Captain Mugford

"Captain Mugford" (continued 4)

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Before we could bring our glasses to bear, the fog again closed in, but every eye was turned in that direction to get another sight of her; we, doubtless, from our position, and the greater thickness of the mist round us, remaining hid from her view.

“What think you, Davis? which way shall we have the breeze when it does come?” asked our skipper of the old quartermaster, who was the oracle on such occasions.

“Why, sir, I should say, off the land; it looks clearer there away than it is out here.”

As the old man delivered himself of this opinion, he turned his one open eye towards the point he indicated: for, though he had two orbs, and they were piercers, he never used more than one at a time—we youngsters used to suppose, to give each alternately a rest.

As he spoke, the fog once more opened a little.

“And, what do you say to yonder craft?” continued the skipper.

The old man’s right eye surveyed her intently before he answered—

“I thought I knowed her, sir. As sure as we’re alive she’s the Polly, with Jan Johnson on board.”

How he arrived at the latter conclusion we did not stop to consider. The words had an electric effect on board.

“You are right, Davis—you are right!” exclaimed our commander; then, in a tone of vexation, “And we have only one boat to chase her. If there comes a breeze, that fellow will sneak alongshore, and get out of our way. He calculated on being able to do so when he remained there, and no doubt has information that the revenue boats belonging to the station are sent off in other directions.”

Every glass was now turned towards the direction where the smuggler was seen; for you must remember the mist quickly again hid her from us. Our skipper walked over to where the carpenter was employed in putting the boat to rights; but soon saw that there was a good day’s work or more before she could be made to swim.

“It will never do to let that fellow—escape us!” he exclaimed briskly. “Mr Robertson,” addressing his senior officer, a passed midshipman—an oldster in every sense of the word I then thought him,—“pipe the gig’s crew away, with two extra hands, and let them all be fully armed. Do you take charge of the ship; and if a breeze gets up, press every stitch of canvas on her, and stand after the lugger. That fellow may give us some work; and I intend to go myself.”

Having given these orders, he dived into his cabin, and quickly reappeared, with his cocked hat on and his sword by his side.

I belonged to the gig.

The boat was, as you may suppose, quickly ready. The order was given to shove off, and away we pulled, with hearty strokes, in the direction of the lugger. The fog for some time favoured our approach towards the spot where we guessed she was to be found, for we could no more see her than the people on board could us. Never, when roasting in the tropics under a burning sun, have I wished more earnestly for a breeze than we now did that the calm would continue till we could get alongside the long-looked-for craft. Not a word was spoken above a whisper, though we knew that the splash of our oars in the water would soon betray our approach to the sharpened ears of the smugglers, even before they could see us. We redoubled, therefore, our efforts to get alongside, when a light air coming off the land much thinned the intervening mist, showing us the Polly, with her largest canvas spread to catch the breeze, and now, as she loomed through the fog, appearing twice her real size, while her people clearly made us out. In a moment her sails were trimmed, her long sweeps were run out, and she was moving through the water, though not near so fast as we were pulling.

“Give way, my boys, give way,” shouted our skipper, all necessity for silence being now removed. “Give way, and the lugger is ours.”

With a hearty cheer the men bent to their oars and sent the boat flying through the calm blue water, casting aside the light sparkling foam which bubbled and hissed round her bows, as the story books about seagoing affairs say, such as you youngsters are so fond of reading. Well, the breeze freshened, however, before long, and we found that, though still decreasing our distance from the lugger, we were not gaining on her as fast as when she first made us out. We had, however, got within about a quarter of a mile of her, when we saw a man jump on the taffrail, and wave his hat at us as if in derision. Even at that distance, some of our people declared they recognised him as Jan Johnson, whom all of us knew well enough by sight. The next instant a skiff was launched from her decks, into which he jumped, and pulled as hard as he could towards the shore, to which he was already nearer than we were to him.

Here was a dilemma for our skipper. If we followed the outlaw, his lugger would very likely get away; and if we made chase after her, he would certainly escape, and she, probably, even if we came up with her, would not be condemned. The thought of the murdered man decided our commander, and in a moment the boat’s head was turned towards the shore in chase of the skiff. Away we went, as fast as six ash oars in stout hands could send us through the water, while Johnson, still undaunted, continued his course; yet, in spite of his audacity, he well knew that it was with him a matter of life and death. It was indeed astonishing, when putting forth all his vast strength, how fast he sent along his light skiff; indeed, we gained but slightly on him in our six-oared galley, and we soon saw that he would reach the shore before we could overtake him.

“Give way, my lads, give way,” shouted our skipper, though the men were straining every nerve to the utmost. “Give way, and we shall soon be up with him.”

Talk of the excitement of a stag-hunt! it is tame in comparison with the interest men take in the chase of a fellow-creature. There is something of the nature of the bloodhound, I suspect, in our composition which delights in the pursuit of such noble game. A few minutes more decided the point, a cry of vexation escaping us as his boat touched the shore, and, coolly drawing her up on the strand, he was seen to make towards the woods.

“Shall I bring him down, sir?” asked the seaman who sat in the sternsheets with a musket, marine fashion, between his knees.

“No, no,” was the answer. “We must take the fellow alive; he cannot escape us, if we put our best feet foremost.”

Just as our boat’s keel grated on the sand, Johnson disappeared among the rocks and trees, and we could hear a shout of derisive laughter ringing through the wood.

“After him, my boys, after him,” shouted our skipper, as we all leaped on shore. “A five-pound note to the man who first gets hold of him.”

And, except a youth who was left in charge of the boat, away we all went, helter-skelter, in the direction the outlaw had taken. He made, it appeared, straight inland, for we could hear his shouts ahead of us as we rushed on, hallooing to each other from among the trees. Not one of the party seemed inclined to get before the other—not so much that one was unwilling to deprive the other of the promised reward, but I suspect that no one was anxious to encounter Johnson singlehanded, well armed as of course he was, and desperate as we knew him to be. Our commander, being a stout man and short-winded, was soon left far behind, though, as he hurried on, puffing and blowing with the exertion he was using, his voice, as long as we could hear him, encouraged us in the pursuit. We had thus made good half a mile or more, when coming suddenly to the confines of the wood, or copse it might rather be called, a wide extent of open ground appeared before us, but not a trace of the fugitive could be perceived. Some of the foremost ran on to a spot of high ground near at hand, whence they could see in every direction, but not a figure was moving in the landscape. In the meantime our skipper came up, and ordered us to turn back and beat about the wood.

We had been thus fruitlessly engaged for some time, when we were recalled to the shore by a shout from one of our people, and, hastening down to the beach, we beheld, to our dismay, our own boat floating some way out in the bay, while Johnson, in his skiff, was pulling towards his lugger, now creeping alongshore out of the reach of the cutter, which still lay becalmed in the offing. What was most extraordinary, the lad who had been left in charge of the boat was nowhere to be seen, and, as far as we could make out, he was neither in her nor in Johnson’s skiff. You may just picture to yourself our rage and disappointment; indeed, I thought, what from his exertions and excitement, our commander would have been beside himself with vexation. After we had stood for a moment, looking with blank astonishment at each other, he ordered us, in a sharp voice, some to run one way, some another, along the shore, in search of a boat by which we might get on board our galley, for she was too far off for anyone to attempt to swim to her. At last, some way on, we discovered, hauled up on the beach, a heavy fishing-boat, which with some work we managed to launch, and, by means of the bottom boards and a few pieces of plank we found in her, to paddle towards our gig. In our course, we picked up two of our oars which had been thrown overboard, and we were thus able to reach her sooner than we could otherwise have done. What could have become of our young shipmate? we asked each other; but not a conjecture could be offered. Johnson could not have carried him off; he would not have ventured to have injured him, and the lad was not likely to have deserted his post. At last we got alongside the gig, and on looking into her we saw Jim Bolton, our young shipmate, stretched along the thwarts, to which he was lashed. At first we thought he was dead; but a second glance showed us that a gag, made out of a thole-pin and a lump of oakum, had been put into his mouth. On being released it was some time before he could speak. He then told us that he was sitting quietly in the boat, when suddenly a man sprang on him with a force which knocked him over, and before he could collect his senses he found himself lashed to the thwarts with a lump in his mouth which prevented him crying out, and the boat moving away from the shore, and that was all he knew about the matter.

