Ernest Glanville (continued 2)

A slothful people, perhaps, but they have discovered the secret of living on the soil and out of the soil, developing the idle ruminating pleasures of sleek cattle; happy in their little houses, their tiny plots of fruitful ground; rich in their climate, and most fortunate in their situation. What to them the aspirations of the struggling hordes of Europe, the agonised cry of the hopeless poor of more powerful countries, the ambitions and the social schemes of the proud Northerners, but the echoes of a stormy life?

The Swift rounded into Funchal Bay, and anchored in the calm waters, under the guns of a picturesque fort covered with green. The fires were raked out, and the long craft, weather-beaten and streaked with rust stains, was at rest—an object, however, of suspicion to the peaceful merchant-ships. A tug from the shore shot out, encircled the catcher, and returned in haste.

“That doesn’t look friendly,” said Lieutenant Webster.

“They’ve had notice to look out for us,” was the Captain’s comment. “It’s what I feared; but so long as they give us coal they may do what they like.”

“There’s a boat putting off, sir—probably to warn us off.”

“Well, we can’t go without coal, and if they won’t give it we’ll take it.”

“Yes,” said Webster, looking reflectively at the fort.

The boat approached within a ship’s length, and a fat man in uniform, who held the tiller, took a long look at the Swift, then made a signal, and was rowed back again.

The fat man was met by a number of men in uniform, and after much gesticulation the whole party entered a larger boat, flying the Portuguese flag at the peak and stern, and with an awning aft.

This time they came alongside, mounted the steps, and stood twirling their black moustaches, while their dark eyes roamed over the long deck.

“Have I the pleasure of speaking to the Captain?” said the stout man, looking at a group of three.

“I am the Captain.”

“Ah! receive my respects. And the name of the ship?”

“The Swift—steam yacht.”

“True, she has the appearance of a pleasure-boat. You intend, perhaps, to remain here? The Island of Madeira is very lovely.”

“Yes,” said the Captain; “but not at present.”

“You will be going on to Teneriffe?”

“Doubtless; but we require coal. You have a good supply?”

“Why not? But this small yacht would not require much for a cruise to the Canaries.”

“About eight hundred tons, sir, is all we require.”

“Eight hundred tons, sir? Very good. With that you could reach America, possibly Brazil. Is it not so?”

Captain Pardoe bit his lip, while the stout man turned with a smile and a shrug to his companions, one of whom strolled leisurely forward.

“Perhaps eight hundred tons is more than I require, especially as I could get more on my return,” said the Captain quietly.

“I understand, sir; but that’s a matter of business arrangement with a coal-merchant. You have left England recently?”

“Four days since.”

“Four days—carambo—a quick passage! Then, sir, perhaps you can inform me of the progress of the revolution in Brazil. Have the rebels been beaten?”

“I am afraid I can give you no information about Brazil.”

“And you have not heard of the escape of a torpedo-catcher from the Thames, bound for Rio to help the rebels?”

Captain Pardoe looked astonished.

“You have surely been misinformed, señor. No vessel could get out of the Thames without the wish of the authorities.”

“I assure you, my Captain, the impossible has happened, and, believe me, I first supposed your boat was that same vessel. Ha! ha!”

“Ha! ha! what a good joke, señor!”

“Is it not?” The officer who had walked forward returned, and whispered to the stout man. “But why, my Captain, do you carry a torpedo-tube and a heavy gun? Is it to shoot gulls? Ha! ha! I am afraid, Captain, you will not get your coal here, and that your visit may be prolonged to our satisfaction. You will find the island of Madeira lovely—most beautiful. In the meantime, I may introduce you to my friend Lieutenant Guilia Gobo, who will remain your guest with these soldiers.”

The stout officer gave some order to his Lieutenant, and clambered down into his boat.

“My Captain,” he said, with a pleased smile, “may I direct your attention to our powerful fort? We have there some heavy guns; oh, very formidable.” He sat down chuckling, and rubbing his knees.

“The old boy is pleased with himself,” remarked Webster to Frank, who, together, had been amused spectators of the scene. “He euchred the Captain without trouble—an easy matter enough, by the way, in the face of that little weapon forward. Look at the skipper: dissimulation is not his rôle.”

Indeed, Captain Pardoe looked very black, as he confronted the Lieutenant and his four men.

“Well, sir,” he said, “what is the meaning of your presence on board my ship?”

“I no speak the Ingleese,” said the Lieutenant haughtily.

“But he understands it well enough,” muttered Webster.

“You don’t speak English; perhaps you will understand that I have enough coal to take me to Teneriffe, and I will leave in an hour. Up to that time you are welcome to the run of the ship, but you will find it agree ill with your uniform.”

The Lieutenant turned sharply, and shouted after his superior officer.

Captain Pardoe knitted his black brows, and was about to speak again, but turned to walk off, when he was joined by Frank.

“I understood what he said, sir.”

“So did I, Hume, but I don’t fear the fort’s guns. It is necessary to humour them, and with a little judicious palming we might win our object, but I have no genius for that work.”

“May I try, sir?”

“Certainly, Hume, do what you like, for at the worst we can throw them overboard.”

“Then, sir, set the hands to clean the ship, and send Webster ashore to lay in a stock of vegetables, fruit, and fresh meat.”

“Since when were you appointed purser, Mr Hume?”

“It will show them you do not mean to leave in a hurry, and we’ll lull their suspicions.”

The Captain issued his orders at once, and in a few minutes Webster, with the chief engineer, Mr Dixon, were being rowed ashore, while half a dozen salts, with bare legs, were turning the hose on the grimy deck, and the stokers, black almost as sweeps, came on deck to hang over the bows and pull at their well-seasoned clay pipes.

Before Webster left, Hume had drawn his attention to two large barges laden with coal which were anchored to the left, and suggested that he should find out what coal they contained.

He next dived into the main cabin, where he found Miss Laura and Mr Commins looking at the island through a port-hole. This was the first time Commins had emerged from his cabin, and though he bore traces of severe illness he was very spruce and neat in his dress, markedly so in contrast with the weather-stained appearance of the others.

Their heads were very close together, and Commins had succeeded in making his companion laugh, a little circumstance which unduly nettled Hume.

He secured some cigars, a bottle of wine, and was hurriedly leaving the cabin, when Miss Laura asked him a question or two concerning their position.

“It is so annoying,” she added, “that I dare not show myself on board, as the people here are sure to communicate with their friends in Rio.”

“I hope our young friend will be discreet,” said Commins, with irritating condescension in his manner. “Pray don’t leave the cigar-box open, otherwise the sea air will spoil the contents; and I see you have selected the choicest of the 1880 brand.”

“These are for the Portuguese Lieutenant,” said Frank shortly.

“An officer! What business has he on board?”

“It appears they suspect us, and an officer, with four men, has been placed on guard.”

“That means we have been seized,” said Commins, turning to Miss Anstrade. “I advised you not to run into a Portuguese port; but you would be guided by your headstrong Captain.”

“There is no cause for fear,” replied Frank. “We hope to be off before morning with a full supply of fuel.”

“Your hopes may be interesting to you, sir; but I, for my part, do not find them amusing.”

“Enough!” interposed Laura with a frown; then, turning to Frank, she asked him if there really was any prospect of getting away.

“There is, madam, if you have one commodity on board.”

“What is that?”

“Money!”

“Ah! come with me,” and she started for the cabin.

“Laura, don’t be imprudent. You forget.”

“No, on the contrary, Mr Commins, I remember that this gentleman has behaved nobly, and risked his life while others remained in safety.”

Mr Commins murmured something about being ill, but he shot an evil look at Frank.

“Come, Mr Hume.”

“No, madam; if you assure me, that is sufficient. It will be necessary to pay for the coal in cash.”

“You have some scheme,” she said, looking earnestly at him, and placing her fingers on his arm.

“I have, or, rather, the Captain—”

“Ah, that is better,” said Commins, with a sneer.

“Say no more, Mr Hume; I have faith in the resources and courage of my officers.” She gave him her hand, but her eyes were fixed on Commins.

Frank, somewhat uneasy at what he had witnessed of the familiarity between the two, hurried away with the wine and cigars to presently engage the Lieutenant in pleasant conversation in French.

Seeing the officer comfortably seated in the chart-room with the wine, he went to the side to receive Webster, who had returned in the best of humours with a boat-load of bananas, custard apples, grapes, vegetables, and fresh meat.

“I have left the engineer ashore, drinking Madeira with an old crony,” shouted the genial officer.

“Good,” said Frank, raising his voice. “I’ll ask the Captain to let me return for him later on. Well,” he whispered a moment later, as Webster stepped on board, “what about the barges?”

“They have 300 tons, and are waiting out there for the Cape mail steamer, due early to-morrow morning.”

“Well, the mail steamer will have to wait. That is our coal.”

Chapter Nine.

Coaling the Catcher.

Lieutenant Webster joined the Portuguese officer in the chart-room, where, with his gallant attempts to speak French, and his readiness to join in the laughter at his own most amusing blunders, he quite charmed Lieutenant Gobo, who grew confidential, and imparted an interesting item of news.

“You will remain with us, amigo mio, and we will crack many a bottle of old Madeira in a posado kept by an old man with two lovely daughters.”

“Thanks, señor, with pleasure, if we do not depart to-morrow.”

“To-morrow! What say you? We have a proverb that says that the wages of to-morrow mock the promise of yesterday. To-morrow you will all be our very good guests.”

“For my part, nothing would please me better; but our Captain has said that to-morrow he will sail, and he is a very devil—diavolo—eh?”

