Just three weeks after their arrival in London, Captain and Mrs Lyle
were back once more at Grayling House. They had only received one
letter from Leonard, though he had written several, but mails in those
days took long to reach their destination, and often arrived only after
many strange adventures.
As the carriage drove up through the long avenue with its tall trees of
drooping birch, wonder was expressed by the parents that Leonard and
Effie did not come bounding to meet them, as was their wont.
"Surely, dear," said Mrs Lyle, "something must be very much wrong.
Hurry up, coachman."
Old Peter did not hide his grief. He met his master and mistress
wringing his hands, with the tears flowing fast over his wrinkled face,
and word by word they had to worm out of him his pitiful story.
Captain Lyle did all he could to comfort his wife, and pretended to
laugh at the whole affair. It was only a boy's freak, he said, and only
a brave boy like Leonard would have done or dared so much. He loved the
lad all the better for it. No doubt the little caravan and the truants
would return in a day or two.
But though he spoke thus his mind was ill at ease, and he determined at
once to start a search party, and this was all ready in less than two
hours. No less than a dozen horsemen were told off to scour the
country, and get news at all hazards. But, lo! just as they were
starting off, what should be seen coming along up the avenue but the
caravan itself, driven by a bare-armed, wild-looking gipsy girl?
Captain Lyle hurried her along into his study, and there she told her
story.
The search party was instantly disbanded; a different kind of action was
needed now, and needed at once. He told his wife the whole truth. He
thought this the better course, and she bore it bravely.
That same evening, as fast as horses could go, Captain Lyle was speeding
along on his way to Berwick, where he had heard that a Government
sloop-of-war was lying.
He posted on all night, and next morning Berwick was in sight, that
romantic old town in which so many battles have been fought and won in
the olden times, that its walls, now only mounds, are lined with human
bones.
There was no sloop-of-war in sight in the beautiful bay. Fishing-boats
there were in scores, some just sailing in, others still far out in the
bay. But at the custom-house Lyle learned that the _Firefly_ had just
recently departed on a cruise in search of the very lugger which had
sailed away from near St. Abb's with Leonard and Effie on board, and if
the captain of the sloop came across her he would no doubt give an
excellent account of her.
Meanwhile the customs officials told him that everything that possibly
could be done _would_ be done, and as soon as anything happened, he,
Captain Lyle, should be communicated with post haste.
So there was nothing for it but to return at once to Glen Lyle.
On the very night of his arrival another strange thing happened. A
visitor called, who turned out to be an emissary of Captain Bland's.
This man, who was pleasant and even gentlemanly in address, begged to
assure Captain Lyle, first and foremost, that unless he gave his word of
honour that no attempt would be made to detain him, he would not deliver
the smuggler chief's message.
Lyle gave his word of honour.
Secondly, that unless the sum of two thousand pounds was paid as ransom,
the children would never more be seen at Grayling House; but if, on the
other hand, the money was sent, they would be restored in less than a
fortnight.
Captain Lyle consulted with his wife. They were on the horns of a
dilemma, for of late years the estate of Glen Lyle had sunk in value,
and although they were willing to pay the ransom, it was, sad to think,
an utter impossibility.
The matter was put fairly and honestly before the smuggler's emissary.
Could the half be raised?
Captain Lyle considered, and allowed it could.
Well, the emissary said he would communicate with Captain Bland, and
return again and inform him of that worthy gentleman's decision, but no
attempt must be made to follow him, or all communication would cease
between them.
And Captain Lyle was fain to assent.
Then the emissary mounted his fleet horse, stuck the spurs into his
sides, and disappeared like a flash.
The man tore along the road, determined to put the greatest distance in
the least possible time betwixt himself and Grayling House.
Little recked he of a coming event.
About a mile from the house the road crossed a stream by a steep
old-fashioned Gothic bridge. He was just entering one end of this, when
up at the other sprang, as if from the earth, a tiny half-clad gipsy
girl. She waved a shawl and shrieked aloud. The horse swerved, but
could not stop in time, and next moment the animal and its rider had
gone headlong over the parapet, and lay dead--to all appearance--near
the stream below.
The girl dashed down after them, wrenched open the man's coat, tore out
some papers, and waving them aloft, went shouting along the avenue back
to Grayling House.
"My dear child," said Lyle, as soon as he had scanned the papers, "how
ever can I reward you?"
"You were good to granny," was all the girl said.