As Jim Bolton was very much hurt, we placed him in the fishing-boat with a midshipman who volunteered to look after him, and anchored her to await our return, while we with hearty goodwill pulled away in full chase of the smuggler. By this time, however, a fresh breeze had come off the land, which filled the sails of the lugger just as Johnson sprang from his boat upon her deck, and before a breath of air had reached the cutter he had run her far out of sight, winding his way among those reefs yonder. Seeing there was no chance of overtaking him in the gig, we pulled on board, and as soon as the uncertain air put the vessel through the water, we made chase in the direction we calculated the Polly would take. For some time we cruised up and down over the ground where we thought we might fall in with her, but could see nothing of her, and we then returned to take out the midshipman and Jim, and to restore the boat to the fisherman.

We, with several other cruisers, were employed for some weeks in looking out for Johnson, but neither he nor the Polly was ever again heard of on this coast.

Ten years passed away, and I belonged to a brig in the West Indies, that clime of yellow fevers and sugar-canes. In those days the slave-trade flourished, for, as we had not become philanthropists, we did not interfere with those whose consciences did not prevent them from bartering for gold their own souls and the blood of their fellow-creatures. There was, however, a particular craft we were ordered to look after which had made herself amenable to the laws, having gone somewhat out of the usual line of trade, by committing several very atrocious acts of piracy. She was commanded, it was said, by an Englishman, a villain of no ordinary cast, who never intentionally left alive any of those he plundered to tell the tale of their wrongs. He sailed his vessel, a schooner carrying twelve guns, under Spanish colours, though of course he hoisted, on occasion, those of any other nation to suit his purpose. We all knew both him and his schooner, for before her real character was suspected, we had for some days laid alongside her at the Havanna, and were in consequence selected by the admiral to look out for her. We had been so employed for several weeks, when, one day towards noon, we made out a sail to the southward, towards which we ran down with a light northerly wind. As we neared her, which we rapidly did, we saw that she was a lofty ship—a merchantman evidently—and that she was not only not moving through the waters, but that her braces were loose, and her yards swinging about in every direction. Not a soul was looking over her bulwarks when we came within hail, but the men in the tops sang out that they could see several people lying about the decks either asleep or dead. We ran almost alongside, when I was ordered to board her with one of the gigs. Never shall I forget the scene which met my sight as I stepped on her decks; they were a complete shambles: a dozen or more men lay about in the after part of the ship, the blood yet oozing from deep gashes on their heads and shoulders, not one of them alive; while on the steps of the companion-ladder were two women, young and fair they appeared to have been, clasped in each other’s arms, and both dead.

On descending below, we discovered an old lady and a venerable, old gentleman on the deck of the state cabin with the marks of pistol bullets in their foreheads, while at the door of an inner cabin lay a black servant with his head completely twisted round.

I will not mention all the sights of horror we encountered; the murderers seemed to have exerted their ingenuity in disfiguring their victims. There were several other dead people below, and at last, searching round the ship, we found stowed away in the forehold a seaman, who, though desperately wounded, still breathed. When brought on deck and a few drops of spirits were poured down his throat, he after some time came to himself, then told us that they had in the morning been attacked by a pirate, who, after they had made a desperate resistance, had carried them by boarding, when every soul in the ship was cut down or thrown into the sea except himself; that he, having fallen down the hatchway just before the pirates rushed on board, had stowed himself away amongst the cargo, and there after some time had fainted from loss of blood. While he lay there, he could hear the shrieks of his shipmates and the shouts and execrations of their butchers, he expecting, every instant, to share the fate of the rest. At last all was silent, the pirates made an ineffectual attempt to scuttle the ship, but were hurried off, probably, by seeing a sail which they mistook for us, or for some other cruiser.

Scarcely had the unfortunate fellow given this account, when the man at the mast-head of the brig hailed that there was a sail on the lee bow, and we were ordered forthwith to return on board. We all hoped that this might prove the pirate, for we were anxious to punish the miscreants. Taking, therefore, the wounded man with us—for being, thanks to the yellow fever, already short of hands, we were compelled to abandon the ship—we made sail in chase. For some time we carried a fresh breeze with us, while the stranger, which we soon made out to be a large topsail schooner, lay almost becalmed; but before we got her within range of our guns the wind also filled her sails, and away she went before it with every stitch of canvas they could pack on her. We also used every means of increasing our rate of sailing; but though our brig was reckoned a remarkably fast vessel, we found that, since we had both the same breeze, we had not in any way decreased our distance from her.

It was, however, a satisfaction to find that she did not outsail us before the wind, though there was every probability that, should she haul her wind, she would be able to do so; we therefore kept directly in her wake, to be ready to run down on her, on whichever tack she might haul up. At last, as the breeze freshened, we gained somewhat on her, when she hoisted Spanish colours: she had hitherto shown none, but this did not prevent us from trying the range of our bow-chasers on her, to bring her to. Several guns were fired without effect; at last a shot struck her main boom and severely wounded it. I never saw a better aim. After this, finding we lost ground by firing, we did not for another hour throw a single shot, nor had the schooner as yet returned our compliment, though she showed no inclination to heave to.

Away we bowled along before the breeze, throwing aside the now white-crested waves from our bows as we tore through the water. Every brace was stretched to the utmost, our spars bent and cracked, but not a sheet was slackened, though our captain kept his glance anxiously aloft to see how long he might let them bear the pressure. Again we overhauled her, and got her within range of our long guns, when a shot, directed more by chance, as the sea was running high, or, it might be said, a just Providence weary of the miscreants, than by skill, killed the man at the wheel, and lodged in the mainmast. Before another man could run to the helm the vessel yawed to port; the boom, already wounded, jibbed over and parted amidships, rendering the huge mainsail of no use, and creating much confusion on board. There was now no fear of her being able to haul her wind for some time, and coming up, hand over hand, with her, we ranged alongside.

If we had before any doubts of her real character, we had now none, for the Spanish ensign being hauled down, a black flag was hoisted at each mast-head, and the accursed pirate was confessed. The outlaws, doubtless knowing that victory or death alone awaited them, showed their dark symbols in the hopes of intimidating our men, and made up their minds to fight it out to the last. At the same moment they let fly their whole broadside, which, though it did some damage, served to warm up the blood of our people, and made them return it with a hearty good will.

For half an hour or more, as we ran on, we thus continued exchanging broadsides, considerably thinning their crowded decks; but as some of our spars were wounded, our captain, fearing lest any being carried away, the enemy might escape, determined without delay to lay him on board, and to try the mettle of true men against their ruffian crew of desperadoes.

After receiving her broadside and pouring in ours, we put our helm to port, for she was, you must know, on our starboard side, when, running our bow anchor into her fore chains, our grappling irons were thrown, and we had her fast. With a loud cheer, our boarders sprang to the forecastle, and on to the rigging of the enemy.

Never shall I forget, if I was to live as long again as I have done, which is not very likely, the set of ferocious countenances which met our sight as we rushed on board. It was fearful work we were about, but our blood was up, and there was no quarter asked or given on either side. We did not stop to think. The pirates knew that there was no pardon for them, and seemed determined to sell their lives dearly. Our onset was too furious to be withstood, and in a minute we had cleared a small space on the schooner’s decks abaft the foremast, but beyond that every foot was desperately disputed.

