THE MEETING AT ST BOSWELL'S.

It is now some years since I happened to visit the pretty little village of St Boswell's, in Roxburghshire, in company with a friend, who had some stock to dispose of at the great annual fair then holding there. Most of my readers are aware that the Duke of Buccleugh is lord of the manor of St Boswell's, and that a dinner is always provided, at his grace's expense, in a barn on the fair ground, for all gentlemen who have tickets of admission from the baron bailie. While my friend was busied with the disposal of his stock, I, being an idler, wandered up and down the green, and was much pleased with the appearance of the fair, which was more English, if I may be allowed to use the term, than anything of the kind I had ever witnessed in Scotland. The numbers, neat arrangement, and really handsome appearance of the "street" of booths—the gay and well-dressed parties of gentlefolks—the cheerful, joyous faces of the lower orders—the handsome equipages—the green at a distance, swarming with cattle of various kinds—with a bright and genial sun shining over all—formed altogether a pleasing and animated scene. Pleased as I was, however, I caught myself several times involuntarily yawning, and turning my eyes towards the barn; and I was not at all sorry when the welcome sound of the drum announced that "the roast beef" was ready. I was soon seated beside my friend, who, like myself, was most ready and anxious to do justice to the duke's liberal provision. I have a great talent for eating, but none for description, so I will not attempt to enumerate or describe the variety of good things which disappeared before us; suffice it, we were all much more contented with ourselves and each other when all was over, than before our operations commenced. Commend me to a man who has just made a good dinner—if he be not a philanthropist then, he never will be. Happening to glance my eye towards the other end of the table, I observed that I was the object of close and intense attention to one of the company—a stranger of prepossessing aspect, who was seated at some distance at the opposite side. He gazed at me with an earnestness almost amounting to rudeness; and whenever I glanced in that direction, I perceived that his eye was constantly riveted upon my countenance. At first, I was considerably annoyed by the persevering scrutiny of his gaze; but, after a time, I was conscious of a vague impression on my mind that I had seen his face before; but when or where, I in vain endeavoured to recall. I was in the unpleasant situation of one who hears a long-forgotten melody, which stirs up within his mind overpowering and indefinable emotions, though, at the moment, the associations connected with it are forgotten. A confused train of visions of the past, of pleasure and of pain, crowded through my brain, with a dreamy consciousness that the stranger was, in some way or another, connected with them. I could not, for the life of me, shake off the impression his features had made upon my mind; and I wandered up and down, through all the bustle of the fair, as abstracted as if I were in a desert—treading upon the toes of the present, and raking up the ashes of the past, to puzzle out some connection between them and the stranger; but in vain. The indignant looks and half-suppressed curses of those I jostled or trod upon alike failed in rousing me from my reverie, till a violent push from the elbow of one of my victims sent me staggering against a gentleman who was standing close to one of the booths. It was the stranger.

How wonderful and unaccountable are the workings of the human mind, and what trifling incidents may present us with a clue to the labyrinth of thought we have been in vain endeavouring to unravel!

In making my apologies to the stranger, my eye chanced to glance upwards to the sign above the entrance to the booth; it was "The Old Ship." A flash of sudden recollection lighted up the dark places of my memory—the friend of my early days stood before me.

"Sandford!—in the name of all that's strange, is that you?"

"My name is Sandford Grant," said he, "and I know and feel that you are an old friend. I have been thinking of nothing else since I saw you in the barn; but my memory plays me false—I cannot recollect when or where we have met before."

"Look up at that board—perhaps it will assist your recollection, as it did mine."

"The Old Ship!" exclaimed he, with a look of wonder and inquiry. "The Old Ship!" he repeated, slowly and distinctly, and then he gazed long and earnestly in my face, till at length the look of indecision and doubt gave place to a sudden glow of delighted recognition. "Douglas!" exclaimed he, with a long and cordial shake of the hand.

"The same, my dear fellow. It is ten long years since we met, and time has left his marks upon us both; no wonder we did not recognise each other at first; particularly as it was in such a very different scene we last met, or rather parted."

We spent the evening together, as two long-separated friends should do, in talking over the events of our early years, and relating our mutual adventures since we parted. As I did not know Sandford myself at first, it is hardly to be expected that the reader can know either of us without a formal introduction; which is the more necessary, as we are both to figure in the tale I am about to relate.

Those of my readers who have passed through Longtown in Cumberland may have remarked, on the left-hand side of the main street, as they entered the town from the bridge, a neat red-brick house, with an iron-railed enclosure in front, and a large gateway to the right, leading into the courtyard. In that house Sandford Grant and I first became acquainted with each other; it was then an academy. The house still remains, but master and pupils are "scattered to the four winds of heaven." For three years we were class-fellows and friends; for we were just of the same age, and a Scottish feeling of clannish regard made us cling to each other more perhaps than we otherwise would have done. He was a handsome, spirited boy, or rather child, and was always ready, at a word, to fight my battles as well as his own. He was a great favourite on account of his frank, liberal disposition; but the most unlucky little dog that ever lived. If ever there was any mischief going on, he was sure to be concerned in it, and as sure of being discovered and punished; if there was only one puddle in the road on a Sunday, he, somehow or other, contrived to go out of his way to tumble into it, dirty his white stockings, and be recommended by the mistress to her husband's tender mercies. In fact, he was constantly getting into scrapes; so much so that "Sandford's luck" became quite a proverb among us.

It was with sad hearts and tears on both sides that we parted, when circumstances obliged me to accompany my family to the south. We were then about eleven years of age; and having lately read the tale of Damon and Pythias, we felt assured that we would willingly follow their example, and were ready, if necessary, to immolate ourselves on the altar of friendship. Fortunately for us, there was no such necessity. The spring of tears in youth lies too near the surface—it is soon exhausted. We solaced our sorrows for the present, by promising that, as we could no longer see each other, we would exchange long letters, at least once a-week. At first our correspondence added considerably to His Majesty's revenue; but our epistolary ardour soon cooled, till, at no very long interval, our correspondence fell into a gradual decline, and at last died away altogether. But the Fates had decreed that Sandford and I were not to part so easily. We met some years afterwards at the Military College at Addiscombe, where we added to the number of the East India Company's hard bargains. There we were inseparable; for, with all the warmth of early recollections around us, our renewed acquaintance soon ripened into sincere and devoted friendship.

