hours in spite of wind whistling in the rigging, the roaring of
the seas, which ever and anon broke over the little vessel, half filling
her with water. Old Joe got the pump rigged, and bade Andrew and Simon,
as they could do nothing else, work away at it. He kept them at it till
their arms ached, but it was far better than being idle. At last
Stephen got up; he proposed that they should have some food, as neither
of his friends had taken anything since the previous evening. At first
they declared that they could get nothing down. He persuaded them to
try. Following his example, they succeeded better than they had
expected, and were able again to turn to the pump. With an easterly
gale such as they were now experiencing, there is generally a clear sky,
but on this occasion, clouds massed on clouds came rushing along from
the North Sea. Though hove-to, as far as old Joe could calculate, about
mid-channel, the little vessel was drifting fast to leeward, farther and
farther from the direction which those on board desired to go. Old Joe
proposed at length that they should run back to some port on the English
coast. Against this Stephen protested. They had had a narrow escape as
it was, and wherever they might put in, they would be nearly certain to
be suspected.
"Then we must bear up for a French port," said Joe.
"That will only be a degree better," observed Stephen.
"Well, then, it is a choice of evils," said Joe. "If we do not get into
some port or other, and it should come on to blow harder than it does
now, the chances are the craft will go down. Better to be taken by the
French."
"We will hope that the gale won't increase," said Stephen, who having
thus far succeeded in escaping from his enemies, was not inclined to
despair. His brother and Simon were more out of spirits about the
matter. Still it seemed probable that the gale would increase; not a
break appeared in the clouds. As long as the provisions lasted, and the
boat could keep above water, Stephen determined to remain at sea. The
boat, however, was leaking considerably, and the provisions were
becoming exhausted, so that even should the gale moderate they could
scarcely hope to reach a Dutch port before their food would have come to
an end. All day long the little vessel lay tossing about. They spoke
little, though they had much to think about. Their thoughts were not
such as they could give expression to before others. Joe, who was
generally a cheery old fellow, sat looking glum and downcast.
"It is all very well for you to say you won't go back, but if we don't,
as I said before, we shall go to the bottom."
Still Stephen was determined to attempt to get on as soon as the gale
had abated. He knew that it was as dangerous to run before the seas,
when there would be a great probability of being pooped, as to remain
hove-to. That they had been drifting down channel he was aware. How
far they had got it was difficult to say. To attempt to make the land
they might fail to enter any sheltering harbour, and might be cast on
some rocky shore, where the vessel would be lost. Stephen argued the
point with old Joe.
"Well," replied the latter, "you must be answerable for whatever
happens. Remember, if the craft goes down it is your fault, not mine."
Stephen was half inclined to smile at what Joe said, and willingly
undertook to be responsible for whatever should occur, and going to the
pump, set to work to encourage his companions. Thus they continued
tumbling and tossing about as they had been doing for many hours. At
length, overcome with fatigue, Stephen lay down in the cuddy, hoping to
snatch a short rest. How long he had been asleep he could not tell,
when he was awakened by a loud crash. Starting up, he saw to his dismay
that the mast had gone by the board. Old Joe was equal to the
emergency. "Get out the oars, lads, and we will try and keep the
craft's head to wind, while I cut away the wreck. It is our only
chance, for if she is brought broadside to the sea, she will fill in an
instant and go down."
Tom Peddler, accustomed to obey old Joe, promptly got out one of the
oars, while Andrew and Simon got out the other; Stephen, springing aft,
went to the helm. Joe soon cleared the mast, the butt end of which had
been battering away against the side of the boat, threatening to knock a
hole in her. By considerable exertion she was kept head to wind, while
in a few minutes old Joe, who had been looking out, shading his eyes
with his hands, declared that the gale was breaking. Soon a light was
seen to shine forth between the clouds to the eastward, and it became
evident that the wind, having played them this cruel trick, was going
down. Though they had to pull hard to prevent the boat from being
swamped, still, as long as they could do that, they hoped at all events
to save their lives for the present. Though, after all, they should be
compelled to put into a French port, to do so was not altogether
hopeless, as they would have the excuse of coming in for the sake of
getting a fresh mast. The wind continued to go down, and the sea to
decrease so much, that their exertions were greatly lessened. They were
able to enjoy a better meal also than they had taken. They had just
finished, when Andrew, who was on the look-out, exclaimed--"I see a
white sail away to the east. See, the canvas shines like snow against
the clouds."
Joe jumped up at hearing this, and took a look at the stranger, which he
pronounced to be a large ship bearing directly down for them. "Whether
friend or foe, we cannot escape her; but if she is Dutch we are in no
danger. I do not know how a Frenchman would treat us. We have most to
dread from one of our own ships; more's the shame it should be so."
As there was no necessity any longer for keeping the oars going, all on
board anxiously watched the approaching ship.
"She is a man-of-war, I have little doubt," said Joe. "Carries fifty
guns. She is English, too," he added; "she has hoisted her ensign at
the peak."
