I THE TROUT-STREAM
II HOLDING THE FORT
III A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA
IV THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOP
V THE FIGHT WITH THE FRIGATE
VI PRISONERS OF WAR
VII OLD QUEBEC
VIII THE NIGHT-WATCH
IX THE WHITE EAGLE OF THE IROQUOIS
X A LONELY FRONTIERSMAN
XI THE SMOKE SIGNAL
XII THE WIGWAMS OF THE IROQUOIS
XIII THE MOCCASIN PRINT IN THE FOREST
XIV SWIFT ARROW DISAPPEARS
XV THE TRAGIC CIRCLE
XVI THE PALEFACE HUNTER
XVII A BROKEN SCALPING-KNIFE
XVIII A LOST TRAIL
XIX THE AMBUSH AT SENECA FALLS
XX THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM
*UNDER WOLFE'S FLAG*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE TROUT-STREAM*
"Here's a beauty, Jack!"
"Hold him, Jamie, till I come!"
"Come quickly then, old fellow--he's slipping away from me! Quick!
Hang it, the fellow's gone! I've missed him, and----"
"Splash!" The sentence was never finished, for Jamie, stepping too
excitedly on a treacherous, moss-covered rock in mid-stream, slipped,
and the next instant found himself sitting down, up to the armpits in
the water which raced past him like a mill-stream.
"Never mind," said his companion, when the laughter which greeted this
mishap had subsided. "There's a likely spot, up under the fall there,
where I've landed many a big fish; let's go and try it."
This "likely spot," however, was a difficult one, and for any other soul
in the tiny village of Burnside--these two young rascals excepted--an
impossible one. There, right under the overhanging rocks, over which a
cascade tumbled twenty feet, into a swirling pool which formed one of
the deepest parts of the stream, was a narrow ledge, where the moss grew
thick upon the wet, slippery rocks, but in the cracks and fissures
beneath that ledge, many a lusty trout was hidden.
While the two chums are wending their way to this "likely spot," which
lay at a bend in the stream, just at the bottom of Hawk Woods, leaping
from boulder to boulder as they crossed the broken stream, I will
briefly introduce the reader to a little of their previous history.
Jack Elliot and Jamie Stuart were aged respectively fifteen and fourteen
years. Only a week ago these two sturdy lads had been soundly thrashed
by Dr. Birch, for playing truant and indulging in the tempting but
forbidden pastime of "tickling trout" in the laughing stream, which,
descending from the blue moorlands above, sang its way down through the
densely wooded slopes of Crow Hill.
Jack was the youngest son of Squire Elliot of Rushworth Hall, an old but
somewhat dilapidated manor, standing on one of the ridges of the Pennine
Chain. His eldest brother, who was now twenty-two, was an ensign in the
celebrated "John Company," and at the present time was engaged in active
service in India. His second brother was at Oxford. Jack was still a
scholar (though a dull one) at the old Elizabethan Grammar School just
above the village, where stern Dr. Birch drilled little else but Greek
and Latin into unwilling pupils.
Jack's bosom chum and schoolfellow was Jamie Stuart. Now, Jamie was an
orphan, at least so far as he knew, for his mother died on the day that
he was born, and his father, a somewhat daring village character, who
once transgressed the game laws, was considered by a bench of
land-owning gentry as "too dangerous a character to remain in Burnside,
lest he should lead other folk astray," and was ultimately transported
to the new colonies in North America, and forbidden to set foot in
England again "on peril of his life," for those were the days of the
cruel game laws, when sheep-stealing was a hanging business, and to
touch a pheasant meant transportation for life.
All this happened when Jamie was a little chap of but two years, and so
he never remembered either his father or his mother. His father was said
to be very fond of his little boy--for despite his transgression, he was
a good father and a brave man, and very much the type of man that Merry
England needed at that time, to fight her enemies--and his only request
when he was sentenced was, that before he left the country he might see
again his little boy--a request which the selfish and hardened
magistrates promptly refused.
Years passed away, and village rumours said that he had escaped from his
captors directly he set foot on American soil, and had taken to the
forest, amongst the Indians tribes that inhabited the backwoods of
Pennsylvania, and that he had become a great chief amongst them; but
this was perhaps only a rumour, for no one really knew whether he was
dead or alive. So little Jamie grew up under the care of a maiden aunt,
who kept a Dame School in the little village, and being a lady of some
property, when the lad became ten years old, he was sent to the Old
Grammar School.
The time of which I write was the middle of the eighteenth century, and
England was just laying the foundations of her great future Empire,
which was to be the wonder and envy of the world.
During the past twenty years, Anson and his brave sea-dogs, though
always outnumbered in ships and men, had driven the French and Spaniards
from the seas, and had made the name of England famous all over the
world. On all the seven seas the old flag was supreme, and was proudly
unfurled to every breeze that blew.
Across the burning plains of India, and under the very palace of the Old
Mogul, was heard the boom of British guns, for against overwhelming odds
Clive was winning brilliant victories, that would soon end in bringing
the vast Indian Empire, with all its wealth and treasure, and its
multitude of dark-skinned princes, to do homage at the feet of England's
king. Nor was this all, for over the Atlantic, on the shores, the
rivers, and the great lakes of the new world, the long campaign had
already begun, which was to end in the capture of Quebec, and the
wresting of the Canadas from our inveterate foes across the Channel.
So the Squire's son and the poacher's son became fast friends. All the
Squire's efforts to separate them had failed. They were kindred
spirits, and there was no mischief or devilry ever set afoot, either in
the school or the village, in which they did not participate. All the
rules and laws that were ever invented failed to keep them within
bounds.
Their three great enemies were, Dr. Birch, Old Click, the keeper of Hawk
Woods, and Beagle, the village constable. The first had thrashed them a
score of times, the second had threatened to bring the penalties of the
game laws upon them, if they did not desist from their depredations,
whilst the third had once put them in the stocks, and threatened them
with the lock-up for the next offence.
Thus it happened, on this glorious afternoon in the early summer of
1757, when the school bell was calling its unwilling pupils to their
lessons, that these two boys were robbing the nest of a humble-bee, in a
meadow below the school, extracting the wild honey from the combs, when
the bell suddenly ceased ringing.
"There goes!--that confounded bell has stopped ringing, Jamie."
"So it has. Now we're in for it again."
"The second time this week, too," and Jack sat down and began to
whistle, "There's nae luck aboot the house," while a look of grim
despair settled on the countenance of his friend.
"And my back's still sore with that last thrashing. What shall we do,
Jack?"
"Let's go trouting in Hawk Woods."
"And what about Old Click? He said that the next time he caught us,
he'd take us before the magistrates."
"Oh, hang the magistrates and Old Click too! Why shouldn't we fish
there if we like? Shall we go?"
"Agreed!"
And the next moment they were scampering across the meadows in the
direction of the woods, taking care to keep under the shelter of the
hedges and walls as much as possible, till they had entered the friendly
cover of the trees.
Hawk Woods was a lovely bit of primeval forest, that covered both sides
of a deep valley. In places, the descent was almost precipitous, right
down to the bottom of the gully, where the burn threaded its way amongst
the rocks, boulders, and fallen tree-trunks. It was a bewitching spot.
