Captain Marryat (continued 6)

“You assist my cause, my dear mother, by what you say, if it is on your account that Captain Delmar is my friend; and if as you say, he might desert me when you are dead, or supposed to be so, it is evident that his motive of action must be fear. You have the secret of my birth, which he supposes to be known only to you and to him. I am convinced that if you were supposed dead, and that the secret was his own, if he thought that there was no proof whatever against him, he would then not care showing towards me that regard which he is inclined to feel as a father, and which is now checked by his pride. Captain Delmar is naturally of a kind and affectionate disposition—that I am sure of. Your memory would do more for me than your existence ever can, and as for the rest, leave that to me. At all events, if he should, as I do not believe he will, be inclined to throw me off, I have still his written acknowledgment that I am his son, to make use of in case of necessity. Now, my dear mother, you must consent to do as I wish. Give up your business as soon as possible, and retire to another part of the country. When I consider it a proper time to do so, your death shall be made known to him. I have no doubt that he will be afloat again in a few months, and when we are out of England I will bide the proper time.”

“But your grandmother, Percival—must I tell her?”

“No; tell her only that you intend to retire from business and go away from Chatham; say that you will in future reside in Devonshire, and ask her to accompany you. Depend upon it she will be pleased with your intentions. As to what we arrange relative to Captain Delmar, say nothing to her—she hates his very name, and is not likely to talk about him.”

“Well, Percival you will allow me till to-morrow to think about it before I give a decided answer.”

“Certainly, my dear mother; I wish you so to do, as I am convinced that you will agree with me; and I infinitely prefer that you should decide on conviction, than be induced by maternal regard.”

As I was well assured, my mother’s decision was favourable to my wishes. She consulted with my grandmother, who approved of her intentions, and then it was made public that Mrs Keene intended to retire from business, and that the good-will was to be disposed of along with the stock. My aunt Milly and Captain Bridgeman appeared well content that my mother should take the step which she proposed. In short, all the family approved of the measure, which is not a very usual circumstance in this world. I now employed myself in assisting my mother in her affairs. In a month we found a purchaser of the stock and good-will, and when the sum paid was added to my mother’s former accumulations, she found herself possessed of 12,000 pounds in the Three per Cents, the interest of which, 360 pounds, was more than sufficient for her living comfortably in Devonshire, especially as my grandmother had still remaining an income very nearly amounting to 200 pounds per annum.

In another month everything was arranged, and my mother bade farewell to her sister and all her friends, and left Chatham, after having resided there more than seventeen years.

Long before my mother had removed from Chatham I received a letter from young Vangilt, announcing his safe arrival in Amsterdam, and enclosing an order to receive the money advanced, from a house in London. His letter was very grateful, but, as I had cautioned him, not one word was in it which could implicate me, had it fallen into other hands.

I may as well here observe, that in the hurry of paying off the ship, Vangilt was never missed, and although it did occur to the commanding officer after he had gone on shore that Mr Vangilt had not been sent to prison, he thought it just as well not to raise a question which might get himself into a scrape; in short, nothing was thought or said about it by anybody.

A few days before my mother quitted Chatham I went up to London to receive the money, and then went to Portsmouth to repay the portion belonging to Bob Cross. I found that Bob had made good use of his time, and that the old smuggler now received him as a suitor to his niece.

As however, Mary was still very young—not yet seventeen—and Bob had acknowledged that he had not laid by much money as yet, the old man had insisted that Bob Cross should get another ship, and try a voyage or two more before he was spliced; and to this arrangement both the mother and Mary persuaded him to consent. I went to call upon them with Bob, and did all I could, without stating what was not true, to give the old man a favourable opinion of Cross. I even went so far as to say that if he could not procure another vessel, I was ready to put down a sum of money to assist him; and so I was; and had it been requisite, I have no doubt but that my mother would have advanced it; but Bob, a fine seaman, not yet thirty years old, was always sure of a ship—that is, a man-of-war. To save himself from impressment, Cross had dressed himself in long toggery as a captain of a merchant vessel, and was believed to be such.

Having satisfied myself that everything went on favourably in that quarter, I again returned to Chatham, that I might escort my mother and grandmother into Devonshire. We bade farewell to my aunt and Captain Bridgeman, and set off for London, where we remained a few days at an hotel, and then took the day coach down to Ilfracombe, where my mother had decided upon taking up her future residence, changing her name to Ogilvie, which had been my grandmother’s maiden name.

Ilfracombe was then a beautiful retired spot, and well suited to my mother from its cheapness: with their joint incomes, my grandmother and she could command anything they wished. We soon hired a very pretty little cottage ornée, ready furnished, as my mother would not furnish a house until she had ascertained whether there were no drawbacks to the locality. I ought to observe, that my grandmother now appeared quite as partial to me as she had before been otherwise. I treated her with great respect.

Although it was not difficult to obtain a renewal of leave from a guard-ship, after I had remained six weeks with my mother, it was necessary that I should make my appearance at Portsmouth. It was arranged that I should take my departure for Portsmouth in three days, when, on reading the Plymouth newspaper, I learnt that the newly-launched frigate Manilla, of 44 guns, was put in commission, and that the Honourable Captain Delmar had come down and hoisted his pennant. This, of course, changed my plans. I resolved to set off for Plymouth, and wait upon Captain Delmar. I wrote to Bob Cross, enclosing an order for my chest and bedding on board of the guard-ship at Portsmouth, acquainting him with my intention, but requesting him not to act until he heard from me again.

I had a long conversation with my mother, from whom I obtained a renewal of her promise to abide and act by my instructions. I took a respectful farewell of my grandmother, who gave me 100 pounds, which I did not want, as my mother had given me a similar sum, and then set off for Plymouth.

The reader may perhaps inquire how it was that Captain Delmar—as he had promised to pay my expenses—had not made any offer of the kind, or communicated with me on the subject? But the fact was, that he knew I had three years’ pay due, besides the prize-money for the Dutch frigate, which, however, I had not yet received, although it was payable. In pecuniary matters I was certainly well off, as my mother desired that I would draw for any money that I required, feeling convinced that, being aware of her circumstances, I should not distress her by any extravagancies in that she did me justice.

I was now eighteen years old, and just starting again on my career. As I grew up, my likeness to Captain Delmar became more remarkable every day. My mother could not help observing it even to me. “I almost wish that it was not so, my dear mother. I fear it will be the cause of annoyance to Captain Delmar; but it cannot be helped. At all events, it must satisfy him, allowing that he has any doubt (which I am sure he has not), that I am his own child.”

“That I believe to be quite unnecessary,” replied my mother with a deep sigh.

“I should think so too, my dear mother,” replied I, caressing her kindly. “At all events, I will prove, whether I ever obtain it or not, that I am not unworthy of the name of Delmar: but I must wait no longer—the coach is about to start. Adieu, and may God bless you.”

On my arrival at Plymouth—or Plymouth Dock, as Devonport was then called—I inquired at which hotel Captain Delmar had taken up his quarters. It was the one to which I had intended to have gone myself; but I immediately had my luggage taken to another, for I really believe that Delmar would have considered it a great liberty for any one of his officers to presume, to lie down in the same caravanserai as himself. The next morning I sent up my name and was admitted.

“Good morning, Mr Keene,” said the captain. “I presume that you have come down to request to join my ship, and I therefore consent before you make the request. I trust you will always show the same zeal and deference to your officers that you did in the Calliope. You have grown very much, and are now a young man. I shall give you the rating of mate, and I trust you will not do discredit to my patronage.”

“I trust not, Captain Delmar,” replied I. “I have but one wish in the world, which is to please you, who have so befriended me from my boyhood. I should be very ungrateful if I did not do my duty with zeal and fidelity; I am indebted to you for everything, and I am aware I must look to you for every future prospect. I have to thank you, sir, for your great kindness in publishing my name in the public Gazette.”

“You deserved it, Mr Keene, and it certainly will be of great advantage to you when you have served your time. Has your time gone on since the Calliope was paid off?”

“Yes, sir; I am still on the books of the Salvadore?”

“How much time have you served?”

“Nearly four years and a half, sir.”

“Well, the rest will soon be over; and if you do your duty, my patronage shall not be wanting.”

Here there was a bow on my part, and a pause, and I was backing out with another bow, when the captain said, “How is your mother, Mr Keene?”

“She has been advised to retire from business, and to settle in the country,” replied I, mournfully; “her health is such, that—” Here I stopped, as I preferred deceiving him by implication, or rather allowing him to deceive himself.

“I am sorry to hear that,” replied he; “but she never was strong as a young woman.” Here the captain stopped, as if he had said too much.

