Chapter 8

________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER EIGHT.

The Spanish frigate lay moored head and stern, with her ports open, and the light from her fighting-lanterns streaming through them. The crew, awakened by the firing, had hurried to their quarters, and were now rapidly discharging their guns, sending their shot right and left, though happily, it seemed, without any definite aim. A shot passed close over the captain's head; so close that Paul expected for a moment to see him fall, but he did not even notice the circumstance, and only urged his men to pull up alongside the enemy. The pinnace was crossing the frigate's bows. Suddenly her way was checked.

"She's aground, sir," cried the coxswain. "A rope has caught our rudder--unship it, man," answered the captain, who was as cool as if about to go on board his own ship.

In another instant the pinnace had hooked on to the Spaniard's bows; and her crew, led by their brave captain, were climbing up to gain a footing on their forecastle. Paul's heart beat quick--not with fear, but with the belief that the moment for distinguishing himself had arrived. He resolved to follow the captain closely. Captain Walford had hold of the anchor which hung at the bows, when his foot slipped, and he would have fallen back, had he not caught at the lanyard and hauled himself up. The delay, though brief, enabled some of the men to be up before him. Paul was among the number; and, finding a rope, he hove it to the captain, which enabled him to gain the deck. Not an enemy was found; but, looking down on the main-deck, the English discovered the Spaniards at their quarters, not dreaming, it seemed, that the foe already stood on the deck of their ship. There they stood, some loading, others firing; fierce-looking fellows enough as the light of the lanterns fell on their countenances. The foresail had been left laid across the deck ready for bending, and the thick folds of the canvass served as a screen to the first of the gallant hoarders while the rest were climbing up. Not a moment was to be lost, and before the Spaniards had discovered that the English were on board, a party of the latter, led by their brave captain, were literally in the midst of them, fighting their way towards the quarter-deck, where it had been arranged that all the parties should rendezvous.

The Spaniards, taken by surprise, were cut down or leaped to the right hand or to the left to escape the cutlasses of the boarders. At length, however, some of the Spaniards rallied; and, led by one of their officers, made so furious an attack on the captain's party that he and most of his men were separated from each other. Paul had stuck by his captain from the first. His arm was not very strong, but he was active; and, while he managed to avoid the blows of his enemies, he bestowed several as he leaped nimbly on. He, with the captain and Reuben Cole, had nearly gained the quarter-deck when a Spaniard rushed at the latter, and knocked him over with the butt-end of a musket. At the same moment the captain's foot slipped, and another Spaniard striking him a furious blow on the head, he fell senseless on the coaming of the hatchway, very nearly going over below. Paul fully believed that his brave captain was killed, and that his last moment was come. The Spaniard was about to repeat the blow when Paul, springing in, regardless of consequences to himself, cut him so severely under the arm with his sword that the man missed his aim, and he himself fell headlong down the hatchway.

Paul then, while he laid about him with his weapon, did the best thing he could by shouting at the top of his voice, "Help! help!--the captain is down--help! help!" at the same time laying about him in so energetic a way that none of the Spaniards seemed disposed to come within reach of his weapon. His shouts quickly brought several of the crew of the _Cerberus_ to the rescue; and, while some kept the Spaniards at bay, the others assisted the captain, who was recovering from the effects of the blow, to rise. Paul, as soon as he saw the captain on his feet, hurried with two of his companions to the assistance of Reuben Cole, just in time to prevent some Spaniards from giving him his quietus. Reuben's head was a tolerably thick one; and, notwithstanding the severity of the blow, he quickly came to himself; and, seizing his cutlass with right good will, joined the party under the captain, who were employed in preventing the Spaniards from regaining possession of the quarter-deck. Meantime, several separate combats were going on in different parts of the ship. The Spaniards, as they recovered from their first surprise, rallied in considerable numbers; and, attacking the boatswain's party, which had been separated from that of the captain's, fought their way forward and re-took the forecastle. Paul could only discern what was going forward by the flashes of the pistols of the combatants on deck, and of the great guns which those below still continued to fire. As yet, however, the English mustered but few hands, considering the magnitude of the enterprise. Paul anxiously looked for the arrival of the other boats. Now some dark forms were seen rising above the hammock nettings. The Spaniards rushed to repel them, but at the same moment the cry was raised that others were appearing on the opposite side. Others came swarming over the bows, another party climbed up on the quarter. The shouts and cries of the combatants increased. On every side was heard the clashing of steel and the sharp crack of pistols. The British marines now formed on deck, and, led by their officers, charged the Spaniards. The bravest of the latter, who had been attacking the captain, threw down their arms and cried for mercy or leaped below. They were quickly followed by Bruff and Devereux, who drove them into the after-cabin, where some sixty of them lay down their weapons and begged for quarter. Others, however, still held out. The game was not won; reinforcements might come from the shore, and the gun-boats might pull up and prove awkward customers. The deck was, however, literally strewed with the bodies of the Spaniards, while as yet not an Englishman was killed, though many were badly wounded. Many of the Spaniards still held out bravely under the forecastle, and others on the main-deck; but the gunner and two men, though severely wounded, had got possession of the wheel. The seamen who had gone aloft loosed the foretop sail, the carpenters cut the stern cable, the best bower was cut at the same moment, just in time to prevent the ship from canting the wrong way.

