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10	CHUPATTIES--UNSATISFACTORY INTELLIGENCE--REGINALD, ON HIS WAY TO THE RESIDENCY, HEARS THE SOUND OF FIRING--A MUTINY IN THE CANTONMENTS-- COLONEL ROSS AND HIS PARTY RESCUED--ESCAPE TO A VILLAGE AMONG THE HILLS--THE CAMP FORTIFIED--CAPTAIN HAWKESFORD'S ENMITY CONTINUES-- REAPPEARANCE OF FAITHFUL--IMPORTANT INTELLIGENCE BROUGHT BY HER-- PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE.	For several weeks matters went on quietly at Allahapoor. Aided by Burnett, Reginald was able to carry out many of his projected reforms, though not without opposition from some of the chief men, and often from those who were likely to benefit by them. The indefatigable Buxsoo brought him information of what was going on beneath the seemingly quiet surface of society. It was far from satisfactory. He reported that persons were moving from district to district, distributing "chupatties",--sacred cakes, which answered the purpose of the "fiery cross" of Scotland. With amazing rapidity these cakes were passed over the length and breadth of the land. It was supposed that they came originally from Barrackpore. The watchman of one village gave the watchman of the next village two cakes, with an injunction to make six fresh ones, and retaining two, to pass the others on in the same way. What the object of the cakes was, most of those who received them were in ignorance; but they fully understood that some matter of importance was to be carried out, and they were bound to obey the orders they might receive from the centre of operations. Reginald charged Buxsoo to ascertain, if possible, the secret object of this distribution of the chupatties. That they meant mischief of some sort or other, there could be no doubt. Burnett, in the meantime, improved the discipline of his horsemen, and endeavoured to ingratiate himself with them. Reginald also increased the number of his guards, selecting those men most likely to prove faithful. Wuzeer Singh had by this time recovered from his wounds, and had resumed his duties. Reginald offered to promote him; but he begged to remain in the ranks, assuring his master that he could there render better service than he could were he made an officer. Reginald and Burnett, as may be supposed, paid frequent visits to the cantonments; and they were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of a chaplain, who would unite them to the ladies to whom they were engaged. Reginald, of course, kept Colonel Ross fully informed of all the intelligence he obtained. The colonel, however, was convinced that the British rule was so firmly established in India that nothing could shake it; that whatever the meaning of the chupatties might be, they could not possibly be intended to instigate the people to rebellion. His own regiment, he declared, was stanch to the backbone, and nothing would make them swerve from their duty. Burnett said the same of his cavalry; and declared that to a man they were ready to follow him to the death. Reginald, however, was not convinced; and the very next day Buxsoo brought him intelligence which confirmed his suspicions. The sepoy regiments in the British service had lately been armed with Enfield rifles, and a report had been spread that the cartridges to be used in them--and the ends of which had to be bitten off--had been greased with the fat of pigs and bullocks. This was done, it was said, that every Hindoo soldier might thus become unclean and lose caste, and have no other resource but to turn Christian; the British Government having determined, it was affirmed, to compel all its subjects to embrace Christianity. "Very miserable Christians they would be, if such were the case," observed Buxsoo; "but my poor Hindoo countrymen, brought up in gross ignorance, are ready to believe the most childish reports." Information arrived, some few days after this, that at Lucknow and other places the sepoy troops had mutinied, but that the mutiny had been put down by a strong hand, and it was believed that order had been restored. Day after day, however, unsatisfactory intelligence came in from all quarters; and even in the British provinces bands of the marauders suddenly sprang up, and commenced plundering and burning villages. Burnett was accordingly directed to scour the country round Allahapoor, in order to put a stop to such proceedings. Buxsoo having informed Reginald that the Mohammedan part of the population were about to rise and create a riot, the result of which might probably be the plundering and burning of the city, he immediately summoned the most influential Mohammedan nobles and others to meet him in council. They arrived fully armed, many of them assuming a bold and insolent air, and evidently ready to dispute his authority. As soon as they were seated, he addressed them in gracious tones; reminding them that he had not sought the position he now held, and that his sole aim since assuming the reins of government had been to promote the welfare of all classes, and to advance the happiness and prosperity of the country. While he was speaking, he observed Wuzeer Singh glide in and place himself, with a revolver in each hand, behind his chair of state, but so excited were the persons assembled that his entrance was not remarked. Reginald continued his address, inviting one after another to speak in return. His determined demeanour had its due effect, and he managed to keep the attention of his assembly till the day was nearly ended, and the time fixed upon for the outbreak had passed. The following morning, at an early hour, Reginald, full of anxiety as to what might next occur, rode out to the cantonments, accompanied by a few of his officers and a small company of his guards--some being on horseback, but most of them on foot. He had expected the return of Burnett with his cavalry that very morning, but he had not yet appeared. As Reginald approached the cantonments, he was startled by the sound of continued and rapid firing. Ordering the foot-guards to follow as fast as they could, he dashed forward with his horsemen, among whom was Wuzeer Singh, towards the scene of action. He saw clouds of smoke and flames ascending in several places, evidently from buildings on fire; while the sound of musketry, though more desultory than at first, was still heard. He urged on his horse to its utmost speed, feeling painfully anxious for the safety of Colonel Ross and those dear to him; and in another minute he beheld a spectacle which filled him with dismay and alarm. A small body of English troops who had their quarters in the part of the cantonments nearest the city, had, it was evident, been attacked, and after bravely defending themselves, had been cut down or put to flight; for he now met several men endeavouring to make their escape from an overwhelming body of cavalry, who were savagely sabring all who attempted to withstand them, while numbers lay on the ground, brought down by the bullets of their foes. As he called on them to rally, they obeyed him, thinking that they were about to be supported, and presented a bold face to the advance of the horsemen. The latter on this--observing, as they must have done, Reginald's guards rapidly advancing to meet them--wheeled round and galloped off to a distance. He, to his dismay, remarked that the horsemen had the appearance of Burnett's troopers, and he could not help dreading that the men had mutinied and murdered their commander. He asked Wuzeer Singh his opinion. "It is too likely to be the case," was the answer. "Captain Burnett placed more confidence in them than they deserved; for though some were faithful, there were many traitors among them." Reginald's chief anxiety at present, however, was about the safety of Violet and Nuna, and the other ladies, as well as that of Colonel Ross and the officers under him. He learned from a British soldier that the sepoy regiment had mutinied, and having killed several of their officers who had remained with them and attempted to bring them back to their duty, had marched off with their arms, after setting fire to several bungalows; that the Europeans had been surprised when on the point of pursuing them by the rebel cavalry, who had dashed suddenly into the cantonments, cutting off all connection with their officers and any of the natives who might have remained faithful. Having for some time gallantly defended themselves, they had been compelled to retreat, and would undoubtedly have been destroyed had it not been for the arrival of Reginald and his party. No one could inform him whether the house occupied by Colonel Ross had been attacked; therefore, anxious to ascertain the truth, he ordered his men to advance. He was about to push forward with his small body of horsemen, when Wuzeer Singh pointed out the rebel cavalry in considerable force in the distance, ready to pounce down upon him. He had therefore to restrain his eagerness, in order to allow his guards on foot to come up with him. At length he came in sight of the building which contained those so dear to him; and on seeing how totally unfitted it was to offer any effectual resistance, he trusted that the mutineers had not attempted to attack it. He hastened on, his heart beating with anxiety. As he and his party were seen from the windows, Colonel Ross, and several officers who had taken refuge there, came out to meet him. They greeted him warmly, and expressed their thankfulness that he had come so opportunely to their rescue, as every minute they were expecting to be attacked by the rebels; while they were convinced that they had but little chance of successfully defending the house. When they first saw the rebel cavalry, they supposed that they were coming to their assistance; but this hope vanished when they saw the horsemen dashing forward towards that part of the cantonments where the company of British soldiers was quartered. Their fear was that the latter would be surprised before they could have time to make any preparations for defence. Their hopes had risen and fallen as the sound of musketry continued; but they at length began to fear, when the firing ceased, that the party had been cut to pieces. Their satisfaction therefore was great, when they found so considerable a number of English soldiers with Reginald. But even counting the force he had brought with him, they could not hope to defend the residency should any regular attack be made by the rebels, who had carried off several guns, which many of them were well able to serve. "Your only resource then, Colonel Ross, is to allow me to escort you to the city; within the walls of which you and your party will, I trust, find protection," said Reginald. Colonel Ross, after a short consultation with his officers, accepted the offer, and preparations were at once made for moving. Reginald enjoyed a few minutes' conversation with Violet and Nuna. The latter, poor girl, was in a state of great anxiety at not hearing from Captain Burnett. The horsemen had been recognised from the residency as belonging to his regiment, and fears had been expressed in her presence that he had fallen. Violet did her best to console her, by suggesting that they had been detached for some separate duty, when they might have been tempted to join the mutineers; or perhaps that they had deserted while encamped, without injuring him or those who remained faithful to their colours. Some elephants had been procured to carry the ladies and the articles of chief value; and most of the officers had their horses, though some had been carried off by the rebels. Scouts had been sent out in all directions to ascertain the movements of the mutineers; and two of them now came back with the intelligence that the men of the sepoy regiment having been joined by another which had marched across the border, as well as by the cavalry and native gunners with their guns, they were advancing on the cantonments. No time, therefore, was to be lost. The ladies, including Mrs Molony, were immediately placed on the elephants--two of which animals were also employed in dragging the remaining field-guns; the baggage was secured, and the order to advance was given. Just at that moment a sowar was seen rapidly coming up from the direction of the city; whom, as he approached, Reginald recognised as his faithful ally, Buxsoo. "Alas, O Rajah! Alas!" he exclaimed, "I bring sad tidings. Scarcely had you left the gates of the city when a tumult arose, and the houses of many persons supposed to be favourable to you were attacked. Several people were killed, and others narrowly escaped with their lives. The whole population are up in arms. Loud cries are raised against the English and those who support them. `Down with the foreign rajah!' is the cry of every one; while they swear that should you return they will destroy you and all your friends. The armed men broke into the prison, and liberated all the prisoners. Among these were Khan Cochut and the slave Bikoo, who did their utmost to increase the tumult. The khan declared that the old rajah had made him his successor; and he began to address the people, promising them freedom from all taxes, and universal liberty. A considerable number sided with him, and he was marching in triumph to take possession of the palace, when a strong party of chiefs and others who knew he spoke falsely attacked him, whereupon his followers were put to flight, and he himself cut to pieces. Seeing how things were going on, and fearing that you might return unprepared, I disguised myself as you see me, and galloped off to bring you the intelligence." After Reginald had held a consultation with Colonel Ross, it was agreed that any attempt to enter the city would be madness; while it would be impossible to defend themselves in the residency, or in any part of the cantonments. The colonel inquired whether there was not some strong building in the neighbourhood, of which they might take possession and fortify it; where, if provisions could be obtained, they might hold out till relieved by a British force. "There are several towards the south," replied Buxsoo; "but the rebels swarm in that direction, the whole population being up in arms." There was, however, a hilly district a few miles to the north, he said, inhabited by a tribe who were neither Mohammedans nor Hindoos, and to whom consequently the chupatties had not been sent. They had always remained faithful to the rajah of Allahapoor, and would certainly receive the young rajah with open arms. If they could reach that district, they would there be able to throw up fortifications, and defend themselves for any length of time against such a force as the enemy were likely to assemble in that quarter. The plan proposed was their only alternative, and Colonel Ross at once agreed to it. Guided by Buxsoo, the party immediately directed their course northward. Burnett's insurgent cavalry had disappeared, and none of the mutinous sepoys were in sight, so they advanced as rapidly as the slow-stepping elephants could move. The native troops were in the van, the few horsemen on either flank, while the British brought up the rear. They were thus prepared, as well as circumstances would allow, for any attack which might be made upon them. They were not, however, unobserved. The officers, through their field-glasses, made out in the far distance a number of armed men on foot, evidently watching their movements; and directly afterwards these were joined by a body of horse, which advanced much nearer. Colonel Ross on this immediately called a halt, and ordered the guns to be prepared for action; while Reginald, drawing up his small body of cavalry, made ready to charge directly the guns had delivered their fire. The bold front thus shown by the little party awed the mutineers, however, who wheeled round and galloped off to a safe distance. So again the party advanced, and made such progress that before evening the hills they hoped to reach appeared in sight. Buxsoo now dashed forward to prepare the natives for the arrival of the young rajah. He went with every hope of success, but Reginald had his doubts on the subject; indeed, he had seldom before felt so cast down. He had contemplated giving up his government with becoming dignity, amid the tears and regrets of a faithful people; but now he found himself suddenly discarded by those he was so anxious to serve. He recollected too that he had left the precious documents which, after so much labour, he had succeeded in obtaining in the rebel city. Should the palace be burned, as was but too likely to be the case, they would be irretrievably lost. All his bright hopes might thus vanish; for although Colonel Ross would be convinced that they had existed, and would not suppose that he had deceived him, yet, after all, he might be unable without them to prove his claim to his title and estates, and would be reduced again to the position of a needy adventurer. Thus the colonel might be unwilling to trust his daughter's happiness to his keeping. Inclined to look at everything from a gloomy point of view, then, he was prepared for a cold, if not for a hostile, reception from the villagers. He was anxious too, though certainly in a much less degree, about Faithful. He had left the tigress shut up in her usual abode in the palace, under charge of her keeper; but the man might be killed, or he might neglect her, and she would be starved to death; or should the rebels break into the palace, they would undoubtedly kill her. He had therefore little hope of again seeing his favourite. The day was now drawing to a close, and Buxsoo had not returned. Perhaps the people had fled; and if so, they must just pitch their camp in the strongest position to be found, and make such preparations for defence as time would allow. His spirits, however, revived when he saw a large concourse of somewhat savage-looking fellows come rushing forward, with Buxsoo at their head. As soon as they caught sight of the young rajah, they began leaping, and shouting, and firing off their matchlocks; and as he rode up to them they uttered their hearty welcomes, kissing his hands, and exhibiting every mark of affection. As no time was to be lost, at his desire they led the way back to their village; near which Colonel Ross, with a soldier's eye, quickly selected a spot for the encampment. By throwing up entrenchments round it, he considered that they might fortify themselves sufficiently to offer an effectual resistance to an enemy. It contained also a spring of water, an important consideration. The villagers, besides, were charged to collect all the provisions possible from far and near for the use of the garrison. Colonel Ross and his officers, before lying down, designed a plan of the fortifications, which Buxsoo and Wuzeer Singh undertook, with the aid of the natives, to commence immediately. The latter showed themselves willing labourers, and immediately assembled with their muskets slung over their shoulders and pickaxes in their belts. All night long they were heard working away, one party relieving the other; Colonel Ross and his officers taking it in turns to superintend them. Before daylight the two guns were in position, and considerable progress had been made in the work. While some of the villagers were labouring on the entrenchments, others were employed in collecting provisions; and thus the hopes of the party that they should be able to make an effectual resistance rose considerably. Major Molony and Captain Hawkesford now undertook to drill a number of the people, who would, it was believed, make very efficient soldiers, although their firearms were mostly of a wretched description. Colonel Ross and Reginald, however, were both excessively anxious, as they knew--what others did not--that they had but a limited amount of ammunition, and should they be subjected to a prolonged attack the whole might be exhausted; and the powder possessed by the natives was of too coarse a description to be employed in their firearms. Still no tidings had come of Burnett, and Reginald's fears for his friend's safety increased. The fate of the casket, too, was continually in his mind. He blamed himself for not having either sent it to Colonel Ross for safe keeping, or despatched it by a trusty messenger to Calcutta. But the risk of the latter proceeding was, he had considered, too great in the present disturbed state of the country. Had it been left with Colonel Ross, he would now have had it. He told Violet of his anxiety, and she endeavoured to console him with the hope that the papers might escape destruction. "If they are lost, my dear Reginald, and you are deprived of your rightful inheritance, it will be my pride and joy to try and make amends to you for your loss of fortune; and I am very sure that my father would not retract his promise under any circumstances which may occur." What lover could desire more? Reginald--as well as every man in the camp--being fully employed during the day, he had but few opportunities of seeing Violet. She, on her part, had the task of endeavouring to comfort poor Nuna, who was almost in despair about Burnett. Reginald endeavoured to obtain information of what was going forward by means of sending out scouts in all directions. The intelligence they brought back was more and more alarming. Every day the news was that the sepoys had risen in fresh directions. Fearful massacres had taken place at Cawnpore, Delhi, and numerous other cities. A small body of Europeans was closely beset at Lucknow; and the generally expressed opinion was that British rule in India was for ever at an end. "The natives have yet to learn of what stuff the English are made," observed Colonel Ross. "When the European regiments advance to the rescue, they will form a different opinion." His calm temper and the good spirits he maintained encouraged his countrymen, and contributed much towards inducing the natives to remain faithful. At present they had but little fear of being attacked, as the scouts reported that the larger number of the rebels either occupied Delhi, or were concentrating round Cawnpore and Lucknow. Still there were sufficient numbers in other places to prove formidable, should they design to attack the fort. In the meantime, all was not peace within the small circle of their community. Reginald had told no one of Captain Hawkesford's conduct, but that officer scarcely attempted to conceal his hatred of him, and took every opportunity of making unpleasant remarks, especially in the presence of Violet and Colonel Ross,--though they were of such a character that Reginald could not well notice them. He knew Violet's opinion of Captain Hawkesford, however; and he believed that her father did not hold him in much higher estimation. The fact was that Captain Hawkesford felt almost confident that Reginald had left the casket, with its valuable contents, behind at Allahapoor; and he calculated, not without reason, that they would never be recovered. He scarcely concealed his satisfaction, therefore, when intelligence was brought that the palace, after being ransacked by the populace, had been completely burned to the ground. Reginald heard the news with a quivering lip, though he endeavoured to hide his feelings. "It is as I feared," he said to Violet. "My only hope now is that I may have an opportunity of winning fame and fortune by my sword; and for your sake I will strive to do so, or perish in the attempt. For myself, I confess that, after the brief experience I have had of the little satisfaction wealth and splendour can afford, I would rather live in a quiet home in England, devoting myself to doing all the good in my power to my humbler neighbours, than be compelled again to play the part of an Oriental ruler." "Believe me, Reginald, I would far rather share that humble home with you than become the bride of the most wealthy noble in the land," said Violet, gazing affectionately at him. What more could Reginald wish? "I trust, dearest, that our wishes may be accomplished, and that it may be the will of Heaven that we shall return in safety to Old England," he replied. The thought of poor Faithful came into Reginald's mind. That unfortunate animal, confined in her den, must have perished miserably in the flames. He truly grieved less for the loss of all his treasures than he did for his strange pet--so gentle with him in spite of her savage nature, so attached, and who had rendered him such essential service. "Her sad fate will go wellnigh to break honest Dick's tender heart, when he hears of it," he said to himself. "I wish, too, that I had Dick back. I fear, however, that he will find great difficulty in getting up the country; and I almost hope that he will not make the attempt." Captain Hawkesford after this became still more overbearing, and almost insulting in his conduct, yet he so far kept within bounds that Reginald could not, even had he wished it, under the circumstances in which they were placed, have found a valid reason for quarrelling with him. Though Reginald, of necessity, assumed the character of a chief among the natives, he did duty with the English officers,--visiting the outposts and sentries whenever his turn came. The strictest watch was kept, for their position was well known at Allahapoor, and it was more than probable that an expedition from that city would set out to attack them. Reginald was one night going his rounds, the moon shining brightly, when he approached one of the English sentries at an outpost. He stopped for a moment to observe the soldierlike appearance of the man, who stood, musket in hand, silent and rigid as a statue. He was about to speak, when his eye fell on a crouching form stealing along amid the tall grass, which completely concealed it from the soldier. It was a tiger; and the creature seemed about to spring on the sentinel. Reginald drew a pistol from his belt, and was on the point of cocking it, at the same time shouting out to the sentry to be on his guard,--when the animal, instead of springing at the man, came bounding towards himself, uttering a purring sound very unlike the usual roar of a tiger. The next instant he recognised Faithful, who had only just then discovered him. He had just time to shout to the sentry--who was bringing his piece to his shoulder--to stop him from firing, or in another instant Faithful would probably have been shot through the body. She purred and fawned on her master, and took every means of showing her delight at having again met him, though he could not help suspecting that she had approached the sentry with no very peaceful intentions. As he stroked her head and neck, his hand came in contact with a thin chain, and, to his surprise and infinite satisfaction, he found secured to it the casket he had given up as lost. Having finished his rounds, accompanied by Faithful, he returned to the fort to examine his prize, and to ascertain that all was safe within. By the light of a lamp which burned in his hut he now perceived that poor Faithful looked very thin and wretched; and knowing that, pressed by hunger, she might prove dangerous to some of his companions, he immediately despatched a native to bring in a portion of a sheep to satisfy her craving appetite. In the meantime he eagerly opened the casket, the key of which he had about his person. The papers were safe; and he found another document secured to the bottom of the case. It was in Hindostanee, and charged any one who found it to carry the casket to Reginald, with the promise of a handsome reward for doing so. Besides this, there was a long account of the way in which the casket had been rescued by the writer at the burning of the palace. He expressed an evident regard for him, and assured him that there were many who entertained the same feeling; warning him, at the same time, that it would be dangerous for him to return to the city. Though the paper was not signed, Reginald at once knew that it must have come from his Christian friend, Dhunna Singh. In smaller characters--so as, if possible, to escape the observation of an ordinary reader--was a further piece of intelligence. The writer had also rescued Faithful from the palace, and had kept her, he said, at his house, till it was important to send her off. He had great difficulty, however, in feeding her; notwithstanding which she had remained as gentle as usual, apparently understanding the object he had in view. "And now the time has arrived," he added. "It is well known where you are; and an expedition, consisting of horse and foot, with several guns, is about to set out to attack you. Knowing the bravery of your companions, however, I do not despair of your being able to defend yourselves; and if I can hear of any of your friends in the neighbourhood, I will send them word of your situation, and urge them to come to your relief." Although Reginald would have waited till the next morning to announce to Colonel Ross his extraordinary recovery of the casket, the warning he had received of the intended attack he considered to be too important to be neglected for a moment. Leaving the casket in the hut, therefore, under the charge of Faithful, being very sure that no one would enter to carry it off,--he hastened to Colonel Ross's quarters. In a few words he narrated what had occurred, and gave the important information he had received. The colonel having congratulated him warmly on the recovery of his papers, next turned to the consideration of the best mode of receiving the expected attack. "Did we but possess an ample supply of powder, we might hold out as long as the enemy are likely to besiege the fort: and, depend on it, if they meet with a stout resistance, they will soon lose patience, and move off to attack some other less well defended place. But if they persevere for any length of time, our want of ammunition may prove fatal to us. Our only resource then will be to make a desperate sally, and to capture their guns and tumbrils." At any moment the fort might be attacked, for as the paper brought by Faithful was not dated, it was difficult to say how long it had been on its journey. From the tigress' starved appearance, Reginald thought it likely that she might have been delayed; and that, to a certainty, she must have come by the cantonments, where, after escaping from the city, she would search for him. It was therefore settled that a strong force should at once be stationed on the lines, and the advance-guard pushed still more forward. The necessary orders having been given, and Reginald being relieved, he returned to his hut to sleep, with a lighter heart than he had possessed for many a day.	{ "id": "21485" }
11	DESPERATE STATE OF AFFAIRS--THE FORT ATTACKED--NEWS OF BURNETT--THE SORTIE--CAPTAIN HAWKESFORD'S TREACHERY--FAITHFUL DEFENDS HER MASTER-- BURNETT AND HIS TROOPERS COME TO THE RESCUE--GUNS CAPTURED--THE FOE PUT TO FLIGHT--FATE OF CAPTAIN HAWKESFORD--A LULL--BETTER NEWS--THE FORT AGAIN ATTACKED--AWFUL SUSPENSE--ENEMY TAKE TO FLIGHT--FORT EVACUATED-- THE MARCH--PURSUED--A FIERCE ENGAGEMENT--REGINALD LEFT WOUNDED ON THE BATTLE-FIELD--RELIEVING FORCE APPEARS--FAITHFUL AGAIN PROTECTS HER MASTER--DICK DISCOVERS HER--BRITISH VICTORIOUS--REGINALD RECOVERED-- RETURN TO CALCUTTA--DEATH OF FAITHFUL--VOYAGE HOME--CONCLUSION.	The colonel's bungalow, though rudely constructed, had been made as comfortable as circumstances would allow. Reginald, as may be supposed, proceeded to it at an early hour, and was welcomed by Violet in the breakfast-room. Her father had not told her of what had occurred, and Reginald was thus the first to give her the satisfactory intelligence. "I am indeed thankful, for your sake," she answered, as she took his hand; "and the recovery of the casket will encourage us to trust that we may yet be carried through all the dangers and difficulties which surround us. I have never despaired, and have placed full confidence in the love and mercy of God. Whatever he orders is for the best, I know, though I cannot tell why he has allowed so many of our unfortunate countrymen and countrywomen to perish miserably. It may be that he intends to give an important lesson to the survivors, and to remind us that our Government has not ruled this country as a Christian people ought to have done, or taken effectual means to spread his Word among the benighted inhabitants." "That idea has occurred to me more than once," said Reginald. "I have been ready enough to support and trust to the Christians, but I have done nothing to spread the gospel among them; but if I ever again have the power, I will try to do so." "We may have the power some day," exclaimed Violet. "If we cannot do so in person, we may afford support to the missionaries who are ready to venture their lives among the heathen for the sake of carrying to them the blessed gospel. I am sure that we shall be bound to do our utmost with the means which may be placed at our disposal." Neither Reginald nor Violet forgot this conversation. Day after day went by without any news of the approach of the rebels. At length many in the fort began to hope that the enemy would not appear. Some even proposed that they should abandon the fort, and, making their way to the Ganges, descend the river to the nearest post occupied by the British. To this, however, Colonel Ross was strongly opposed. From the information he received, he knew that the whole country swarmed with rebels; and these would certainly attack them in the open country, even if they were not followed by the insurgents in boats from the city. The idea, therefore, was abandoned, and every effort was made to strengthen the fortifications. Captain Hawkesford still exhibited his ill-feeling towards Reginald. Whether or not he knew anything of the recovery of the casket, it was impossible to say; but, unabashed by Violet's indifference, if not disgust, he continued to pay her attention whenever he got an opportunity, as if he still entertained some hope of displacing Reginald in her affections. She could not feel otherwise than offended; but she knew it was important, at that time, not to create any ill-feeling among the few officers who surrounded her father, and she therefore did not complain to him, as she might otherwise have done. At length, one day one of the scouts, who had gone out in disguise in the direction of the city, came hurrying in with the intelligence that a large force was marching northward, probably with the intention of attacking the fort. They might be expected to appear before noon on the following day. The loyal natives, who had by this time been organised and well drilled, were therefore summoned in, with their wives and children, as were also all the people whose dwellings were situated in exposed situations, and were likely to be destroyed by the enemy. An ample supply of provisions had been stored for such an emergency, so that there was no fear of starvation. The scarcity of ammunition was their chief cause of anxiety, and orders were issued not to throw a shot away. The day passed away without the appearance of the enemy. At night, however, every one was on the alert, as it was thought probable that the rebels, unaware that their approach was known, might attempt to surprise them. Dawn broke, and still all was quiet; but as the sun rose, an officer, who had climbed to a lookout station on a neighbouring height, with his field-glass observed the glittering weapons of a large body in the far distance. He hurried down with the intelligence; and in a short time the advancing host, composed of a body of cavalry, several pieces of artillery, and a large number of foot, could be seen from the fort itself. It was evident that the enemy were aware of the strength of the place, but expected quickly to capture it with this overwhelming force. The garrison, however, undaunted, prepared for its defence. The ladies were placed in the rear of the fort, situated behind some rocks, where they would be protected from the shot. The horses were also picketed in a situation as much as possible out of harm's way. The enemy, trusting to their numbers, came on boldly, halting at a little distance to reform their ranks, and immediately opened a hot fire on the fort. The garrison replied to it with spirit, the two guns being worked by the artillerymen with great rapidity. It appeared as if the enemy were about to take the place by storm, when the hot reception they met with induced them to abandon their design; and so great was the execution made by the two guns of the fort, that they at length retreated beyond their range, and firing on both sides ceased. Gladly would Colonel Ross have husbanded his ammunition, but had a feeble fire been kept up at first, it would have encouraged the enemy to come on with greater determination. Several of the garrison had been killed or wounded, but none of the officers had fallen. As soon as possible, therefore, Reginald hastened to assure Violet of his own and her father's safety. On hearing that several men had been wounded, however, she and two or three other ladies entreated to be allowed to assist Dr Graham in attending to them; but he replied that as yet he could do without their assistance. He was glad, however, ere long to accept their offer, when he and his assistant-surgeon found their strength almost exhausted by the number of wounded brought to them. The following day the enemy recommenced firing as before, and again retreated towards evening. This sort of work continued for many days in succession, every day unhappily increasing the number of the killed and wounded in the garrison. Colonel Ross and Reginald happily remained unhurt, as did Major Molony and Captain Hawkesford. Several officers, however, had been more or less hurt; and two had been shot dead, as had been three European soldiers, while working the guns. The natives behaved with courage and fidelity, notwithstanding the many among them who fell. Still every day was reducing their store of ammunition; and the colonel knew that ere long, if the same fire as heretofore was kept up, it must altogether fail. The Allahapoor gunners could be seen working their guns,--tall fellows with bare shoulders and arms, and richly-ornamented turbans on their heads; wearing loose trousers, and with long tulwars hanging at their sides. Their shot, however, made but little impression on the well-constructed earthworks. Their fire was returned by the guns from the fort; while the Enfield rifles, never silent, seldom failed to bring down a foe. Several gallant sorties were made; one of the enemy's guns was spiked, and another nearly brought in, when it stuck fast in the rough ground, and had to be abandoned. Their own two guns, however, from being so constantly fired, had become almost worn out, and would no longer carry shot or ordinary canister. The contents of the canisters were therefore emptied into stockings, which were rammed home with greater ease, and fired with much effect. The enemy had come on one day even more determined than before, it seemed, to succeed, when a report louder than usual was heard. One of the two guns in the fort had burst, killing three artillerymen and wounding others. "We must get possession of their guns and ammunition instead," exclaimed Colonel Ross, on hearing of it. "I will attempt to do so," said Reginald. "Are any ready to follow me?" There was no lack of volunteers. "Stay," said the colonel; "we must consider the plan of operation most likely to succeed." Notwithstanding the presence of the enemy before the fort, the scouts were still able to make, during the dark hours of night, and sometimes even in the day, their way in with intelligence. During the discussion a faithful sowar approached, holding a small strip of paper in his hand, which he had brought carefully concealed about his person. It contained but a few words:-- "I am at hand, and know how you are situated. I purpose making a dash at the foe