“No, sir,” replied I; “when in the service of Mrs Delmar she could not be put to anything that required fatigue.”

“Very true,” replied the captain. “You may go on board, Mr Keene, and desire my clerk to make out a letter, requesting your discharge from the Salvadore into the Manilla. Do you require anything?”

“No, sir, I thank you. I need not trespass on your generosity just now. Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr Keene.”

“I beg your pardon Captain Delmar,” said I, as I held the door ajar; “but should you like Robert Cross, your former coxswain, should join you in the same capacity? I know where he is.”

“Yes, Mr Keene, I should like to have him: he was a steady, good man. You will oblige me by writing to him, and requesting him to join immediately. Where is he?”

“At Portsmouth, Captain Delmar.”

“Very well; tell him to come round as fast as he can. By the bye, you will have two of your old messmates—Mr Smith, the master, and Mr Dott. I hope the latter is a little more steady than he was. I was in hopes to have had your old acquaintance, Mr Culpepper, with us; but he died about six weeks back—a fit, or something of that kind.”

“Thank heaven for that,” thought I. Again I made my most respectful bow, and quitted the room.

I returned to my own hotel, and sitting down, I began to reflect upon the interview. I recalled all that had passed, and I made up my mind that I was right in preparing him for the report of my mother’s death: his reception of me was all that I could have expected from him—it was cordial; but my blood boiled when I called to mind that he had only made a casual inquiry after my mother, as I was leaving the room; and then his checking himself because he had inadvertently said that she was not strong when she was a young woman. “Yes,” thought I; “he cannot bear the remembrance of the connection; and it is only for myself, and not from any natural affection of a parent, that he cares for me; or if he does care for me as his son, it is because I have his blood in my veins; and he despises and looks down upon the mother. I am sure that he will be anything but sorry to hear that my mother is dead, and he shall be gratified. I will now write to her.”

I could not help observing that there was some change in the appearance of Captain Delmar. Strange to say, he looked more youthful; and as I compared our two faces in the mirror on the mantel-piece behind him, when I stood up, he appeared more like me in appearance than ever. What was it? “Oh!” thought I, “I have it. His hair is no longer mixed with grey: he must wear a wig.” This was the fact, as I afterwards ascertained; the colour of his wig was, however, much darker than my own hair.

By the same post I wrote to Bob Cross, acquainting him with what had passed, and begging him to come round by the first water conveyance, and bring my chest and bedding with him. I then walked down to the dockyard to have a look at the Manilla, which was, as I had heard, a splendid vessel; went up again to order a mate’s uniform, and returned to the hotel. It was useless going to the ship at that time, as the marines and boys had only been drafted into her that morning; and there was nothing to do until she was clear of the shipwrights, who were still on board of her, and employed in every part of her. The first lieutenant had not yet come down. The master was the only officer who had joined, and he had hoisted the pennant. I was delighted to find that he was to sail with us; and we passed that evening together.

During the evening the master said, “I hear there are plenty of good men stowed away by the crimps at different places. I wish we could only find out where they are, and get hold of them. I fear, if we do not, we shall either be badly manned in haste from the Tower tender, or have to wait a long while before we sail. Now, Keene, don’t you think you could manage so as to get us some men?”

“I’ve got one already,” replied I: “Bob Cross, the captain’s coxswain.”

“And a real good one too,” replied the master; “the best helmsman we had in the Calliope. You and he were very thick together.”

“Yes,” replied I: “when I came on board, a mere lad, he was very kind to me, and I am very partial to him in consequence.”

That night after the master and I had parted, I thought over the question he had put to me, as to obtaining good seamen for the ship, and I made up my mind that I would wait till Cross arrived, and consult with him as to a project which I had in my head. In the mean time I went to a slop-shop by the dockyard wall, and provided myself with a common sailor’s toggery, of the real cut, with a banyan covered hat, and all complete. Three days afterwards Cross joined me, having found a passage round in a cutter; and as soon as I had talked over his affairs, I proposed my plan to him, in which he heartily coincided.

That I did this to please the captain is certain: I had no other view. It was necessary, however, that I obtained the captain’s permission, and I went to him and explained my ideas. The captain was too willing to let me try it, and thanked me for my zeal.

“Go on board, Mr Keene, and tell them I have given you six weeks’ leave of absence, and then you can do as you propose.”

I did so, for it was absolutely necessary that as few as possible should be acquainted with what I was about, as I ran a great risk. I have no hesitation in saying that I should have been made away with by the crimps, had they discovered me.

I dressed myself as a common seaman, darkened my face, and dirtied myself a little, especially on the hands, and Bob Cross and I then went at night into one of the low public houses, with which the town is filled; there we pretended to be much alarmed lest we should be pressed, and asked for a back-room to smoke and drink in. We called in the landlord, telling him we were second mates of vessels, and not secure from the impress; that we never were at Plymouth before, our ships having put in damaged, and that the crew were discharged; and asked if there was no safe place where we could be stowed until we could find another vessel ready to start.

He replied, that there was a house at Stonehouse where we could be quite safe; but that, of course, we must pay the crimps well for our board and lodging and that they would find us a ship when we wished to go; and further, that we must give him something handsome for taking us there. To this we agreed, and at midnight we set off in company with our landlord, each of us carrying our bundles, and in less than an hour arrived at a sort of farm-house detached from the road.

After a short parley we obtained entrance, and were taken into a small room where the crimp inquired of us what money we had, and then told us what his charges were. The reason of his doing this was, because if we had no money, or very little, he would have disposed of us very soon by sending us on board of some ship, and obtaining an advance of our wages from the captain as his indemnification; but if we had plenty of money, he would then keep us as long as he could that he might make his profit of us; his charges were monstrous, as may be supposed, and we had replied that we had very little money. We contrived to look as careless and indifferent as we could, agreed to everything, paid the landlord of the pothouse a guinea each for taking us to the house, and were then ushered into a large room, where we found about twenty seamen sitting at a long table, drinking, and playing cards and dominoes.

They did not appear to notice us, they were so busy either playing or looking on. Cross called for a pot of ale, and we sat down at the farther end of the table.

“What a dislike the men must have to the press,” said Cross to me, “when they submit to be mured up here in prison.”

“Yes, and cheated by such a scoundrel as the crimp appears to be.”

“Don’t talk so loud, Jack,” replied Cross; for I had insisted upon his calling me Jack, “lest we should be overheard.”

We then asked to go to bed, and were shown by the crimp into a room which had about fourteen beds in it.

“You may take your choice of those five,” said he, pointing to five nearest the door: “I always come up and take away the candle.”

As we found some of the other beds occupied, we did not resume our conversation, but went to sleep.

The next morning we found that we mustered about thirty-five, many of the more steady men having gone to bed before we arrived. After breakfast, Cross and I each entered into conversation with a man, and pumped them very cleverly. Our chief object was, to ascertain the houses of the other crimps, and, as the men knew most of them, having invariably resorted to them at the end of their voyages, we obtained the locality of five or six, all apparently public-houses, but having back premises for the concealment of seamen: all these were carefully noted down.

As we became more intimate, the seamen, who were glad to talk, from weariness of confinement, asked us many questions. We said that we had deserted from a man-of-war, and then a hundred questions were asked us as to our treatment. I allowed Bob Cross to be spokesman, and his replies were very sensible. He told them that all depended upon what sort of captains and first lieutenants were on board; that he had been pressed twice: the first time he was comfortable enough, and made 200 pounds prize-money in eight months; but in the last man-of-war he was very uncomfortable, and had therefore cut and run. Altogether, he made the service appear much more favourable than they supposed, although the crimp, who had stood by, did all he could to persuade the men to the contrary.

We remained in this house for more than a week, and then declared that we had no more money, and must find a ship. The crimp said that he had a berth for one of us as second mate of a brig, and I agreed to take it, leaving Bob Cross to get a berth for himself as soon as he could. As I raid up, there was no demand upon the owners of the vessel, and it was arranged that I should be down at a certain wharf at three o’clock in the morning, when I should find a boat waiting for me. I waited up with Bob Cross until the clock had struck two, and then the crimp let me out. He did not offer to go down with me, as he had no money to receive; and, as it was pitch-dark, there was little chance of my being picked up by a press-gang at that hour. I wished Cross good-bye, and set off for Plymouth Dock with my bundle on my stick.

Not knowing where to go at such an hour, I walked about to see if I could perceive a light in any house: I did so at last through the chinks of the shutters of a small ale-house, and tapped at the door; it was opened, I was ushered in, and the door closed immediately upon me. I found myself in the presence of several marines with their side-arms, and seamen with cutlasses. An officer started up from his seat, and collaring me said, “You’re just the fellow we want. We’re in luck to-night.” In fact, I was in the hands of a press-gang, and I was pressed myself.