The boats took the frigate in tow, and though as yet those on deck were scarcely in possession of the ship, directly she was seen to be moving, the batteries on either side opened a hot fire on her, but, undaunted, the brave crews rowed on in spite of the shot whizzing over their heads, and the efforts of the yet unsubdued portion of the Spaniards to regain the ship. Those of the latter who attempted to defend the forecastle suffered most, and were nearly all killed or driven overboard. Still the victory was not assured; a cry was raised that the Spaniards retreating below were forcing open the magazine for the purpose of blowing up the ship.

Devereux was the first to hear the report, and calling on Paul, who was near him, and a few others to follow, he leaped down the hatchway, and sword in hand dashed in among the astonished Spaniards, who with crowbars had just succeeded in breaking open the door of the magazine. One man grasped a pistol ready to fire into it. Paul, who felt his spirits raised to the highest pitch, and ready to dare and do any deed, however desperate, sprang into the midst of the group and struck up the Spaniard's arm, the pistol going off and the bullet lodging in the deck above. Several of the others were cut down by Devereux and his men, and the rest, strange as it may seem, fell on their knees and begged for quarter; though an instant before they were preparing to send themselves and their foes suddenly into eternity.

"Quarter! Pretty sort of quarter you deserve, ye blackguards, for wishing to blow up the ship after all the trouble we've had to take her," cried Reuben, giving one of the Spaniards, who still stood at the door of the magazine, a kick which lifted him half-way up the ladder leading to the deck above.

All opposition after this ceased below, but there was work enough to secure the prisoners and prevent them from making any similar attempt to that which had just been so happily frustrated. The hands on deck were meantime employed in making sail with all speed; and good reason had they for so doing, for the shot from a hundred guns were flying above and around them, some crashing on board and others going through the sails and cutting the running and standing rigging; but in spite of the iron shower not a man aloft shrank from his duty. As soon as a brace was cut, or a shroud severed, eager hands were ready to repair the damage. The gallant captain, though bleeding from more than one wound, stood by the mizen shrouds conning the ship, and not till she was clear of the harbour and no shot came near her did he relinquish his post.

The triumphant moment was, however, when the two frigates neared each other, and the victors shouted out, "We have got her--we have got her, without the loss of a man, though we have some pretty severe scratches among us. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

Loud and hearty were the cheers; but there was too little time for making speeches. Most of the prisoners were removed to the _Cerberus_. A prize-crew, under the command of the second lieutenant, was put on board the re-captured frigate, and a course was immediately shaped for Jamaica. When Paul at length was able to turn into his hammock he felt very low-spirited. Not a word had been said of anything that had been done. He felt that he had certainly saved the captain's life, and had in all probability prevented the ship from being blown up. Yet he would not be his own trumpeter, and he thought that very likely no one had observed what he had done, and that it would be entirely overlooked. "Well, I should not care so much for myself," he thought, "but dear mother--how she would rejoice to hear that I had made my own way up to the quarter-deck. It can't be helped, I must wait for another opportunity."

The fate Paul dreaded has been that of many who have struggled on year after year in the hopes of winning fame, and have after all missed the object at which they aimed.

It was reported that the captain was suffering severely from his wounds, and for some days he did not appear on deck. Devereux, however, had not forgotten Paul, and took the first occasion to tell him that he would mention him to the captain as having preserved the ship and all their lives from destruction. Paul, on this, felt very much inclined to say that he had been the means also of preserving the captain's life. "No, I won't, though," he thought; "the captain will make inquiries as to what happened when he was struck down, and the men who saw me defending him will surely tell him the truth."