Lyle at once sent off to the relief of the wounded man, but made him
prisoner, for the letter he held was the emissary's instructions.
He was back again next day at Berwick. There he heard that the
_Firefly_ was in harbour, but had discovered no trace of the smuggling
lugger, though she had been south as far as the Humber.
"No," cried Lyle, exultingly showing the papers, "because the villain
Bland has gone north, and my children are captive on an island on the
west coast of Scotland."
A council of war was held that evening, and it was determined that the
sloop-of-war should sail in search of the smuggler on the very next day.
"She may not be there yet," said the bold, outspoken commander of the
_Firefly_. "We may overhaul her, or meet her on her way back. And it
will be best, I think, for you to come with us."
And so it was agreed.
The capture or destruction of the smuggler and Bland had for years
defied both custom and cruisers in his fleet lugger, but if Captain Pim
of His Majesty's sloop-of-war was to be believed, the _Sea-horse_
lugger's days were numbered, and those of her captain as well.
Away went the _Firefly_, but long before she had ever left harbour the
smuggler had left his prizes--viz, Leonard and Effie, on Lighthouse
Island, and gone on a cruise on his own account, his object being to
complete his cargo from among the western islands, where smuggling was
rife in those days, and at once make sail for France, going round by
Cape Wrath for safety's sake, as was his wont.
As for the result of the visit of his emissary to Grayling House he had
not the slightest fear.
The _Firefly_ encountered fearful weather. Summer though it was, she
took nearly a fortnight to reach Wick, and then had to lie in for
repairs for days. After sailing she was overtaken by a gale of wind
from the south, which blew her far into the North Sea.
Now it was the custom of Captain Bland, in making his voyages, to keep a
long way off the coast, and out of the way of shipping. Had it not been
for the gale of wind that blew the _Firefly_ out of sight of land, this
ruse would once again have served his purpose aright. As it was, early
one morning his outlook descried the sloop-of-war on the weather bow.
Well did Bland know her. He had been often chased by her in days gone
by. It was evident enough to the smuggler now that his emissary had
been captured or turned traitor; so his mind was made up at once.
"Ready about!" was the order.
The _Sea-horse_, in a few minutes, was cracking on all sail, on her way
back to the island, Bland having determined to remove his little
prisoners therefrom, and sail south with them to France, in spite of
every risk and danger.
Both vessels were fleet and fast, but if anything, the lugger could sail
closer to the wind.
Several times during the long chase, which lasted for days, the
_Firefly_ got near enough to try her guns, but not near enough for
deadly aim. The shots fell short, or passed harmlessly over the
smuggler.
The last day of the chase was drawing to a close. The island was
already visible, when suddenly Bland altered his plans and tactics,
seeing that the _Firefly_ would be on him before he could cast anchor,
and effect a shipment of the little hostages. He put about, and bore
bravely down upon the cruiser, and despite her activity crossed her
stern, and poured a broadside of six guns into her. Down went a mast,
and the wheel was smashed to atoms.
Bland waited no longer. He had done enough to hang him, and night was
coming on.
Night and storm!
Yonder was the gleam of the lighthouse, however, and he did not despair.
It grew darker and darker, and just as he was abreast of the lighthouse,
and bearing down towards it, the storm came on in all its fury, and
twenty minutes afterwards the _Sea-horse_ was a wreck. His hands took
to the boats, or were swept from the decks, leaving him to lie buried
under the wreck just as Leonard found him.
On the arrival of the _Firefly_, the little wanderers were so overjoyed
to see their father, and he to have them safe once more, that the wild
escapade of which they had been guilty was entirely forgotten between
them.
The old lighthouse-keeper and his wife detailed the circumstances of the
wreck of the lugger, but singularly enough they forgot to mention the
saving of the life of Bland himself. He was therefore supposed by
Captain Pim to be drowned.
So ended the wonderful adventures of Leonard and Effie as amateur
gipsies.
But about a week after they arrived at home, to the inexpressible joy of
old Peter, to say nothing of the poodle dog, the cat, and all their pets
at the Castle Beautiful, after binding papa down to keep a secret,
Leonard told him all the rest about Captain Bland, who, Effie assured
him with tears in her eyes, had been so, _so_ kind to them both.
But long before this Bland was safe in France, and for a time he sailed
no more on British coasts. The seas around them being, as he expressed
it, too hot to hold him, he determined to let them cool down a bit, so
he took his talents to far-off lands, where we may hear of him again.
Book 2--CHAPTER ONE.