The shimmering of a thousand trees, on whose leaves flashed the
sunlight, their brown, aged and distorted trunks, the huge scattered
rocks, and above all, the music of the stream as it tumbled half a
hundred little cascades, with the speckled trout leaping amid its whirls
and eddies, made it a charming place. Who that has seen that spot can
forget it?
This was the place that had wooed these two boys from their lessons, and
here beside the big cascade we have found them again.
Jamie had tried twice to reach the ledge behind the falls, by climbing
along the face of the rock, and clinging to the ivy roots, but there was
no foothold.
"It's no use," said Jack, "there's only one way to get there, and that
is by swimming. We can easily duck, when we come to the fall."
"Then we'll try it, for I'm already wet through, what with the spray
from the falls, and sitting down in the stream."
They quickly divested themselves of their clothing, plunged in, swam
across the pool, ducked under the cascade, and reached the narrow ledge,
which was the object of their immediate ambition, and within a quarter
of an hour they had succeeded in capturing half-a-dozen fine trout, by
the process known as "tickling," and as they caught them, they flung
them far out on the bank.
Then they swam back, and after drying themselves in the warm rays of the
sun, they dressed, and prepared to cook their afternoon meal.
An armful of twigs and broken branches, a bit of dry grass--these were
quickly gathered. Then Jack struck a spark with his tinder-box, and
there was a fire! Now the blue smoke was curling upwards, and hanging
like a wreath over the tree-tops. Alas, that fatal smoke! This it was
that betrayed them, and was the means of changing the whole course of
their lives, for other eyes had seen it from afar, and were hastening to
the spot.
In later days, amongst the backwoods of another continent, when their
nearest neighbours were a scalping party of Algonquins or fierce
Iroquois, they learnt to be more careful about that thin column of blue
smoke which rose from their evening camp-fire.
But at present they were unconscious of any such danger. The feeling
that they were most conscious of at this moment was one of hunger
somewhere amidships, for their outdoor exercise, and above all, the cold
dip, had given them healthy appetites. As soon, therefore, as the fire
had burned sufficiently clear, they laid the spoils of the chase across
a rude grid, made of a few wet sticks.
Then the savoury smell of roasted trout filled the wood, and when this
delicate repast was ready, our two young heroes feasted sumptuously on
the royal dish of red-spotted trout. When they had finished their
repast, they washed it down with a copious draught of cold water from
the stream.
"There goes the old magpie back to her nest. I wonder if the young ones
are hatched yet. I'm going aloft to see," said Jamie, and he
immediately began to climb the tall, straight fir-tree, which stood on
the very edge of a steep slope, about twenty yards away.
When he had shinned some fifteen feet up the trunk he was able to clasp
the lowest branch, and in another minute he had ascended to the very top
of the tree, and was swaying dangerously amongst the slender twigs where
the magpie had built her nest.
"How many young ones are there?" called Jack from the foot of the tree.
"Three and one egg left."
"Good! Bring the egg down. It's no good to the old bird now. It's
sure to be addled. Bring it down--you know we promised to get one for
Tiny Tim the lame boy, who can't climb."
"Why, what's the matter? Anything wrong?"
"Sh! Sh!"
Jamie was signalling desperately from the tree-top to his companion
below, and pointing across the stream, beyond the camp-fire.
"Who is it?" asked Jack, in a hoarse whisper.
"Old Click, I do believe--and--Beagle!"
"Snakes alive! What now?"
"Better come up the tree. Quietly now."
Jack was just as expert at climbing as Jamie, and never sailor-boy
shinned up the truck to the mast-head more quickly or more neatly than
he did up that tall fir-tree. In another moment they were both perched
aloft, and hidden amongst the branches.
The two men had seen the smoke from the distance, as it ascended above
the trees, and suspecting either trespassers or poachers, they had crept
quietly down to the place, and had reached the neighbourhood of the
fire, soon after the boys had left the spot.
Imagine the feelings of the latter, as from their lofty perch they
looked down upon their two bitterest enemies, only a stone's throw away,
and effectually cutting off their retreat. Only a fortnight before, they
had been hauled before the magistrates for this very same offence, and
it had required all the influence of Jack's father to protect the
youngsters from the penalty of the law.
"The young vagabonds----" Old Click was saying, as he kicked aside the
embers of the fire.
"Look! Here be the heads of six foine trout they have stolen," said
Beagle.
"I don't know whether be the worst--Squire's son or the poacher's son;
but this I know, they be both framing for Wakefield gaol, or else the
gallows."
"How do ye know it be they, Mr. Click?" asked the constable. "There be
noa evidence that I con see, as yet."
"How do I know? Why, there ain't another rascal in the village who dare
come into the woods and touch either fish or game since Jem Mason was
transported. Nobody dare do it, 'cept these two vagabonds, who are the
plague o' my life."
"Aye, the place is wunn'erfully quiet sin' I copt Jem at his old
tricks," said Beagle, straightening his shoulders, as he recalled that
stirring incident, in which, however, he took a very small part.
"And I do think, constable, that you ain't done your duty lately, to let
these two rascals play the pranks they ha' played."
"What's that you say, Mr. Click?" said Beagle, rather testily. "What
have they done?"
"Why, 'twas only last Friday that Gaffer John had a dead cat dropped
down his chimney, when he was just cooking his supper, too, and it was
all spoiled. And who was it that fired Farmer Giles's hayrick, but
these same 'gallows-birds'? The young varmint!"
"First catch your man, Mr. Click, and then you'll have evidence
'red-hot' that a bench of magistrates will look at."
"Do you hear that, Jamie?" whispered Jack. "They're on our scent for
dropping that dead cat down 'Surly John's' chimney. He deserved it, too,
the skulking old miser, for turning poor old Betty Lamb out of her
cottage. I'd do it again. But fancy blaming us for firing that
hayrick! Surely he can't mean it!"
"I'll tell you what, Jack. This place is getting too warm for us.
Let's run away and go to sea, as we always said we should."
"Chance is a fine thing. Wait till we're out of this hole. Wish we'd
the chance to run now, but if we stir they'll see us."
At this point a shrill whistle rang through the woods and startled them,
and before they had recovered from their surprise, the deep bay of a
hound was heard approaching from the distance.
"Phew----" The boys looked at each other, and for a moment their faces
blanched, as in an undertone these words simultaneously escaped from
their lips.
"Old Click's dog----"
"We're up a tree now, Jack, in more than one sense." And they were, for
they both knew the reputation of this wonderful hound. He could track a
poacher for miles, and having once got the scent, he rarely let it go
till he had run his victim down. Nearer and nearer came that deep bay,
and soon the trampling of the shrubs and undergrowth gave notice of its
arrival.
"Here, Charlie. Good dog.--Seek 'em.--Seek 'em," cried its master.
Instantly the hound began sniffing round about the embers of the fire,
till picking up the newly-placed scent, it suddenly gave vent to a
peculiar howl, and then dashed directly towards the stream. Here it
paused abruptly, and began sniffing the air, then it ran back to the
fire, picked up the scent again, and stopped once more at the edge of
the stream.