He therefore simply thanked Devereux for his kind intentions.

"You know, sir, that what I did was to save my own life as well as that of others," he added.

"Very true, but still I think that the captain will consider your conduct worthy of reward," answered Devereux.

To Reuben, Paul was more communicative.

"But do you know which were the men who came when you called for help?" asked the former.

Paul could not be positive as to one of them, on account of the darkness and confusion.

"Then I must find out, my lad, and make all things square," muttered Reuben, as he walked away.

The victors had plenty of hard work in putting the prize to rights, in manning her and their own ship, and in looking after the prisoners. However, not long after they had lost sight of land, a sail hove in sight. Chase was made, and the stranger proved to be a Spanish schooner. She quickly hauled down her colours, and a boat was sent to bring her captain on board. The Don stood, hat in hand, trembling in every joint, at the gangway, his long sallow face drawn down to twice its usual length, expecting to be carried off a prisoner, and to have his vessel destroyed. As Captain Walford was unable to come on deck, Mr Order received him. If it had been possible for a Don to throw up his hat and to shout for joy, the Spanish skipper would have done it when the first-lieutenant told him, that if he would undertake to carry the prisoners back to Puerto Cabello in his schooner, he might go free. He did not skip, or throw up his hat, or sing, but advancing with a deep bow, one hand holding his hat, and the other pressed on his heart, he gave the lieutenant an embrace and then retired to the gangway. Mr Order did not exhibit any sign of satisfaction at this proceeding, but it was too ridiculous to make him angry; so he told him to get on board and prepare for the reception of his countrymen. The Spanish prisoners were soon tumbled into the boats, and heartily glad were the English seamen to be rid of them.

"Their habits are filthy, and as to manners, they have none," was the opinion generally formed of them on board.

"Now, if we'd have had as many mounseers, they'd have been fiddling and singing away as merry as crickets, and been good sport to us--long afore this," observed Reuben to Paul, as the schooner made sail to the southward.

Although the captain's hurts were severe, he was, after some days, able to come on deck. He looked pale and weak, but there was fire in his eye and a smile on his lip as he glanced at the captured frigate sailing at a few cables' length abeam.

"Let the people come aft, Mr Order," he said in a cheerful voice.

The crew were soon assembled, hat in hand, looking up to their captain with eager countenances as he opened his lips.

"My lads," he said, "I have been unable before to thank you, as I do from my heart, for the gallant way in which you carried out my wishes the other night when you re-took yonder frigate, so disgracefully held by the Spaniards. Where all did well, it is difficult to select those most deserving of praise, yet to the second-lieutenant and the boatswain and gunner my thanks are especially due, as they are to the surgeon for the able support he gave me. They will, I trust, receive the reward they merit in due time; but there is another person to whom I am most grateful, and whom I have it in my power to reward, as he fully deserves, immediately. To his presence of mind I find the preservation of the lives of all on board the prize is due, and I fully believe, that had it not been for his courage, I should not have been conscious of the glorious achievement we have accomplished. Paul Gerrard, come up here. Accept this dirk from me as a slight token of gratitude, and from henceforth consider yourself a quarter-deck officer--a midshipman."

Paul, his eyes sparkling, his countenance beaming, and his heart beating, sprang forward, helped on by the arms of the crew, all sympathising with his feelings. The captain shook him warmly by the hand before giving him his dirk--an example followed by all the officers and midshipmen, and by none more cordially than by Devereux and O'Grady. They then took him by the arm and hurried him below, where he found a suit of uniform, in which they speedily clothed him and returned with him in triumph on deck. Their appearance was the signal for the crew to give three as hearty cheers as ever burst from the throats of a man-of-war's crew. Paul's heart was too full to speak, and he could with difficulty stammer out his thanks to his captain. He felt indeed as if he had already reached the summit of his ambition. The captain reminded him, however, that he had a long way yet to climb, by observing that he had only just got his foot on the lower ratline, but that, if he went on as he had begun, he would certainly, if he lived, get to the top. The advice was indeed, from beginning to end, very good, but need not be repeated. Paul was so cordially received in the midshipmen's berth, that he soon felt himself perfectly at home, though he did not forget that he had a short time before served at the table at which he now sat.

