THE ROCK OF THE LION
BY
MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL
AUTHOR OF
"A VIRGINIA CAVALIER" "LITTLE JARVIS" "PAUL JONES"
"THE SPRIGHTLY ROMANCE OF MARSAC"
"CHILDREN OF DESTINY" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BY A. I. KELLER
[Illustration: Logo]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
[Illustration: BASKERVILLE'S EYES FOLLOWED THE COURSE OF THE _SEAHORSE_
Page 5]
AT GIBRALTAR.
_England, I stand on thy imperial ground,
Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,
I feel within my blood old battles flow--
The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found.
Still surging dark against the Christian bound
Wide Islam presses; well its peoples know
Thy heights that watch them wandering below;
I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound.
I turn and meet the cruel, turbaned face.
England, 'tis sweet to be so much thy son!
I feel the conqueror in my blood and race;
Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day
Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun
Startles the desert over Africa!_
--GEORGE E. WOODBERRY.
PREFACE
_The Rock of the Lion_ is not a history of the siege of Gibraltar,
although the story of that immortal siege of 1779-83 has been closely
studied and followed in preparing this book for young readers. The
writer has used the romancer's just and inalienable right to introduce
real persons and events whenever it would be of service to the story.
Only one liberty has been taken with chronology; it refers to Paul
Jones, and is unimportant in character.
MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
ILLUSTRATIONS
BASKERVILLE'S EYES FOLLOWED THE COURSE OF
THE "SEAHORSE" _Frontispiece_
"HE PUT THE CANDLE DOWN AND DROPPED
UPON THE SETTEE" _Facing p._ 38
THE LANDLADY STOOD BETWEEN ARCHY AND
THE OFFICER " 78
"'PERHAPS YOU DO NOT KNOW THAT I AM AN
AMERICAN'" " 106
"ARCHY MAKES AWAY WITH A BAG OF POTATOES
FOR MRS. CURTIS" " 132
LANGTON WAS TAKEN DOWN THE HILL IN A
WHEELBARROW " 166
HE SAW AN OFFICER LYING IN A DITCH " 200
"ISABEL AND MARY EXTENDED THEIR HANDS
TO PAUL JONES" " 278
THE ROCK OF THE LION
CHAPTER I
The sun, a great orb of glory, hung low in the west, lighting up the sea
and sky with a blaze of splendor. Long lances of rosy flame shot across
the blue Mediterranean, even to the horizon, which was the color of
pearls and opals. Afar off, in the dim distance, the Rock of Gibraltar,
a huge, mysterious shadow, like a couchant lion, seemed to keep watch
over sea and land. Vast and majestic, looming large in the clear obscure
of evening, it dwarfed everything less great than itself into
nothingness, except one--a magnificent ship of the line, the
_Thunderer_, which swept along under a mountain of canvas. The ensign of
England, which flew from her peak, seemed to kiss the skies, while the
long pennant, signifying "homeward bound," that flew from the giant
main-mast, touched the sapphire sea. A hundred and twenty guns armed
her mighty hull, and she carried a thousand men to fight them. The rush
of the wind through her tremendous rigging was like the roar of a
cataract, and as she cleft the seas they bellowed under her bows with a
reverberation like thunder.
The crimson and gold rim of the sun still flamed angrily above the
horizon, but the pearl and opal and ruby sky changed suddenly to a
coppery red, streaked with green, and the wind rose steadily.
Approaching the mighty battleship, on the opposite tack, was seen a
small frigate, as perfect in her dainty way as the leviathan that was
bearing down upon her. She, too, wore the colors of England. As soon as
she got fairly within sight a signal-flag was broken out from her
foretruck. In answer to it the ship of the line threw her maintop-sail
aback and hove to. The frigate did likewise, and a cutter dropped into
the water from her side. A midshipman and twelve men were in the boat,
and another person--a lad of about sixteen, wearing a naval uniform, but
different from the uniform of the midshipman. The boat was rapidly
pulled across the blue water, now ruffled by the breeze, and soon lay
rocking and tumbling like a cork under the huge hull of the ship of the
line. The two lads rose and grasped each other's hand. They said
nothing, being Anglo-Saxons, but their looks were eloquent, and in the
eyes of both there were tears. The midshipman said a word to the men,
and they brought the boat alongside, just under the main-chains. The
younger one, taking off his cap, nodded to the men in the boat, and,
without waiting for the Jacob's-ladder which was about to be thrown over
the side, made a spring like a cat and landed in the chain-plates. The
men, ever pleased with a show of daring and dexterity, raised a cheer,
in which some of the sailors hanging over the _Thunderer's_ rail joined.