"They've crossed the water, that's certain," said the keeper.
The boys had watched this with great consternation. They had given up
all hope of escape, but when they saw this fine dog twice baffled by the
stream, hope returned in an overflowing measure.
"There is just a chance," whispered Jack.
The two men crossed the burn, and brought the dog to the other bank, to
see if it could pick up the trail. Fortunately, the boys had paddled a
little way up-stream, when they crossed, and this caused some further
delay in recovering the scent. Still the keeper persevered, and in
another quarter of an hour, the hound uttered a joyful little bark, and
with tail erect and nose to the ground, it started away in the direction
of the fir. Suddenly it stopped at the foot of the tree, where the
culprits were perched, and began clawing and scratching at the bark.
*CHAPTER II*
*HOLDING THE FORT*
Aghast--horrified--the boys looked at each other in silence. Most boys
would have blubbered and given up the game. Not so these two lads.
Their faces turned a shade paler, but a stern heroic light shone from
their eyes, as they calmly awaited events.
A moment later the constable and the keeper came struggling through the
brushwood.
"Here they are, Beagle! Caught at last. It's the two of them. The same
old birds," cried Old Click joyfully, as he caught sight of the
prisoners. "Good dog! Good old Charlie! There's a dog for you,
Beagle! Not another like him for twenty miles around. See how he's run
the vagabonds to earth!"
"He's a good dog, I admit, Mr. Click, but he hasn't quite run them to
earth yet, seeing that they're a good forty feet above the ground; but
we've got them tree'd and cornered this time, proper, eh?"
"Ho, there! Come down, ye young varmint. Come down this minute, or
t'ull be worse for you," shouted the keeper.
"I shall come down when I please," said Jamie.
"All right, you son of a poacher. I'll sit down till you do as I tell
you. I don't mind a rest and a smoke, but I won't move from this spot
till you do come down."
"Won't you move, though? You old fox. You shan't stay there if you
have tree'd us. Take that, and that," and as he spoke Jamie hurled with
all his might a chunk of dead wood, which he had torn from a withered
branch. "I'll teach you to call me names. My father was a better man
than you, any day."
The missile hit the keeper on the knee, as he sat on the grass, and gave
him a nasty shock. Up he jumped in a rage, and for a couple of minutes
he fairly danced and limped around the tree, in spite of his
determination a minute ago not to move. He clenched his fist and shook
it at the youngsters.
"I'll have the law on ye--ye young jackanapes. What's that, Beagle, but
'battery and assault,' and what's the penalty for it?"
"Twenty strokes of the birch, Mr. Click, and ten years' imprisonment,
or, more likely, transportation for life."
"Aye, that's it--transportation. Like your father got, you young
gallows-bird."
This second taunt about his father made the blood rush to the lad's
face, and he hurled another chunk of wood at the irate keeper, which
narrowly missed his head, but hit the hound instead, which set up a
frightful yell and bolted into the wood, and despite all the
blandishments of its master refused to come anywhere near the zone of
fire again.
The boys were as agile as monkeys aloft, and they quickly got several
more pieces of dead timber ready for their captors. Things were turning
out much better than they feared, and they were not having the worst of
it, so far, at least. How it would all end it was impossible to say,
but there was just this chance, that they might drive away the two men
by their determined assault, until an opportunity occurred for them to
slip down the tree; and once on the ground, with even a dozen yards
start, they could easily leave their pursuers behind. As for the
hound--well, another chunk of wood would about settle him.
Both the keeper and the constable were now very chary about showing
themselves, after the narrow escape of the former, for the boys were so
expert with the missiles, and so determined in their opposition that the
two men kept behind the tree trunks, some twenty or thirty feet away.
Both boys had their pea-shooters, with a plentiful supply of dry
wicken-berries, and whenever their opponents showed so much as an inch
of face they were mercilessly pelted.
"You young rascals. You shall pay dearly for this. Do ye know ye're
insulting the law?" cried the constable, trying hard to dodge the
pea-shooters as he spoke.
"Why don't you go home?" called out Jack. "If either of you come near
the tree again, we'll break every bone in your body. We've plenty of
wood here."
This game was continued for more than half-an-hour, at the end of which
time the two men got behind a thick holly bush near by, and began to
consult together.
The next moment the boys would have been free, for while the keepers
were thus engaged, their prisoners were preparing to slide down the tree
and make a dash for it, when, observing this, the men rushed towards the
tree just in time to prevent them.
"Come back, Jamie! Come back----" cried his companion, hurling at the
same instant another piece of wood at Beagle, who made a desperate
spring, and tried to catch hold of Jamie's legs, as he hung dangling
from a branch. The missile took effect, and the constable quickly
retreated, roaring like the "Bull of Bashan."
The next moment Old Click emerged from the wood with an armful of
bracken, with which he quickly kindled a fire. Soon a thick column of
smoke arose, and drifted towards the tree. More and more bracken and
brushwood were piled on, and the smoke became chokingly dense up there
in the tree, for the fire had been lit with the express purpose of
smoking them out.
The boys plied them valiantly with wood-chunks and wicken-berries, but
their ammunition soon failed them. The smoke had become dreadful now.
They were nearly choked with it, and were already half-blinded. What
could they do? Still they held out. They mounted to the very top of
the tree, and sat there with their faces buried in their hands to keep
that suffocating smoke from their eyes and nostrils.
"Coming down now, sir?" asked the keeper, who had now begun to light
another fire at the root of the tree, for he saw that there was no more
ammunition aloft, but he had counted without his host.
"No, you villains! Take that!--and that!" shouted Jack, at the same
time hurling down through the smoke first one boot and then another, as
a last resort.
The second boot caught Old Click in the middle of the back as he was
stooping down to tend the fire, and made him give vent to a yell which
resounded through the woods. This incident evoked a bit of high-sounding
English that I will not here repeat--suffice it to say that the yell
brought Beagle, who had gone to fetch a woodman's axe, running to the
spot to see what had happened.
The keeper sat down on the grass for a few moments, and the boys were
afraid that they had killed him, but in a little while he sprang up
again and cried out angrily--
"I'll give you two minutes to come down, gentlemen. At the end of that
time I shall cut down the tree."
There was no answer, and at the end of the two minutes the keeper spoke
again.
"Will you come down and go quietly to the lock-up?" Still no answer,
and the next moment----
"Chip!--chip!" went the axe, and at every stroke the tall tree shook.
The trunk was more than half-way through now, and the whole stem
trembled with the blows, when a voice called from aloft, through the
smoke--
"Stop! Mr. Click, if you please."
Quite willing to take a brief rest and to enjoy the discomfort of the
youngsters, the keeper stayed his axe for a moment.
"We'll come down, Mr. Click, if you won't take us to the lock-up. We've
only had six of your beastly trout, and they were not worth two-pence
each, but we're willing to pay you for them, and to come down, if you
won't take us before the magistrates. We've done nothing to deserve
it," said Jack, as he prepared to descend.
"Do you hear that, Beagle? That's what I call trying to bribe an honest
man. What do you call it?"
"That's it--bribery and corruption," replied the constable.