“Yes, he’ll do: he’ll make a capital maintop-man,” said a midshipman, getting up and surveying me.

I looked at him, and perceived my old acquaintance Mr Tommy Dott, grown a great deal taller; I perceived that he did not recognise me. “But, sir,” said I to the officer of the party, who was so disguised that I could not tell his rank, “suppose I belong to a man-of-war already?”

“That you do not; or if you do, you must be a deserter, my good fellow; that is evident by your stick and bundle. Now sit down and drink some beer, if you like; you are going to serve in a fine frigate—you may as well make yourself comfortable, for we shall not go on board yet, for this hour.”

I determined to keep up my incognito, as it amused me. I sat down, and it then occurred to me that my not going on board of the vessel might lead to an explanation with the crimp, and that an alarm might be created and the men dispersed in consequence. There were still two hours to daylight, and if I could take up the press-gang, we might secure all the men in the house before the dawn of day.

As I had just made up my mind to act, there was a stamping of feet outside and a knock at the door. When it was opened, another portion of the press-gang, headed by another officer, entered. I counted heads, and found that they mustered thirty hands—quite sufficient, as they were armed, to secure all my late companions. I therefore went up to the officer, and begged to speak with him aside.

I then told him that I had just come from a crimp’s house near Stonehouse, where I left in their beds thirty-five as fine men as ever walked a plank, and that, as I was pressed myself, I did not mind telling him where they were, and he could take them all.

The officer curled up his lip, as if to say, “You’re a pretty scoundrel to betray your companions,” but immediately resolved to act upon it. Without stating his intentions, he ordered all the men out, and putting me between two marines, so as to prevent my escaping, I was desired to lead on. I did so, and we proceeded in silence until we arrived near to the house. I then pointed out to the officer that it must be surrounded, or the men would escape, and that it must be done very carefully, as there was a large dog which would be sure to give the alarm. My advice was attended to, and when all the men were at their stations, the whole advanced slowly towards the house. The dog commenced baying, as I had foreseen, and shortly afterwards the crimp put his head out of a window, and perceived that the press-gang were below. But all attempts to force an entrance were in vain, every window below, and the doors, being secured with iron bars.

“Is there no way of getting into this den?” said the officer to me.

“Why sir, I’ll try.”

As Bob Cross had given another name, I knew that I risked nothing in calling out his, and I therefore requested the officer to impose silence, and when it was obtained, I cried out, “Bob Cross! Bob Cross!! Where’s Bob Cross?”

After that, I went to the small door at the side of the house, which led to the homestead, and again cried out, “Bob Cross!—where’s Bob Cross?”

I then told the officer that we must wait patiently, and that if it was daylight before we got in, all the better.

About ten minutes after that, as I remained at the small door, I heard the bars quietly removed; I then requested the officer to attempt to force the small door, and it yielded almost immediately to their efforts.

“Now, sir, leave a guard at the other door, that they may not open it, and escape by it, also five or six hands to catch any who may jump out of the upper windows, and then enter with the rest of your party.”

“You know what you are about, at all events,” said he, giving the directions which I had pointed out, and then entering with the remainder of his party, with the exception of one marine that held me by the arm, with his bayonet drawn.

The scuffle within was very severe, and lasted for many minutes: at last, the armed force, although not so numerous, prevailed, and one by one, the men were brought out, and taken charge of by the marines, until the whole of them were discovered in their retreats, and secured.

Day now dawned, and it was time to be off. To make more secure, the pressed men were lashed two and two, with small rope, which had been provided on purpose. Bob Cross, who, of course, had not mixed in the affray, gave me a nod of recognition, and we set off as fast as the men could be persuaded to move; certainly not a very gay procession, for although the wounds were not dangerous, there was scarcely one of the party, amounting in all to upwards of sixty men, who was not bleeding. Hardly a word was exchanged. We were all put into the boats, and rowed off to the hulk appropriated to the crew of the frigate, until she was rigged, and as soon as we were on board, we were put below under the charge of sentries.

“What! you here?” said some of the pressed men.

“Yes,” replied I: “they picked me up as I went to ship myself last night.” The crimp, who had been brought on board with the others, then started forward. “It is he who has blown upon us; I’ll swear to it.”

“You may swear if you please,” replied I; “that will do you no good, and me no harm.”

The crimp talked with the other men, and then indignation was levelled against me. Most of them swore they would be even with me, and have my life if they could; indeed, they could hardly be prevented laying hands upon me; but Bob Cross told the sentry, and he interfered with his bayonet; notwithstanding which, fists continued to be shook in my face, and vengeance threatened every minute.

“I told you, my lads,” said Bob Cross, “that I have been on board of a man-of-war before this, and you’d better mind what you’re about, or you’ll repent it; at all events, if one of you touches him, you’ll have five dozen lashes at the gangway before to-morrow morning.”

This made the poor fellows more quiet; most of them lay down, and tried to sleep off their misery.

“Why don’t you make yourself known, Mr Keene?” said Cross to me, in a whisper: “I saw the master go on the quarterdeck just now.”

“I think I had better not: there are more houses to examine, and if my trick was known, it would soon get wind from the women, and I should be waylaid, and perhaps murdered by the crimps. The captain will be on board by ten o’clock, I have no doubt, and then I will contrive to see him, somehow or another.”

“But you could trust the master—why not see him?”

“I’ll think of it—but there’s no hurry.”

I was afraid that Tommy Dott would have discovered me, and I kept out of his way as much as I could.

“I’ll tell you what, sir—as I’ve not joined the ship, why not let it be supposed that I am impressed with the other men, and then I can send for Mr Dott and make myself known? The commanding officer will, of course, send for me, and I will enter, and then I shall be allowed to go about, and can speak to the captain when he comes on board.”

“Well, that is not a bad idea. Talk to the sentry.”

“Who’s the captain of this ship, sentry?” said Bob Cross.

“Captain Delmar.”

“Delmar!—why, he’s my old captain. Did not I see a Mr Dott, a midshipman?”

“Yes there is a Mr Dott on board.”

“Well, I wish you would just pass the word to Mr Dott, to say that one of the pressed men wishes to speak to him.”

The sentry did so, and Mr Dott came down.

“How d’ye do, Mr Dott?” said Bob Cross, while I turned away.

“What Cross, is that you? Are you dressed?”

“Yes, sir, can’t be helped. I’m glad I’m to sail with you, sir. What’s become of Mr Keene?”

“Oh, I don’t know; but if he’s not hanged by this time, I believe that he’s to join the ship.”

“Won’t I pull your ears for that?” thought I.

“What other officers have we of the Calliope, sir?”

“There’s the master, Mr Smith, and the surgeon.”

“Well, Mr Dott, one must always make a virtue of necessity. Tell Mr Smith that I shall enter for the ship; and I’ll put my name down at once, instead of being penned up here.”

“That’s right, Cross; and I say, you chaps, you’d better follow a good example. Sentry, let this man go with me.”

Bob Cross then went with Tommy Dott, and entered for the service. The master was very glad to see him again and said, “Why, Cross, Mr Keene said that you had promised him to join us.”

“Why, sir, so I had; but it’s a long story. However, it’s all the same in the end: here I am, and I hope I shall get my old rating.”

Soon after, Bob Cross came down and said, “Well, my lads, I’m free now, and I advise you all to do the same. Come, Jack,” said he to me, “what d’ye say?”

“No, no,” replied I. “I won’t unless all the rest do.”

Bob then took me on one side, and told me what had taken place, and asked me what he should say to the captain. I told him, and then he left us.

At ten o’clock the captain came on board. Bob Cross went up to him and said he wished to say something to him in the cabin. He followed the captain down, and then explained to him that I was among the pressed men but as a means of obtaining plenty more men, I had remained among them, and had not made myself known, for fear my trick should get wind; also that I thought the crimp should be kept on board, although he was of no use as a seaman.

“Mr Keene has behaved very prudently,” replied Captain Delmar. “I understand his motives—leave the rest to me.”

A few minutes after Bob had communicated to me what the captain had said, the pressed men were ordered up, and ranged along the quarter-deck. A finer set of men I never saw together: and they all appeared to be, as they afterwards proved to be prime seamen. The captain called them one by one and questioned them. He asked them to enter, but they refused. The crimp begged hard to be released. Their names were all put down on the ship’s book together.