at sunrise on the 5th of July. Do you be prepared to cooperate; and if you have a sufficient force, make a bold sortie, and the day will be ours. Delhi is invested. Lucknow still holds out-- Burnett." The news thus unexpectedly received inspired fresh courage into the hearts of all those to whom it was thought wise to communicate it. Of course Burnett's projected attack and the sortie were kept profoundly secret. The news that his friend was alive and well, and still at the head of a faithful band, afforded unmitigated joy and satisfaction to Reginald, giving him fresh hope. He longed to communicate the welcome information to Nuna and Violet; but no time could be spared, and he could only send a line on a slip of paper to bid them be of good cheer, and to tell them that Burnett was safe. A brief time only was required to settle what was best to be done. Reginald undertook to lead the whole force of cavalry, which was to make a circuit from the rear of the fort, so that they might be concealed till they were ready to dash at the guns. A party of infantry were at the same time to be prepared to rush forward to spike some of the guns, and to drag the others within the lines. A dozen Europeans, with two of their officers, were to lead the party of infantry, composed of the most determined and best disciplined natives. These were to follow when the cavalry, having accomplished their first task,--united, as they hoped would be the case, with Burnett's force,--were to cover the foot as they returned to the fort with the captured guns, or pursue the enemy should they be put to flight. The undertaking was a hazardous one, considering the large force to be attacked; but all knew that daring deeds generally succeed when timid proceedings fail. Reginald hurried off with his gallant companions, to prepare their horses for the meditated sortie. On passing the women's quarters on his way to the rear of the fort, as it wanted but a short time to sunrise, he saw Violet, with Nuna and Mrs Molony, who had already risen and were on their way to the hospital huts, and he could not resist stopping for one moment to bid her and his young sister farewell,--it might be for ever. Should he and his brave followers perish, what a terrible fate might be theirs! He instantly, however, banished the thought. "Heaven will preserve us, dear ones," he said, as he embraced his sister and Violet. "I have good news for all of us. He on whose account your heart has long been cast down has escaped all dangers, and is near at hand, and I hope ere long to see him and to return with him in triumph to the fort. The cowardly rebels will not dare to face us. When we attack them in the open ground, they will fly like chaff before the wind. Though Burnett does not tell us the amount of the force with him, I trust that it will be sufficient to enable us to follow up our victory and prevent the enemy from rallying." A few more words only were spoken, and Reginald hurried on to the spot where the horses were picketed. The men were busily engaged in saddling their steeds; which done, every one carefully examined his arms, and felt that his sabre was loose in its scabbard. Among the officers who had volunteered to accompany him, Reginald was surprised to find Captain Hawkesford. "I was not aware that you were to accompany us," Reginald could not help observing. "I have the colonel's leave; and I wish to have an opportunity this morning of proving which of us is the best swordsman," answered Captain Hawkesford in a peculiar tone. "We have long been rivals, and I intend to settle the matter one way or another before the close of day," he muttered. "I have confidence in your gallantry, and believe you to be a good swordsman," answered Reginald, not hearing his latter remark. In a few minutes all were ready; and the order to march being given, each man sprang into his saddle and fixed himself firmly in his seat. In perfect silence the gallant troop of horse rode out of the fort, led by Reginald; while the infantry, who were destined to attack the guns, stood ready for the signal he was to give,--a wave of his sabre,--when they were to jump from the entrenchments and rush onward to attack the foe. The enemy's guns had already been fired, and were replied to as usual by the fort, though many well knew that but a few rounds of ammunition remained. Many an anxious eye watched the progress of the cavalry. They halted behind the last point by which they were concealed from the enemy. From this Reginald could glance over the plain. He waited till, a ruddy glow appearing in the east, the upper limb of the sun was seen slowly ascending above the horizon. Passing the word to the rear, he struck his spurs into his horse's flanks. Then turning his face to the fort, he waved his bright scimitar in the air and dashed forward, his followers pressing close behind him,--while, at the signal, the infantry marched from the fort in compact order. Dashing rapidly forward for a few seconds, they halted to deliver their fire at the gunners, who were already dispirited by the appearance of Reginald's horsemen close upon them. He did not fail, as he urged forward his steed, to cast a look over the plain--where, to his intense satisfaction, he saw a body of cavalry galloping out from behind a wood, with an officer at their head, whom he at once recognised as Burnett. On they came, fleet as the wind, towards the foe. Shouting to his men that reinforcements were at hand, Reginald dashed forward. Numbers of the native artillerymen were cut down at their guns, others fled towards the infantry, who were hastening to their rescue. So unexpected had been the sortie, that the enemy were completely taken by surprise; the arms of the infantry being piled and the horses of the cavalry picketed, while the men were at some distance from them. The time occupied in the attack on the guns enabled them to mount; by which time Reginald and Burnett's troops having united, they found a strong force drawn up to encounter them. "We must go at them, notwithstanding their numbers," cried Burnett; and he and Reginald leading, and leaving the guns to be carried into the fort by the infantry, they and their horsemen galloped forward to encounter the rebel cavalry, who, having made a circuit, were endeavouring to recapture the guns. The party who had been first in the saddle succeeded in cutting down some brave fellows who were spiking the guns, when they were met by Reginald and Burnett's horse. Fierce was the conflict; sabres were clashing, the men on both sides shrieking like demons. It seemed as if neither party would give way. Still by slow degrees the rebel horsemen were driven back. Reginald had seen Captain Hawkesford fiercely engaged with a native officer, as he himself dashed on to attack another whom he had just cut down, when he heard a loud cry behind him: turning his head, he caught sight of his rival with his sword uplifted, to all appearance about to cut him down. To defend himself was impossible, as another foe was advancing towards him. The next moment he saw Faithful--who, unknown to him, had been following at his heels--spring at Captain Hawkesford's throat. It was but a glance, for the next minute he was compelled to engage in mortal combat with a powerful chief whom he well knew, and who was noted as being one of the best swordsmen in the country. In the heat of the fight he had got somewhat separated from his men, and he had to depend on his own skill and courage. Neither failed him; and for several seconds he kept his enemy at bay. Still, an imperfect guard would prove fatal; when again Faithful came to his assistance, and springing on the chief dragged him to the ground. The fall of one of their principal leaders disheartened those who witnessed it; and hard pressed by Burnett's well-disciplined horsemen, the whole of the rebel cavalry at length wheeled round and galloped off, hotly pursued by the former. It would have been prudent had Burnett and Reginald not pursued the flying enemy so far, for in the meantime the infantry, rallying, made a furious attack on the party which had captured their guns; and, although repulsed, they succeeded in carrying off two of them, besides those which had been spiked. Their ammunition and tumbrils were, however, captured by the British. At length Burnett and Reginald, desisting from the pursuit, turned their horses' heads towards the fort, when, succeeding in getting between it and the foe, they captured another gun. The infantry, though rapidly retreating, presented too formidable a front to allow them the hope of successfully breaking through their ranks and putting them completely to the rout; they therefore contented themselves by hovering round the retreating force, and keeping them in check till the guns and ammunition were secure within the fort. Some time had been occupied by the events which have been described, and the pursuit had carried Reginald and Burnett to a considerable distance from the fort. Several of their men had fallen, and others had been so badly wounded as to be scarcely able to sit their horses. The leaders were therefore compelled to restrain their eagerness, to assure those who, they knew, were anxiously waiting for them of their safety; and they returned at a slow pace, having to keep watch on the movements of the enemy, in case, regaining their courage, they might again advance to the attack. The beaten foe, however, showed no inclination to do this, and were seen continuing their retreat to Allahapoor. Probably the news of the successes already achieved by the British forces had reached them, and they had by this time abandoned the high hopes they had entertained of driving the Feringhees from the country. As Reginald and Burnett arrived at the spot where the hardest fighting had taken place, they were grieved to see that so many of their party had fallen. Reginald dismounted from his horse, for the purpose of ascertaining whether any of those who lay scattered about on the field still breathed. At that moment Faithful came trotting up to him, and looked up in his face, as if to receive his approval of her conduct during the day. Not till then did he recollect the momentary glimpse he had obtained of Captain Hawkesford's uplifted sword and the tigress flying at his throat. Could the unhappy man, influenced by disappointment and rage, have really intended to take his life? If so, he had paid dearly. Advancing a few steps, Reginald caught sight of his body. Near it lay his head, severed by a sharp tulwar. Several other bodies lay about treated in the same manner, so that it was impossible to say whether the tigress had killed him. Probably some of the enemy, who had passed backwards and forwards over the spot, had committed the act of barbarity. Of all those who had fallen, none were found alive. Again mounting, Reginald rejoined Burnett, who had been similarly engaged, and together they rode back to the fort. It is scarcely necessary to describe the joyful welcome they met with. Poor Nuna quickly recovered her spirits; and their success gave new life to all in the fort. A strong party of natives was sent out to bury the dead, and foes as well as friends were placed in one common grave. The garrison had still many weeks of anxiety to endure. The only roads by which they could hope to reach either of the English provinces were blocked up by the enemy; who also occupied numerous posts on the Ganges, which would effectually prevent them from descending that river. Sometimes they were without information for many days together. Then news would come of fresh disasters; the truthfulness of which, however, they had reason to doubt. Soon a too authentic account of the frightful massacre at Cawnpore, like all other bad news, which flies apace, reached them. Then came the succour of Lucknow by Sir Henry Havelock and Sir James Outram. Still week after week went by, and they remained shut up in the fort. Some time in November they heard of the storming of Delhi, and the rescue of the women and children from Lucknow. Notwithstanding these successes of the British, the rebels still continued in arms. Again the fort was besieged; the enemy being instigated, it was understood, by one of the chiefs at Allahapoor, whose object was to destroy the young rajah; but the garrison were as ready as before to defend it stoutly, notwithstanding the threats of the enemy to put them all to the sword should they offer any resistance. With so many mouths to feed, provisions were, however, growing scarce, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that their stores could be replenished. The small quantity of gunpowder captured from the foe would enable them to hold out for some time yet; but should the enemy persevere, they would be reduced to the greatest straits, and be compelled either to cut their way through the enemy or capitulate--which last alternative was not for a moment to be entertained. News of varying import reached them, brought in by the scouts. One thing was certain, that although great success had been achieved by the British, the enemy still held together in large numbers. Consequently, encumbered as they would be with sick and wounded, it would be hazardous in the extreme were they to attempt to make their way through the country towards any of the cities already in the power of the English. Another consideration weighed greatly with Reginald: he would not desert the villagers who had remained so faithful to him,--knowing as he did, that the rebels of Allahapoor would certainly wreak vengeance on their heads. For several days the garrison had enjoyed perfect tranquillity. The colonel kept up the spirits of all the party by assuring them that relief would come, and urging them to bear patiently the hardships they were now called on to endure. Violet showed herself a true heroine, by ever wearing a cheerful countenance, by her constant attention to the sick and wounded, and by trying to keep up the spirits of the other ladies. Nuna imitated her example. Their trials, however, were not over. Intelligence sufficient to alarm the most stout-hearted came in: that a force of upwards of twenty thousand men was marching on Allahapoor, with the intention of occupying that city, and that they threatened to take the fort and destroy its garrison before doing so. Colonel Ross did not conceal the information he had received. "We must hold out, as before, as long as our ammunition lasts; and that failing, we must place the ladies and wounded in our midst, and cut our way through the foe." All swore to fight as long as they had arms to wield their swords. Two days passed away, when about noon, as the hot air quivered over the plain, the blue and red uniforms of the enemy's cavalry appeared in sight. They approached, a vast horde thronging up in the distance. Column after column of infantry appeared following the cavalry, with numerous pieces of artillery. The rebels were evidently intent on the utter destruction of the fort. The lesson given by the mutineers at Delhi, Cawnpore, and many other places, warned the English and their allies against any attempt at negotiation. As the fort had before resisted with so small a garrison as it then possessed, now, when they had several pieces of artillery and were reinforced with Burnett's horse, they had good reason to hope that they should be able to resist the fiercest attack the mutineers were likely to make. At length came the awful question, Will the powder hold out? Colonel Ross had calculated the hours it would do so. It would encourage the enemy were he not to return their fire with vigour, and dishearten the natives of his own party should they discover the short time they would have the means of resisting their sanguinary foes. The enemy's guns at length drawing near, opened fire, without any attempt at throwing up breastworks, their only shelter being such as the ground afforded. Had they not been supported by so large a body of cavalry and foot, Burnett declared that nothing would have been easier than to capture them; as it was, he waited for an opportunity which he thought might occur. Most of the shot, as before, struck the earthworks; for the Enfield rifles prevented the guns from being brought near enough to do much damage. The rear of the fort, it must be remembered, was protected by rugged heights, to the summit of which no native engineers were capable of carrying up even the smallest guns; indeed, they were inaccessible to the most nimble mountaineers. Thus there were only two sides of the fort to be protected; the valley which ran down on the left being so completely commanded by the fort, that a hostile party attempting to enter it would have been instantly destroyed. Night on this occasion brought no cessation of firing, and it soon became apparent that the enemy intended to storm the fort. Two guns were moved so as to command the valley, up which, during the darkness of night, they might possibly attempt to steal. Every man was at his post. After the firing had continued for some time it suddenly ceased. Many thought the enemy were retiring; but it was like the lull before the storm. A few seconds only had passed away, when three dark columns were discerned by the garrison creeping up towards them. On they came in overwhelming numbers, the artillerymen in the plain firing over their heads, while the British guns began blazing away with canister, sending destruction amid their ranks. Column after column had advanced, but were driven back in confusion; not a man ever reached the lines. Sometimes the cavalry galloped up, but they were quickly forced to retire. All night long the battle raged, but the dauntless courage of Colonel Ross and his band of heroes prevailed, and when morning dawned the enemy were seen retiring with their guns. Had they gone altogether, or would they return? was the question. It was too probable that, instigated by the mutineers in Allahapoor, they would renew the attack. Two more days passed by, allowing the garrison to repair their fortifications. Once more, as day was declining, the enemy was seen approaching; with the intention, probably, of making an assault during the night. Still hour after hour went by; every man remained at his post, and yet no enemy came near them. The campfires, however, burning in the distance, showed that they were still there; and as morning approached, Colonel Ross, who was ever on his guard, warned the officers to be as watchful as at first, and ready at any moment to repel an attack. He was right. It was still dark when the heads of several columns were seen emerging from the gloom, and already close upon the fort. On came the rebels, as soon as they were aware that they must be seen, giving utterance to the most savage shouts and cries. At the same moment they opened a heavy fire. They were met, as before, with showers of grape and well-directed volleys of musketry, which quickly drove back those who had not fallen,--with the exception of a party of desperate fanatics, who attempted to force their way over the entrenchments. Some succeeded and were cut down, others were shot in the ditch, and not one escaped. The garrison had scarcely breathing time before another similar attack was made, which was repulsed in the same way. "How much longer can we stand out?" asked Reginald of Colonel Ross. "Another attack like the last will exhaust the whole of our powder, when our only resource will be to abandon the fort--for to hold it will then be impossible," was the answer. The day passed by. Anxiously was the arrival of the scouts who came over the hills looked for with the expected intelligence of the movements of the British. Flying columns of the avenging army were sweeping the enemy before them; but they were, it was supposed, yet a long way off. Still the colonel endeavoured to keep up the courage of those he commanded; and the officers, following his example, did their utmost to encourage the men to prepare for another assault. The strictest watch was kept, for it was thought that should the enemy again venture to attack the fort, it would be by night. The garrison were not mistaken. Two days more had passed, when again the columns were espied by the watchful sentinels. The troops flew to their arms, the artillerymen to their guns. Reginald and Burnett, when relieved from their duty in the evening, had snatched a few minutes from the rest they so much required to pay a visit to Violet and Nuna. They talked hopefully of the future, and both expressed a wish, as soon as the rebellion was quelled, to leave India and reside in England. "Oh, that must be a happy country," cried Nuna, "where there are no wars or disputes, where the rich do not oppress the poor, and the latter are happy and contented, and everybody lives in friendship with each other!" Burnett smiled. "I am afraid only a part of your picture is true. England has numberless advantages over this country, and I hope ere long to take you there; but I am sorry to say that the English people quarrel and dispute with each other as much as the natives of other lands, though they do not fly to arms on all occasions. You must not expect to find a paradise in England, or in any other part of the world." Unwillingly, the two friends had at length to bid the ladies goodnight and return to their posts at the batteries. Just as they reached them, the signal was made that the enemy was approaching, and the silence which had hitherto reigned in the fort was suddenly broken by the loud report of the guns as they sent forth their doses of canister, scattering death amid the advancing columns. The musketry opened at the same time; and now the rebels, finding that they were again disappointed in their expectation of surprising the fort, began firing away in return. As gun after gun was discharged, Colonel Ross knew that their slender store of powder was becoming more nearly exhausted. It might hold out till the enemy took to flight; but they might persevere longer than usual--and if so, finding that the guns no longer thundered forth, they would in all probability storm the fort. He at length sent for Burnett and Reginald. "My friends," he said, speaking quite calmly, "if in half an hour more the enemy are not beaten, we must fight our way out through their midst, unless we can hope to defend our position with our swords and bayonets." Burnett proposed making a sortie with his cavalry, in the hope of creating a panic by the suddenness of his attack. But from this Colonel Ross dissuaded him. He could scarcely hope to produce any material effect, and would only weaken his strength by the loss of several of his men. Rapidly that half-hour went by; when, just as it was found that the last charge of powder had been expended, the cry arose, "They run! They run!" On this Burnett ordered his bugler to sound the call "to horse;" and in less than two minutes every man of his troop was mounted, and, following their leader, had dashed out in pursuit of the retreating foe. Immediately he had gone, Colonel Ross ordered every animal in the camp to be prepared for carrying the sick and wounded. Horses had been kept for the use of the ladies,--who, having been warned of the possible emergency, were quickly ready. Not a word of alarm or anxiety was expressed. The whole force was quickly drawn up in close column: Reginald's cavalry, with the ladies in the centre, leading; the trained villagers following, guarding the wounded; the British soldiers and Reginald's guards on either flank; while the other native troops brought up the rear. The instant the scouts returned with the satisfactory report that they had seen the enemy moving off, the order was given to advance, and the little army, after spiking all the guns in the fort, commenced their perilous march. Silently they moved, to avoid being discovered by any of the enemy's scouts, or the report of their march being carried to the rebels by the inhabitants of the villages near which they might pass. Happily the enemy had made their attack early in the night, and the retreating party had thus an advantage of several hours, which would enable them to get to a considerable distance before they were likely to be discovered. For the remainder of the night, therefore, they moved on; and not till the sun had already risen was a halt called, that they might take that rest which was absolutely necessary to enable them to continue their flight. The scouts sent out now reported that no enemy was near, and they were thus able to remain encamped for several hours; after which, greatly refreshed, they again moved on. Colonel Ross was sensible that his force could not successfully engage with any large body, but he hoped that, by avoiding all places where any rebels were likely to be collected, and by advancing chiefly at night, to prevent any information of his movements from reaching the enemy. Violet, who was a good horsewoman, bore the fatigue of the march well, and even Nuna and the other ladies kept up their spirits and did not complain. The poor wounded men were the greatest sufferers; though they preferred the shaking to which they were exposed, to being left behind to the tender mercies of the natives. Before another night's march had been accomplished, a sowar who had been sent out as a scout overtook them with the intelligence that the enemy had heard of their retreat, and were following with a large force, threatening their complete destruction. Colonel Ross, on hearing this, resolved--as there was no place at hand into which they could throw themselves and defend it against the enemy--to continue the march, for the purpose of keeping ahead of their pursuers as much as possible, and only to halt and fight where a strong position could be taken up with some hope of offering an effectual resistance. On they marched; but in vain did the colonel look out for ground of the kind he desired. Their scouts came hurrying in from the rear with the announcement that the enemy were close upon them. There could be little doubt that the rebels, burning with revenge at the defeats they had suffered, would immediately commence an attack. The country was level for miles on every side; the colonel was therefore glad to find a spot where he could halt, with a deep and broad stream on one side, and a thick jungle in the rear, which neither the enemy's infantry nor artillery could penetrate. He accordingly halted here: the infantry drawn up in the centre, and the cavalry on either flank, ready to charge the guns of the enemy, should they have brought any with them. In silence the little force waited the expected attack. The rebels at length appeared. Colonel Ross ordered the infantry to fire as they came within range; and then, at a preconcerted signal, Reginald and Burnett, leading on their troopers, desperately charged the rebel forces. Many on both sides went down, but the rebels, relying on their numbers, and knowing the weakness of the force opposed to them, refused to give way. The moon afforded sufficient light to enable the combatants to continue the fight, and Reginald could not help fearing that, after all the efforts of his party, they might be defeated. Again and again he led his men to the charge--when the sound of English bugles reached his ears. Just at that moment a bullet struck him and he fell to the ground, his steed galloping off unperceived by his followers. He lay amid a heap of slain, unable to move, while his horsemen followed up the charge. The fight continued raging around him for some time. Then he heard the heavy tramp of cavalry, and the rattling sound of artillery, followed closely by the roar of the guns as they opened fire. Lifting up his head, he saw a dark red line, with bayonets glittering in the moonlight, emerging from behind the wood. The enemy also saw them, and poured in on them as they approached a round of musketry; but not a moment did they stop to receive the charge made by the British regiment, which, advancing at the double, drove them like chaff before the wind. Reginald saw no more; his head sank back, and he lay like the clods of the earth around him. The British troops had had a hard day's march, for, receiving intelligence of the near vicinity of a large rebel force, they had pushed on to attack them before they could escape. The remainder of the English column coming up, tents were pitched, while the cavalry pursued the flying foe, cutting down all they overtook, no quarter being asked or offered. Dawn was breaking, when a sentinel at his post caught sight, at some distance, of a large animal lying on the ground, which after some little scrutiny he discovered to be a tiger. "The horrid brute is feeding on the dead," he exclaimed. "If it was not against orders to fire, I'd quickly teach it better manners." Just then a man, who, from his nautical appearance, might have been called a "horse-marine," rode up on a small country pony. He had a long sabre by his side, a haversack on his back, and a brace of pistols in his belt; and while huge boots encased his legs, he wore a seaman's broad-brimmed hat and loose jacket,--making him look altogether not a little peculiar. "What's that you say, mate?" he asked. The sentry pointed to the animal he had seen. "Though I mayn't fire, do you put a bullet though that brute's head." "That's more than I'll do," answered the seaman, who was no other than our friend Dick Thuddichum. "That animal has more sense than many a human being; and it's my belief that my honoured master, whom she's followed faithfully for many a day, and whose life she has saved more than once, is not far off. Just you hold my horse, while I go ahead and have a look round. If I'm right, I'll shout to some one to come and help me." Saying this, Dick tumbled off his steed, and hastily stalked over the ground, carefully avoiding the corpses with which it was strewed. He was right Faithful, in spite of his strange costume, uttered a cry of welcome, and sprang forward to meet him. There, as he expected, lay his beloved master. "O Master Reginald! O my lord, do speak to me, and tell me if you are alive!" exclaimed Dick, as he threw himself on the ground by Reginald's side. "Yes, yes; he's still got life in him!" he cried out; and shouting to the sentinel to send help, he lifted his master in his arms and bore him towards the tents. Reginald was speedily carried into one of the nearest, set aside as an hospital, where his wound was examined by a surgeon,--Dick standing anxiously by to hear his opinion. "It's pretty severe, but is not likely to prove fatal," said the surgeon. "He has fainted from loss of blood, but a stimulant will soon restore him." "Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Dick. "I should have wellnigh died, and so, to my mind, would Faithful, and another person I know of, if he'd been killed. But do your best to bring him about, sir, and I will bless you all the days of my life." Reginald, as the doctor had hoped, soon recovered sufficiently to speak. He warmly greeted Dick, and expressed his delight at seeing him--having greatly feared that he had been murdered by the rebels. He then immediately ordered a messenger to go to Colonel Ross and inform him and Miss Ross of his safety. And before long Burnett, whose horsemen were bivouacked not far off, made his appearance. Happy indeed was the meeting between the two friends. A palanquin was quickly procured for Reginald's conveyance, as his wound was not so severe as to prevent his being moved. It was arranged that he, with the ladies of Colonel Ross's party, should be escorted to the banks of the Ganges, from whence they could proceed down the river to Calcutta. Dick having had enough of campaigning, begged that he might accompany his master, and look after Faithful, who was not likely to obey any one else. Reginald, with much regret, bade farewell to his faithful Indian friends, whom he strongly recommended to the authorities for the fidelity they had shown to the English; but he intended to reward them still further as soon as he had the power. Colonel Ross, whose health was giving way, owing to the anxiety he had so long endured, accompanied his daughter and Nuna to Calcutta, where they remained till the mutiny was effectually quelled, and Burnett was able to join them. The two marriages shortly afterwards took place, and the young couple at once carried out their intention of leaving for England. Of course Dick Thuddichum embarked with them, with Faithful in charge. Violet, before leaving Calcutta, begged to have a portrait of the noble creature which had so often saved her husband's life, and persuaded Reginald to have his own likeness taken at the same time in the nautical costume which he wore on being first introduced to her; he himself confessing that he infinitely preferred it to the magnificent dresses he had been compelled to wear during his short reign in Allahapoor. That city had been quickly captured by the English, and, much to Reginald's satisfaction, had become, with its surrounding territory, an integral part of British India. It is sad to have to relate that poor Faithful never reached the free shores of Old England. Whether it was, as Dick Thuddichum thought, that the sea-air did not agree with her constitution, or that she was deprived of her usual allowance of half a sheep a day, she sickened, and gradually grew worse and worse; her last fond gaze being at the face of her beloved master. She attempted to lick his hand, but the effort was vain. Her head sank on the deck--the tigress was dead. Her skin was preserved; and Faithful, with an almost lifelike look, ornaments the entrance hall in Hamerton Castle. Reginald had no difficulty, with the documents he had recovered, in obtaining possession of his hereditary title and estates. While attending to his English tenantry he did not forget his faithful Indian friends, or the benighted inhabitants of that country, and has ever been among the most zealous and munificent supporters of those true soldiers of Christ who go forth to spread the Gospel of Peace in the dark places of the world. THE END.	{ "id": "21485" }
1	None	A traveller was making his way through the Black Forest in Germany. A pack was on his back, of a size which required a stout man to carry it, and a thick staff was in his hand. He had got out of his path by attempting to make a short cut, and in so doing had lost his way, and had been since wandering he knew not where. Yet he was stout of heart, as of limb, and a night spent in the depths of the forest would have concerned him but little had he not set a value upon time. "I have lost so much in my days of ignorance and folly," he kept saying, "that I must make up by vigilance what has been thus misspent. I wish that I had known better. However, I am now ready to spend all, and be spent in the work of the Good Master I serve." The ground was uneven, his load heavy, and the weather warm. Still he trudged bravely on, consoling himself by giving forth, in rich full tones, a hymn of Hans Sachs of Nuremburg, the favourite poet of Protestant Germany in those days. Thus he went on climbing up the steep side of the hill, out of which dark rocks and tall trees protruded in great confusion. At last he got into what looked like a path. "All right now," he said to himself; "this must lead somewhere, and I have still an hour of daylight to find my way out of the forest. When I get to the top of this hill I shall probably be better able to judge what direction to take." He trudged on as before, now and then stopping to take breath, and then once more going on bravely. At length the sound of a woodman's axe caught his ear. "All right," said he. "I should not have allowed my heart to doubt about the matter. The Good One who has protected me hitherto will still continue to be my Guide and Friend." He stopped to listen from which direction the sounds came. The loud crash of a falling tree enabled him better to judge, and by the light of the sinking sun, which found its way through the branches of the tall trees, he made directly towards the spot. He soon caught sight of an old man, stripped to his shirt and trousers, who with his gleaming axe was hewing the branches of the tree he had just felled. Not far off stood a young boy with a couple of donkeys, which he was beginning to load with fagots, near a pile of which they stood. "Friend woodman," said the traveller, as he got up to him, and the old man stood for a moment leaning on his axe, with an inquiring glance in his eye. "Friend woodman, I have lost my way; can you help me to find it?" "Not to-night, friend traveller," answered the woodman. "If I was to attempt to put you on your way, you would lose it again in five minutes. This is no easy country for a man ignorant of it to pass through without a guide, and neither I nor little Karl there have time just now to accompany you. But you look like an honest man, and if you will come with me to my cottage, I will help you as far as I can to-morrow morning." "Thank you," said the traveller. "I accept your offer." "Well then, I have just made my last stroke," said the old man, lifting up his axe. "We will load our asses and be off. We have some way to go, as I live farther up the valley of Gutech, and even I prefer daylight to darkness for travelling these wild paths. If you had not found me I cannot say when you would have got out of the forest." Without further waste of words, the old man and young Karl set to work to load the asses, strapping on the huge fagots with thongs of leather, while the patient animals, putting out their fore-legs, quietly endured all the tugs and pulls to which they were subjected. "That pack of yours seems heavy, friend traveller," said the old man, glancing at his companion; "let me carry it for you." "No, no! Thanks to you," answered the traveller. "I am strong and hearty. I would not put that on your shoulders which I feel burdensome to my own." "Then let us put it on the back of one of the asses," said the woodcutter; "it will make but little difference to our long-eared friend." "A merciful man is merciful to his beast," said the traveller. "The poor brutes seem already somewhat overloaded, and I should be unwilling to add to their pain for the sake of relieving myself." "Then let Karl, there, carry it; he is sturdy, and can bear it some little way, at all events," said the old man. "I would not place on young shoulders what I find tire a well-knit pair," said the traveller, glancing at young Karl. "But perhaps he may like to get some of the contents of my pack inside his head," he added. "Down his mouth, I suppose you mean," said the old man, laughing. "Is it food or liquor you carry in your pack?" "No, indeed, friend," answered the traveller. "Yet it is food, of a sort food for the mind, and better still, food for the soul. Is your soul ever hungry, friend?" "I know not what you mean," answered the old man. "I have a soul, I know, for the priest tells me so; and so have my relatives who have gone before me, as I know to my cost; for they make me pay pretty roundly to get their souls out of purgatory. I hope Karl there will in his turn pay for mine when I die." "Ah, friend, yes, I see how it is," said the traveller. "Your soul wants a different sort of nourishment from what it ever has had. I have great hopes that the contents of my pack will afford it that nourishment." The traveller was walking on all this time with the old man and Karl, behind the asses. Karl kept looking up in the former's face with an inquiring glance, the expression of his countenance varying as the traveller continued his remarks. "I will not keep you in suspense any longer," said the traveller. "My pack contains copies of that most precious book which has lately been translated into our mother tongue by Dr Martin Luther, and from which alone we have any authority for the Christian faith we profess. I have besides several works by the same learned author, as also works by other writers." "I wish that I could read them," said the old man, with a sigh; "but if I had the power I have not the time, and my eyes are somewhat dim by lamplight. Karl there was taught to read last winter by a young man who was stopping at my cottage, and whom I took in, having found him with a broken leg in the forest." "Oh, grandfather, why he taught you also to read almost as well as I do!" said Karl. "All you have been wishing for has been a book in big print, and perhaps if the merchant has one he will sell it to you." "We will examine the contents of my pack when we get to your cottage, my friend, and I daresay something will be found to suit you," observed the traveller. "If you have made a beginning, you will soon be able to read these books, and I am sure when once you have begun you will be eager to go on."	{ "id": "21486" }