"Remember we have but one simple tale to tell," said Stephen to Andrew
and Simon; "we are bound for Holland. We must neither show fear nor
surprise if we are taken on board. Merely ask the English Captain to
supply us with a mast and the necessary rigging, in place of the one we
have lost."
In a short time the frigate was up to the little vessel. A boat was
lowered, and a lieutenant and midshipman came in her.
"What has brought you into this condition, friends?" asked the former,
looking at Joe.
"Oh," replied Joe, "a sudden squall carried away our mast."
"The Captain's orders were to bring your boat alongside," said the
lieutenant. "Get out your oars; we will soon tow you there."
Just then Stephen, who had been looking at the midshipman, exclaimed,
"Roger Willoughby!"
Roger started up and cried out, "Stephen Battiscombe! I should not have
known you, you look so thin and careworn. What has brought you out
here?"
"My brother and I and our friend are going to seek our fortune in
Holland," answered Stephen, who would rather not have had his name
mentioned.
As the lieutenant was in a hurry to obey his orders, he directed Joe to
heave him a tow-rope, and the little vessel was quickly carried
alongside the ship. On the deck Stephen saw his old commander Captain
Benbow, who, however, did not recognise him, dressed as he was in
countryman's clothes.
"What brought you out here, my men, in mid-channel?" asked the Captain.
"Come up on deck, and let me have a talk with you."
Stephen at once obeyed; Andrew and Simon followed him more slowly. To
Stephen's surprise Roger took no further notice of him, though his old
friend, knowing how he had been engaged, had a shrewd suspicion of the
truth, and thought that he had probably assumed some fictitious name.
It was better to let him answer for himself. Stephen replied, as had
been agreed on, that he and his companions were bound for Holland to
seek their fortunes, and that in consequence of being unable to find a
larger vessel, they had embarked in the _Duck_ and had it not been for
the gale they encountered, they hoped to have been there by this time.
"Not much chance of getting there unless you are fitted with a new
mast," said the Captain. "My wish is always to help fellow-seamen in
distress. Though you are dressed as a farmer, I am very sure that by
the way you came up the side that you have been at sea before, and while
I look at you, it appears to me that we have been shipmates. I will not
ask questions. If I did I should want true answers. Come, my friend,
the sooner we get your craft fitted out the better for you; the wind may
breeze up again, and it may become a difficult job." Without taking
further notice of Stephen and his companions, he ordered the carpenter
and boatswain to try how fast they could fit and rig a new mast for the
little _Duck_. "That won't be looked upon as neglect of duty or aiding
and abetting. Remember, we don't know who these men are," he said,
turning to Roger. "We found them in distress on the high seas, and we
do what every man is bound to do, help them to get into port as best
they can."
Roger did not say that he recognised Stephen, although he guessed that
the Captain, from what he said, had done so. He was longing himself to
ask Stephen to give him an account of his adventures, but he judged that
the Captain would object to his doing this. He was very thankful that
Stephen had escaped from the battle of Sedgemoor, of which a full
account had reached London, as well as of the dreadful slaughter which
had been inflicted on the insurgents. Like all those who served under
Benbow, the carpenter and gunner of his ship, aided by their crews,
exerted themselves to the utmost to get the mast finished. They knew
that it need not be very shapely, provided the main-sail, which had been
saved, could be set upon it. In the course of a couple of hours the
little _Duck_ was once more ready to continue her voyage. Stephen
heartily thanked the Captain for his kindness.
"Say not a word about it, my lad," answered Captain Benbow; "I am glad
to give you a helping hand. I should have advised you to come on board
my ship instead of continuing your voyage in that cockle-shell, but I am
bound up the Bristol Channel to look out for fugitives from the Duke of
Monmouth's unfortunate army, and my directions are to cruise between
Bideford Bay and Bridgewater Bay. If I had found a craft coming from
that part of the coast, I should have been compelled to detain her and
all on board. Now, fare you well. I wish that you had stuck to the
sea, and you would have kept out of difficulties into which so many at
the present day have fallen. By the by, as you have been out so long,
you may be in want of provisions; I have some private stores, and you
shall be welcome to them," and he ordered his steward to put a keg of
biscuits, a case of Spanish hams, a couple of casks of water, and other
minor articles on board. The honest Captain, from the warmth of his
heart, could not help shaking his old acquaintance by the hand as he
dismissed him to his little vessel. Roger slipped down the side and
grasped his hand.
"I am so glad you got off," he exclaimed. "I did not speak to you
before, because I waited to take the cue from the Captain. It is all
right; remember, let them know at Eversden, through the Colonel, when
you arrive safely in Holland. I am glad you are going there instead of
to France, for the Captain thinks we shall be at loggerheads with the
Mounseers soon."
Saying this, and having wrung Stephen's hand, Roger sprang up the side
of his ship, when the little _Duck_, shoving off, made sail to the
eastward, while the _Ruby_ stood on her course down Channel.