After the usual term of probation at Addiscombe, Sandford obtained an appointment in the engineers, and I a cadetship of infantry, and we sailed from England together. On our arrival at Calcutta, we separated: he remaining at the presidency, and I being ordered up the country, to join my regiment at Cawnpore.

I pass over the details of my life in India; suffice it that, after ten years roasting under an eastern sun, I was pretty well done at last, and my liver began to give me sundry gentle hints that it was time for me to be moving, unless I wished to remain altogether where I was; accordingly, I applied for and obtained furlough to visit Europe for the benefit of my health. Though Sandford and I had been so long separated, we had always kept up a regular intercourse by letter, and we had arranged that, if practicable, we would take our furlough together; and, accordingly, we managed matters so that we took our passage in the same ship for England. Fortune had favoured us both in promotion; we had each attained the rank of captain in our respective corps. In congratulating Sandford on his good fortune, I remarked, in allusion to our school-days, that it was better than "Sandford's luck."

"You would not say so, my dear fellow," said he, "if you knew all. I am as unlucky a dog as ever; and you may have reason yet, before we part, to wish we had not met again."

"Nonsense," said I; "let us enjoy the present, at all events, whatever the future may have in store for us. Come, order your palanquin, and let us be off; the boat was to be waiting for us at Champaul Ghaut at ten o'clock, and it only wants a few minutes of the hour."

Our ship, the Dolphin, was a beautiful little chartered free-trader, of about 600 tons, remarkably fast for a merchantman—a regular clipper, as her captain called her—and manned by an active and effective crew. She mounted twelve small carronades on her upper deck, and a neat brass swivel which traversed on the head of the capstan. On the 28th August, 18—, we sailed from Sangor with several other merchantmen, under convoy of H.M.S. Albatross. Our voyage was very tedious, unmarked by any variety except that of wind and weather; and our captain, who was a smart, active little man, an excellent disciplinarian, and much beloved by his crew, was dreadfully annoyed by the detention occasioned by the dull sailers of the fleet. At last he resolved, if possible, to effect his escape, and make the best of his way home. After we left St Helena, an opportunity, unfortunately for us, soon presented itself. One squally evening, the frigate made a signal for the convoy to carry easy sail, and to watch the commodore's motions during the night. Soon after dark, the wind freshened up to a strong breeze, with passing squalls and heavy rain at times. With her topgallantsails set over single-reefed topsails, the little Dolphin bounded over the waves in such style as to do credit to the name she bore; and, by keeping a little of the course she had before been steering, and carrying a press of sail through the night, made such good use of her fins, that at daybreak not a ship of the fleet was to be seen. We were all at first delighted with our freedom, and with the prospect of reaching our destination so much sooner than we otherwise would have done; but, upon after reflection, we began to doubt the prudence of trusting to our own legs and arms, when we would have been so much safer under the wing of the Albatross. Captain Driver himself, however, was in high glee; he said he knew that few even of the crack privateers were matches for his little Dolphin. However, he neglected no means of adding to, and improving, the efficiency of his vessel: the men were exercised regularly at the guns, the passengers and servants drilled in the use of the muskets, and every precaution was adopted which skill and experience could suggest, to make our means of defence as available as possible.

In this way our time passed away stirringly and pleasantly enough, till we lost the south-east trade, and then we were tormented for nearly three weeks with calms and burning heat during the day, and heavy unceasing rains during the night. To add to our discomforts, a great mortality had taken place among our live stock, and we were for days floating about among a whole fleet of dead ducks and fowls, with the pleasant prospect before us of salt junk and hard Curtis[1] for the rest of the voyage.

"My old luck," said Sandford.

We had at last contrived to crawl as far as four degrees north, when, one afternoon, to our great joy, we observed signs of change in the weather. Light grey clouds were beginning to appear to the northward; and we watched with great interest those "ships of heaven" slowly and gradually moving upwards. Light cats'-paws began to ruffle the waters, and every here and there we saw in the distance shoals of fish sporting amid the roughness which the light and partial airs produced upon the surface. But we were still lying becalmed; the awnings were all spread, but the heat was oppressive; and the little Dolphin was rolling heavily in the long sea, dipping her bright sides deep into the water. A long dark line was now visible on the horizon to the eastward, which gradually spread, and neared us.

"Thank goodness! there is a breeze at last!" said Captain Driver; and in half-an-hour's time the Dolphin was once more dancing along, like a living creature, over the waves. During the night, the wind drew gradually round to the northward; and before morning we had a fine steady north-east trade, which carried us as far as twenty-nine degrees north. From this time nothing particular occurred, till we arrived nearly in the parallel of the English Channel—the Lizard bearing about north-east-by-east of us, fifteen hundred miles distant. Here, after a succession of south-easterly breezes, we had another taste of "Sandford's luck," in the shape of a calm of two days' duration. On the morning of the third day, we were surprised by seeing, at some six or seven miles' distance to the south-west, a long, low, rakish-looking brig, with her royals furled and courses hauled up, and a pennant flying at the mast-head. Immediately on noticing us, she hoisted an English ensign, and fired a gun. Our boatswain, an old man-of-war's-man, immediately exclaimed that he recognised her as H.M. brig Hawk; and upon her firing a second gun, the quarter-boat was lowered and manned, and the second mate despatched in her. Sandford, who was fond of novelty, asked and obtained leave to join the party. Soon after the boat shoved off from the Dolphin, a light breeze from the southward filled the stranger's sails, and she drew a little nearer. We were all anxious for news from England, and watched our boat with great anxiety, as she went alongside of the brig; but what was our surprise to observe that the crew were all called up, and two of the stranger's men were sent into the boat! The brig was all this time slowly and gradually approaching us, while we were lying helplessly becalmed, watching the breeze as it rippled over the still, smooth water, about half-way between the vessels. The stranger was now within two miles of us, when the light air, which had so long been favouring her, began to roughen the sea close under our stern. A bright flash and a thick cloud of smoke now burst from the stranger's bow, and the loud, sharp report of a gun broke, with startling import, on our ears, while, at the same moment, the English ensign was hauled down, and the white flag of France floated proudly in its stead, and a red cornet fluttered at the main.