“You speak idly, my friend. I assure you to-morrow this ship of yours will be seized.”

“How so, Lieutenant? We have no quarrel with Portugal; and, moreover, there is no craft here that could overhaul us.”

“Not here at present, señor, but it is coming.”

“Your glass is empty, Lieutenant. Is this a British ship you speak of?—for I know none other that could capture us.”

“There are other ships than British afloat,” said the officer, twirling his moustache. “The ship I speak of flies the Brazilian flag: the Esperanza sloop of war, which, providentially, left Lisbon two days since, and may be here at any hour. She was advised of the escape of your boat from the Thames, and has warned us to be on the watch. Juarez is her commander, and I tell you he also is a devil. Ha! ha!”

“I perceive,” said Webster, with a laugh, “you have been too smart for us. We English are sometimes very dull.”

“Truly, mon ami, in quickness of wit, as in matters of love, we of the South are superior to you heavy islanders. But you are good comrades, nevertheless. Your health, señor.”

“I see the bottle’s empty. Pardon me, Lieutenant, while I overhaul the locker.” Webster, with an innocent look on his bronzed face, went below and sent a message to the Captain.

“Sir,” he said, as the Captain approached, “there is a Brazilian sloop of war in pursuit of us. She may be here to-night, or in the morning.”

“How did you learn this?” asked Captain Pardoe, with a dark look.

“From that yellow-skinned effigy on deck. The Swift is to be taken to-morrow and the crew landed. It is all settled.”

“Is it?” said the Captain, with a peculiar smile. “We shall see to that Hume will presently leave for the shore with two men. As soon as his boat is clear have these soldiers seized and bound. Take your measures quietly, Mr Webster, and be very careful that they do not cry out.”

“What’s on foot, Captain?”

“We mean to have that coal, my boy, sloop or no sloop. Thunder, do they suppose I’ll surrender to a sloop after defying a British cruiser! You have your orders.” The Captain went down to the engine-room; and Webster, after securing another bottle, gave a few sharp words of instruction to the Quartermaster, who received them with a grin.

Soon after a boat from the shore came alongside with a gendarme, who, after a few words with Lieutenant Gobo, received a note from that officer and returned.

“I have assured my Captain,” said the Lieutenant to Webster, “that we are friendly here, and that while one of your men is ashore he need not take extra precautions.”

“What precautions are, then, necessary?”

“Oh, a boat or two of soldadoes!”

“Mr Hume!” cried the Captain, from his position on the bridge, “you will take the boat for Mr Dixon, and see what arrangements you can make for coaling to-morrow.”

The Lieutenant jogged Webster in the ribs.

“Is he not droll—this Captain of yours?”

“Very droll,” remarked Webster, with a meaning look at the Quartermaster, who stood near.

Hume swung into the boat with two men, and gave the order to push off.

Webster leaned over the side, ran his eyes over the men on deck who were drinking with the three soldiers, then spoke a word to the Quartermaster, who immediately joined the group, placing himself as he did so between the soldiers and their rifles, which rested against the side.

Webster strolled to the chart house, took another look at the group on guard, then flung himself on the Lieutenant, pinning that astonished individual by the throat. There was a scuffle forward, a smothered cry or so, and in a minute the four Portuguese were bound and gagged.

“Lower the long boat, Mr Webster,” said the Captain in low tones.

This was done by the now thoroughly alert and expectant crew in silence.

“Man the boat, take a tow-line, and make for the coal barges.”

Four men dropped into the boat, a tow-line was made fast.

“Weigh anchor and deaden the noise with tow. Let the flukes hang for the present.”

Quietly and slowly the anchor came in. Webster entered the boat, the tow-line tautened, and the Swift gradually moved off in the direction of the barges.

Meanwhile Hume had met a boat half-way from the shore, with the chief engineer on board, and taking him in, waited till the shore boat had rowed out of hearing, then shaped for the barges.

“You are shaping a wrong course for the Swift, Mr Hume.”

“We are making for two barges laden with coal, Mr Dixon.”

“Oh, oh, what’s in the wind?”

“These beggars won’t give us coal, so we mean to take it. We will approach the barges quietly, board them, and secure the people on board. Will you assist us, Mr Dixon?”

“Certainly, my boy; and what’s the Captain doing meanwhile?”

“He’ll be alongside very soon after we have done our business. No doubt he’s on the move now, with a tow-line out. Gently, men, I think I see the loom of something dark.”

They stole softly up to the unwieldy boats, going alongside one which had an awning forward, made the boat fast, then clambered on deck. One of the sailors walked along the broadside, and reconnoitred. There were two men only, sleeping on a rough bed of sacks, their forms dimly outlined by the light of a lantern. He then crossed to the other boat, which was unoccupied. He made his report, and next minute the sleepers were aroused to find four men standing over them. They permitted themselves to be bound without a murmur, on an assurance from Hume that they would not be harmed.

A few minutes later the Swift crept up, took in her boat, and got up steam.

“Make fast the tow-line to the barges, Mr Hume,” came an order from the Captain.

“It is done, sir.”

“Cut the moorings.”

The rope was cut, and the Swift steamed out, towing the barges, until she had rounded the south-western point below Funchal, when she dropped anchor, and all hands, including the two Portuguese sailors, were hard at it, transferring her coal to the torpedo-catcher. The coal was in sacks, the steam tackle was set in motion, and with a loud noise that sooner or later would reach the ears of the people ashore, the precious cargo was swung on board and shot down the shoots, covering every part of the deck and rigging with grit. The long, low steamer lay sandwiched between the barges, and while the steam tackle worked aft, forward the sacks were handled by the men, everyone, except Miss Anstrade and Mr Commins, lending a willing hand.

They had been hard at work for an hour, when a confused babble of shouting was heard from the port, and shortly after they saw a shaft of light shoot into the sky and glance across the harbour. It was the flash-light from the little fort, and no doubt revealed the absence of steamer and coal barges.

Presently they heard the beat of engines—a steamer’s light appeared round the point.

“Show a light, Mr Webster. We don’t want to be run down.”

A red light was hung out over the stem.

“Keep on with your work,” shouted the Captain, as the men paused to watch the progress of the steamer.

“Carambo! Señor Capitaine, what in the devil’s name is the meaning of this?” shouted a deep voice from the steamer, in furious accents.

“Quien es?”

“Demonios! Colonel Alvaro, commander of the fort. What mean you by moving off like a thief in the dark? It is an offence against Portugal and the laws.”

Captain Pardoe laughed. “I am merely taking coal for which I am willing to pay. Will you receive the money?”

“Yes,” said a strange voice; “I represent the coal company.”

There was an altercation on board the tug, for such it proved to be.

“I protest, Colonel Alvaro. When I have received payment you may do what you like. Lower a boat.”

Colonel Alvaro gave way, the boat was lowered, and a young Englishman stepped on board, who was immediately taken below, where he made a good bargain.

“Now, Captain,” he said, after securing a roll of notes, “you have acted in a high-handed manner, and it is no business of mine to help you, but the sooner you move the better. The warship Esperanza has been signalled, and will be here in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” said the Captain, with a grim smile; “we can look after ourselves. Mr Webster, release the soldiers, and let them return with these gentlemen.”

Webster did so, and could not forbear chaffing Lieutenant Gobo. “We are no match for you, Lieutenant, in resource, but you see we are having our own way.”

“Matre de Dios!” cried the Lieutenant, grinding his teeth, “you will pay for this, you base picaro!” and he shot a vengeful glance at Webster and Hume, who stood close by, their faces black with coal-dust.

Little did they dream that Gobo would make good his threat.

The tug waited for its boat, then steamed away towards the harbour at great speed, Colonel Alvaro and Lieutenant Gobo shouting a string of threats as to what they would do on their return.

Mr Dixon reported that the bunkers were filled.

“Stack a row of sacks along the sides, and have them lashed. Get a full head of steam up. Mr Webster, cast this boat off from the port side.”

Soon the steam from the escape pipe set up its shrill clamour.

The Captain mounted to the bridge, and with his night glass fixed to his eye searched the mouth of the harbour.

“See that row of lights, Captain?” said Miss Laura.

“A steamer just entering the harbour.”

“And there is another light moving.”

“That is the tug which just left us. Is there much more coal left, Mr Webster?”

“About fifty sacks, sir, I should say.”

“Whip them in, then. All firemen get below.” He approached the tube. “Stand by, Mr Dixon!”

The steamer which had just entered the harbour put out her lights, but there was a glow from her funnels which revealed her movements, as it grew rapidly brighter.

“All aboard!” shouted the Captain. “Cast off the barge!” The men clambered from the barge, and the unwieldy craft was shoved away.

“Full speed ahead!”

The water was lashed by the screws, the Swift vibrated like a living thing, and shot away, leaving the barges rocking on the swell she had kicked up.

“Surely, Captain,” said Miss Anstrade, “that steamer is following us!”

“She is, Miss Laura, sure enough. It is the Brazilian ship Esperanza, Captain Don Juarez.”

“Don Juarez,” said the girl, in a startled whisper. “O, Santissima Maria,” she added, with a passionate cry, “that treacherous dog, the murderer of my brother! Captain Pardoe, you must not fly. Mr Webster, listen to me.”

“Laura, my dear girl,” said Mr Commins, laying his hand on her arm.

She shook him off with an angry gesture, and turned her flashing eyes on the Captain, while her bosom heaved.

Some of the men had heard her cry, and stood near the bridge.