The frigates arrived without accident at Jamaica, where the officers and crew received all the honours and marks of respect they so justly merited. The _Cerberus_ required no repairs, and the prize was quickly got ready for sea. Captain Walford, however, suffered so severely from his wounds, that he was ordered home to recruit his strength. Devereux and O'Grady had never entirely recovered from their illness, and they also obtained leave to go home. Paul was very sorry to lose them, not being aware how much he was himself knocked up by the hardships he had gone through. Three or four days before the ship was to sail, the doctor came into the berth, and looking hard at him, desired to feel his pulse.

"I thought so," he remarked. "You feel rather queer, my boy, don't you?"

"Yes, sir, very ill," said Paul; "I don't know what is the matter with me."

"But I do," answered the doctor. "A fever is coming on, and the sooner you are out of this the better. I'll speak to the captain about you."

The fever did come on. Paul was sent to the hospital on shore, where he was tenderly nursed by Devereux, aided by O'Grady; the _Cerberus_, meantime, having sailed on a cruise under the command of Mr Order. As no ship of war was going home, Captain Walford took his passage in a sugar-laden merchantman, having Devereux and O'Grady with him, and he got Paul also invalided home. Paul's chief source of delight was the thought that he should present himself to his mother and sisters as a real veritable midshipman, in the uniform he so often in his dreams had worn, and of the happiness he should afford them. Their ship was not a very fast one, though she could carry a vast number of hogsheads of sugar, and was remarkably comfortable. The captain was more like a kind father and a good-natured tutor than most skippers, and they all had a very pleasant time of it. Paul had had no time for study while he was a ship-boy, and so the captain advised him to apply himself to navigation and to general reading; and he did so with so much good will, that, during the voyage, he made considerable progress. They were nearing the mouth of the Channel.

"In another week we shall be at home," said Paul.

"Yes, it will be jolly," answered Devereux. "You must come and see me, you know, at the Hall, and I'll introduce you to my family, and they'll make you amends somehow or other, if they can; they must, I am determined."

"Thank you heartily, Devereux," answered Paul; "but the short time I am likely to be at home I must spend with my mother, and though I know your kind wishes, people generally will not look with much respect on a person who was till lately a mere ship-boy."

"No fear of that, Gerrard; but we'll see, we'll see," answered Devereux.

"A sail on the weather bow," shouted the look-out from aloft, "standing across our course."

The West Indiaman, the _Guava_ was her name, went floundering on as before; the master, however, who had gone aloft, kept his glass on the stranger. After some time he came down, his countenance rather paler than usual.

"She has tacked and is standing towards us," he said, addressing Captain Walford.

"Sorry to hear it, Mr Turtle. Is she big or little?"

"Why, sir, she has very square yards, and has much the look of a foreign man-of-war," answered the master.

"Umph! If she is Spanish we may beat her off, but if she proves French, she may be a somewhat tough customer; however, you will try, of course, Mr Turtle."

"If you advise resistance, we'll make it, sir, and do our best," said Captain Turtle, who, though fat, had no lack of spirit.

"By all means. Turn the hands up, load the guns, and open the arm-chest," was the answer.

The crew of the _Guava_, which was rather of a mixed character--blacks, mulattoes, Malays, Portuguese, and other foreigners,--were not very eager for the fight, but when they saw the spirit of the naval officers, especially of the young midshipmen, they loaded the guns, stuck the pistols in their belts, and girded on their cutlasses to prepare for the fight.

The _Guava_, of course, could not hope to escape by flight, so the safest course was to put a bold face on the matter, and to stand on. The stranger rapidly approached. There could no longer be any doubt as to her nationality, though no colours flew from her peak. She was pronounced to be French, though whether a national ship or a privateer was doubtful.

"If she is a privateer and we are taken, our chances of fair treatment are very small," observed Captain Walford.

"It will be hard lines for the skipper, after performing so gallant an action, to fall into the hands of the enemy," observed O'Grady. "For my part, I'd sooner blow up the ship."

"Not much to be gained by that," answered Devereux. "Let us fight like men and yield with dignity, if we are overmatched."

"The right sentiment," said Captain Walford. "There is no disgrace in being conquered by a superior force."

"As I fear that we shall be," muttered the master of the _Guava_. "Now, if I'd been left alone, I'd have knocked under at once. We've not the shadow of a chance."