"The terms of surrender are unconditional, you young jackanapes." And
with that Click went to work with the axe again. The tree quivered, and
gave signs that it was about to fall.
"Stop! Stop! We're coming down." And then, realising that the game
was up, the two chums quietly slid down the trunk into the arms of their
captors, and were triumphantly marched off to the lock-up.
It was getting dark when they reached this ugly little building, but
they were unceremoniously thrust inside, and when the key grated in the
lock and the two men had left them, with only the rats for their
companions, they were just a little bit "skeered."
"Jamie! Where are you?" asked Jack, when they had been left alone in
the silence and the darkness for some minutes.
"Here! Here!" cried his companion, and they crept along the wall until
they were able to touch each other. Then they cowered down in a corner,
against the wall.
"We'll get out of this before morning, else my name's not Jack Elliot,
and then we'll do that which we've often spoken about. We'll run
away--we'll go to sea--we'll tramp to Liverpool, and we'll find a ship
going abroad, and we'll get taken aboard somehow--and--and we'll stick
together, and make our fortunes. What say you, Jamie?"
"Jack, you're a brick. Give me your hand. I'll go with you, and we'll
stick together. I've no father and no mother, and no friends--except
you. All the world's against us. Old Click and Beagle have been trying
to catch us for months, and now they've done it. They'll brag about it,
and the whole village will laugh at us."
"Yes, they've threatened to turn us out of school, and now they'll
perhaps send us to prison, just for taking a few trout, as though God
didn't make the trout, and the streams, and the woods for all of us.
And to-morrow they'll bring us before the magistrates----"
"Will they, though? They won't have the chance. Just hold this, while
I get a light, and then we'll examine the place," and Jamie pulled a
piece of tar-band out of his pocket, unravelled the end, and handed it
to his companion. Next, he took out his tinder-box, and quickly threw a
shower of sparks on to the tow, which produced a little flame, about the
size of a rushlight. Then they began to look around them.
It was a common type of village lock-up, built of rough, undressed
stones from the neighbouring quarries. It had massive oaken doors,
which had been securely locked, and there were no windows, for the only
opening was a small aperture, eighteen inches square, and about seven
feet from the ground, and it was caged by several rusty iron bars. The
floor was flagged with stones and covered with rushes.
The place was used merely as a temporary lock-up for poachers and other
law-breakers before their transference to the county gaol, and was
situated just outside the village. In a few minutes they had examined
the doors, the walls and the floor, but they sought in vain for any spot
that offered a chance of escape.
"The grating, Jack! Let's try the grating. I reckon that's our only
chance. Here, give me a leg! Let me climb on to your shoulders and try
the bars." This was no sooner said than done.
"Here's luck! The middle bar is filed through at one end, and here on
the ledge is a rusty file, thick with cobwebs. How jolly! Some one's
been at this game before, and it's never been discovered. Half the
work's been done for us, but it must have been many years ago. I
believe if we can file through the other end of this bar we can squirm
through."
"I wonder who did it?"
"Blessings on his head, whoever or wherever he is. May he never want a
friend!"
It was indeed a long time ago since the file had been used. It had lain
there for twelve years hidden by cobwebs and dust, and the poacher who
had used it had been transported.
For the next half-hour the two boys took turns filing away at that thick
iron bar, standing or kneeling on each other's shoulders. Suddenly at
the end of that time voices were heard, and then footsteps approaching.
"Sh! Sh! Put out the light, Jamie, quick! Some one is coming." The
light was extinguished, and the prisoners sat down quietly on the
rush-strewn floor.
Who could it be? Had the magistrates sent some one already to remove
them to the county gaol? If so, their chances of escape were already
cut off. They determined to wait quietly and see, for this was all they
could do.
Nearer and nearer came the sounds they had previously heard. The
footsteps halted outside the heavy doors. The rays of light from a
lanthorn flashed through the interstices and the openings. Some one was
examining the lock. Who could it be? The boys' hearts quaked with fear
lest their efforts at escape should be foiled. Then they heard the
voices of their captors.
"They ain't broke gaol yet, Beagle! The lock's safe and sound. We've
got them safe--this time," said Old Click.
"Have you, though?" whispered Jack, under his breath.
"Hullo, there, ye young varmints! Who's master now? You won't do any
more poaching in Hawk Woods, I'll warrant," said the keeper, who seemed
to have come purposely to poke fun at them. Then Jamie pretended to sob
piteously.
"Oh, it's crying ye are, is it? Ah, well, it's too late for repentance
now. Ye should ha' thought o' that before."
"Come away now, Mr. Click. They're safe till the morning, anyhow. Then
we can bring them before the magistrates and have them whipped, and sent
to prison, and perhaps transported. Come away," said Beagle.
"I'd like to see the man who would dare to whip me," cried out Jack, his
voice ringing with anger and defiance.
"Tut, tut! my little man! When a boy begins training so early for the
gallows, what can he expect? Howsoever, 'tis no use argefying, so I'll
just bid ye good-night." After which they both went off chuckling and
saying--
"'Twill be a lesson for them. T' squire and schoolmaster seemed
mightily pleased over it."
To do the janitors justice, however, I must here say that it was not
intended to punish the lads further than by letting them spend the night
in the lock-up, in the hope that this might teach them a severe lesson.
To this course Jack's father and the schoolmaster, who had been already
informed, quite agreed.
The lads, however, took it more seriously, and felt convinced from
precedents within their memory that the full severity of the law would
be meted out to them, and they determined to prevent it by escaping and
running away from Burnside and saving their families this terrible
disgrace, for Jamie still looked upon his aunt as his guardian, and
though Jack had no mother or sisters, he had a father and brothers.
Besides, they were just at that age when romance begins; for all their
heroes had commenced life by running away.
As soon, therefore, as their janitors were out of hearing, they set to
work again with the rusty old file, which by this time had lost much of
its rust and had begun to bite keenly. It was hard work, but their
freedom and their future were at stake. They were hungry, too, for
since dinner they had tasted nothing but those few trout which they had
taken from the burn.
It was damp and chilly too, but they did not feel the cold, for they
were aglow with the exercise and flushed with the promise of victory.
"Hurrah! It's through at last!" exclaimed Jamie, as the file slipped
and the heavy bar fell upon the floor with a jangle and a jar.
"Bravo, old fellow! Well done."
Jamie put the file in his pocket, and swung himself up by the remaining
bars. There was now an aperture about eleven inches square, and though
it required a bit of a struggle to squeeze through that awkward gap, yet
they had both done more difficult things than that in the past, and so
within five minutes they were both standing in the road outside the
lock-up.
*CHAPTER III*
*A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA*
The village clock in the old church tower was striking eleven. It was
dreadfully dark, but the lads were not afraid, and they started off at a
sharp trot, as soon as they had regained their liberty. For some
distance they followed the tree-lined road that led away from the
village. They kept on in silence till they reached the outskirts of
Bogden Woods, then they took one of the narrow, winding paths that led
down through the thicket, crossed the stream at the bottom of the dell,
and ascended the opposite hill-side.
Still they kept on--now through the more open country, over hill and
dale, until at the end of two hours, despite the darkness, they had put
six good miles between themselves and the lock-up.