2	None	The gloom of evening was settling down over the wild scene of mountain, forest, rock, and stream, when the traveller reached the woodman's hut. "You are welcome, friend, under the roof of Nicholas Moretz," said the old man, as he ushered his guest into his cottage. Karl mean time unloading the asses, placed the fagots on a pile raised on one side of the hut. "Here you can rest for the night, and to-morrow morning, when we proceed into the town to dispose of our fagots, you can accompany us without risk of losing your way," the woodcutter observed, pushing open the door. As he did so, a young girl ran out to meet him, and throwing her arms round his neck, received a kiss on her fair brow. She drew back with a bashful look when she saw the stranger. "Sweet one, you must get another bowl and platter for our guest," said the old man. "As he has travelled far with a heavy load on his back, he will do justice to your cookery, Mistress Meta. She and the boy, my grandson," he added, turning to the traveller, "are my joy and comfort in life, now that my poor daughter has been taken from me." The traveller unstrapped his heavy pack from his shoulders, and placed it on a bench by the side of the wall; after which Meta brought him a bowl of fresh water and a towel, that he might wash his hands and face, which they not a little required. While he was performing this operation she placed the supper which she had prepared upon the table, which, if somewhat coarse, was abundant. By this time Karl came in, and the whole party took their seats on stools round the table. "Let us bless God for the good things He bestows on us, and above all for the spiritual blessings He has so mercifully prepared for us," said the traveller. "I suppose you are a priest," said Moretz, when the stranger had concluded. "I thank you for the prayer you have offered up for us." "No, my friend, I am no priest," answered the traveller. "My name is Gottlieb Spena. I am a humble man with a small amount of learning; but I am able to read God's blessed word, and that is my delight every day I live. My wish is to serve Him, and I feel sure I can best do so by carrying this pack of books about the country, and disposing of them to those who desire to buy." "This is a new thing, surely," observed Moretz. "I should like after supper to see some of these wonderful books you speak of, and to hear you read from the one you call `God's word;' and if I find the price is not too great, perhaps I may purchase one for Meta and Karl." The young girl's eyes sparkled as her grandfather spoke. "Oh, I should like to have that book!" she exclaimed. "I have heard of it, though I knew not that it was to be sold, or that people were allowed to read it. I thought it was only for the priests to read." "Blessed be God, for us unlearned ones who cannot understand the language in which it is written, it has been translated into our native tongue; and God has sent it as His message of love to all human beings, young and old, rich and poor. It is so easy, that he who runs may read. The youngest child may understand the message it gives, while it is equally suited to the wisest philosopher, and to the most powerful king on his throne." The young people hurried through their suppers while their guest was speaking, so eager were they to see the package opened. In those days thousands and tens of thousands of people in so-called Christian lands had never seen a Bible, though the translation made by Dr Martin Luther was being spread in every direction throughout the length and breadth of Germany by men like Gottlieb Spena, who carried packs filled with the sacred volume on their shoulders. They did the same afterwards in France, where the name of colporteurs [see Note] was in consequence given to them. Meta waited anxiously till her grandfather and their guest had finished their suppers, and then as rapidly as possible cleared away the bowls and platters which they had used. The book-hawker with a smile observed her anxiety, and placing his pack on the table, opened it, and exhibited to the admiring eyes of the spectators a number of volumes. "This," he said, taking out one, "is the Old Testament, or God's first message to man; and this is the New Testament, His last message, in which He shows Himself to us as a God of love, mercy, and pity, though by no means less a God of justice than He does in the Old Testament. But here He shows us clearly how His justice can be amply satisfied, without the sinner being punished as he deserves; how our sins may be blotted out by the One great Sacrifice offered up. Do you understand me, my friends? The sacrifice has been offered up, the debt has been paid, the obedience has been fulfilled by Jesus Christ, who came on earth and took upon Himself the body and nature of man, sin excepted. He was obedient in all things--first by God's wish coming on earth, and then dutiful and loving to His parents, merciful and forgiving to those who persecuted Him, ever going about and healing their infirmities, and teaching them the way of salvation. The good Saviour allowed Himself to be hung upon the cross; His hands and feet and sides were pierced; His blood was poured out for us,--ay, for us,--for you and me,--for the vilest of sinners. All this was done by the Just One for the unjust. God tells us to believe in Jesus, and that through believing we are saved,--in other words, that we should take hold of it by faith, and thus accomplish what that loving God, through the Holy Spirit, said: `The just shall live by faith.'" The young people drew in their breath, and gazed steadfastly at the speaker. To hear of sin and the cross was not new to them, for they had been at churches sometimes at holy days; but it was all a mummery and spectacle, with which the priests alone seemed to have to do. The truths now uttered were assuredly gaining some entrance into their minds. "I do not understand quite what you say, friend Spena," said the old man; "but surely God does not intend to give us the blessings of heaven without our doing anything to merit it? He intends us to labour, and toil, and pay the priests, and perform penances, and go to mass, and make confession of our sins to the priests, before He could think of letting us into that blessed place." "I once thought as you do," answered the book-hawker. "When I read God's word, I learned to think very differently." As he spoke he opened the Testament. "Listen. The Holy Spirit says through the book, `God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Here He says nothing about penances, or doing anything of that sort. Listen again: A ruler of the Jews, a learned man, paid a visit once to Jesus, to ask Him about the way of salvation, and His answer was, `Ye must be born again.' He does not say you must do anything, or you must try to mend your ways, or you must alter your mode of living, you must go to confession, or pay for masses, or anything of that sort. The ruler could not at first at all understand the answer. Our blessed Lord then explained it in these words: `As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.' Now in the Old Testament we read of a circumstance which happened when the Israelites were travelling through the desert, on their way out of the bondage of Egypt to the land of promise. They were there bitten by fiery serpents, whose bite caused certain death. They felt themselves dying, and cried to be saved. God told Moses to make a brazen serpent, and to raise it up in the midst of the camp, and directed him to inform the people that all those bitten by the serpent who looked up at the serpent should be saved. Every one of them, without exception, who did thus look, was cured. You see, my friend, by putting the two accounts together, we see clearly what our Lord means,-- not that we are to do anything in a way of obtaining merit, but simply look to Him who hung on the cross, was thus lifted up for us, and is now seated on the right hand of God, pleading as the only Mediator all He did for us. A king, when he bestows gifts, gives them through his grace. It is an insult to offer to purchase them. Far more does God bestow His chief gifts as an act of grace. I do not say that He does not expect something in return; but He gives salvation freely, and will allow of nothing to be done beforehand, but simply that the gift should be desired, and its value appreciated, or partly appreciated; for we never can value it as it deserves." The woodcutter and his grandchildren listened earnestly to these and many other simple truths, as their guest went on reading and explaining portion after portion. Nor did he omit to pray that God, through the Holy Spirit, would enlighten the minds of his hearers, and enable them to comprehend what he was reading and what he was saying. Hour after hour thus passed by. Several times did Meta rise and trim the lamp. "Must you hasten on your journey? or can you not rest here another day, and tell us more of those glorious things?" said the old man, placing his hand on Spena's shoulder, and gazing earnestly into his face. "Yes, I will stay, friend," answered the book-hawker, "if by so doing I can place more clearly before you the way of salvation." At length the inmates of the cottage and their guest lay down to rest on their rough couches, and angels looked down from heaven, rejoicing at what they there saw and heard. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note: Colporteurs, literally "neck-carriers;" because their packs were strung round their necks, or, rather, the strap went round their chests.	{ "id": "21486" }
3	None	Gottlieb Spena was much the better for his day's rest, and the following morning set out with old Moretz and his grandson on their weekly journey, when they went into the neighbouring town to dispose of their fagots. "And how came you to undertake this good work, friend?" asked the old man, as they journeyed. "In a few words I can answer you," said the book-hawker. "I was once a monk, a lazy drone. Our convent was rich, and we had nothing to do except to appear for so many hours every day in church, and repeat or chant words, of the sense of which we did not for a moment trouble ourselves. Copies of the blessed gospel, however, were brought among us, and certain works by Dr Martin Luther, and friends of his, which stirred us up to read that gospel, and to see whether we held the faith it teaches, or were leading the lives it requires. First one and then another, and finally almost all of us came to the conclusion that we were not in any way living according to God's law, and that the whole system we supported was evil and wrong; and we all agreed to go forth into the world, and to become useful members of society. Some, who had the gift of speaking, after a time became preachers of the gospel. As I had not that gift, and had but a small amount of learning, I resolved, by the advice of Dr Martin Luther, to put a pack upon my shoulders, and to go forth and to distribute the written word through the land, and to speak a word in season, as God might give me opportunity. If the Pope or Tetzel can catch me I have no doubt that they will burn me as they burned John Huss. But I have counted the cost, and I am prepared for that or anything else that can befall me. I have placed myself in God's hands, and fear not what man can do to me." "You are a brave man," said old Moretz, grasping the book-hawker's hand; "and whatever you may say of yourself, I should say that you are a true preacher of God's word, and I pray that there may be many others like you going forth throughout our country." "Amen," said Spena, as the old man and he, warmly shaking each other's hand, parted. "I hope there may be very many better men than I am;" and he went on his way, selling his books and speaking a word in season; and thus a humble instrument, as he thought himself, bringing many souls to the knowledge of the truth, and to accept the free offers of eternal life through a simple, loving faith in Christ Jesus. We must here observe that before leaving the woodcutter's hospitable hut, Gottlieb Spena delivered the precious book into the custody of Meta, bidding her an affectionate farewell, with the prayer that it might prove a blessing to her soul and to those dear to her. Meta never failed to pass every moment she could steal from her daily avocations in perusing the New Testament. When her grandfather and brother returned home from their work, she had always some fresh account to give them of which she had read; and from henceforth the old man and Karl passed a part of every evening in reading it, while the great part of that day which God has given to toiling man as a day of rest was passed in gaining knowledge from its precious pages. Old Moretz had now got what he never before possessed. He understood the way of salvation through Jesus Christ, whom he loved and desired to serve. The more he saw of the love of God the more he felt his own sinfulness and unworthiness, and felt the need of a better righteousness than any good works of his own. The Holy Spirit was teaching him this and other truths from the Scriptures. Meta and Karl also were daily growing in knowledge and grace. They had before been contented and cheerful, but it was the mere happiness of health and freedom from sorrow. Now they possessed a joy which nothing could take away from them. They relied with simplicity and confidence on God's word. They knew that which He said He would do. "If grandfather is taken from us, or you are taken, Karl, I know we shall be parted but for a short time. We shall meet again and be happy, oh, so happy!" exclaimed Meta, as Karl came in one day when his work was over, and found her ever and anon glancing at her Bible, which lay open on the table, while she was engaged in some business about the cottage. Moretz soon found that those who hold to the truth are often called upon to suffer for the truth. So it has been from the beginning. God requires faith, but He desires us to prove our faith. Other men, like Spena, were traversing the country, not only like him distributing books, but openly preaching the principles of the Reformation. They did so in many places, at great hazard to themselves. The papists, where they could, opposed and persecuted them, as the Apostle Paul before his conversion did the Christians he could get hold of, haling them to prison, to torture, and to death. Moretz often went into the town of Hornberg to sell his fagots. Even he was not without his enemies. As he and Karl were one day driving their asses laden with wood into the town, they encountered a long string of pack-horses which had brought in their cargoes and were now returning. Behind them rode a big, burly man, dressed as a farmer, on a stout, strong horse. He scowled on Moretz, who was about to pass him, and roughly told him to move his asses and himself out of the way. He had an old grudge against Moretz, who had resisted an unjust attempt to seize some land to which the rich man had no right. "With pleasure, Master Johann Herder. I would not wish to occupy your place, as I doubt not you would not wish to fill mine." "What does he mean?" exclaimed Herder; but Moretz had already done as he was bid, and got quickly out of the way. Herder went on some little distance, muttering to himself, and then stopped and looked in the direction Moretz had taken. Ordering his servants to proceed with the animals, he wheeled round his horse and slowly followed the woodcutter. Moretz quickly disposed of his fagots among his usual customers, and was about to return home when he saw a large crowd in the square assembled round a man who was addressing them from a roughly-raised platform. Moretz could not resist the temptation of joining the crowd, for a few words which reached his ears interested him greatly. He got as close up to the speaker as he could with his asses, on the backs of which he and Karl were mounted. The preacher wore a monk's dress, but instead of a crucifix he held a book in his hand, which Moretz and Karl guessed rightly was the Bible. He argued that it being God's revelation to man, it was sufficient for all that man requires to show him the way by which he might get out of his fallen state and obtain eternal happiness. "Are we then," he asked, "to be guided by this book, or to be directed by men who say things directly opposed to this book? The priests have taught you that there is a purgatory. It was a notion held by the heathen nations, but God's ancient people, the Jews, knew nothing of it, and this book says not a word about it. A man has been going about the country, sent by the Pope, selling bits of paper, which he tells the people will get the souls of their friends and their own souls out of this purgatory. He makes them pay a somewhat high price for these pieces of paper, and if we look at them at their real value, a prodigiously high price. Now the Bible says, `The soul that sinneth it shall surely die.' `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' It nowhere says if we are ever so great sinners, and die in our sins, our friends may buy the means by which we can escape the consequence of sin. It does, however, say that however great a sinner you are, if you turn to Jesus Christ, and trust to Him, you will be saved; and it gives us the account of the thief on the cross, who, even at the last moment, trusting to Jesus, was saved." Thus the preacher continued arguing from the Bible, showing from it numberless falsehoods put forth by the Church of Rome. Then he put very clearly and forcibly the simple gospel before the people,--man's fallen state; the love of Christ which induced Him to come on earth to draw man out of that fallen state, if he would accept the means freely offered to him. Still, unhappily, man continued to "love darkness rather than light, because his deeds are evil;" and thus do the cardinals and bishops and priests, who are the ruling powers of the Church of Rome, endeavour to keep the minds of people in ignorance, that they may draw money from the pockets of their dupes, and continue to live on in indolence and vice.	{ "id": "21486" }
4	None	While he was speaking a large body of people, led on by a man on horseback, and accompanied by several priests, were seen advancing at the farther end of the square. Many of the people fled, but the preacher boldly kept his ground, as did Moretz and Karl, who, indeed, scarcely heeded the movement of the people surrounding him. In another minute Moretz found himself dragged from his pack-saddle by a couple of men, and looking up, he saw Johann Herder frowning down upon him. He struggled to free himself, for his muscles were well-knit, and he had lost but little of his vigour. He succeeded in getting near enough to Karl to whisper, "Fly away home and look after Meta. God will take care of me. Do not be afraid. Keep up your spirits, Karl. Off! --off! quick! quick!" He had scarcely uttered these words before he was again seized by two additional men, who set on him, and he saw that to struggle further was useless. "Bring him along," said Herder, "with the other prisoners. The magistrates will quickly adjudge the case. I knew that I should some day have my revenge," he whispered into the old man's ear, "and I intend to make you feel it bitterly." Moretz was thankful to see that Karl had made his escape, and without opposition followed his captors to the hall where the magistrates were sitting. They had resolved to prevent any public preaching in their town. While the magistrates' officers were making prisoners, several men rallied round the preacher, and before he could be seized, got him down from the platform in their midst, and then retired down the street, no one venturing to attack them. Moretz, with six or seven more prisoners, was placed before the magistrates, several priests being present, eager to obtain their condemnation. Moretz was asked how he dared stop and listen to an heretical preacher, and whether he thought the preacher was speaking the truth, or falsehood? "Had I thought he had been speaking falsehood, I would not have stopped to listen to him," answered the old man, boldly. "He spoke things, too, which I know are to be found in the word of God, and I am sure that all in that book is true." "Evidently a fearful heretic!" exclaimed the magistrates. "We must make an example of him, and put a stop to this sort of thing. In the meantime, to prison with him!" "Stay," said one. "Though guilty of listening, perchance he will recant, and acknowledge himself in error." "Indeed I will not," answered the old man. "I believe God rather than man, and will not deny the truths He has taught me." "Off with him! --off with him! You see there is no use discussing matters with a heretic," exclaimed some of the other magistrates. The other prisoners were now tried. Two or three only of them, were, however, committed to prison, the others acknowledging themselves in error. Of these, however, several as they went away muttered words complimentary neither to their judges nor to the Pope and his cardinals. Moretz, with several other prisoners, was marched off under a strong guard to the prison. It was a dark, old, gloomy building, which had been a castle, but having been partly dismantled, had been fitted up again for its present purpose. It contained several long passages, both above ground and under ground, leading to arched cells with strong oak doors plated with iron. Into one of these dungeons Moretz was now thrust. There he was left in solitude. There was but little light, but he discovered a heap of straw in one corner, on which he sat himself down. "Well," he thought, "other people have been shut up in prison cells worse than this, and Christians too." And then he thought of Paul and Silas in the prison at Philippi, and how they had spent their time in praying and singing praises to God. "That is just what I ought to do," he said to himself; but he did not pray so much for himself as for his dear little Meta and Karl, that God would take care of them, and deliver him in His own good time, if it was His will to do so. Then he began to sing, for Spena had left a book of hymns, the words of several of which he had already learned by heart. "The feet of Paul and Silas were in the stocks," he said to himself, "then surely I am better off than they were; I ought to praise God for that;" and so he sang on right cheerfully. However, not being accustomed to sit long, he soon got up and walked about his cell. He could make but few paces without turning. A gleam of light came through an aperture in the upper part of the wall. "I am not much below ground, at all events," he observed; and it set him thinking, always lifting up his heart in prayer to God.	{ "id": "21486" }
5	None	Meanwhile Karl had returned home with the donkeys. Poor Meta was greatly grieved and alarmed when she heard the sad news. "Those cruel men will be killing dear grandfather, as they killed John Huss," she said, looking with tearful eyes at Karl. "We can pray for him, however, that is one comfort." They did not fail to do as Meta said; not only night and morning, but several times during the day; before Karl set off on his expedition into the forest to cut wood, and when he returned, or when he went into the town to sell his fagots. "When grandfather told me to run away, he intended that I should work hard to support you, Meta, and so I will." Meta was accustomed to be alone. She was a happy-hearted girl, and used to sing and amuse herself very well, when she knew that her grandfather and brother would soon return to her. The case was very different now. Her great comfort was reading the Bible. She had more time to do that than formerly. Without it she felt sure she would have broken down altogether. Still, occasionally, she felt her spirits sink so low that she could not help wishing to accompany Karl into the forest. "I can take the book and read to him when he stops to rest or to eat his dinner; and I can talk to him and cheer him up, for he must feel quite as sad as I do, I know." Karl gladly agreed to her proposal, so the next day, shutting up the cottage, they set out together. The way was rough, but Meta was well accustomed to tread it, and without encountering any danger they reached the part of the forest in which Karl usually laboured. Meta carried out her plan just as she had proposed, and Karl, though he rested longer than had been his wont, got through more work than usual. For several days she did the same, very much to her own and Karl's satisfaction. On one occasion she was seated on a piece of timber, with her book on her knees, reading, while Karl sat on the ground at her feet, eating his frugal meal, but slowly though, for every now and then he looked up to ask her the meaning of certain passages, or to make some remark. They were thus employed, entirely absorbed in the subject. Some slight noises reached their ears, but if their attention was drawn to them they thought they were caused by the asses which were browsing near brushing among the bushes. Meta read on. At length she stopped, when, looking up, she saw standing near her, and gazing with a look of astonishment, a gentleman in a rich hunting suit, a short sword by his side, a horn hung round his neck, and a jewelled dagger in his belt. His white beard and moustache, and his furrowed cheeks, showed that he was already advanced in life, though he looked active and strong. A pleasant smile passed over his countenance, as Meta, littering an exclamation of astonishment, gazed up at him. Karl started to his feet, and instinctively put himself in an attitude of defence. "Do not be alarmed, my young friends," said the gentleman. "I wish to serve you rather than to do you any harm. What is that book you are reading from, little maiden?" "The Bible, sir, God's word," answered Meta, without hesitation. "A very blessed book, and a very blessed message it contains," observed the gentleman. "But how came you young foresters to possess it, and to learn to read it?" "I learned at Herr Gellet's school," answered Meta, "and a good man who came by this way, sold us the book at a small price. It is worth ten times the sum we gave, I am sure of that." "And where do you live?" asked the gentleman. Meta told him. "And is your grandfather sick, that he is not with you?" he inquired. "Alas! he has been cast into prison for listening to a preacher of God's word," said Meta, "and we know not what they are going to do with him, whether they will burn him, as they have done others, or keep him shut up." The nobleman, for such by his appearance they supposed him to be, continued looking with great interest at Meta, while she was speaking. Having made further inquiries about the old woodcutter, he joined several of his companions who had been standing all the time at a little distance, scarcely perceived till now by Meta and Karl. One of them had been holding his horse, which he mounted, and rode away, conversing with him through the forest. Karl having made up his fagots, proceeded homewards, talking with Meta as they went, about the interview with the nobleman, and wondering who he could be. "I wonder whether he is the Count Furstenburg, whose castle is, I know, some short distance off, though I have never been up to it. I have several times seen the tops of the towers over the trees. Yet whenever I have heard his name mentioned he has been spoken of as a fierce, cruel lord, tyrannical both to his dependants and even to those of his own family. I know I have heard of all sorts of bad things about him, but grandfather never likes to speak of him." "Then I am sure that noble cannot be the Count Furstenburg," said Meta: "he spoke so gently and looked so kindly at us." Scarcely had they entered their cottage than they heard horses' hoofs approaching it. Karl ran out to see who it was, while Meta was preparing the supper. "Oh, Meta!" exclaimed Karl, running back, "it is that dreadful man, Johann Herder, our grandfather's great enemy! His coming bodes us no good." They consulted whether they should bolt the door, but Meta advised that they should show no alarm; and as Herder could easily break open the door, it would be useless to try and keep him out. In another minute Herder entered the cottage. He cast a frowning glance around him. "Where is your grandfather?" he asked. "I am afraid, sir, he is in prison," answered Meta. "Why is he there?" he asked again. "Karl says, because he was listening to a preacher of the gospel," answered Meta. "He was assisting in creating a disturbance rather," observed Herder. "I am sure grandfather is not the man to do that," exclaimed Karl. "I was with him, and he was as quiet as any man could be." "Then you ought to have been taken prisoner too," exclaimed the farmer. "I must see to that. And what book is that you have by your side, maiden?" he asked, glancing at Meta's Bible, which she was prepared to read. "God's word, sir," said Meta, firmly. "We always read it before sitting down to meals. It is by reading it that we learn of salvation. This book says, `Faith cometh by hearing,' or reading God's word, and by faith we are saved." "Those are strange doctrines you are speaking," said the rough man, yet feeling, perhaps, more than he was willing to acknowledge, the force of her words, and greatly struck by her calmness and bravery. "They cannot be new, sir," answered Meta, "for they were written by the apostles themselves, nor are they strange, for the same reason." "I came not to discuss such matters," said Herder, turning away. "My reason for coming here was to tell your grandfather that he must move out of this cottage, as I have bought it. As he is not here, I give you the notice, and let me tell you that the opinions you utter are very dangerous. They are not such as to please the priests or bishop; take care, therefore, what you are about." Without further words, Herder turned round, unwilling it seemed to look any longer on the young girl and her brother who had so boldly confronted him. Leaving the cottage, he mounted his horse and rode off. The young people could not help being alarmed. It would be a sad thing to have to leave their old home, and for their grandfather, when he got out of prison, to be obliged to seek for a new one. His other threats also boded them no good. They had, however, strength the rough man knew nothing of. As soon as they were again alone, they knelt down and prayed for protection, nor failed to obtain the comfort prayer will always bring. They then returned to the table and partook of their yet untasted supper. Before it was finished, a knock was heard at the door. "Shall I open it?" asked Karl. "Perhaps it is Herr Herder come back again." "Oh, no!" said Meta, "he would not knock. We should not be afraid to open the door." Karl withdrew the bolt, and who should he see but the book-hawker, Gottlieb Spena! They recognised him at once. He entered, and saluting them, kindly inquired for their grandfather. "I trust he has not been taken from you," he said, with an expression of anxiety. "Indeed he has, sir," said Meta, "but not by death;" and in a few words she explained what had happened. "That is very sad, but God will protect you, my children," he observed, placing his pack, as he had before done, in a corner of the room. "We must try and obtain his liberation. The people of Germany will no longer submit to persecution. However, I trust that, by some means, your grandfather's liberation may be obtained." Meta and Karl warmly thanked their friend, and begged him to partake of their humble fare. This he did, seeing that there was abundance. Suddenly he exclaimed, "I have thought of a plan. I will endeavour to gain admittance to your grandfather, and if so, I trust the means may be given him to escape from the prison." As it was somewhat late, the book-hawker gladly availed himself of the shelter of the hut for the night, while he amply repaid his young hosts by reading and expounding the Scriptures to them, greatly to their satisfaction.	{ "id": "21486" }
6	None	The old woodcutter sat in his cell, his spirits yet unbroken, and resolved, as at first, to adhere to the faith. Still, accustomed as he had been to a life in the open air, his spirits occasionally flagged and his health somewhat suffered. Often and often he thought to himself, as he examined the walls of his prison, "If I had an iron tool of some sort, I doubt if these walls would long contain me." But everything he had possessed had been taken from him when he was first brought to prison, and not even a nail could he find with which to work as he proposed. He was seated on his heap of straw, and the gaoler entered with his usual fare of brown bread and water. "I have a message for you, old man," said the gaoler, who, though rough in appearance, spoke sometimes in a kind tone. "A holy monk wishes to see you, and bade me tell you so." "I have no desire to see a monk," answered Moretz. "He cannot make me change my faith, and it would be time lost were he to come to me." "But he brings you a message from your grandchildren," said the gaoler. "He bade me say that if you refused to see him--" Moretz thought an instant. "Let him come then," he answered. The gaoler nodded and took his departure. In a short time he returned, ushering in a sturdy, strong-looking man in a monk's dress. The gaoler retired, closing the door. "You do not know me, friend Moretz," said his visitor, in a low voice. "I have been admitted, that I might give you spiritual comfort and advice," he said, in a louder tone, "and I gladly accepted the office." His visitor talked for some time with Moretz, producing from under his dress a book from which he read, though not without difficulty, by the gleam of light which came in through the small opening which has been spoken of. From another pocket he produced two iron instruments carefully wrapped up, so as not to strike against each other. "Here is a strong chisel," he said, "and here is a stout file. I have heard of people working their way through prison walls with worse instruments than these. Now farewell, friend Moretz. The time I am allowed to remain with you is ended, and the gaoler will be here anon to let me out of the prison." "I fear you run a great risk," said Moretz, warmly thanking his visitor. "For the Lord's people I am ready to run any risk," was the answer, and just then the gaoler was heard drawing back the bolts. The friar took his departure. The old woodcutter was once more left alone. He had piled up his straw on the side of the wall on which the opening was placed. He now carefully drew it back, and began working away at a stone which had before been hidden by it. His success surpassed his expectations. There had been a drain or a hole left for some purpose, carelessly filled up. Thus hour after hour he scraped away, carefully replacing the straw directly he heard the gaoler's step near his door. What a sweet thing is liberty! The woodcutter's chief difficulty was to hide the rubbish he dug out, the straw being scarcely sufficient for that purpose. As he was working, however, he let his chisel drop. He thought the stone on which it dropped emitted a hollow sound. He worked away in consequence, to remove it, and great was his satisfaction to find beneath a hole of some size. He was now able to labour with more confidence. In a short time he had removed the stone from the wall, giving him an aperture of sufficient size to pass through. The earth beyond was soft. And now he dug and dug away, following up the hole in the pavement. He was afraid sometimes that his hands covered with earth might betray him, but the gaoler's lantern was dim, and he managed always to conceal them as much as possible when the man entered. At length he felt sure from the height he had worked that he was near the surface of the earth on the outside. He now feared lest it might fall in during the daytime, and this made him hesitate about working except during the hours of the night. He had saved up as many crusts of bread as his pockets would hold, in order, should it become necessary for him to lie concealed for any length of time, that he might have wherewith to support life. And now the time arrived when he believed that he should be able to extricate himself altogether. He waited till the gaoler had paid his last visit, and then watched anxiously till the thickening gloom in his cell showed him that night was approaching. He had all along of course worked in darkness, so that it being night made no difference to him. He now dug away bravely, and as he had not to carry the earth into the hole, he made great progress. At length, working with his chisel above his head, he felt it pierce through the ground. Greater caution was therefore necessary, lest the falling earth should make a noise. The fresh air which came down restored his strength, and in a few minutes he was able to lift himself out of the hole. He did not, however, venture to stand up, but lying his length on the ground, gazed around him. The dark walls of the old castle rose up on one side. On the other, at the bottom of a steep bank, was the moat, partly filled up, however, with rubbish. Beyond, another bank had to be climbed, and beyond that again was the wild open country, the castle being just outside the walls of the town. He quickly formed his plan. Slowly crawling on, he slid down the bank, and then stopped to see what course he should take. There appeared to be no sentries on the watch on that side of the castle, it being supposed probably that escape of any prisoners was impossible. He was thus able more boldly to search for a passage across the moat. The night was cloudy and the wind blew strong, which, though he was in consequence not so well able to find his way, prevented him being seen or heard. At length, partly wading and partly scrambling over the rubbish, he reached the opposite bank. He waited to rest, that he might the more rapidly spring up the bank. He gained the top, when looking back and seeing no one, he hurried along the open ground. He stopped not till he had obtained the shelter of some brushwood, which formed, as it were, the outskirts of the forest. He was well aware that, as at daylight his escape would be discovered, and that he could easily be tracked, he must make the best speed his strength would allow. He knew the country so well that he had no difficulty in finding his way even in the dark. He could not, however, venture to return to his own cottage. There was no lack of hiding-places where he might remain till the search after him had somewhat slackened. At length, weary from his exertion, and having overrated his strength, he sat himself down to rest, as he thought in safety, for a few minutes. His eyelids closed in slumber, and, unconsciously to him, hour after hour had passed away. The sound of horns and the cries of huntsmen were heard in the forest. They awoke old Moretz from his sleep. He started up, but it was too late to conceal himself. A horseman in a rich costume, which showed his rank, was close to him. "Whither away, old friend?" he exclaimed, as Moretz instinctively endeavoured to conceal himself in some brushwood near at hand. He stopped on hearing the voice of the huntsman. "My lord," he answered, "I throw myself upon your mercy. I am guiltless of any crime, and was cast unjustly into prison, from which I have made my escape. If I am retaken, my life will be forfeited." "That is strange," exclaimed the nobleman. "I will do my best to protect you, but I cannot venture to dispute with the law, as I might have done once on a time. As we came along we met a gang of persons, hunting, they told us, for an escaped prisoner. There is no time to be lost. Here!" and the nobleman called to one of his attendants, a tall man, very similar in figure to the woodcutter. "Here; change dresses with my old friend, and do you, as you are a bold forester and a strong, active young man, climb up into the thickest tree, and hide yourself as best you can till these hunters of their fellow-men have passed by." The nobleman's orders were speedily obeyed, and Moretz, dressed in his livery, mounted the groom's horse and rode on with the party. The groom, meantime, who had put on the old man's clothes, affording no small amusement to his companions, climbed up into a thick tree, as he had been directed to do by his master. "We will send thee a livery, my man, in which thou may'st return home soon, and satisfy thy hunger, which may be somewhat sharpened by longer abstinence than usual," said the count, as he rode on. Scarcely had these arrangements been made, when the party from the gaol in search of the fugitive came up. "Has the Count Furstenburg seen an old man in a woodcutter's dress wandering through the forest?" inquired their leader, in a tone which sounded somewhat insolent. "The Count Furstenburg is not accustomed to answer questions unless respectfully asked," replied the noble; "and so, master gaoler, you must follow your own devices, and search for your prisoner where you may best hope to find him." Then sounding his horn, he and his whole party rode on together through the forest, taking care to keep old Moretz well in their midst. Making a wide circuit, the count led them back to the castle.	{ "id": "21486" }