“Men,” she said, in quick, excited tones, “hear me! That is a Brazilian warship behind. It is commanded by a man who has done me a most fearful wrong. You are Englishmen, and I ask you—”

“Enough, madam,” whispered Pardoe sternly. Then, raising his voice, “Clear the guns for action.”

The Quartermaster’s shrill whistle rang out in immediate response, and in reply a flame of fire leapt out from the darkness astern, followed by the screech of a shell.

Chapter Ten.

Pursued.

The Swift was a formidable fighting ship, though built to tackle the midgets of the sea—the 130 feet torpedo boats. She had no torpedo-tube in the stem, which had been strengthened for ramming; but she carried two tubes at the stern, one four-inch quick-firing gun, two six-pounders forward, and two twelve-pounders on pedestals. Including the officers, there were twenty men to work the ship and guns, and a staff of ten firemen and engineers. The seamen were picked men, tempted by high pay, and all of them showed the unmistakable stamp of strict training and discipline. They were, in fact, men of the Naval Reserve, recruited by the Quartermaster—hard, weather-beaten, and, except when off duty, still-mouthed. The Quartermaster, Henderson, was black-bearded and swarthy, like the Captain, and it was rumoured among the men that this was not the first time the two of them had shipped in the same capacity in blockade-running in the wars of South American Republics. The conning-tower, a small chamber, fitted with tubes, knobs, levers, and a spare wheel, and walled in with thick plates of toughened steel, was just forward of the first funnel. Beyond it was a turtle-backed deck of iron, and on either side were the six-pounders, protected by bullet-proof shields. The Captain could fire the aft torpedo guns by electricity from the conning-tower.

“Clear the guns for action, and slacken speed.”

The shrill, clear notes of the whistle rang out the sharp summons, and the men sprang to their positions with an alacrity which had not marked their actions when threatened by the British warships. Then they had done their duty sullenly, with a sense of ill-omen at having to encounter their own flag; but now they were on a different footing in respect to this new foe, and eager to be at some other game than always on the run.

“If our Captain’s half as good at fighting as he is at running,” growled the sailor known as Dick the Owl, for his night eye, “we’ll have a bellyful, eh, mate? and good luck to it.”

“Eh, it’s a queer thing, Dick, that we navy men should be under these port-to-port cargo and hat-box carriers, but the Captain’s got red lights in his head when there’s danger afoot, and maybe he’ll be a good ’un to follow.”

“As good as any you would find on the bridge of any battleship afloat, my men,” said Lieutenant Webster, who had been standing by unobserved.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the men, touching their caps.

“That’s all right, my men; we’ve got to know each other yet,” replied the Lieutenant, with a kindliness that won their hearts. “Wash down the decks first,” he cried; “we’ll not go down to Davy’s locker disguised in soot, like imps of darkness. Out with the hose.”

The men laughed as they screwed on the hose to the hydrants and poured on a stream of water, sweeping the grimy decks from stem to stern.

“Now, get below for a sluice and a dram,” cried the cheery voice of the Lieutenant, whose idea of handling a crew was not according to naval instructions. The men trooped down the narrow companion-way laughing and joking in their excitement; but the roar of the enemy’s guns, as he fell round to port, and brought his starboard broadside to bear, was a summons that brought them tumbling on deck again ere they had time to wipe their mouths with a backhanded swipe.

“Steady, men, and to your quarters,” said the Captain quietly; “all but the men for the big gun, who will go below.”

Five men had taken their position about the big gun, which stood with its chase pointing up, as though looking away to the horizon for its enemy. These men stood astonished at the order.

“Below, men,” said Lieutenant Webster, approaching them; “you’ll not be wanted till morning,” he added, as he noted their sidelong looks.

They went down in silence; and, by the pressure of a button in the conning-tower, the Captain lowered the long gun into the deck, the same machinery sliding a heavy shield of toughened steel over the opening left by its disappearance. This gun had been specially built for the catcher, and was of a larger calibre than the guns usually carried by that kind of craft. It rose or fell on a strong powerful lever, on a modified principle used for the disappearing guns; and the frame of the ship had been strengthened amidships to bear the strain. It could be loaded and fought on deck, or loaded below and fired from the conning-tower when at close quarters, and had been christened “The Ghost,” after a trial made before reaching Madeira. “The Ghost” was turned out at the Elswick Works, and could fire sixty fifty-pound projectiles in ten minutes.

“We’ve laid our ghost,” said Webster to Hume, who, being quite fresh to this part of the business, stood looking out into the blackness astern in a state of suspense; “we’ve laid our ghost, and must raise theirs.”

“Is that you, Mr Webster?” said the Captain, leaning over the bridge.

“Yes, sir!”

“I must ask you to go to your cabin.”

“To my cabin, sir?”

“Yes; I will not want you till daybreak, and you will fight all the better, then, for a good sleep. Take off the men from the six-pounders—the fewer on board the better.”

Webster went below with six men from the two guns, leaving on deck eight hands in all to work the ship and the two twelve-pounders. One of these was at the wheel in the conning-tower; another was stationed forward on the lookout; and the others were in two steel towers, which were aft, about three feet above the deck, protecting the men from the hail of missiles that might be discharged from the machine guns, while their sloping sides would deflect larger projectiles.

“Mr Hume!”

“Sir.”

“Join me on the bridge.”

Frank mounted to the low bridge, and went close to the dark figure of the Captain for companionship. They were unprotected by steel armour, and for himself he experienced a feeling of complete helplessness. He felt that up there he was a mark for every gun aimed at the Swift, and that without any power of retaliation.

“It is a fine night,” he said aimlessly, looking up at the starry sky.

“A very fine night, indeed,” said the Captain, taking hold of his beard with both hands; “but there’ll be rain in the morning.”

Frank brought his eyes down from the stare to a red eye that gleamed far astern.

The Captain took a couple of steps, and spoke down the tube: “Please attend to your fires; there are too many sparks.”

Frank wondered at the Captain’s quiet tones. Usually he was sharp and rough; now he spoke as though he were asking for a second cup of tea.

“I knew it,” said the Captain.

The red eye astern was dimmed by two livid flashes. Frank heard the dull reports, and then with a thrill down his back listened to the cry of the shells as they sped on. The enemy had as yet done no damage, but he knew that these shrieking messengers had at last scented their foe. He jerked his head violently as the shriek rose to a fiendish scream, and a swift rush of air swept across his face, whilst the crushing of iron behind him told that the shot had struck. It passed through the forward funnel as though it had been a sheet of paper, and the smoke came pouring out of the holes.

“They’ve got our range at last, and it’s lucky for us they have no search-light.”

“I’ll go and get my rifle,” said Frank.

The Captain chuckled: “She’s a mile off, at least; and if not, you might just as well puff at a whale with a pea-shooter. Still, I know how you feel. It’s devilish hard to stand fire without giving back.” He raised his voice: “Fire!”

The twelve-pounders spoke together, belching out balls of fast revolving smoke, and spurring the ship on with their recoil.

“It’s no good, of course,” muttered the Captain; “but it will encourage them to keep up the chase.”

“Why not give them the big gun, Captain?” asked Frank impatiently.

“A waste of ammunition; and we’ll want all we have when we get near the end of our voyage. I could turn and engage them, but I like to see what I am about, and all I want to do now is to encourage them. There she goes round; see her port lights; she’ll give us another broadside, and do you count the flashes.”

“Count the flashes,” thought Frank; “does he think this is a review?”

The twelve-pounders let go at the row of lights, and as the smoke rolled away there came a muffled roar, and in an instant, it seemed to Frank, the air was full of shells. The water was cup up astern, and one projectile struck the turtle-backed deck forward, and went humming into the black of the night.

“She carries six guns to the broadside, I think. What do you make it?”

“A dozen, at least, Captain, and heavy metal,” said Frank, wetting his lips.

“No more than six and twelve-pounders. A larger shell sets up a different music, as you will soon learn. Still, I don’t like it; their gunners are too smart.”

The Captain took a turn up and down the bridge, then sent a shout to the Quartermaster to cease fire.

“Mr Hume, you will find a life-belt on the starboard side, opposite the hatchway, with a canister attached. Cut it adrift.”

Frank found the belt, and sent it overboard.

“Keep her three spokes to port.”

The steersman starboarded the helm, and the Swift went off at an angle to her former course, whilst the canister, on reaching the water, flared out in a brilliant blaze in the ship’s former wake.

Before Frank had reached the bridge the enemy had come round and fired his two forward guns, then, keeping on to port, quickly let go his starboard broadside. The water about the floating flare was dashed up in showers.

The Captain slapped Hume on the back as he reached the bridge.

“That’s a simple trick, eh! and we could slip away as easy as winking if we had a mind to. Lord, won’t they howl when they find how they have been done!”

There came a hearty guffaw from the towers aft as the men saw through the Captain’s joke.

“Lord, there he goes again,” as the forward guns again belched forth; “what a ferocious devil the commander must be! He takes that light to be a signal, and imagines he is firing at a crippled ship, the devil.”

The Quartermaster came forward. “The enemy has slackened off, sir.”

“Is that so?” said the Captain, taking a long look at the steamer’s lights. “Ha, I have it,” and he smacked his fist in his hand, showing the first symptoms of excitement. “He thinks we’ve gone down, and we’ll lay-to till morning, which can’t be far off.”

“There’ll be grey light in an hour, sir.”

The Captain kept his eye on the steamer’s light, which rose and fell, but kept its place.

“Quartermaster, take your men below for some hot grog and a bite, and rouse Mr Webster.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

The Captain went to the tube. “Slacken speed, Mr Dixon, and be very careful with your fires. Starboard your helm; bring her round.”