"Then it's not like Captain Turtle's own shadow," whispered O'Grady, who could even at that moment indulge in a joke.

Matters were indeed becoming serious. The stranger was, it was soon seen, a powerful vessel, cither a large corvette or a small frigate, against which the heavily-rigged, ill-manned and slightly-armed merchant ship, had scarcely a chance. Still, such chance as there was, the English resolved to try. The order was given to fire high at the enemy's rigging, and the rest of the crew stood prepared to make all possible sail directly any of the Frenchman's spars were knocked away. Paul had been so accustomed to believe that whatever his captain undertook he would succeed in doing, that he had no fears on the subject. The _Guava_ rolled on, the stranger approached, close-hauled. Captain Turtle, with a sigh, pronounced her to be a privateer, and a large frigate-built ship. She would have to pass, however, some little way astern of the _Guava_, if she continued steering as she was then doing. Suddenly she kept away, and fired a broadside from long guns, the shot flying among the _Guava's_ rigging and doing much damage. The merchantman's guns could not reply with any effect, her shot falling short. The Frenchman saw his advantage. His shot came rattling on board the _Guava_, her spars and blocks falling thickly from aloft. At length the former was seen drawing near, evidently to range up alongside; and many of the crew, fancying that resistance was hopeless, ran below to secure their best clothes and valuables, while the officers, with heavy hearts, throwing their swords overboard, saw Captain Turtle haul down the colours. The Frenchmen were soon on board. They proved to be, not regular combatants, but rascally privateers; fellows who go forth to plunder their fellow-men, not for the sake of overcoming the enemies of their country and obtaining peace, but for the greed of gain, careless of the loss and suffering they inflict. These were of the worst sort. Their delight was unbounded, when they found that they had not only taken a rich prize, for sugar at that time fetched a high price in France, but had taken at one haul a post-captain and several officers, for besides the three midshipmen, there were two lieutenants, a surgeon, and master, going home for their health. The privateer's-men began by plundering the vessel and stripping the crew of every article they possessed about them, except the clothes they stood in. They took the property of the officers, but did not, at first, take anything from their persons. Captain Walford retained his coolness and self-possession, notwithstanding the annoyances he suffered, and the insults he received. The other officers imitated him. They were all transferred to the privateer.

"To what French port are we to be carried?" he asked of his captain.

"To Brest--and it will be a long time before you see salt-water after that," was the answer.

"Probably never--if we are not to be liberated till France conquers England," said Captain Walford, quietly.

"Sa-a-a, you may be free, then, sooner than you expect," cried the Frenchman.

In about five days, the privateer, with her rich prize, entered Brest harbour. The prisoners were treated on landing with very scant ceremony, and were thrust into the common prison--the officers in one small room and the men in another. In those days the amenities of warfare were little attended to. It was all rough, bloody, desperate, cruel work. In truth, it is seldom otherwise. The prisoners were not kept long at Brest, but one fine morning in spring, after a not over luxurious breakfast of black bread, salt fish, and thin coffee, were mustered outside the prison to begin their march into the interior. The midshipmen kept together and amused themselves by singing, joking, and telling stories, keeping up their spirits as well as they could. Their guards were rough, unfeeling fellows, who paid no attention to their comforts, but made them trudge on in rain or sunshine, sometimes bespattered with mud, and at others covered with dust, parched with thirst, and ready to drop from the heat. The country people, however, looked on them with compassion, and many a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, and a handful of fruits and cakes, were offered to them as they passed through the villages on their road.

"Och, if some of those pretty little villagers who are so kind with their cakes would just increase their compassion and help us to get out of the claws of these ugly blackguards, I'd be grateful to them from the bottom of my soul to the end of my days," said O'Grady to Paul, as they approached a hamlet in a hilly, thickly-wooded part of the country.

It was in the afternoon, and, although they generally marched on much later, to their surprise, the captain of their guard, for some reason best known to himself, called a halt. Instead of being placed in prison, as there was none in the village, they were billeted about in different houses, with one or two guards over each. Paul and O'Grady found themselves, together with Reuben Cole and two other men, in a neat house on the borders of the village. They were the first disposed of, so that where their companions were lodged they could not tell. The people of the house did not appear to regard their guards with friendly eyes, so that they concluded that they were not attached to the present order of things.

"See that you render them up safe to us to-morrow morning," said the captain to an old gentleman, who appeared to be the master of the house.

