"The Ocean Cat's Paw" (continued 3)

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Cross, hurrying to the side, where he began gesticulating angrily, in spite of which the boatman persisted in coming alongside and in voluble French declaring that he was ordered to come and would not go back until he was paid.

Meanwhile a little explanation was going on between the skipper and Uncle Paul.

“Don’t want to be bumptious, sir,” said the former, “but there’s only room on board a craft for one captain. Those fellows jump at any chance to get ashore, and when they are there, there’s no knowing when you’ll get them on board again, besides which, they wouldn’t be careful, and French and English don’t get on very well together after all that’s gone by. Here, Cross, tell that jabbering Frenchman if he isn’t off, he’ll have to go back with a hole through the bottom of his boat. No, stop. Go and find Mr Craig. Tell him to set those six men something to do.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the sailor, hurrying off.

“There, it was all my fault, captain,” said Uncle Paul, smiling. “I won’t offend again. Here, Rodd, my boy, give that poor fellow a shilling for his trouble.”

Rodd hurried to the side, hailed the man, and held out the coin, telling him in very bad French what it was for; but the fellow shook his head, held up four fingers, and began shouting “Quatre!” so loudly that the skipper heard.

“Cat, indeed!” he shouted. “Just what I should like to give him. Here, come away, Mr Rodd; he shan’t have anything now.”

But Rodd did not obey at once.

“One or nothing,” he cried to the man, in French.

“Quatre! Quatre!” shouted the man.

Rodd shook his head and was turning away, but the boatman swarmed up the side, and reaching over the rail, shouted “Quatre!” again, till the skipper made so fierce a rush at him that he lowered his feet quickly down into his boat, catching the shilling that Rodd pitched to him, and then hurriedly pushing off for the landing-place.

“Oh, it’s all right, Dr Robson,” said the skipper, “only you must leave all this shore-going to me. I know my lads; you don’t.”

Just then Craig, the mate, came up on deck, looking very sour at having been awakened from a comfortable sleep, and did not scruple about setting the delinquents to work upon some very unnecessary task, to the great delight of their messmates, who, headed by Joe Cross, gave them pretty freely to understand what their opinion was of the scheme to get a run ashore.

It was towards evening that, after a hasty meal, partaken of in peace in the still waters of the harbour, tempted by a few gleams of sunshine, and for Rodd’s gratification, Uncle Paul and Rodd were rowed ashore in the same boat as the skipper, who had business with the English Consul about his papers, the understanding being that the boat was to go back and meet them at nine o’clock.

“That’s as long as we shall want to stay, Rodd,” said Uncle Paul.

“Yes, sir,” said the skipper; “and if I were you I’d turn in early for a good night’s rest, for I’m thinking we shall have dirty weather again to-morrow, and there’s no knowing how long it will last.”

“But it looks so bright to-night,” cried Rodd.

“Just here, sir,” cried the skipper, “and it may be fine enough to tempt me off in the morning; but I don’t feel at all sartain, and to-morrow night we may be having another knocking about.”

They separated at the landing-place, and for the next two hours Rodd was making himself acquainted with the principal streets of the old seaport, time going very rapidly and the night coming on.

It was growing pretty dark, and after making two mistakes as to their direction, Rodd declared that he knew the way, and his uncle yielding to his opinion, the boy led on, till, turning a corner sharply, they almost came in contact with a couple of French officers walking in the opposite direction, the one a tall, stern, elderly-looking man, talking in a low excited tone to his young companion, whose attention was so much taken up as he deferentially listened to his elder, that he started back to avoid striking against Rodd, who also gave way.

It was now almost dark, and the next moment the French officers had passed on, as Uncle Paul exclaimed—

“Yes, I believe you are right, Pickle. You are. Those are ships’ lights hoisted up to the stays. Well, don’t you see?”

“Yes, uncle, but—”

The boy said no more, and Uncle Paul laid his hand upon his shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” he cried. “Why don’t you speak? Those are the lights in the harbour.”

“Yes—yes. Yes, uncle, I see,” said the boy hastily; “but—er—but—er—”

“Why, what’s the matter with you? Don’t feel done up?”

“No, uncle,” replied Rodd hurriedly. “I was only puzzled; it seemed so strange.”

“You mean you seem so strange,” said the doctor, laughing.

“Yes, uncle, I feel so.”

“Well, come along, and let’s make haste aboard. I don’t want to keep the captain waiting. We have lost so much time by missing our way. It’s past nine, I’m sure.”

“Yes, uncle,” said the boy, speaking more like himself; “it must be. But I felt so startled in coming suddenly upon those two officers.”

“Why, there was nothing to startle you, my boy.”

“No, uncle, I suppose not; but somehow I felt that I had been close to that one who nearly ran up against me before, and when he said ‘Pardon’—”

“I didn’t hear him say ‘Pardon,’” said Uncle Paul.

“But he did, uncle, just in a low tone so that I could hardly hear him, and then I felt sure we had met before.”

“Nonsense!” cried Uncle Paul. “Look here, my boy, how much sleep did you have last night?”

“Sleep, uncle!” cried the boy, in a voice full of surprise.

“Why, none at all. Who could sleep through that storm?”

“I’ll answer for myself,” said the doctor; “I could not. Well, you were completely tired out, and are half dreaming now. Come along; let’s find the boat and get on board for a light supper and a good night’s rest.”

“Yes, uncle,” said Rodd quietly; “but take care; we are on the wharf. I can make out the shipping plainly now;” and as he spoke a familiar hail came out of the darkness, while as they answered the captain strode towards them.

“Thought you were lost, gentlemen. Been waiting half-an-hour. Take care; the boat’s down here;” and striding along the top of the harbour wall the skipper led the way to the descending steps, where the boat was waiting, and they were rowed aboard.

An hour later Rodd was plunged in the deepest of deep sleeps, but dreaming all the same of the storm and of getting into difficulties with some one who was constantly running against him and whispering softly, “Pardon!”

Chapter Fourteen.

The Suspicious Craft.

“Oh, I say, Uncle Paul, isn’t it horrible?” cried Rodd the next morning.

Breakfast was just over, and Captain Chubb had gone on deck, while the wind was howling furiously as if in a rage to find its playthings, some two or three hundred vessels of different tonnage, safely moored in the shelter of the harbour, and out of its power to toss here and there and pitch so many helpless ruins to be beaten to pieces upon the shore.

Down it kept coming right in amongst them, making them check at their mooring cables and chains, but in vain, for their crews had been too busy, and the only satisfaction that the tempest could obtain, was to hearken to the miserable dreary groans that were here and there emitted as some of the least fortunate and worst secured ground against each other.

“Isn’t it horrible, uncle?” shouted Rodd, for the rain just then was mingled with good-sized hailstones, and was rattling down upon the deck and skylight in a way that half-drowned the lad’s voice.

“Miserable weather, Pickle; but never mind. We must settle down to a good morning’s work in the laboratory.”

“Oh no, not yet, uncle; we don’t seem to have started. It will only be a makeshift.”

“But we might put things a little more straight, boy.”

“Oh no, uncle; they are too straight now, and I want to go on deck.”

“Bah! It isn’t fit. Wait till the weather holds up.”

“Oh, I shall dress up accordingly, uncle. But I say, where does all the rain come from? It must be falling in millions of tons everywhere.”

“Ah, you might as well ask me where the wind comes from. Study up some book on meteorology.”

“Oh yes, I will, uncle; but not yet.”

“Very well; be off.”

Rodd hurried out of the cabin, and five minutes later came back rattling and crackling, to present himself before his uncle, who thrust up his spectacles upon his forehead and stared.

“There,” cried Rodd; “don’t think I shall get wet. I wish I’d had it the other night. It’s splendid, uncle, and so stiff that if I like to stoop down a little and spread my arms, I can almost rest in it. I say, don’t I look like a dried haddock?”

“Humph! Well, yes, you do look about the same colour,” grumbled the doctor, for the boy was buttoned up in a glistening oilskin coat of a buff yellow tint; the turned-up collar just revealed the tips of his ears, and he was crowned by a sou’-wester securely tied beneath his chin.

“I say, this will do, won’t it?”

“Yes, you look a beauty!” grunted the doctor; “but there, be off; I want to write a letter or two.”

Rodd went crackling up the cabin stairs, clump, clump, clump, for he was wearing a heavy pair of fisherman’s boots that had been made waterproof by many applications of oil—a pair specially prepared for fishing purposes and future wading amongst the wonders of coral reef and strand.

The deck was almost deserted, the only two personages of the schooner’s crew being the captain and Joe Cross, both costumed so as to match exactly with the boy, who now joined them, to begin streaming with water to the same extent as they.

They both looked at him in turn, Cross grinning and just showing a glint of his white teeth where the collar of his oilskin joined, while his companion scowled, or seemed to, and emitted a low grumbling sound that might have meant welcome or the finding of fault, which of the two Rodd did not grasp, for the skipper turned his back and rolled slowly away as if he were bobbing like a vessel through the flood which covered the deck and was streaming away from the scuppers.

As the skipper went right forward and stood by the bowsprit, looking straight ahead through the haze formed by the streaming rain, Rodd was thrown back upon Joe Cross, with whom, almost from the day when the man had joined, he had begun to grow intimate; and as he went close up to him, the sailor gave his head a toss to distribute some of the rain that was splashing down upon his sou’-wester, and grinning visibly now, he cried—

“Why, Mr Rodd, sir, you’ve forgot your umbrella.”

“Get out!” cried Rodd good-humouredly. “But I say, Joe, how long is this rain going to last?”