The Swift went round with a steady swing, bringing the enemy’s light on her port bows, instead of over her starboard stern rails.

The men lingered awhile to see the manoeuvre finished, and then went below, satisfied there was to be a fight.

“Keep her on that course now,” said the Captain to the steersman.

“Mr Webster,” he continued, as that officer stepped briskly up and took a glance round, “see that everything is in readiness, and that the men take their positions without a word. Within an hour the fight will begin.”

“Begin, sir? You’ve been at it this past three hours, and I’ve been in and out of my bunk a dozen—times, while the men are all on the quiver.”

“We haven’t come to knocks yet. I’ll present my card in the morning with a fifty-pound rat-tat.”

Webster laughed gaily as he set about his duties, and presently the men gathered silently to their posts, some of them every now and again stealing to the sides to make out the whereabouts of the enemy and the meaning of the manoeuvre, which puzzled them, as one might gather from their whispered arguments.

The Swift doubled back towards the eastern horizon, where the darkness was quickly melting into the grey of dawn, and a deep silence rested on the ship, and over the shining heave of waters. Slowly the enemy’s light was overhauled, then sank astern, but the Swift kept on its way until a tint of pink appeared in the sky and the stars suddenly paled.

“The time has come,” said the Captain. “Are you all ready?”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came the answer in suppressed tones.

“Round with her, my man, on the port tack.”

The Swift rushed round, and there was a murmur of admiring criticism from the old tars as they now understood the meaning of the Captain’s manoeuvre.

“They are satisfied now,” said the Captain, grimly, to Frank. “They thought all along, I’ll be bound, that I could not fight this ship.”

“I confess, sir, I don’t understand your tactics.”

“Well, I suppose you don’t. The enemy’s fighting strength is evidently in her bow guns. So is ours. I have got the ’vantage of her by going into action on her beam. Mark me, before she can bear her bow guns on us she’ll be crippled. Full steam ahead!” he shouted, and the low craft rushed forward.

The whole horizon on the east was now bathed in light, and in a moment the blood-red disc of the sun flamed above the black line of the waters, while streamers of light shot into the sky. Straight ahead there rose a dark object. A shaft of golden light stretching across the waters struck full upon it, and there stood out in a glory of softest fire the tall masts and long black hull of the Brazilian ship. She was at rest, rising and falling gently; but there was a terrible awakening in store. Every minute brought her into clearer relief, though from the dark background beyond there was a blur about her deck, out of which, however, presently there emerged distinct objects—her boats, her bridge unoccupied, the gilt scroll under her stern, over which idly dropped the Brazilian flag; and last of all, the chases of her port broadside grimly projecting, with a glint of red sunlight on their smooth cylinders.

The two vessels were now distant about six hundred yards, and at last the careless lookout on the Brazilian ship saw something alarming astern in the fierce rush of the low grey craft. Some men dashed up the rigging to get a better view, and a small group gathered on the bridge.

“We’ll wake ’em up!” shouted the Captain, springing into the conning-tower and pressing a button, which brought up “The Ghost” from its bed.

The real action had begun; the night’s work had been child’s play. There was a terrific din as the long gun threw shot after shot, and in ten minutes a dense bank of smoke enveloped the Swift. The firing was suspended a minute.

The Captain stood in the conning-tower, his hands on the wheel, and his eyes fixed in a narrow slit under the steel roof. Giving a turn of the wheel to starboard, he brought the stem free of the smoke, and saw the enemy slowly gathering way, while men rushed about her decks in a state of terrible confusion at this sudden tempest of shells that had poured upon them.

Some damage had been done evidently, but principally to her top rigging. And now she spoke from her stern guns, but not allowing sufficiently for her height, the first stinging flight of shells went over the catcher.

“Stand by the six-pounders!” cried the Captain, his voice rising to a roar. “Depress your muzzle, Mr Webster! Fire!”

Again there was another tremendous fusillade, continuous and deafening, while the men’s eyes smarted from the sulphur in the smoke, and their throats grew dry and husky. For five minutes the rain of lead was kept up, and from the three guns one hundred projectiles tore into the sloop, plunged along the port side, and shattered her rigging. Lieutenant Webster devoted his second storm of fire at the stern guns, and the stanchions and bulwarks about them were ripped up, and the guns themselves dismounted.

The order to cease fire was again given, and the Captain made a point to starboard just as the sloop was swinging round to bring her port broadside to bear.

The ships were now but two hundred yards off, the sloop bearing off from the port quarter of the catcher in her attempt to come round and bring her bow guns to bear. Once she could do that she could blow the Swift out of the water, but Captain Pardoe had foreseen the manoeuvre and was ready for it. Counting upon the narrow turning power of his boat, he swept on, and suddenly put the wheel hard to port, bringing the vessel round within her own length, and bringing the boats stern to stern. At the same moment he flashed the signal below to fire the stern torpedoes. Then he stepped out to watch the effect, and the men, with heaving chests and smoke-blackened faces, from which their eyes glared with the fever of battle, watched too. There was a cry from the deck of the sloop, as they saw the leap from the tubes of the two torpedoes, a hoarse cry from the Captain to the man at the wheel, a terrible pause, and then two lines of bubbles below the water marked the swift rush of the deadly tubes. One line, it was seen, would continue free of the ship, the other went straight for her stern, and a sailor, in a mad fit of rage, first discharged his rifle at the approaching torpedo, then plunged overboard with a wild yell. A moment later there was a muffled roar, a vast column of water was thrown up, followed by a rending and grinding noise. The stern of the sloop was raised, then settled down in the trough of a great sea raised by the explosion. The torpedo had reached its mark, and Captain Pardoe stood by to give what assistance he could.

There was the wildest consternation on board the sloop, and the rending noise continued; but though she lay helplessly on the water she showed no signs of sinking.

The men on board the Swift set up a hoarse cheer, and shook each other by the hand.

“It’s twenty minutes since we went into action,” said Webster, wiping the blood from his brow. “Three cheers for our Captain, men!” and waving his hat, he led the hurrahs.

“For the love of God,” cried a voice in English from the sloop, “help us!”

“Strike your flag!” cried the Captain.

The gay flag came down, and the Captain brought the Swift nearer. “What is the matter?”

“Your cursed torpedo has blown away our propeller, and the shaft—oh, Sancta Maria!—listen to it!—is breaking the ship.”

“Why don’t you shut off steam?”

“Our engineer is dead. Demonios! Don’t talk, but act.”

“I’ll send our engineer to you.”

“Quick, quick!”

Mr Dixon came up from the bowels of the Swift, where, without the stimulant of action, he had stood by his work, animating his men with a quiet courage, which was the finer because he stood in absolute darkness regarding the progress of the fight, and knew that at any moment he might be sent to the bottom a helpless victim in an iron prison. His face was white and streaming with perspiration, and at the first touch of the cold air he reeled with dizziness, but when told what was required of him, he prepared for his new task without a word. The Swift moved gently under the tall sides of the sloop, and the engineer, with Webster, Hume, and six men, were quickly on board. Mr Dixon went at once to the engine-room, whence proceeded a truly infernal din.

“Where Is the Captain?” asked Webster of a dozen men round him.

A short, thick-set, bullet-headed man, with a neck like a bull, and moustaches that reached up to his ears, stepped forward.

“Your sword, Señor Juarez!”

“I must know to whom I am asked to surrender.”

“To the National flag,” said Webster haughtily.

“Carambo! that is an excellent jest. Is the flag broad enough to cover the ships of every nation? And why should I surrender my sword?” he asked, with a fierce scowl, while his officers drew near threateningly.

Webster stepped quickly to the bulwarks, and called to Captain Pardoe to stand away.

That officer went at once full speed astern, and lay-to a cable length off, with the men at their guns.

“You see?” said Webster.

The Brazilian Captain, with a terrible malediction, broke his sword over his knee.

“A thousand thunders!” he roared, while the black blood swelled in his temples, “to think I should have been beaten by that—that thing—and scarcely a boat’s crew hurt!”

“It is the fortune of war,” said Webster, looking around. “But while we talk the ship may be sinking for want of a little sailor-like care. Have you a spare sail, señor?”

The Brazilian Captain folded his arms and spat on the deck.

“You surly brute!” cried Webster. “Here, men, cut away the mizzen sail!”

In a trice the British sailors swarmed up to the mizzen yard and cast loose the sail, which came down with a thud, knocking a couple of yellow-faced sailors off their legs, whereat the tars up aloft laughed. At this a dozen of the enemy drew their knives and looked to their Captain for a word.

It was a ticklish moment, and Hume pulled out a revolver, which he instantly presented at Juarez.

“Good, my lad,” said Webster. “Shoot him down if he moves a foot. Do you understand, señor?”

Juarez glared like a wild beast, and a hoarse, unintelligible cry escaped from his thick lips, but he kept quiet, while Webster, without another look at the scowling group, quickly slipped the great sail over the side, and had it drawn round and up over the damaged stern.

In the meantime Mr Dixon, working down below, had stopped the engines and explored the shaft funnel, ascertaining the extent of the damage done by the shaft in its unchecked revolutions. He came on deck, wearied out, to be met by dark looks.

“What’s the meaning of this?” said he.

“The meaning is,” cried Webster, with a bitter look of contempt round, “that these cowardly hounds won’t lift a finger to help us, and I’m damned if my men will do another stroke to save them! Let the ship sink, and she is sinking fast.”

“And you’ll sink with us!” roared Juarez. “Down with them; slit their throats!”