7	None	The woodcutter's astonishment at hearing who had rescued him, and where he was to find shelter, was very great. He had always entertained a great dread of the count, who, from common report, was looked upon as a cruel tyrant. The count's first care on reaching the castle was to send a servant with a livery in which the groom might return home, directing him in the same package to bring back the old woodcutter's clothes. He gave him also another message: it was to visit the cottage on his return, and to give little Meta and Karl the joyous information that their grandfather was out of prison and in safe keeping. "And now, my friend, I will have a few words with you in my private room," said the count, as the old man stood, cap in hand, gazing at him with astonishment. "I know you better than you suppose," he said, as Moretz entered the room; and he told him of the interview he had had with his grandchildren. "I rejoice to see the way in which you are bringing them up. How is it you have taught them so to love the Bible? Do you know about it yourself?" Moretz seeing no cause for concealment, told the count of the visit of Gottlieb Spena, the book-hawker. "That is strange indeed," said the count. "From the same Gottlieb Spena I also, my friend, have learned the same glorious truths. You have, I doubt not, always heard me spoken of as a bad, cruel man. So I was, but I have been changed. God has found me out, and in His love and mercy has showed me the way by which I may escape the punishment most justly due to my misdeeds; and not only that, but due also to me had I never committed one-tenth part of the crimes of which I have been guilty." It was strange to hear the once proud count thus speaking to the humble woodcutter, as to a brother or a friend. For many weeks the old man was sheltered safely within the walls of the castle. Not only had the count, but all his house, abandoned the faith of Rome, many of them having truly accepted the offers of salvation. At length, so widely had spread the doctrines of the Reformation, that the authorities at Hornberg no longer ventured to persecute those who professed it, and Moretz did not, therefore, require the count's protection. Meta and Karl had remained at the cottage, notwithstanding the threats of Herr Herder. Every day, however, they had been expecting to receive another order to quit their home. One morning, as they were seated at breakfast, before Karl went out to his work, a knock was heard at the door. Karl ran to it, wondering who it could be at that early hour. A shriek of joy escaped Meta's lips as, the door opening, she saw her grandfather, and the next instant she and Karl were pressed in his arms. Great changes had of late taken place in Germany, and the authorities who had imprisoned Moretz no longer ventured to proceed as they had before done. The peasants, oppressed for centuries by the owners of the soil, and treated like slaves, had long been groaning for the blessings of civil liberty. On several occasions they had revolted against their lords, but their rebellions had always been put down with bloodshed and fearful cruelties. Once more the same desire to emancipate themselves had sprung up in all parts of the country. This desire did not arise in consequence of the progress of the Reformation. It had existed before, and Luther and the other reformers who had been aware of it had used every means to induce the people to bear their burdens, and to wait till, in God's good time, a better heart should be put into their rulers, and they should be induced to grant them that liberty which was theirs by right. Unhappily, however, men are too fond of attempting to right themselves rather than trust to God. While, as has been said, this desire for civil liberty was extending, so also was the Reformation making great progress. Many abandoned popery without embracing the gospel, and these were the people especially who desired to right themselves by the sword. Scarcely had old Moretz returned to his hut, than he was visited by several of the peasants, small farmers and others, who came to urge him to join the band they were forming in the neighbourhood. His imprisonment and its cause had become known, as had also the way he had escaped. Among others, greatly to his surprise, his old enemy, Johann Herder, rode up to his door. "We were foes once, but I wish to be your foe no longer, and I have come to invite you to join our noble cause." "I am thankful to see you, Master Herder," said Moretz, "but I cannot promise to join any cause without knowing its objects." "They are very simple," answered his guest. "We consider that all men are equal. We wish to right ourselves, and to deprive our tyrants of their power." "But if they refuse to agree to your demands, how then will you proceed?" asked Moretz. "We will burn their castles and their towns, and put them to death," was the answer. "That surely is not the way to induce people to act rightly," answered Moretz. "The Bible nowhere says that we should not be soldiers, but the gospel does say very clearly that we should do violence to no man--that we should love our enemies and do good to them that persecute us. Burning houses and putting people to death is not in accordance with the will of God: of that I am sure." "But the gospel gives us freedom, and we have accepted the gospel, and therefore have a right to liberty," answered Herder. "The liberty of which the gospel speaks is very different from that which you desire, my friend," said Moretz. "The freedom which that gives us is freedom from superstition, from the tyranny of Satan, from the fear of man, from the dread of the misfortunes and sufferings to which people are liable. No, friend Herder, I cannot join you." Much more was said on both sides. Moretz remained firm; and Herder went away, indignant that one to whom he had offered to be reconciled--very much against his own feelings--should have refused to join what, in his smaller knowledge of the gospel plan, he considered right and justifiable. Herder had become a Protestant, and knew enough about the truth to be aware that Christians are bound to forgive their enemies. He also was convinced that the saints cannot hear prayer, that purgatory is a fiction, and that confession should be made to God and not to man. But he had no grace in his heart. He prided himself greatly on having visited old Moretz and expressed himself ready to become his friend. Moretz, on the other hand, had accepted not only the letter but the spirit of the gospel. He knew himself by nature to be a sinner. He had given his heart to God. He desired to please Him by imitating the example of His blessed Son, and he trusted for salvation alone to the complete and perfect sacrifice made on the cross. Moretz soon found that the proposed rebellion had commenced in various districts, and that already several peasant bands had proceeded to acts of violence. Immediately he thought that the castle of the Count of Furstenburg might be attacked, and he accordingly set out to warn him of the danger. Had he been able to write he would have sent Karl, but he was sure that his warning would more likely be attended to if he went himself. He was aware that he ran a great danger if he were to encounter any of the peasants, who would look upon him, should they discover his object, as a traitor to their cause. He therefore made his way across the country, avoiding all public paths, and keeping as much as possible out of sight of anybody he met. He at length reached the castle in safety. The count could at first scarcely believe the information he gave him. It was impossible that the peasants should dare attack the castles of the nobles. Moretz convinced him, however, at last. He sat for some time without speaking, while he rested his head on his hands, bending over the table. His lips were moving in prayer. "I will not oppose these poor people," he said, at length. "I will rather reason with them, and bring them to a knowledge of their error. If I were to defend the castle I might kill a good many, and perhaps succeed in driving them away. If I cannot persuade them to give up their enterprise, I may perhaps come and pay you a visit. I would rather abandon my castle than slay my fellow-creatures. I am grateful to you, my friend, for bringing me the warning, as it will give me time for consideration how to act."	{ "id": "21486" }
8	None	Moretz returned, as he had come, to his cottage. Karl soon after arrived, having gone out into the forest for wood. He reported having seen large bodies of men armed in every possible way collecting at a distance, but he kept himself out of sight, for fear they might compel him to accompany them. In the meantime the count remained, as he had determined, at his post. The day after Moretz had visited him, the report was brought that a large body of men were approaching the castle. Acting according to his resolution, in the plainest dress he ever wore he mounted his charger and rode forward to meet them. As he appeared he was welcomed with a loud shout, and several persons, detaching themselves from the crowd, approached him. "We have come, friend Furstenburg," they said, "to invite you to join our noble cause. We will give you military rank, and make you one of our leaders; but we can allow no nobles among us, and therefore it must be understood that you will sink your title." "This is a strange proposal to make to me, my friends," answered the count, after the insurgents had explained their objects and plans. "You profess to be guided by God's word, and yet you undertake to act in direct opposition to it. When the Israelites were led forth to attack their enemies they were under the guidance of God, and made especial instruments for the punishment of evil-doers, who had long obstinately refused to acknowledge Him. You, who have no right to claim being led by God, take upon yourselves to punish those whom you choose to consider your enemies. When Christ came a better law was established, and by that law we are taught to forgive our enemies, and leave their punishment to God, and not to attempt to take it into our own hands." Again and again the insurgent leaders urged the count to accept their offers, refusing to listen to his arguments. He saw, by the gestures and the expressions they used, that they would probably take him by force. To avoid this was very important, and he therefore requested further time to consider the matter. Some of them evidently desired to enter the castle with him, but this he declined; observing that if he was to act freely, he must be left at liberty. Fortunately they were persuaded to allow him to depart, and he safely reached the gates of his castle. The insurgents on this marched off in the direction of other castles, whose owners they hoped to enlist in their cause. The count, on entering, ordered the gates to be closed, and then summoning his retainers, told them that he had resolved to abandon the castle, rather than kill any of the misguided people who might come to attack it. He gave them their choice of remaining within the open gates, or obtaining safety by concealing themselves in the neighbourhood. "I have no children, and my distant heir has no right to blame me for my conduct," he said, when remonstrated with for this proceeding. "I have, besides, One to whom I am first answerable, and He I am sure approves of it." There was, however, a large amount of plate and valuables of various sorts in the castle: these he had carried to a place of concealment, such as most buildings of the sort in those days were provided with. These arrangements were not concluded till nearly midnight. He then set out unaccompanied, and took his way to the hut of old Moretz. The next day, when the insurgents returned, they found the castle of Furstenburg deserted. Some of their leaders urged them to burn it to the ground, in consequence of having been tricked, by its owner. They were about to rush in, when an old man, who had remained concealed close to the gates, presented himself before them. "What are you about to do, my friends?" he exclaimed. "Is this the way you show your love of liberty? Because a man does not approve of your mode of proceeding, are you right in destroying his property, and injuring him in every way you can? You speak of the tyranny of your rulers--is not this greater tyranny? I am one of yourselves, and know what you all feel. I feel the same. I desire that our people should have their rights; but I am very sure that by the way you are proceeding you will not obtain them. A just cause cannot be supported by unjust means." Moretz, for it was he, spoke more to the same effect. Happily, Herder was not with the party, or his success might have been different. At length they were convinced by his arguments, and consented to depart without destroying the castle. After they had gone to a considerable distance, Moretz hurried back to the count with the good news. "Alas!" said the old noble, "it matters, in truth, but little to me. I am childless, and almost friendless; for with those I once associated I have no longer a desire to mix; and, except that I may live a few years longer, and forward the noble cause of the Reformation, I should be ready even now to lay down life." "Count," said the old man, rising and standing before him, "you say that you are childless--but are you really so? You once had a daughter?" "I had, but I cruelly drove her from my door; but I know that she is dead; for, having taken every possible means for her discovery, I could gain no tidings; and I am very sure, knowing her disposition, that ere this, had she been alive, she would have sought a reconciliation. Of the death of her husband I received tidings. He died fighting in the Spanish army against Barbarossa, and on hearing that my child was left a widow, my heart relented towards her. But tell me, friend, have you any tidings of my daughter?" "You surmise too rightly, count, that your daughter is dead," answered the woodcutter. "She died in this humble cottage, and in these arms; but before she died she had given birth to a child,--a girl,--who was brought up by my poor daughter, till she herself was also carried to the grave, leaving behind her a son,--young Karl yonder." "And my grandchild? Where is she?" exclaimed the count, casting a glance at Meta. "You see her there, count," answered the woodcutter. They were seated in the porch of the cottage. Below it ran a stream, where Meta, aided by Karl, was busily washing. The first thing, perhaps, in the once proud noble's mind was:-- "And can a descendant of mine be thus employed?" The next instant, however, rising from his seat, he hurried down the bank, calling Meta to him. She was quickly by his side. "Child," he said, "which of us is your grandfather, think you?" As he spoke he drew her towards him, and gazed in her face. "Yes, yes, I recognise the features of my own lost daughter!" he exclaimed. "We will ever love old Moretz, and be grateful to him," he said, pressing a kiss on Meta's brow. "But I am your grandfather, and you must try and give me some of the love you bear him." Again and again the count expressed his gratitude to old Moreu. "And above all things," he added, "that you have brought her up as a true Christian Protestant. Had you returned her to me as an ignorant Papist, as I was long ago, my happiness would have been far less complete." It was some time before Meta could understand the change in her circumstances, never having indeed been told who was her mother, and believing always that she was Karl's sister. The poor lad was the only one whose spirits sunk at what he heard, when he was told that he should lose his companion. A right feeling, however, soon rose in his bosom, and he rejoiced at Meta's change of fortune. The peasant-army meantime increased in numbers, and a vast concourse, under a fanatical leader, Thomas Munser, marched through the land, burning castles and towns which refused to admit them, and committing all sorts of atrocities. There were several similar bands. The people in the Black Forest rallied round John Muller of Bulgenbach. Wearing a red cap and a red cloak, he rode from village to village, ordering the church bells to summon the people to his standard. Several noblemen were compelled to join them. Among others, the famous Geotz von Ber Lichengen was forced to put himself at the head of the rebel army. Many towns, unable to withstand them, opened their gates, and the citizens received them with acclamations. Dr Martin Luther and many other leaders of the Reformation exerted all their influence to induce the peasants to return to their homes. They wrote, they preached, and showed how such proceedings were opposed to the principles of the gospel. At length a large army, raised by the Ex-Emperor of Germany, was sent against the insurgents, while the nobles, in every direction taking courage, banded together to put down the insurrection. Fearfully did they retaliate on the unhappy people for the insults they had received. Seldom could the insurgent bands withstand the well-trained forces sent against them, and a large part of the country was deluged in blood, the fugitives in most instances being slaughtered without mercy.	{ "id": "21486" }
9	None	The band which set forth from the neighbourhood of Gutech was not more successful than others. Although at first they captured and burned a number of castles and entered several towns, in which they levied contributions from the inhabitants, they at length encountered the imperial forces. Not an instant could they withstand the well-trained troops of Germany, but fled before them like chaff before the wind. On reaching the neighbourhood of their own homes they, gathering courage, showed a bolder front than before. It would have been happier for the misguided men had they continued their flight. Old Moretz would not consent to eat the bread of idleness, and had declined the bounty freely offered him by the count. He and Karl had gone farther from home than usual on their daily avocation, when their ears were attracted by what appeared to be the din of battle in the distance. They climbed a height in the neighbourhood, whence, from between the trees, they could look down on an open space in the distance, with a rapid stream on one side. Here a large body of peasants were collected, while another body in front were desperately engaged with some imperial troops, as they appeared to be by their glittering arms and closely serried ranks. "May God have mercy on them! --for they will have no mercy on each other," exclaimed Moretz, as, leaning his hand on Karl's shoulder, he stood gazing eagerly down on the raging fight, and scarcely able to retain the young lad, who, had he been alone, would probably have rushed down and joined it. The peasants who had hitherto borne the brunt of the battle--being evidently the best armed and bravest--were now driven back on the main body. The latter, seized with a panic, gave way, the imperialists pursuing them, cutting to pieces with their sharp swords, or running through with their pikes, all they overtook. Moretz and his grandson watched the fugitives and their pursuers. The latter, like a devastating conflagration or a fierce torrent, swept all before them, till they disappeared in the distance. "We may be able to help some of the unfortunate people who may yet survive," observed the old man. "Oh, yes--yes. Let us hurry on, grandfather," exclaimed Karl. "I fancy that even at this distance I have seen more than one attempt to rise, and then fall back again to the ground." Moretz and Karl soon reached the spot where the conflict began. From thence, far, far away, was one long broad road covered thickly with the dead and dying and badly wounded. The old man and boy moved among the ghastly heaps, giving such assistance as they were able to those who most needed it. Karl ran to the stream to bring water, for which many were crying out, while Moretz, kneeling down, bound up the poor fellows' wounds. He had thus tended several of the unfortunate men, when he saw a person at a little distance trying to lift himself up on his arm. He had several times made the attempt, when he once more fell back with a groan. Moretz hurried towards him. In the features, pallid from loss of blood and racked with pain, he recognised those of Herr Herder. "Ah, old man! have you come to mock at me?" exclaimed the latter, as he saw Moretz approaching. Moretz made no answer, but kneeling down, lifted up the farmer's head, and put the bowl of water he carried to his lips. Herder eagerly took a draught of the refreshing liquid. "Where are you hurt?" asked Moretz, "that I may wash and bind up your wounds." Herder pointed to his side and then to one of his legs. Aided by Karl, who now came up, Moretz took off Herder's clothes, and with the linen which he had collected from the slain, having first washed his wounds, he bound them carefully up. "We must carry you out of this, for the imperialists returning, will too likely kill all they find alive," said Moretz. "You cannot carry me," said Herder, faintly: "you would sink under my weight." "I will try," answered Moretz. "Karl will help me." With a strength of which the old man seemed incapable, he lifted the bulky form of the farmer on his shoulders, and telling Karl to support his wounded leg, he hurried towards the hill from which he had lately descended. "But you can never carry me up that hill," said Herder, as he gazed at the height above their heads. "No," answered Moretz; "but there is a cave near its foot. I can there conceal you till your enemies have gone away; and I will then get some friend to assist me in carrying you to my hut. You will be safe in the cave, at all events, for few know of it; and as soon as the soldiers have disappeared I will get the assistance of a friend to carry you on." Old Moretz, as he staggered on, had several times to stop and recover strength, for the farmer's body was very heavy. At length, however, he reached the cavern he spoke of. Having deposited his burden, and left Karl to watch him, he climbed the height, whence he could observe the proceedings of the imperialists. He had not long to wait. As he had seen them advancing like a rushing torrent, now they returned like the ebb of the ocean. As he had feared, they appeared to be slaughtering those they found still stretched alive on the ground. On they went, till there were none to kill, and then, the trumpet collecting them in more compact order, they marched onwards in the direction whence they had come. Moretz, having found a neighbour in whom he had confidence, he returned to the cavern, and together they carried Herder up to his cottage. "I have but poor fare to offer you, Herr Herder," he said, "but such as it is I freely present it to you." "What makes you thus take care of me?" said Herder, scarcely noticing the remark. "I never did you any good. I have been your enemy for many years." "God's blessed word says--`Love your enemies, do good to them who hate and ill-use you.' If you had treated me far worse than you have done, still I should desire to help you." "Ah! you conquer me, Moretz," said Herder, after a long silence. "I have no doubt that the Bible says as you tell me; but I did not think that any one would thus act according to its commands." "Nor would they," answered Moretz, "unless the Holy Spirit had changed their hearts. The natural man may read the commands over and over again, but he takes no heed of them." Thus Moretz frequently spoke to his guest. Karl also often read the Bible to him. One day they received a visit from Gottlieb Spena. He was on his way to the castle of Furstenburg. Before he left the woodcutter's hut Herder declared that he now understood how Christ had died to save him from the just consequences of his sin. Meta grew into a noble-looking young lady, and married a Protestant baron, who ever stood up boldly for the faith. She never forgot her kind guardian nor her foster-brother--Karl. She provided a comfortable house for old Moretz, and watched over him affectionately till, in extreme old age, he quitted this world for one far better. Karl became the head steward of her estates, and ever proved himself a true and faithful man, as he had been an honest and good boy. Spena was greatly instrumental in spreading the glorious truths of the gospel throughout the country, but at length, venturing into a part of Europe where the papists were supreme, he was seized and accused of being a recreant monk. Refusing to abjure the faith, he--as were many others at that time--was condemned to the flames, and became one of the noble army of martyrs who will one day rise up in judgment against that fearful system of imposture and tyranny which condemned them to suffering and death. There was one district where the insurrection was put down without bloodshed. It was that of the truly pious and Protestant prince, the Elector of Saxony. The power of the word there produced its effect. Luther, Friedrich Myconius, and others went boldly among them, and, by their eloquent arguments, induced them to abandon their designs. Thus, at length, peace was restored to the land of Luther, although these proceedings of the misguided peasants for a time greatly impeded the progress of the Reformation. THE END.	{ "id": "21486" }
1	MY FRIENDS AND I.	"Hark! the bells of Saint Michael's are sending forth a jovial peal!" exclaimed Lancelot Kerridge, as he, Dick Harvey, and I were one day on board his boat fishing for mackerel, about two miles off the sea-port town of Lyme. "What they are saying I should mightily like to know, for depend on't it's something of importance. Haul in the lines, Ben!" he continued, addressing me; "and, Dick, put an oar out to windward. I'll take the helm. We shall fetch the Cob by keeping our luff." The wind was off shore, but as we were to the westward of the Cob, and the tide was making in the same direction, we could easily fetch it. The water was smooth, the sea blue and bright as the eyes of sweet Cicely Kerridge, my friend Lancelot's young sister, while scarcely a cloud dimmed the clear sky overhead. Lyme, then containing but one thousand inhabitants, where my two companions and I lived, is situated in Dorsetshire, near its western border, on the northern shore of a wide bay, formed by the Bill of Portland on the east and the Start Point on the west. Along the coast are several other towns, of which Dartmouth, owing to its excellent harbour, is the most considerable, besides numerous villages, including Charmouth and Uplyme. A line of cliffs of no great height extends away on either side of Lyme, which stands at the bottom of a valley; while beyond it rise the green slopes of Colway and Uplyme, hills overlooking the town. On the eastern side was the house of my father, Captain Roger Bracewell. He had commanded several of the trading ships of Master Humphrey Blake, of Bridgwater, at one time a merchant of renown, and the father of Captain Robert Blake, who had already made his name famous for his gallant defence of Prior's Hill when Bristol was besieged by Prince Rupert, until it was yielded in a dastardly fashion by Governor Fiennes. My father retiring from the sea with a competency, having married late in life, settled in Lyme, his native place. His house, which overlooked the bay, was of the better sort, with curious gables, and a balcony supported on strong wooden pillars in front, where he was wont to sit, smoking his pipe, and enjoying a view of the ocean he still loved full well, with the ships--their white canvas spread to the breeze--sailing by in the distance, or approaching to take shelter in our roadstead. There were a few other residences of the same character; but most of the houses were built of soft stone, with thatched roofs, forming four irregular narrow streets, with several narrower lanes of no very dignified character. Still, we were fond of our little town, and had reasons to be proud of it from the events I am about to describe. My two friends and I spent much of our time on the water. Lancelot, my senior by two years, was the son of the worshipful Master Kerridge, Mayor of Lyme, and Dick's father was Mr Harvey, a man of considerable wealth and influence in the neighbourhood, brother-in-law of Mr Ceely, who had been made Governor of the town by the Parliament. Our fathers were Puritans and staunch Parliamentarians. They had become so in consequence of the faithlessness of the King, and the attempt of Laud to introduce Popish rites and to enslave the consciences of free-born Englishmen. Who, indeed, could have witnessed the clipping of ears, the slitting of noses, the branding of temples, and burning of tongues, to which the Archbishop resorted to crush Nonconformity--who could have seen their friends imprisoned, placed in the pillory, and even scourged through the streets, without feeling their hearts burn with indignation and their whole souls rebel against tyranny so outrageous? "It is a wonder that any honest man could be found to support that miscreant Laud," I remember hearing my father say. "He and his faithless master are mainly answerable for the civil strife now devastating, from north to south and east to west, our fair English land." But I must not trouble my readers with politics; my object is to narrate the scenes I witnessed, or the events in which I took a part. I was too young, indeed, at that time to think much about the matter, but yet I was as enthusiastic a Roundhead as any of my fellow-townsmen. As we approached the little harbour we passed through a large fleet of traders, brought up in the roadstead for shelter, most of which, belonging to London merchants, dared not therefore put into any port held by the Cavaliers. Three or four had dropped their anchors while we were out fishing. We hailed one of them, which had come in from the westward, to ask the news. "Bad news!" was the answer. "The Malignants have taken Exeter, and many other places in the west country, and are now marching in great force on London." "I hope they won't come to Lyme on their way, for if they do, we shall have but small chance of withstanding them," I observed to my companions as we sailed on. "I have but little fear on that score," replied Lancelot. "We'll fight while a man remains on his legs, or a gun can be fired from our batteries." Lancelot's enthusiasm inspired me. The breeze freshened. We soon rounded the Cob, when we pulled up among the small craft which crowded the harbour, to a spot where Lancelot usually kept his boat. As soon as we had moored her we sprang on shore, and hurried through the lower part of the town, which was almost deserted. We found the greater portion of the inhabitants collected at the northern side; and I had scarcely time to ask a question of my father, whom I joined, before we saw a body of troops approaching, led by an officer on horseback. He was a strong-built man, of moderate height, with a fair and florid complexion, and, contrary to the fashion general among Puritans, his hair, in rich profusion, was seen escaping beneath his broad-brimmed hat, while he wore large whiskers, but no beard--his countenance unmistakably exhibiting firmness and determination. He returned in a cordial manner the salutes of the principal townsmen, who had gone out to meet him. "Who is he?" I asked of my father. "That, my son, is Colonel Blake. He has come with five hundred men of Popham's regiment, to protect us from a large army of Malignants--twenty thousand men, it is said--under Prince Maurice, cousin to the King. He threatens to annihilate our little town; but though we shall have a hard struggle to beat them back, God will protect the right." The bells we had heard had been set ringing on the announcement of the approach of Colonel Blake; and now, as he and his brave followers entered the town, they pealed forth with redoubled energy. While the men were sent to their quarters, he, accompanied by the Governor and Mayor, and several officers, rode round the outskirts of the town, to point out the spots where he judged it necessary that batteries and entrenchments should be thrown up. He was accompanied by a young nephew, also named Robert Blake, son of his brother Samuel, who was killed some time before at Bridgwater, while commanding a company in Colonel Popham's regiment. I afterwards became well acquainted with young Robert Blake, as we were much drawn together by the fondness for a sea life which we both possessed. His was rather a passion than mere fondness--indeed, like his noble uncle, he was enthusiastic in all his aspirations, and a more gallant, noble-minded lad I never met. That evening the newly arrived troops, as well as every man in the place capable of labouring, set to work with pickaxes, spades, and barrows to throw up embankments, to cut trenches, to erect batteries, to barricade the roads, and to loophole all the outer walls of the houses and gardens. Officers were in the meantime despatched by the Governor and the Mayor to obtain volunteers from Charmouth, Uplyme, and other villages; while foraging parties were sent out in all directions to collect provisions, cattle, and fodder. Although, in addition to Colonel Blake's five hundred regulars, scarcely more than three hundred fighting men could be mustered in the town, there were no signs of wavering; but high and low endeavoured to make amends for the paucity of their numbers by their dauntless courage, their energy, and unceasing toil; and even women and children were to be seen in all directions, filling baskets with sods, and carrying materials to the labourers at the earthworks. Lancelot and I kept together, and did our best to be of use, though I could not do much, being a little fellow; but I know that I worked away as hard as my strength would allow me. Colonel Blake was everywhere, superintending the operations and encouraging the men. Stopping near where my friends and I were at work, he addressed the labourers. "The haughty Cavaliers fancy that they can ride roughshod into your little town, my lads," he said; "but I want you to show them that you can fight for your hearths and homes as well as did my brave fellows at Prior's Hill; and I do not fear that a traitor will be found within our trenches to deliver up the place, while we have a cask of powder in our magazines, or a musket to fire it. And even should our ammunition run short, the Lord of Hosts being with us, we'll drive them back with pike and sword." "Rightly spoken, Colonel Blake," said my father, who had just then reached the spot where the Colonel was standing. "I am an old man, and had looked forward to ending my days in peace; but willingly will I promise you that the enemy shall march over my dead body before they get within our entrenchments. I served on board the ships of your honoured father, when we had many a tough fight with corsairs, Spaniards, Portingales, and Dutchmen; and I feel sure that I shall not draw my sword in vain when his son commands. Maybe you may remember Richard Bracewell?" "Well indeed I do," answered Colonel Blake, putting out his hand and warmly shaking that of my father. "And many a long yarn about your adventures have I listened to with eager interest, while I longed to sail over the wide ocean and to visit the strange countries you described. Who is that youngster standing by you?" he then asked in a kindly tone, looking down on me. "My only boy, the son of my old age," answered my father. "Though young now, he will, I trust, ere long grow big enough to fight for the civil and religious liberties of our country, or to defend her from foreign foes." "Judging by his looks, and knowing whose son he is, I would gladly have him with me when he is old enough, should heaven spare our lives; but at present he is too young to be exposed to the dangers of war, and I would advise you to keep him under lock and key when the fight is going on, or he will be running where bullets and round shot are falling, and perhaps his young life will be taken before he has had time to strike a blow for the liberties of our country." "I hope that I can do something now, sir," I said, not liking the thoughts of being shut up. "I can fire a pistol if I cannot point an arquebuse; and since morning I have carried a hundred baskets or more of earth to the embankment." "You speak bravely, my boy, and bravely you will act when the time comes," said the Colonel, and forthwith he addressed himself to others who came to receive his orders. Such was my first introduction to one with whom I was destined to serve for many a year. I well remember the spot where we were standing. On one side lay the blue sea extending to the horizon, below us was the town with its white-walled, straw-thatched buildings, the church with its spire to the left, and before us were the green slopes of the hills sprinkled here and there with clumps of trees, while on the more level spots were to be seen corn-fields and orchards smiling in the rays of the setting sun. Beyond the town was Colway House, a substantial mansion, once the residence of the Cobham family; and about a mile from it, on the opposite side of the valley, was a collection of buildings known as Hayes Farm, both of which had been fortified, and occupied as outposts. We had, we knew, not many days to prepare for the defence; and I am proud to say that, scrap of a boy as I was, I worked as hard as many of my elders. Late in the evening, when it was already dusk, my father found me, with Lancelot and Dick, still at our self-imposed task. "Come, boys," he said, "it is time for you to go home and get some sleep. You