We had gained some ground forward, when, from the after part of the vessel, a determined band, led by the captain, pressed us hard. Twice we were driven back almost to our own ship, many of our men losing the number of their mess, but, finally, determined courage got the better of desperation. Inch by inch we drove the pirates aft—the chief of them, to do him justice, keeping always in the front rank, and I believe he killed, with his own hand, more of our people than did all his crew together, though he himself did not receive a scratch. During all this time the marines kept up a hot fire, pikes and pistols were used through the ports, and such guns as could be brought to bear were fired from each of the ships. I have seen plenty of hard fighting, and let me tell you, my boys, though it is very fine reading about, it is very dreadful in reality; yet never in my life have I gone through hotter work, on a small scale, than I did that day—the vessels, too, all the time rolling and pitching tremendously, and tearing away each other’s rigging; indeed, it is surprising we did not both founder on the spot.

Well, we at last managed to clear the fore part of the schooner, by cutting down some and driving others of the pirates overboard, but fifty fellows still held the after part of the deck, uttering fearful oaths and execrations—they continued fighting on—when the deck lifted; fearful shrieks arose, a loud, dull sound was heard, and many of the pirates were hurled into the air, their mangled remains falling among us. For an instant every hand seemed paralysed, and we looked round to see what would happen next; but the explosion had been only partial, and during the confusion the remainder of the band making a rush forward, we again set to at the bloody work, and drove them back. A second attempt to fire the magazine was made, and failed. We were, by this time, secure of victory, though the remnant of the pirates refused to yield.

Their captain, whom I have spoken of, I now saw leap into the main rigging, when, waving his bloody sword above his head, he hurled it with the fiercest imprecations among us, severely wounding one of our people, and then, with a look of despair not to be forgotten, he plunged into the raging ocean, where a troop of sharks were ready to devour him. At that moment it struck me that I had seen his features in times long passed, and I found afterwards I was right.

When their leader was lost, the rest of the pirates submitted, and we had barely time to remove them, and to cut ourselves clear of the schooner, when, with the dying and dead on board, she went down; and on the spot where she had been, the hungry sharks were seen tearing their bodies in pieces, while the sea was tinged around with a ruddy hue. We afterwards fell in with the ship the pirates had attacked, for which we got a good round sum as salvage money, besides other substantial marks of the gratitude of the merchants in the West Indies, for having destroyed one of the greatest pests their trade had for a long time known.

The pirates were hung at Port Royal, in Jamaica, and the evening before their execution, one of them, for reasons I will some day tell you, desired to see me. I visited him in his cell, and from him I learned that the chief of their band, whose dreadful death I had witnessed, the man who had led them into crime and ruin, was, as I suspected, Jan Johnson, the smuggler.

The next morning Mr Clare and Captain Mugford went over to —, where they found Commander Treenail, to whom they gave all the information they possessed about the smugglers’ cave. He heard this account with surprise, for he did not suppose it possible that any spot of ground had remained in that neighbourhood unvisited by his people. However, he was a man of action; and immediately that he comprehended the facts of the case, he signalled from his residence to a cutter which lay off in the bay to get under way, and to wait for him to come on board. “You will accompany me, gentlemen,” he said to our tutors; “and as soon as we can get the lads on board who discovered the cave to show us its entrance, we will lose no time in routing out these smuggling vagabonds.”

The old lieutenant commanding the cutter was waiting with his gig for Captain Treenail at the quay, and they, with our tutors, were quickly on board the Scout.

How proud Harry and I felt when the Scout’s gig pulled up to the wreck, and we were summoned to show the way to the smugglers’ cave. We jumped with alacrity into the gig, feeling as if we had the whole weight and responsibility on our shoulders of leading some important expedition. Captain Treenail received us very kindly, and cross-questioned us minutely as to the whereabouts of the cave and the various articles we had found within it. The cutter, when rounding the cape, had kept some distance from the little bay near which the cave lay, so that, even had smugglers been on the watch near it, they would probably not have been alarmed; the captain had hopes, therefore, that not only their goods but they themselves would be taken. To make the matter more sure, it was arranged that one party, led by Walter, who knew the cape as if he had been born on it, should go by land, accompanied by Mr Clare; while our salt tutor, with the rest of us, was to go in the cutter. Five seamen, with a petty officer, formed the land party, all well armed. They were to proceed cautiously across the downs, watching the movements of the cutter, and keeping themselves as much as possible under cover, so as not to be seen by any smugglers who might be on the lookout. As soon as the boat which took them on shore returned, the cutter’s foresail was let draw, and with a fresh breeze she stood out of our cove. Our hearts beat quick as we glided rapidly on towards the scene of our proposed exploit. We might possibly soon be engaged in a scene of real fighting. There might be ten or perhaps even fifty smugglers concealed in the cave, with large stores of silks, and tobacco, and spirits; and if so, it was not likely that they would give in without striking some hard blows for their liberty. The breeze freshened, and our speed increased, though, as the wind was off the land, the water was smooth. Every inch of canvas the cutter could carry was clapped on her, that we might have the better chance of taking the smugglers by surprise. She heeled over to the breeze till her lee gunwale was under water, while we stood holding on to the weather rigging, and looking out for the entrance to the little cove. We neared it at last. Our hearts beat quicker than ever as we luffed up round a point which formed one of the sides of the little cove. Sail was rapidly shortened, the foresail hauled down, the jib-sheet let fly, and in half a minute we were at anchor. The next instant the crew, already fully armed and prepared, flew to the falls, and two boats were lowered, into which they and we, with Captain Treenail, the commander, and one of the mates of the cutter, and our own salt tutor, immediately jumped. Literally, before a minute had elapsed, two boats were pulling as fast as boats could pull for the shore. Harry and I now felt ourselves of more consequence than we had ever been in our lives before. We were expected to show the way to the cavern, and therefore, as soon as the boats touched the shore, we leaped out, and, pointing to the spot where the mouth of the cavern was to be found, ran towards it along the beach at full speed, followed by the officers and men, who might have had better sea legs, but certainly had not such good shore legs as we possessed. We were some little way ahead of the rest, and our object must have been very evident to any persons acquainted with the existence of the cavern. Just then the report of a firearm was heard, and a bullet whistled by us close to our ears. It did not stop us though, but made us dart on still more rapidly; and as we did so we saw a man climbing up the cliff above the cavern. Had any of the men with muskets been with us, they might have shot him. He turned round for an instant, and shook his fist at us; but before our companions came up he had disappeared. It took some time before the seamen who volunteered to go managed to climb up the slippery rock to the mouth of the cavern. When once two or three had gained a footing, they let down ropes, by which the rest easily got up. The forlorn hope, as the first party might be called, then dashed into the cavern, expecting, perhaps, to meet with a hot fire of musketry. Not a sound, however, was heard; no one appeared; on they boldly went. The smugglers might have had still more deadly intentions, and, it was possible, had prepared a mine to blow up anyone venturing into their cave. They were capable, according to our salt tutor’s notion, of any atrocity. Still the forlorn hope went on without meeting with any impediment. More seamen entered, led by Captain Treenail, and others followed, till we were all inside; and torches being lit, the cavern was thoroughly examined. Not a human being was discovered, but the cave contained a far larger amount of bales of silks, and ribbons, and tobacco, and kegs of spirits, than we had supposed. It was, indeed, a far larger seizure than the coast guard on that station had ever before made. They were proportionably delighted, though they would have liked still more to have caught a dozen or two of smugglers, though not quite so valuable a prize as they would have been during the height of the war, when they would have been sent off to man our ships, and to fight the naval battles of old England.