The captain, turning to me—for I had stood up the last of the row—said, “I understand the officer of the impress agreed to release you if you would tell him where your comrades were. I don’t like losing a good man, but still I shall let you go in consequence of the promise being made. There, you may take a boat and go on shore.”

“Thank your honour,” replied I. I went to the gangway immediately; but I never shall forget the faces of the pressed men when I passed them: they looked as if I had a thousand lives, and they had stomach enough to take them all.

I went on shore immediately, and going to my hotel, washed the colour and dirt off my face, dressed myself in my mate’s uniform, and went to the hotel where the captain lived. I found that he had just come on shore, and I sent up my name, and I was admitted. I then told the captain the information which we had received with regard to nine or ten more houses, and that I thought I might now go on board, and never be recognised.

“You have managed extremely well,” replied Captain Delmar; “we have made a glorious haul: but I think it will be better that you do not go on board; the press-gang shall meet you every night, and obey your orders.” I bowed, and walked out of the room.

The next night, and several subsequent ones, the press-gang came on shore, and, from the information I had received, we procured in the course of a fortnight more than two hundred good seamen. Some of the defences were most desperate: fort as one crimp’s house after another was forced, they could not imagine how they could have been discovered; but it put them all on their guard; and on the last three occasions the merchant seamen were armed and gave us obstinate fights; however, although the wounds were occasionally severe, there was no loss of life.

Having expended all my knowledge, I had nothing more to do than go on board, which I did, and was kindly received by the master and the other officers, who had been prepossessed in my favour. Such was the successful result of my plan. The crimp we did not allow to go on shore, but discharged him into a gun-brig, the captain of which was a notorious martinet; and I have no doubt, being aware of his character and occupation, that he kept his word, when he told Captain Delmar that he would make the ship a hell to him—“and sarve him right too,” said Bob Cross, when he heard of it; “the money that these rascals obtain from the seamen, Mr Keene, is quite terrible; and the poor fellows, after having earned it by two or three years’ hard work, go to prison in a crimp-house to spend it, or rather to be swindled out of it. It is these fellows that raise such reports against the English navy, that frighten the poor fellows so; they hear of men being flogged until they die under the lash, and all the lies that can be invented. Not that the masters of the merchant vessels are at all backward in disparaging the service, but threaten to send a man on board a man-of-war for a punishment, if he behaves ill—that itself is enough to raise a prejudice against the service. Now, sir, I can safely swear that there is more cruelty and oppression—more ill-treatment and more hard work—on board of a merchantman, than on board any man-of-war. Why so? Because there is no control over the master of a merchant vessel, while the captain of a man-of-war is bound down by strict regulations, which he dare not disobey. We see many reports in the newspapers of the ill-treatment on of merchant vessels; but for one that is made known, ninety-nine are passed over; for a seaman has something else to do than to be kicking his heels at a magistrate’s office; and when he gets clear of his vessel, with his pay in his pocket, he prefers to make merry and forget his treatment, to seeking revenge. I say again, sarve that crimp right, and I hope that he’ll get a lash for every pound which he has robbed from the poor seamen.”

I may as well inform the reader that, as it is mostly the case after the men have been impressed, nearly the whole of them entered the service; and when, some time afterwards, they ascertained that it was I that had tricked them, so far from feeling the ill-will towards me that they had on their first coming on board, they laughed very much at my successful plan, and were more partial to me than to any other of the officers.

Our frigate was now well manned, and nearly ready for sea. I wrote to my mother, enclosing the heads of a letter to her which she should send to Captain Delmar, and in a day or two I received an answer, with a copy of what she had sent. It was to the effect that I was now going away for the second time, and that it was possible she might never see me or Captain Delmar again; that she wished him success and happiness, and begged him, in case she should be called away, not to forget his promises to her, or what she had undergone for his sake; but she trusted entirely to him, and that he would watch over me and my interests, even more out of regard to her memory, than if she were alive to support my claims upon him.

The letter was given to Captain Delmar when he was on the quarter-deck, and he went with it down below. He came on deck shortly afterwards. I looked at him but did not perceive that he was in any way put out or moved by its reception. Claims for past services, whether upon the country or upon individuals, are seldom well received; like the payment of a tavern bill, after we have done with the enjoyments, we seem inclined to cavil at each separate item—ainsi va le monde.

It was reported down at Mutton Cove, that our ship, which sailed with sealed orders was to be sent to the West Indies. This the captain did not expect or wish, as he had had enough of the tropics already. When he, however, opened his orders, it was found that Mutton Cove was correct, and the captain’s instructions were, to seek the admiral of the station with all possible dispatch.

We carried sail day and night, and as the Manilla proved a remarkably fast sailer, we were very soon in Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes, where we found the admiral and six sail of the line, and a few smaller vessels. As soon as the despatches were opened by the admiral, our signal, as well as that of all the smaller vessels, was made, and before the evening we had spread our canvas in every direction, being sent to recall the whole of the disposable force to rendezvous at Carlisle Bay. We knew that something was in the wind, but what, we had no idea of. Our orders were to proceed to Halifax, and we had a quick passage. We found two frigates there, and we gave them their instructions; and then, having remained only twenty-four hours, we all made sail together for Barbadoes.

On our arrival there, we round the bay crowded with vessels: twenty-eight sail of pennants and a fleet of transports, containing ten thousand troops. Three days afterwards the signal was made to weigh, and the whole fleet stood out from Carlisle Bay, it being now well known that the capture of the island of Martinique was the object of the expedition. On the third day we arrived off the island, and our troops were disembarked at two points, expecting to meet with strong opposition. Such, however, to our surprise, was not the case. It appeared that the militia of the island, being composed of slaves, and who were sent to oppose us, did not consider that slavery was worth fighting for quite as well as liberty, and therefore very quietly walked home again, leaving the governor and regular troops to decide the question as to whether the island was for the future to belong to the French or English. But the two following days there was some hard fighting, and our troops, although they advanced, had a severe loss. The French retired from the advanced posts to Fort Dessaix, and we obtained possession of the fort on Point Salamon.

The next point to be attacked was Pigeon Island, and there the navy were called into action; we had to get the carronades and mortars up a hill almost inaccessible; we did it, much to the surprise of the troops, who could hardly believe it when the battery opened fire. After a brisk cannonading of ten hours, Pigeon Island surrendered, and then the admiral stood into, and anchored the fleet in Fort Royal Bay; not, however, in time to prevent the French from setting fire to the frigates which were in the harbour. A few days after, the town of St. Pierre and the town of Fort Royal surrendered, and Fort Dessaix only held out. For more than a week we were very busy constructing batteries and landing cannon and mortars; and when all was ready, the bombardment of Fort Dessaix commenced, and five days afterwards the French capitulated, and the island was formally surrendered to the English.

I have hurried over the capture, as it has oftentimes been described in detail. All I can say is, that it was very hard work for the seamen, and that they had their full share of the fatigue; but, from the peculiar nature of the service, an affair took place which was of much importance to me. I said before that the sailors were employed in the hard duty of getting the guns, etcetera, on shore, and up to where the batteries were to be erected—in short, working like slaves in the heat of the sun, while the troops remained quiet investing the fort. There was no objection raised to this, and the seamen worked very willingly; but the staff and mounted officers of the army, who rode to and fro giving orders, were not quite as civil as they might be—that is, some of them; and a certain feeling of dissension and ill-will was created in consequence.

The junior officers of the navy, and the lieutenants who could be spared to direct the labour of the seamen on shore, received occasionally very harsh language from some of the military officers, and did not fail to give very prompt replies to those who they did not consider had any right to control them. Complaints were made to the captains of the men-of-war, and, on being investigated, the result generally was, that the captains defended their officers, and the military gentlemen obtained no redress. The active service, however, did not admit of any notice being taken of it at the time; but after the island had surrendered, these unfortunate animosities were resumed.

A few days after the capture of the island, the prisoners and troops were embarked an the fleet sailed, a sufficient garrison being left upon the island for its defence. The admiral also thought proper to leave two or three men-of-war in the harbour, and our frigate was one. For the first few days everything went on smoothly. The French inhabitants were soon on good terms with us, and balls and parties had commenced; but the seamen and soldiers, when they met at the liquor-stores, began to quarrel as to which branch of the service had done most towards the taking the island. This will always be the case with people so addicted to intoxication. Several severe wounds were received in the various skirmishes which took place, and at last the seamen were interdicted from going on shore. Indeed, as they were not armed, and the soldiers carried their bayonets, it was too unequal a contest when an affray took place; but the ill-will spread, and at last arrived to the superior officers.