At last, fatigued beyond measure, they halted for a rest below Lin-Crag,
one of the highest peaks in the Pennine Chain. Here, on the lower
reaches of the moor, they made for themselves a bed of dried heather,
where they could lie down.
"Here, let us rest awhile, Jack, for I'm dead beat," said Jamie.
"Right!" said his companion, "No one will discover us here."
After a short breathing space, they began to take stock of their
possessions. Alas! Jamie had but a few pennies and half-pence, a piece
of tar-band and a tinder-box, while Jack could only find a penknife, a
pocket compass and a sixpence. This, then, was their stock-in-trade,
and it did not promise them much luxury on their way to the sea.
"Now," said Jack, "I have an uncle who is captain of a ship that trades
between the River Plate and Liverpool--Captain Elliot is his name, and
the ship is called the _Ilawara_. If, when we get to Liverpool, he
should happen to be in port, I am sure that he would give us both a
berth aboard, for once, when father took me to see him, he advised me to
become a sailor, when I had grown up."
"Capital! But let's see, how far away is Liverpool?"
"It must be about sixty miles away, and almost due west, right over the
moors there, for I've often measured it roughly on the map. I think
that's the west, though I can't quite see the needle of the compass in
the dark."
"Yes, Jack, that's the west, right over the moors and over Lin-Crag too,
and there are about twelve miles of moorland, with plenty of peat-bog,
and soft ground, so that it will not be safe to go much further till
daybreak."
"You're sure that's the west, Jamie?"
"Yes, certain. Why, look, you don't need a compass! There's the North
Star, and the Cassiopean Guards, and right opposite is the south, and
over there must be the east, as you'll soon see when the day breaks."
"Bravo, Jamie! You're as good as a compass."
"Then we'll sleep here, and at sunrise we'll get some food and start for
Liverpool, and there'll be no going back for either of us. The die is
cast, old fellow. What say you?"
"The die is cast! We will not go back."
They both laid themselves down on a couch of heather, there to spend the
rest of the night, but they were too excited to sleep--the events of the
past twenty-four hours chased each other through their brains. Jamie
was nearly dozing off, however, when Jack suddenly leapt to his feet,
and exclaimed----
"Here's a piece of luck, Jamie!"
"Why, what's the matter? How you did startle me!" cried the other.
"Just look here!" said Jack, ripping open the lining of his jacket, and
taking out something that gleamed bright, even in the starlight.
"Why--it's a guinea! Where did you get it?"
"I'd forgotten all about it myself. About a month ago, Aunt Emma drove
over from Honley, to see father, and when she went away, she said
something about my being a poor motherless bairn, and she slipped this
into my hand as she left. She asked me to buy myself a present with
it."
"But you didn't?"
"No! I had a presentiment that when we ran away, we should want it, so
I just sewed it into the lining of my coat, and till this moment, I'd
entirely forgotten it."
"We're rich men, Jack. We are indeed in luck."
They were doubly excited now and quite unable to sleep, so they talked
on about the future that lay before them, full of golden promise, when
once they reached Liverpool. Then two hours before the dawn they fell
fast asleep, and they slept so soundly that when at length they awoke
the sun was nearly half-way to the meridian. Even then they were
wakened by a rough but kindly voice that sounded in their ears----
"Here's a pretty sight, Jane! Come and see it. Here are two young
gen'elmen, sleeping out o' doors." Then giving them both a hearty
shake, he exclaimed, "What's the meaning o' this, young gen'elmen? Have
you run away from school?"
Both boys sat up quickly, and rubbed their eyes. Then they looked
around them, bewildered and astonished. Where were they? How came they
here? Who was this big, burly-looking farmer before them?
It was a full half minute before they became fully conscious of all that
had happened. At length they looked at each other, and then burst out
laughing, for they were both relieved to find that the intruder was
neither Old Click nor Beagle. Jane the milkmaid came over to the spot,
leaving the cow that she had been milking, some twenty yards away.
The boys looked around them again to take their bearings before they
replied to the farmer. A dozen cattle stood round about, chewing their
cud lazily, and flicking off, with their long tails, the flies that had
already begun to bother them, while beside the farmer stood his faithful
sheep-dog, which had really first attracted his master's attention to
the spot. The place where they had been sleeping was a sheltered little
hollow, where the meadow joined the moor, while about two hundred yards
away was a long, low farmhouse.
"I see you're running away from school, gen'elmen," repeated the farmer,
good-humouredly, for there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, sir," replied Jack, thinking it best to let it stop at that.
"An' where are you goin' to?"
"Liverpool--to the sea----"
A burst of laughter, like a minor explosion, came from the farmer. "Ah,
I see. But ye'll be glad to get home before to-morrow night. I once
tried it myself, I did. Walked all the way to Liverpool, and when I got
there--ha! ha! ha!--the sea was rough, and I was 'skeered' an' I didn't
like the look of it, and I turned back home, an' I tell ye, that for
four days and for four nights I had nothing to eat, 'cept a few raw
turnips. My poor feet were that sore an' blistered that I sometimes lay
down and cried, and when at last, after six days, I limped back into the
farm-yard yonder, my faither said--
"'What! Home again so soon, Jock? I didn't expect ye for anither week,
lad!'
"'Could I ha' a basin o' porridge, faither?' I said meekly.
"'Jock,' he said, 'afore ye touch ony porridge, ye mun' earn it. Do ye
see that heap o' stones there? Well, ye mun' wheel 'em across the yard
there afore ye touch ony porridge here.'
"It was the same heap of stones that I had refused to wheel, and which
had been the cause o' my setting off to Liverpool. I were that tired
and faint an' hungry that I were ready to drop, but I simply said--
"'All right, faither,' and I began the task; but when I had wheeled a
dozen barrow-loads or so, the old man saw me stagger once or twice.
"'That'll do! Porridge is ready, Jock, lad.' An' to my dying day I
shall never taste anither meal half so foine as yon basin o' porridge,
an' if ye lads 'll take my advice, ye'll just turn back, and go home
again, for it'll come to that later, only then ye'll be footsore and
tired and hungry. But please yersel's, I don't suppose ye'll listen to
an old man," he added, as he saw a clouded and uneasy look come over
their faces.
"We're not going back," said Jamie boldly. "Are we, Jack?"
"No! We'll die first."
"I thought so. Maybe you're hungry, and could do with a little
breakfast, lads."
"Indeed, we could, sir, and we're willing to pay for it."
"Tut! tut! Come into the house, then." And the kindly old man led them
to the farmhouse, where his wife simply said, "Puir lads," and soon
provided for them a substantial meal.
A large steaming basin of oatmeal porridge was soon laid before each of
them, made from rich milk, instead of water. They soon made short work
of this. Then Jane brought in a plate of home-made cakes,
well-buttered, but still their hunger did not abate one jot. The farmer
was used to big appetites, and neither his wife nor Jane expressed any
surprise. Then their host took out his huge clasp knife and cut several
rashers from a flitch of bacon that hung suspended from the ceiling.
These were fried along with a few eggs, and when they had cleared this
third dish, the keen edge was taken from their appetites, and they
declared that they were satisfied.