When we found that no one was inside we told Captain Treenail of the man we had seen climbing up the cliff. He instantly ordered some of the most active young men of the cutter’s crew to go in chase; but after hunting about for some time, they could find no possible way of getting up, and therefore had to abandon the attempt. The next thing was to convey the captured goods to the cutter. This occupied some time, as there were literally several boatloads of goods, to the value, I fancy, of a couple of thousand pounds. It must have been vexatious in the extreme, to any of the smugglers witnessing our proceedings, to see their property thus carried off before their eyes. It must have made them vow vengeance against those who captured it, and against us especially, who, they must have suspected, had given the information respecting the cave.

Among the articles found in the cavern was a rusty old musket. The old lieutenant, Mr Mophead, commanding the cutter, was a curiosity. I should like to describe him. He was very fat and very short, and very red-faced, which is not surprising, considering the hot suns which had shone on that face of his, and the vast amount of strong liquor which he had poured down his throat. Just as the last boatload had been got on board, Walter and his party appeared, not having seen any smugglers. Mr Mophead politely invited him on board. As soon as the boats were hoisted up, and the cutter was once more under way, standing from harbour, Mr Mophead took the musket in his hand, and, approaching Walter, said, with great form, “Mr Walter Tregellin, with Captain Treenail’s leave—and I am sure that he will give me leave—I beg to present to you this weapon, that you may hand it to your respected father. He may like to possess it, to remind him how the cutter Scout, Lieutenant Mophead commander, was the means of relieving his property of a nest of smugglers, who would very soon, in my opinion, have taken possession of it.”

Walter took the musket respectfully, though he could not help smiling; and our salt tutor blew his nose steadily for ten minutes. The same old musket my father afterwards gave to Harry and me, the discoverers of the smugglers’ cave; and Harry relinquished all his rights in it to me.

It hangs now in my study, not far from the dog-collar—another memento of those good old times. We got back to our own cove in a very short time, and we landing, the cutter returned, with her valuable cargo, to her usual port. Clump, who had remained to take care of the house, informed us that he had been watching the downs above the cave, and that he had seen several men pass across the downs, and, running quickly, go towards the boat harbour often mentioned. They then jumped into a boat and pulled across the harbour to the village, where they disappeared. Such was the termination of the adventure for that day; but the romance, unfortunately for us, had not come to an end.

Chapter Eighteen.

October Sport—A Black Joke.

Only two weeks more! Letters had come from our parents to us and to our tutors, saying that we must return to Bristol on November the first.

Our great amusement at this time was shooting, as boating had become somewhat cold work. Now and then we knocked down a few straggling wild fowl, which at that early season had incautiously approached our cape, not aware of the sportsmen residing on it. Our tutors entered enthusiastically into the sport, borrowing guns from the town across the bay, and joining Walter and Harry every afternoon. We other fellows were also allowed to be there to take charge of Ugly, who entered into the sport as warmly as any of us. We generally stayed on the neck until near sunset, and just as the rabbits were out for their supper, started for home. That was Ugly’s half-hour of sport, in which he was always sure to bring two or three rabbits round to the guns. Mr Clare could not shoot as well as Walter, or even Harry, at flying game, but he was first-rate at rabbits; let them jump as fast and high as they might, with Ugly only ten feet behind, and if our fresh tute pulled on them; they were sure to fall. With the Captain things went differently, much to our amusement; for our salt tute cared not how much we laughed at his failures, which all his shots were. He brought up his gun as if it were a harpoon, and always gave it a jerk, to help it shoot farther, when he pulled the trigger. The butt was seldom at his shoulder; and as he insisted upon putting immense loads in his gun, the results were sometimes disastrous to him and ridiculous to us. He often sprang back after a shot, as if he had been kicked by a horse, or wrung his hands, which had borne the recoil. His misses and misfortunes, however, never made him angry or dejected. After each failure, out came the red bandanna to wipe his brow, and as a shout of laughter greeted the performance, he would say calmly, with only a gleam of a smile, “So, boys, you think I missed, eh? Well, perhaps I did.”

Clump and Juno having been much alarmed and excited by the discovery of the smugglers, we boys determined to profit by their disquieted state of mind, and hatched a scheme to afford some fun. We watched an opportunity to put it in execution. The time came one evening when our tutors did not return with us to the house after the afternoon’s shooting, but went to the Clear the Track, to chat and settle some other matters until tea-time at seven.

Delighted with the arrangement, we boys ran to the house, and, getting up into our attic, began to make preparations for the trick we had concocted. There was nothing very original in our plan, I must own, nor was it, I confess, a very grand or noble thing to try and frighten a couple of poor ignorant negroes, for such was the object just then of our plans and preparations. Clump and Juno had a wholesome dread of smugglers and of the acts of vengeance of which they were supposed to be capable. We therefore arranged to dress up so as to make ourselves look as formidable as possible, and then to appear suddenly before the old couple. For this purpose we brought up from the wreck all the boat cloaks, greatcoats, and pieces of canvas which we could find, and sou’westers and tarpaulin hats, not forgetting some pistols and rusty swords. Besides these we laid in a store of pasteboard, and brown and coloured paper, and some laths, and string, and paint, and corks, and tow. With this abundant supply of materials we set to work to fabricate a variety of garments, such as we supposed smugglers would wear; at all events, such as were worn on the stage. We made a sufficient number of false noses to supply each of our faces, and long curling moustaches, which made those who wore them look very fierce. Some had wigs with wonderfully long shaggy hair, and others beards of prodigious growth. The greatcoats and cloaks served for most of the party, with belts round their waists stuck full of daggers made of wood, and a real pistol or two. Then we manufactured out of the canvas some high boots of huge proportions; the upper part capable of containing the whole of a man’s personal luggage, and a day’s supply of provender into the bargain. Nothing could exceed, either, the wild and ferocious appearance of our hats. Two of us wore black feathers in them, and two others were adorned with death’s heads and cross bones: indeed, it must be confessed that we represented much more a band of pirates of two or three centuries back than a party of such smugglers as it was probable could be found on the British coast. Besides the real swords we possessed, we manufactured some hangers out of wood, which we hung by sashes at our sides. In fact, our disguises were complete in every respect, and so fierce did we all appear, that I truly believe, had one of us met another in any gloomy, half-lighted place, both heroes would have run away. Walter took an active part in all the arrangements, and being the tallest and well stuffed out, looked every inch of him a bold smuggler. It is wonderful what burnt cork and rouge and dark locks will effect in turning a mild, gentle-looking person into a fierce leader of outlaws. It was arranged that Drake and I should go down first before dressing up, to prepare the way for the rest of the actors, then he was first to step out, and I was to follow, and get ready. All being at length prepared, we descended to the kitchen, and strolled in there in a tired way, as if we were just in the humour to listen to the old blackies’ talk and receive their petting. Clump, sitting bent over the fire to get light for his work, was cutting some tholes for the boat with his knife. “Hi,” he said, as he saw us enter, “dat’s good fur sore eyes.”

And Juno, taking the pipe from her mouth, greeted us with a long whiff of smoke, and—

“I’se glad you’se cum—getten dark an glum ’ere, only ole Clump an me. What do yun Massas shoot?” Drake held up a couple of rabbits and three wild fowl. “Oh! de gorry—all dem!—well, dis chile nebber sees de like; an you’se gwine ter gib dem ter Clump agin—’spects so, all you’se don’t want. De ole niggers be rich dis winter.”