The consequence was, that a challenge was given to one of the captains of the frigates by an adjutant. It was accepted; but not an hour after it was accepted, the captain was taken with a fever, and on the morning of the following day, when the duel was to have taken place, he was not able to quit his bed; and the military gentlemen, on arriving at the ground, found an excuse instead of an antagonist. Whether it was really supposed that the fever was a mere excuse to avoid the duel, or that the animosity prevailing gave rise to the report, certain it is, that there were many sneers on the part of the military men, and great indignation on the tart of the naval officers; who, if they could have so done, would have gone on shore on purpose to insult every officer they could meet who wore a red coat; but in consequence of this excitement being known all leave was prohibited.

Captain Delmar, who was the naval commanding officer, had taken up his quarters on shore; he had done all he possibly could to prevent the unpleasant feeling from continuing, and had shown great forbearance and good sense: but it so happened that, being in company with some of the military staff, observations were made in his presence, relative to the conduct of the naval captain ill with the fever, that he could not permit. He gave a flat denial to them, and the consequence was, that language was used which left no alternative but a duel.

This was the Monday night, and as it was too late then, it was agreed that the meeting should take place on the following evening at sunset. I believe this was proposed by Captain Delmar, in preference to the morning, as he knew his antagonist was a regular duellist and he wished to have the next day to put his affairs in order, previous to the meeting. I should here observe that the captain had not been on anything like intimate terms with his lieutenants. The surgeon and master were old shipmates, and with them he was sociable: whether it was that he did not choose to ask the favour of the commissioned officers, certain it is, that he sent for the master to be his second on the occasion, and on the master returning on board, he desired me to go on shore with the boat and take the captain’s pistols with me, but not to allow them to be seen by any one; a message was also sent for the surgeon to go on shore to the captain.

When the surgeon and I arrived at the house where the captain resided, and were ushered up, the sitting-room was empty. I had put the case of pistols in a piece of canvas, so as to look like despatches about to be sent to England, and I uncovered them and placed them on one of the tables. A few minutes afterwards the captain came out, and I was very much surprised at his appearance; he was very flushed and heated in the face, and appeared to tremble as he walked. The surgeon also looked at him with surprise. We knew him to be incapable of fear, and yet he gave us the appearance of a person very much troubled.

“Doctor,” said he, “I am glad that you are come. I feel very unwell—feel my pulse.”

“Yes, sir,” said the doctor, “that you certainly are; you have the same fever on you as Captain W. Singular.”

“Yes, but it will be rather too singular, doctor. Poor W had obloquy enough on account of his illness; and if a second captain in the navy were to be obliged to send a similar excuse, we should be at a pretty discount with the red-coats. If you can do any thing for me, do; but it must be perfectly understood that fight to-morrow evening I will, even if I am carried to the ground.”

“Certainly, Captain Delmar, if it is possible. I think that a little blood must be taken from you immediately, and probably the fever may subside.”

But before his arm could be bound up, the captain became incoherent in his discourse; and after the bleeding had been performed, when he attempted to look at his papers, he was so confused that he found it impossible, and was obliged to be put to bed immediately. When the surgeon came out of his bed-room, he said to us, “He’ll never get up to fight that duel, depend upon it; the fever increases—it may be that he may never rise again—I fear it is the yellow fever.”

“A bad job,” replied the master—“a very bad job indeed; two captains in the navy receiving challenges, and both sending excuses on account of illness. The service will be disgraced. I’ll fight the soldier myself.”

“That will never do,” replied the surgeon; “it will not help the captain that he has sent one of his officers in his stead. Steward, make a bed up here in this room; I shall not leave the house to-night.”

“It’s of no use my staying here,” observed the master: “nor you either, Keene: let’s go on board, and we will be here early to-morrow morning. Confounded bad job this. Good-bye.”

The master and I returned to the boat. I had been reflecting a good deal on the disgrace which would, at all events for a certain period, be thrown upon the service and Captain Delmar by this unfortunate circumstance, and before I had gone up the ship’s side I had made up my mind. As soon as we were on board, I requested the master to allow me to speak to him in his cabin; and when we were there, after canvassing the question, and pointing out to him what discredit would ensue, and working him up into a great state of irritation, I then proposed to him what I considered to be the best course to pursue. “Every one says how like I am to Captain Delmar, Mr Smith,” said I.

“If you were his own son, you could not be more so,” replied the master.

“Well, sir, I am now as tall as he is: the colour of my hair is lighter, certainly; but the captain wears a wig. Now, sir, I am perfectly sure that if I were to put on the captain’s uniform and wig, as the duel is to take place in the evening, they never could find out that it was not the captain; and as for a good shot, I think I can hit a button as well as the best duellist in existence.”

The master bit his lips, and was silent for a short time. At last he said, “What you propose is certainly very easy; but why should you risk your life for Captain Delmar?”

“Why, did you not offer to do it just now for the honour of the service? I have that feeling, and moreover wish to serve Captain Delmar, who has been my patron. What’s the life of a midshipman worth, even if I were to fall?—nothing.”

“That’s true enough,” replied the master bluntly; and then correcting himself, he added, “that is, midshipmen in general; but I think you may be worth something by-and-by. However, Keene, I do think, on the whole, it’s a very good plan; and if the Captain is not better to-morrow, we will then consider it more seriously. I have an idea that you are more likely to pin the fellow than the captain, who, although as brave a man as can be, he has not, I believe, fired twenty pistols in his life. Good night; and I hardly need say we must keep our secret.”

“Never fear, sir. Good night.”

I went to my hammock, quite overjoyed at the half-consent given by the master to my proposition. It would give me such a claim on Captain Delmar, if I survived; and if I fell, at all events he would cherish my memory; but as for falling, I felt sure that I should not. I had a presentiment (probably no more than the buoyant hope of youth) that I should be the victor. At all events, I went to sleep very soundly, and did not wake until I was roused up by the quartermaster on the following morning.

After breakfast the master requested a boat to be manned, and we went on shore. On our arrival at the house, we found the surgeon in great anxiety: the captain was in a state of delirium, and the fever was at the highest.

“How is he?” demanded the master.

“More likely to go out of the world himself than to send another out of it,” replied the surgeon. “He cannot well be worse, and that is all that I can say. He has been raving all night, and I have been obliged to take nearly two pounds of blood from him; and, Mr Keene,” continued the surgeon, “he talks a great deal of you and other persons. You may go in to him, if you please; for I have as much as possible kept the servants away—they will talk.”

“Bob Cross is down below, sir,” replied I: “he is the safest man to wait upon him.”

“I agree with you, Keene—send for him, and he shall remain at his bedside.”

The master then spoke with the surgeon, and communicated my proposition; and the surgeon replied, “Well, from what I have learned this night, there is no person who has so great a right to take his place; and perhaps it will be as well, both for the captain’s sake and his own; at all events, I will go with you, and, in case of accident, do my best.”

The matter was, therefore, considered as arranged, and I went into the captain’s room. He was delirious, and constantly crying out about his honour and disgrace; indeed, there is no doubt but that his anxiety to meet his antagonist was one very great cause of the fever having run so high; but at times he changed the subject, and then he spoke of me and my mother. “Where is my boy—my own boy, Percival?” said he—“my pride—where is he? Arabella, you must not be angry with me—no, Arabella; consider the consequence;” and then he would burst out in such fond expressions towards me, that the tears ran down my cheeks as I planted a kiss upon his forehead; for he was insensible, and I could do so without offence.

Bob Cross, who had for some time been at his bedside, wiped the tears from his eyes, and said, “Master Keene, how this man must have suffered to have cloaked his feelings towards you in the way which he has done. However, I am glad to hear all this, and, if necessary, I will tell him of it—ay, if I get seven dozen for it the next minute.”

I remained with Bob Cross at his bedside for the whole day, during which he more than twenty times acknowledged me as his son. As the evening closed in, I prepared in silence for the duty I had to perform. To the surprise of Cross, who was ignorant of what I intended, I stripped off my own clothes and put on those of the captain, and then put his wig over my own hair. I then examined myself in the glass, and was satisfied.

“Well,” said Cross, looking at me, “you do look like the captain himself, and might almost go on board and read the articles of war; but, surely, Master Keene,” added he, looking at the captain as he lay senseless in bed, “this is no time for foolery of this sort.”

“It is no foolery, Bob,” replied I, taking his hand; “I am going to represent the captain and fight a duel for him, or the service will be disgraced.”

“I didn’t know that the captain had a duel to fight,” replied Bob, “although I heard that there had been words.”

I then explained the whole to him. “You are right, Master Keene—right in everything. May God bless you, and send you good luck. I wish I might go with you.”