must leave it to stronger men to labour during the night." "Just let us carry a few more basketfuls, sir," answered Lancelot. "See that gap; we have undertaken to fill it up, and, for what we can tell, the enemy may be upon us before the morning." "Well, well, lads, I like your spirit. I will not baulk you. Give me a spade; I will try what I can do to expedite the work." And my revered father, as soon as the spade had been handed to him, began digging away with right goodwill, filling the baskets, which were carried up to the embankment. He soon became so interested in the work that he was as unwilling to knock off as we were. "Run back and get a lantern. Its light will help us to finish our task more quickly. Maybe the host of the `Three Tankards' will lend thee one; or Master Harris who lives opposite; or, if you cannot get one nearer, go home and bring our big lantern which hangs inside the hall door. See that it is well trimmed, though." "Ay, ay, father," I answered, and set off. Knowing every foot of the way, I was not afraid of running, even though the gathering darkness made it difficult to see objects at any distance beyond my nose. At the first places where I called, all the lanterns had been put into requisition, and so I had to run on until I reached our house. I found my sister Audrey, and Margaret our maid, wondering why we were so long absent. Supper was on the table, and the viands getting cold. On hearing why I wanted the lantern, they both wished to come and help us, Audrey declaring that she could carry a basket as well as either of us boys. "You must stop and take care of the house," I answered, feeling a little jealous that a girl should fancy she could work as well as my companions and I. "There are a good many strangers in the town, and it would not do to leave the house empty. Margaret can trim the lantern, as she knows how to do it better than I do. Be quick about it, for I must be off again as fast as my legs can carry me." "Take a crust of bread and a piece of cheese in the meantime, Master Ben," said Margaret, as she took down the lantern, and examined the wick. "I have no time for eating; I am not hungry," I answered, and I watched her impatiently, while she poured in some fresh oil. Taking the lantern as soon as it was lighted, I hurried out, and, holding it before me, ran on without fear of rushing against any one coming from an opposite direction. I had got a short distance when I found myself in the midst of a body of men, who were coming up from the harbour carrying loads on their shoulder. They had, I discovered from the remarks which reached me, just landed. "Do you bring any news?" I inquired. "Fine news, young sir," answered one of the men. "Prince Maurice has been driven away from Plymouth, which he tried to take, but couldn't. But, as maybe he will pay a visit to Lyme, we have brought you powder and shot, and other munitions of war, and no doubt Colonel Blake will make good use of them." Having obtained all the information I could from the communicative seaman, I hurried on with the satisfactory intelligence to the works, where I found my father leaning on his spade, pretty well tired out by his unusual exertions. The light of the lantern I brought, however, enabled us to proceed, and he recommenced digging with as much energy as before. As we were running backwards and forwards, I could see numerous other lights all along the line, within a few yards of each other, marking the spots where the people were working. It was nearly midnight before our task was concluded. Not one of us had felt hungry or thirsty. My father then insisted on our returning home, and on our way we left Lancelot and Dick at their respective homes. We found Audrey and Margaret sitting up for us, both looking somewhat pale, naturally supposing that if the finishing of the earthworks was so important, immediate danger was to be apprehended. Supper over, we knelt in prayer, which, on all occasions and under all circumstances, was our wont. Then retiring to bed, I for one slept like a top. Next day was like the previous one. The news that Prince Maurice, at the head of a vast army, was marching into Dorsetshire, spread through the town and incited every one to renewed exertions. Volunteers, who came in from all sides, were being drilled by Colonel Weir and other officers, most of them having to learn not only the use of the pike and sword, but how to load and fire an arquebuse or musket. The soldiers and townsmen were still labouring away at the fortifications, when one morning, as Lancelot, Dick, and I were employed at the top of an embankment, my father helping us, we saw a horseman who had been on outpost duty come galloping down the hill towards the town. "The enemy are near at hand!" he exclaimed, as he rode up to where Colonel Blake and Governor Ceely stood. "They will be here anon. I could see them defiling along the road like a host of ants. I had to ride hard to escape their advance guard." On receiving this news, the colonel ordered the drums to beat to arms. Parties were sent out to strengthen the two outposts, and the troops and townsmen, with the volunteers, hastened to the lines. "How many fighting men have we?" I asked of my father, as I watched the defenders taking up their appointed positions. "Colonel Blake brought five hundred men with him, and, maybe, with the townsmen and volunteers from the neighbourhood, we shall muster well-nigh another five hundred," he answered. "A thousand men to withstand twenty thousand?" I asked in a doubtful tone. "Each man of the one thousand will count for twenty when fighting in a just cause," he answered. "Colonel Blake thinks that we can not only withstand, but drive back the Malignants, or he would not wantonly throw away our lives." We watched eagerly for some time, when at length horse and foot, gay banners flying, cuirasses and helmets glittering in the bright sun, appeared over the brow of the distant hills. On they came, until every height was crowned, and we saw drawn up in battle array what appeared to us an army sufficient at a single charge to overwhelm our slender defences. There they remained. We could see horsemen galloping to and fro on the sides of the hills, but as yet not a shot had been fired. Sentries were posted along our whole line, and the men were ordered to sit down and take their dinners. I saw my father look graver than usual. "Ben," he said, "I have been consulting with Master Kerridge, and he agrees with me that it would be wrong to allow you boys to expose your lives. I promise you that if you can render service to the cause you shall be employed; and you must all three give me your words that you will remain where I place you, and not come forth until you are sent for." Very unwillingly Lancelot and Dick and I gave the promise exacted from us, though we were more content when my father took us to the church, and told us that we might remain in the tower, whence, as it overlooked the greater portion of the lines, we could see through a narrow loophole what was going forward. He then returned to the post which he, with Martin Shobbrok, an old follower of his in many a voyage, had undertaken to keep. He had directed me, should the enemy get into the town, to run home and try to protect my sister from insult, and our house from plunder. "Though I may never return, my boy, should the Malignants force an entrance, yet you, Ben, will, I trust, live to become a man, and serve our country either on shore or afloat," he said in a grave tone, which showed, however, no signs of fear. I often afterwards thought of his words, and prayed that I might fulfil his expectations. We had not long taken up our position in the tower before we saw the Cavalier forces moving down the slopes of the hill. One party advanced towards our outposts at Hayes Farm, and then attacked Colway House, at which their great guns commenced a furious fire, wreaths of white smoke filling the calm air. Presently the two little garrisons returned the salute with right goodwill. Then we caught sight of them rushing at full speed towards our lines; and good reason they had to move fast, for, following them close, came horse and foot in battle array, with trumpets sounding, drums beating, lances in rest, pikes at the charge, and swords flashing in the bright sunlight. The enemy halted, however, when still at a distance, and a herald advanced, who blowing a blast on his trumpet summoned the town instantly to surrender. Colonel Blake, mounting on the ramparts, answered in a loud tone, which reached our ears-- "Not while we have men to fight, or breastworks to defend the place. Go, tell the Prince who sent you that such is our resolve." Shaking his fist at the town, the herald wheeled round his horse and galloped off. But a short time elapsed before the trumpets sounded a general charge, and the infantry rushed impetuously forward towards the lines, hurling immense numbers of hand-grenades among the defenders, which, bursting as they fell, filled the air with smoke and deafened our ears by their explosions. Not one of our brave fellows wavered, but fired rapidly in return among the dense masses of the foe. The next instant we could see a large body of cavalry riding furiously onward, expecting to gain an easy victory. In vain the bravest attempted to ride over the earthworks, up to the very muzzles of the muskets; but they were driven back by the heavy fire poured into their ranks, and compelled to retreat up the valley, leaving many dead and wounded behind. We three boys could not refrain from giving way to a shout of joy, believing that the battle was won; but we were grievously mistaken. Again the serried ranks of foot advanced with fierce shouts, threatening the destruction of our little garrison.	{ "id": "21487" }
2	A SUCCESSFUL DISGUISE.	On came the enemy with determination. Fiercely the battle raged--again and again the foot advanced up to the embankment, each time retreating from the storm of bullets, case shot, and round shot poured into them, leaving the ground strewed with their comrades, some in the calm of death, others struggling in vain efforts to rise and escape from the field. Again we thought that the fight for that day was over, when we distinguished a horseman riding along the broken ranks of the Cavaliers, waving his sword, as if to lead them on. He advanced, but not a foot would they budge. They had that day gained a lesson they could not so easily forget. At length, losing patience, the Cavalier, who we had no doubt was the Prince himself, rode round to where his cavalry were posted. The advance was sounded, and now the horse, drawn up in the rear, urged forward the foot with lances and pistol shots at their backs. "They must come on this time," cried Lancelot; "if they don't, they'll get cut down by their friends in the rear." "Then I hope that such will be their fate," said Dick. "See, the poor fellows are advancing. I pity them, for they well know how they will be treated by Colonel Blake." As the enemy got within range of our firearms they were received with showers of musket balls and case shot, which went through and through their closed ranks, striking down dozens at a time, but still, urged on by their officers--who, to give them their due, fought with the most heroic bravery--they advanced close up to our lines. Here they were met by pistols, pikes, and spears, and then, staggering, they broke and fled, followed by showers of missiles, until they were beyond our reach. A loud shout rose all along our line, in which we in the tower joined right heartily, but our troops were too wearied with the ceaseless exertions they had made during the whole of the afternoon to pursue the fugitives; indeed, it would have been the very thing the Prince would have desired, as he would have been down upon them with his cavalry, and although they might have retreated to the lines, many a valuable life would have been sacrificed, and no advantage gained. Colonel Blake therefore contented himself with the brilliant success he had achieved. He had shown those haughty Cavaliers that the garrison of Lyme was not to be so easily overcome as they had thought, and had taught them what they were to expect should they again venture to assail us. Such was the termination of the first day of the siege. Descending from our tower with the satisfaction of having faithfully fulfilled our promise, we went down the lines to view more nearly the battle-field. The whole ground was strewed near and far off with the bodies of men and horses. Parties were at once sent out to bring in any who might be still living, and to bury the dead while the rays of the setting sun gleamed on the white tents of the Royalist camp, which could be seen in the distance. Few doubted that another day would see a fresh attack made on our entrenchments, but some were sanguine enough to believe that the Prince, after the lesson he had received, would retire. I asked my father what he thought. He answered-- "The Royalists will not go away without further attempts to reduce the town, for they know too well that if they do they will leave a vigilant enemy in their rear, under whose standard thousands of honest Puritans will gladly gather to destroy the enemies of our country's freedom." The next morning it was seen that the Cavaliers were busy erecting batteries and throwing up earthworks on all the neighbouring heights, so that they might command our forts and batter down our houses. Notwithstanding the preparations made for the destruction of the town, Colonel Blake urged the garrison to resist to the bitter end, assuring them that ere that should come Parliament would send them relief. I cannot attempt to give a detailed account of the siege. Soon after his first repulse, Prince Maurice opened fire from his great guns placed on all the heights commanding the town, from the effects of which not only the houses but our forts suffered. In a short time the fort at the Cob was knocked to pieces by a battery which had been thrown up at Holme Bush, which also swept the bay, so as to render it dangerous for any vessel to enter the harbour in the day time. Information was also received that the Cavaliers were busy throwing up another battery at Colway Hill, in front of Colway House, and into this battery they were seen dragging some of their largest ordnance. As it commanded Davies Fort, which was the key of our defences, the Colonel ordered a large body of men to strengthen that fort as rapidly as possible. Volunteers were not lacking, and Lancelot and I were allowed to help. We called for Dick Harvey on the way, and when the men saw three young gentlemen, the sons of the three principal persons in the place, labouring away as hard as any one, it encouraged them to still greater exertions, and in a few hours a bank twelve feet thick had been thrown up, which it was not likely the shot from the enemy's guns could penetrate. Colonel Blake passing while we were thus occupied, patted me on the head. "Well done, young comrade," he said in a kind tone. "If we had a garrison of a few hundred boys like you, we might hold the place against all assailants, without the help of more veteran troops." The earthworks had been completed, and Lancelot and I were standing on the top, surveying with no little pride the portion we had assisted in throwing up, when I saw a puff of smoke issue from Colway Hill, followed by a thundering report, and a round shot plunged into the bank close beneath our feet. "Come down, youngsters!" shouted my father, who had just before entered the fort. "More of those iron balls will be coming in this direction. You must not run the risk of losing your lives when you cannot advance our good cause." We unwillingly obeyed, but we had not gone far before a succession of reports showed that the enemy had already got several guns into position, and had not the fort been strengthened, it would soon have been rendered untenable. Numerous successive attacks were made, but were repulsed as the first had been. Poor little Audrey and Cicely were in a great state of alarm while the firing continued, naturally fearing that the whole town would soon be battered down. At length, however, the Royalists drew off, and we were left in quiet for nearly a week. The time was spent in strengthening the fortifications and drilling the volunteers. We had spies in the camp of the Cavaliers, who managed under cover of the night to come into the town with information of what they were about. One piece of news they brought caused Governor Ceely and my friend Dick much anxiety. It was that Mr Harvey, Dick's father, who, having been absent from the town when the Cavalier army arrived before it, had been unable to join us, was made prisoner, and was now in the camp. Dick was afraid that the Prince would hang him, as he had others, and talked much with Lancelot and me of a plan for rescuing him; still, for a long time we could strike out nothing feasible. Dick, like a good son, was ready to run every risk, and I was ready to assist him if I could obtain my father's leave, as was also Lancelot. We took Audrey and Cicely into our councils. Audrey proposed that she and Cicely should go to the camp and try to bribe the guards to let Mr Harvey escape. "Bad as the Cavaliers may be, they won't injure two young girls, and Prince Maurice, who is a gentleman, would be sure to treat us with courtesy," observed Audrey. "You, Lancelot, and Dick might, in the meantime, during the night, row along the coast, and landing, obtain a horse, with which you can wait outside the Royalists' camp, until Mr Harvey, being free, finds you and gallops off." "No, no, such a plan I can never agree to," exclaimed Lancelot. "I would sooner trust you two girls in a den of lions than amongst those Malignants. We must devise some other plan; I am sure that our fathers would not consent. Mr Harvey was taken without arms, and nothing can be proved against him." This conversation took place on the 6th of May, 1644, and good reason I had for remembering the date. The weather had hitherto been fine, but soon after midday it began to blow hard from the southward, and the seas came rolling into our little harbour. Lancelot, who had gone away, returned in a hurry, accompanied by Dick, and asked him to assist in hauling up his boat, which ran a chance of being dashed to pieces, as Tom Noakes, who had charge of her, was likely to be engaged on the lines. We all three hurried down. When we got there, we found a number of men, who, as the enemy were quiet, had left their posts in order to secure their craft from the tempest. Evening was approaching, and as the gale was rapidly increasing there was no time to be lost. We found the boat tumbling and tossing about at her moorings, exposed to great risk of being run down by the smaller vessels which were standing in for shelter. To get on board was the difficulty, as no other boat was at hand, so Lancelot, pulling off his clothes, and swimming through the foaming sea, was soon on board. "Stand by, to haul her up as she comes in," he shouted out, as he cast off the moorings. Then springing aft, he seized an oar. It was well that he did so, for just then a vessel which had rounded the Cob came tearing up under her foresail, the man at the helm apparently not seeing the boat in the way. Lancelot shouted lustily and plied his oar, the craft just scraping the stern of the boat as she luffed up to come to an anchor. We were on the east shore, the most exposed side of the harbour, it should be understood. Dick and I stood by to seize the boat as she struck the beach. Lancelot, leaping on shore, slipped into his shirt and hauled away likewise, but with our united strength we could scarcely have succeeded, had not Martin Shobbrok come to our aid. Fortunately there were some rollers near at hand, and by their means we at length got the boat hauled up out of harm's way. Never had I seen our harbour in a state of greater confusion. The smaller craft continued to stand in sometimes two or three together, many of them running foul of one another before they could bring up, and others being driven on shore. The larger vessels outside were getting down fresh anchors, and several making sail were endeavouring to beat out of the bay, to obtain an offing where they could ride out the gale. A large number of the townsmen were engaged in securing the vessels, when sounding high above the roar of the tempest a rapid fusillade was heard in the direction of the lines, while shot after shot from the enemy's batteries came hurtling into the town. "The soldiers would be at their suppers at this hour," exclaimed Martin. "I fear me much that the place has been surprised, and if so, it will go hard with us. Hasten to your homes, young gentlemen, and await the issue; I must to my post." Martin, without waiting to see what we should do, taking his musket, which he had placed near the boat, hurried away, as did all the men engaged in securing the vessels. We followed, eager to know what was taking place. The sound of bursting hand-grenades, the reports of muskets and pistols, the shouts and shrieks which reached our ears, showed us that the fight was raging much nearer than usual. "There's no doubt about the enemy being in the town," cried Lancelot. "We may as well die fighting as be killed like rats in a hole. Come on, lads!" We dashed forward through the market square, in a street leading from which towards the lines we could see, by the bright and rapid flashes, that hot fighting was going on. A party from the harbour had come up just in time to stop the entrance into the square, and with loud shouts they pressed onwards, while from the windows of every house there burst forth bright flashes from arquebuse, musket, and pistol. To force our way in that direction was impossible, so, led by Lancelot, we made a wide circuit, until we reached the neighbourhood of the lines, where we found a furious fight was also raging. We met on our way several wounded men supported by mourning parties of women, who had ventured up, even to the scene of the conflict, for the sake of succouring those who had been struck down. Still, the fight in the centre of the town continued, and at length we learned from one of the wounded men that a large body of Cavaliers had forced their way into the town, when Colonel Blake, closing in on their rear, had cut them off, but though Malignants as they were, like gallant men they were fighting desperately. Meanwhile another party outside were endeavouring to drive back the garrison and rescue them. The darkness increased, the south wind bringing up a thick fog, which prevented our assailants from seeing their way. Often the hand-grenades they intended for us were thrown among their own companions, while our people plied them with every weapon which could be mustered. The bullets came pinging against the wall above where we were standing, but in our eagerness we boys heeded not the risk we were running. "Let us fight too!" exclaimed Lancelot, and we made our way on to the trenches, where not only the soldiers, the volunteers, and the townsmen were fighting, but women, with muskets in their hands, were firing away, encouraging their companions with shouts and cheers. Lancelot had got hold of a musket belonging to one of the garrison who had fallen, and had taken his powder-horn and shot-belt. Dick and I, after hunting about, succeeded in finding a couple of horse-pistols, but scarcely had we fired them than the din in front of us ceased, though the report of firearms to the right and left of us still continued. We could hear the tramp of men and the cries and groans of the wounded in front, but the uproar towards the market-place was quelled. No shots were heard, no clashing of swords, no shouts and shrieks. "The enemy have retreated! The Malignants are flying!" was the cry passed along the lines. Still, we could scarcely believe it possible. But an hour had passed since the attack had commenced, and our little garrison had driven back once more the well-equipped troops of Prince Maurice. The storm raged fiercely during the night, and many fearing that another attack might be made, the greater portion of the garrison remained under arms, ready for any emergency. Not until morning was the full extent of the Cavaliers' loss discovered. Within the lines well-nigh four hundred men lay stark and stiff where they had fallen, struck down by the fire from the houses and the fierce onslaught in front and rear, few prisoners having been taken. Outside the trenches a hundred more strewed the ground, among them many officers of distinction, including Colonel Blewett, a gallant gentleman, greatly esteemed by Maurice. We knew this, because early in the morning the Prince sent a herald to request that he might be restored if a prisoner, or that his body might be given up if dead. A prisoner he was not, for every officer who had come inside the lines had been slain. The Colonel answered that the body should be restored if found, provided our people were not injured while searching for it and burying the dead. Before long the body of the Cavalier was discovered where he had fallen, at the entrance of the town, leading on his men. It was placed with all decency in a coffin, and Colonel Blake sent word that it was ready to be delivered up, and that he hoped, in return, his friend Mr Harvey would be set at liberty. The Prince, to the indignation of the garrison, replied that they might keep the body, and refused to give up Mr Harvey. The coffin was, notwithstanding, carried to the lines opposite Holme Bush, when a signal was made to the heralds to come for it. Colonel Blake stood by to receive them. "Have you any orders to pay for the shroud and coffin?" he asked. "We have received none," was the answer. "Take them, notwithstanding," answered the Colonel, curling his whiskers, as was his wont when angered. "We are not so poor but that we can afford to give them to you." The body was taken up by the men sent to fetch it, and slowly they wended their way back to the camp. An officer approached while the flag of truce was flying. He was one with whom Colonel Blake was acquainted. "Here, friend," he said, "you see the weakness of our works. We trust not to them. Tell Prince Maurice that should he desire to come in, we will pull down a dozen yards, so that he may enter with ten men abreast, and we will give him battle." "Not so," answered the Royalist, stung by the reproach to the military prowess of his party. "We will take our own time, but will come ere long." The Colonel replied by a scornful laugh. All that day we enjoyed unusual quiet, for the Royalists had not the heart again to attack us, though we were well aware they would do so should occasion favour them. Day after day and week after week went by, still our garrison held out. Our provisions were running short, as was our ammunition, and should that fail us--notwithstanding all the heroic efforts which had been made--we should be compelled to yield. My friend Dick was still very anxious about his father. "I have an idea!" exclaimed Lancelot. "You, Dick, are like your sister Mildred. Probably the Prince is not aware she is not in the town. What say you to dressing up in her clothes, and taking Ben with you? he can pretend to be your brother. He looks so young, no one would think of injuring him more than they would you, supposing you to be a girl. You can steal out at night; go boldly to the Prince, and say you wish to see your father. He will scarcely refuse you. You can then tell Mr Harvey your plan, and he is a man of wealth; the chances are he'll find the means of bribing his guards. I meantime will sail along the shore, and landing, arrange as I proposed about a horse, which I will have ready at the foot of Charmouth Rise." We kept our plan secret. I had some doubt whether I was acting rightly, but I trusted that my father would not blame me. Audrey and Cicely were delighted, and soon rigged up Dick, so that the keenest eye would not have discovered that he was a boy. That very night Lancelot, accompanied by Tom Noakes, who had charge of his boat, put out of the harbour, and favoured by a light breeze, stood along the shore. We slipped out and crept along past the sentries, making our way to the east of Colway Hill. Every moment we expected to be discovered, but a thick fog favoured our design, and we got away, creeping along hedges and under banks, until we were clear outside the enemy's entrenchments as well as our own. Proceeding northward, we reached a wide-spreading tree on the top of a high bank, where we sat down to rest and consult as to our future course. The moon rising and the fog blowing off, we saw spread out before us the white tents of the Cavalier army, covering a wide extent of ground. We agreed that it would be wise to wait until daylight, lest, approaching the camp, we might be shot by the sentries. Dick produced some food which he had brought in his pocket. We ate it with good appetites. We then stretched ourselves on the sward, not supposing that we should go to sleep, but in spite of our anxiety we dropped off. When we awoke it was broad daylight. It was fortunate we were not discovered, for Dick's dress looked so draggled and dirty that no one would have taken him for a young lady. I set to work to brush and clean him, and make him more presentable. We had resolved to walk boldly on unless challenged, until we could reach the Prince's tent, when Dick would ask leave as if his request was sure to be granted to see his father as though on family matters. If refused, we would wait about the camp until we could find an opportunity of gaining our object. We came sooner than we expected on a sentry, who at once challenged us. "You won't stop us, my good man," answered Dick, going up and slipping a silver crown into his hand. "We have come to see our father, and surely you would not interfere with two young children like us, who can do no harm to anyone." The man, a fresh recruit, who knew nothing about military discipline, having pocketed the coin, was easily persuaded to allow us to proceed. The next sentry Dick managed in the same way. We advanced, Dick holding my hand, until we were within the camp. Several persons spoke to us, but did not seem to think it necessary to interfere with our progress, and at length, by dint of inquiring the way we found ourselves standing before a large tent, occupied we were told, by Prince Maurice. We were waiting for leave to enter, when the curtain was drawn aside, and a Cavalier in cuirass and plumed hat, a light moustache, his locks curling over his shoulders, came forth. "Who are you, my pretty maiden?" he asked, looking at Dick. "An' it please you, sir, I've come to see my father, who, we have heard, is a prisoner in the camp, though why or wherefore he is detained we cannot tell, for no more peaceable gentleman is to be found in the south of England. We wish to deliver some messages to him, and learn how he fares. Have we your permission, for you are, I opine, the general of this army?" The Prince, for that such he was we knew by the way the officers who stood round addressed him, smiled as he replied-- "Say, who is your father?" "Master Harvey, your highness," answered Dick. "You have an arrant rebel for a father, then, I fear," said the Prince. "Please, your highness, I know nothing of politics; all I desire is to have a few words with my father, whom I am bound to honour, whether Royalist or Roundhead, and then to quit the camp and return home." The Prince, after exchanging a few words with one of the gentlemen standing by, handed a piece of paper, on which he had written a few lines, to Dick. "Take this, maiden," he said; "it will gain your object. But, understand, after you have seen your father, for your own sake, without loss of time, you must return home." Thankful that we had so easily accomplished the first part of our enterprise--accompanied by one of the officers, who undertook to show us the way--we set off for the cottage in which we were told Mr Harvey with other prisoners were confined.	{ "id": "21487" }
3	IN THE ENEMY'S HANDS.	Mr Harvey looked so astonished when Dick and I were introduced, that he almost betrayed us. Quickly, however, recovering himself, he opened his arms and embraced us affectionately. The other prisoners, gentlemen well acquainted with him, seeing that he wished to be alone, retired to the farther end of the room, when Dick lost no time in whispering into his ear the plan we had arranged for his liberation. He listened with a thoughtful brow, and Dick continued to press its adoption, but I much feared that he would not agree. "I will try it," he said at last; "but you, my children, must hasten from the camp; it is no place for young persons, and should I fail to escape, you will be made to suffer." Though Dick begged hard to remain, his father was firm, and told us to return by the way we had come, hoping that we might get free without further questions being asked us. Having taken an affectionate farewell of Mr Harvey, we set out, Dick cleverly replying to all the questions put to us, and, with much less difficulty than we had expected, we gained the outskirts of the camp. Instead of returning to Lyme, we kept on towards Charmouth, to a spot where we had agreed to meet Lancelot. To our infinite satisfaction we found that he had obtained a horse and left if in Charmouth Wood as arranged, under charge of a lad who had been directed to stay there until Mr Harvey appeared, being supplied with food for himself and corn for the animal. We would gladly have remained to see the success of our undertaking, but Lancelot was impatient to get back to relieve the anxiety which his father and mother would feel when his absence was discovered. We therefore set off to return to the shore, keeping a look-out to ascertain that we were not watched. We had reached the top of the cliffs, and were about to descend, when we caught sight in the distance of a party of horse galloping towards us. "They are out on a foraging expedition, probably," observed Lancelot. "We must get away before they come here, or they will be apt to inquire our business." Whether we had been seen or not, it was impossible to say. We, however, made the best of our way down the cliff; on reaching the bottom we found Tom waiting for us, and forthwith set to work to launch the boat. We had scarcely got her into the water when some of the men we had before seen appeared at the top of the cliffs. They hailed us, and ordered us to come back. "Very likely," said Lancelot. "Shove away, Tom. Let them halloo as long as they like." We had got out the oars, and the boat was soon in deep water. Dick took the helm while the rest of us rowed, as there was not wind enough to fill the sail had we hoisted it. A voice from the top of the cliff again ordered us to come back, and presently several shots pattered into the water close alongside. "Cowards!" exclaimed Lancelot. "Even though they fancy they see a girl steering, they make no scruple of trying to hit us." The shot only made us pull the harder. Presently we saw some of the men descending the cliff, and making towards a boat which lay hauled up on the beach at some distance. "They suspect something, and intend to pursue us," observed Lancelot. "Nevertheless, we have a good start of them, and when we get farther out, we shall feel the breeze and be able to make sail." "And maybe the other boat hasn't any oars in her, and if so we can laugh at them," said Tom. Lancelot told Dick to steer right out to sea. "They won't be inclined to follow us far away from the land," he observed; "and if we make for Lyme, they will guess where we come from." We saw the men reach the boat, and presently they began to launch her. By this time we had got well beyond the range of their firearms. "Hurrah!" cried Dick, who had been looking to the eastward. "I see a sail coming up from Portland. She's more likely to be a friend than an enemy, and if we can get on board her we may defy our pursuers." This announcement encouraged us. We had need, however, to exert ourselves, for the soldiers had almost launched the boat, which showed us that they had found oars, or they would not have taken the trouble of putting her into the water. We could only just see what they were about, but we made out that four or five fellows had got into her. Directly afterwards, her head being turned towards us, they gave way. Though the boat was heavy, four stout hands were more than a match for us, for though Tom pulled a strong oar, Lancelot and I were scarcely equal in strength to one man. Dick kept looking eastward. Again he cried out, "There's another sail, and another; a whole fleet of them!" "If they are Parliament ships, they'll soon make the fellows in the boat astern put about," exclaimed Tom; but we were pulling too hard to turn our heads even for a moment. Our pursuers still kept on, but they were not near enough to allow them to fire with any chance of hitting us. They had undoubtedly seen the ships, and thought we were going out to carry them information. This probably made them more anxious to catch us. At length the breeze, as we expected it would, freshened. "I'll step the mast; you, Master Lancelot, go to the helm. Stand by to hoist the sail, Master Ben," cried Tom; and in half a minute we had the mast stepped, the sail hoisted, and the sheet hauled aft, when, again getting out the oars, we glided rapidly through the water. We saw that our pursuers had no sail, or they would have hoisted it. This was satisfactory, though they were pulling harder than ever. Should the wind hold, we had good hope that they would soon be left behind, still it would be folly to relax our efforts. "Hurrah! we are distancing them," cried Tom. As he spoke, our pursuers fired two shots at us, but the bullets fell into the water astern. "Blaze away as fast as you like!" cried Lancelot; "every shot you fire will help us to get ahead of you." The men in the boat had to throw in their oars to fire, while they lost some time in reloading. The ships were still a long way off, and it was very probable that, as evening came on, the wind would fail before we could reach them. There was, however, one frigate ahead, which, propelled by oars as well as sails, was making good way. We steered for her. "All right, boys," cried Tom; "I see the Parliamentary flag flying from her peak, and if those fellows come near us they'll have to rue it." Notwithstanding, our pursuers, finding that they could not reach us with their muskets, again took to their oars and pulled away with might and main, trusting probably to the chances of the wind falling. Still, as we were already well ahead, we determined to maintain our advantage. The frigate meantime was coming on at good speed, carrying every stitch of canvas she could set. At length both we and the boat in chase were seen, but should the frigate fire at the latter, we might run a chance of being hit. We kept on therefore. As we got nearer, Tom stood up and waved as a signal that we wished to get on board. On perceiving this, our pursuers knew that their game was up, and, to our regret, putting about, pulled away towards the shore as fast as they had come. The frigate, to allow us to get on board, now clewed up her sails and drew in her sweeps. We were welcomed on board by her commander, who inquired where we had come from and what we had been about. We frankly told him, when, to our joy, he informed us that the fleet was that of the Earl of Warwick, sent by the Parliament to the relief of Lyme. "You have come opportunely, sir," said Lancelot, "for we lack both ammunition, food, and clothing, and had you not arrived, we might in a short time have been compelled to yield to the foe." _The Mermaid_, the frigate we had so fortunately reached, again making sail, continued her course towards Lyme. Darkness, however, quickly