"Here's a pretty business!" said Captain Driver. "We will give them a run for it, however."

In an instant, all was bustle and activity an board the little Dolphin: every stitch of canvas was spread to catch the coming breeze; two of the guns were trained aft, and pointed out of the cabin windows; not a voice was heard on board, but that of the captain; the men moved actively and noiselessly about, watching their commander's eye, and in prompt obedience to his orders. The little Dolphin herself seemed conscious that danger was near, so silently did she slip through the water, as her lofty sails swelled out with the light but steady breeze. There was such a hush among us on board, after all the sails had been set, that the only sound heard was the hissing noise made by the ship as she cut rapidly through the smooth water, and the small bubbles floated away astern. Presently a tiny wave raised its white crest here and there, and broke with a gentle murmur; there was glad music in the sound—for it was a sign that the breeze was freshening. In the course of an hour, though the water was still smooth, the Dolphin was beginning to speak audibly, and the white foam-bells danced merrily past her.

In the meantime, the stranger had not been idle. She had at first made use of her sweeps; but, as the breeze freshened, she laid them in. Her lofty spars were crowded with canvas, and she seemed to be rather gaining upon us. We could see that her decks were crowded with men; and every now and then she sent a shot after us.

"Talk away, my boys," said the gallant little captain. "I have no time to return the compliment. If I can only keep clear of you till dark, I will weather you yet." The poor little Dolphin glided away beautifully, and proved that she well merited her good character; for, after some hours' chase, the privateer had gained but little upon us; but still there appeared no chance of our escaping in the long run. About noon, the enemy was within range, and no sooner made the discovery, than she began blazing away with her bow-guns, in hopes of disabling us; but fortune, for once in her life, favoured the weaker party. The privateer's shot riddled our sails; but our spars and hull were as yet unharmed, when a well-aimed shot from one of our stern-chasers went through her fore-topgallantsail, and struck the mast just above the cap. Three cheers burst from our gallant crew, as they saw her small masts first bend, then fall forward together before the foretopsail, dragging with them the main-royal and skysail masts. The sailing of the two vessels was so nearly equal, that we now had a decided advantage over the enemy, which Captain Driver did all in his power to make the most of. Two of the foremost guns were trained aft, and the men were all ordered to lie down on the deck close to the taffrail, to bring the ship more by the stern. There were active hands, however, on board the privateer. In a wonderfully short time, the wreck was cleared away, and new spars had replaced the crippled ones. She came crawling quickly up again; and it was evident to all on board the Dolphin, that, unless some unforeseen accident saved us, a few hours would seal our fate.

It was now late in the evening; the sun had set, and dark, louring clouds were hanging over the horizon to the westward. The water was still tolerably smooth, and the wind was a little on our starboard quarter; the privateer was coming up rather to leeward, gaining rapidly upon us, and peppering away as fast as she could with her bow-chasers. Some of her shot told upon our hull, smashing the cabin bulk-heads, but hurting no one; and, fortunately, our spars were as yet untouched. But she was not so lucky—for we could see, by their getting preventer-backstays upon her fore-topmast, that the mast was crippled. Captain Driver perceived that there was no chance of escaping much longer by fast sailing, and he determined to try what stratagem could do for us. He called his men round him, and explained to them what his intentions were; telling them that everything depended upon their energy and activity, and promising them, in the name of his owners, a handsome reward if they succeeded in saving the ship. Immediately after the next shot fired by the privateer, the man at the helm, by Captain Driver's orders, began to yaw the ship about—the stunsails were hauled in—the royal sheets let go—the sails clued up, but not furled—the topgallantsails lowered, and the colours hauled down. Every movement must have appeared to the enemy indicative of terror and indecision; and we could distinctly hear the cheers with which they hailed the lowering of our ensign. In the midst of our apparent confusion, the yards of the Dolphin were quietly drawn forward to starboard, and the men and passengers stationed at the topgallant and royal halyards, and royal sheets. The privateer, which some of our men now recognised as the notorious Hercule of Brest, came bowling upon our larboard quarter, taking in and furling all her small sails, and hauling up her courses. When she was so close to us that we might almost have thrown a biscuit on board, the French captain jumped upon the bulwark with his trumpet in his hand, as if to hail us.

"Now, my lad," said Driver to the man at the helm, "remember what I told you. When I call out to you to put the helm hard a-starboard, put it hard a-port."

The privateer captain was just putting the trumpet to his lips, when Captain Driver bawled out, "Put the helm hard a-starboard!"

As he expected, this order was instantly echoed on board the privateer, who thought we intended to try and run aboard of him. As I said before, the wind was a little on our starboard quarter; and the Frenchman, by paying quickly off, threw his sails aback; while the little Dolphin, her helm having been put to port instead of starboard, flew up to the wind, and, her yards being all ready braced up, darted away like an arrow to windward—this being her favourite sailing point; at the same moment, the topgallant sails were sheeted home and set, and the royals hoisted.

It was some little time before the privateer recovered from the surprise and confusion occasioned by this unexpected manœuvre; and, by the time her yards were trimmed and sails set, the Dolphin had again a good start of her. We had now reason to bless the fortunate shot that had crippled her fore-topmast; for she was afraid to carry such a press of sail as she otherwise would have done. However, disabled as she was, she was still a match for us, and kept throwing her shot after us, in token of her friendly feeling.

"Hurrah, my little beauty!" said Captain Driver, apostrophising his ship; "another hour, and we are safe."

The privateer was gaining upon us slowly but surely, when the night, which, fortunately for us, was dark and gloomy, set in. Captain Driver kept a light burning in the stern cabin, and gave strict orders that every other light in the ship should be put out. He then had a large water-butt sawed in half, and fitted into it a light bamboo staff, to the end of which a lantern was affixed. The tub was well ballasted; and, when all was ready, it was lowered down nearly to the water's edge astern, the lantern lighted, and the lamp in the captain's cabin extinguished. Just as the lanyards were let go, and the tub, with its decoy light, fell into the water, we fired both our stern-chasers, to deceive the enemy, and immediately bore up, and stood away, under a press of sail, to the westward. The night was pitch dark; the wind drawing round to the southward and westward, and with every appearance of further change.