“No, Bob, that must not be.”

“Then, God bless you, and may you floor the soldier. Lord, what a state I shall be in till I know what has taken place!”

“It will soon be known, Bob; so good-bye, and I trust we shall meet again.” I then went out of the bed-room.

The surgeon actually started when I made my appearance, and acknowledged that the personation was exact. Taking the arm of the surgeon and the master, we set off, the master carrying the pistols, which had been prepared; and in a quarter of an hour we arrived at the place of meeting. My disguise was so complete that we had not hesitated to walk out sooner than we had intended; and we found ourselves the first on the field of action, which I was glad of.

About dusk, which was the time agreed upon and about five minutes after our arrival, our antagonists made their appearance. There was no time to be lost, as there is little or no twilight in the West Indies; so a polite bow was exchanged, and the ground marked out at eight paces by the master and the second of my opponent. A very short parley then took place between Mr Smith and the other gentleman, who officiated for the adjutant, in which it was decided that we should turn back to back, with our pistols ready, and that on the words, “Make ready—present—fire” given in succession, we were to turn round to each other, level, and fire. This made it more difficult to hit; indeed it was almost impossible to take aim, as the words were given so quick after each other; and the great point was, to fire as soon as the word was given.

The first discharge was not lucky for me. I missed my antagonist, and received his bullet in my left shoulder; this did not, however, disable me, and I said nothing about it. The pistols were again loaded and handed to us; and on the signal being given, my adversary’s pistol went off a little before the word “fire” was given, and I felt myself again hit; but I returned the fire with fatal success. The ball went through his body, and he fell. The surgeon, master, and his second, immediately went up, and raised him in a sitting position; but in a few minutes he was senseless.

In the meantime I remained where I was, having dropped my pistol on the ground. That I had an unpleasant pang at the idea of a fellow-creature having fallen by my hand in a duel, I acknowledge; but when I called to mind why I had fought the duel, and that if had saved the honour of the captain (may I not say at once my father’s honour? for that was my feeling), I could not, and did not, repent the deed. But I had not time given me to analyse my feelings; a sensation of faintness rapidly crept over me. The fact was that I had been bleeding profusely; and while the surgeon and the others were still hanging over the expiring adjutant, I dropped and fell fainting on the ground. When I recovered I found myself in bed, and attended on by the surgeon, the master, and Bob Cross.

“Keep quiet, Keene,” said the surgeon, “and all will be well; but keep quiet, that we may have no fever. Here, drink this, and try if you cannot go to sleep.” They raised me up, and I swallowed the mixture; my head was so confused, and I was so weak, that I felt as if I hardly dared breathe, lest my breath should leave my body, and I was glad to find myself again on the pillow. I was soon in a sound seep, from which I did not arouse for many hours, and, as I afterwards was told, had had a very narrow escape, from the exhaustion arising from the excessive haemorrhage.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I could scarcely recall my senses. I saw Bob Cross sometimes, and I heard moaning and talking. I thought the latter was my own voice, but it was Captain Delmar, whose fever still continued, and who was in an alarming state. It was not till the evening, twenty-four hours after the duel, that I could completely recall my senses; then I did, and motioned to Cross that I wanted drink. He gave me some lemonade—it was nectar; he then went out for the surgeon, who came to the bedside, and felt my pulse.

“You’ll do now, my boy,” said he; “get another good sleep to-night, and to-morrow morning you will have nothing to do but to get well.”

“Where am I hit?” said I.

“You had a ball in your shoulder and another in your hip, but they are both extracted; the one in the hip cut through a large vein, and the haemorrhage was so great before you could be brought here, that at one time I thought you were gone. Your life hung upon a thread for hours; but we may thank God that all is right now. You have no fever, and your pulse is getting strong again.”

“How’s the captain, sir?”

“As bad as bad can be just now; but I have hopes of a change for the better.”

“And Captain W, sir?”

“Poor fellow! he is dead; and has so decidedly proved that his fever was not a sham, the soldiers are a little ashamed of themselves—and so they ought to be; but too often good feelings come too late. Now, Keene, you have talked quite enough for to-night; take your sedative mixture, and go to sleep again; to-morrow, I have no doubt, you will be able to ask as many questions as you like.”

“Only one more, sir:— is the adjutant dead?”

“I have not heard,” replied the surgeon; “but we shall know to-morrow: now go to sleep, and good-night.”

When the surgeon left the room, “Bob?” said I.

“Not an answer will I give to-night, Mr Keene,” said Bob Cross; “to-morrow morning we’ll have the rights and wrongs of the whole story. You must obey orders, sir, and go to sleep.”

As I knew Bob would do as he said, I laid my head down, and was soon once more in forgetfulness. It was not daylight. When I again awoke, and found Cross snoring in the chair by the bedside; poor fellow, he had never lain down since he came on shore, when the captain was first taken ill. I felt much better, although my wounds tingled a little, and I was very anxious to know if Captain Delmar was out of danger; but that could not be ascertained till I saw the surgeon. I remained thinking over the events which had passed. I called to mind that the captain, in his delirium, had called me his own boy, his Percival and I felt more happy.

About an hour after I had awoke, the surgeon came into the room. “How is Captain Delmar, sir?” said I.

“I am glad to say that he is much better; but I must wake up poor Cross, who is tired out.”

Cross, who was awake the moment that we spoke, was now on his legs.

“You must go to the captain, and keep the bed-clothes on him, Cross. He is now in a perspiration, and it must not be checked—do you understand?”

“Yes,” replied Bob, walking away into the other room.

“You are all right again, Keene,” said the surgeon, feeling my pulse; “we will look at your wounds by-and-by, and change the dressing.”

“Tell me, sir,” said I, “how have you managed? Nobody has found it out?”

“Oh, no; it is supposed that Captain Delmar is badly wounded, and that you have the yellow fever, and we must keep it up—that is the reason why Bob Cross is the only one allowed to come into the sick rooms. I have no doubt that Captain Delmar will be sensible in a few hours, and then we shall be puzzled what to say to him. Must we tell him the truth?”

“Not at present, sir, at all events: tell him that he has fought the duel, and killed his man; he will think that he did it when he was out of his senses, or else that the fever has driven it from his memory.”

“Well, perhaps that will be the best way just now; it will relieve his mind, for with his return to sensibility will also revive his feelings of disgrace and dishonour; and if they are not checked, the fever may come on again.”

The surgeon gave me some breakfast this morning, and then dressed my wounds, which he pronounced were doing quite well; and about twelve o’clock the master came on shore with the first lieutenant. The master came into my room after the first lieutenant went away, who had been told by the surgeon that he could not see Captain Delmar—and he, of course, did not wish to come into contact with me, who he supposed had the yellow fever. In the afternoon Captain Delmar woke up from his stupor—the fever had left him, and he had nothing to combat with but extreme debility. “Where am I?” said he, after a pause; and, recollecting himself, he continued to Cross, who was the only person in the room, and who had received his instructions from the surgeon, “How long have I lain here?”

“Ever since the duel, sir.”

“The duel—how do you mean?”

“I mean ever since your honour fought the duel, and killed the soldger officer.”

“Killed—duel—I can’t recollect having fought the duel.”

“Dare say not, your honour,” replied Bob; “you were in a roaring fever at the time; but you would not stay in bed, all the surgeon could do—go you would; but when you had fought, we were obliged to carry you back again.”

“And so I really have fought—I have not the least recollection—I must have been in a high fever indeed. Where’s the surgeon?”

“He’s in the verandah below, sir, speaking to some soldger officers who have come to inquire after your health. Here he comes.”

The surgeon came in, and Captain Delmar then said to him, “Is this all true that Cross has been telling me? Have I really fought a duel and killed my adversary?”

“I regret to say, sir, that he is dead, and was buried yesterday; but, if you please, you must not talk any more at present—you must be quiet for a few hours.”

“Well, doctor, so that my honour is saved, I am content to obey you—it’s very odd—” Here the captain was exhausted, and was silent, and in a few minutes he was again asleep, and remained slumbering till the next morning, when he was much better. He then entered into conversation with the surgeon, making him describe the duel; and the latter did so, so as to satisfy the captain; and he also informed him that I had been taken ill with the fever, and was in the next room.

“Next room!” replied the captain: “why was he not sent on board? Are all the midshipmen who are taken ill to be brought to my house to be cured?”

I overheard this reply of the captain, and it cut me to the heart. I felt what an invincible pride had to be conquered before I could obtain my wishes.

The surgeon answered Captain Delmar,—“As only you and Mr Keene were taken with the fever, I thought it better that he should remain here, than that the ship’s company should take it by his being sent on board. I trust, Captain Delmar, I have done right?”