They thanked the farmer for his great kindness, and asked him how much
they were indebted to him, but when they offered to pay, he held up both
hands, and exclaimed--
"Not a penny! Keep your money. You'll want it all before long. It
does me good to see lads with pluck like yours. Maybe you'll get
further than I did. I think you're made of different stuff, and I ha'
quite ta'en a fancy to you. While we've lads like you, we shall never
want men to fight the Frenchers."
"I have a brother fighting under Clive now, in India!" exclaimed Jack,
with a touch of family pride.
"Oh, maybe you're Squire Elliot's son, then!"
At this Jack's face fell, for he saw that he had well-nigh given away
his identity.
"Ah well, never mind! Perhaps ye did not get on very well with the old
squire. He was a harder man after your poor mother died."
The mention of his mother gave Jack a twinge of pain, and caused a lump
to rise in his throat. His mother's early death had removed his
guardian angel. Perhaps he would have been a better lad if she had
lived; more tame and docile, like other boys.
"Puir lad!" exclaimed the farmer's wife; "and has he no mother then? He
ma' weel run away."
Jack's tears were very near the surface, but he forced them back with an
effort, for he considered it a great weakness to give way to his
feelings.
As they left the old farmhouse, yet another kindness was shown to them,
for Jane, secretly bidden by the farmer's wife, had made up a bundle of
substantial oat-cakes, with a large piece of cheese, and as they passed
out of the door she handed it to them.
This last act of kindness to these two poor motherless lads touched
their hearts as perhaps nothing else could have done. They had not been
used to such kindness, and they expressed their gratitude, not by words,
for they couldn't speak, but by the great, big tears that welled up in
their eyes, despite their every effort to keep them back now. Ah!
nothing penetrates a boy's heart like kindness.
The old farmer pointed out the way, across the moors, and over
Lin-Crag--the way he had trodden fifty years ago, and soon they were
climbing the steep hill-side, knee-deep in heather, and following the
winding sheep tracks. Again and again they turned round to wave their
handkerchiefs at the trio standing by the farm-yard gate now far beneath
them, until at last, as they stood on the summit of the crag, the house
looked like a little speck in the distance and soon disappeared.
Then they footed it gaily across the lonely blue moorlands. Sometimes
they started a covey of young grouse, hidden amongst the heather; then
the peewits wheeled around them, uttering plaintive cries, as though
bidding them good-bye. The scenes of their childhood, and the landscape
on which their infant eyes had first gazed, were now left behind. The
little lambs frisked about playfully, or cropped the short, green
patches of tough grass near the water-courses, while overhead the larks
sang joyously, continuously, and the sun shone brilliantly down from
that wide expanse of azure dome.
The lads sang, too, blithely, lustily, for nothing could repress that
feeling that was bubbling up within them; they trod the earth lightly,
for they were in the "Land of Havilah," which is the "Golden Land of
Youth," where the sun is always shining, where all the visions and
ideals are golden, the enthusiasm and the energy boundless. So life with
all its charm was opening out to them, but what was that life to be?
"Let us halt beside this spring, Jamie, for we have come twelve miles
since morning," said Jack, about an hour after mid-day.
So they rested awhile, and ate some of the oat-cakes, and drank at the
spring, where commenced a little stream of clear water, which sang its
way down to the sea. Soon they left the wild moorlands behind them, and
descending the western slopes of the Pennines, they entered the county
of Lancaster, and passed through several hamlets and villages, where the
rude country people spoke a dialect which they could scarcely
understand.
Towards evening their footsteps began to lag. They had long ago ceased
to sing, or even to whistle. They were tired and footsore, and for the
last hour they had trudged on in silence, for they were both very brave,
and neither would confess fatigue.
That night they slept under a hayrick in the corner of a field. They
slept soundly, too, but next morning they were up early, and after
performing their ablutions, and cooling their blistered feet in a
neighbouring pond, they finished the oat-cakes and cheese, and started
again.
The first day they had covered nearly half the distance between their
home and that rising little sea-port town of Liverpool, whose docks and
wharves were now crowded with ships from every part of the globe. The
second day, however, they were too footsore to travel half that
distance, and they had to break into that golden guinea to buy food, but
they still persisted and never spake one word about turning back, and in
the afternoon of the fourth day their hearts beat with joy, as they
reached the top of a little eminence, that is now part and parcel of the
great city of Liverpool, but was then merely a country lane, and their
eyes were gladdened by a first glimpse of the forest of masts and spars,
that lay in the river beneath them, while out there--beyond the bar,
where the breakers were rolling in by the lighthouse--was the sea.
"The sea! the sea!" they both exclaimed.
And in the transport of joy which followed, tired limbs and blistered
feet were forgotten, for this was their first glimpse of the sea.
*CHAPTER IV*
*THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOP*
Soon they were down by the Mersey's bank, at a spot where the famous
landing-stage has since been erected. Then they passed along the
wharves and docks, but recently constructed, where the big ships, with
their towering masts and spars, came in to unload their valuable
cargoes, for here were ships from the Levant and the Eastern
Archipelagoes, from Spain and the West Indies, from the Canadas and the
new colonies of America.
Never before had they seen such noble vessels, nor had they dreamt it
possible that such leviathans could be built. Never before had they
gazed upon such a vast concourse of people, rushing hither and thither,
shouting, pushing, loading and unloading, as though every ship must
catch the next tide that flowed.
Their hearts swelled with pride as they stood and watched a stately
barque, fresh from the River Plate, being warped in to the bank and made
fast. Some of her swarthy crew were aloft clewing up the sails, others
were below, stowing away, making fast, or squaring the yards, singing
snatches of songs, but all of them eager and longing to get ashore and
to set foot in Old England again.
Oh, how they envied these men, who had sailed those far-away seas and
seen those lands with strangely-sounding names, and islands that gleamed
like gems set in the tropical seas. East, west, north and south met here
with all their charm and romance, for then Liverpool was rapidly
becoming an emporium for the sea-borne commerce of the world.
And so the lads forgot the toil and weariness of the past four days, for
they were bewildered by the strange and wonderful scenes which were
being enacted before them. They were both romantic and imaginative, and
nothing of it was lost upon them, for it all was so new.
They forgot that they were hungry and tired, homeless and friendless,
and almost at the end of their tether. It was as though the very ships
were speaking to them of the places whence they came. They told them of
far eastern seas, of dusky kings and princes, whose palaces, crowned
with minarets and towers, lined the golden shores of those far-off
lands. They spoke of coral islands which shone like gems in an emerald
sea, of shining strands that were edged with fronded palms, of rich and
spicy groves that were filled with new and luscious fruits, of the
jungle, the prairie and the forest. All these things and more were out
there--in the west, beyond the lighthouse and the sunset.
The big ship from the River Plate was alongside now. The merchants were
going aboard to see the lading, but the sailors, with merry hearts and
other thoughts, were coming ashore, dancing and singing like huge
schoolboys set at liberty. One had a parrot that he carried in a cage,
another had brought home a monkey, while some had strange curios worked
by the natives, but each man seemed to have brought some present or
keepsake for those at home. They all seemed so jolly, too, that the
boys made up their minds, there and then, that they would take the first
ship that offered, whether eastward or westward bound.