Our ruse succeeded completely. We were only aware of the privateer's position by the bright flashes of her guns, as she fired them in chase, as she thought; and by the twinkling light of the floating lantern, which was, at last, suddenly extinguished, after a brisk fire from the Frenchman. We ran, for a couple of hours, to the westward; and then, the wind gradually heading us, we kept away again for the Channel, and, before morning, we had a fine staggering westerly breeze to help us along.

At daylight, nothing was to be seen from the mast-head; and we cheerfully pursued our voyage, rejoicing in our fortunate escape. We had now time to think of and to lament the hard fate of our shipmates, who had been so cleverly entrapped.

"Sandford's luck, again," said I. "Poor fellow, how strange it is that such a fatality always seems to attend him!"

"You forget," said Captain Driver, "that the men who are with him are in the same unlucky predicament, and of course are equally unfortunate. But it is curious to observe how some men are favoured and others persecuted by fortune. When I was a youngster, I sailed with a captain (a smart, active, intelligent man he was) who told me that ever since he had commanded a ship, each alternate voyage had always been an unlucky one. 'And this,' said he, 'is my unlucky one.' And sure enough it was so; for, from the commencement to the close of it, it was one constant series of misfortunes. However, I have no doubt our poor lads will be well enough off on board the privateer—the French are fine fellows, after all; but I do not envy them the quarters that await them on shore."

The breeze continued steady; and in about ten days' time we had run down a great part of our distance from the Lizard, which we expected to make in two days more. One morning the man at the mast-head reported a large ship to the southward, and Captain Driver made her out to be a man-of-war. We immediately crowded all sail, with the horrors of a French prison before us; but she had already noticed us, and come bowling after us, firing a gun to bring us to, and hoisting English colours. After a long and anxious survey of the stranger, Captain Driver was satisfied that she was an English frigate, and accordingly hoisted his colours and hove to. From the lieutenant who boarded us, we learned that the frigate was H.M.S. ——, bound to Spithead. When we related to him our adventure with the privateer, he told us that it was no wonder we were deceived; for that the Hercule was often mistaken for the Hawk, and that the real Hawk was cruising about the chops of the Channel, in hopes of falling in with her. We followed in the wake of the frigate up Channel, and, on the 1st May, to our great joy, we cast anchor once more on the shores of Old England. I remained two years at home, and then returned to the East, without having heard any news of poor Sandford's fate.

"And now, my dear Sandford," said I, "tell me all your adventures since we parted company so unexpectedly."

"You may imagine our surprise," replied he, "when we found how quietly we poor gulls had thrust our heads into the eagle's nest. The second mate of the Dolphin and I had hardly set foot on the deck of the stranger, when we saw at a glance our mistake; and, if we had any doubts on the subject, they were soon set at rest by the captain, who said to us, shrugging his shoulders, with a smile—

"'Messieurs, you are my prisonnars; dere is no use for de resiste; call your men out of de boat.'

"We saw too plainly that resistance was vain, and we submitted to our hard fate as patiently as we could. The boat's crew were sent down into the hold, and sentries placed over them, and we were disarmed, but allowed the range of the deck and cabin, giving our parole that we would hold no intercourse with our own men or the crew. When we saw the privateer's sails swell with the breeze and when with her long sweeps she began to crawl along 'like a centipede,' while the little Dolphin lay stationary and becalmed, we feared that we should soon have more companions in captivity. Great was our delight when the gallant little vessel glided away like a fairy before us, and we began to have some hopes of your escape, knowing as we did what a character the Dolphin had for sailing.

"'Well done, my beauty!' shouted the mate.

"'Ah, mon ami,' said the Frenchman, 'do not rejoice too queek; before night, your leetel beauté, as you call hare, shall be mine.'

"I cannot describe his mortification at the skilful manœuvre by which you baffled him just as he thought he was sure of you, and contrived to steal away again to windward of him; but, after a time, when his angry feeling had passed away, he could not help exclaiming—

"'Parbleu! he is one clevare man, that capitane! He most be var weak after lose one boat's crew, and yet how he manage his sheep skeelfully! 'Tis almost peety not let him rone away; bote I mos catch heem—he cannot escape long.' When the night set in so dark and gloomy, he said—'Well, begar, I do begin think that capitane of yours is not so vary clevare man after all. How he most be fool to carry that light!—without that lumiere I should lose sight of heem quite entirely, the night is so, what you call, so tar—no—peetch dark.'

"'I suppose,' said I, 'in the confusion he has forgot it.'

"'Not a bit of it,' said Gordon, the mate, to me, aside; 'Captain Driver is not such a fool as he thinks. He has some reason for what he is doing, depend upon it.'

"After a time, the light, which had kept a pretty equal distance ahead of us, became apparently stationary, and we came up to it with great rapidity.

"'Ah,' said the Frenchman, 'he is tire at last. We have catch heem.'

"We all thought that some of our chance shots had taken effect, and that the Dolphin, unable to escape, had hove to, to surrender. As we came near the light, the small sails were taken in and furled, the courses hauled up, and the boat was cleared away for lowering to board the prize.

"'Begar, dis is ver extraordinare!' said the Frenchman to me—'dere is de light, but I do not see de sheep. Sheep ahoy!' No answer. 'Sheep ahoy! Answere, or I weel fire.' Still no answer. 'Tirez donc!' A broadside was fired, and the light disappeared.

"Not a cry or sound of any kind was heard after the noise of the firing had ceased. The poor little Dolphin, we thought, must have sunk at once; but yet it was very strange that so large a vessel (she was large compared to the Frenchman) could have been invisible and inaudible when so near us. The boats were lowered immediately, and furnished with lanterns, that their crews might see to save all they could. After a short time, they returned, bringing back, as the sole remains of the poor Dolphin, a few broken staves, and a bamboo, with a lantern lashed to the end of it. The French captain's blank stare of astonishment was at first quite amusing; but at last the truth flashed upon him, and, with a loud laugh, he exclaimed—

"'Parbleu! that capitane is one dam clevare fellow! He throw out one tub to catch a whale; he deserves to escape. Néanmoins, he is not safe yet.'