“Yes, I see,” replied the captain; “you did perfectly right—I did not think of that. I hope Mr Keene is doing well?”

“I trust that we shall get him through it, sir,” replied the surgeon.

“Pray let him have anything that he requires, Mr —; let him want for nothing during his illness and convalescence. He would be a heavy loss to the service,” added the captain.

“He would, indeed, sir,” replied the surgeon.

“Here are the journals of St. Pierre, in which there are several accounts of the duel, most of them incorrect. Some say that you were twice wounded, others once.”

“I dare say they thought so,” replied the captain, “for Cross tells me that I was carried home. It’s very singular that I should have fought in such a condition. Thank you, Mr —; I will read them when I have lain down a little, for I am tired again already.”

The surgeon then informed the captain of the death of Captain W.

“Poor fellow!” replied Captain Delmar. “Well, I will not make any appointments until I am better.” The captain then lay down again, leaving the newspapers on the coverlet.

A week now passed, during which both the captain and I became nearly convalescent: we had both been out of bed, and had remained for a few hours on the sofas in our respective rooms. The surgeon told me that it would be necessary to tell him the truth very soon, and that he thought he would do so on the following day. It did, however, happen that the discovery was not made to him by the surgeon. In the afternoon, when the latter was on board, Captain Delmar felt so strong that he resolved to put on his clothes, and go into the sitting-room. He desired Cross to give them to him, and the first articles handed to him were his trowsers, and Bob quite forgot that I had worn them.

“Why, how’s this?” said the captain—“here’s a hole through the waistband, and they are bloody.”

Bob was so frightened, that he walked out of the room as if he had not heard what the captain had said. It appears that the captain took up his coat, and discovered another hole in the shoulder, with the same marks of blood.

“This is quite a dream,” said the captain, talking to himself—“I’ve no wound, and yet the newspapers say that I was wounded twice. Cross! Cross!—Where is Cross?”

Bob, who had taken refuge in my room, where we overheard everything he said, whispered, “It’s no use now, Mr Keene,—I must tell it all; never fear me, I know how to do it.” And then he obeyed the captain’s summons, leaving me in a state of great nervous anxiety.

“Cross,” said the captain sternly, “I insist upon knowing the truth: I have been deceived by my officers. Did I, or did I not, fight this duel?”

“Well, sir,” replied Cross, “the truth was only kept back from you till you were quite well again, and I suppose I must tell it to you now. You were too ill, and you raved about our honour, and that you were disgraced, and that—”

“Well, go on, sir.”

“I will, Captain Delmar; but I hope you’ll not be angry, sir. Mr Keene could not bear to see you in that way, and he said he would lay down his life for you at any time, and he begged Mr Smith, the master, to allow him to fight the duel, because he said that he was so like you in person (which, somehow or other he is, that’s certain), that no one would know it was him if he put on your honour’s wig and uniform: that’s how it was, sir.”

“Go on,” said the captain.

“Well, sir, the master could not bear the sneering of the sogers on shore, and he consented that Mr Keene should take your place, which he did, sir; and I hope you will not be angry with Mr Keene, for it’s your old coat, sir, and I think it may have a piece let in, that it won’t be seen.”

Cross then went on describing the whole affair—of course praising me—and told the captain that everybody on board, as well as on shore, thought that he was wounded and that I had been taken with the yellow fever, and that nobody knew the real truth except the master, the surgeon, and himself.

“Is Mr Keene seriously hurt?” inquired the captain, after a pause.

“No, sir; the doctor says he will do very well. He was as near gone as ever a man was: at one time his breath would not move a feather—all the blood was out of his body.”

For a minute the captain made no reply; at last he said, in a quiet tone, “You may leave the room, Cross.”

What were the thoughts and feelings of Captain Delmar when he was left to reflect upon the information which he had received, I cannot tell but that he was not angry I inferred by the tone in which he desired Cross to leave the room. I was absorbed in my own feelings, when the surgeon entered the room, and gave me a letter. “Here’s a schooner just come in with despatches from the admiral,” said the surgeon: “the second lieutenant has brought them on shore for the captain, and among the letters from England I found this one for you. I have seen Cross,” continued the surgeon, nodding his head significantly as he left the room.

“The second lieutenant, with despatches, sir,” reported Bob Cross to the captain in the other room—“Shall I show him in?”

“No, I am not well; desire him to send them in by you,” replied the captain.

While the captain was busy with his despatches, I read my letter, which was from my mother, enclosing a copy of one from my grandmother, announcing my mother’s death. Of course there were a great many dying wishes; but that was a matter of course. I felt happy that this letter to the captain arrived at such a propitious time, as I knew that the announcement of my mother’s death would be a great point in my favour. That it ought not to have been, I confess; but I knew whom I had to deal with: the captain was ashamed of his intimacy, and the claims of my mother upon him, but not so much ashamed of me; and, now that she was removed, probably he might not be at all ashamed. My mother was no relation, and below him—I was his own flesh and blood, and half ennobled by so being.

The captain sent on board orders for getting under weigh. It appeared that the admiral had written to him, desiring him to sail for the coast of South America, to look after a French frigate, and that, as there was no farther occasion for so large a force at Martinique, he was to leave the next senior officer in command; but this was Captain W, who had died of the fever.

As senior in command, Captain Delmar then filled up the vacancy; the captain of a corvette was appointed to Captain W’s ship; our first lieutenant to the command of the corvette; but the lieutenant’s vacancy was not filled up, much to the surprise of the officers of the squadron. This was the work of the afternoon; in the evening the master was sent for, and a consultation held with him and the surgeon, which ended in the captain’s consenting to go on board with his arm in a sling, as if he had been wounded, and my being put into a cot, and removed on board to the captain’s cabin, as if still too weak with the fever to quit my bed. Cross was enjoined silence, and I was made acquainted by the surgeon with the result of the conference.

The next morning we were all embarked, and we hove the anchor up, and made sail to the southward. It must be observed, that I had neither seen nor had any communications with the captain, during the whole of this time. He was informed by the surgeon that I was in great distress of mind at the news of my mother’s death, and that my recovery would be retarded in consequence.

Chapter Twenty One.

IT was not until three or four days after the ship had sailed from Martinique that the captain spoke to me. I had during that time remained in my cot, which was hung up in the fore-cabin, and when the surgeon dressed my wounds it was only in the presence of Bob Cross. On the fourth morning after our sailing, the captain came inside of the screen, which was hung round my cot:— “Well, Mr Keene,” said he in a very kind voice, “how are you?”

“Much better, sir, I thank you; and hope you will look over the great liberty I ventured to take for the honour of the service.”

“Why,” replied the captain, smiling, “I think you have been sufficiently punished already for your temerity; I appreciate your motive of action and feel obliged to you for your great zeal towards the service and towards me. The only objection (I may say annoyance) I have on the subject is, the mystery and secrecy compelled to be observed in consequence of your taking my place; and still more, that one of the seamen of the ship should be a party to the secret.”

“I certainly did not consider the consequences as I ought to have done, sir, when I ventured to act as I did,” replied I.

“Say no more about it, Mr Keene. I am very sorry to hear of your mother’s death; but it was not, I believe, unexpected.”

“No, sir,” replied I; “and therefore the shock has not been so great.”

“Well, Mr Keene, of course it is from the interest I took in your mother that I was induced to take you under my protection, and her death will make no difference in that point, so long as you conduct yourself as you have hitherto done. You have now created a strong interest for yourself by your good conduct, and I shall not lose sight of you. How many months have you yet to serve before your time is out?”

“I have served five years and seven months, as far as I can recollect.”

“So I thought. Now, Mr Keene, it was because I thought of you that I did not fill up the lieutenant’s vacancy which was made by the death of Captain W and the promotion of the commander and my first lieutenant. As soon as you are well, I will give you an acting order as lieutenant of this ship; and, as we are now on a sort of roving commission, I have no doubt but that you will have served your time, and found the means of passing, before we join the admiral; your promotion will, under such circumstances, be, I have no doubt, confirmed; so all you have to do now is to get well as fast as you can. Good-bye.”