“Looks as if it means to go on for months, sir, but may leave off to-night. I say, though, that’s a splendid fit, sir. You do look fine! Are you comfortable in there?”

Rodd did not answer, for he was trying to pierce the streaming haze and make out whether the brig was visible.

For a few moments he could not make it out, but there it was, looking faint and strange, about a hundred yards away.

“That’s the brig, isn’t it, yonder?” he said at last.

“Yes, sir, that’s she, and they seem to have got her fast now; but she wouldn’t hurt us if she broke from her moorings, for the wind’s veered a point or two, and it would take her clear away.”

Rodd remained silent as he stood thinking, he did not know why, unless it was that the vessel with the tall, dimly-seen tapering spars bore a French name, and somehow—again he could not tell why, only that it seemed to him very ridiculous—the shadowy vessel associated itself with the two French officers he had encountered in the darkness of the previous night, when he heard one of them after brushing against him murmur the word “Pardon!” And he found himself thinking that if the vessel had been swept up against the schooner when her anchor was dragging, it would have been no use for her crew to cry “Pardon!” as that would not have cured the damage.

“Well, sir, what do you make of her?” cried the sailor, putting an end to the lad’s musings.

“Can’t see much,” said Rodd, “for the rain, but she seems beautifully rigged.”

“Yes, sir, and she can sail well too—for a brig—but I should set her down as being too heavily sparred, and likely to be top-heavy. If she was going along full sail, and was caught in such a squall as we had yesterday, and laid flat like the schooner, I don’t believe she’d lift again. Anyhow, I shouldn’t like to be aboard.”

“No, it wouldn’t be pleasant,” said Rodd; “but I say, I can’t see anything of that long gun you talked about.”

“No wonder, sir. You want that there long water-glass, as you called it—that there one you showed me as you was unpacking it. Don’t you remember? Like a big pipe with panes of glass in it as you said you could stick down into the sea and make out what was on the bottom. You want that now.”

The man passed his hand along the brow edge of his sou’-wester to sweep away the drops, and then took a long look at the deck of the brig.

“No, sir; can’t make it out now; but I see it plainly enough this morning, covered with a lashed down tarpaulin as if to hide it, and I knew at once. I can almost tell a big gun by the smell—I mean feel it like, if it’s there.”

“But do you still think she’s a privateer?”

“Well, I don’t say she is, sir, for that’s a thing you can’t tell for sartain unless you see a ship’s papers; but she is something of that kind, I should say, and— Ay, ay, sir!—There’s the skipper hailed me, sir. I say, Mr Rodd, sir, do mind you don’t get wet!”

This was as the man rolled away sailor fashion, and emitting a crackling whishing sound as he made for the vessel’s bows, where he received some order from his captain which sent him to the covered-in hatchway of the forecastle, where he slowly disappeared into a kind of haze, half water, half smoke, for several of the water-bound crew had given up the chewing of their tobacco to indulge in pipes.

But Rodd was in a talkative humour, and made his way to the skipper, saluting him with—

“I say, Captain Chubb, how do you manage to do it?”

“Do what, my lad?”

“Why, say for certain what the weather’s going to be.”

There was a low chuckling sound such as might have been emitted by a good-humoured porpoise which had just ended one of its underwater curves, and thrust its head above the surface to take a good deep breath before it turned itself over and dived down again.

“Second natur’, youngster, and that’s use. Takes a long time to learn, and when you have larnt your lesson perfect as you think, you find that you don’t know it a bit.”

“But you did know it,” said Rodd. “You said that the storm would come on again, when it was beautiful and fine yesterday evening; and here it is.”

“Well, yes, my lad, if you goes on for years trying to hit something you must get a lucky shot sometimes.”

“Oh yes, but there’s something more than that,” said Rodd. “When I have been amongst the fishermen in Plymouth, and over in Saltash, I have wondered to find how exact they were about the weather, and how whenever they wouldn’t take us out fishing they were always right. They seemed to know that bad weather was coming on.”

“Oh, of course,” said the skipper. “Why, my lad, if you got your living by going out in your boat, don’t you think the first thing you would try to learn would be to make it your living?”

“Why, of course,” cried Rodd.

“Ah, you don’t mean the same as I do. I mean, make it your living and not your dying.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You wouldn’t want,” continued the skipper, “to go out at times that might mean having them as you left at home standing on the shore looking out to sea for a boat as would never come back.”

“No,” said the boy, with something like a sigh. “I know what you mean. Ah, it has been very horrible sometimes, and all those little churchyards at the different villages about the coast with that regular ‘Drowned at sea’ over and over and over again.”

“Right, my lad. Things go wrong sometimes; but that’s what makes sailors and fishermen get to learn what the moon says and the sun and the clouds, and the bit of haze that gathers sometimes off the coast means. Why, if you’d looked out yesterday afternoon when the wind went down and the glint of sunshine come out, there was a nasty dirty look in the sky. You wait a bit and keep your eyes open, and put that and that together, and as you grow up you’ll find that it isn’t so hard as you’d think to say what the weather is going to be to-morrow. You’ll often be wrong, same as I am.”

“Ah! then I shall begin at once,” cried Rodd eagerly, as he looked sharply round. “Well, it can’t go on pelting down like this with hail coming now and then in showers. Showers come and go.”

“Right!” said the skipper, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh!” cried Rodd sharply.

“Hullo! Why, you don’t mean to say that hurt?”

“Hurt! No,” cried Rodd, shaking his head violently. “You shot a lot of cold water right up into my ear.”

“Oh, that will soon dry up. Well, what do you say the weather’s going to be?”

“The storm soon over, and a fine day to-morrow.”

“Done?” asked the skipper.

“Oh yes; but mind, that’s only a try.”

“Then it’s my turn now, youngster, so here goes. I say we shall have worse weather to-morrow than we have got to-day.”

“Oh, it can’t be!” cried Rodd.

“Well,” cried the skipper, chuckling, “we shall see who’s right.”

“Oh, but I don’t want for us to have to stop here in this French port.”

“More don’t I, my lad, so we think the same there. You going to stop on deck?”

“Yes, till dinner-time,” cried Rodd, and just then the haze of rain out seaward opened a little, revealing the brig with its tall spars and web of rigging.

This somehow set the boy thinking about the escape from accident when they came into port, and then of the encounter ashore, and he began talking.

“It’s no use to go down below. It’s so stuffy, and I want to chat. I say, captain, what do you think of that brig?”

“Very smartly built craft indeed, my lad—one as I should like to sail if I could do as I liked.”

“Do as you liked?” asked Rodd.

“Yes; alter her rig—make a schooner of her. But as she is she’s as pretty a vessel as I ever see—for a brig. Frenchmen don’t often turn out a boat like that.”

“What should you think she is?” asked Rodd. “A merchantman?”

“No, my lad; I should say she was something of a dispatch boat, though she aren’t a man-of-war. I don’t quite make her out. She’s got a very smart crew, and I saw two of her officers go aboard in some sort of uniform, though it was too dark to quite make it out.”

“But if she’s a man-of-war she would carry guns, wouldn’t she?” asked Rodd.

“Well, I don’t think she’s a man-of-war, my lad,” replied the skipper; “but she do carry guns, and one of them’s a big swivel I just saw amidships. But men-of-war, merchantmen, and coasters, we’re all alike in a storm, and glad to get into shelter.”

“Yes, it is a fine-looking brig. Is she likely to be a privateer?”

“Eh? What do you know about privateers?”

“Oh, not much,” said Rodd. “But going about at Plymouth and talking to the sailors, of course I used to hear something about them.”

“Well, yes, of course,” said the skipper thoughtfully, as he too swept the drops from the front of his sou’-wester, and tried to pierce the falling rain. “She might be a French privateer out of work, as you may say, for their game’s at an end now that the war’s over. Yes, a very smart craft.”

“But do you think she’s here for any particular purpose?”

“Yes, my lad; a very particular purpose.”

“Ah!” cried the boy rather excitedly. “What?”

“To take care of herself and keep in harbour till the weather turns right. Why? What were you thinking?”

“I was wondering why she came in so close after us, and then anchored where she is.”

“Oh, I can tell you that,” said the skipper, chuckling. “It was because she couldn’t help herself.”

“Then you don’t think she was watching us?”

“No-o! What should she want to watch us for?”

“Why, to take us as a prize, seeing what a beautiful little schooner it is.”

“Bah! She’d better not try,” said the skipper grimly. “Why, what stuff have you got in your head, boy? We are not at war with France.”

“No-o,” said Rodd thoughtfully; “but her captain might have taken a fancy to the Maid of Salcombe, and I’ve read that privateers are not very particular when they get a chance. And the war’s only just over.”

“No. But then, you see, my lad, even if you were right, that brig wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Why, suppose she waited till we had sailed, and followed till she thought it was a good opportunity, and then her captain led his men aboard and took her?”

“Oh, I see,” said the skipper dryly. “Well, my lad, as I say, she wouldn’t have a chance. First, because she couldn’t catch us, for give me sea room I could sail right round her.”

“Ah, but suppose it was a calm, and she sent her boats full of men on board to take us?”

“Well, what then?”

“What then? Why, wouldn’t that be very awkward?” asked Rodd.

“Very, for them,” said the skipper grimly. “What would my boys be about?”

“Why, they’d be taken prisoners.”

“I should just like to see her try,” said the skipper. “If the boats’ crews of that brig were to get a lodgment aboard my craft, how long do you think it would take our lads to clear them off?”

“Oh, I am sure our crew would be very brave, but I should say that brig’s got twice as many men as we have.”