"He then hauled close to the wind, and stood to the eastward, thinking that you would make for the Channel as fast as possible. If it had not been for the name of the thing, we would have enjoyed the cruise very much; for the French captain and his officers were polite and gentlemanly, and treated us as messmates and friends. Their destination was Brest, and ours, eventually, a French prison, till we should be ransomed or exchanged—a pleasant way for me to enjoy my three years' furlough!

"One afternoon, just after dinner, as we were dodging to the eastward, with the wind at north, a sail appeared ahead, but too far off to distinguish what she could be. All sail was immediately made in chase, and we rapidly neared the object of our pursuit. She was a lumbering, heavy-looking brig, under topgallantsails, painted with a broad, dirty white streak, turning up at each end with a sheer like a bow. We hoisted French colours, and fired a gun to leeward; she showed an English ensign, and immediately began to make more sail, which she did in a regular collier-like fashion, and went floundering and plunging along like a cart-horse over a ploughed field; and the more sail she made, the slower she seemed to go. We were all mightily amused with her clumsy attempts to escape, and wondered at her folly in exasperating her enemy by such unavailing efforts. Gun after gun was fired to bring her to; but still she floundered on, kicking up her stern as if in derision, as her heavy bow plunged deep into the water. At last the captain of the privateer got into a towering passion, and swore he would sink her when he got alongside. While the brig, or at least her crew, were straining every nerve to escape, one of her maintopgallant sheets went; and the awkward and slovenly manner in which the sail was handled excited the laughter of all on board our small craft. The brig at this time, as if aware that escape was hopeless, took in her royals, and lowered her topgallantsails, but without altering her course, or striking her colours. It was dusk when we came within speaking distance; and, running up close under her quarter, our captain seized the speaking-trumpet, and ordered the brig to strike her colours immediately, or he would sink her. What was his surprise, when, in answer to his hail, three deafening cheers resounded from the brig! Her deck was in an instant swarming with men; and, while our crew were gaping with astonishment, the painted canvas screen disappeared from her side as if by magic, and a broadside was poured into our hull, which made us reel again, and wounded and killed several of the crew. In justice to the Frenchman, I must say, that, as soon as the first surprise was over, he (the captain, I mean) was as cool and collected as possible. His orders were given rapidly and energetically; and actively and ably were they executed. He instantly stood away to the southward and eastward, and trusted to his heels to escape from an enemy whom he saw at a glance he was unable to cope with. In a few minutes, from the truck to the water's edge, the Hercule was one cloud of canvas; and merrily did she dance away over the waves. The English man-of-war crowded all sail after us; very differently was she handled, now she was no longer acting merchantman. She seemed to have cast aside her sluggishness with her disguise, and, to our great surprise, seemed rather to gain than lose ground. She kept on our weather (larboard) quarter; and her bow-chasers were in constant play, and remarkably well served—hardly a shot but told upon our rigging or hull.

"The Hercule was considered the fastest privateer out of France; but, before the wind, the brig was evidently gaining upon us. Not one of our shot had, as yet, done her any material injury, though her head sails were riddled through and through. This game could not last long;—the privateer determined upon trying another move. He was obliged to keep his pumps constantly going, for he had received several shots between wind and water. Suddenly whipping in all his stunsails, he ran his yards forward, and hauled to the eastward. This manœuvre was rapidly and skilfully executed; and, as we shot across the bows of the English brig, we poured a raking broadside into her, which, we afterwards learned, did not do so much damage as we expected, as our guns were pointed too high. Three cheers rang from the English brig; as quick as thought, they ran in their stunsails, and, following our movements, hauled to the wind.

"As the privateer had anticipated, the moment the brig rounded to, her foretopsail and topgallantsail, already in tatters, blew clean out of the bolt-ropes. This was a glorious sight for the privateer, but a sad one for us poor prisoners; we thought that all chance of escape was at an end, and that it was impossible for the brig to shift her sails quickly enough to save her distance. But 'impossible' is a landsman's word—there is none such on board a British man-of-war; her fore-rigging was swarming with men in a moment, and in ten minutes more they were bringing a new topsail to the yard, and the topgallantyard was on its way to the mast-head again. In the meantime her bow guns had not been silent; a pretty smart conversation was carried on between them and our stern-chasers, and their answers were most unpleasantly true and galling. Her guns must have had picked marksmen stationed at them, for hardly a shot was thrown away.

"We were, however, leaving the brig rapidly, when a lucky shot from her came through one of our quarter-ports, and knocked down the two men at the helm. The privateer instantly flew up in the wind, and her head-sails took aback; and though the helmsmen were instantly replaced, and the vessel boxed off again skilfully and rapidly, yet the few minutes that elapsed before she paid off and gathered way again, were sufficient to make a great alteration in our relative positions.

"The English brig was now within half-a-mile on our weather quarter, gaining steadily and slowly, and throwing her single shot into us with the most unerring precision. At last an eighteen-pound shot struck our weather maintopsail yardarm; and the spar snapped in two close outside the slings. All chance of escape was now over; but the Frenchman, a gallant fellow, was determined not to strike till the last; and all the guns that could be brought to bear upon the brig were double-shotted, and rattled into her. In answer to this salute, the man-of-war gave a yaw to windward, and poured her starboard broadside into the privateer, with deadly effect; and then, bearing suddenly up amid the clouds of smoke, she ran close under our stern, and discharged her larboard guns, sweeping our decks fore and aft, dismounting two of our guns, killing five of our men, and carrying away our tiller-ropes. The privateer was now perfectly unmanageable; her topmasts were hanging in splinters over her sides; her brave captain was killed; there were three feet water in the hold; and the active and indefatigable brig was playing round and round, pouring in her remorseless fire. The French crew, seeing the madness and inutility of further resistance, struck their colours; and in a few minutes a boat came on board from H.M. brig Hawk, and the officers of the privateer surrendered their swords to the lieutenant in command; who, on receiving them, complimented the privateer's men highly on their gallant defence. I was greatly grieved at the death of the French captain, who, during our short sojourn with him, had endeared himself to us by his handsome and gentlemanly behaviour. He had allowed Gordon, the mate, and myself to dispose of ourselves as we thought proper during the action, on our giving our parole that we would not in any way interfere. As soon as the privateer ceased firing, the smothered sound of three cheers came faintly up the hatchway from our poor fellows in the hold, who rightly judged the result of the action. They were immediately liberated; and a prize crew having been sent on board, the French took up the quarters just vacated by the 'Dolphins.'