"I am not a gaoler, and can be answerable for no one," was the reply, at which the captain shook his fist and rode off, exclaiming, "Take care, take care!"

Though very unwilling to receive the prisoners, the old gentleman treated them with a courtesy which seemed to arise rather from respect to himself than from any regard he entertained for them. The two midshipmen were shown into one small room, and the seamen, with their guards, into another. In the room occupied by O'Grady and Paul, there was a table and chairs and a sofa, while the view from the window consisted of a well-kept garden and vineyard, a green meadow and wooded hills beyond. As far as accommodation was concerned, they had little of which to complain; but they were very hungry, and O'Grady began to complain that the old Frenchman intended to starve them.

"I'll go and shout and try to get something," he cried out, but he found that the door was locked outside.

The window was too high from the ground to allow them to jump out, and as they would probably be caught, and punished for attempting to run away, they agreed to stay where they were. At length the door opened, and a bright-eyed, nicely-dressed girl came in with a tray covered with edibles, and a bottle of wine in her hands. They stood up as she entered, and bowed. She smiled, and expressed her sympathy for their misfortunes. Paul had, hitherto, not let the Frenchmen know that he understood French.

"I think that I may venture to speak to her," he said to O'Grady. "She would not have said that if she didn't wish to assist us."

O'Grady agreed that it would be perfectly safe, and so Paul addressed her in the choicest French he could command, and told her how they had been coming home in a merchantman, and had been captured, and robbed of all they possessed, instead of being, as they had hoped, in a few days in the bosom of their families, with their mothers and brothers and sisters.

"And you both have brothers and sisters, and they long to see you, doubtless," said the little girl.

"Oh yes, and we long to see them," exclaimed Paul, believing that he had moved her heart.

She sighed. "Ah, I once had many, but they are all now in the world of spirits; they cannot come to me, but for their sakes I will try to serve you," answered the girl.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" said Paul. "If you could help us to get out of this house, and to hide away till the pursuit is over, we should be eternally grateful."

She smiled as she answered--

"You are too precipitate. If you were to escape from this house, my father would be punished. Means may be found, however. We have no love for these regicides, and owe them no allegiance; but you must have patience."

"It is a hard thing to exercise; however, we are very much obliged to you," said Paul.

"Just ask her her name," put in O'Grady. "Tell her we should wish to know what to call one who for ever after this must dwell like a bright star in our memories, especially one who is so lovely and amiable."

"That's rather a long speech to translate, and perhaps she won't like all those compliments," remarked Paul.

"Won't she, though?" said O'Grady, who had seen rather more of the world than his companion; "try her, at all events."

Paul translated as well as he could what Paddy had said, and as the latter stood with his hand on his heart, and bowed at the same time, the young lady was not left in doubt as to who was the originator of the address. Paddy was remarkably good-looking and tall for his age, and the young lady was in no way displeased, and replied that her name was Rosalie, and that she was her father's only daughter. She had had two brothers, both of whom had been carried away by the conscription. One had been killed in a battle with the Austrians, and the other was still serving in the ranks, though he ought long ago to have been promoted.

"Ah! the cruel fighting," she added; "our rulers take away those we love best, and care not what becomes of them, or of the hearts they break, and bring with sorrow to the grave."

Rosalie soon recovered herself, and, wiping her eyes, told the midshipmen that she would come back again when they had eaten their supper, and would in the meantime try and devise some means to enable them to make their escape while they were travelling.

"She's a sweet, pretty little girl," observed O'Grady, after Rosalie had gone. "She'll help us if she can, and do you know I think that she is a Protestant, for I don't see any pictures of saints and such-like figures stuck about the walls as we do in most other French houses?"

"It is possible; but what difference can that make to you?" asked Paul.

"Why, you see, Gerrard, I have fallen in love with her, and I'm thinking that if she helps us to make our escape, when the war is over, I'll come back and ask her to marry me."