“What of that?” said the skipper contemptuously.

“Well, then,” said Rodd argumentatively, “she’s got her guns, and might sink us.”

“And we’ve got our guns, and might sink her,” growled the skipper. “Look here, my lad; why did I give my lads gun drill and cutlass and pike drill, while you and the doctor were taking in your tackle and bags of tricks?”

“Why, to defend the schooner against any savages who might attack us when we are off the West Coast or among the islands.”

“Right, my lad. Well, as Pat would say, by the same token couldn’t they just as well fight a pack of Frenchies as a tribe of niggers? Bah! You’re all wrong. It’s quite like enough that yon brig may have been fitted out for a privateer, though I rather think she wouldn’t be fast enough. But that game’s all over, and we are all going to be at peace now we have put Bony away like a wild beast in a cage and he can’t do anybody any hurt. There, you needn’t fidget yourself about that. All the same, I don’t quite understand why a craft that isn’t a man-of-war, but carries a long gun amidships and has officers in uniform aboard, should be taking refuge in this port. I dunno. She looks too smart and clean, but it might mean that she’s going to the West Coast, blackbirding.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Rodd. “Why, that’s what you thought about us, Captain Chubb.”

“So I did; so I did, my lad,” said the skipper good-humouredly. “You see, I am like other men—think I am very wise, but I do stupid things sometimes. Well, I’ll be safe this time, and say I don’t know what she is, and I don’t much care. But I am pretty sure that she aren’t after us, and I dare say, if the truth’s known, she don’t think we are after her. There, squint out yonder to windward. That don’t look like fine weather, does it?”

“No; worse than ever!” cried Rodd.

“That’s so, my lad, and you may take this for certain; we shan’t sail to-day, and you won’t see another vessel put out to sea. Take my word for it.”

“That I will, Captain Chubb!” cried the boy earnestly, and the skipper nodded his head so quickly that the water flew off in a shower.

But, as some wag once said, the wisest way is to wait till after something has happened before you begin to prophesy about it.

Captain Chubb had probably never heard about the wisdom of this proceeding in foretelling events, for it so happened that in spite of the storm increasing in violence for many hours, his words proved to be entirely wrong.

Chapter Fifteen.

An Exciting Time.

About mid-day there was a sudden lull. The wind blew nearly as hard as ever, but the clouds were broken up, allowing a few gleams of sunshine to pass through, and soon after the sky seemed to be completely swept; the streaming wharves and streets began to show patches of dry paving, and nearly every vessel near was hung with the men’s oilskins, Rodd being one of the first to shed his awkward garments and come out looking more like himself.

There was such a transformation scene, and all looked so bright in the sunshine, that the boy took the first opportunity to ask the skipper what he thought of it now.

“Just the same as I did before, my lad,” he replied bluntly. “Here, it’s only mid-day, and mid-day aren’t to-night, and to-night aren’t to-morrow morning. Just you wait.”

“Oh, I’ll wait,” said Rodd, “but I think we ought to start off as soon as we can, and get right away to sea.”

“Do you?” said the captain gruffly. “Well, I don’t.”

After dinner Uncle Paul had a few words with the skipper, and then shook his head at his nephew, who was watching them inquiringly.

“No, my lad,” he said, “it won’t do; the captain says there’s more bad weather coming; but we’ll go and have a look round the town if you like.”

Rodd did like as a matter of course, and with the sun now shining brightly as if there were no prospect of more rain for a month, they were rowed ashore, Rodd noticing as they went that the crew of the brig seemed to be very busy, a couple of boats going to and fro fetching stores of some kind from the nearest wharf, but what he could not make out.

Then came a good ramble through the busy place, where everybody seemed to be taking advantage of the cessation of the storm, and Rodd noted everything to as great an extent as a hurried visit would allow.

There was plenty to see, the forts, one each side of the harbour, and a couple more on the higher ground, displaying their grinning embrasures and guns commanding the harbour and the town, while soldiery in their rather shabby-looking uniforms could be seen here and there, and sentries turned the visitors back upon each occasion when they went near.

“Rather an ugly place to tackle, Rodd, from the sea, but I suppose our fellows wouldn’t scruple about making an attack if there were any need. But here, I think we had better get back on board.”

“Oh, not yet, uncle. I haven’t half seen enough.”

“But I am getting sick of this tiresome wind,” said Uncle Paul. “One can’t keep on one’s hat, and it is just as if these gusts were genuine French, and kept on making a rush at us from round the corners of the streets as if they wanted to blow us into the harbour.”

“Yes, it is rather tiresome,” replied Rodd. “But I should have liked to have had a look inside one of those batteries.”

“Pooh! What do you want to see them for?”

“Why, just because they are French, uncle.”

“Nonsense! You have seen all ours on the heights of Plymouth, and they are a deal better-looking than these. We have a good way to walk, so let’s go down at once. There, look yonder.”

“What at, uncle?”

“What at? Why, at the clouds gathering there in the wind’s eye. You see Captain Chubb’s right, and we shall have the rain pouring down again before long.”

Rodd laughed as if he did not believe it, but making no farther opposition, they began to descend towards the harbour; but before they were half-way there the wind had increased to a furious pitch, the sea became a sheet of foam, and with wonderful rapidity the clouds had gathered overhead, till a black curtain was sweeping right over, and a few heavy drops of rain began to fall. Then down came a drenching shower, and they were glad to run for refuge to the nearest shelter, which presented itself in the shape of a great barrack-like building that seemed to be built about a square, and at whose arched entrance a couple of sentries with shouldered muskets were pacing up and down.

As Uncle Paul and Rodd approached at a trot, with the intention of getting under the archway, both sentries stopped short, and one of them held his weapon across breast high, scowling fiercely, and barred their way.

“Here, it’s all right,” cried Rodd. “We only want to shelter out of the rain for a few minutes;” and he pressed forward. “Come on, uncle. Never mind him!”

“Halte là!” cried the sentry.

But Uncle Paul’s hand went to his pocket, and drawing out half-a-crown he pointed quickly at the falling rain and the archway under which they now stood, taking out his handkerchief the while, and beginning to brush off the drops which bedewed his coat.

The man glanced at the coin, then at his brother sentry, and both looked inward at the square behind them. The exchange of glances was very quick, and then the first sentry opened one hand, but kept it very close to his side, again looking inward to see that he was not observed, before grumbling out—

“Eh bien! Restez!” And then as if perfectly unconscious of the bribe he had received, he resumed his slow pace up and down under the shelter of the great archway.

It was all a matter of minutes, but long enough for the wind and rain to have gathered force, and while the former raved and shrieked, down came the latter in a sheet, or rather in a succession of sheets which made the roadways seem as if full of dancing chess pawns, and the gullies turn at once into so many furious little torrents tearing down the slopes towards the harbour.

“Nice, isn’t it, uncle?” said Rodd merrily.

“Nice!” grumbled Uncle Paul. “I don’t know what I was thinking about to give way to you in such treacherous weather. Why, it’s worse than ever. How are we going to get back to the schooner?”

“Oh, it will soon be over, uncle, and if it isn’t we must get to know where the nearest place is from that sentry, and make a rush for it to get some tea, and wait there till the shower is over.”

“Shower!” said Uncle Paul. “It looks to me like a night of storm coming on, and as if we shan’t get back to the schooner to-night.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, uncle,” cried the boy coolly. “There’s sure to be a good hotel, and Captain Chubb will know why we haven’t come back. As soon as there’s a bit of a lull we will make a run for it, and we shall be able to get a lesson in French.”

“Bah!” said Uncle Paul impatiently. “How the wind comes whistling through this archway! We shall be getting wet even here.”

The two men on guard were evidently of the same opinion, for they turned to their sentry boxes and began to put on their overcoats, after standing their muskets inside.

But before this was half done, each snatched up his piece again and faced the entrance, for all at once there was the clattering of hoofs in the cobbled paved street, and a cavalry officer, followed at a short distance by a couple of men, dashed up to the front and turned in under the archway, drenched with rain, the officer saying something sharply to one of the sentries.

The man replied by pointing to a doorway at the back of the great entrance, while the officer swung himself from his horse, threw the rein to one of his men, and then lifting his sabre-tache by the strap he gave it a swing or two to throw off the water from its dripping sides, and then opened the great pocket to peer inside as if to see that its contents were safe.

The next moment, as if satisfied, he let it fall to the full length of its slings, gave a stamp or two to shake off the water that dripped from him, and then raised his hands to give a twist to the points of his wet moustache. He scowled fiercely at Rodd the while, and then marched towards the doorway with the steel scabbard of his sabre clinking and clanking over the stones.

“Pretty good opinion of himself, Pickle,” said Uncle Paul quietly.

“Yes, uncle; but what a pair of trousers—no, I mean long boots—no, I don’t; I mean trousers.—Which are they, uncle?” added the boy, who was rather tickled by the size and the way in which they were finished off at the bottoms with leather as if they were jack-boots.

“Wait till he comes out, Pickle, and ask him,” said the doctor dryly.

“No, thank you, uncle; my French is so bad,” said the boy, with his eyes sparkling. “But, my word, they must have been galloping hard to escape the rain! Look at those poor horses. They are breathed.”

Rodd had hardly spoken when they became fully aware that they had taken refuge in the entrance to the town barracks, for the notes of a bugle rang out, echoing round the inner square of the building, and seeming to be thrown back in a half-smothered way from wall to wall, while the wind and rain raged down more fiercely than ever.

“Something must be the matter,” said Rodd, with his lips close to his uncle’s ear.