'Twas getting toward evening, and in another two hours it would be dark,
but they still wandered spellbound about the ships. Several times they
had spoken to sailors and officers, and each time Jack had asked after
his uncle, Captain Elliot of the _Ilawara_, but no one seemed to know
him. They had now begun to wonder where they would have to spend the
night, if no one would take them aboard. They were beginning to feel a
little bit uneasy.
In their wanderings they had several times passed and repassed a fine
ship that was almost ready for sailing, and they now found themselves
close by her again. The men were aboard, and several officers were on
the afterdeck, and they had wished very much to hail them, but so far
they had not had the temerity to do so.
"I wonder where she's going to, Jack?" said his chum, as they sat down
upon a coil of rope just alongside.
"Out west, somewhere. To the Americas, I believe."
"She's going out on this tide. I heard one of the men aboard say so. I
wish they'd take us."
"Clear that gangway, lads! Here comes the captain, and the pilot, too!"
cried one of the officers.
The lads looked around and saw a smart-looking officer in uniform coming
along the quay, accompanied by an older man--a veritable sea-dog, with
his arm full of oilskins and a sou'wester on his head.
"How soon do you hope to reach America, Captain Forbes?" the pilot was
asking.
"In five weeks, if this wind holds."
"Have you got a full crew aboard?"
"We're three hands short of a full complement, but I don't intend to
wait, with this wind blowing."
"Did you hear that, Jack? Three hands short, and sailing to-night,"
whispered Jamie.
"Now is the time! Let's try our luck."
"Agreed!"
They boldly approached the captain, and Jack, acting as spokesman, began
somewhat nervously thus--
"If you please, sir, we want to go to sea."
"What's that?" snapped the captain. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"I heard you say, sir, just now, that you were three hands short aboard
your ship. If you will take us we will try hard to serve you in any
capacity."
"But, my little man," said the captain, stooping down, for he was very
tall, "I don't take babies aboard my ship. You see, we haven't got any
nurses to look after them when they cry."
The lads drew themselves up to their full height, and told the captain
that they were fifteen, and that they had walked sixty miles to reach
Liverpool, and that they meant to go to sea, if not aboard his ship,
then aboard some other vessel.
"Take an old sea-captain's advice, lads. Don't go to sea till you're
twenty, and then you'll never go at all. The sea's not exactly the
place for young gentlemen like you. Go home to your mothers."
"We've got no mothers, or perhaps we shouldn't have come here!" said
Jack, flushing up a little at the captain's words.
"Oh, come now, my little bantams. If that's so it alters the case. For
the boy who hasn't got a mother the sea's not a bad place. Just tell me
who you are, and where you come from?"
So they told him all, for there was a glint of kindness in that stern
face, and a twinkle in those clear, grey-blue eyes that gained their
confidence. They even told the story of Old Click and Beagle, and the
lock-up. When they described the manner in which they had held the
keepers at bay with the wood-chunks, till they were burnt out, both the
captain and the old pilot laughed heartily, and when they had described
their long, wearisome tramp to find Captain Elliot's ship, the skipper
clapped them on the shoulder and said--
"Bravo! You've got grit and pluck enough to become admirals. Captain
Elliot, did you say?"
"Yes, sir, Captain Elliot."
"Of what ship?"
"The _Ilawara_. He is my uncle, and he promised I should go to sea with
him when I was fifteen. Do you know him, sir?"
"Why, yes! We were boys together aboard the frigate _Monmouth_. We had
many a fight with the French in those days, and many a close shave too.
Fancy you being his nephew." Then turning to the old pilot, the captain
said, "What say you, William? Shall I take the young gamecocks? I like
them, but the sea's a rough place for young lads."
The pilot brought a pair of kindly eyes to bear upon the youngsters, as
though he envied their youth and outlook upon life, and longed to be
young again, and then said--
"Take 'em, Captain Forbes. A voyage will do them no harm. 'Tisn't as
though they were taken crying from their mothers. It'll larn 'em a
useful lesson. 'Tis just the way I went to sea meself. Take 'em."
"Get aboard, youngsters, and report yourself to Mr. Rogers, the first
mate."
The youngsters did get aboard. Their hearts were thumping with pride
and glee, for they had gained their hearts' desire, and before long they
had cleared the Mersey bar and were standing out to sea, sailing out
into the sunset. When the pilot went overboard, he nodded to them, and
hoped that they'd come home some day "Admirals of the Blue."
As soon as his duties permitted, Captain Forbes himself took them in
hand and assigned them their work. He supplied them each with a middy's
outfit, enrolled their names on the ship's books, and gave them a small
cabin near his own. Although the captain had taken a special fancy to
them, they were not to find it all honey, however. They were to help
the men to take in sail, to share in the watches, to personally attend
upon the captain, and to do much monotonous and arduous work, but they
never shied at it and never disobeyed a superior officer. Each day,
however, several hours were set aside for study, and the captain
provided the books and set the lessons, which were in mathematics,
navigation and seamanship.
Captain Forbes took a kind and fatherly interest in the lads, though he
never relaxed for one moment that stern discipline which is so necessary
for a headstrong youth. He taught them that the only way to learn how
to command others was by first learning how to command themselves.
Nevertheless, to set matters right at home he had sent a letter by the
pilot, addressed to Jack's father, telling him where the lads were, and
asking him not to be uneasy on their account, as one voyage would soon
settle whether their future was to be upon the sea or not. Under these
favourable conditions our heroes soon got their "sea-legs," and made
rapid progress in their new studies, though they never forget the
dreadful fright they received the first time they were sent aloft in bad
weather.
One dark night, in a fierce gale off the Irish coast, they were ordered
to assist the men in furling the main-top-gallant and main-royal sails.
The vessel was creaking and straining beneath them; rolling uneasily in
the trough of the sea. Long before they reached the crosstrees their
hearts were thumping wildly and their teeth were chattering with fright,
and for a moment Jack wished that he were safe ashore, even if in the
old village lock-up again; but the worst was yet to come.
Far down beneath them the slippery decks seemed black as night, except
when a huge green wave swept it from stem to stern. The captain was
shouting orders to the men aloft, as though the lives of all aboard
depended upon a ready compliance, and for a while the men in the rigging
seemed helpless. The hoarse voice of the first mate was heard calling
to the men who were struggling at the wheel, and all seemed confusion.
Still, the lads felt that the eyes of the captain were upon them, and
they did not come down till their work was done, although when they
reached the yards they thought their last moment had come, as the canvas
filled like a huge bladder, and nearly hurled them off into the boiling
surf and the destruction that threatened them below. They remained at
their posts, assisting the men, hanging on sometimes by their teeth,
until the sails were dragged in and furled, and the gaskets made fast
and true.
After that experience they soon acquired more confidence and were easily
at home, whether aloft or below, in fact, if anything, they preferred to
be aloft. 'Tis possible, even, that they might have adopted the sea as
a profession, and that their names might have come down to us with some
of the illustrious admirals of that period, but for an incident which
happened when they had been about four weeks at sea, and which changed
the course of their lives once more.