There was a rush of men, and the little party were hemmed in.

A young officer bounded forward with drawn sword, and wheeling round, faced his men.

“Diavolo!” he hissed through his clenched teeth, “what devil’s game is this? You called to these gentlemen in your fear to help you, and now you would turn on them like base assassins. I tell you,” he cried passionately, “it shall not be!”

Webster and Hume, with their blue eyes flashing, ranged up on either side of their unexpected friend, while the British tars stood with their cutlasses ready.

Captain Pardoe, seeing something amiss, drew near. “Do you hear,” he shouted, “if you harm my men I’ll let go a torpedo.”

The young officer repeated the message, and the men whispered among themselves, then threw down their arms.

Juarez shot a venomous look at his officer, and placed his foot upon a knife, which, presently, he drew toward him.

Webster thanked the gallant foe for his assistance, and assured him that the sloop would keep afloat until they reached Madeira. He then turned to the side to speak to Captain Pardoe, while Frank Hume walked aft to see what damage had been wrought by the fire of the catcher.

There was a cry, and they turned to see the young officer fall, struck to the heart by the vengeful Captain. The next instant Juarez himself was cut to the deck by a slashing blow from a cutlass.

At this act of black treachery the small boarding party were ready to make a furious rush, but the sloop’s officers and men looked on themselves appalled, while a young fellow, quite a boy, flung himself on the officer’s body in a passion of grief, then suddenly springing up, drew his knife and advanced towards Juarez.

“Enough!” said Webster sternly.

“Kill the black-hearted dog!” screamed the Brazilian sailors, giving vent to their hate for their brutal commander, which no doubt had been long pent up.

“I see,” said Webster, with a grim smile; “we must get this fellow on board to save him from his friends.”

He signalled to the Swift, and when she came alongside, Juarez, who still breathed heavily, was lowered to her deck.

“What’s to be done with the sloop, sir?”

“Oh, leave her, if she can float, and think ourselves lucky to be free of a gang of prisoners.”

“She can reach Madeira by means of her sails.”

“Take a look round, then, and come aboard.”

Webster and Hume went aft, where all the damage done by the Swift’s guns had taken place, and there they found the bulwarks smashed to splinters, the two guns overturned, and the deck wet with blood from a dozen dead.

With a last word of advice to the gloomy and silent officers of the sloop, Webster stepped overboard, and very soon the Swift went on her way.

Chapter Eleven.

A Painful Scene.

The stricken sloop lay like a log on the ocean as the Swift stretched along into the Atlantic. In less than half an hour she had been struck down, maimed, and humbled by an enemy which she had treated with contempt.

“Why didn’t you sink her?” said Commins softly, coming to the side of Captain Pardoe, who stood with a dull flush in his face, fixedly regarding the labouring sloop. “You are fighting for the National Government. Why didn’t you sink her?”

Pardoe turned and regarded the man at his side under his brows for a moment. “What a devil you are, Commins!”

“Am I really?” remarked Commins imperturbably; “but, however flattering to my sagacity, that is scarcely an answer to my question. You have committed a blunder, Pardoe, and if the authorities at Rio were informed of it they might—I’m not saying they would, mind you—but they might court-martial you.”

“Court-martial me for smashing an enemy’s ship? You’re a fool, Commins!”

“Pardon me, but you have not smashed the enemy. There he goes leisurely on his way back to port after you had him in your power, and if either of us is to be called a fool I am inclined to think you are entitled to that honour. Take my advice: go back and sink that ship.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Certainly, in your own interests. The Brazilian Admiral would be the last man to suppose you had let the enemy escape from motives of humanity. And, then, you saved the life of that fiend, Juarez.”

“Juarez is my prisoner.”

“Yes, truly; but, observe how absurd your case would be when you say to the Admiral: ‘I let the warship escape, but I have brought you her Captain, who would have been assassinated by his own crew.’”

“I see you have already placed me on my trial,” said Pardoe dryly. “I presume you wish me to murder Juarez as well as to sink the ship?”

“You have a brutal way with you, Pardoe, as befits, no doubt, a brave sailor; but it jars. As for Juarez, it may give our friends some pleasure to dispose of him at Rio, though his presence on board will cause me a feeling of nausea; but it is necessary that you should do your work thoroughly, and for your safety, and the success of our mission, you must destroy that ship.”

“I must!” said the Captain, with a dark look.

“Well, there is no compulsion; but that is my opinion, and the opinion of Miss Laura de Anstrade.”

“You lie!”

Commins grew white to the lips, and his gloved fingers, resting on the bridge rail, trembled, but recovering himself, he said: “I will bring her here, and you shall receive the orders from her own lips,” then left the bridge.

Captain Pardoe flung himself round, took a hasty turn up and down the cramped bridge, then, with a stern and angry visage, faced Miss Anstrade.

She came swiftly, with a rustling of skirts, and a faint perfume that seemed strangely out of place, as much out of place as would be the inhuman order from her woman’s lips to destroy a helpless ship. Her large eyes glared with a feverish light, her breast heaved, and her hands were clutched in a sort of hysterical passion.

“Captain Pardoe,” she cried, in a thin, unnatural voice, “why have you let that ship escape?”

“Because, madam, I had not men enough to work her, and she would never have reached Rio.”

“No; but she can reach the bottom.”

“Good God!” he muttered, his face turning an ashen grey, “Miss Laura, you cannot mean that?”

“Yes; but I do!” she said, with a gasp.

“Then,” he said fiercely, “you must put someone else in command.”

“Oh, no, no!” she cried, “I never—”

“Be firm,” whispered Commins; “think how your case will be strengthened. If you can say you have destroyed one of the enemy’s ships. Remember your brother!”

Captain Pardoe noticed the action, and, pointing to Commins, he said bitterly: “Appoint that man your Captain, madam; he alone is capable of such an act, and perhaps Juarez would assist him.”

“It is policy,” whispered Commins.

The name of Juarez had a strange effect on the girl. She drew herself up, and in a hard voice called Lieutenant Webster.

He, seeing something unusual occurring, as, indeed, had all those on the main-deck, had drawn near.

“At your service, madam,” he said, with a hasty look at Captain Pardee’s dark face.

“I wish to appoint you Captain, Mr Webster.”

“Thank you, madam!”

Commins smiled as Pardoe threw his head up with a snort of indignant surprise.

“Mr Pardoe has refused to obey orders. I beg your pardon, what were you about to say?”

“I don’t think I wish to say anything, madam, and I’d rather not hear anything more;” saying which, Webster, with a distressed look on his frank face, stepped by, and stood beside Captain Pardoe.

“Ah!” cried Miss Anstrade, “you desert me for him. Let it be so. I would rather know at once whom I may trust.” The weakness and hesitation which at first she had shown disappeared, giving place to a feeling of wounded pride. She drew herself up, and regarded the two officers scornfully, forgetting, as only an angry woman can, the services they had already performed.

“I will have you placed on board yonder ship with that defeated crew, and perhaps then, when they turn their fury on you, you will repent your ingratitude. Once before I had to turn to these gallant sailors in order to shame you into doing your duty, and now, with confidence, I will appeal to them once more.” Her voice rang out clear and loud, and, charmed herself by the sound, she dwelt on her words. The men edged up, looking at the group on the bridge; and, if she had not been carried away by the confidence of her tone, she would have seen that their aspect was not friendly to her or to the man at her side. Hot, and most of them bleeding from a fight into which they had been led with courage and skill by their officers, it was not to be thought that they would, on the bidding of a woman, turn their backs upon their leaders. Commins was quick to note their bearing, and so was Hume, who stood by, amazed at the scene.

As she stood there with a proud smile on her lips, Frank swung himself up, unceremoniously shouldered Commins away, and stood by her side.

“Men,” he said, “it is a fine custom after a fight for the Captain to thank his officers and men, and one that should be kept up by us. This lady is our commander, and she wishes to thank you all for the splendid courage with which you have fought at this engagement against a foe of double our strength.”

“Sir,” she said, recovering from the shock of surprise, “what is the meaning of this insolence?”

“For Heaven’s sake,” whispered Commins, “let him speak. Don’t you see the men side with them?”

She flashed a startled look over the upturned faces, then, with a motion of her hand, signified to Frank to continue.

“Say a word to them, madam, yourself.”

“Do you command me?” she asked haughtily.

“No, madam, I implore.”

With a terrible look at Commins she went forward, and with a smiling face, though her hands were clenched, she thanked them.

The men touched their caps, but they lingered, casting puzzled glances at the Captain and Lieutenant.

“If so please you, mam,” said the big Quartermaster in deep tones, “we’d like to know what’s been said by way of thanks to the Captain for the handsome way he took the ship into action, and to the Lieutenant for the way he worked ‘The Ghost’ Isn’t it so, mates?”

There was a deep growl of assent.

“My men,” said the Captain, in a deep bass that had a thrilling touch of emotion in it, “I am pleased with you, and I think you are satisfied with me and with the ship. And all of us are proud of the young lady, who, trusting herself fully in our keeping, has so bravely shared our dangers.”

“Three cheers for the lady,” sang out Dick the Owl; and “God bless her!” chimed in the Quartermaster.

The ship rang again to the shouts of the men, and Commins slipped below.

Miss Laura coloured, then grew white, but the Captain was too experienced a man to show his triumph, though he could not forbear one shot:

“If you will allow me, madam, I will go to my cabin, for I have been on the bridge all night.”

“All night! you are cruel to remind me of it, Captain.”

“Am I Captain again, then?”