The young fellow turned and waved his cap again, and then disappeared
through the nearest porthole, a sailor throwing a small bundle after
him. Almost before he had seized the chain-plates the maintop-sail yard
had swung round, and the great ship was again bounding over the sea.
The boy threaded, with amazing swiftness, the gangways and ladders of
the _Thunderer_, and soon found himself on the quarter-deck. An officer
in an admiral's uniform stood alone on the poop, watching the boat as it
disappeared rapidly in the distance, while the captain on the bridge
looked anxiously towards the northwest, where clouds were gathering
angrily.
The boy walked up to the Admiral, and, making a low bow, cap in hand,
said, "This, I believe, is Admiral Kempenfelt."
"Yes, sir," answered the Admiral.
"I have the honor to report to you, sir. I am Midshipman Baskerville,
late of the Continental ship _Bon Homme Richard_, and afterwards in the
_Serapis_. I was captured at the Texel, and am on my parole. This letter
from Captain Lockyer, of the _Seahorse_, explains everything."
Admiral Kempenfelt took the letter which the little midshipman handed
him, and read:
"DEAR SIR,--This will be handed you by Midshipman Baskerville, a
young rebel lately in revolt against his Majesty, and lately acting
midshipman with that traitor and pirate, Paul Jones. After Jones
reached the Texel in the _Serapis_, we kept, you may be sure, a
close watch upon him, and the _Seahorse_, with eleven other ships
of the line and frigates, cruised outside waiting for him. But will
you believe, my dear Admiral, that this little midshipman is all
the game we have bagged so far; and he was caught by his own
imprudence in going off on a fishing excursion, when a boat's crew
of the _Seahorse_ nabbed him just as he got ashore? I received
orders to the Mediterranean, and so hand this youngster over to you
to take to England. He is the grandson and heir of your eccentric
friend Lord Bellingham, of Bellingham Castle, Yorkshire. His father
quarrelled with his grandfather, went to North America, and turned
red-hot rebel. This boy, being left an orphan, was seduced by Jones
to join him, although he swears he begged Jones to take him, and
would follow Jones all over the world and beyond. You see, my dear
sir, that it would be a very good thing if we could bring this
youth to a sense of his duty to the King; and as he is a lad of
parts and spirit, I would be glad to see him in his grandfather's
good graces. I intended to send him to England on his parole at the
first opportunity; but blast me if I have met a ship going home
since I took him aboard in October until now. I venture to hand him
over to you, having given him orders to report at once to his
grandfather when you land. This has been an infernal cruise, and if
we have ten shillings apiece prize-money, it will be more than I
expect. With best wishes, believe me, my dear sir,
"Your very sincere friend and obedient servant,
"RALPH LOCKYER."
While the reading of this letter was going on, Archy Baskerville stood
in an easy but respectful attitude. There were a number of officers on
deck who looked at him curiously, but he seemed to see no one. His eyes
followed the course of the _Seahorse_, now growing rapidly smaller and
fainter in the fading light, and again they filled with tears. He had
been a prisoner, it is true, on board of her, but a prisoner kindly
treated; and he had one friend--Langton, the midshipman, who had brought
the boat to the _Thunderer_--whom he dearly loved. Should they ever meet
again? He was roused from his reverie by Admiral Kempenfelt saying to
him:
"Do you know the contents of this letter, sir?"
"No, sir."
"I find you are the grandson of my old friend Lord Bellingham--his heir,
so Captain Lockyer writes me."
Something like a grin appeared on Archy's handsome face.
"Hardly, sir. My father joined with my grandfather in cutting the
entail, and I cannot get the estates; and I cannot use the title, as I
am an American citizen."
"A what?" snapped Admiral Kempenfelt.
Now, this young gentleman, Archy Baskerville, had a reprehensible
quality very common in youth. He liked to be as exasperating as he
dared, and having devoted most of his time on the _Seahorse_ to finding
out how far he could presume on his position as a prisoner of war, he
only smiled sweetly up into the Admiral's face and repeated, blandly:
"A citizen of the United States, sir."
The Admiral glared at him for a moment, and then, his countenance
softening, he put his hand kindly on Archy's shoulder, saying, as if he
were addressing a ten-year-old boy:
"Come, come, my lad; let us have no more of that. You are young; you are
misguided; you have a splendid destiny before you in England, and the
vagaries of a mere lad like you, exposed to the seductions of a
plausible fellow like that pirate Jones, will be easily overlooked if
you return to your allegiance to your King and country."