They were within two hundred leagues of Cape Cod on the New England
coast, and they were congratulating themselves on having escaped the
vigilance of the enemy's cruisers, for they had a valuable cargo aboard,
destined for Boston, when the following incident happened. Seven bells
had just sounded in the middle watch, and both Jamie and Jack were on
duty, perched on the crosstrees in the foretop. It was very cold up
there, and they were both longing for the end of the watch that they
might descend and warm themselves at the galley fire and appease their
ravenous hunger before turning in for a sleep. Day was just breaking
away to the east, but ahead it was still dark and a little cloudy.
Suddenly, through a rift in the clouds, over there in the north-west,
towards the coast of the French Canadas, Jamie saw a tiny speck, low
down on the horizon. He was about to hail the deck, but first pointed
it out to Jack.
"What can it be?"
"Take the glass, Jamie. My hands are so numbed and cold I cannot keep
it still."
Jamie took the telescope, and steadying himself for an instant, he
leaned against the mast and held the glass to his eye. As he brought it
to bear on that speck, the cry involuntarily burst from his lips--
"A sail! A sail!"
"Where away?" called the first mate from the deck.
"On the starboard bow, sir, north-west by west."
"What do you make of her?"
"Can't raise her hull yet, sir, but she must be a big ship, for she
carries a good head of canvas."
Almost instantly the mate was up in the fore-top, carefully examining
the stranger. As he did so a grave look crossed his face.
"Anything wrong, sir?" queried Jamie.
"I don't like the look of her. I fear she's no friend. We may have to
run." Again he examined her. Then, shutting up the glass with a bang,
he said--
"Go down, Elliot, and call the captain."
"Aye, aye, sir."
While the captain was being called, eight bells sounded the end of the
watch, and though Jack had been eagerly longing for that blessed sound
before, he would now willingly have remained aloft to watch that distant
speck, which seemed fraught with such danger.
As he reached the deck he met the captain coming up the companion
ladder. The latter immediately called out to the first mate, who had
remained aloft--
"Is she showing any colours, Mr. Rogers?"
"Not yet, sir!"
"What do you think she is?"
"She's a cruiser, sir. Of that I'm pretty certain, but whether English
or French I can't yet say."
At this alarming news, the captain himself went aloft and keenly
examined the movements of the stranger for a few minutes, and then
said--
"She's a French cruiser, Mr. Rogers, and a fast one too. We must either
fight her or show her a clean pair of heels."
In a few minutes the _Duncan's_ course was altered. Every stitch of
canvas that she could carry was flung out. Royals and stuns'ls were
set, and with the foam surging under her bows she fairly bounded through
the water, leaving a wake astern that was a mile long.
*CHAPTER V*
*THE FIGHT WITH THE FRIGATE*
There was no little excitement aboard when it became known that the
distant sail, "hull down" upon the horizon, was probably a French
frigate.
"Look at her white canvas, and her large, square yards!" exclaimed
Jamie. "She must be a man-of-war, and even if she's only a frigate
she'll carry thirty guns against our ten, and treble the number of men."
"If she is a Frenchman she'll sink us, that's certain, though I hope
Captain Forbes will make a fight of it," replied Jack, who could not
entirely suppress a feeling akin to dread, as he watched the approaching
ship.
"There's just a chance that she may be a friend, after all, for even the
English cruisers do not always show their colours to the quarry until
all chance of escape is cut off."
"It's just possible, of course, for there should be plenty of them
hereabouts. Mr. Rogers tells me that last year they brought no less than
three hundred French ships and their crews into English ports."
Breakfast was served as soon as the excitement aboard the _Duncan_ had
abated somewhat, and afterwards the captain assembled the crew and
addressed them as follows--
"Lads, we're now within two hundred leagues of the New England coast,
and we're carrying a valuable cargo. 'Tis our duty to save it if we
can, but yonder is a fast and powerful frigate in our wake, who won't
show any colours, though mine have been flying at the mast-head this
half-hour."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" burst from the men, as they saw the ensign they loved
so well unfurled to the breeze.
"That's right, lads! I'm glad to see that you're not ashamed to fight
for the old flag," exclaimed the captain.
"We'll die for it, captain, if need be!" shouted several of the men, and
no wonder, for 'tis remarkable the courage that even a flag inspires in
the presence of an enemy, especially when that enemy dares to insult it.
"The fact that he has not yet shown his colours," went on the captain,
"means that we've an enemy in our wake. Still, if this breeze holds we
may outsail him, but if we can't do that we've got to fight him."
"Aye! aye! sir! Let's fight him."
"No Frenchman shall ever take my ship while I live. I'll blow her up
first. Mark my words, lads. I will!" This was spoken in such a
fierce, but deliberate manner that the men all saw that Captain Forbes
meant it, and they responded with a ringing cheer, which rent the air
like a broadside, and filled each heart with courage and determination.
"So now, lads, let's clear the decks, and prepare for the worst."
"Aye! aye! sir!"
And the men went to work as only British tars can work. They cleared
the decks of everything that was useless in an action. They cleaned and
loaded the guns, but they did not as yet open the port-lids to run them
out, lest the lower decks should be swamped, and the ship delayed. They
ran out the boarding-nets, and brought up the powder, wads and shot.
They got ready their cutlasses and boarding-pikes, and in every way
possible prepared to meet a daring foe.
"Tell the men aloft to keep a sharp lookout. We may sight an English
frigate at any moment, and then we shall see some fun, Mr. Rogers."
"Aye! aye! captain. That we shall," replied the mate.
Slowly the distant frigate gained upon the _Duncan_, and before noon it
could be easily seen from the deck, though still some five leagues
distant. Nearer and nearer she came, and every man aboard the _Duncan_
had now made up his mind that a fight was the only possible ending, and
the sooner it came, the better.
The second mate, Mr. Hudson, and Jamie were in the fore-top now, and
just before dinner the captain hailed them, and said--
"Ho, there! Can you make out her armament yet?"
"Pretty well, sir."
"How many guns does she carry?"
"Twenty-six, I fancy, sir, for I can make out thirteen portholes on her
starboard side."
The captain trod the deck impatiently, looking anxiously first at the
approaching frigate, and then into the weather quarter, as though he
anticipated a change.
"I fear the wind's dropping, Mr. Rogers," he said to the first mate, who
paced the deck beside him. "We shall have a calm shortly," and within
another half-hour the wind moderated, and shortly after that it blew
spasmodically, and the frigate, now only two leagues away, was "laying
on and off," trying to catch every breath of wind. The sails then
flapped idly against the masts, and there followed a dead calm, when
both ships lay helpless upon a mirrored sheet of glass.
A puff of blue smoke broke away from one of the starboard guns of the
enemy, as she now lay broadside on towards the English ship, and then--
"Boom!" came a report, rumbling over the water.
At the same instant the French flag was broken at the mast-head.
"I thought as much, lads! Now we know who she is, and what she wants.
That shot is a demand for surrender. What are those other flags he's
hanging out, Mr. Hudson?"
"He's signalling, sir. Wants to know if we've struck. What shall I
tell him, sir?"
"Tell him we haven't struck yet, but we'll do so as soon as he comes a
little nearer, in the same way that Englishmen always strike."