"After a few hours spent in repairing damages, and in vigorous exercise at the pumps of the privateer, the Hawk, with her prize in tow, stood to the northward and eastward; and in a few days the Hercule, with the red ensign proudly floating above the flag of France, followed her captor into Spithead. As soon as I possibly could, I hastened up to town, where I found a letter lying for me at my agent's, to be delivered as soon as the Dolphin arrived (my friends knew I had taken my passage in that ship), begging me to hasten over to Ireland immediately, to attend the death-bed of a maternal uncle. I arrived in Dublin in time to attend the old gentleman's funeral, and to find, to my great surprise, that he had left the whole of his Irish property and a large estate in this country to his grateful nephew, on condition that I took his name. Fortune was tired of plaguing me at last. I was obliged to remain nearly three years in Ireland, in order to arrange matters satisfactorily with my agent, and to put everything in train for making my tenants as comfortable as possible. My other estate is in Perthshire, where I shall be delighted to enjoy the pleasure of your society, until you are wearied of ours.—I say ours, because I have a new friend to introduce to you in the person of my wife."

I accompanied Sandford home, and found his establishment such as I should have expected from a man of his liberal and enlightened turn of mind—handsome without ostentation—liberal without profusion. His lady was a most amiable and agreeable person—unaffected and cheerful in her manners. I was delighted with my first introduction to her. Coming forward to meet me with all the graceful ease that distinguishes a well-bred woman, and with all the warmth of manner of an old friend, she shook me most cordially by the hand.

"Mr Douglas," said she, "I am delighted to see you; often and often has Sandford talked over your mutual adventures, and regretted the evil destiny that separated him from his earliest and dearest friend. Your character is so familiar to me, that I feel as if, instead of addressing a stranger, I were talking to an old friend. I hope you will soon learn to look upon all here in the same light."

It was impossible not to feel instantly at home, where such genuine and sincere cordiality was displayed; and in a few hours I was as completely domesticated at Grant Hall, as if I had been its inmate for years. The very servants seemed to feel that in pleasing me they were pleasing their master and mistress; for whom, it was evident, they all felt the greatest affection and respect. It is a good sign of the heads of a house, when the servants grow grey at their posts; and most of those at Grant Hall seemed in a fair way of doing so. But I am digressing. While the ceremony of introduction between myself and Mrs Grant was in progress, a young lady was seated at one of the open windows. She raised her eyes on my entrance—and such eyes! However, I will say nothing more about them; for, though so much has already been spoken and written about ladies' eyes, one glance from such a pair as then beamed upon me was worth volumes of description. There was nothing at first particularly striking about the lady's appearance; at least nothing sufficiently so for particular notice or description; but, on further scrutiny, her features were faultlessly regular, and the expression of her countenance was so placid and gentle, that, had it not been for the lambent fire of her dark eyes, I might almost have fancied that some pure, cold, faultless creation of the sculptor's fancy sat before me. Hers was one of those faces which seldom arrest admiration at first sight, but which seem to display new beauties the longer they are gazed upon. Sandford introduced her as his sister Alice.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Sandford," said I. "Your brother wished to give me an agreeable surprise, I suppose; for he never told me that you formed one of his family party."

"Sandford may have neglected to mention his sister to you, Mr Grant," said she, her bright eyes sparkling with animation, and giving life and energy to her features; "but I assure you he has not been backward in making you the theme of his discourse to us. I have often been inclined to feel jealous of his brotherly regard for you."

"Upon my word, Ned Douglas," muttered I to myself, when I was comfortably settled into my soft bed, "you're a lucky dog to have fallen into such good quarters. A few weeks ago, you were afraid to move, lest you should tumble out of your narrow cot, and break your invaluable head upon a hard deck; and now you are afraid to move for fear of losing yourself in this wilderness of a bed, or being smothered in an ocean of feathers."

It was bright and beautiful July; all nature brightened in the smile of the summer sun, and fair Alice smiled upon me. Could I be otherwise than happy?

Sandford was a keen fisherman; and we used to wander together day after day along the banks of the beautiful Tay—he to indulge in an amusement which he enjoyed with enthusiastic relish, and I to gratify my love for the beauties of nature, which are nowhere seen to greater perfection than on the banks of that noble stream. We always returned home to a late dinner, and the evenings were enlivened with music and song, in which both the ladies excelled, and in talking over the adventures of the day, and the stirring scenes of our past lives.

"What strange beings sailors must be!" said Alice to me one evening; "such compounds of contradictions!—so lavish, yet so selfish—so daring, yet so superstitious."

"Do you remember that strange old fellow, Rodney, the quartermaster," said Grant, "who used to be such a favourite of yours? What yarns, as he called them, he used to spin!—enough to stagger the faith of the most credulous; and yet I really think the old fellow had told them so often that he believed them himself."

"Come, Mr Douglas," said Alice, "can you not revive your recollections of the past sufficiently to favour us with a sample of his yarns, as you call them? We have a long evening before us, and you know we ladies are fond of novelty and excitement."

"Well, Miss Alice, I will endeavour to gratify your love of the novel and marvellous; but, remember, the story I am about to tell is Rodney's, not mine. You talked of the superstition of sailors—I will repeat you one of his ghost stories, as it is less improbable than most of his yarns; and I know for a fact that there were numbers besides Rodney who firmly believed it."

"Well, but, Douglas," said Sandford, "let us have it in true Rodney style—slang and all. Don't be alarmed, ladies, by slang I only mean the peculiar phraseology of men of the Rodney stamp."

"Oh, do, Mr Douglas—now do! It will add so greatly to the effect of the story; and I am sure you will not say anything to shock our ears."

"Well, Miss Alice, I will do my best to please you; but I must endeavour, in the first place, to give you some notion of Rodney's appearance. Do you remember him distinctly, Sandford? I have his figure before my mind's eye—long, thin, and muscular; a kind of prototype of that pink of all coxswains and quartermasters, 'Long Tom Coffin;' his round, brightly-blackened hat flapped down upon his head, with an air of careless indifference; his thin, iron-grey hair peeping out behind, as if it was wondering where the queue was going to; and his face looking out in front, as rough and unmoved as the surface of a weatherbeaten rock.