“Seems like it, boy. That officer must have brought a dispatch.”

The object of the bugle was shown directly, for in spite of the rain the interior of the barracks began to assume the aspect of some huge wasps’ nest that had suddenly been disturbed.

Soldiers came hurrying out into the rain, hurriedly putting on their overcoats; the great arched gateway filled up at once with men seeking its shelter, and the sentry who had received his half-crown came to roughly order the English intruders to go elsewhere; but it was only outside militarism, for he said in a low hurried tone in French—

“Run outside to the end of the barracks. Grand café.”

“Come along, uncle. Never mind the rain,” cried Rodd, catching at his uncle’s wrist, as he fully grasped the sentry’s meaning; and stepping outside the archway they ran together, or rather, were half carried by the shrieking wind, for some thirty or forty yards, almost into the doorway of a large lit-up building, for already it seemed to be almost night.

“Never mind the rain, indeed!” grumbled Uncle Paul. “Why, I’m nearly soaked. Oh, come, we have got into civilised regions, at all events;” for a couple of waiters, seeing their plight, literally pounced upon them and hurried them through the building into a great kitchen where a huge fire was burning and the smell of cookery saluted their nostrils.

The attentions of the waiters of what was evidently one of the principal hotels of the town were very welcome, and a glance teaching them that their visitors were people of some standing, they made use of their napkins to remove as much of the superabundant moisture as was possible, and then furnished themselves with a fresh relay to operate upon their backs.

“Queer, isn’t it, uncle? I am quite dry in front. My word, how the rain did come down!”

“Messieurs will dine here?” said one of the waiters smilingly.

“Oh, oui, pour certain” replied Uncle Paul. “If you don’t mind, Pickle.”

“Mind, uncle? Oh, yes, of course. I am horribly hungry.”

“You always are, my boy. Well, we must make the best of a bad business,” continued the doctor, as, nodding to the waiter, he moved a little closer to the fire and turned his back, an example followed by Rodd.

“It makes a dreadful time, monsieur,” said the smiling waiter. “Will he choose, or trust his servant to prepare a dinner upon the field of which the English milor’ will be proud?”

“You speak capital English,” said the doctor, rather sarcastically.

“I have been many times in public in London.”

“Ah, that’s right. Then give us a snug little dinner while we dry ourselves. But what’s the meaning of all that upset at the barracks next door?”

“It is not quite that I know, sir,” said the man eagerly; “but two officers came in upon the instant to put their cloaks where they should not water themselves so much, and I hear them say, a dispatch come quickly for monsieur the Governor to seize upon a ship. Oh, faith of a man! Hark at that!”

For there was a sudden crash and an echoing roar, while some of the utensils in the great kitchen clattered together, and a piece of earthenware fell from a shelf upon the stone floor, to be shivered to atoms.

“Tonnerre, eh?” said the doctor.

“Non, non, monsieur” cried the man, relapsing into his native tongue for a moment. “It is what you English gentlemen call a great gun from the fort; and look, look! The poor cuisinière much alarm, as you call it.”

For just then, as if catching the contagion from the shrieking of the storm, one of the cook-maids threw herself back into a chair and began to scream.

It was a busy scene for a few minutes while the frightened hysterical woman was hurried out, while with the storm seeming to increase in violence, and amid the trampling of armed men outside, who were hurrying from the barracks, the two English visitors gradually picked up scraps of information which explained the excitement that in spite of the storm was going on outside.

“Messieurs would like to see,” said the friendly waiter. “They will come up-stairs to the long salle whose windows give upon the harbour.”

“But what’s the matter?” cried Rodd. “Is there a wreck?”

“A wreck, sare?” said the waiter, shaking his head. “No, I know not wreck.”

“Has a ship come ashore and is breaking up?”

“Ha, ha! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! You would say naufrage. Non, non, non! It is a sheep in the harbour; a foreign spy. They say it has come to set fire to the town.”

“Then they have chosen a very bad night for it,” said Uncle Paul, laughing.

“Monsieur is right. Nosing would burn. But the enemies of la France, my great country, not stop to think of zat.”

“Oh, but that must be a rumour, Rodd,” said Uncle Paul uneasily. “Why, surely they are not going to fancy that our English schooner is a spy and an enemy!”

The waiter’s ears were sharp, and he cried at once—

“English! Oh non, monsieur. You are from the little two-mast. It is not you. It is some enemy of the King whose sheep is in the harbour, and great dispatches have come to the Governor that she is to be seized. Ah, there again, monsieur! Anozzer gun from the fort.”

It was plain enough to hear, for the windows of the big badly-lit room into which the man had conducted them clattered in their frames, while the dull, heavy report was preceded by a vivid flash as of lightning.

“Ha, ha! You see. The sheep will not get away, for at the forts they are alert and will sink her if she try.”

“Oh, but no vessel could try to put out in a storm like this, Rodd,” said Uncle Paul.

“No, sare,” continued the waiter excitedly; “the boats will go out with the soldiers and take the sheep.”

“She is a man-of-war, I suppose?”

“Yes, sare. Not very big, but an enemy; but if she fight they will shoot from all the forts and sink her.”

“But how do you know all this?” said Rodd.

“Many soldiers, horsemen, came galloping up to bring dispatches to the Governor. There, sare; you will look from the window,” continued the man, using a clean serviette that he took from under his arm to rub the steamy window-panes, for the cold blast of the storm had caused the warm air inside to blur the glass with a thick deposit of vapour. “There, sare,” continued the man; “zat is ze sheep.”

“Oh, it’s too thick to see for the rain.”

“Yes, sare; but you see out zare in ze arbour ze two lights.”

“Nonsense man!” cried Uncle Paul, half angrily. “That is the English schooner—ours.”

“Oh, non, non, non, monsieur! Away to ze gauche—ze left hand. Ze sheep with two high, tall mast, that we all see here when she come in ze storm yesterday. We all here with ze officer of ze regiment see you come in through ze storm, and ze enemy sheep, a stranger, come after, and ze officer say she will run you down and sink you in ze harbour!”

“Oh, that one!” cried Rodd excitedly.

“Ah, I see, monsieur knows. You see her lights swing in the wind—two;” and the man held up a couple of fingers.

“Yes, I see where you mean,” cried Rodd; “but she has only one light.”

“Ah, ha! Monsieur is right. Zare is only one. Ze vind storm has blow out ze uzzer. Look, now zare is no light at all. Ze sheep put im out.”

The violence of the rain was now abating, but the wind beat against and shook the window-panes and shrieked as it rushed by. It was evening, and a few minutes before it had been dark as night, but with the cessation of the rain the heavy forms and light rigging of the many vessels gradually became more and more visible, while fresh lights began to come into view, but in every case not moving and swinging about like those in the rigging of the safely moored ships, but gliding about from various directions as if they were in the sterns of boats that had put off from the harbour side.

“Messieurs see?” said the waiter excitedly. “Two boats come now from the fort on ze uzzer side. Look, look! Ze lights shine on ze soldiers’ bayonet. They go to take ze sheep.”

As the man was speaking the brig that had previously taken up so much of Rodd’s attention stood out more clearly. Her riding lights were indeed gone, but there was a peculiar misty look forward, and it was now Rodd’s turn to speak excitedly about what he saw.

“Why, uncle,” he cried, “she’s moving! They’ve slipped their cable and hoisted the jib!”

“Nonsense, boy! Not in a storm like this.”

“I don’t care, uncle; she has. Look; you can see her gliding along.”

“Impossible!”

“It isn’t, uncle. Look, you can see them plainly now; two boats full of men, and they are rowing hard, but getting no nearer to the brig. Here, I want to see; let’s get right down to the harbour.”

“What, to get wet again?” cried Uncle Paul.

“It doesn’t rain now a drop. There’s nothing but wind; and look, look; the people are running down now in crowds, and there goes a company of soldiers at the double. Oh, there’s going to be something very exciting, uncle, and we must see.”

“But the dinner, boy, the dinner! What is this to us?”

“Dinner, uncle!” cried the lad indignantly. “Who’s going to stop for dinner when there are boats out yonder full of men going to board and take a ship?”

“Humph! Well,” grunted Uncle Paul, “I suppose it would be rather exciting, and we shall be able to see; but I don’t know, though. There’ll be firing, and who knows which way the bullets will fly?”

“Oh, they; won’t hit us, uncle. Come on.”

Uncle Paul was rapidly growing as excited as his nephew, while the waiter, if it were possible, was as full of eagerness as both together, and forgetting all his duties and the dinner that he had ordered to be prepared, he cried—

“Ze rain is ovare; you come vith me. I take you out ze back way and down ze little rue which take us to the quay.”

That was enough for Rodd, and the next minute they were following the waiter down the big staircase through the great kitchen once more, which was now quite deserted, and out into a walled yard to a back gateway, beyond which, mingling with the roaring of the wind, they could hear the trampling of many feet.

“Zis way; zis way!” the bare-headed waiter kept crying, as he put his serviette to quite a new use, battling with the wind as he folded it diagonally and then turned it into a cover for his head by tying the corners under his chin.

“Here, I say,” cried Rodd, as the man kept on at a trot; “I want to get to the harbour.”

“Oui, oui; zis way!” panted their guide, who nearly put the visitors out of patience by turning off two or three times at right angles and apparently taking them quite away from where they wished to go. “Zis way! Zis way!” he kept on crying, till at last the trio were alone, others who had been hurrying onward having taken different directions.

Bang went another gun from the fort, a report which seemed to be sent back instantly from the harbour walls, apparently close at hand.