Paul laughed at his friend's resolve. It was not at all an uncommon one for midshipmen in those days to entertain, whatever may be the case at present. They enjoyed their meal, and agreed that they had not eaten anything half so good as the dishes they were discussing for many a long day. Rosalie came back in about an hour. She said that she had been thinking over the matter ever since, and talking it over with an old aunt--a very wise woman, fertile in resources of all sorts. She advised that the young Englishmen should pretend to be sick, and that if the captain consented to leave them behind, so much the better; but if not, and, as was most probable, he insisted on their walking on as before, they should lag behind, and limp on till they came to a certain spot which she described. They would rise for some time, till the road led along the side of a wooded height, with cliffs on one side, and a steep, sloping, brushwood--covered bank on the other, with a stream far down in the valley below. There was a peculiar white stone at the side of the road, on which they were to sit to pretend to rest themselves. If they could manage to slip behind the stone for an instant, they might roll and scramble down the bank to a considerable distance before they were discovered. They were then to make their way through the brushwood and to cross the stream, which was fordable, when they would find another road, invisible from the one above. They were to run along it to the right, till they came to an old hollow tree, in which they were to hide themselves, unless they were overtaken by a covered cart, driven by a man in white. He would slacken his speed, and they were to jump in immediately without a word, and be covered up, while the cart would drive on. They would be conveyed to the house of some friends to the English, with whom they would remain till the search for them had ceased, when they would be able to make their escape to the coast in disguise. After that, they must manage as best they could to get across the Channel.

"The first part is easy enough, if Miss Rosalie would give us the loan of a little white paint or chalk," observed O'Grady; "but, faith, the rest of the business is rather ticklish, though there's nothing like trying, and we shall have some fun for our money at all events."

"I wish that Reuben Cole could manage to run with us. He'd go fast enough if Miss Rosalie's friends would take care of him," remarked Paul.

"You can but ask her," said O'Grady. "Tell her that he's been with you ever since you came to sea, and that you can't be separated from him."

Rosalie heard all Paul had to say, and promised that she would try to arrange matters as he wished. Paul then described Reuben, and gave Rosalie a slip of paper, on which he wrote: "Follow the bearer, and come to us." Though Reuben was no great scholar, he hoped that he might be able to read this.

"Tell her she's an angel," exclaimed O'Grady, as Rosalie took the paper. "I wish that I could speak French, to say it myself; but I'll set to work and learn at once. Ask her if she'll teach me."

Rosalie laughed, and replied that she thought the young Irishman would prove an apt scholar, though she could not understand how, under the circumstances, she could manage to do as he proposed.

"Och! but I've a mighty great mind to tell her at once all I intend to do, and just clinch the matter," cried Paddy; but Paul wouldn't undertake to translate for him, and advised him to restrain his feelings for the present.

It was getting near midnight, when a gentle rap was heard at the door, and Reuben poked in his head. The arrangements which had been made were soon explained to him, and he undertook to feign lameness and to drop behind and roll down the bank as they were to do.

"You sees, young gentlemen, if they goes in chase of me, that'll give you a better chance of getting off. If they catches me, there'll be no great harm done; they won't get me to fight for them, that I'll tell them, and if I get off scot free, why there's little doubt but that I'll be able to lend you a hand in getting to the coast, and crossing the water afterwards."

The arrangements being made, Reuben stole down to rejoin the other seamen, and the midshipmen then coiling themselves up in their blankets in different corners of the room, resolved to remain there till summoned in the morning, were soon asleep.

When their guards appeared, they made signs that they could not move, O'Grady singing out, "Medecin, medecin," by which he wished to intimate that he wanted physic, and they thought that he asked for a doctor. In spite, however, of all their remonstrances, they were compelled to get up and dress by sundry applications of a scabbard.

They found a breakfast prepared for them in the hall, though they had but a few minutes allowed them to consume it before they were driven on through the town to join the rest of the prisoners, no time being allowed them to bid farewell to Rosalie and her father. She, indeed, had wisely kept out of their way to prevent any suspicion. They limped along, looking as woe-begone as they could, though their hearts were in no way sad. Their only regret was, that they must part from Devereux and their captain, but they consoled themselves by believing that they could report where they were, and thus manage to get them exchanged.

"We are nearing the spot," said Paul. "This is the scenery Rosalie described, and this must be the hill. I hope Reuben understands what he is to do. Ah! there is the stone. Come, let us sit down."

They made signs to the last guard that they would follow. Believing that they were ill he allowed them to remain. They saw that Reuben was watching them.

"We mustn't stay long, though," said O'Grady.

"No; now's the time. Over we go," cried Paul; and suiting the action to the word, over he rolled, followed by O'Grady, and both were speedily hid from sight in the brushwood. _

Read next: Chapter 9

Read previous: Chapter 7

Table of content of Paul Gerrard: The Cabin Boy


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book