came on, but Tom piloted her up to a berth close in with the harbour, where none of the enemy's shot could reach her. We then accompanied Captain Ray, her commander, on shore, to convey the joyful intelligence of the approach of the Earl of Warwick's fleet. The news spread through the town quickly, but Colonel Blake issued orders that no demonstration should be made. My father, when he had heard of our expedition, did not blame me for having taken part in it. "Ben," he said, "you should have trusted me; and, my boy, let me urge you never to undertake anything for which you cannot ask the blessing of your Father in heaven as well as your earthly parent. Now go to rest. Before to-morrow evening important events may have occurred." On rising the next morning, I saw a goodly array of ships at anchor before the town. Soon after I had left home I met my friend Lancelot, and we hurried down to have a look at them. While standing on the quay, Colonel Blake with two other officers came down, about to embark to hold a consultation with the Earl. "Would you like to accompany us and see the big ships?" he asked, looking kindly at Lancelot and me. We doffed our hats, and answered that it was the very thing we wished. "Come, then!" he said; and we followed him and his companions into the boat. We pulled away for the _Vanguard_, one of the largest ships, on the deck of which the Earl stood ready to receive Colonel Blake. Briefly exchanging greetings, they went to work on business at once, while Lancelot and I were allowed to go round the ship to see the big guns, the huge lanterns, the stores of pikes, and the tops high up the lofty masts, each capable of holding a score of men. "Have you a mind to sail with us, youngsters?" asked one of the officers. "You are likely boys, and will become prime seamen in time." I answered that it was the desire of my heart, but that I must be guided by my father's wishes, for that he, being himself a master mariner, well knew the nature of the calling. The officer laughed at my reply, and I was about to ask him why he laughed, when Lancelot and I were summoned to return with Colonel Blake to the shore. From the conversation I overheard I found that the Earl had brought, by order of Parliament, some provisions and military stores, of which we stood greatly in need. Indeed, by this time we wanted nearly everything. One third of our men had no shoes or stockings, and large numbers were but scantily clothed, while famine had made the faces of the stoutest look pale and thin. So shocked were the brave seamen with the appearance of the garrison, that they made collections of food and clothing on board their ships, while they gave a fourth of their daily allowance of bread for a month to supply our wants. Colonel Blake had also arranged with the Earl a plan by which it was hoped the Prince would be more signally defeated than before, should he again attack the town. Scarcely, however, had we landed, and before the plan could be carried out, than the Cavaliers in great force once more approached our lines to attempt taking the town by assault; but Colonel Blake, hurrying to the front, placed himself at the head of a chosen band, and sallying forth drove them back. The battle lasted little more than an hour, and during that time Colonel Weir was killed, as were many other officers, and Colonel Blake himself was wounded badly in the foot, while many Cavaliers, several of them of note, lost their lives. The next day, while the funeral of Colonel Weir was taking place, another equally sanguinary attack was made with the same result. That night, according to a plan before arranged, three hundred seamen came on shore, and were concealed in the houses. In the morning the fleet was seen under weigh, standing towards Charmouth, now approaching the shore as if about to land some men, now firing at the Cavaliers who appeared on the cliffs. This made the Prince fancy that part of the garrison had gone away in order to land and attack him in the rear, and that the town was even less prepared for resistance than before. It was still early in the evening when we saw the Cavaliers in three solid columns approaching, and at the same time the big guns opened fire upon us with redoubled fury. Instead of being diminished, our little garrison had been increased by the seamen landed from the ships, so that we now mustered twelve hundred men. As the enemy approached, the whole of our force springing into view, opened so withering a fire, that the front ranks of the foe fell into confusion. The next column coming on was treated in the same manner as the first. The big guns meanwhile battered at our earthworks, knocking down walls, and sent their shot through the roofs of the houses, many of which being set on fire were blazing up brightly. The second column driven back as the first had been, the last advanced shouting fiercely, hoping to retrieve the day, but our brave commander was prepared for them. While he pressed them in front, his best officers appeared on their flanks, and the seamen rushing forward leaped on them furiously with their hangers. In vain the gentlemen Cavaliers urged on their men. Beaten back at every point, the soldiers took to flight, and at length, when that summer's day closed, five hundred Cavalier corpses strewed the ground in front of the lines. In wanton rage at his defeat, Prince Maurice fired red-hot balls and bars of twisted lead into the town; but no farther attempt was made to capture it, and the following day his army was in full retreat, he having heard that the Earl of Essex with a large force was marching to the westward. Altogether upwards of two thousand Cavaliers lost their lives in front of our earthworks. To us that last day was the saddest of all. By our father's desire, Audrey and Margaret had taken up their abode in the house of Mr Kerridge, as our own was greatly exposed. Lancelot and I had been endeavouring to ascertain what was taking place, when he saw bright flames ascending from the direction of my father's house. We hastened toward it. Our worst fears were realised. Already every part was burning, while red-hot shot and cannon balls kept ever and anon plunging into the midst of it, preventing the possibility of extinguishing the flames. So dangerous was the position, that Lancelot dragged me away, and accompanied me in search of my father, to whom I wished to give the intelligence. As the firing in front had ceased, we went on, hoping every now and then to meet him. It was by this time getting so dusk that we could hardly distinguish one person from another. As we approached the part of the lines where my father was generally posted, we met a person hurrying towards us. He was Martin Shobbrok. "Alack, alack! young gentlemen, I have bad news to give you," he said. "I am hastening for a stretcher on which to carry the captain home, though I fear much it will be but his lifeless body." "Where is he?" I asked, in an agony of sorrow. "Take me to him." "I remained with him where he fell till a surgeon camp to bind up his wounds, but from what he said I fear the worst," answered Martin. Hurrying on, I soon reached the spot where my dear father lay, as Martin had told us, attended by a surgeon. He knew my voice, but his eyes were already growing dim. Pressing my hand, he whispered-- "Ben, I am about to be taken from you, but I have fallen in a righteous cause; may you never fight for another. And remember, my boy, do your duty in the sight of God, and never fear what your fellow man may say or do to you." "I will, father," I answered, bursting into tears. "Is there no hope?" I asked, finding that my father did not again speak. The surgeon shook his head. Ere many minutes had passed, my kind, brave father breathed his last. "Poor dear Audrey will break her heart," I cried, while Lancelot raised me from the ground. We followed the litter on which some men, who had been sent to collect the dead, had placed my father's body. He received a soldier's funeral, with several other brave men who had fallen on that day, so glorious to the national cause. We were orphans, but not friendless, for Mr Kerridge invited Audrey and me, with Margaret, to take up our abode at his house until arrangements were made for our future disposal. Dick had all this time received no new of his father, and he, as were all who valued Mr Harvey, was in great anxiety as to his fate. Had he been unable to make his escape, Prince Maurice would not have scrupled to hang him, as he had other Roundheads who had fallen into his power, when he found himself defeated. Dick, Lancelot, and I were going along the lines picking up bullets and searching for arms and any valuables which might have been left by the Cavaliers, when we saw a horseman spurring at full speed towards the town. Dick gazed eagerly at him. "That's my father!" he exclaimed. "I know his way of riding. Heaven be praised!" Dick was right. In a short time Mr Harvey, having thrown himself from his horse, was embracing his son. Owing to the arrangements we had made, he had effected his escape, though he had nearly been caught afterwards by Prince Maurice's troops as they advanced eastward. He came to inform Colonel Blake of the road they were taking, and of their probable plans for the future. He brought also news of the near approach of the Parliamentary army under the Earl of Essex and of the recapture of Weymouth. The result of this information was that Colonel Blake marched out of Lyme with his now veteran troops, and, joined by other Roundhead forces, captured Taunton without a blow. His heroic defence of that town, when it was soon afterwards surrounded by the Cavaliers, I cannot describe. For a year the brave garrison held out against all the assaults of some of the bravest of the Cavalier leaders, including Lord Goring and his ruffian crew. Although their clothes were reduced to rags, their ammunition had run short, and they were almost starved, they maintained it until relieved by General Fairfax. In the meantime Lyme was unmolested, and Audrey and I continued to reside with our kind friend Mr Kerridge and his family. A young minister undertook to superintend our studies, but all my leisure time was spent with Lancelot and Dick, as had been our wont before the siege, on the water. Sometimes we extended our excursions westward as far as the Teign, and even to Dartmouth, at other times along the coast to the west of Portland Bill, but as there were no safe harbours to run to, we seldom ventured in that direction. Colonel Blake, we heard, remained Governor of Taunton, and I much feared that I should never see him more, as he was not likely again to come to Lyme. The battle of Naseby had been fought, and the Parliament had gained the upper hand through the length and breadth of England and Scotland, though the Royalists still held Jersey and Guernsey and Scilly, and the greater part of Ireland. News now reached us but rarely; indeed, our little town, which had lately been so famous, seemed almost forgotten. Audrey and I, having recovered from the grief caused by the loss of our father, were very happy in our new home. Mr Kerridge and Mr Harvey had arranged our affairs, so that we were not dependent upon others. At the same time it was necessary that I should have a profession. My inclinations prompted me to follow that of my father, but my friends found it difficult to settle with whom I should be sent to sea. Both Lancelot and Dick declared that they would go with me, though their fathers were not very willing that they should engage in so dangerous a calling. One day, the weather being fine, Lancelot proposed that we should make a trip to Dartmouth, taking Martin Shobbrok, now our constant companion, with us. Storing our boat with provisions for the voyage, we made sail. We had a fine run to that beautiful little harbour, and having gone on shore, we spent more time than we had intended in purchasing various articles which were not to be procured at Lyme. It was somewhat late in the evening when we stood out again, but as there was a moon we expected no difficulty in finding our way back; scarcely, however, had we got well out of the harbour than the wind shifted to the eastward, but as the tide was in our favour we agreed that by making a long leg to the southward we should fetch Lyme on the next tack. To our disappointment, just as we were going about, the wind veered three points to the northward, and we found it blowing directly in our teeth. Unwilling to be defeated, we continued standing out to sea, expecting that when we went about we should be almost abreast of Lyme. In a short time, however, the sky became covered with thick clouds, the wind came in fitful gusts, and the hitherto calm ocean was broken into foam-covered waves. We reduced our sail as much as possible, and Martin, as the most experienced, took the helm. The night became darker and darker. We had no compass, and no land could be seen. Still, supposing that the wind was now remaining steady, we stood on, our stout boat riding buoyantly over the increasing seas. Martin at length expressed his fear that the wind had gone back to its old quarter, and judging by the heavy foam-crested seas which came rolling on, that we were no longer under shelter of the land. We kept up our spirits, though I guessed by the tone of Martin's voice that he was far from happy at our position. The tide, too, we knew by this time must have turned, and we should be unable to fetch Lyme. We might, we agreed, run back to Dartmouth, but the attempt to find the entrance of the harbour in the darkness of the night would be difficult, if not dangerous. Though Martin steered as well as the best of seamen, the rising seas came washing over our bows, and we all had to turn to and bale out the boat. This prevented us from thinking of the danger we were in. At length, not without risk, putting an oar out, we got the boat round, and stood, as we supposed, towards the shore. By this time we were wet through to the skin, and in spite of our exertions our teeth were chattering with cold. "I hope Mistress Margaret will have some bowls of hot porridge ready for us when we get in," said Lancelot. "Oh, don't talk of that," observed Dick. "Let us get in first. Shall we ever reach the shore, Martin, do you think?" "That's as God wills, Master Dick," answered Martin. "It's our business to do our best." Just then a sudden blast almost laid the boat over. Martin saved her by luffing-up. Scarcely had he done so than we saw a dark object away on the starboard hand. "That's a ship; she's standing directly down upon us," cried Martin. "Shout, lads, shout at the tops of your voices." We all shrieked out, joining Martin's deep bass, which rose above the howling of the storm. The next instant there came a crash, our boat had been run down, but before she sank, having been happily struck by the bow, and not by the stern of the ship, we found ourselves alongside, when Martin, seizing me by the arm and catching hold of the fore-chains, hauled me up as the boat disappeared beneath our feet. We hung there for a few seconds before we were discovered, though I caught sight of several figures leaning over the side. I uttered a cry of sorrow as I thought that my two friends were lost. In vain I looked down for them. The next instant several willing hands assisted Martin and me on board. "Oh, save Dick and Lancelot," I cried out. "Lower a boat; pick them up; don't let them perish." My heart bounded with joy when I heard Lancelot's voice. "Here I am, safe and sound," he cried out, running forward and shaking me by the hand, "thanks to our friends here, who hove me a rope just as I was sinking." "And Dick, where is Dick?" I said. "The youngster is on board, but he got a knock on the head. He's coming round though," said a voice from the afterpart of the ship. Martin, Lancelot, and I hurried aft, where we found Dick lying on the deck, supported by a seaman, who seemed as wet as he was. We were told that the gallant fellow had fastened a rope round his waist, plunged overboard and picked up Dick just as he was being washed by astern. Dick quickly came to. "Where is the boat!" he asked, lifting up his head. "She's gone to the bottom," answered Lancelot. "Where are we?" "On board a ship." "What ship, what ship?" asked Dick, still confused. "That's more than I can say," answered Lancelot, "We shall soon know, however."	{ "id": "21487" }
4	ON BOARD HIS MAJESTY'S FRIGATE.	Scarcely were we on board the ship than the gale came down with greater fury than before, so that the seamen being required to hand the sails left us to ourselves. Two or three persons, however, gathered round us, one of whom--the surgeon, I concluded--advised that we should be taken below, and stripped of our wet clothes, for our teeth were chattering with the cold. Very thankful to be so treated, we had no time to ask questions before we found ourselves in the officers' cabin; Dick and I being placed in one bed, and Lancelot in another, while Martin was allowed to go forward among the men, to obtain such assistance from them as they were inclined to give. After a short time some food and a cup of warm tea were brought us, having partaken of which, thanks to its genial warmth, we soon fell asleep. Once I awoke when the rolling and pitching, the battering of the sea against the sides, and the noises overhead, told me that the gale was still blowing. I was soon asleep again, and when I opened my eyes it was broad daylight. No one was in the cabin. I roused my companions. Our clothes had been brought back tolerably well dried, so we dressed, intending to go on deck and learn what ship we were on board of, and where we were bound. The pistols, hangers, and other weapons hanging up against the bulkhead showed us she was a ship of war, and Lancelot discovered several prints ornamenting his cabin, which made us suspect that she did not belong to the Puritans. "If they inquire who we are, as they are sure to do, what shall we say about ourselves?" asked Dick. "Tell the truth and shame the devil! Whoever they are, we should be grateful to them for having saved our lives, and maybe, if we speak them fair, they'll set us on shore at the first port they touch at," answered Lancelot. "If they're Cavaliers, there's no port they can put into on the south coast without the certainty of being fired at," I observed, "though perhaps they may be induced to set us ashore in one of their boats, and we can find our way back over land. I much wish to relieve the anxiety that Audrey and Cicely and your father must be feeling about us, for they will--should we not return--give us up for lost." "We shan't grow wiser by staying here," said Lancelot, as he led the way on deck. "Halloa, young masters. Who are you?" exclaimed a gentleman in plumed hat, scarlet doublet, and sword hanging by a rich scarf at his side. An officer approached and spoke to the gentleman, whom we guessed must be the captain. I had time to look around; the sea had somewhat gone down, but it was still blowing fresh. Over the starboard quarter I observed a long point, which I at first thought was the Start, but afterwards learned was the Lizard. The frigate, for such I saw was the vessel we were on board of, was heeling over to the breeze, and the Union Jack waving from her peak showed me that she belonged to the Royalist party; indeed, when I remarked the varied costumes of the officers, the careless manners of the crew, and heard their strange oaths, I had no doubt about the matter. Seeing that we were expected to reply to the question put to us, Lancelot advanced and informed the captain that we were young gentlemen belonging to Lyme, and were taking a pleasure trip when caught by the gale. "Young Roundheads, I wot," answered the captain, with an oath. "You might have been left to drown with small loss to honest men. However, as you are now on board the frigate, you may remain, and we will see to what use we can put you. You have a companion, I understand. Is he a sailor?" "Yes!" I answered, somewhat incautiously. "He spent his early life at sea, and visited many strange parts with my late father, Captain Bracewell." "So much the better for him. He shall serve on board, and I will order his name to be entered on the books." From the way we were first received, we fancied that we should have been treated like young gentlemen, but on his ordering us with an oath to go forward and do what we were told, such we found was not the captain's intention. We obeyed, for we had no choice. On our way we encountered a big fellow with a knotted rope in his hand, who, from the chain with a whistle hanging to it round his neck, we knew was the boatswain. "Come along, my young masters. I'll soon find tasks for you. You!" he exclaimed, seizing Dick, "go and help the cook in the galley, you two will pick oakum," he added, turning to Lancelot and me; "and when the hands are sent aloft to reef sails, as you seem active fellows, you'll go to the foretop-gallant yard." "But I have never been aloft," said Lancelot, "and shan't know what to do when I get there." "Then the sooner you go the faster you'll learn, or you'll have a taste of my persuader," and he flourished the knotted rope. "Up, both of you, and let me see how you can lay out on the yard." As we hesitated, flourishing the rope, he laid it across our shoulders, at which the men standing by laughed and jeered at us. To remonstrate was useless, so to avoid a repetition of the unpleasant infliction, we sprang into the rigging and began to mount, taking care to hold tight as we went up until we got into the top, where we both stood looking down, not liking to go higher. "Aloft with you, aloft, or I'll send a couple of hands to start you," shouted the boatswain from the deck. We looked up at the tall mast swaying to and fro, and I fully expected, should I make the attempt, to fall down on deck, or to be plunged into the sea, for which I had no wish; but looking down for a moment, and seeing two men about to come up the rigging, I told Lancelot that I would run the chance. "It is the only thing we can do," he answered. Catching hold of the topmast shrouds, we began to mount. We got up at length, and crawled out on the yard, holding on tightly by the ropes which seemed most secure. Finding that it was not so terrible as I had supposed, I crawled out to the very end of the yard, where I clung on, in spite of the fearful way in which it moved about. Thankful I was, however, to hear the boatswain shout, "You may come down now, lads;" and I made my way into the top. Lancelot had gone out at the other end of the yard, and when we met on deck he could not help shaking hands, as if we had arrived successfully from some desperate enterprise. The seamen laughed as they saw us, and even the boatswain's grim features wrinkled into a smile. "You'll do, lads," he said. "You'll make prime topmen in a few weeks, and thank me for having taught you." Such was the commencement of our sea life. Things, we agreed, might have been worse, though we got many a kick and rope's ending, not only from the boatswain, but from others among the more brutal of the crew. Martin, when on deck, always came to our rescue, but old as he was, he was but ill able to contend with so many opposed to him. "Better grin and bear it, Master Ben," he said; "they'll soon give up ill-treating you if you take it with good temper, and I should do more harm than good if I was to shove in my oar except at a favourable time; but I shall be on the watch, never fear, and I'll take care matters don't grow too bad." We followed Martin's advice, and found it answer. The seamen of the frigate were a lawless and disorderly set, every sentence they uttered being accompanied by strange oaths, while below, when not asleep, they spent their time in dicing and gaming. We found, I should have said, that we were on board the _Charles_ frigate, Captain Blackleach, carrying one hundred and fifty men and thirty-two guns, one of Prince Rupert's squadron, from which she had been separated while in chase of a trader the captain had hoped to capture, but which had escaped. A bright look-out was now kept for the squadron, and for traders of all nations. Our cruising ground was the mouth of the English Channel, where we lay in wait to pounce down upon any unwary vessel coming up with a rich cargo. We were all three below, poor Dick by this time looking as black as a negro; he had unfortunately let it be known whose son he was, and consequently, I believe, got a double allowance of ill-treatment. "All hands make sail!" was shouted, and we with the rest sprang on deck. "Aloft, you youngsters!" cried the boatswain, looking at Lancelot and me. We ran up the rigging to the fore-topgallant-yard, and with the aid of two other men let fall the sail which had been furled. On looking ahead, we saw a large ship in the distance, for which the frigate was steering. The stranger held on her course, not apparently fearing us, though we had the Union Jack flying at the peak, while that of Holland fluttered at hers. On getting within range of our guns, we opened fire from a dozen pieces or more, but without doing her much damage. Again we fired, sending our shot crashing on board her, when the guns being run in and reloaded, we stood on, receiving her broadside, the shots going through our sails and cutting some of our running rigging, then luffing-up across her bows, we raked her fore and aft, and went about, showing that we intended to give her the other broadside. Not relishing this, she hauled down her colours and triced up her sails. A well-armed boat's crew was sent on board to take possession, when her ship's company were speedily removed, and those of her people who remained in her were ordered to steer her to Kinsale harbour, a short distance to the southward of Cork, in Ireland. The next vessel we chased proved to be English, and as she was bound for the Thames, she was captured and sent away like the first, with part of the Dutch crew, who, being promised good pay, had no objection to navigate her. A third vessel was seen the next day, carrying the flag of France. Chase was given to her also, and the _Charles_ coming alongside, she struck without firing a shot. She was also sent away, under command of one of the officers, for the same harbour as the former prize. "Why, these fellows are pirates," observed Lancelot to me, though he took care to speak in a low voice, so that only Martin and I who was standing near could hear him. "Little doubt about that," answered Martin; "all's fish that comes to their net! I wish that we were well free of them, but how to get away is the difficulty. I suspect that if a Parliamentary ship was to catch the frigate, they'd hang us all up at the yard-arms." "Heaven forbid!" said Lancelot. A few days after this, the look-out from the mast-head shouted-- "Five sail to the eastward!" Presently afterwards three more were seen standing down channel, under all the canvas they could carry. "What if they should prove to be Parliamentary ships," I said to Lancelot. "We must try and explain who we are, and how we came on board," he answered. "But what if they won't believe us?" I asked. "We may be strung up before they find out the truth." "That would be a hard case, but I do not see how we are to escape, unless we jump overboard when the fight begins, and try to swim to one of them." Instead of running away, as we expected, the _Charles_ stood boldly towards the approaching squadron. At length from the peak of the leading ship we saw the Union Jack flying. "That must be Prince Rupert's squadron after all," said Lancelot. That this was the case was soon evident, for the frigate, ranging up alongside the big ship, exchanged friendly salutes. An officer in handsome costume, with a gold chain round his neck, was seen standing on the after-castle. When Captain Blackleach raised his beaver, the officer took off his in return, and inquired how many prizes he had made. "Three since we parted with your highness," was the answer, "and they are by this time safe in Kinsale harbour." "You have used diligence; you shall have a bigger ship before long," said the officer in the handsome dress. "Who is he?" I asked one of the men standing by. "What! have you never seen Prince Rupert, the bravest commander in the king's armies, and now his best admiral? Wherever he leads, rich prizes are sure to be found." Such we discovered was a fact, for that very day the squadron captured well-nigh a dozen merchantmen homeward bound, which mistook it for the Earl of Warwick's fleet, and fell without firing a shot into its voracious jaws. In high glee the Prince with his prizes stood for Kinsale harbour, where we found a dozen other goodly ships, which had been captured by his cruisers, including the three taken by the _Charles_. While we lay here, Lancelot and I, when no one was by, often talked over various schemes for escaping, but we had to ask ourselves the question, where should we go? The whole southern part of Ireland was in favour of the King, as the Prince of Wales was now called, his father having been put to death in London. Thus, even should we reach the shore, we should run a great risk of being knocked on the head when attempting to travel through the country, for rumours had reached us of the fearful way in which the Romanists had treated the Protestants residing among them. Martin to whom we confided our wishes, was as eager as we were to escape, being anxious, as he said, to get away from the swearing, drinking, gambling crew. "I won't say there's not a godly man among them, because there are two or three who have been pressed into the service, and are ready to get away if they can, but the rest, the Lord deliver us from them," he said, while we were standing on the forecastle one evening, out of hearing of the rest of the ship's company. Lancelot, who was full of devices, proposed that we should take a boat and pull away out to sea, hoping that we might get across to the Welsh coast and be picked up by a Parliamentary cruiser, some of which were said to be in the Irish Channel. This plan seemed most feasible, though in reality full of danger. It would be no easy matter, in the first place, to get hold of a boat, and to obtain provisions and water. It would be still more difficult to slip away out of the harbour unperceived; and then, after all, we might be picked up by one of Prince Rupert's squadron and treated as deserters. "Nothing risk, nothing have!" said Martin. "I would chance it for myself, but I do not like the thought of hazarding your young lives. Howsumdever, I'll speak to the men I think will join us, and hear what they say." The _Charles_ was one of the outer line of frigates placed at the entrance of the harbour to give due notice of the approach of an enemy, so that we should have a better opportunity of getting off than would have been the case had we been higher up the harbour; but then the difficulty of obtaining a boat was greater. Many of the crew were allowed to go on shore, but we had hitherto always been refused. Lancelot suggested that if we could by some means get on shore, we might obtain a boat, and late in the evening pretend to be returning in her to the ship, instead of which we might pass her and get out to sea. "I fear that the guard ships keep too sharp a look-out to allow us to do that," observed Martin; "still, I see no better way of making our escape." "We must wait for our opportunity; it will come, maybe, when we least expect it," said Lancelot. Buoyed up with this hope, when our watch was over, we turned into our hammocks. Next morning a frigate came in, towing a boat. She passed close to us. On her deck stood ten men heavily ironed, their features, which we could clearly see, showing that they felt themselves to be in a dangerous predicament. The frigate sailed on, and brought up in the centre of the squadron. Soon afterwards a signal from the flag-ship was seen flying, ordering two boats from each vessel to come alongside. Ours were in the water, when the captain ordered Martin and three other men, together with Lancelot, Dick, and me, to go in one of them. "It may teach you a lesson, lads, which for your own sakes I advise you not to forget," he said with a significant look. "I am afraid the captain has an inkling of our plans," whispered Lancelot to me as we went down the side. We took our seats in our respective boats, which pulled away up the harbour. We found numerous other boats, the men resting on their oars round the flag-ship. Presently a gun was fired from her, and up went ten human beings dangling by their necks to the yard-arms. Some struggled in a way it was fearful to look at. They were the men we had seen on the deck of the frigate, and who had, we heard, attempted to make their escape in a boat, just as we proposed doing. Such would have been our fate had we carried out our intention and been captured. We returned on board very low-spirited. "We must be careful what we are about," said Lancelot to me; "I have no fancy to share the lot of those unhappy fellows." "What's to be done?" I asked. "Grin and bear it, as Martin would say," he answered. Although we were not allowed to go on shore, we saw what was taking place up the harbour. Boats were constantly going backwards and forwards, carrying the cargoes of the captured vessels to the town, where the goods were disposed of to eager traders, who came in from all parts to purchase them--often for less than half their value; but still, from the number of vessels taken, they must have realised a large profit to the Prince, seeing that he had paid nothing for them. The cargoes being discharged, the stouter ships were fitted out with guns, there being found no lack of men ready to serve under so successful a corsair, for such the Prince had become. The fleet being ready, we once more sailed in quest of fresh prizes. I did not note the number taken, but I often grieved to see the despair of the poor ship-masters and owners when they found themselves robbed of their hard-earned gains. No flag protected them--Dutchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, Englishmen, all were treated alike. Some fought pretty hard, especially the English, but the frigates hung about them, preventing their escape, until the big ships came down and they were compelled to strike their flags. We were cruising about the mouth of the Channel, and, favoured by fine weather, had taken many prizes, when a south-westerly wind sprang up, and soon increased to a heavy gale, harder than any we had yet encountered. The dark leaden seas came rolling up from the Atlantic, crested with foam, which flew in masses across our decks. The sky, covered with black clouds, sent forth vivid flashes of lightning, whilst peals of rattling thunder vied with the loud howling of the blast through the rigging, the creaking of blocks and bulkheads, and the dashing of the waves against the bows and sides. Now the wind blew from one quarter, now from another, and prevented our running for Kinsale, the only harbour in which we could have found a secure refuge. We could see the rest of the fleet tumbling and tossing about under close-reefed canvas, scattered far and wide, some in one direction, some in another. Thus the night closed down upon us. We had to keep a watchful eye on every side, for should we run foul of another ship under such circumstances, the destruction of both would be inevitable. The next day and the greater part of the following night the storm raged with as much fury as ever. Fearful of being driven on the Scilly Isles, or the southern coast of England, our captain endeavoured to keep a good offing, though we thereby lost sight of the rest of the fleet. About the middle of the next night the storm began to abate, and when morning came we found ourselves enveloped in a thick fog, while the ocean, though still heaving in slow undulations, gradually assumed a glass-like surface of leaden hue. We, having borne up, stood to the northward in search of the squadron. The captain ordered a bright look-out to be kept. "Marry! a bright look-out. We must have eyes of a different nature to most men to pierce through this dense mist," quoth Martin, laughing. Still, such a look-out as was possible was kept, the captain hoping ere long to see one of the Prince's vessels, and to learn from her where the rest were to be found. At length, about noon, the sun made an effort to burst through the thick veil which shrouded us. Soon afterwards the mist lifted for an instant ahead, and during that instant I saw what appeared to me the hull of a ship, the canvas just rising above it; but it was only a glimpse, and it needed a sharp pair of eyes to discern any object a few fathoms off. I pointed her out to Lancelot, but he was doubtful whether I had actually seen a vessel, and no one else appeared to have observed her. The frigate therefore stood on, and unless the stranger which I supposed I had seen was sailing at equal speed, we must have passed her to leeward. Presently the wind blowing stronger, the fog once more lifted, and the sun bursting through, it fell on the white canvas of a tall ship close aboard us to windward. Putting up her helm, she came nearer, when the captain hailed through his trumpet, supposing her to be one of Prince Rupert's squadron. The answer was not heard, but the question, "What ship is that?" came down clearly to us. "The _Charles_," answered the captain, again putting the same question. Scarcely had he spoken than we heard the words, "Strike to the Parliament ship, _Constant Warwick_!" and, the mist clearing still more, we saw flying from her peak a white flag with a red-cross. "We are caught in a trap, and must fight to get out of it," exclaimed the captain, ordering the drums to beat to quarters. The men rushed to the guns, which they were well accustomed to handle; but before they could cast off the lashings and run them out, a broadside from the _Constant Warwick_ came crashing into us, several of the crew being struck to the deck to rise no more. With scant ceremony their shipmates hove the bodies overboard, while the gunners, running out their pieces, returned with interest the fire of the other frigate. I prayed that neither my friends nor I might be killed or wounded, though we ran as great a risk as the rest. I felt thankful when we were all three ordered down to the magazine to bring up powder, for below the risk of being hit was less, though neither of us felt any cowardly fears. Having brought up the powder, we were ordered to sit on the tubs until it was wanted. We could thus see what was going forward, though we would far rather, I must confess, have been below. Captain Blackleach, a brave fellow, to give him his due, seemed in no way inclined to strike while he had a chance of getting off. The _Constant Warwick's_ fore-yard was soon shot away, and her main topmast shortly afterwards fell, on which our corsair crew cheered lustily, and with redoubled vigour plied their guns. I looked round to see how it was faring with my friends, Dick and Lancelot. They were seated on their tubs, Dick making himself as small as possible, so as to have less chance of being hit. A short way off stood Martin Shobbrok among the sail trimmers. Just then two of the gunners fell, their heads shot off, and their brains scattered over the deck. The captain, seeing what had occurred, shouted to Martin and another man to take their places. Martin stood with his arms folded, as if he did not hear the order. The captain again shouted to him. "I'll do a seaman's duty, but will not fight against those who have justice and right on their side," answered Martin. "Mutiny! mutiny!" shouted the captain. "Suffer the fate of a mutineer!" and, drawing a pistol from his belt he fired. I expected to see my old friend fall, but the bullet merely grazed one of his grey whiskers; and, fixing his eye on the captain, he answered-- "The Lord forgive thee, and be thankful thou hast not murdered an old man who is acting as his conscience bids him." The captain, unmoved by this rebuke, was about to draw another pistol. "I must save Martin, even at the hazard of my own life," I exclaimed, and was about to spring aft to strike up the pistol when the cry arose-- "Another enemy close aboard us!" Looking round, I saw, looming large through the fog, the wide-spread canvas of a tall ship coming up on our quarter.	{ "id": "21487" }