“Yes, zis way; zis way!” shouted the man. “I show you before zey sink ze sheep.”

And now he suddenly turned into a narrow alley formed by two towering warehouses so close together that there was not room for two people to walk comfortably abreast; but “Zis way, zis way,” shouted the guide, “and you shall be zere upon ze field—sur le champ, sur le champ. Ah ha!” he cried directly after, as he suddenly issued from out of the darkness of the alley into the comparative light of a narrow wharf encumbered with casks, just beyond which was the dripping stone edge of the great harbour, and below them boats, barges, and lighters swinging from the great rusty iron rings and mooring posts of the quay.

“Vat you say to dat?” cried the waiter, turning round to face his companions, beginning loudly and ending in a choking whisper, for he had met a gust of wind face to face which stopped him for the moment from taking his breath and forced him to turn his back and make a snatch at the corner of one of the warehouses. “Faith of a good man!” he panted. “The vind blow me inside out! Aha! What did I say?”

“Capital!” panted Rodd, almost as breathlessly as the waiter, at whom upon any other occasion he would have burst out into a roar of laughter, so grotesque was his appearance with the white napkin tied under his chin. “Oh, this is a splendid place!”

“Here, you look out, Pickle,” cried Uncle Paul. “Lay hold of something, or we shall be blown right off.”

“All right, uncle. Why, if one of those gusts sent us into the harbour we should be drowned.”

“Come a little farther this way, then, and if the wind is too much for us, why we shall only go down into this barge.”

At that moment, as they looked across and downward towards the mouth of the harbour, there were the flashes of bright light to illumine the gloom of the evening, and the reports of a ragged volley of musketry coming from one of the two boats which they could now make out being rowed hard after the brig, as it glided rapidly along in the direction where the watchers now stood.

Then for a short space it passed out of sight behind a group of four vessels which were safely moored. Then it was out again, and as the lookers-on excitedly watched, they made out dimly that the vessel answered her helm readily and was gliding round in a tack for the other side of the harbour, while the two boats in pursuit altered their direction, the men rowing with all their might, as if to cut the brig off during her next tack.

There was another ragged volley, this time from the second boat; but if they were firing to bring down the steersman, it was in vain, for the brig sailed swiftly on, gaining a little way, as she made for the mouth of the harbour.

This was far distant yet, and her chances of reaching it even in the shelter of the harbour, with such a gale blowing, were almost nil.

“She’ll do it, though, uncle,” shouted Rodd, with his lips close to Uncle Paul’s ear.

“Yes, my boy, I expect she will,” was the reply; “but they’ve got some daring people on board, and I shouldn’t like to be the man at the wheel.”

“Ah, why don’t they shoot? Why don’t they shoot?” cried the waiter. “She is an enemy, and—”

The rest of his speech was unheard, for another flash cut the darkness, followed by the thud of a big gun, the shot coming as it were instantly upon the waiter’s question; but it had no effect upon the brig, which came nearer and nearer to the pier-like wharves of the harbour, glided round again with the two stay-sails rilling upon the other tack, and then went off once more.

“She’ll get away, uncle,” cried Rodd excitedly, “and I don’t know what they are, but one can’t help admiring such a brave deed.”

There was another report, this time from quite another direction.

“That must be from the fort up behind the town, Rodd,” cried Uncle Paul. “It’s too thick to see any splash, but they must be in earnest now, and will not be firing blank charges. It looks as if they mean to sink her if she doesn’t stop.”

“They’ve got to hit her first, uncle,” cried Rodd excitedly. “Oh, I can’t help it, uncle,” he continued, with his lips close to his uncle’s ear so that the waiter should not catch his words, “but I do hope they won’t.”

“Well, my boy, I can’t help feeling the same, though she’s neither enemy nor friend of ours, and we don’t know what it all means; for I don’t suppose,” he said, with a half-laugh, “that she has got Napoleon Bonaparte on board.”

Uncle Paul had not taken his nephew’s precaution, and as a heavy gust was just dying out, the excited waiter caught a part of his speech.

“Ha, ha!” he cried. “You sink so? You say le Petit Caporal is on board?”

“No, no,” cried Uncle Paul; “I didn’t say so.”

“No, sare; you think so, and zat is it. He has escape himself from ze place where you English shot him up safe, and he come in zat sheep to burn down ze town. But ah–h–h, again they will sink him. Faith of a man, no!” he cried angrily, for there was a shot from another battery, this time nearer the harbour mouth. “They cannot shoot straight.”

For onward glided the brig, making tack after tack, and zigzagging her way through the narrow entrance of the harbour, at times partly sheltered by the great pier to windward, then as she glided farther out careening over in spite of the small amount of reefed sail she carried, but all the while so well under control that she kept on gaining and leaving the two boats farther and farther behind.

“Oh, if it were only lighter!” cried Rodd, stamping his foot with vexation. “Why, she’ll soon be out of sight.”

“Before she gets much farther,” said Uncle Paul gravely, “she’ll be getting within the light cast by one or other of the harbour lights, and that will be one of her critical times.”

“Why critical, uncle?” cried the boy earnestly. “Because the men in the fort will have a better chance of hitting her, I should say.”

“Oh, I hope they won’t,” said Rodd beneath his breath. “Why, it would be horrible, uncle,” he half whispered, with his lips close to his uncle’s face. “She must have a brave captain to dare all this.”

“A very brave captain,” said Uncle Paul earnestly. “But you think she’ll get away, uncle?”

“No, Rodney,” said the doctor, laying his hand with a firm grip upon his nephew’s shoulder. “She may pass through the harbour mouth without being hit by the gunners, for it would require a clever marksman to hit so swiftly moving an object, rising and falling as the brig does now that she is getting into the disturbed water near the mouth.”

“But suppose she passes through untouched, uncle? What then?”

“What then, boy? She will be out of the shelter given by the end of the jetty. It’s too dim now to see, but once or twice I had just a glimpse of the waves washing over the harbour light, and there must be a terrific sea out there. Why, you can hear it plainly even here.”

“No, uncle; that’s the wind.”

“And waves, my boy. Why, trying to sail out there in the teeth of such a gale as this, it will be almost impossible for her to escape. It seems to me to be an act of madness to attempt such an escapade, and cleverly as the brig is handled I think it is doubtful whether she will ever clear the mouth. But if she does she will catch the full force of the storm and—”

“And what, uncle?”

“Be carried away yonder to the east somewhere and cast ashore.”

“Oh–h!” sighed Rodd; and it was almost a groan.

Chapter Sixteen.

Escape.

Three more shots were fired at intervals, as the brig kept making short tack after tack, and with each report the flash appeared to be brighter, indicative of the increasing darkness, while now a pale lambent light seemed to be dawning at times and making the shape of the brig stand out more clearly at intervals, but only to fade away again quickly, while there were moments when the vessel quite disappeared.

“Why is that, uncle?” asked Rodd quickly, as he looked vainly now in search of the flying craft. “Ah, there she is again! I began to think she had gone down. Why is she seen so dimly sometimes?”

“Hidden by the flying spray, I think,” said Uncle Paul.

“Oh yes, of course,” cried the boy. “Ah, there she is, quite clear now, and still going on nearer and nearer to the harbour mouth. No—now it’s getting darker than ever.—There, now she’s coming into sight again quite clearly.”

“Yes, she’s getting out where the harbour lights are full upon her,” said Uncle Paul.

As he spoke there were two more reports, almost simultaneous, and Rodd felt a peculiar sense of pain attacking him, for at one moment when the two guns flashed, the brig could be plainly seen; the next, as the boy strained his eyes, all was black darkness, and he caught at his uncle’s arm with his hands trembling and an intense longing upon him to speak; but no words would come.

It seemed like some minutes before a word was uttered, and then it was the doctor who spoke.

“I haven’t caught sight of the boats lately,” he said. “It is evident that they have given up the chase.”

“Oh, uncle, uncle,” cried Rodd, “I was not thinking about them, but of those poor fellows in the brig. One of those last shots must have hit, and they have gone down.”

“Oh no,” cried Uncle Paul; “I saw her once again. Just now.—Yes, there she is, tossing wildly in the waves. She must be beyond the mouth of the harbour, and—”

“Yes, I see her! I see her!” cried Rodd wildly. “No, she’s gone again; but she was pitching and tossing horribly.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Paul. “It’s going to be hard work for them now, for the waves out there must be tremendous. Well, my boy, it was a daring attempt, and whoever they are let’s hope they may escape, but—”

Uncle Paul was silent, and once more the boy uttered a low groan.

Then no one spoke, but all stood straining their eyes to try and catch sight again of the vessel, which had seemed to be pitching wildly in the darkness; but they looked in vain, for all now seemed to be rapidly growing black.

The boy tried to speak, but no words would come, and even the waiter was silent, as he stood trying to catch sight of the vessel once more; but the darkness now was rapidly increasing, and though from time to time they could make out the faint outline of the lights, all seemed to become more dense and obscure, and the boy started violently as their guide suddenly exclaimed—

“It is no use now, sare. I sink she must have gone down.”

Silence; but as Uncle Paul pressed his nephew’s arm Rodd followed him slowly without a word, while the waiter shook his head and suggested that they should return to the café.

The boy gave one glance before stirring, and then uttered a sigh.

“Come, my boy,” said his uncle; “perhaps there is no occasion to despair. It is quite evident that the captain of the brig knows what he is about, and may escape.”

Rodd followed his uncle without a word, the waiter going on before them to show the devious ways along by the harbour and the old town.