Clump, when he had got us seats, dusting the kitchen chairs with his long coat-tails, resumed his task, and as Juno’s garrulousness ran on, he shook his head and chuckled, and muttered and grinned, just as if he were behind the scenes and prompting her to amuse us. He always had that funny way of grimacing and conversing with himself gaily, whilst Juno indulged in her talkative fits. He admired his old partner hugely. Once, when travelling with my father, he heard at an Assize some great lawyer make a speech, and said, when the orator had concluded—

“De’clar, Massa, dat’s fine; dis nigger nebber hear anyone speak like dat afore, ’cept—’cept Juno.”

By-and-by, as Juno’s talk ran sluggishly, and the pipe required much picking and blowing, Clump got up to put by his work and light a lamp. But that we forbid, saying the firelight was so much pleasanter.

“Dat’s so,” said Juno, who had got her solace in good order again, and was all ready to start off on a new stream of jabber. “Dat’s so—Clump not ole nuff ter know dat fire-lite more good dan lam-lite. Hi! hi! he only chile yit.”

Drake interrupted there, to turn the conversation into another channel, by saying that we should leave the old house soon to go back to Bristol, and Clump asked, having taken a seat on the wood-box directly under the trap-door, “An you’se glad—glad? ’Spects de ole house git cole an dull to yous now; ’spects de yun Massas want git home?”

“Well, no, Clump,” answered Drake; “I don’t want to go away—that is, we would not want to go if—if—if we had not been somewhat frightened this evening.”

Juno, because of her deafness, did not plainly hear what Drake had said, but she judged it in part from his manner and the assumed look of terror that he cast over his shoulder. So she bent forward anxiously, and asked him in a voice full of concern—

“Wat’s dat, Massa Drake—wat’s dat you say?” Drake drew nearer to her and repeated what he had said. “My hebbens, Massa Drake, wat did scar you?”

“Well, you see, Aunt Juno,” replied Drake, looking cautiously about him again in the darkness of the room—“Bob and I were coming round at the back of the house, when we heard, or thought we heard, whispering, and on drawing nearer, we heard some fearful threats uttered; I cannot say what they were, they were so dreadful.”

“Oh! don’t talk so, Massa Drake, if dere was anybody, dey must be de smugglers, and dey will come to cut all our troats,” exclaimed Juno, looking cautiously round over her shoulder.

I cannot say that even then, thoughtless as I was, I liked what Drake had said, because he had told a positive falsehood, and it was no excuse to declare that it was said in joke. Drake continued, his voice growing more and more tremulous every instant, as if with terror—“That’s not all. As we crept away undiscovered, we heard the tramp of many feet coming up from the shore, and we shouldn’t be surprised if at this very moment the house was surrounded by smugglers, come to carry us all off to foreign lands, to make slaves of us.”

“Or to make soup of us,” I cried out, wringing my hands. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!”

“What has become of Walter and the rest, it is impossible to say,” added Drake. “Too probably they have been already spirited away by the smugglers. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” he exclaimed, and, jumping up, ran out as if to look for them.

Juno and Clump were, it seemed, very much alarmed, both rolling their large eyes round and round till they grew bigger and bigger. Certain noises outside increased the terror of the two poor souls, but I knew that they indicated impatience on the part of my companions. Accordingly, exclaiming that I would bear it no longer, I too jumped up, and ran after Drake. As neither of us returned, it was but natural that Juno and Clump should have supposed that we had been carried off by the smugglers. There the two poor souls sat, shivering and trembling with alarm, not daring to go out, for fear of finding their worst anticipations realised. At last, Clump—who was really a brave fellow at heart, though just then overtaken by a nervous fit—got up, and, taking his old gun from over the mantelpiece, prepared to load it. Several pair of sharp eyes had been watching proceedings from outside. Now was the moment for action. Led by Walter, in we rushed, and then advanced with threatening gestures towards the old couple. We were afraid of uttering any sound, lest the well-known tones of our voices should have betrayed us. Juno was at first the most alarmed. She did not scream or shriek, however, but, falling on her knees, appeared as if she was thus resolved to meet her death. Poor old Clump meantime stood gazing at us with an almost idiotic stare, till Walter, advancing, gave him a slap on the back, sufficient, it must be owned, to rouse him up. At first, the blow adding to his overwhelming terror, he rolled over, a mere bundle of blackness, into the wood-box, nothing being visible to us but two long quivering feet and five black fingers. But in a moment after, with his still unloaded gun in his hand, he sprang up like a madman, jumped over the table, and, not trying to open the door, burst through the window, smashing half a dozen panes of glass.

Who should open the door just then and come in, as Clump demolished the window and went out, but Captain Mugford! Having left Mr Clare enjoying a nap on a sofa in the brig, he had come up to the house, and, hearing the frightful noises in the kitchen, rushed in there. So much was he prepared by the yells that escaped for some tragic scene of scalding or other accident, that it required two or three minutes before he could take in the meaning of the commotion. But when he recognised in the fierce smugglers a party of his young friends, and when he beheld Juno’s situation, and the shattered frame through which Clump had struggled, he took the joke, and broke into the most elephantine convulsions of laughter that I ever heard or witnessed. For half a minute, at least, he shook and shook internally, and then exploded. An explosion was no sooner finished than the internal spasm recommenced, and so he went on until I really feared he might injure himself. After five minutes of such attack, he managed to draw out his bandanna and cover his face with it, and then, whilst we watched his figure shaking and quivering, we heard, like groans, from beneath the handkerchief, “Oh ur–rh–ha—ar—uh! Bless me!” When he took down his handkerchief and happened to see Juno rising from her knees, he swelled up again like a balloon, and then eased off gradually in splutterings and moans as a dying porpoise. After which, he went and pacified Juno, and tried to explain to her what a wicked trick we had been guilty of, and that the band of smugglers, after all, were only the boys she knew so well, and he proceeded to disrobe us, one by one, so that the old woman might comprehend the joke. And so she did, but she sat motionless for a time, until some portion of her usual composure returned; and then she got up with many a sigh and mutterings of “Ki! ki! tink dat’s wicked—frite ole Juno so—oh Lor!” but before tea was served, I heard her chuckling slyly, and turning towards us again and again as she poured the hot milk on the toast she was dishing up. We meantime were employed in peeling, and by degrees got restored to our usual appearance, and we then hurried up to our rooms to wash off the rouge and the marks of burnt cork with which our faces were covered. But the Captain sat down and shook quietly for a long while, the tears rolling down his face, and his fingers opening and closing convulsively on the handkerchief. And when tea was quite ready, he went off to hunt up Clump.

Mr Clare came in soon after, but we had, by that time, got the better of the fun, and removed all traces of the commotion. When the Captain joined us at the table, he had another laughing spasm before he could say or eat anything; but for the remainder of the evening he controlled himself pretty well, only breaking out about half a dozen times, and blowing his nose until it was very red and swollen. However, Mr Clare never heard of the way the poor negroes had been frightened by a practical joke, a thing he particularly disliked and had often spoken against.

Chapter Nineteen.

Last Days on the Cape—A Terrible Night.

And now, the time of our stay on the cape was drawing to a close. Only three days more remained, and they were to be occupied in collecting our books, packing trunks, and all the unpleasant little duties that become so tedious and dispiriting when, like a drop curtain, they announce the end of the play.

Perhaps if the days of our cape life had been prolonged, we should have regretted the detention from home, and yearned for our dear parents, looking on the cape, that had already lost some of its attractions, as soon to become a dreary point beaten by winter winds and seas and drifted across by the snow. But because we must go, therefore it was hard to go. What cannot be done, cannot be had, cannot be reached—that is just what the boy wants. As we could not yet actually realise the desolateness and barrenness of winter there, but only remember the delights and beauties of summer and autumn, we lost cheerfulness over the boxes and trunks, and sighed because of the brick walls, narrow streets, and toilsome school-work that were soon to bound our lives.