"'Well, Rodney,' said I to him, one first-watch, when his spell at the cunn was over, and he was taking what he called a fisherman's walk[2] on the lee side of the poop—'well, Rodney, you really do believe in Flying Dutchmen, ghosts, and all that kind of nonsense?'

"'Believe!—Lord love your honour, to be sure I do! Didn't I sail with a man once as had been in a ship where one of the lads had seen the Flying Dutchman the voyage before, and swore to it, too? Believe! Why, axing yer honour's pardon, and meaning no offence, there's none but fools and long-shore chaps what doesn't believe them.'

"'Well, well; but ghosts, Rodney—did you ever see a ghost?'

"'Why, I can't say as how I ever seen one myself; but I knows them as has.'

"'Ah! and what sort of ghost was it?'

"'Why, it's a longish yarn, yer honour; and ye're wanting to turn in. You can't keep your eyes open like an old sailor; it's not naturable you should, seeing you haven't had the same opportunity of larning. You oodn't believe, now, I suppose, Mr Douglas, that I keeps watch and watch with my peepers, and always goes to sleep with one eye open? And, for the matter o' that, when I'm walking the deck by myself, I often takes off one of my shoes, to give 'em spell and spell about.'

"'Why,' said I, 'I have seen you keeping your shoes at watch and watch; but the eyes, Rodney—I can't swallow the eyes.'

"'Love yer honour, you hain't half a swally, then; when you've heerd as many queer yarns as I've heerd, and seen as many deviltries as I've seen, ye'll larn to swallow anything.'

"'But come, Rodney, let's have the ghost. I don't mean to turn in till eight-bells.'

"The old man leaned back upon the hencoop on which I was sitting, crossed his arms over the breast of his pea-jacket, and began:—

"'Well, yer honour, Jack Rodney never was the man to lay at his anchors when the signal was made to get under weigh. I've been at sea, yer honour, man and boy, five-and-thirty years come next quarter-day; and there's ne'er a blue-jacket afloat as can say Jack Rodney ever sailed under false colours, or stretched a yarn beyond its bearings. When once old Jack gets his jawing-tacks aboard, his yarn runs off clear and quick, like the line off a log-reel in a breeze. I hates them stuttering beggars, axing yer honour's pardon, as boxes all the points of the compass, and never steers no strait coorse after all. Their words come creeping out as if they were afeerd the master-at-arms was a-going to put them in limbo; but a steady helm and a straight coorse for old Rodney, says I.'

"After the old man had talked himself into a proper opinion of his merits, he began at once to steer a straight course, as he called it.

"'Ye've never been in Chainey, yer honour? Ah you long-togged gentry has a vast to see! Why, you sits at home half your lives, and never knows nothing. Why, now I'll make bould to say yer honour doesn't know how to make a sea-pie or a dish of lobskous?'

"'Not I, Rodney.'

"'My eyes!' muttered the old man to himself, 'to think of a man coming to his years, and not knowing how to make lobskous! Why, sir, axing yer pardon, yer edication must have been sadly neglected.'

"'Oh, I shall improve under your tuition, Rodney; but now for the ghost.'

"'Well, sir, you sees when I was aboard the old Bruisewater, East Injeeman, we wor lying at our moorings in Wampoa Reach—that's in Chainey, yer honour. There was a large fleet of us, all lying waiting for a cargo, with nothing in the varsal world to do but to keep the ships clean, and to play at race-horses with the boats. A grand sight it was, yer honour, to see so many fine large craft lying at anchor, all clean painted, and looking as gay as so many women rigged out for a dance ashore, with their red and striped ensigns all fluttering in the sunshine; and the lads all as neat and clean as shore-going gemmen. Why, Lord love you, this here craft would look like a cockleshell alongside o' them! 'Twas a sight to do an old sailor's heart good, to see sich a show of merchantmen as no other country but Ould England could produce. And then, for such an outlandish, out-o'-the-way place as Chainey, the country wasn't so ill-looking neither. On each side of the river were the level green paddy fields, with here and there a little hill, with a joss-house peeping out from the bamboos; the green hills of Dane's Island further up, and its valleys rich with orange-trees and patches of sugar-cane. Further up still was the village of Wampoa, all sticks and straw like, with a great thing like a lighthouse—what them neggurs calls a pugodour—standing as stiff as a marine at attention, on the opposite bank of the river. And then to see the outlandish-looking mat sails—for devil a boat could you see belonging to them—cutting across in all directions, as if they wor taking a walk in the paddy fields! and the junks cocking up ahead and astern like nothing else in the world, with eyes painted on their bows, because the natural fools think they won't be able to see without them! Then, sir, there's the men with tails like cows, and the women with feet like dolls, and the children in the boats tied to calabashes, to prevent their drowning. Why, bless ye, sir, if ye couldn't swally what I told you before, all this 'll choke ye outright. Well, but to come to my story agen. I hates all this here traverse sailing; I must take a fresh departure. The chief mate of the Prince Royal, Mr Pattison, was a riglar out-an-outer, a man as was well knowed in the fleet, and was a favoryte with high and low; for he was a sailor every inch of him, and knowed right well how to keep persons and things in their places. He was a taut hand, too; but none the worse for that, for your true sailor, sir, loves an officer as is a real officer, and gives every man his due, good or bad, without favour or affection—one knows what one has to trust to with such a man. He was quite a pet with the crew, though he made them fly whenever he spoke to them; they were proud of old Charley, as they called him, and of their ship—and high kelter[3] she was in. Well, sir, old Charley was taken ill—then he got worse—then we heard he wasn't expected to live. There wasn't a man or officer in the fleet but wor sorry for him; for them as hadn't been shipmates with him knowed him by karacter. Of coorse, sir, when the chief mate was in the doctor's hands, and hove down to repair, the second did duty for him. One day, when Charley was very ill, the second mate came on deck, and seed the carpenter a-standing in the sun without his hat on; so says he—

"'Mr Chips,' says he (the carpenters aboard them ships were all warrant-officers, and so always had a handle put to their names)—'Mr Chips, why are you standing in the sun without your hat? You'll be getting a stroke of the sun.'