As they drew near the yard Rodd felt a sense of hesitation. “I think I would rather get back on board the schooner, uncle,” he said.

“Oh, but we couldn’t do that, my boy,” cried Uncle Paul. “I gave an order for dinner to be prepared.”

“Yes, uncle, but I don’t feel as if I could eat anything now.”

“Why?”

“It seemed so horrible watching that vessel trying to escape under fire.”

“It was evidently not hit, my boy.”

“But it was going right out into the face of this storm, and even you thought she’d be driven ashore.”

“Yes; perhaps I have been thinking the worst; but the brig’s captain is evidently a clever sailor and knows what he’s about. It is rather jumping at conclusions to consider that he will let his vessel be wrecked. Yes, it was nervous work watching a vessel like that; but there, we must hope for the best, and possibly there is no reason to despond. Whoever the brig belonged to had good reason for getting away, and they have succeeded in that. There, come along; let’s have our dinner, and think no more about it. But hallo! What’s the matter here?”

Uncle Paul’s remark was caused by a loud angry voice scolding in French at the waiter who had just led them to the yard door, and it was evident that the man was in difficulties for absenting himself from his duties after giving the order that the visitors’ dinner should be prepared.

“But I have been in attendance upon the gentlemen,” he protested, with not much truth in his utterance. “I had to take them down to the side of the harbour to see the firing at the spy. Is everything ready? Because the gentlemen are anxious for their dinner.”

Uncle Paul nudged his nephew, glad of the opportunity to change the bearing of the boy’s thoughts, and shortly after the good meal prepared in the snug, warm room diverted Rodd’s mind from the roaring of the storm, which was still beating round the great hotel; and they had just finished and were talking about going outside to see what the weather was like, when a very familiar gruff voice saluted their ears, as the waiter showed Captain Chubb into the room.

“Oh, here you are,” he grunted. “Come ashore to look after you. ’Fraid you were lost.”

“We are very glad to see you,” said Uncle Paul. “Sit down. We thought it was not safe to try and get aboard.”

“Well, it aren’t very,” said the skipper; “but we come in the boat to make sure you weren’t both drowned, and if you’ll risk it I think I can get you round by keeping under the lee of two or three vessels.”

“What do you say, Rodd?” asked Uncle Paul. “Shall we risk it?”

“Oh, I don’t think that there’ll be much risk, uncle, if Captain Chubb considers it safe. I don’t mind going with him.”

The skipper gave the boy a nod and looked pleased; then nodding at Uncle Paul he said quietly—

“As we were ashore I told the men to get a few stores down to the boat, and that I’d meet them here. I dare say Joe Cross will be an hour, and by that time it will have lulled a bit, or else be a deal worse, and we’ll see.”

It took very little persuasion to make the skipper partake of some of the hotel fare, and naturally enough the conversation turned upon the incident that had lately taken place.

“Yes,” said Captain Chubb, “the skipper of that craft has got some stuff in him, and he knew how to navigate his boat. I could have done it if I’d been obliged, but I should have wanted a deal of shoving before I hoisted sail. Storm was bad enough, and no room to tack; but what I shouldn’t have liked was being fired at by two boats’ crews and three or four forts. I know what being fired at is, young squire,” continued the captain, giving Rodd a very peculiar look out of one eye, after closing the other, “and you may take my word for it it aren’t nice.”

“What, have you been out in a man-of-war?” asked Rodd eagerly.

“Nay, my lad, but several of our fellows have, and if you ask them, they can tell you what it’s like too.”

“Then you never were fired at?” said Rodd questioningly.

“Who says I warn’t? I tell you I was, though it wasn’t by forts. It was a Revenue cutter got trying to hit me.”

“What, smuggling?” cried Rodd.

“Nay! Smuggling, indeed! It was her skipper—Lieutenant somebody or another—I forget his name—say Smith. He made a blunder, same as I did in taking you and the doctor here for slavers.”

“Oh!” cried Rodd, laughing.

“Ah, it warn’t anything to laugh at, my lad, with round shot coming a-splashing right across your bows. Certainly it was in a fog, and my craft didn’t get hit, but more than once the balls came pretty near, and I remember thinking whether if the cutter did sink us we should all be able to swim ashore, and I come to the conclusion that we couldn’t in our boots, for it was about nine miles.”

“I should think not,” replied Rodd dryly. “But, Captain Chubb—about that brig; do you think they’d get right away to sea?”

“I shouldn’t think they’d try to, my lad.”

“They seemed to be trying to.”

“Not they. Her skipper, as soon as he got outside the harbour, would try to creep under the lee of the high ground somewhere out west. Whether he’d do it or not is quite another thing. Let’s hope he did, for I don’t care about hearing that good men and true have been drowned in a storm, even if they are French. I am not like your uncle here.”

“Come, I say, Captain Chubb,” cried the doctor indignantly, “how dare you say that! Surely a thinking man can have a feeling of antipathy against Napoleon Bonaparte and all his works without being accused of liking to see brave Frenchmen drowned.”

“Beg pardon, sir. I suppose you are right,” granted the skipper; “but I should like to hear that that there smart brig got safe away.”

“Well, I hope so too,” said Uncle Paul shortly, and with a look in his countenance that made Rodd think about some words a friend had once said about a red rag to a bull. “But I suppose you don’t believe that vessel had some emissaries of Napoleon on board, come to set fire to the port of Havre?”

“Nay,” said the skipper, drawing out the negative very deliberately. “Don’t see any likelihood of their doing such a thing. What for? Suppose they did get it alight, that wouldn’t bring Bony back. Nay, his game’s about up now, and there will be quiet again over here for a bit, though I wouldn’t venture to say for how long. Keeping quiet isn’t in a Frenchman’s nature.”

“But there was evidently something very special about the vessel, or else the French Government wouldn’t have sent orders for her to be seized.”

“French Government did?”

“Yes, I believe so,” replied Uncle Paul. “We saw the officer and his men come riding in with the dispatch.”

“Nay. Order for the Revenue to put men on board.”

“Oh no,” replied Uncle Paul. “From what we saw and what we heard, it was something much more important than that. Why, hang it, captain, they wouldn’t have turned out the garrison and manned all the forts to stop the progress of a smuggler, would they?”

“We wouldn’t at Plymouth, sir; but there’s no knowing what Frenchmen will do. But there, I give in. It must have been something stronger than that, and I am beginning to think that squire here’s right, and that yon vessel, the—the—the—”

“Jeanne d’Arc” cried Rodd.

“Right,” snorted the skipper. “She was something of a privateer, on mischief bent, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if we was to hear something more about her. I don’t know, though; if the storm blows itself out before morning we shan’t lie long here in harbour, but make away south as fast as I can make the schooner bowl along.”

“Then you think the weather will hold up soon?” said Rodd.

“Nay, I am not going to think, squire; I’ll wait until I can be sure. Anyhow, I won’t fill my pipe till we get aboard.”

“Then you mean to try soon?” cried Rodd eagerly.

“Why not?” replied the skipper gruffly. “Look yonder; what do you say to that?”

“That” was the presence of Joe Cross, who was being ushered into the dining-saloon by the waiter, to announce that the wind had sunk a bit and only came in squalls, between two of which he thought he could easily run the boat alongside of the schooner.

And he did—while the next morning broke almost absolutely calm.

Chapter Seventeen.

A Question of Fear.

It was as if all the bad weather had been left behind, for after a little snatch or two, as Joe Cross called them, the cruise down south had been glorious.

The bluff, good-humoured sailor explained to Rodd what he meant by a snatch, something after this fashion.

“You see, sir, after we started from Havre the weather seemed to be a bit sorry for itself for being so dirty, and you know how we bowled along down south till the wind got into a tantrum again—got out of bed the wrong way, as you may say, and then everything was wrong. We were getting into the Bay, you see, where it comes quite natural to lay all that day. In the Bay of Biscay O! Then Nature got all out of sorts again. It seemed as if she was waxy to let us have it so comfortable, and made a snatch to drag us back again. But the old man was one too many for her, and kept on for them two bad days, when we sailed out of her reach and everything was fine.”

“Yes, Joe, it was fine. All that coast of Spain and Portugal was lovely.”

“Yes, sir, and you got grumbling ’cause your uncle wouldn’t give orders for us to let go the anchor for you to go fishing.”

“Well, see how grand it was, and how calm the sea used to get of an evening before we put in to Gibraltar.”

“And then you weren’t half satisfied, sir. You’ll excuse me, Mr Rodd, sir, but you do make me laugh;” and to the boy’s great annoyance the man half turned from him, leaned over the taffrail, laughed till his sides shook, and then pulling himself up suddenly wiped his eyes. “I am very sorry, sir,” he said.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” cried Rodd warmly, as he made as if to go away.

It was one evening when the calm sea as it heaved seemed in places to glint forth all the glorious colours of a beautiful pearl shell, and the east wind was of a different complexion to that familiar to an English lad, for it was soft, balmy and sweet, suggestive of its having been blowing gently for miles and miles over beds of flowers.

“Oh, don’t go away in a tiff, Mr Rodd, sir. It was only me, and you know what I am. I didn’t mean no offence.”

“Well, it was offensive,” said Rodd. “How would you like to be laughed at?”

“Me, sir?” cried the man merrily. “Me who has been knocking about the sea nearly all my life, first in a west-country fishing-boat, and then in a King’s ship, and been in action! Like being laughed at! Why, bless your heart, sir, it suits me down to the deck. I like it. Deal better than having the old man dropping on to me about something being wrong aloft.”