“Go to your room, sir,” she said, with a frown, “and consider yourself under arrest till eight bells. Now, Mr Webster,” she continued, with a sudden change of manner, “you will show me over the ship, and explain to me all about the action. I see you are wounded.”

“Merely a scratch, madam, from a flying link from the anchor chain.”

He led the way down, and Hume and the Captain, lingering on the bridge, saw her chatting with the men, and examining the damage done aft, where a flight of missiles had struck the deck.

“That was a timely speech of yours, Hume,” said the Captain, “and saved us from an awkward fix, for had the men once got the notion that they had done me an obligation, there would have been an end to discipline, tried men as they are. I am not satisfied that we have a plain course before us, for we have to reckon with that man Commins, and the whims of a young lady.”

“She appears to be quite reconciled now,” remarked Hume.

“Maybe, and I hope so, but a woman can sail under false colours and dummy portholes without a sign of her real feelings. See the way she’s smoothing down Black Henderson. I shouldn’t wonder if she’s scheming to gain the men over in preparation for the next mad-brained jamboree.”

“What relation does Mr Commins hold to her?”

“That is no business of ours,” said the Captain gruffly, “and harkee, my lad, remember that you are sailing under her orders, and that you have to stand by her, and not me.” With that he swung down below, leaving Frank to his own reflections, which were not of the brightest. He noticed that Miss Anstrade had ignored his presence, and wondered whether she was displeased at his interference, then dwelt on the influence which Mr Commins undoubtedly exercised over her, and finally blamed himself for having committed himself to this mad venture. His thoughts went back to his uncle, and to the promise which he had given to search for that impossible Golden Rock, and he asked himself if he would not have been happier had he started on that forlorn enterprise; but, even as he thought, his mental image of that imaginary rock faded away before the visible presence of the wayward, passionate girl whose beauty had already beguiled him.

She had parted from Webster, who was busy with the men, and came slowly picking her way over the litter of coal scattered from the bags by a shell which had ripped up the whole row on the port side, her one hand stretched gracefully to its full length at her side to hold up her skirts, the other at her throat holding a black mantilla which framed her face. Passing up to the bridge, she leant forward with her elbows on the rails, the wide lace on her sleeves falling back and disclosing shapely arms, and, with her chin in her hands, looked dreamily over the grey sea to a faint blur which marked the toiling sloop. She had not noticed him by so much as a glance, and, accepting this as a hint, he put the length of the bridge between him and her.

“Mr Hume.”

He turned, but she was still absorbed in watching the sloop.

“Must I call twice?” she said in her low, rich tones; and he was by her side.

“I feared I had offended you by my interference.”

“And would my displeasure disturb you?” she asked, reclining her head until she could look at him, and so keeping it.

Frank thought of Captain Pardoe, and wondered if she could be acting a part.

“Why do you look at me so? Tell me, what do you think of me?”

“I think you are very beautiful,” he said daringly, carried away by her beauty, and forgetting the part she had just played.

“Don’t. This is no ball-room interlude, and such a vapid compliment is out of place here. Be frank. Come, tell me.” She nestled her face more comfortably in her supporting palm, and looked at him with a faint smile that parted her lips.

“Don’t,” he murmured, repeating her word; “I am only human.”

“And I am not. Is that it? Well, perhaps you are right.”

“I did not say so. What I meant was, that if you look at me so—”

“Spare me! I detest explanations. Do you see that ship?” she turned her face to the labouring sloop. “It carries many souls—men who have friends waiting for them in some far-off hacienda, gleaming white in the bright sun, wives, mothers, and others as dear, who would grieve were they lost. You know, I had it in my head to sink that ship and all on board. What do you think of me? I would like to know.”

“It was a horrible fancy,” he said a little sternly; “but I do not believe you meant to carry it out.”

“Ah! you do not know me,” she whispered, with a shudder; “I am sometimes afraid of myself.”

“You brood too much over your sorrows. Why not come up here more often and talk with us?” he said, with a jealous thought of Commins.

“That is very good of you,” she answered demurely, with a swift change of expression; “and I appreciate the invitation all the more because of the evident implication that I alone am to benefit from it.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said hastily; “what I meant—”

“Yes, yes; how dull you are, Mr Hume!”

“I am sorry you should think so, madam,” he answered stiffly.

“Now go off in a pet, and leave me to my own thoughts, which, of course, are very pleasant company for a lonely girl among a lot of morose and fiery men, who cannot see that the strain upon her is almost too much.” She said this with a smile, but Hume noticed that the lips trembled while they smiled, and that in the eyes there was a worn, almost wild, look.

“Take my arm, Miss Laura,” he said gently. “Let me tell you my story; it may interest you.”

She took his arm with almost a convulsive grasp, and for a moment she bent her head; then with a soft and womanly look she asked him to talk and not to heed her silence. So they paced up and down, six paces one way, six another, and were necessarily thrown together by the narrowness of the passage. He talked of his uncle, the tough old hunter, of the simple life he led, of his sacrifice and quiet death, and a sweeter look stole into her face.

“And so,” she said, “you have put aside the quest entrusted to you by that good old man and thrown in your lot with me? I thank you, but you must find the Golden Rock.”

“If it is there,” he said, smiling at her eagerness.

“Oh, it exists; I am sure of it. I can see the gleam of it now;” and she shaded her eyes with her hand.

“But it is not on the sea,” he said laughingly.

“I am looking beyond the sea, among your African mountains, to a flame that glows under the rays of the morning sun, and there is a ring of red around the flame. Ah! you will encounter many dangers.”

“What will it matter,” he said, “since I am alone in the world?”

“It may matter,” she whispered, and then withdrew her arm, and hastily quitted the bridge, after one anxious look at the sloop, and a murmured prayer that it would safely reach port.

Chapter Twelve.

A Strange Vessel.

Five days after the stormy scene on the bridge, Frank Hume and Webster were lying forward, upon rugs, on the turtle-shell deck, in the full blaze of a hot sun. The sea was calm, even beyond the power of the Swift to toss up spray, and stretched away, unbroken by so much as a single gleam of white, to the horizon, though astern there lay a long trail, slightly sinuous, over which, with many a sweep and soar, there hawked a pair of gulls. Now and again, from the heave of the water before the fast slipping foot of the Swift, there ripped out a flight of flying fish, who, after an unmistakable beat of their glittering wings, shot away to the right and left, to fall with an awkward splash into the sea.

Here and there, propped up against some wide-mouthed ventilator, or stretched in the grateful shadows of the boats, were a few barefooted sailors engaged with needle and thread, while under an awning aft Mr Commins and Miss Anstrade reclined in deck-chairs. The harsh grating noise of the steering gear, and the ceaseless thud of the propellers, alone broke the silence, which, like the silence of vast stretches ashore, or of deep-wooded solitudes, hushes the voice of animals and kills speech in men. Out on the bosom of the sea, or on the summit of a mountain, the trifles which interest us among our fellows have little power against the subduing influence of vast unpeopled spaces.

All the morning the steamer reached on, always remaining in the centre of the same wide circle, and it was only when the Quartermaster struck eight bells that there was any movement among the brooding men. Webster sat up, and with his hands on his knees, and his cap at the back of his head, looked over the shining waste, then yawned.

“What an eloquent fellow you are, Hume!” he said; “you’ve got no more conversation and greater powers of observation than a bale of wool. There’s that fellow Commins still talking to the Commodore and oiling his jaw-tackle with iced champagne, the lubber; and to think you might be enjoying the same privileges if you only had the wit to make yourself agreeable.”

“I don’t care for champagne iced.”

“You don’t, eh? but maybe you’d care to be seated where he is, within the range of those lustrous eyes, or was it luminous you called them, for all the world as though you were speaking of a black cat in a coal-cellar? And such cigars as she smokes, too?”

“She doesn’t smoke cigars!”

“Man, I saw the glow of one last night, burning red, and lighting, by its reflection, the dark splendour of her eyes, as you magnificently put it.”

“It was a cigarette, and you might know, if you were not always between waking and sleeping, that most high-bred Spanish women smoke them, and think no more of it than a dab of powder.”

“Then you were smoking the cigar, and I was awake enough to see that the fierce light of the cigar was closer than the breadth of my hand to the tiny glow of the dainty cigarette. I’ve been thinking whether I ought to congratulate you or her first.”

“Don’t be an ass, Webster; I was merely explaining to her the map of the stars.”

“Then there’s nothing between you?”

“Nothing but the length of the ship.”

“Then that relieves my heart of a great pressure, which has sat there ever since I had salt junk for breakfast. I shall propose to the Commodore myself.”

“The devil you will!” said Frank, rising to his elbow, and regarding Webster with anxiety.

The Lieutenant sighed, and then winked solemnly.

“Yes, my boy, for I’m sick to death of seeing that red-banded dandy flashing his teeth in the face of her as though he were the only man on board with courage enough to make love to a pretty girl.”

“You are fooling.”

“Not me. I’ve been thinking, and it occurred to me that I’ve lived long enough in a circle. I want to pass the remainder of my life in a square house with someone like the Commodore, who won’t obey orders. She would want to paint the walls yellow to match her complexion, and I would tell the Quartermaster to paint them blue to remind me of the sea. The house would have a flat roof with a flag-post on the weather quarter. I would hoist my colours in the morning, and she would bend on hers in the afternoon, for I’ve noticed that a woman grows more active as the day dwindles. It is a trait she enjoys in common with cats.”

“My dear fellow,” said Frank earnestly, “all you have to do is to give her a sketch of that programme, and that will be enough in the way of wooing.”

“Can you suggest any improvement?”