"'Oh, sir,' said the carpenter, with a face as long as the maintop-bowline, 'it's of little consequence; my time's almost up; I haven't much longer to live.'

"'What do you mean?' said the officer; 'what foolish notion have you taken into yer head?'

"'Oh, sir, it's no foolish notion; he told me so, and I never knowed him deceive any one yet!'

"'Who told you so, Chips?' said the mate, kind and soothing like; for he was afeerd that the sun really had got in at some little crack in his upper works; 'who told you so?'

"'Mr Pattison himself told me so, sir, last night.'

"'Mr Pattison? Why, Chips, you're dreaming; he's regularly hove down, can't stir hand or foot, poor fellow.'

"'No matter, sir, he told me so; and if it wasn't him, it was his ghost.'

"'But how was this, and when?'

"'Why, sir, as I was lying awake last night in my cot, I saw Mr Pattison come into my cabin port. The cot shook under me, I trembled so with fear, for I knew how ill he was; but I thought that, while the fever was at its height, he might have got up and wandered to my cabin without knowing what he was about; so I mustered courage to say to him, 'I am glad to see you on your legs again, sir.' He shook his head mournfully, and said, 'I shall never rise from my bed again; in two days' time my eyes will be closed in death, and in three more you will follow me.' He then disappeared, and left me with a weight upon my heart that will sink me to the grave.'

"'Oh, nonsense, Chips,' said the officer; 'don't let your mind dwell upon it. You must have been asleep—it was nothing but a dream.'

"'Dream or not, sir, I feel that I am a doomed man.'

"'Two days after this confab, yer honour, I saw the colours of the Prince Royal slowly rise from the tafferel, as if they didn't like the duty they were on; and then they hung mournfully half-way between deck and the gaff-end: in three minutes, every ship in the fleet had her colours hoisted half-mast, that well-known signal that some officer has struck his flag to death. Poor Charley was no more! A circular was sent from the commodore, to order two boats from every ship in the fleet to attend the funeral—and a grand funeral it was. It was a beautiful sight to see the procession, yer honour. There was the boat, with the coffin in the starn-sheets, covered with a union-jack; and the mourners sitting on each side of it, towed by one of the Prince's cutters; all her crew in mourning, with black crape round their arms, and pulling minute-strokes. Then came the Prince's launch, towed by another boat, full of the ship's company, who had all asked leave to see the last of their officer. Poor fellows! sincere mourners I believe they were. Then, sir, there was a long line of boats from each quarter of the long-boat, all following in each other's wake, and stretching from one end of the reach to the other. As soon as the boat with the coffin in it shoved off from the Prince, her bell began to toll slowly, and, as it passed the gangway of the next ship, her bell took up the knell, and so on all up the fleet. It was a beautiful sight, yer honour, to see the long lines of boats, with their neat jacks fluttering half-mast from the staffs; the men of each boat dressed alike; some crews in blue jackets; others in white, but all with the crape round their arms: then the flags of all the fleet—English, French, American, and Dutch—waving, mournful-like, half-mast high; not a sound to be heard, yer honour, but the dull sound of the minute-strokes, and the fluttering of the colours, and the long clear tones of the bells, as they died away further and further up the fleet:—oh, sir, it was a sad and a beautiful sight! He was buried, where all the other English officers are buried, on French Island. Well, yer honour, now comes the end of the business. Three days afterwards I was quartermaster of the deck, and was standing on the foksle, when I see'd three boats a-passing, with their jacks half-mast, and a coffin in the starn-sheets of the foremost on 'em; so says I to Tom Rattlin, the captain of the foksle—"Tom," says I, "what boats is them?"—"The Prince's," says he; "I believe her carpenter is dead." And sure enough it was the carpenter, sir; the ghost didn't tell him no lie; his signal for sailing was made at the very time he named. Now, sir, after that yarn, will you tell me that there are no such things as ghosts? It was my old shipmate, Bill Buntling, that told me; and, if all tales are true, that's no lie.'

"There was no answering such a truism; so I thanked the old man for his yarn, and giving him a stiff'ner,[4] when the watch was over, turned into my snug cot, little dreaming that I would ever repeat the story on the banks of the Tay."

"Thank ye, Mr Douglas, for your 'yarn,'" said Alice, "I really think you would make as good a 'spinner of yarns,' as you call it, as old Rodney himself."

"What became of old Rodney, did you ever hear?" said Sandford.

"Yes. He was lost from the Dundas Indiaman, poor fellow! some years ago. I used often to be talking of him on board the Dolphin, and Captain Driver told me that he knew the man, and that he had heard his fate. He went out to put additional lashings on the sheet-anchor in a heavy gale of wind, a sea struck the bow, and tore him away while clasping the anchor in his arms. He was swept twenty yards from the ship, poor fellow! at once, and all hopes of saving him were at an end. He was an excellent swimmer, and was seen to take off his pea-jacket with the greatest coolness, and, whenever he rose on the top of a sea, he was seen waving his hat for assistance; at last he was seen on the crest of a sea, but when it rose again Rodney was gone——"

"Where many a true heart has gone before him!" said Sandford, as the ladies were rising to bid us good-night.

"How happy ought you and I to be, Douglas, enjoying all the comforts of a cheerful home, while so many brave fellows are exposed to all the storms and dangers of the deep!"

I was happy; I had felt like a new man ever since my visit to Perthshire; a gleam of sunshine had brightened the dark and gloomy path of my life. I was no longer an isolated being—I had met with congenial hearts—I contrasted with gratitude the present with the past, and looked forward with hope to a calm and happy future. I have before spoken of my first impressions of Alice Sandford: I soon learned to look upon her with feelings of warmer interest than I had thought I would ever experience again towards mortal being. I will not waste more words in endeavouring to describe the beauty of a face which, lovely as it was, owed its principal charm to its sweet and amiable expression. That her countenance was a true index to her heart, I have had well-tried experience; for Alice Sandford has been the wife of my bosom for many years, and never, in joy or in sorrow, has she given me a moment's cause to repent of my choice. My friend Sandford (Grant, I should call him) persuaded me to fix my quarters in a handsome villa on his property; and I have ever since had reason to be thankful to Providence for the happiness I have enjoyed, and for the blessed chance that led to my meeting with my friend in the barn at St Boswell's.