On a Wednesday we had been for our last afternoon’s shooting on the moor. Our tutors had walked round to return their guns to the lenders over in the town. We strolled to the house through the fast fading afternoon light, talking of the memorable events in our half-year just closing.

“Now, I think,” said Drake, “that our boat-race was the best fun of all.”

“I don’t,” Alf answered, “though we had a good time then, I know; but what is there to compare with the cruise and shipwreck?—the excitement lasted so long and came out all right.”

“Yes, it came out all right, but there was only a tight squeak that it did not go all wrong. I tell you what, fellows, I was horribly frightened that night, before we struck on Boatswain’s Reef,” said Harry.

Each of us but Walter added, “So was I.”

“Walter, now you were frightened, too. Own now!” continued Harry.

“No, I was not, really!” answered Walter. “Somehow I never feel afraid on the water; and I think it must be because I was born at sea, you know, when our father and mother were returning from the West Indies. Now if I had been behind a pair of runaway horses, instead of aboard a good boat, I might have got shaky, I daresay.”

“Well, my opinion is,” said I, “that just the best time of all was finding the smugglers’ cave; but I am afraid that, after we are gone, they may come down hard on Clump and Juno, and when we have—”

Walter interrupted me with “Nonsense, those fellows will know enough to keep hid or give the cape a wide berth after this. But talking about the good times we have had, I have enjoyed our shooting best of all, and so has Ugly, I’ll bet—haven’t you, Ugly?”

To which our bright little dog answered as well as he could by barking an assent, and jumping before us to wag his tail energetically.

“Hallo!” Harry exclaimed, stopping, as he spoke, to look off to sea; “there’s a rakish-looking lugger—don’t you see?—just there, to the south-east, near Bass Rocks. I wonder what she is after.”

“After?” answered Drake, “why, probably running down to Penzance.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Harry, who continued to watch the vessel with much interest; “it looks to me as if she were running close in, to anchor.”

“Well, let her anchor if she likes. There’s nothing strange in that, when there’s not wind enough to fly a feather;” and after a few moments more, in which we resumed our way to the house, Drake continued—

“Haven’t our tutors proved splendid fellows? I think the Captain is the finest old chap that I ever came across; and when Mr Clare is a clergyman I should like to go to his church—shouldn’t feel a bit like going to sleep then.”

To which we all gave a cordial assent, and, having reached the house, turned in there with the prospect of having some fun with Clump and Juno before our tutors should return. I stood at the door a few minutes. Sure enough Harry was right. Though it was too dark now to distinguish anything more than a hundred yards away, I heard the running out of a cable and then the lowering of the sails. “An odd place to anchor for the night,” thought I, and so did Ugly, who was beside me, for he gave a low, uneasy howl.

Juno was laying the plates for tea, as I went in. After teasing her for awhile I joined the other boys. Soon Juno came out to the kitchen, and when she commenced to fry the hasty-pudding, we induced Clump to tell us some of his sea adventures, in the middle of which Ugly set up a furious barking, and a moment afterwards there came a heavy rap at the front door. It was the first time there had been a knock at a door of our old house since we had been in it.

Clump, leaving his story unfinished, took a candle, and Drake and I followed him into the dining-room, which he had to cross to get to the front door. But by the time we had entered the dining-room a stranger had walked into the hall, and had also proceeded to open the door opposite us. Ugly, who was greatly incensed, jumped forward and took hold of a leg of the stranger’s trousers.

Our visitor was a small, rough, ugly man, with a terrible squint in his eyes and a voice as unpleasant as his face. He had no collar, only a handkerchief about his neck, and wore a large, shaggy flushing jacket. His first act was to kick Ugly halfway across the room, with the salutation: “Take that, you damned cur, for your manners, damn you!”

Ugly made at him again fiercer than ever, but I caught him in time and held him.

“Wat will you ’ab, sir?” asked Clump in a dignified voice.

“What will I have, ay? I’ll have that cur’s life if he comes at me agin, and I want to know, old nigger, if,”—here the rough customer spit some tobacco-juice on the floor—“I want to know if you kin ’commodate four or five gents for the night, ay?”

All of Clump’s spirit was aroused, and he stammered as he replied—

“No, mon; n–o–o–o! We dussen keeps no ho–o–o—hotel ’ere, we dussen. You’se find tabben ober end de town. Dis am Massa Tre–gel—Tre–gel—Massa Tregellin’s privet mansion.”

“Ho! ho!” answered the man, slapping his hat down on his head and spitting again. “Massa Tregellin’s house, is it? Look here, boys, you just tell your dad, when you see him, that he has got a foolish, consequential nigger and a mean, tumbledown affair of a hut, if it can’t ’commodate some poor sailors. Howsumever, I’ll go back to my lugger, and bad luck to your mansion! Old nig, look ’er here—perhaps we’ll see each other again.” He looked slowly all round the room, and went out, slamming the doors after him.

Fifteen minutes afterwards our tutors came in, and when they heard of our visitor Captain Mugford waxed wroth.

“I wish I had been here,” he exclaimed; “if I wouldn’t have put that scoundrel off soundings in about half a splice! The impudent fellow, to attempt to lord it in that style in a gentleman’s house. What do you think of it, Mr Clare, eh?”

“Oh, not much, Captain Mugford. The man was probably tipsy, and was of course a bully, or he would never have talked so before boys and a poor old negro. I am glad neither Walter nor Harry was in the room.”

“So am I, sir,” said Walter; “we were in the kitchen and came in when we heard the loud talking, just as the man slammed the doors in going out. We could have done nothing more than order him out.”

After tea we boys went into the kitchen again, leaving our tutors playing at chess, which Mr Clare was trying to teach Captain Mugford. That kitchen was a favourite resort of ours in the evenings, and Clump and Juno liked to have us there. There was a famous fire—three or four fresh logs singing over a red mass of coal; plenty of ashes; and a whistled tune with a jet of smoke right from the heart of each stick. The brass fire-dogs were extra bright, reflecting the blaze on all sides. Some chestnuts and potatoes were roasting in the ashes, and Clump had provided some cider to treat us to, this last night of ours on the cape. So we pulled our chairs close around the fire, Clump sitting at one end, almost inside the chimney-place, smoking his pipe, and Juno at the other end, also almost inside the chimney-place, and smoking, too, her pipe. Hi! How they grinned, and chatted, and smoked. After awhile, when we had had a full hour of real fun, quizzing the old folks, telling stories, eating chestnuts and potatoes, drinking cider, and listening to stories of the West Indies, Walter and Harry got up to clean their guns.

“Wen you’se cum ’ere nudder time, ’spect dese ole black folks be gwine ’way—be gwine ’crost de ribber Jordan?”—exclaimed Juno, with a long sigh.

“Now, don’t talk in that way,” said Harry; “why, marm Juno, you and Clump will live to dance at my wedding; see if you don’t; and now, Juno, just give us a kettle of hot water, will you, to rinse out these gun-barrels with.”

When the guns were washed, dried, and rubbed off with oil, I said to Clump, “Have you got any bullets or buckshot?”

“Don’t know, Massa Bob—’spects so, en my ole tool-box.”

“Why,” asked Drake, “what are you going to do, Bob, with bullets and buckshot?”

Clump was down on his knees in the closet, overhauling the tool-box he had spoken of.

“Well, Drake, I’ll tell you if Clump finds the articles,” I answered.

“Have you got any, Clump?”

“Yah, Massa, ’ere’s a han’ful.”

“These bullets and buckshot,” I continued, “are for Walter and Harry to load their guns with; for, just as sure as that fellow came here this afternoon, just so sure, I believe, he will be back here before morning with more like him.”