During this speech a deep red had overspread Archy's countenance, but
his quick wits had not deserted him.
"Sir," he said, straightening up his boyish figure, "a prisoner of war
is subject to many temptations to betray his cause; but I did not think
that Admiral Kempenfelt would suggest that I should turn traitor, and,
what is harder to bear, should insult my late commander, Commodore Paul
Jones, when I am not in a position to resent it."
If Archy had turned red the Admiral turned scarlet. His eyes and his
teeth snapped at the same time, and, wheeling round, he abruptly walked
to the end of the poop and back again, his heels hitting the deck hard
and his hands twitching behind his back. The officers standing within
hearing had difficulty in keeping their countenances, but Archy, smooth
and unruffled, was like a May morning. The Admiral again turned and came
back towards him. The notion of that youngster giving himself the airs
of a post-captain! thought the Admiral. The masthead was the only place
for him, and yet the brat was sharp enough to know all he was entitled
to as a prisoner of war and to claim it.
The Admiral made two more turns; then he came up close to Archy, and
with the gleam of a smile said:
"May I have the pleasure of your company in my cabin at supper to-night,
Mr. What's-your-name?"
"With pleasure, sir," replied Archy, promptly, "provided, of course,
that you make no efforts to corrupt my loyalty, and say nothing
disrespectful of my late commander."
Had the great main-mast tumbled over the side at that moment, the
Admiral could not have been more amazed. He opened his mouth to speak,
and was too astounded to shut it. He looked at Archy carefully from the
crown of his curly head to the soles of his well-shaped feet--for the
boy was elegantly made and bright-faced and handsome beyond the common.
Archy bore the scrutiny without flinching. As for the officers, who were
on-lookers, a universal grin went round, and one midshipman giggled
outright.
Suddenly there was a sharp order and a rush of feet along the deck. The
light had died out as if by magic; sea and sky turned black, except a
corner on the northwest horizon, where an ominous pale-green light
played upon fast-gathering clouds, and the wind rose with a shriek. The
men swarmed up the rigging to take in sail, and they were not a moment
too soon. Every person on deck immediately found something to do except
Admiral Kempenfelt and Archy Baskerville. The Admiral walked up and
down, glancing coolly around, but making no suggestions. Archy leaned
against the swifter of the mizzen-rigging, and his keen young eyes
caught the last glimpse of the _Seahorse_ as she disappeared--a mere
speck in the darkness. The inky clouds came down like a curtain upon the
lion-like Rock, and the air itself seemed to turn black. And then came
the storm.
The _Thunderer_, under storm canvas, did battle with the tempest for two
days and nights. Driven by mighty blasts, she staggered upon her course,
descending into gulfs and then rising mountain high until it seemed as
if her tall masts would meet the low-hanging pall of clouds. Her guns
broke loose, and on all three of her decks these huge masses of brass
and iron were pitched about to the danger of life and limb. Her stout
masts and spars bent like whips. Violent gusts of rain came with the
scream of the tempest. Her men, drenched to the bone, nearly swept off
their feet by the great hissing and roaring masses of water that fell
upon the deck, knocked over, slipping up, falling down hatchways,
sleepless and hungry, suffered all the dangers and miseries of one of
the most frightful storms of the century; yet they never lost heart. The
officers, from the captain down to the smallest midshipman, were cool,
and apparently confident that the _Thunderer_ could weather the storm;
and as in the beginning, so to the end, there were but two persons on
the ship who did nothing--Admiral Kempenfelt and the little American
prisoner of war, Archy Baskerville; and in coolness and apparent
indifference it is hard to tell which excelled--the seasoned Admiral or
the young midshipman.
Neither the boy's spirit, nor even his sly impertinence, had injured him
in Admiral Kempenfelt's opinion, and Archy's courage during those
terrible two days was not overlooked. The Admiral felt an interest in
the boy, from his long acquaintance with Lord Bellingham, and he thought
it a pity that the heir to a great title and noble estates should throw
them away by what the Admiral considered rank rebellion; but it was
Archy's own fearless spirit that won him the Admiral's respect. On that
first dreadful night there was no pretence of serving supper; but, to
the Admiral's mingled disgust and amusement, at seven o'clock Archy
tumbled into the great cabin, where he found the Admiral seated with a
soup-tureen between his knees, out of which he was ladling pea-soup into
his mouth with great good-will, but indifferent success.