“Well, you would do well to hint at the luxury of green blinds for the windows, and pictures on the walls.”

“If there is one thing I detest more than soda with whisky, it’s satire; you should leave such weapons to that glass-eyed lubber aft, who always looks at me as if I were a monstrosity, and sets my muscles moving to catch him by the neck. Now, Frank, for the honour of all good men, sail in and win the prize. I mean it. You can see for yourself that the fellow is every kind of a rogue, and though the Commodore doesn’t answer well to the helm, it would be a wicked shame to see her taken in tow by that shark. Hang me if the fellow was not rattling dice last night with that black-hearted piccaroon, Juarez.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Ay, that it is; and it came across me that the two of them were too friendly for our safety. It was about four bells, and I had gone below to turn in, when I heard the unmistakable rattle, and peeping in through the ventilator above the door, saw the two of them hard at it, with the everlasting bottle at their elbows.”

“Have you told the Captain?”

“I did; and he scowled horribly. You know how pleasant he looks when he is put out; and he went down straightway and tumbled the gentle pirate into his cell, at the same time threatening to clap Commins in irons if he sought such congenial society again.”

“And—?”

“Commins swore most foully. I never thought the creature had such a command of language; but the skipper asked him if he would complain to the Commodore, when he calmed down rapidly into soft words and treacherous smiles. I tell you he is a plotter, and if anything goes wrong with the rebels—the National party, by compliment—he would sell us for a brass candlestick. Now, if you will dash in, cut him out as he lies at his moorings in the light of her friendship, I will not bring my fascination to bear upon her.”

“I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” said Frank, with a sigh; “and don’t you think we are talking without book?—for we have no reason to suppose that she wishes to be freed from the attentions of Mr Commins, still less that she is in any danger from him.”

“You’ve got too much of the calculating machine in you, Frank—a defect we sailors don’t possess. This is a matter not to be reasoned about I can feel in my marrow that the man is a scheming rascal.”

The Quartermaster struck eight bells, and Webster went off to take a sight, the Captain having already entered upon that daily task.

They were three days off Cape Verde, having made the islands to take in more coal, and were making across the Atlantic, in a south-westerly course, right out of the track of vessels. When Hume, who was looking forward listlessly, cried out, “Ship ahead!” there was unusual interest aroused, and glasses were brought to bear upon the distant speck.

“A steamer!” cried Captain Pardoe, “and lying to, for there’s not so much as a stain of smoke against the blue of the sky beyond.”

The men and officers, now thoroughly aroused from their drowsy torpor, stared at the distant ship which had so suddenly slipped from the horizon into this silent sea.

“Do you make out any signals, Mr Webster?”

“No, sir; but I can’t see a single boat, and it seems to me the tackle is hanging from the davits.”

“Strange,” muttered the Captain; “for there have been no indications of storm. Maybe the boats are out for some business of life-saving.” And he swept his glass to right and left of the steamer, which was rapidly taking shape to the naked eye.

“Bring her round a couple of spokes—so. Hold her at that.” The Swift bore down straight for the stranger, and for some minutes not a word was spoken on her, as every man eagerly searched the ship, and then the smooth water about her, for the first trace of any sign that would explain the mystery of her fixed and lonely state. The belt of sea beyond widened out, her straight bows rose higher; a sailor picked out the red band round her funnel, and now one, and then another, with a quick cry, averred they saw men on board; but yet there was no sign of her boats, or trace of smoke.

“She has a slight list to starboard, Mr Webster.”

“I marked that, sir; but she has not settled down, and can’t be making water.”

“She looks over seaworthy for a castaway. Who is it can see a man on board?”

The sailor Dick touched his cap. “There’s a chap swinging on the starboard side, sir, just below the forward davits, and there’s another lying on the booby-trap.”

The other men looked at Dick, then, with knitted brows under the shade of their flat palms, gazed intently at the spots indicated; but, failing to make out any object so small at such a distance, they all turned to watch the Captain, and judged from the sharp inquiring glance he threw at the Lieutenant before taking a longer view that there was now some key to the mystery.

“There certainly is a man up aloft, and another hanging at the side; but he is strangely still.”

“It seems to me his legs move,” muttered Webster. “My God! what is that below him?”

To the straining looks of the excited crew there flashed for a moment a speck of white at the side of the ship, followed by a faint toss of spray against the black hull.

“’Tis a shark!” shouted Dick.

Another pause succeeded, and from the doors there peered out the grim faces of half a dozen stokers, who had, down below, felt the contagion of excitement.

“There has been foul play,” said the Captain; “no live man would remain within a yard of those gaping jaws and not struggle to escape.”

“Fire a blank charge, Mr Webster.”

The twelve-pounder roared its summons, loud enough to wake the dead, but no white face was lifted over the bulwarks of the vessel, and no movement came from the two still forms.

“Make ready to launch the boat.”

There was a rush of naked feet, four men tumbled into the boat with Webster; the ropes were loosened, and the davits swung out.

“Captain, what is that dark cloud beyond the ship?” asked Miss Anstrade, who had been standing on the bridge with a look of wonder in her face.

“A capful of wind, Miss Laura.”

The steamer soon heeled over slowly to the breeze; then her stern, making a ripple on the water, came round, and she lay broadside on, showing the high poops, lofty bridge, and deep, well-like quarter-deck of the ocean tramp. The strange figure hanging over the swell of her bows swung to the lazy motion of the ship, his feet nearly touching the heave of the sea made by the list.

Out of that swell there rose the gleaming belly of the great fish, the next moment the ropes hung limp against the ship!

A murmur of horror rose from the Swift, and Miss Anstrade caught Frank convulsively by the arm. “O Sancta Sanctissima!” she cried, “what a fearful thing is the sea!”

Yet it could not have been more peaceful, as it came with a soft caressing ripple against the grey sides of the catcher, its glossy surface belying the evidence of that ghastly tragedy, whose eddying ripples it had hastily smoothed away.

And the derelict, lazily dipping, pointed her tall narrow bows once more at the Swift, and seemed to the sailor-men to appeal to them in her helplessness; so they pitied her as if she had been a living thing.

“What is the matter with her?” asked Miss Anstrade, her face still white.

“She has been abandoned, evidently; but I must find out why, for she appears to be seaworthy. Her rigging is uninjured; she cannot be making water, and if her steam-gear were damaged she could trust to her sails.”

The Swift was now within a few lengths of the derelict, and passing under her stern, turned to examine her port side.

There, at last, was some evidence of violence, for one of her iron plates had been ripped open, the port side of the bridge had been completely swept away, and there were two jagged holes in her forward bulwark, the jagged ends projecting out, while fragments of a boat hung from her davits.

“She’s been under fire!” said the Captain in astonishment.

“Ay, ay, raked fore and aft by bow chasers,” was the comment of the men.

“Stand by to lower the boat. Let go!” The boat sank to the sea, shipshape and even, and Hume, with a word to the Captain, slipped down into her.

“Give way!” cried Webster, standing up in the stern-sheets. The men put their backs into it, and very soon an active tar, making use of his toes and hands, was on the quarter-deck. He took one quick look around, then let down a rope, up which the rest scrambled one after the other. An extraordinary spectacle met their gaze: the well was littered with splinters; the ladder reaching to the main-deck was smashed; the entrance to the alley-way blocked with the iron wall of the cabin, which had been torn away from its fastenings. On the starboard side, however, the deck was clear, and passing round, they went up the step to the main-deck. The starboard side here was free, but on the port side the deck was ploughed up, and hampered with a part of the bridge and portion of the boat, while the row of skylights were shattered into pieces.

Sending a couple of men aloft to bring down the man on the booby, Webster and Hume went below to examine the state-room. The table was set for dinner, but the plates were clean, and the meal had not been served. Fallen over on the table was a—bottle of whisky, from which the spirit had run out over the cloth, still filling the room with a strong odour, and on the floor was a broken glass. The cabin door opening into the saloon was open, and an inspection showed that the contents had been overhauled, the boxes standing open, and the floors covered with clothing which had been hastily tossed out.

On a small table, in the Captain’s room, was the log-book, the last entry broken off—

“1 degree North latitude, 30 West longitude. Towards evening sighted a cruiser, which showed the Brazilian (National) colours, and held on. She signalled for our colours. Run up the National flag, when she hauled down her colour and ran up the Government flag, at the same time signalling us to lay-to. Expecting little mercy if she found out the nature of our cargo, made a run for it. She gave chase, and opened fire with her bow guns. Cruiser gave up the chase at dusk, just as a discharge from her bow guns severely mauled us. Irene making water fast, and resolved to take the boats and—”

“That explains her state,” mused Webster, as he turned over the pages of the log, which showed that the Irene, 1,500 tons, had left Bristol for Rio in June, 1893, and had up to the last entry made an uneventful voyage.

“It’s a monstrous thing,” said Frank, “that a peaceful merchant steamer should have been served in this way.”

“She probably carries contraband of war, and navy men don’t go to much ceremony before playing bowls with a blockade-runner. Ask the skipper; he’s been at the game often, and by the same token I believe he took command of the Swift to wipe off old scores. Let’s get below.”

Calling two of the men, Webster lifted a hatchway, and, with a lantern from the storeroom, descended to investigate, and was not long in finding that the main hold contained a large shipment of rifles packed in cases. Returning to deck, they found the two men who had been sent aloft standing by the side of a young sailor who had been struck in the head, evidently by a fragment of iron. He was stiff in death, and Webster, with a gentle touch, drew the eyelids over the blue eyes.