“What stuff,” sang out Walter, laughing; “what puts that in your head, Bob?”

“I don’t know exactly what, Walter, but I suspect it, and I have not liked to say anything about it before, because I was afraid of being laughed at. But the more I think of it, the more certain I am that the man who was here to-night is one of the band of smugglers who owned the goods taken through our means by the revenue men. There are others with him, and, mark my word, they have not come back for nothing. Now do, fellows, load your guns. We needn’t say anything and get laughed at, for the Captain will surely laugh if we tell him my suspicions. You can take your guns upstairs, and then, if anything does happen before morning, you’ll be all ready.”

“Well, Walter,” said Harry, “suppose we do—it’s good fun at any rate to make believe that robbers, and outlaws, and smugglers, and all other sorts of odd visitors are coming—and—I cannot help owning that what Bob says sounds probable. So here go two bullets for this barrel, and nine buckshot for the other. Come, Walt, load up! Don’t you shake in your boots already? ugh!”

“It is curious that we should have pretended to be smugglers if smugglers really do come. Probably that makes Bob fancy they will come; still, I wish that we had not frightened the old people so,” said Walter, loading his gun; and a few minutes later Mr Clare opened the kitchen door and called us in to evening prayers. As they always did, Clump and Juno assembled with us in the dining-room.

There was something very impressive in those few moments before the chapter for reading was found. There was the sound of the turning over of the Bible leaves, and that of a light, pattering autumn rain without, (it had commenced after dark), besides the comfortable crackling of the wood-fire, and the occasional snapping of the fresh logs. The old, devoted, pious negroes; the rugged, benevolent Captain, with an expression of thought and reverent waiting in his face; and we boys, so full of youth and spirits, sat thinking—soberly, and perhaps solemnly—how neither sickness nor harm had come near us; what blessings of pleasure, health, and strength had waited on us all during half a year; how those dear ones separated from us had been preserved from suffering and calamity, and were hoping to meet us before another week had commenced; how the common ties and associations that had united us so happily and so long were soon to be sundered. Those and many other—some graver, some lighter—thoughts, in those few seconds, occupied our minds, whilst Mr Clare turned over the leaves beneath the table lamp, and then his clear, strong voice slowly and feelingly uttered the words: “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust. Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with His feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust: His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday... Because thou hast made the Lord which is my refuge, even the Most High, thy habitation... For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone... He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble: I will deliver him and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him My salvation.”

And when the prayers had ended, we separated quietly for our beds, the Captain going off as usual to the brig.

I turned the key in the hall-door as he went out—the first time such a thing had been done during our stay on the cape. Ugly coiled himself up on the horsehair sofa in the dining-room, and in half an hour more, I suppose, every soul in the old house was asleep.

I dreamed that a lot of rabbits were in a hole together and making a humming noise, which, I believed, was a whispering they were having together, and I wanted to hear what they said, but that Ugly made such a barking I could not. I woke up, and, sure enough, Ugly was very noisy in the room below, barking regularly and harshly. No one else in the house seemed to be disturbed. There was a placid snoring in the attic, a pattering of rain on the roof, and a splashing of water, as it ran off steadily in a stream to the ground. But in a minute or two, between Ugly’s barks I thought I heard something which recalled what I had been dreaming of, the rabbits whispering in their burrow. I listened. Yes, some persons outside the house were talking together in low voices. I crawled to a window and looked out. There was an indistinct group of three or four persons standing by the rock, twenty yards from the house. Their talk was only a murmur of different voices in discussion, sometimes louder, sometimes fainter; but as I watched, one of the group struck a light, and I saw in the flash four or five or more figures, and the face of the man who had entered the house in the evening, who was now holding a lantern to be lighted, and was also looking up at the house. It was a dark lantern, I suppose, for the light was shut up in some way after that. I shook each of the boys and told them to look out of the window, and then I ran into Mr Clare’s room and woke him. When he saw that some sort of robbery or attack was to be made on the house, he exclaimed, “I hope they do not know that the Captain is alone in the brig,” and ran downstairs to bolt all the doors and windows as securely as they could be fastened, and awaken Clump and Juno, who slept in a little room off the kitchen. Not a lamp was lighted in the house, but the smugglers had heard the noises made, and now, talking and swearing aloud, approached the door and turned the handle. Being bolted within, they could not open it.

“Hullo! hullo! I say, you Tregellin fellows, wake up!”—it was the voice we had heard before—“wake up and let us in?”—it sounded as if he turned to his companions then, and laughed and muttered something—“here’s some decent sailor-boys as wants a drop and a bite, so wake up quick, boys and niggers!—let us in, I say, or we’ll break open the doors, and break your bones into the bargain.”

At the conclusion of the speech, they all beat on the door and house with fists and sticks, and laughed loudly at their leader’s joke. Mr Clare now went down the narrow, creaking stairs again to the big door they were pounding against so fiercely, and from behind its defence answered the summons.

“Men: this is a private house, and you must go away. You will get nothing here, and we are armed.”

“Hurrah!” they answered without. I shall omit the terrible oaths with which they loaded every breath they spoke. “Who are you, big voice?”

“No matter,” called out Mr Clare, “who I am. I suspect who you are, and we do not intend to let you get in here—that is all.”

“That’s a lie—we’ll be in in ten minutes and make your bass a squeak. If you don’t open this ’ere door in a jiffy—we’ll make grease-pots of you along with them niggers. Look what we’ll do with your castle—just what we have been doing with the old hulk down there on the rocks.”

As he spoke, the darkness in the house withdrew to the holes and corners, and flashes of red and white light shot into every window and played on the walls, reflected from the midnight sky that had suddenly kindled to a blaze. The outlaws had set the old wreck on fire—our dear old school-house.

Could the Captain be there, sleeping yet? or had they killed him?

Ah! that doubt about Captain Mugford’s safety magnified the danger of our own situation to our imaginations. If those outlaws could burn, in madness, such a harmless thing as the castaway brig, and could conquer such a powerful man as our salt tute, what might they not do here to us?

The hour—the yelling and swearing and banging at the doors—the lurid glare flashing from the sky to show us each other’s fear-stamped countenances—those united to bewilder and appal us boys at least.

Juno, too, was upstairs in our room, sitting on a low chair, perfectly silent, but overcome by dread. But Clump, who now showed the courage he really possessed, was active with Mr Clare downstairs, strengthening every window and door. He was not afraid. His old spirit was aroused, and, in the defence of his dear master’s children, he was anxious to prove his courage and fidelity.

“Harry,” Mr Clare called up the stairs, “bring me your gun. I shall want that down here. You say it is all loaded and ready, eh? Well, bring it down. Walter, you keep yours upstairs, and all you boys remain there until it is necessary to come down; and now, Walter, don’t fire unless there is absolute necessity. The rascals can’t burn this house unless they light the roof, and they can’t stay here all night to do that, for the light of the Clear the Track will bring over some of the townspeople. Poor Mugford! poor Mugford! Bob, you climb up to that little window in the south gable-end, and see if you can detect any movement about the wreck.”

Harry handed him the gun, and I climbed to the lookout, relinquishing Ugly, whom I had been holding, to Juno’s care. He had been ordered not to bark, so now he only panted fiercely and listened intently.

The smugglers, after vain attempts at the front door—they could have smashed in the windows, shutters, latches, glass, and all, but their small size and height from the ground made them most dangerous to enter by when there were defenders within went round to the back of the house, and presently I heard a great ripping and banging of boards there, and Mr Clare’s voice call quickly—

“If one inch of you enter there, I will fire—understand that.”

Then we heard a shot, but knew by the report that it was not Harry’s gun, and Drake called down the stairs, “Clump, who fired?”