"Ah, here you are, Mr. Baskerville," called out the Admiral, who knew
what a midshipman's appetite was, and supposed that Archy had shrewdly
calculated on a good supper. "Sorry I can't order my steward to help
you; but in that last lurch the ship gave he was pitched head-foremost
over the table, and knocked out three teeth and blacked his eye--so he
is now under the surgeon's care. But if you will kindly help yourself to
that bowl-- Oh, Jupiter!"
The _Thunderer_ nearly went on her beam-ends, and so did the tureen.
Archy, showing a very good pair of sea-legs, secured the bowl from a
mass of broken crockery in the locker, and, presenting it, the Admiral
filled it with pea-soup, only spilling about half.
"Excuse me, sir," said Archy, and plumped down flat on the floor, where,
with the greatest dexterity, he conveyed all the soup in the bowl to
his mouth.
"Any casualties on deck since I left?" asked the Admiral.
"No, sir. The fact is"--here the ship righted herself with a suddenness
that threw Archy's heels almost into the Admiral's face--"I don't think
it much of a blow."
The Admiral stopped his ladling for a moment and looked the boy in the
eye very hard.
Archy felt emboldened to indulge in a little more boyish braggadocio,
and remarked, airily:
"That is, there's nothing alarming in the blow, sir. It was blowing
harder than this when we made the Texel in the _Serapis_."
"Young man," answered the Admiral, "you never saw it blow as hard as
this in your life, and you never may again."
Archy, somewhat abashed, said nothing, and had the grace to blush; but
spying a loaf of bread rolling under the transom, he crawled after it,
secured it, and handed it to the Admiral.
"Informal, but very welcome," was the Admiral's remark as he divided the
loaf and gave Archy half. "As long as this keeps up, Mr. Baskerville,
you may as well accept the hospitality of my cabin, such as it is. I
hardly suppose any one has thought of slinging you a hammock, and you
couldn't stay in it if you had it; but there is the floor, and here is a
pillow."
"Thank you, sir," said Archy.
"Have you ever seen your grandfather, Lord Bellingham?"
"No, sir."
The Admiral gave a short laugh.
"I should like to see your meeting."
Something in the Admiral's kind face gave encouragement to Archy, and he
replied, "I hope he will receive me kindly, but I ask no favors of him.
As a prisoner of war, I am sure to be taken care of, since Commodore
Jones has obtained for us sea-officers the rights of prisoners of war,
such as the land officers have had all the time. Is my grandfather
very--very--dreadful?"
"He is a man of sense and honor, but he is very eccentric. I have known
him for forty years. Excuse me now, Mr. Baskerville, I am going on deck.
I need not ask you to make yourself at home." The Admiral smiled at
this--he thought Archy needed very slight invitation to do that.
All night the tempest raged. At midnight, when it was at its worst, the
Admiral came below for a moment. There were no lights, but by striking
his flint he saw a lithe, boyish figure on the floor, cunningly lashed
to the transom, as was the pillow, and Archy was sleeping like a baby.
"The little beggar is no coward," thought the Admiral, a smile lighting
up his face.
Next day and next night it was the same. The Admiral noticed many things
in that mortal struggle of the great ship with all the powers of
destruction, and among them were the different kinds and degrees of
courage displayed by the officers and men. Not one showed fear, although
each was conscious of the immediate and awful danger, but some bore the
strain better than others. There was not one who stood it more calmly,
more debonairly, than the little American midshipman.
At sunrise on the third day, when the storm passed off to the eastward,
they found themselves near a rocky headland that jutted out into the
sea. The sun shone brightly, but the sea was still angry, and as far as
the eye could reach was wreckage. One glance on the rocks showed them
the wreck of the _Seahorse_. Her masts and spars were gone, and the hulk
rose and fell helplessly with the violence of the waves. Archy was
leaning sadly over the rail when he saw an object floating nearer that
he recognized, with a sickening dread, as that of a man's body. It was
swept shoreward under the very lee of the _Thunderer_. As it shot past,
Archy uttered a cry. The morning light had revealed the pale face of his
best friend Langton. Another cry went up from the men on the
_Thunderer's_ deck as they watched the ghastly sight. But at that very
moment they had all they could do to claw off the land and save the
_Thunderer_ from the fate of the _Seahorse_. It was some days before the
wind permitted them to return to the scene of the wreck, and they found
not a vestige of the gallant ship or her brave company.