The captain gave me a most gracious nod, and then went outside of the screen, giving me no time for thanks. I was, indeed, overjoyed; not so much at the promotion as at the change in the captain’s manner towards me: a change so palpable that it filled me with the fondest anticipations. I remained for a long while reflecting upon my future prospects. As a lieutenant of the same ship I should be more in contact with him: he could now converse and take notice of me without its being considered remarkable; nay, he could be intimate with me. I resolved to be most careful of my conduct, so as not to alarm his pride by the least familiarity, and hoped, eventually, to play my cards so as to obtain my earnest wish; but I felt that there was a great deal of ground to go over first, and that the greatest circumspection was necessary. I felt that I had still to raise myself in his opinion and in the opinion of the world to a much higher position than I was in at present, before I could expect that Captain Delmar would, virtually, acknowledge me as his son. I felt that I had to wade through blood, and stand the chance of thousands of balls and bullets in my professional career, before I could do all this; a bright vista of futurity floated before me and, in the far distance, I felt myself in the possession of my ambition, and with my eyes still fixed upon it I dropped fast asleep, revelling still in the same dreams which I had indulged in when awake.

In a fortnight I was quite recovered; my wounds had healed up, and I now walked about. Having had my uniform altered by the ship’s tailor, and procured an epaulet from one of the lieutenants, I took possession of my cabin in the gun-room, and was warmly received by my new messmates; but I did not return to my duty for nearly a month, on account of a little lameness still remaining, and which the surgeon declared was often the case after the yellow fever!!

I ought to have observed, that when my mother was so indulgent as to commit suicide for my sake, she had taken every precaution, and the letter of my grandmother informed Captain Delmar that my mother had bequeathed me 12,000 pounds in the three per cents, which she had laid by from her business, and that therefore there was no longer any occasion that I should be an expense to Captain Delmar. It must not, however, be supposed, from my grandmother stating this, that Captain Delmar was at all mercenary or stingy; on the contrary, considering that, as the second son of a nobleman, he had only 1,000 pounds per annum besides his pay, he was exceedingly liberal (although not extravagant) in all money matters.

At last I was well enough to return to my duty; and glad I was to be once more walking the quarter-deck, not as before, on the lee, but on the weather side, with an epaulet on my shoulder. Strange to say, there was not a midshipman in the ship (although there were so many) who had served so long as I had, and in consequence there was not any heart-burning or jealousy at my promotion, and I continued on the best terms with my old mess-mates, although gradually lessening the intimacy which existed between us. But that was not intentional on my part; it was the effect of my promotion, and removal from the berth of a set of lads to the company of the senior and older officers. I was now a man, and had the feelings and thoughts of a man. My frolics and tricks were discarded with the midshipman’s coat; and in respecting my new rank I respected myself.

Now that I walked on the same side of the deck, Captain Delmar very often entered into conversation with me; and although at first it was with caution on his part, yet, when he found that I never presumed, and was, invariably, most respectful, he became on much more intimate terms with me.

During three months we continued cruising about without falling in with or having received any intelligence of the French frigate which we were sent in quest of; at last Captain Delmar resolved to change the cruising ground, and we ran up to ten degrees of latitude further north.

As we were running up, we fell in with an American brig, and brought her to; a boat was sent for the captain, who, when he came on board, was interrogated by Captain Delmar, as to his having seen or heard of any French vessel on that coast. As the conversation took place on the quarter-deck, and I was officer of the watch, I can repeat it.

“Well,” replied the American through his nose, “I reckon there is a Frenchman in these parts?”

“Have you fallen in with her?” inquired Captain Delmar.

“Well, I may say I have; for I lay alongside of her in Cartagena when I was taking in my cargo of hides. You haven’t such a thing as a spar as will make me a pole top-gallant mast, captain, have you?”

“Is she large or small?”

“Well, captain, I don’t care whether the spar be large or small; I’ve two carpenters on board, and I’ll soon dub it down into shape.”

“I inquired about the vessel—I did not refer to the spar,” replied Captain Delmar, haughtily.

“And I referred to the spar, which is my business, and not to the vessel, which is no consarn of mine,” replied the American captain. “You see, master, we have both our wants; you want information, I want a spar: I have no objection to a fair swop.”

“Well,” replied Captain Delmar, rather amused, “give me the information and you shall have the spar.”

“That’s agreed.”

“Send for the carpenter, and desire him to get out a small spar, Mr —,” said Captain Delmar to the first lieutenant.

“Well, captain, that looks like business, and so now I’ll go on. The Frenchman is as large as you; may be,” said he, looking round the deck, “he may be a bit larger, but you won’t mind that, I suppose.”

“Did you leave her in port when you sailed?”

“I reckon she was off two days before me.”

“And how many days is it since you sailed?”

“Just four days, I calculate.”

“And did you hear where she was going to?”

“Yes, I did, and I’ve a notion I could put my finger upon her now, if I choosed. Captain, you haven’t got a coil of two-inch which you could lend me—I ain’t got a topsail brace to reeve and mine are very queer just now. I reckon they’ve been turned end for end so often, that there’s an end of them.”

“You say that you know where the vessel is—where is she?”

“Captain, that’s telling—can’t I have the two inch?”

“We have not a whole coil of two-inch left, sir,” said the master, touching his hat. “We might spare him enough for a pair of new braces.”

“Well, well, I’m reasonable altogether, and if so be you haven’t got it, I don’t expect it. It’s very odd now, but I can’t just now remember the place that the French vessel was going to; it’s slipped clean out of my memory.”

“Perhaps the two-inch might help your memory,” replied the captain. “Mr Smith, let the rope be got up and put into the boat.”

“Well,” said the American captain, “as you say, mister, it may help my memory. It’s not the first time that I’ve freshened a man’s memory with a bit of two-inch myself,” continued he, grinning at his own joke; “but I don’t see it coming.”

“I have ordered it to be put in the boat,” replied Captain Delmar, haughtily: “my orders are not disobeyed, nor is my word doubted.”

“Not by them as knows you, I dare say, captain, but you’re a stranger to me; I don’t think I ask much, after all—a bit of spar and a bit of rope—just to tell you where you may go and take a fine vessel, and pocket a nation lot of dollars as prize-money. Well, there’s the rope, and now I’ll tell you. She was going off Berbice or Surinam, to look after the West Indiamen, who were on the coast, or expected on it, I don’t know which. There you’ll find her, as sure as I stand here; but I think that she is a bit bigger than this vessel—you don’t mind that, I dare say.”

“You may go on board now, sir,” said Captain Delmar.

“Well, thank ye, captain, and good luck to you.”

The American captain went down the side; and as soon as our boat returned, and was hoisted up, we made all sail for the coast of Demerara.

“She must be a fine vessel,” said Captain Delmar to me, as he was walking the deck,—“a very fine vessel, if she is bigger than we are.”

“You will excuse me, Captain Delmar, if I venture to observe that there was an expression in the eye of the American, when he said a bit bigger, which made me take it into my head, that in saying so, he was only deceiving us. The Americans are not very partial to us, and would be glad of any revenge.”

“That may be, Mr Keene; but I do not see that he can be deceiving us, by making her out to be larger, as it is putting us on our guard. Had he said that she was smaller, it would then have been deceiving us.”

“I did not take it in that sense, sir,” replied I. “He said a bit bigger; now, I can’t help thinking that a bit bigger was meant to deceive us, and that it will prove that the Frenchman is a line-of-battle ship, and not a frigate: he wished to leave us under the impression that it was a larger frigate than our own and no more.”

“It may be so,” replied Captain Delmar, thoughtfully; “at all events, Mr Keene, I am obliged to you for the suggestion.”

The captain took two or three more turns fore and aft in silence and then quitted the deck.

Chapter Twenty Two.

In three days we had gained the latitude of Berbice, and on the fourth morning the men at the mast-head were keeping a sharp look-out for any strange sail. Our head was then towards the land, which, being very low, could not be seen; the breeze was light, the royals had been set, and the men piped down to breakfast, when the mast-head-man reported three sail right ahead. We soon made them out to be merchant vessels, and as they separated, and made all sail from us, we made sure that they had been captured; and so it proved when we took possession of them, which we did not do of the third before night-fall.

Upon interrogating the prisoners and the few English who had been left on board the prizes, we found out that I had been right in my conjecture; they had been captured by a French line-of-battle ship, which they had left in shore the evening before. The English reported her a very fast sailer, and believed her to be an eighty gun ship—indeed the French prisoners acknowledged that such was the case.

This was very important intelligence, and Captain Delmar walked up and down deck in deep thought: the fact was, he was puzzled how to act. To attempt to cope with such a force, unless under peculiarly favourable circumstances, would be madness: to leave the coast and our mercantile navy exposed to her depredations, was at the same time very repulsive to his feelings and sense of duty. The prizes had been manned, the prisoners were on board, the boats hoisted up, and the Manilla still remained hove to. The fact was, the captain did not know which way to put the ship’s head; and he walked up and down in deep thought.