He then turned to the side to haul in the ropes, from which that other figure had swung. There was a loop in the end, in which the unfortunate man in launching the forward boat had probably been entangled, and overlooked by his comrades in the dark. Subdued and saddened by what they had seen, they returned to the Swift, and Webster made his report.

“A blockade-runner,” said the Captain, his gloomy eyes lighting up; “and full of arms. What a prize she would be for the rebels!”

“And for us, too,” said Mr Commins quickly. There was a long pause, and the Captain paced restlessly to and fro, casting quick glances at the derelict. “She would mean a fortune,” he continued slowly, “for I happen to know that the land forces of the National party are badly armed. Now, Captain, here is an opportunity that falls right into your mouth, and I would strongly urge you to accept the gift. I admit I was wrong about the Esperanza, but concerning the advisability of taking possession of this rich derelict there can surely be no two opinions.”

“But I should have to place a crew on board, and that would weaken us,” said the Captain, with an air as though he liked the proposal.

“I, myself, don’t see any bar to that arrangement,” said Commins, stroking his chin, and eyeing the Captain thoughtfully. “I dare say now, with half our crew, you yourself could undertake to run the blockade with that ship.”

“I am not going to leave the Swift,” said the Captain roughly.

“I should hope not,” laughed Commins. “I had in mind the history of some of your daring trips as blockade-runner, and, of course, as I presume, Mr Webster, and our young friend, Mr Hume, with as few men as you could spare, could be put on board. They could make for some port north of Rio, and after reporting her whereabouts and arranging for the reward, you could re-ship the crew previous to carrying out the object of this voyage.”

“That would mean delay, and Miss Anstrade may object,” urged the Captain, who, nevertheless, was evidently pleased with the scheme.

“You have heard the Captain’s suggestion, madam,” said Commins, turning to Miss Anstrade, “which seems to me very important, and which, if carried out, would have a most valuable bearing on our chance of success. With that ship and its cargo in our hands we could, with confidence, ask for every assistance from the national commanders ashore and afloat.”

Miss Anstrade knitted her brows as she looked at the speaker.

“You know my wish,” she said wearily, “is to reach Rio as soon as possible. I understand you to say that the cargo of yonder ship would realise a fortune, and it seems to me if I demanded from my struggling countrymen money in return for services, they would be under no indebtedness to me. If we are to weaken our strength to save that ship I would prefer to give it up without any question of reward.”

“But you have no objection to the crew sharing in any prize money that may be offered,” said Commins quickly, with a side glance at the Captain.

“None whatever,” she said coolly.

“And you consent to our saving the ship?”

“I suppose so, though I clearly see my opinion would not be considered if it were opposed to the step.”

“Not so, madam,” said Captain Pardoe. “That ship and its cargo should realise 90,000 pounds, but if you say leave it, I will send her to the bottom, so that she shall not fall into the enemy’s hands.”

“Do as you wish,” she said, with a sad smile, and turned away with a sigh.

The Captain and Mr Commins continued eagerly to discuss the matter, while Hume, who had been standing near with Webster, plucked the latter by the sleeve to draw him aside.

“Well, what do you think of this new scheme?”

“I don’t know that I like it over well, but I judge the temptation would prove a strong one for the Captain. It is a big stroke of luck, after all.”

“The Captain appears to be rather keen upon money making.”

“I suppose he is,” said Webster slowly; “and so are most men when they have the chance. Would you say there was any sentiment about the skipper?”

“As little as there is about that twelve-pounder.”

“That’s where you lose your compass,” said Webster gravely. “For fifteen years the Captain’s dream has been to save money enough to make a home for his future wife, my sister, Hume. When I was a boy at school he was courting her—a fine, high-spirited fellow, with a way about him that won everybody’s goodwill. I have marked him grow more silent and stern as the years went by, and I have seen my sister’s gaiety grow into a sweet and tender patience; but never a word of marriage from him. He was waiting for his fortune, and twice he made it and lost it, once after ten years in the merchant service, when he was wrecked, and once after running a blockade, when he was captured and imprisoned by the Peruvians. ‘’Tis coming, love,’ he would say; ‘a house for you and a little farmyard for me, down in the old county.’ Poor little Loo! I think I see her now sitting, as sometimes she would when the housework was done, with her hands in her lap, looking wistfully into the future. God grant her wishes may be fulfilled!”

“I say no more about the Captain,” said Frank warmly, “except to echo your prayer. For his sake I hope this plan will carry through well, but after what you said of Commins I am suspicious. He may have some design in dividing our strength.”

“No doubt he has, but he might as safely light a cigar at a volcano as attempt to win over any of our men.”

The Captain’s voice here rang out:

“Mr Webster, we will lay by till morning. Take all the men on board and get it as shipshape as possible. Find, if you can, the supercargo’s manifesto, and if you can’t, then make a rough inventory of the cargo.”

The Swift was laid alongside the Irene, on her weather side, and moored fore and aft, the smoothness of the sea permitting this. In this position the low funnels did not rise above the lofty side of the steamer, and she was completely hidden from the view of any vessel coming up on the starboard side. Her fires were damped down, steam shut off, and the engineer and his staff were soon busy in the engine-room of the Irene, while the Quartermaster, with his men, smartly cleared away the litter in readiness for the carpenters.

So the work went briskly on, and in the quiet of the evening, in the presence of all the crew, the body of the dead sailor lad, sewn up in a sail-cloth, was committed to the deep sea, the bass voice of the Captain ringing out solemnly in the impressive silence. And when the last eddy had died away the Captain shivered and drew his hand across his brow.

Maybe the summons for him also had already sounded, and he paced the deck long into the night.

Chapter Thirteen.

The Sea Fight.

The Swift had been almost deserted, as the larger decks of the Irene offered an irresistible attraction, and when the work was abandoned at dusk the crew took possession of the forecastle, while Miss Anstrade, with Hume and Webster, lingered on the poop, after surrendering the main-deck amidships to the Captain, who preferred his own company. Mr Commins, alone for choice, remained on the catcher, and for a long time the glow of his cigar could be seen under the small awning, while Juarez, over whom he had offered to keep strict watch, lay near, under the shadow of a lamp, smoking cigarettes. The Brazilian Captain had never been permitted to appear on deck when Miss Anstrade was there, and his close confinement below had not improved his naturally brutal nature, but he had tamed his temper down to the point of almost abject humility in imploring the Captain to let him on deck. Now the guttural tones of his voice could be heard as he made occasionally a few remarks to Mr Commins, the only man who cared to hold converse with him.

The night was beautiful, the dark vault of the sky gloriously gemmed down to the dark belt of the horizon, while out of the intense black of the sea there gleamed, near at hand, swordlike flashes of phosphorescent fire from predatory fish, and between the sea and the sky there was no living thing to break the brooding silence. The men, glad of the opportunity to stretch their legs, were soon asleep, and, except for an occasional murmur of voices from the three on the poop and the rough burr of Juarez at intervals, there was no sound on board. The swell of the sea rising and sinking between the catcher and the Irene made a soft ripple, followed by a deep sigh, having a power in its melancholy music to draw Miss Anstrade to the port side, where she had leant with her elbows on the rail, until at the dim sight of Juarez she started back with a shudder of revulsion and sought the remoter side.

There the three of them leant, the efforts of the two men to talk to the girl between them gradually lessening to complete silence. She had changed greatly since the excitement of the wild rush to Madeira, had grown listless, the womanhood in her revolting against the strain and burden she had rashly imposed on herself, and at each sign of helplessness the two young men had felt more tender towards her, trying, each in his own way, to show their sympathy. They had talked often together about the object of the voyage, and, sanguine though they were with the ardour of youth, they could see nothing but disaster before them, while the desperate nature of the enterprise had also come home to her. Presently, with a moan, she thrust her hands forward:

“There is nothing but failure before me, and perhaps death.”

“You are over-worn,” said Frank gently; “and, indeed, the Swift is too rough a boat for a lady.”

“Ay, that it is, Miss Laura,” said Webster, “and, as for talk of failure or death, they are for us to prove, and not for you, who are made for better things. This steamer has been thrown across us by the mercy of Providence, and it is your duty almost to accept the gift, and embark in it for a safe port.”

“I despise myself,” she said wearily; “but I have no courage and no hope, and shudder at the thought of remaining on the Swift. I cannot understand it.”

“I think I can,” said Frank, in a low tone. “You have been mistaken in yourself, and your presence on board, in contrast with the grim ship, has seemed to me a sort of marvel. You are fitted for better things.”

“You mean I have no strength of purpose,” she said slowly. “And do you expect me to relinquish this enterprise, to go back without striking one blow, to surrender to my weakness, and for ever be a victim of my cowardice, haunted by a memory, and lashed by my conscience? No—no—never!”

She threw her head up proudly.

“You may go to safety in this ship; but—I—I will do what I have said.”

“You mistake us,” said Hume; “neither Mr Webster nor myself asks you to give up the enterprise. We have no thought of turning from it; but we do think strongly that you should not share in the work and worry of it. It is not fair to you; it is unjust to us.”

“Unjust, sir—how?”

“Madam, you may not know it, but every man on board the Swift thinks more of you than of his own safety, and if they all knew you were ashore they would be happier in working out your purpose.”

“You are right there, Frank,” said Webster. “We’d go into action with a laugh if you were not aboard, madam, but every shell would make our hearts beat with fear if you were with us.”

“Ah! my friends,” she answered with emotion, “you make my sorrow all the greater to think I should have brought you to this, and be myself so fearful of the end. Forgive me, but I am proud and weak by turns. Oh, if I had the courage of a man!”