“De smugglers, Massa; one den shoot tru de winder at Massa Clare, but tank de Lor, the scoundrel miss.”

Just then I saw—and how the blood coursed with one cold sweep from my heart and back again—amid the hot flames of the burning wreck, Captain Mugford’s figure. He sprang from the deck to the rocks and was rushing towards the house. I turned and called the good news, but found that Juno and I were alone. The others, too much excited and interested in the contest to remain longer prisoners in the attic, had got on the stairway, and when I looked down on them Walter was on the bottom step with his gun cocked.

Now many steps and the yelled-out blasphemy of the smugglers came round the house again to the front. Though, as we knew afterwards, two remained to keep Mr Clare occupied there, whilst the three others were to try the windows again.

Captain Mugford must be near. Oh! that he could get here safely. Ugly jumped by me, and, uttering a savage bark, sprang downstairs and past Walter. He had escaped from Juno’s charge. As he flew about the rooms downstairs, a whole sash and shutter in the south-east room were driven in by a blow of an immense beam, and in another second half the body of a smuggler was above the window-sill. But with a tremendous leap Ugly reached him and pinned him by the throat. They tumbled back together. Then we heard a new voice—Captain Mugford’s!

“You cowards, you hang-dogs, you scum of the sea, you dark-hearted blackguards—take that! Aye, villains!—and that!”

Two pistol shots were heard. Harry jumped to open the door for Captain Mugford. Walter stood ready beside him with the gun. I ran with Drake to the open window, to see if harm had come to our dear salt tute, and Alfred had hurried in to where Mr Clare was alone guarding the back-door and broken windows, for he had sent Clump, not knowing of our being downstairs and of the Captain’s coming, to fight where we were. Clump had a short iron bar in his hands. I saw the man whom Ugly had gripped fallen on his knees and cutting our gallant little dog from his neck with a knife. One outlaw was stretched on the ground. Another was struggling with the Captain. He was a large, powerful fellow, and seemed to be getting the better of our now much-exhausted tutor. As I looked, the prostrate man rose, and both he and the one whom poor Ugly—now dead on the grass—had attacked came to help crush the Captain. Then the front door was flung open. Walter fired, and the man who had killed our brave dog dropped the knife he held, and, clasping his left shoulder with his right hand, screamed out a terrible oath, and, yelling with pain, ran from the struggle. At the same moment—all these events, from the time Captain Mugford arrived until the door was opened to admit him, not occupying probably three minutes—the Captain fell beneath his adversary, whose fingers clutched his throat, and the infuriated outlaw seemed determined to finish him. Walter could not fire again without shooting the very one for whose safety alone he would fire. But Clump jumped out with his iron bar and struck the assailant on the head. The Captain was released just as I saw the other miscreant level a pistol at Clump. I called, “Oh, Clump, Clump, take care!” With the sound of my voice came the sharp, fatal crack of the pistol, and Clump fell back—dead!

Two minutes more and all the smugglers were in full flight. The old, grey-headed, faithful, true-hearted Clump was dead, and Juno stretched unconscious on her husband’s body. Ugly, all hacked to pieces, lay in a pool of blood, yet gasping. Captain Mugford, wounded, bruised, and exhausted, sat on the doorstep. Mr Clare was leaning over Clump with a hand on the pulseless heart. The burning wreck yet lighted the heavens, and the horrid scene at the very doorstep of our home of such a happy half-year.

Chapter Twenty.

A Retrospect and Farewell.

It is fifty years ago and some months since that rainy, bloody, flame-lit October night. And now this cold, wintery, blustering midnight, I—the Bob Tregellin of my story—sit writing this concluding chapter.

There is a coal-fire glowing hot in the grate. There are shelves and shelves of books; easy-chairs sprawling their indolent figures here and there; a curled-up bunch of fur purring in one; an old black setter-dog dreaming—as I can see by the whine in his quick breathing and the kicking of his outstretched legs—on a bearskin rug before the fire; and a circle of bright light from a well-shaded lamp falls about my table. Yes—but I shall get up now for a minute and take down the old musket and dog-collar, the sight of which always vividly recalls those happiest months of my life—Fifty Years Ago.

As I replace them the storm without comes in a heavier, fiercer gust. I hear it rush in a whirl up the street. I see it almost lift the heavy curtains over the window, as if it would come in and rest itself. I hear it whistling through all the cracks and keyholes of the house—whistling dismally. Its voices, and the rumbling of a hack in some neighbouring street, remind me of storms I have heard, lying comfortably in my snug attic bed in the old house on the cape—the wind and the waves dashing up the rocky shore.

That strong whiff disturbed pussy’s and “the Captain’s” (so I have called my old setter friend) nap, for puss stands up on her morocco bed and arches her back like a horseshoe, and then springs, with a jolted-out “mew–r–r–r,” right on my table, and proceeds to walk over this manuscript, carrying her tail up as if she wanted to light it by the gas and beg me then to touch it to my pipe and stop scribbling. So I shall presently. And the Captain strolls up to lay his cold nose on my knee, slowly wag his silky tail, and look kindly into my face with those soft, big eyes, as if he would say, “Come, master, don’t be low-spirited.”

You are right, old fellow! I was somewhat sad about leaving the pleasant companionship I have held through my pen with brothers and friends of the old time, and a goodly number of those who are young now, while I am so no longer, except in memory and heart. Youth has come back with these pages, and perhaps you are tired with me, but I—I shall never tire of the young—the glorious companionship of the pure, merry, brave hearts that look undaunted and without suspicion on the great road stretching far into the Future, and fading only to reappear in mirages of splendour in a brilliant sky.

There! I have smoked my pipe: and now, Miss Puss, stretch yourself in the chair again, and you, Captain, resume that dream by the fire. I have got a few more lines to write before my invisible friends leave me.

From that autumn night, 1830, to this winter night of 1872, no clue has ever been discovered to the murderers of faithful old Clump. About Christmas time of the same year Juno closed her earthly eyes in the old Cape House—to open them again, I fervently believe, in heaven.

Mr Clare lives—a venerable clergyman in one of our great cities—his head and heart yet labouring earnestly in the Great Cause he serves.

Captain Mugford sleeps in the home of his adoption—the ocean. Five years after our six months together he sailed from Bristol as boatswain of a splendid ship for the Pacific. A fortnight after, he was spoken by a homeward-bound brig, and that was the last ever heard of honest Roland Mugford, or the ship he sailed in. I hope seas, winds, and undercurrents, however rough they may have been, left undisturbed the red bandanna and the short black pipe. And we feel sure that the mother’s prayers were answered, and that the boy who ran away from her in his youth came back to her,—whither her memory was a beacon light—the Eternal Harbour, unstirred by storms.

Walter is a man of eminence—a diplomatist—and Harry a merchant, a cheerful, generous-hearted man, whose name is the synonym of honour, and whose hands “to do good, and to distribute, forget not.”

Drake, who entered the army after travelling in every strange and dim corner of the globe—frozen up in the Arctic Seas, perspiring in the interior of Africa, exploring among the western wilds of the Rocky Mountains, and doing other things adventurous in every out-of-the-way part—finally went with all his honest, hot zeal to India, where, fighting his country’s battles, he spent many years of his life, and came back a general and one-legged man. Now he stumps about in this same library, but manages to take me travelling thousands of never-weary miles; and many and many a time do we walk, and shoot, and swim, and race, and fight over and over again that happy time at the cape.

Poor Alfred—the best of all of us—died before his thirtieth year, nursed by a few devoted Africans, at his missionary station in the southern Atlantic.

And I, whom the general calls “Vieux Moustache,” have finished an old Boy’s Story of “Our Salt and Fresh Water Tutors.”

The End.