5	THE ENGAGEMENT.	The fate of honest Martin hung in the balance; should I fail to strike up the captain's arm, his death would be certain. Whether or no my action had been observed I could not tell, for the appearance of the stranger drew the captain's attention off from his victim, and in a moment he seemed to have forgotten all about Martin. The approaching ship fired a broadside which raked us fore and aft, sending many of the roystering crew to their dread account. Still undaunted, the captain ordered the starboard broadside to be fired in return, and the _Constant Warwick_, in consequence of the loss of her headsail, being unable to keep her position, we drew ahead of her; but our fresh antagonist, with her yards and rigging uninjured, quickly came up, and her guns, aimed at our masts, ere long brought down the fore and main-yards; but the flag still flew out at the peak of the corsair, and her guns on either side continued to belch forth their deadly missiles. Though round shot and bullets from her antagonists came crashing on board the ship, tearing up the decks, piercing the sides, carrying away lanterns, boats, and spars, wounding her masts and plunging through her bulwarks, the scuppers running with blood, her gallant captain, standing still unharmed amid the dead and dying, refused to yield. Malignant though he was, I could not help admiring his courage, regretting that he was not fighting in a better cause. I heartily wished that he would give in before more damage was done. He seemed, however, in no way inclined to strike while there was a chance of escaping. I feared, indeed, that after all he would get off, but the two Parliament ships plied him hard. Their commanders were as brave as he was, and had no intention of letting him escape. Of this the corsair's crew were at length convinced, and some, unwilling to encounter certain destruction, cried out to strike the flag. "Who dares to say that?" shouted Captain Blackleach. Then he cried out to the boatswain, "Reeve a dozen ropes, and we'll show our enemies how we treat traitors to our cause." The boatswain, seizing one of the men who desired to strike, was actually about to put the order into execution when Martin rushed to the poor fellow's rescue. "Avast, master boatswain!" he exclaimed, cutting the rope; "are you not afraid of committing murder, when, at any moment, you may be sent to stand before the Judge of all men?" The boatswain, with an oath, again seized the man, and, aided by his mates, was forming a noose at the end of a rope, when a shot striking him on the breast sent his mangled body through a wide gap in the bulwarks into the blood-stained ocean. Most of the superior officers had by this time been killed or wounded, the latter being in the hands of the surgeon below. "What's to be done?" said Dick, as we were together making our way to the magazine, being ordered down to fetch up more powder. "Surely the captain won't hold out longer! If I didn't feel that it was cowardly, I should like to stow myself away below till all is over." "To go down with the ship and be drowned," I observed. "No, no; let us remain on deck while we can, and take our chance," said Lancelot. "If the captain fights on until the ship sinks, we may get hold of a plank or spar. The Roundhead seamen will not let us drown, even though they think we are Malignants." "Stay for me!" said Dick, as he saw us lifting up our tubs to go on deck again. To say the truth, I suspected that he had been in no hurry to fill his. Just as we were going up the ladder two thundering broadsides sounded in our ears, and several shot, crashing through the stout planks and scattering splinters in every direction, passed close to our heads, but happily none of us were hit. They were followed by the groans and shrieks of the wounded as they lay struggling on the deck in their agony. Then there came what truly seemed an awful silence. We had naturally stopped midway on the ladder for unwilling slaves as we were, we lacked a motive to expedite our movements. As we at length gained the upper deck a sound of cheering struck on our ears, but it came from the other ships. I looked up at the peak. The flag was no longer there. On the after-castle lay the captain; he had fallen desperately wounded. Two officers alone remained on their feet, while fore and aft a sickening sight met our view. The ship was a perfect shambles; the dead and dying lay everywhere, the countenances of many distorted with agony; the decks slippery with blood, and covered with blocks, ropes, torn canvas, and shattered spars, while several guns had been dismounted, and every boat knocked to pieces. The master of the mariners, one of the surviving officers, was shouting to the crew to shorten sail. Throwing our tubs of powder on deck, we gladly ran to obey the order, joined by Martin Shobbrok, who, amid the bloody strife, had escaped unscathed. Meantime the two victorious frigates had hove to and were lowering their boats, ready to send on board and take possession of their prize. "What shall we do now?" asked Dick, as the boats were coming alongside. "Our friends will look upon us as deserters, and perhaps string us up at the yard-arm." "Not much fear of that," said Lancelot. "We can tell who we are and how we came to be on board." "But will they believe us?" asked Dick. "The rest of the crew will prove that we have been helping the gunners to load their pieces by bringing powder from the magazine." "Just trust in God, young masters," said Martin, who had overheard them. We had not much time for talking before the crews of the three boats which had been sent sprang on board. The officer in command at once ordered the whole of the "rovers" to muster aft. Of well-nigh two hundred men who had commenced the action, one half were dead or wounded. The survivors stood with downcast looks, expecting no gentle treatment. "You have taken up arms without lawful authority against the Parliament, and you must be prepared for the punishment due to you, unless the admiral thinks fit to remit it," explained the officer, casting his eye over the men. "Have you anything to say for yourselves?" There was no reply until Lancelot stepped aft, followed by Martin, Dick, and me. "We were on board against our will, sir," he said, "and acknowledge the Parliament as the supreme authority in the realm." He then described how we had been rescued by the _Charles_ when on our way from Dartmouth to Lyme. "A likely story, young master," said the officer; "but I will talk to you more anon. The rest of you tumble into the boats and go peaceably on board the ships to which they will convey you." Nearly half the men had already taken their seats in the three boats which had shoved off, when the cry arose, "The ship is sinking!" The carpenter and his mates were among those who remained, and the officer ordering some of his own men to assist them in stopping the leaks, directed them to man the pumps. The rovers obeyed with alacrity, for they had no wish to drown. We four assisted them, and as the pumps clanged loudly the water spread over the decks, partly cleansing them from their bloody stains. It was an anxious time, for I feared that the ship would go down before the boats could return. We pumped, and pumped away with might and main, while the carpenters stopped the most dangerous shot holes between wind and water. It was a great relief at length to see the boats come back. They brought more men, and among them some carpenters from the frigates to assist in repairing the damages. The remaining prisoners having laboured so well, had the choice given them of continuing on board, and they gladly accepted the offer, promising faithfully to serve the Parliament. Evening was drawing on, and the two frigates lay still hove to close to the prize, when, looking to windward, I saw the upper sails of several ships, which I deemed to be of size, rising above the horizon. I pointed them out to Martin, and asked if he thought they were Prince Rupert's squadron. "No fear of that," he answered; "they must have been seen some time ago from the frigate, and they show no intention of trying to escape." During this time everyone on board was working away with a will, for there was much to be done both below and aloft, while the wounded men had to be looked after. The captain had been taken to his cabin, where the surgeon had dressed his wound. Dick, who had been ordered to watch him, came rushing out after some time, looking greatly terrified, and declared that the captain was raving and swearing that he would rise and blow up the ship rather than yield to the Roundheads. Fortunately we found the surgeon, who sent two men to watch over him, and Dick was relieved from his trying duty. A boat now came alongside with orders to remove more of the prisoners, and among them Martin and my two friends and I were ordered to get into her. In a short time we were conveyed on board the _Constant Warwick_, and found ourselves standing on her deck together with the other prisoners. "Now is our time," I exclaimed to Lancelot. "Let us go boldly aft and tell the captain who we are, or we shall be sent below and placed in irons with the rest." Lancelot took my advice. We stepped aft, followed by Dick and Martin. "What have you to say, lads?" asked the captain, looking greatly astonished at our audacity. We gave him the same account of ourselves that we had to the officer who had come on board the _Charles_. "You are ready enough now to declare yourselves Roundheads," answered the captain, "but you were found on board an enemy's ship, and must be treated like the rest." "They are brave little fighting-cocks, Cavaliers to the backbone," shouted one of the men from the group of prisoners, not wishing that we should receive more favour than themselves. I had observed a young officer standing close to the captain. I looked at his countenance, and the thought flashed across me that I had seen him before. "Captain Stayner," he said, "allow me to say that I believe the account these young gentlemen give of themselves. I was at Lyme with my uncle, the admiral;" then turning to us he inquired our names. "I thought so," he said, putting out his hand; "I remember them all well. One is the son of Mr Kerridge, the mayor, who fought so bravely for the good cause; the father of the other, who served under my grandfather, was killed during the siege; and this one," he added, taking Dick by the hand, "is the son of Mr Harvey, who expended his means in aiding in the defence of Lyme." While the young officer was speaking, I recognised him as the nephew of Colonel Blake. "I truly rejoice to see you," he continued, turning to us, "for, putting into Lyme some weeks ago, I found your relatives and friends in great sorrow at your supposed loss. We will take the earliest opportunity of sending them news of your safety." Thus were our anxieties brought to an end. Instead of being treated as prisoners, we were received as guests by the officers, who insisted on supplying us with clothes and other necessaries, of which we stood much in want. Great was our surprise to hear that the admiral of the ships in sight astern was no other than Colonel Blake, who had been placed in command of the fleets of England by the Parliament in conjunction with Colonels Deane and Popham. Admiral Blake was now in chase of Prince Rupert's squadron, which it was his intention, should he fail to overtake it at sea, to shut up in Kinsale harbour. This, to me especially, was satisfactory news, for I had not forgotten the remark made by Colonel Blake to my father, that he should like to have me with him, and I felt very sure that he was a man who would fulfil his intentions. I mentioned this to Mr Robert Blake, who promised on the first opportunity to take me on board the flag-ship and introduce me to the admiral. "Not that you will require an introduction," he answered; "my uncle never forgets those he has once known, and, though grown, you are not altered much from the little fellow I remember at Lyme." I felt bound to put in a word for my two friends, as also for Martin, whose brave conduct on board the _Charles_ I described, when he refused to fire at the _Constant Warwick_. "It would not become me to make promises to you," he replied, "but you may depend upon it that the admiral will not overlook such conduct, and as Shobbrok is an experienced seaman, he will gladly place him in some position of trust on board." The other frigate which had assisted in the capture of the _Charles_ was, I should have said, the _Seaford_. The breeze freshening, we had no opportunity of going on board the _Triumph_, Admiral Blake's flag-ship, as he was pressing on under all sail in chase of the corsairs. The frigates led the way, and the next morning, from the mast-head of the _Constant Warwick_, we caught sight of well-nigh a score of ships right ahead. That they were those of Prince Rupert we had no doubt; but they must have seen us coming, and having no stomach to engage in fight--for they knew by this time who commanded the English fleet--they pressed on before us. We continued in chase under every stitch of canvas we could carry, hoping to come up with one or more of the rearmost ships and to bring them to action, so as to keep them employed till the rest of the fleet should arrive and compel them to strike. The breeze freshened, and the _Constant Warwick_, followed closely by two other frigates, tore through the water, as if eager to overtake her foes. "Hold on, good sticks!" cried the captain, looking aloft. "Time enough to go overboard when we have grappled the enemy." The topgallant masts bent like willow wands, and I expected every moment to see them fall, but though the lofty sails tugged and tugged, yet they held fast, and we hoped that we should yet be in time to stop some of the corsairs before they could get into harbour. The _Triumph_ was still far away astern, followed by the rest of the fleet, our captain doing his best to drive his ship through the water. The corsairs did not gain upon us, and we well knew that for a good hour or more we should have them to ourselves, should we overtake them. Captain Stayner walked the deck, now casting his eye ahead at the enemy, now aloft at the straining canvas, and now astern, to judge, by the way the sails of the _Triumph_ were blowing out, how the wind was holding in that direction. Presently the lofty canvas was seen to hang down against the masts, then slowly to blow out again. In a short time our own royals and topgallant sails followed their bad example. The captain gave a stamp of impatience on the deck. The breeze was falling, even the topsails and courses no longer bellied out as before. Still, the frigates glided on, but the sluggish eddies astern showed how greatly their speed had decreased. At length, on the larboard bow, the old head of Kinsale appeared in sight, with Prince Rupert's ships passing round it. Still, they too might get becalmed and a change of wind enable us to approach them. Our hopes, however, were doomed to be disappointed. Though the wind was light, they moved as fast as we did, and the lighter vessels getting out their sweeps, they ere long disappeared, shrouded by the gloom of evening, and by the time we came off the mouth of the harbour not a sail was to be discerned. "Though they have escaped us this time, we have shut the rats up in their hole, and they will find it a hard matter to get out again to seek for prey," observed the captain. "Can't we go in and destroy them?" inquired Lancelot of Mr Blake. "From the information we have received, we judge that it would be a hazardous undertaking," he answered. "There are castles on either side of the harbour, and the corsairs have thrown up earthworks, armed with heavy guns, for the protection of their ships, so that they would blow us out of the water should we attempt to enter. We must content ourselves with blockading them." Such, I afterwards found, was the plan adopted. We stood on and off the land to watch the entrance. The next morning the whole fleet arrived, forming a line from the old head of Kinsale northward, which Prince Rupert, daring as he was, would not, it was believed, attempt to break through. It was somewhat trying work. Night and day a vigilant watch was kept, great care being required so that each ship should maintain her proper position, and that one should not run foul of the other. According to his promise, Mr Blake took Lancelot, Dick, and me, with Martin Shobbrok, on board the _Triumph_. The admiral recognised me immediately, and remembered also what he had said to my father. "Would you wish to remain with me?" he asked. "Should such be your desire, you shall become my cabin boy, and when you have gained a knowledge of navigation and seamanship, you shall, without delay, be made an officer." "Such I desire above all things," I answered, "and I am deeply grateful for the offer." "And your friends here," he continued, looking at Lancelot and Dick. "Were they with us at the siege of Lyme?" "They were, sir, and we all three worked together to throw up the embankments," I answered. "Good! they appear likely lads, and I will watch over their interests, if the Lord spares my life." Lancelot and Dick made proper acknowledgment of the admiral's intended kindness. I then bethought me that now was the time to speak a word for Martin, and told the admiral how he had behaved on board the _Charles_, being ready to lose his own life rather than fire at the Parliamentary ships. "Brave fellow! I remember him when he served with your father and mine," he observed. "He shall have a post on board such as his merit deserves. I will see to it." Several captains from other ships coming on board, we retired, following young Robert Blake, who took us into the gun room, where he introduced us to such of the officers of the ship as were below. I had long been wishing to hear from Lieutenant Blake how his uncle had become an admiral, and I now took the opportunity of asking him. "Simply because he is one of the most worthy men the Parliament could find," he answered. "His great talents, his undaunted bravery, are well-known, and although he had not before been to sea, the Government felt sure that he would be able to fill the post, and seeing him as we do now at the head of naval affairs, no one would suppose that he was fifty years of age before he set his foot on the deck of a ship as commander, taking precedence of such men as Captains Penn, Jordan, Ascue, Stayner, and Lawson, while Admirals Deane and Popham, though of the same rank, yield to his judgment." For the benefit of those who may not be acquainted with the history of one of the most famous of England's sea commanders, I may here note that Admiral Blake, eldest son of a highly-esteemed merchant, Humphrey Blake, trading with Spain and other foreign parts, was born at Bridgwater in the year of grace 1598, and that he had many brothers and sisters. When a boy he studied navigation and the routine of sea duties from his father and some of his captains who had come to live on shore, but at that time his own taste made him wish to obtain a knowledge of literature, and at sixteen he entered as an undergraduate at Saint Alban's Hall, Oxford, whence he removed to Wadham College. Here he remained several years, until his father being reduced in circumstances from the failure of many of his enterprises, he returned home to watch over the interests of his family. He had, I should have said, offered himself as a candidate for a scholarship then vacant at Merton, but Sir Henry Saville, the warden, who delighted in tall men, objecting to him on account of his height which fell below his standard of manly perfection, refused to admit him, and the admiral, after he had been summoned to the death-bed of his father, did not again return to Oxford. For some years he remained at Bridgwater, chiefly occupied with the care of his mother and brothers and sisters. At the same time he was a keen observer of passing events. His indignation was aroused by the persecutions of Bishop Laud and his attempt to impose the Papal system on his country. When the King, after a lapse of many years, summoned a parliament, the admiral, then Mr Blake, went up as member for Bridgwater. Soon afterwards came the outbreak in Ireland, when forty thousand Protestants were murdered by the Papists, who asserted that the King sanctioned their bloody acts. Although this might not have been the case, the Parliament demanded that a fleet and army should be placed at their disposal to quell the rebels. Soon afterwards the King, leaving London, raised his standard at Northampton, and declared war against the Parliament and those who sided with it. Mr Blake was among the first gentlemen who took up arms in the south of England in defence of the people's right, his first military achievement being the gallant defence of Prior's Hill, Bristol. The rest of his career up to the time of which I am speaking I have already mentioned, and I may truly say that he had never been defeated. He had, for some time before I was received on board his flag-ship, been engaged in reforming the navy, into which numerous corruptions had crept. His great object was to see that the men were duly paid and well fed, that hospitals were provided for the wounded, and that stout seaworthy ships were alone employed. He perseveringly engaged even in the most minute details, to add to the comfort of his men, and already they had learned to trust and revere him. His fame had spread even among the Royalists, numbers of whom, escaping when opportunities occurred, eagerly came on board our ships to serve under his flag. That flag was now a red-cross on a white ground, and that banner was destined soon to claim the respect of England's foes, wherever it was seen waving at the peak. While we were watching Kinsale harbour to prevent the escape of Prince Rupert's cruisers, General Cromwell, who had gone over to the north of Ireland with an army, was righting his way to the southward. Blockading was no pleasant duty, for often heavy gales from the eastward compelled us to keep an offing from the shore, or when they blew from an opposite direction we had to beat backwards and forwards under close-reefed sails to maintain our position, and several times we had to run for Milford Haven, to escape the danger of shipwreck. We young seamen, however, thereby gained much practical experience in nautical affairs, as did undoubtedly our superiors, who had hitherto been more accustomed to the command of regiments of foot and horse than to the management of ships. By the first bag of letters despatched after we got on board the _Triumph_, we wrote an account of our adventures to our friends at Lyme. In due course we received others in return, with expressions of thankfulness that we had escaped the perils to which we had been exposed. Audrey and Cicely especially gave us an account of all that had occurred since we left home, praying that we might soon return. October came, and with it a furious gale, which once more scattered the blockading squadron. In vain the _Triumph_ endeavoured to maintain her station. Still she kept the sea in spite of the furious blasts which laid her over and threatened to carry away her masts and spars, and hurl her, a helpless wreck, on the rocky coast. A few other captains imitated the example of their dauntless commander, but it was impossible to remain in sight of Kinsale. At length, the weather moderating, we once more came off the old headland, and, by degrees the ships assembling, the frigates were sent in towards the harbour's mouth to inspect the squadron of Prince Rupert. They returned with the intelligence that the corsair prince, with, several of his ships, had escaped, leaving behind, however, a considerable number, which fell into our hands.	{ "id": "21487" }
6	AFLOAT IN THE SQUADRON.	I must pass over some months, during which the _Triumph_, having returned into port, we three friends paid a visit to Lyme, the admiral promising to send for us when he should next go to sea. We had not long to wait. It being reported that Prince Rupert and his brother had fled to the Tagus, Admiral Blake was appointed to the command of a small squadron, of which the _Tiger_ was his flag-ship, with orders to pursue the pirates, and to seize, make prizes, fight with, and destroy all their ships he could overtake, while he was to protect all lawful traders in the exercise of their calling. The other ships were the _John, Tenth, Whelp, Signet_, and _Constant Warwick_, carrying altogether one hundred and fourteen guns. We were glad to find that young Robert Blake was one of the lieutenants of the _Tiger_, and equally rejoiced were we to see Martin Shobbrok walking the deck with a chain and silver whistle round his neck doing duty as boatswain. Although it was midwinter, no time was lost, and with a fair breeze we stood down channel. The winds, and the necessity of chasing every suspicious sail, prevented us from reaching our destination--the month of the Tagus--until the approach of spring. To our infinite satisfaction, we found that the Prince's squadron was at anchor in the river, and forthwith the admiral despatched his nephew, whom I had the honour of accompanying, with a message to King John of Portugal, requesting permission to attack the ships of Prince Rupert, belonging to the Commonwealth of England, and carried off by treachery. I had never before been in a king's palace; I have not the power, however, to describe the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen we saw, or the forms and ceremonies we went through. The king, or rather one of his ministers--who spoke for him--declared that he could permit no such proceeding, that the princes were his guests, and that we must take our departure without injuring them. "The king sends us back, as he thinks, with a flea in our ears, but it is a flea which will tickle his majesty before long," observed Lieutenant Blake, who had something of his uncle's humour. We returned on board the _Tiger_, and reported the result of our mission, when the admiral immediately ordered a squadron of boats to enter the river. I went in one of them. As we approached a white stone castle shining brightly in the sun, near the mouth, a puff of smoke issued from one of the embrasures. Another and another followed, the shot splashing into the water close to us. On this the commander of the expedition, according to the orders received, returned to the squadron. The admiral, curling his whiskers, sent to the castle to inquire why his boats had been stopped. The officer replied that his orders were to prevent any foreign ships sailing up the river. The admiral on this despatched another embassy to King John, demanding the reason for his conduct, but received as unsatisfactory a reply as before. The Portuguese king was not aware with whom he had to deal, and fancied that Blake would sail away without taking further notice of the affair. In spite of the threats of the governor of Belim Castle, the _Tiger_ leading the way, the squadron sailed into the river, not a shot being fired at us, and we brought up in Viera Bay. Here some weeks passed, the crews fuming at the delay, and hoping every day that we might be able to get at the corsairs and punish them as they deserved. Our men were frequently on shore, when they constantly met the sailors of the Prince's squadron, on friendly terms. Occasionally, however, there were quarrels, when our men jeered at the others, calling them pirates and robbers, and expressing a wonder that they should be willing to serve under such leaders as Rupert and his brother. Others of our people acted more wisely, and succeeded in inducing a considerable number of the Prince's men to desert and come on board our ships. This greatly enraged the Prince, who strung up several poor fellows found making their way to us. Still, others came off, and one of them told us that the _Swallow_, a ship of thirty-six guns, had actually got under weigh and was on the point of escaping, when the intention of her officers and crew being discovered, she was brought back. Some time after this, three boats under command of Lieutenant Blake were sent on shore to fill our casks at the fountain where we usually obtained water; Lancelot and I accompanied him. As there was no fear of our men deserting, we allowed some of those not required for the work in hand to stroll a short distance inland, Lieutenant Blake going with them, while I remained to superintend the watering party. I was thus engaged when I heard some shots fired, and saw Lancelot, who had gone a little way off, running towards me. "What's the matter?" I inquired. "Our shipmates have been attacked by a party of Cavaliers and Portuguese hidalgoes, who have, I fear, got hold of Lieutenant Blake. If we bring up the men quickly, we may rescue him before he is carried off," he answered. Calling our people together, some of whom were rolling the casks down to the boats, Lancelot and I led them in the direction we had heard the shots. We had not gone far when we caught sight of our party warmly engaged with a number of persons in hunting dresses, some being English, others Portuguese, among whom we distinguished our lieutenant, held by two Portuguese, while others were pointing their swords at his breast. Almost before they discovered us, uttering a loud shout we were upon them. The lieutenant on seeing us, shaking off the grasp of the two men who held him, knocked up the blade of another, and seizing the sword of a fourth, sprang towards us. At that moment, however, a strong reinforcement arriving we had to retreat, with our faces to the foe. Several of our men fell dead, and others were wounded. An attack also was made on six of our people who had been separated from us, when, with the exception of one who cut his way out from among those surrounding the party, the rest were made prisoners. We showed so bold a front that, notwithstanding our heavy losses, the Cavaliers and their allies did not venture to follow us, though they fired a volley which killed one more of our men and wounded another. We at length reached the boats, and taking the casks on board, pulled away to communicate the circumstance to the admiral. Lieutenant Blake told him that he had recognised Prince Maurice as well as two or three of his officers, and that the other leaders of our assailants were Portuguese grandees. The admiral was highly indignant, but how to punish our dastardly foes as they deserved was a difficult matter to determine. The King of Portugal would certainly refuse to deliver up the offenders, and we were not as yet in a position to compel him. We had therefore to bide our time. That evening, as I was walking the deck with Lancelot, we saw a small boat coming off from the shore. She had but one man in her. He hailed as he got alongside, and asked if he might be permitted to come on board, as he had a communication to make to the admiral. Permission was at once given, and after remaining a short time in the cabin, the stranger took his departure, when the admiral came on deck and ordered the ports to be closed. Soon after this another boat was seen coming off, containing a person dressed as a Portuguese tradesman, and rowed by two negroes. The boat also carried a large cask. After coming up under the stern, she pulled round on the starboard side. The seeming Portuguese then handed up a letter, which one of the officers took. It purported to come from a merchant on shore, stating that he had sent off a cask of oil for the use of the crew. The white man was still seated in the boat, when the boatswain and two other men came aft and informed the admiral that they were very sure he was no Portuguese, but one of the persons belonging to Prince Rupert's ship whom they frequently met on shore. "Let the cask remain in the boat, and order the man up the side," said the admiral. The Portuguese, on receiving the order, showed a great disinclination to obey, and said something to the negroes, who were getting out their oars to shove off when three of our men jumped into the boat, and having secured her, the white man and two blacks were brought on deck. The admiral now turning to the boatswain ordered him to reeve a rope to the yard-arm. "So my friend," he said, turning to the white prisoner, "you intended to blow up this ship and all on board. If that cask is full of oil my information is incorrect, but if not, be prepared for the consequences." On this the man fell on his knees, and pleading for mercy, offered to reveal the plot he had been engaged to carry out. "You deserve death, but your life shall be spared if you speak the truth," said the admiral. The man then confessed that he had been employed by the Cavaliers to destroy the admiral and his flag-ship; that the cask was double-headed, and that the interior was filled with gunpowder and missiles of all sorts; that between the two heads there was a lock so contrived that on being opened it would fire a quick match and cause the whole to explode. "As you understand its mechanism, you shall be employed in extracting its contents," said the admiral. The man on hearing this looked greatly disconcerted, but was forced to obey. The carpenter having provided him with tools, he descended into the boat, when she was towed some distance from the ship, where she was anchored, and the oars being removed, he was left to operate alone on the cask. He was watched with great interest as he cut a hole through the bottom. This done, he took out the contents and hove them overboard, when he hailed to say that the cask was empty. The admiral then ordered him and the two blacks to depart with a message for the Prince, informing him of the miscarriage of his enterprise. The Prince afterwards, we heard, spread a report that he and his brother, while out hunting, had been attacked by a party of men from Admiral Blake's fleet, and that he had in consequence allowed the attempt to be made to blow up the flag-ship. I should here say that on board the Prince's fleet were many Republicans, who sent the admiral information of all his intentions. We now heard that, fearing lest the King of Portugal should no longer be willing to afford him protection, Prince Rupert proposed putting to sea, and seeking his fortune in another direction. On this, a calm coming on, our ships were towed down to the mouth of the river, where we lay ready to intercept him, and so the Prince's plan was defeated. Some weeks went by, when Admiral Popham arrived with a strong reinforcement, and by one of the ships came letters to Lancelot and me, of which I will speak anon. The King of Portugal, just before this, throwing off all disguise, arrested several English merchants residing in Lisbon, and declared his intention of supporting the corsair princes. No sooner was this news received on board our ships than the admiral sent word to the Portuguese government that he proposed to make reprisals. While the messenger was on the way, a number of ships were seen with all sails set coming out of the river. They proved to be richly-laden merchantmen bound for the Brazils. As they approached, our squadron got under weigh, and before the Brazilian ships had time to retreat we surrounded them and captured the whole. As they were well-armed, the officers and crews being removed, we sent all the men we could spare on board, and thus nine fine vessels were added to the strength of our fleet. Winter was approaching, and with it came heavy gales, greatly trying our ships. Information had been received that another richly-laden fleet from the Brazils was expected in the river. We accordingly, our ships having been carefully fitted to encounter the fiercest storms, got under weigh and stood out to sea in order to watch for it. We had not long to wait, when one of the look-out frigates brought intelligence which made us all on the alert. The commander stated that he had counted no less than twenty-three sail approaching under all the canvas they could carry. On they came. The admiral ordered the signal to be thrown out to prepare for action. The Portuguese fleet approached, supposing our ships to be those of their own nation; and as far as we could judge, were in no way ready for battle. They advanced in gallant array, their admiral leading, but as they drew nearer their suspicions must have been aroused. They were soon convinced that we had hostile intentions, when the _Tiger_, standing across the bows of the flag-ship, ordered her to strike and heave to. A shot which struck us was the answer, when tacking so as to bring our other broadside to bear, we commenced firing away as fast as our guns could be run in and loaded. The other ships imitated our example, each engaging one, and some two or three of the enemy. Again our commander ordered the Portuguese admiral to strike, but he refused, notwithstanding the fearful punishment we were inflicting on him. Our shots, fired at short range, were going through and through the sides between wind and water. Presently one of the enemy's ships astern of us was seen to be on fire. The flames spread rapidly, bursting out from her ports and climbing the tall masts. Another and another was speedily in the same predicament. The fate of these ships brought terror into the hearts of the enemy. Now the flag of a large ship attacked by the _Resolution_ was hauled down. Now another struck, and quickly the antagonist of the _Constant Warwick_ lowered her flag, allowing that gallant barque to pay her attentions to a second foe. Cheer after cheer burst from the throats of our crew as they saw these rich prizes captured, while they redoubled the efforts they were making against the Portuguese flag-ship. Still the action continued raging in all directions over the blue ocean, canopied by a dark pall of smoke, which was increased each moment by the curling wreaths arising from the thundering guns. Every effort was now made by the Portuguese to escape, for their ships contained rich treasures which they were unwilling to lose, but their efforts were in vain. Like eager hounds heated by the chase, our ships, setting all sail, soon came up with the fugitives, whose masts and spars being knocked away, they hauled down their flag. Their admiral had been fighting long and bravely, when Martin Shobbrok, who was standing near me, exclaimed, pointing at her, "The Lord have mercy on their souls! Mark you not, Master Ben, how deep by the head is that stout Portugale ship? See, see! she is sinking lower and lower." Still the guns from her upper deck continued to belch forth flames and smoke. It seemed as if her crew were not aware of the fate awaiting them. Before another minute had elapsed shrieks and cries arose. Men were seen rushing up from below, and clambering on the bulwarks. Others were engaged in lowering the boats and throwing overboard planks and hen-coops, and pieces of furniture, and whatever they could lay their hands on. "Cease firing!" cried our admiral, and not another shot was discharged at our helpless foe. Lower and lower sank the stout ship, her stern lifted high out of the water, then downwards she glided, her canvas set, her flag still flying, her commander and his officers still standing on the lofty after-castle, until that too disappeared beneath the wild waves which dashed over