“Well, I don’t see that there was anything to laugh at,” cried Rodd, softening down a little, for somehow the liking he had felt for the sturdy-looking sailor ever since he had come on board had gone on increasing, and Rodd affected Joe’s society more than that of any one in the ship. At least he said so to Uncle Paul, who shook his head and with a grim smile joined issue.

“No, Pickle,” he cried, “I won’t have that. You seem to make better friends with the cook than with anybody.”

“Oh, uncle,” replied the boy, “you always do tease me about my appetite.”

“Never mind, Pickle,” said Uncle Paul good-humouredly. “Go on eating, and grow.”

But to return to the conversation by the taffrail.

“No, sir,” said Joe Cross, “of course you don’t, sir. It’d be contrairy to nature if you did. We chaps can’t see ourselves. There’s the old Bun. He’s been offended over and over again because people told him he was so fat. He can’t see it, sir.”

“Oh, he must,” cried Rodd, laughing.

“There aren’t no must in it, sir. He can’t. He might find it out perhaps if he tried to get into a pair of boy’s trousers—yours, for instance; but then that aren’t likely, because you won’t give him the chance, and what’s more, he wouldn’t want to. You try him some day about being too fat, and you see if he don’t stare at you.”

“He will, Joe, when I’m so rude to him. But come now, you are shuffling. Why is it that you laugh at me?”

“Well, sir, because I like you, for one thing, and another is because you are such an unreasonable chap.”

“I? Unreasonable?” cried Rodd hotly. “That I’m sure I’m not!”

“Why, sir, wasn’t you put out because your uncle and the old man wouldn’t sail right into the Mediterranean Sea?”

“Well, there was nothing unreasonable in that. I am sure it would have been very interesting.”

“Not it, sir. I’ve been there over and over again, and it always seemed to me just like any other sea, only a bit rougher sometimes, and it aren’t got hardly any tide. You wait till we get a little further on, and you’ll find plenty to make you open you eyes wider than ever you opened them before. I don’t know a finer place for seeing wonders of the deep than along where we are going, as you say we are to, right along the West Coast of Afriky. Why, you might begin fishing and dredging directly after we had put in at Mogador, where the fish are wonderful, and you can’t drop in a line without hauling something out.”

“That’s good,” cried Rodd eagerly; “but I am afraid uncle won’t let us have much time for ordinary fishing. He will be more on the look-out for curiosities.”

“Ah, well, there’s plenty of them too, sir—all sorts, and the farther you gets into warmer water the more there are.”

“What sort?” asked Rodd.

“All sorts, and the nearer you are to land the more you get. Then I suppose some time we shall come upon that there Sargassey Sea.”

“Where’s that?” asked Rodd.

“Right away down south, sir. Let’s see, if I remember right we falls in with that soon after you pass the islands.”

“What islands?”

“Let’s see; I ought to know, sir. The fust that comes near Europe is the Azores; then farther south there’s that there island where all the sick people goes, Madeiry; then there’s the Canaries, where the birds come from; only they aren’t all yaller like people keeps in their cages. Most I seed there was green, and put me in mind of them little chaps as we have at home with the yaller heads—you know, sir; them as cries, ‘A little bit of bread and no cheese.’ And you see them up country, a-twittering among the hedges.”

“Yes, I know,” said Rodd sharply; “but what about the Sargassey Sea?”

“Ah! I’m thinking it was after that we come to that sea, only I aren’t quite sure, sir. But if I recollect right, they say it shifts about according to what sort of weather we have.”

“Well, so does every sea,” cried Rodd, “when the waves are running high.”

“Ah, but they don’t run high here, sir. You see, the Sargassey Sea aren’t like other seas, and I suppose it’s only part of the Atlantic after all. It’s all smooth like because as far as you can see it’s all like one great bed of floating seaweed, so thick that you can hardly sail through it at times, and if you go out into it in a boat it’s as much as you can do to dip your oars.”

“Have you been out amongst it then?” asked Rodd.

“Yes, sir, more’n once. It was when I was in the Prince George off the West Coast of Africa, and we had got a surgeon on board there, and him and our second lieutenant had both got it badly.”

“What, West African fever?” cried Rodd.

“No, no, sir; same as your uncle’s got—looking after strange things as lives in the sea. I was one of the crew of the second cutter then, and in the beautiful calm weather we used to take the doctor and the second luff out in this Sargassey Sea, which used to look sometimes as if we were floating about in green fields.”

“Oh, you mean the Sargasso Sea!” cried Rodd. “Nay, I don’t, sir; I means the Sargassey Sea.”

“Well, that’s the same thing, only you spell it differently,” cried Rodd.

“Oh no, sir; that I don’t. That’s a thing as I never pretended to do. I can take my spell at the pump or at any other job; but what you call spelling was never in my way.”

“But you mean the same thing,” cried Rodd. “It isn’t Sar-gass-ey; it’s Sar-gass-o.”

“Ho! Sar-gass-ho, is it, sir?”

“Yes, of course.”

“All right, sir; I’m willing. But my one was all alive with little things, little fish and slugs and snails of all kinds of rum sorts; and our second luff used to make us haul in great lengths of the seaweed as was floating about, and then help him to pick ’em out into bottles till they were quite full, and looking just as if they was pickles same as you see in the grocers’ shops in Plymouth town.”

“Well, the same as you saw uncle and me do that day during the calm?”

“Yes, sir, just like that, only yours as you did were small shop and ours was like big warehouse, though I don’t think our doctor did much good with them, because so many of them used to go bad, and our cook and his mate used to have to throw no end away and wash the bottles.”

“Ah, ours won’t go bad,” said Rodd confidently. “My uncle will preserve them differently to that.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose so, sir. You see, we’ve all come out this time ready for the job; our officers on the Prince George only did their bit just for a day or two’s holiday like, and our job was to look after the mounseers’ cruisers, not to catch tittlebats and winkles, and it wasn’t so very long after that we was at it hammer and tongs with a big French frigate, making work for the doctor of a precious different kind, and for our ship’s carpenters too. Different sort of nat’ral history that was, sir, I can tell you, for we lost nineteen of our men and had a lot wounded; but we took the frigate, and carried her safe into Portsmouth Harbour.”

“Ah!” cried Rodd softly, as his eyes flashed at the thoughts of the deeds of naval daring carried out by our men-of-war. “I wish I’d been there!”

“You do, sir?” said Joe. “Mean it?”

“Mean it? Of course! There, don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t thinking of being a man, but a reefer—one of those middies that we used to see at Plymouth.”

“Ah, it’s all very fine, sir,” said Joe, shaking his head, “and it sounds very nice about firing broadsides and then getting orders to board when the two big men-of-war get the grappling-irons on board and you have to follow your officers, scrambling with your cutlass in your hand out of the chains from your ship into the enemy’s; and all the time there’s the roaring of the guns and the popping away of the marines up in the tops, and the men cheering as your officers lead them on. It’s a very different thing, sir, to what you think, and so I can tell you.”

“Why, Joe,” cried Rodd, almost maliciously, “you talk as if you felt afraid!”

“Afraid, sir?” said the man, quietly and thoughtfully. “No, sir. No, sir; I never felt afraid, and I never knowed one of my messmates as said he was.”

“Oh no, of course they wouldn’t say so,” cried Rodd, laughing.

“No, sir, that’s right. But I aren’t bragging, sir. I’ve been in several engagements like that, and my messmates always seemed to feel just as I did. You see, they’d got it to do, sir, and we always felt that it was only mounseers that we’d got to beat and captur’ their ship; and then as soon as we had begun, whether we was crews of guns, stripped and firing away, or answering the orders to board, why, then we never had time to feel afraid.”

“What, not when you saw your messmates shot down beside you?” cried Rodd.

“My word, no, sir!” cried Joe, laughing. “We none of us felt afraid then; it only made us feel wild and want to sarve the other side out. No, sir,” continued the bluff fallow, in a quiet matter-of-fact way, and his voice utterly free of vaunt, “whether it’s a sea-fight or things are going wrong in a storm, we sailor fellows are always too busy to feel afraid. You see, I think, sir, it has something to do with the drill and discipline, as they calls it, training the lads all to work together. You see, it makes them feel so strong.”

“I can’t say I do see,” said Rodd.

“No, sir, because you haven’t been drilled; but it’s like this ’ere. One man’s one man, and a hundred men’s a hundred men—no, stop; that aren’t quite what I mean. It aren’t in my way, Mr Rodd, sir; I never was a beggar to argue. The fat Bun can easily beat me at that. This ’ere’s what I mean. One man’s one man, and a hundred men’s a hundred one men. That’s if they aren’t drilled and trained like sailors or soldiers; but if they are trained, you see each one man feels as if he has got a hundred men with him all working together, and con-se-quently, sir, every chap aboard feels as if he’s as strong as a hundred men. Now don’t you see, sir?”

“Well, yes,” said Rodd quietly; “I think I begin to see what you mean.”

“Why, of course you do, sir. Say it’s heaving a boat aboard, and it takes twenty men to do it. Why, if they go and try one at a time, where are you? But if you all go and take hold together, and your officer says to you, ‘Now, my lads, with a will, all together! Heave ho!’ why then, up she comes. Well now, I do call that rum! Look at that, sir. If here aren’t the old man, just as if he had heard what we was talking about, passing the word for gun drill, or else a bit of knicketty knock with the cutlasses and pikes!”

Chapter Eighteen.

A Strange Visitor.

Upon hearing Joe Cross’s announcement Rodd eagerly turned, to find his uncle just coming on deck to take his evening walk after a busy day with his specimens that he had dragged and trawled from the calm sea.

The captain had just given orders to the mate to summon all hands on deck, and one of the first proceedings was to call the men to attention, the next to send them to the small-arms chest, from which each returned with cutlass buckled on and carrying a boarding pike, which were placed in a rack round the mainmast.

Rodd took his position just opposite as the men fell into line; Uncle Paul seated himself as far off as he could get, in a deck-chair, where he sat and frowned; and then Captain Chubb diligently put his men through all the evolutions of cutlass drill over and over again, till he was satisfied, when he bade them fall out for a few minutes to rid themselves of their cutlasses.

In the interval Rodd went up to where his uncle was seated.

“I say, uncle,” he said, “how the men have improved!” Uncle Paul grunted, and just then Captain Chubb strolled up.

“Well, sir,” he said, “we shall soon have a crew now as smart as a man-of-war’s.”

“So I see,” grumbled Uncle Paul; “and when you have got them perfect what are you going to do with them?”

“Ah, that remains to be seen, sir. There’s nothing like being prepared.”

“Better let the men rest after all they have done to-day. What with their deck cleaning and the work they have done for me, they don’t want setting to play at soldiers.”

“Playing at soldiers, eh, sir? I call it playing at sailors. No use to lock the stable-door after the steed’s stolen. My lads may never be called upon to fight, but if by bad luck we are, I should like them to be able to use their fighting tools like men.”

“Oh, it isn’t likely,” said Uncle Paul, “in a peaceful voyage like ours.”

“Most unlikely things are those that happen first,” growled the captain.

“But you worry the men with too much work, and I want them to be fresh and ready for me to-morrow morning. I don’t want the poor fellows to be discontented.”

“Discontented, sir!” cried the skipper hotly. “I should like to see them look discontented! But not they! They like it. Puts them in mind of their old fighting days. Now you shall see them go through their drill with the boarding pikes, and see how smart I have made them. I say they like it, sir; and I know.”

“Then I suppose,” said Uncle Paul, “you will set them to work lumbering about that great gun, pretending to load and fire it. Why, who in the world do you expect we are going to encounter out here on the high seas? We are not at war with the French.”

“Captain Chubb thinks we may meet with the privateer,” said Rodd merrily.

“Don’t you make rude remarks, Rodney!” cried Uncle Paul angrily. “Well, there, captain, I suppose you will have your own way, but it seems to me great waste of time.”

“Oh no, sir,” said the skipper good-humouredly. “I suppose you mean to run in and up some of those rivers we shall pass by and by?”

“Most certainly,” cried the doctor.

“Well, and what then, sir? You are going right out of civilisation there, and among black tribes and warlike people who are ready for anything, from attacking another tribe and bringing the prisoners down the river to sell for slaves, up to taking a fancy to any smart craft they can master, and then stripping her and burning her to the water’s edge.”

“And what becomes of the crews?” cried Rodd sharply.

“Well, Mr Rodd, that’s rather a hard question to answer. If ever you go to Liverpool or Bristol and you get asking questions amongst the merchants there, you will find they have got some queer tales to tell. Sorry you don’t like my plans, Dr Robson, but even if we never get into trouble we shall be none the worse for being prepared.”

“Oh, I am not going to complain, Captain Chubb. Drill away as much as you like. You say the men like it, and it satisfies you. Then my boy Rodd, here, nothing will please him better than letting him have a canister of gunpowder to play with and pop off that gun. So I am in a minority, and I will give in. There, you’d better take Rodd and drill him too.”

“I’ll take you at your word, sir,” said Captain Chubb, laughing, and making Rodd start with eagerness. “Fall in, my lads. Pikes.”

The drilling went on till it was beginning to grow dusk, and then pikes were laid aside and orders given for the gun crew to take their places, Rodd closing up quickly in anticipation of something coming off.

“Rather warm weather, Mr Rodd, sir,” whispered Joe Cross, as, aided by another of the crew, he proceeded to cast loose the lashings and strip the tarpaulin off the long gun. “If it warn’t for the showers this ’ere pocket pistol might very well do without her greatcoat. I say, sir, didn’t I hear your uncle tell the old man that you were to have a canister of powder just to fire her off once or twice?”

“Yes, Joe, but I think it was only to tease me.”

“You ask the skipper to let you have one. It’s all very well to go on ramming and sponging and making believe to load, but it is like having your grog served out in an empty glass. And if the old man grunts and shakes his head and grumbles about waste of ammunition, you just ask him if he’d mind you bringing one of your canisters of powder as you and your uncle’s got for your double guns. He might let you then, if your old man don’t mind. We could divide it into about four goes as wouldn’t make much noise, and there’d be some sense in it. There would be something to ram down; and the lads would like it.”

“But the captain wouldn’t let you fire away any cannon balls, Joe.”

“Well, no, sir, I suppose not, unless we got the cook up with a pudding-bag to hold it over the muzzle and catch them again.”

“Wouldn’t a straw hat be better, Joe?” said Rodd dryly.

“Well, now you talk of it, sir,” replied the man, grinning, “I never thought of that. Perhaps it would if one of us held it lightly in his hand and eased off a good deal when we fired. If you didn’t do that of course the ball might go right through.”

“Well, I’ll ask the captain, Joe.”

“Yes, sir; do, sir. As I said afore, it would please the lads, and do good too, for it would clean the gun’s teeth, sweep away all the scales and rust.”

“Scales and rust!” cried Rodd. “Why, it isn’t an iron gun; it’s brass.”

“Why, so it is, Master Rodd, sir. Why, only fancy me not thinking of that! But here he comes. Try it on, sir.”

“Shall I, Joe?”

“Yes, do, sir; as I said, it would please the lads. They’re just like a lot of school-boys when they gets a chance of a change.”

“And Joe Cross doesn’t care a bit,” said Rodd.

The man gave the speaker a comical look as he replied—

“Well, sir, you see, I was a boy once, and I was born with a lot of human natur’ in me, and I never got rid of it, and I am afraid I never shall. There, go on, sir,” whispered Joe. “Pitch it into him at once.”

Rodd moved towards the skipper as he came up, and as the latter looked at him inquiringly he began—

“You heard what my uncle said, captain?”

“What about, my lad?”

“Letting me have some powder to play with.”

“Ay, ay! But you don’t want that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wish you would have a canister and let the men load the gun properly.”

“Eh?”

“It would be like practice.”

“Well, that’s true. But it would be only waste of powder; and I’m not going to waste any of the cannon balls.”

“No, I don’t want you to do that.”

“Besides, I don’t want to use either of the powder-bags, and they’re made for a regular charge.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” cried Cross. “Might make small charges up with a snuff of powder wrapped up in paper; and then I could prick and prime.”

“Um–m–m!” the captain growled, and frowned, while the gun crew stood with parted lips, looking as eager as so many boys on the Fifth of November. Then the captain grunted.

“There, Mr Rodd,” he said, “it will be a bit of practice for the lads, and it won’t please you, of course. You don’t want to see the gun really fired?”

“Oh, I have seen salutes fired, at Plymouth.”

“Ah, so you have, of course, my lad. But those are bangs, and this would be a bit of a whiff.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Rodd. “It will be real, and not pretending to fire.”

“Very well,” said the captain, smiling grimly. “Maybe you’d like to fire?”

“Yes, I should,” cried Rodd. “No; let Joe Cross and the other men do that. I’ll stand aside.”

There was a little more discussion, quite in opposition to ordinary drill, while the skipper went below and then returned with a pound gunpowder canister painted red.

“I say, look here, Chubb,” cried the doctor. “Shall I have to move?”

“Oh no, sir; we shan’t shoot you,” replied the skipper grimly. “You’ll be safe enough, unless the long gun bursts. But she’s too new and strong for that. Here you are, Cross. Make that into four charges.”

The speaker was in the act of passing the canister to the man, when the look-out man from forward suddenly shouted—

“Sail ho!”

“Where away?” cried the captain. “About five points off the starboard bow, sir. Leastwise, sir, it aren’t a sail. It’s a big boat, bottom upwards and just awash.”

“Stop a minute,” cried Rodd. “I’ll fetch our glass.”

“Bring mine too, my lad,” cried the captain, and Rodd raised his hand in token of his having heard the order, as he dashed to the cabin hatch, to return directly after and find that his uncle was forward along with the skipper scanning the object about a quarter of a mile away.

“Catch hold, uncle,” cried Rodd, and he held out the telescope with one hand, and the captain’s big mahogany tubed spy-glass, decorated with coloured flags, with the other.

“No, focus it and use it yourself, boy. I’ll have a look afterwards.”

Rodd raised the glass at once to his eye, but by this time the skipper had caught the object, and began to growl remarks.

“Capsized long-boat,” he muttered. “No, it’s a fish—sick whale, I think. But I don’t know. It’s moving pretty well through the water. What do you make of it, my lad?”

“It’s very big and long,” cried Rodd excitedly, “and it may be part of a whale’s back just showing above the water. I don’t know, though. I never saw a whale swimming before. Here, I know! I think it’s five or six porpoises swimming one after the other and close together.”

“Nay!” growled the captain. “It’s something—”

“It’s gone!” shouted Rodd. “Oh, uncle, I wish you’d seen it. It seemed to sink down out of sight all at once.”

“’Cause it didn’t like to be looked at, sir,” whispered Joe Cross. “But look out, sir,” he cried eagerly. “There it is again, a little farther off.”

“Have a look, doctor,” said the skipper, passing the glass to Uncle Paul.

“Is it a whale?” asked the doctor.