them, and soon even the main truck vanished beneath the surface, leaving a few struggling forms and pieces of wreck, and articles thrown overboard, floating on the spot she had lately occupied. Stern necessity compelled us to sail in chase of her flying consorts, one of which proved to be the ship of the vice-admiral, who, taught a lesson by the fate of his chief, as we approached lowered his flag. Seven of the smaller vessels which had sought safety at the commencement of the engagement in flight, being already close in with the mouth of the river, escaped, but we captured eleven large ships, not counting the admiral's which sank, and three others consumed by fire. As soon as the prizes were secured, the boats were lowered to try and pick up any of the helpless people who alight have escaped from the ships destroyed; but few only were rescued, though I am well assured that, had the admiral acted according to the dictates of his heart, he would rather have allowed the vice-admiral to escape than have delayed the attempt to save the perishing seamen. As we could not enter the river, and another gale might come on, we lost no time in repairing damages and refitting the prizes, so that they might undertake the voyage to England. Admiral Blake was well aware that the Portuguese would endeavour to revenge themselves for the loss they had suffered, but still undaunted, he prepared to resist their squadron, united to that of the Prince, should they venture to attack us. Day after day we sailed backwards and forwards off the mouth of the river, or when a tempest threatened, shortening sail, we beat out to sea to avoid shipwreck, again to return the instant the wind moderated. This sort of work greatly added to the experience my companion and I had gained on the coast of Ireland, so that we could boast of being efficient seamen. "You'll soon be made a lieutenant, Mr Ben, and ere long a captain; and, when you get command of a ship, I hope that you'll apply to have me sent with you," said Martin to me one day as we were walking the deck together. "Although she may be only half the size of the _Tiger_, I would rather be with you than even with our good admiral, much as I love him. He is the man to win all hearts, not only because he is the best commander we ever had, but because he attends to the wants and looks after the interests of the men below him." I promised Martin, if I lived to get the command of a ship, that I would obtain him as boatswain, should he not in the meantime be advanced to a higher grade such as his merits deserved. "Martin Shobbrok is too old for a lieutenant, and besides, is no navigator, so that he would feel like a fish out of water," he answered. "He has been boatswain for the best part of his life, and boatswain he is willing to remain, unless he is made chief gunner, and no great learning is required for that." Again we sighted the rock of Lisbon, when a thick mist came on, which shrouded it and the whole coast from sight. Notwithstanding the fog, a fresh breeze was blowing. We were steering on our usual course under easy sail, when, as I was on deck, with Martin pacing a short distance from me, he exclaimed-- "There's a tall ship close to us," and looking in the direction he pointed, I could dimly see through the fog a dark mass of canvas. The sound of the rattling and creaking of blocks, too, reached our ears. "She's an enemy; to your guns, lads!" he shouted. "Go and tell the captain, Master Ben." I ran aft to tell the commander, who, followed by the admiral, appeared on deck. "Silence!" he cried; "go to your quarters without beat of drum." The guns were cast loose, and powder and shot brought from below, and our men stood ready for the next order. The phantom ship, for such she appeared, loomed larger and larger. The admiral divined her object--to run us on board. "She's either the Portugale flag-ship or maybe that of Prince Rupert's himself," whispered Martin to me. One thing was certain, that she was not one of our squadron. Silently she glided up under our lee. "Now give it her, my lads," cried the admiral, and every gun from the starboard broadside was fired into the stranger. Down came her fore-topmast by the run. Silence being no longer necessary, our crew gave a hearty cheer, hoping that we were about to tackle the stranger, but being under a press of sail, she shot past ahead, and so dense was the fog, that in a few seconds she had disappeared. We eagerly sought for her, but we searched in vain. Next day, the fog having cleared away, the united fleets were discovered, but our admiral's object was to avoid a regular engagement, as no good could thereby be attained, and he contented himself with cutting off first one and then another of the enemy's ships. "I know who tried to surprise us yesterday evening," exclaimed Martin. "The tall ship with the Prince's flag flying, and her fore-topmast gone, but she would have been surprised herself had she not slipped out of the way." At length the admiral gained information that another large Brazilian fleet was at sea, which, being of far more value than the empty hulls of the Prince's squadron, we sailed in search of. After cruising about for several weeks, we heard that some of the Brazilian ships had taken refuge in Spanish ports, and that others were at the Azores. We accordingly sailed back to the Tagus. Scarcely had we arrived than a frigate with a flag of truce came to meet us, bringing intelligence that the corsair princes had left the river, and that the king of Portugal had sent an ambassador to England to sue for peace. The admiral's work in the Tagus being accomplished, we prepared for returning home. I mentioned that Lancelot and Dick had received letters from Lyme. Lancelot's was from his father's head factor, the other from Mr Harvey. They both gave us the same alarming intelligence which affected Lancelot as well as me. They told us that Mr Kerridge and his daughter, accompanied by Audrey and Mistress Margaret, her waiting-maid, had sailed in a hoy bound for Plymouth, at which place, to their dismay, they found she had not arrived. Some hours after leaving Lyme, a heavy gale had arisen, but it was calculated that the hoy might by that time have got into Plymouth, or run back for Lyme, or found shelter in some other harbour. Whether she had foundered, or run on the Eddystone or on some other rock, or had been captured by an enemy, no one could surmise, but that some sad disaster had happened to her there could be no doubt. The news of course caused Lancelot and me great grief, in which our friend Dick heartily sympathised, as did Lieutenant Blake, who had when at Lyme been well acquainted with Mr Kerridge and Cicely and my sweet sister Audrey. "Should the hoy have foundered, we must submit to God's decrees; but should she, as is possible, have been captured, we will, as soon as we are at liberty, search the world over to discover the missing ones," he said, as he wrung our hands, and told us how sincerely he entered into our feelings.	{ "id": "21487" }
7	FURTHER SUCCESSES.	The hopes of those who expected to return home were destined to be disappointed. We were still at sea, keeping a look-out for the fleet of the royal corsairs, when a shout from the mast-head announced the approach of several ships from the northward, and as they got nearer the white flag with the red-cross flying from their peaks told us that they were friends. The leading ship proved to be the _Fairfax_, of fifty-two guns and two hundred and fifty men, carrying the flag of Vice-Admiral Penn. Following her came the _Centurion_, Captain Lawson, the _Adventure_, Captain Ball, and two others commanded by Captains Howett and Jordan, with the _Assurance_, Captain Benjamin Blake, the younger brother of the admiral. Directly afterwards Vice-Admiral Hall with another squadron of seven ships joined us. The admiral had now under him a fleet capable of coping with that of either France or Spain. His first object, however, was to capture the corsairs, who were committing much damage among the merchant vessels. It was still unknown in what direction they had gone, when, the day after Admiral Hall's squadron had reached us, a vessel was seen coming from the south. On approaching she hove to, and her master came on board the flag-ship. His vessel, he said, was the only one which had escaped from Malaga, on the coast of Andalusia, into which the corsairs had entered and burnt six of his consorts under the very guns of the Spanish batteries. "We shall catch them at last!" exclaimed the admiral on receiving this information, a gleam of satisfaction lighting up his countenance. Having taken some stores on board which had just arrived from England, we made sail for the Straits of Gibraltar, Admiral Penn with his squadron being left to watch outside the entrance to catch the corsairs, should they endeavour to escape from the Mediterranean. With a fair wind we stood in for the gut, the lofty rock, on which we could discern only a few ruins on our left, and the coast of Africa on our right. For centuries no English admiral's flag had been seen in the Mediterranean, our merchant vessels trading in those seas being thus exposed to the attacks of pirates without hope of redress. On coming off Malaga, we found to our disappointment that the princes had fled, in what direction no one would inform us. While we lay there, a furious gale threatened the destruction of our ships, but we rode it out in safety. Just as we were sailing, information was brought that the pirates were in Cartagena. Pressing on all sail, we made for that port. As we came off it, our hearts beat high with satisfaction, for there lay the fleet for which we were in search. The admiral, who was well acquainted with the dilatoriness of Spanish diplomacy, not waiting for leave, bearing down on the corsairs attacked the _Roebuck_, the largest of their ships, and quickly mastered her. Another was set on fire, while the remainder, cutting their cables, ran on shore utterly disabled. Great, however, was our disappointment not to find either of the princes; and we learned from some of the prisoners that they had both been separated from the rest of the squadron during the gale, but what had become of them we were unable to ascertain. In vain we sailed from port to port. At last we heard that they had taken shelter in the harbour of Toulon. On receiving this information we immediately steered for that port. On arriving we found that the corsairs had been honourably received by the French admiral, and that assistance had been given to them to dispose of their plunder. On this Admiral Blake sent word that he considered the French had been guilty of a hostile act, and that unless the corsairs were driven from the harbour, and the plunder restored to its lawful owners, he should feel justified in making reprisals on the commerce of France. No answer was given to this message, but after a short time it was discovered that the two princes had fled, though in what direction we were, as before, unable to ascertain. Leaving Admiral Penn to search for them, we at length steered for England. Just as we were passing through the Straits, a large ship was seen which approached us without any apparent hesitation, showing French colours. Getting nearer, she hove to, while a boat being lowered her captain came on board. He was received with the usual courtesy by the admiral in his cabin. The Frenchman being seated, the admiral informed him that he must consider himself a prisoner, and requested him to deliver up his sword. "No, monsieur," answered the Frenchman; "not while I have strength to use it," and he placed his hand on the hilt. "I confess, brave sir, that you have been unfairly beguiled on board, and that you were ignorant that I had thrown down the gauntlet to your admiral at Toulon. If you desire it, you may go on board your ship and try to escape if you have the power," said the admiral. "I accept your generous offer," answered the Frenchman with a bow, and he made his way on deck. We attended him with due honour down the side, when he returned to his ship. As soon as he had gone the drum beat to quarters, but we waited before firing, to allow him to prepare his own vessel for the encounter. Due time having passed, we fired a shot across his bows, which he returned, aiming at the _Tiger_. The fight now commenced in earnest. The Frenchmen fought bravely, endeavouring to knock away our spars so as to make their escape. But their gunnery was not equal to that of our men. So severely did we pound them, that after holding out two hours they hauled down their flag. The boats were immediately sent to bring the prisoners on board, when the captain, making a low bow, bestowed an affectionate kiss on the hilt of his weapon, and handed it to the admiral, who replied-- "You are a brave man, and deserve to keep your sword: pray receive it and wear it for my sake," and he handed the weapon back to his prisoner. The prize was a valuable acquisition, being a fine frigate of forty guns. Four other large French vessels were taken on our way home, and at length we arrived safely at Plymouth. Lancelot, Dick, and I at once got leave to go to Lyme, being anxious to learn whether any tidings had been received of the lost ones. Mr Harvey, who was there, received us very kindly. Every means had been taken for discovering them, but not even the slightest clue had been obtained, and he acknowledged that he had very slight hopes that we should ever again hear of them. The reality came with fearful force upon me when he said this, and it was with difficulty I could refrain from giving way to my passionate grief. Lancelot, feeling as I did there was nothing to keep us at home, returned to Plymouth, where Dick promised to follow. On a bright day in the early part of spring, 1651, Lancelot and I went on board the _Tiger_, which had been hastily refitted for sea. Martin, who was on the look-out, welcomed us back. "Just in time, gentlemen; there's work cut out for us, and the admiral is to be on board this evening," he said, as we shook hands. "We are to rout out that nest of hornets in Scilly, and I've a notion we shall make them disgorge the plunder they have been collecting for many years past." We were truly thankful for the promised excitement, for in the present state of our minds we could ill brook idleness. Besides the _Tiger_, a number of small frigates were collected, well calculated for the work to be undertaken. The admiral, accompanied by his nephew, came on board that evening, the former receiving Lancelot and me in his usual kind way, not forgetting to make inquiries whether our sisters and his friend Mr Kerridge had returned. "Don't despair, notwithstanding, my young friends," he said, when we told him nothing had been heard of them "By God's providence they may still be found." Robert had now become, next to the captain, the principal officer on board, and though so young, he well fulfilled the duties of his post. Lancelot had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant, but Dick and I were still in the admiral's cabin. We were often employed in transcribing his letters and other similar duties, though at the same time we pursued our nautical studies. Despatches being received from London, we immediately sailed for our destination. Two days' sail brought us in sight of the Scilly Islands, slumbering quietly on the surface of the bright blue ocean. They looked green and pleasant to the eye, with here and there a few rocky heights rising in their midst, but in most parts the land was not elevated many feet above the water. Above the other hills appeared the height on whose summit the Cavaliers had built a strong castle, which it was our object to capture. Coming off Saint Mary's, the principal island, we hove to, and the admiral ordered a boat to be lowered, in which went Robert Blake, and I accompanied him, bearing a message summoning Sir John Grenville, the governor, to surrender. Having proceeded up the channel leading to the fort, we landed, bearing a white flag, and walked on until we reached the entrance. We were at once admitted, when we had an opportunity of taking a glance round the fortifications. The castle was filled with men, a large number being evidently, from their dress and appearance, officers. They were rollicking-looking gentlemen, and were laughing, and joking, and amusing themselves at our expense as we passed along. Sir John Grenville received us with due courtesy. On reading the summons he replied-- "I might rather demand that Admiral Blake should deliver up his fleet, but yet I am willing to enter into a treaty, although it should be known to you that I have a force with me not only sufficient to protect these islands, but to restore the exiled prince to the throne of his fathers." "The result will prove that, sir," answered the young lieutenant. "Am I to inform the admiral that you refuse to deliver up the islands and their castles to the fleet of the Commonwealth?" "Certainly such is my intention," answered Sir John, and he bowed us out of the hall. We returned unmolested to the boat, and pulled back for the ship. No sooner had we arrived than the admiral sent for Captain Morris, one of the most trusted of his commanders, and ordered him to take eight hundred of the best men from the different ships, and to land at the back of Tresco, which is next in size to Saint Mary's, and lies close to it. Lieutenant Blake and I, with a small body of seamen from our ship, accompanied the troops. We found a line of breastworks thrown up for the defence of the shore, and held by fully a thousand men. But our brave leader was not to be hindered in performing his duty by this show of resistance. The boats in line dashed on, and in spite of the round shot plunged in among us, and the bullets whistling about our ears, the moment the keels touched the beach we threw ourselves overboard, and, wading on shore, speedily formed. Then the order to advance was given, and pike in hand we rushed up the bank. The Cavaliers received us with a hot fire of musketry, but their artillery was silent, being unable to play on us without hitting them. The contest was fierce but short. Nothing could withstand our onslaught. The Cavaliers gave way, and, escaping across the island, made for their boats, reaching which they crossed over to Saint Mary's, leaving us in possession of their cannon, muskets, and pikes, and pistols, besides several prisoners. A lodgment on the island being thus effected, we threw up trenches to prevent our position being retaken when night closed down upon us. We had to keep a strict watch, the men sleeping with their arms by their sides, for at any moment we might be attacked. When morning came, the admiral, with a reinforcement, landed, and immediately gave the word to advance. We passed over a high ridge which crossed the island, and descended on the other side, when a view broke on our sight which for picturesque beauty could scarcely be surpassed. Before us rose Saint Mary's Island, with its castle and ramparts; below, in the centre of the roadstead, lay the war ships of the Cavaliers, with the prizes they had captured, the blue expanse bordered by jutting points and fantastic rocks of various shapes, while the surrounding shores were covered with umbrageous trees, green fields, and rich orchards. The admiral at once selected a point overlooking the harbour and roadstead, on which he forthwith ordered a battery to be erected. No sooner were the works thrown up than we opened a hot fire on the castle and other fortifications, as well as on the vessels, which, cutting their cables, endeavoured to escape up various channels hitherto concealed from our sight. The admiral, however, no sooner seeing that, at the distance we were from the castle, our shot could produce but little effect on it, returned on board, leaving Captain Morris to continue the siege, and ordering his nephew and me to follow. We now found that he had devised a new plan of attack. Summoning all the lighter frigates, he placed on board a number of men, and supplied each also with several guns of larger calibre than they were wont to carry. Going himself on board one of them, the _Fox_, with Robert Blake, Lancelot and I, he led the way towards a narrow channel between the open sea and the roadstead, directly opposite Saint Mary's. Our progress was slow, but by dint of towing and warping we advanced unmolested, until we reached the harbour of Saint Mary's. The castle, as we were seen approaching, commenced thing, when dropping our anchors, with springs to our cables, we returned the salute with our broadsides. In a few minutes the harbour, which had looked so bright and calm, was canopied by dense wreaths of smoke; the shot came crashing into the sides of the vessels, or splashing into the water, while our ears were deafened by the roar of the guns thundering from the castle and from our own and the corsairs' fleets. Though frequently struck, we received less damage than I had anticipated, while we soon perceived that the ill-constructed walls of the castle and fortifications were crumbling away from the effect of our shot. Night coming on put an end to the attack, and we retired out of range of the enemy's guns. But our admiral had no intention of desisting. All night long we remained at our quarters, thinking it possible that the enemy might venture to board us in their boats during the darkness. More than once an alarm was raised and the men flew to their guns, but the night passed off tranquilly; the Cavaliers had no stomach for such an enterprise. Morning broke at last. The castle walls, wearing a battered appearance, rose above the calm water shining in the rays of the rising sun; the air was soft and balmy, a thin haze softening the more rugged features of nature. Prayers being offered up, and breakfast over, we stood in to our former position to recommence our work of the previous day. Forthwith the guns on both sides began blazing away. "Hurrah!" cried Lancelot, "we shall soon bring matters to a conclusion. Look there!" Turning my eyes in the direction he pointed, I saw that our fire concentrated on one side of the fortress was producing a considerable effect. Huge pieces of masonry, earth, and stones came toppling over and slipping into the ditch, and ere long we perceived that our shot had produced a practicable breach, through which our troops would quickly effect an entrance. The admiral then ordered them to prepare for the assault, but as they were advancing, a flag of truce was thrown out from the walls, and a herald descending came off in a boat to the ship with a message from Sir John, requesting to hold a parley. It was agreed to, when conditions were proposed. Six John offered, provided that the lives of the officers and men were spared, to surrender the islands with their garrisons, stores, arms, ammunition, standards, and all implements and materials of war; the soldiers and seamen being allowed to enter the nation's service, while the gentlemen were to be sent to London, to await the decision of Parliament. To these terms, which were considered very favourable to the Royalists, the admiral consented, and Sir John, with his corsair companions, were put on board Admiral Askew's squadron to be carried to Plymouth. We, in the meantime, were employed in collecting the various vessels which had been captured by the pirates and bringing them under our guns, lest some of the rovers might attempt to get off and pursue their old calling in other regions. Lancelot and I were employed in this service. We had boarded several when we caught sight over the land of the masts of another moving slowly through the water; we gave chase, and soon came up with her. The captain vowed that he had no intention of escaping, but appearances were against him. On getting back to the harbour, we sent him on board the flag-ship to answer for his conduct. While we were on board we entered into conversation with an intelligent fellow, Ned Watkins by name, who acted as boatswain. He seemed to be fond of making use of his tongue. Lancelot, wishing to ascertain something about the corsair career of these ships, asked him if his vessel, the _Speedwell_, had been long at sea and what prizes she had taken. "Never craft had worse luck," he answered. "We had sailed from Jersey with the _Hector_, another ship of the same size as ours, carrying eighty men and twenty guns, bound out to Lisbon, or anywhere, as long as we could fall in with that royal rover, Prince Rupert, when, as we were coming down Channel, a strong gale blowing, we sighted a hoy, a tight little hooker, somewhere off the Start. We both made chase, for a small fish is better than no fish at all, and soon came up with her, though she tried her best to escape. The _Hector_, which boarded her, took out her people and several passengers, for so I judged them to be, as they wore petticoats, and all her cargo, and then a crew being put on board the prize we made sail for Scilly, where we had been ordered to call on our way southward. A strong north-westerly gale, however, which caught us just as we neared the islands, drove us out to sea, and when it moderated and we were about to beat back, seven large ships hove in sight, which, as they approached, we saw carried the Parliamentary flag. As we had no wish to fall into their hands, we made sail to escape, and succeeded in keeping ahead of them, but during the night we lost sight of the _Hector_. In what direction she was steering we could not make out. When morning dawned, however, we caught a glimpse of the enemy's squadron, and from the way they were steering, we had little doubt that they were in pursuit of her. By furling all sail we escaped observation, and three days afterwards managed to get back with the sloop to Scilly." "What became of the _Hector_?" I inquired eagerly, at once feeling certain that the vessel she had captured was the hoy in which Mr Kerridge and his party were proceeding to Plymouth. "From that day to this I have heard nothing of her," answered the boatswain. "My idea is, if she escaped from the Roundhead squadron, and not managing to get into the Tagus, that she ran up the Straits to do some privateering on her own account. Her commander, Captain Kerby, was not a man to let a chance escape him, and he had been in charge of a trader to all parts of the Mediterranean." We questioned and cross-questioned Ned Watkins, but he could give us no further information. Lancelot and I talked the subject over. "My father and our sisters were not drowned, then, as some suppose, and may still be alive, though held, I fear, in durance, or they would have found means of communicating with us," he said. "That the _Hector_ did not reach the Tagus we may be pretty certain, for if she had, my father would have contrived to send a message to the admiral. If Watkins is right in his conjectures, she must then have gone up the Straits, and she may or may not have afterwards joined the Prince's squadron, though I am inclined to think she did not, or we should have heard of her from the prizes we took, and she was certainly not among the vessels we destroyed. It follows then that she met with some other fate." "Alack! and that may be a disastrous one," I exclaimed. "Too probably we shall never again hear of the dear ones." "Not if we don't search for them," answered Lancelot, "but I have an idea. What do you say to obtaining leave from the admiral to fit out one of the vessels we have just taken, and to go and look for them? We may learn where the _Hector_ has been, and by that means trace them. I cannot bring myself to believe that they are lost." I fully entered into Lancelot's plan, which we speedily matured. He at once went to Robert Blake, who, approving of our proposal, undertook to speak to his uncle. Before long the admiral sent for us. "I can ill spare any trustworthy officers, but your cause is a sacred one, and you shall have the best vessel you can find, with such men among the prisoners as will volunteer, and whom you deem fitted for the service. I will undertake to pay their wages and all other expenses, and you may gain such information of what is going on in the Mediterranean as may be of use to our country." We heartily thanked the admiral, and taking our leave, hastened to carry out our intentions. We soon, with Lieutenant Blake's assistance, fixed on a vessel, appropriately called the _Good Hope_. She was in seaworthy condition, with stores of all sorts on board, and carried twenty guns. Her complement of men we had no difficulty in obtaining, as the corsairs who had just been captured were glad to obtain good pay and to escape having to serve on board the Parliamentary ships. Lancelot was appointed captain, I went as his first lieutenant, and Dick, who got leave from the admiral, as his second, while Martin Shobbrok went as gunner, and Ned Watkins volunteered to act as boatswain. Getting such further stores, provisions, arms, and ammunition on board as we required for a long cruise, we bade our friends "Good-bye," and making sail stood away from the Scilly Islands, which we soon ran out of sight.	{ "id": "21487" }
8	CLOSE QUARTERS.	The _Good Hope_ had got well to the southward. Hitherto things had gone on smoothly, though we found our crew less inclined to submit to discipline than we desired. Neither did Martin and Watkins pull very amicably together. At first we thought that the old gunner was inclined to demand more respect from the boatswain than the latter was inclined to pay, but one night, while I was keeping watch on deck, Martin came up to me. He looked round to ascertain that no one was near, as if he had something of importance to communicate. "Well, old friend, what has happened?" I asked. "Nothing as yet, but something will happen, if we don't look sharp," he answered. "I mistrust that fellow Watkins." "That's just what I wanted to speak to you about. It would be better for the discipline of the ship if you could make friends with him. Unless the officers pull together, we cannot hope to keep a crew like ours in order." "It's not my fault that we have disputes," answered the old man; "he's always trying to pick a quarrel with me and to bring me into disrepute with the crew. I have had my eye on him of late, and I have observed that he is constantly going among the men when below, talking to them in the most familiar way, endeavouring to make them think him a very fine fellow, to gain them over to some plan or other he has in his head." I questioned Martin, thinking he must have been deceived, but he was positive that he had not. "I will tell the captain what you say, and I'll take such precautions as are possible," I replied. "In the meantime let me know what men are likely to hold staunch to us if your surmises should prove correct." "I think I can find a dozen God-fearing men, who were compelled against their will to serve with the Malignants. The rest are a drunken, rollicking, swearing lot, who would be ready to carry out any evil deed Watkins may propose." "With a dozen good men and ourselves, being prepared beforehand, we may be able to counteract any plan the boatswain has in view," I observed. "Do you, Martin, secure those who you think you can trust, and I will consult with the captain as to the precautions which may be necessary. Go below, now, and take care no one discovers that we suspect Watkins." As soon as Dick came on deck, I told him what Martin had said, and he promised to be on the alert; then going below, I went into Lancelot's cabin, and we held a consultation together on the subject. He at once arrived at the conclusion that Watkins had conceived the possibility of taking the ship from us, and, should he succeed, that he intended to join Prince Rupert, or make a piratical cruise on his own account. He might hope, by hoisting the Prince's flag, to be taken for one of his squadron, and be able to sell his prizes in a Spanish or French port, or if he could not, by running across to the West Indies to dispose of them there. As Martin did not lead us to suppose that Watkins' plans were mature, we agreed that we might wait without apprehensions of mutiny for a day or two, or perhaps longer, until we ascertained who were the men we could trust. Next morning a heavy gale sprang up, and the crew had plenty of work in shortening sail and attending to their other duties, so that they had little time for plotting, were they so inclined. The gale lasted three days, the sea running mountains high, and threatening to engulph the ship. During the time we marked the way the men performed their duties, and noted such as appeared the best seamen, believing that those generally would prove the most trustworthy. When the storm was over the ship was put on her proper course and all sail made, for we were eager to get through the Straits to prosecute the object of our voyage. We were now about the latitude of Cadiz. Dick Harvey was on deck, I was seated in the cabin with Lancelot, when Martin came in under pretence that he had been sent for to receive orders. "I was not mistaken in my suspicions, Captain Kerridge," he said. "Watkins has won over well-nigh two-thirds of the crew, and their intention is as soon as they get inside the Straits to seize the ship and join Prince Rupert, if he is still up the Mediterranean, and if not, to follow him wherever he has gone, making prizes of all the craft they can fall in with, to supply themselves with provisions and stores. They have learned a pretty lesson from their Cavalier leaders, and it is natural that they should desire to follow it." "But have you found any men on whom you can rely?" asked Lancelot. "That's just what I was going to tell you I have done," answered the old gunner. "There are twelve I have spoken to who have promised to fight to the last, rather than let their shipmates follow such desperate courses, and there are six others who are not likely to join the mutineers when they find there is a party to oppose them. It has been so ordered by Providence that I have discovered a young nephew of mine, who, having been seemingly won over by Watkins, is in all his secrets. When he found out who I was, he told me everything, believing that to do so was for the good of us all. I advised him not to let it be known that he had changed sides. He is a sharp lad, and though he has been in bad company, he has not forgotten the lessons his mother taught him, and wishes to do what is right. Thus I am kept informed of all the purposes of the mutineers, who are not likely to take us by surprise, as they have not yet secured any of the arms." We settled, to prevent them from doing so, to lock up all the small arms and ammunition in one of the after cabins, without allowing the crew to know what we had done. Lancelot then directed Martin to go forward, as he wished not to excite suspicion by keeping him in the cabin longer than was necessary. We at once armed ourselves, and either Martin, Lancelot, Dick, or I kept watch on deck, while we took care always to have two trustworthy men at the helm. Martin assured us that the mutineers had no suspicion that their designs were known. The weather had again become fine, and we ran through the Straits of Gibraltar. The moment the mutineers proposed to execute their plan was approaching. Martin brought us word that they intended to seize the ship at midnight, putting in irons all who refused to join them, and to kill us should any resistance be offered. As soon as it was dark, we ran two of the guns called "murtherers" through the ports of the after-castle opening on the main deck, which should an enemy when boarding gain a footing there, are intended to rake it. We also loaded and placed in readiness arms for about a score of men, who we hoped would side with us, while we also barricaded all the doors which led to the after part of the ship. When all was ready, Martin, going below, told the men he could trust to muster aft. One by one they crept up, so as not to attract the attention of the rest. As they came up we put arms into their hands, and stationed them under the after-castle. To our satisfaction we found that we had as many as we had expected, who all swore to protect us with their lives from the mutineers. Before the expected moment all our arrangements had been made. The sea was calm, a gentle breeze filled the sails, and the ship glided on, leaving a long trail of bright light astern. Midnight came, when the captain's voice was heard, summoning all hands on deck to shorten sail. The crew, supposing that the ship was about to be struck by one of those white squalls which sometimes come on with fearful suddenness in the Mediterranean and lay over many a stout ship, hurried up from below, and instinctively sprang aloft. The boatswain having remained on deck, Dick and I, with two men we called to our aid, rushed forward, and seizing him dragged him aft. This being done, the captain shouted-- "The squall will not strike us, lads; let fall the canvas and haul aft the sheets." The crew, ignorant of what had occurred, obeyed, and were then ordered on deck. There they stood waiting for the signal the boatswain was to give them to set on us. There were three other ringleaders. The captain called two of them aft by name to take the helm. They came without hesitation, supposing that it would afford them a better opportunity for carrying out their plan. Instantly they were seized and placed in irons, the darkness greatly favouring our proceedings, as the rest of the crew could not see what was taking place. The third man, fortunately for us, coming aft was recognised by Martin, who, seizing him, we had him in limbo before he could be rescued. The crew not finding the signal they expected given, crowded together, calling to their ringleaders and to each other. Some among them now suspecting what had occurred, cried out that they were betrayed, and summoning the rest to the rescue, they advanced towards the place where their companions were confined. On they came, armed with handspikes, belaying pins, boat stretchers, knives and axes, the only weapons they could procure, with threatening gestures, well able, it seemed, to overwhelm us. "Stay where you are," shouted Lancelot; "the guns are loaded. If you advance a step further we fire. You know the consequences." The mutineers, well aware that the guns would sweep the decks and hurl them in a moment into eternity, stopped short. Not one of them ventured to utter a word. "My lads," continued their young captain, "you have been deceived by artful men, who would have led you to your destruction. I have no desire to injure one of you, and will overlook your conduct if you return to your duty. You engaged with me and my friends for a worthy cause, to search for some helpless ladies and an old man who are perchance held in bondage by the enemies of our country. We trusted to you as honest Englishmen to fulfil your engagements. Let it not be said that you turned renegades to a noble cause. Some of you have sisters and parents for whom you would be ready to fight. Are you then acting like brave men by turning against your officers? I will not believe that you are so base and worthless. Now, lads, let me see who will stand by us. Those who would keep to their pledges come over to starboard, while the rest stand on the larboard side." For a short time the men hesitated, then first one, then another, and finally the whole body came over to the starboard side. "I thought it would be so!" exclaimed the captain. "Thank you, lads. I intend to trust you; and if we meet an enemy, I am sure you will prove that you are true British seamen." The crew gave a hearty cheer in reply, and that cheer must have proved to the leaders of the mutiny that their influence over the men was lost. To prevent them committing further mischief, we kept them in irons, intending to deliver them over to the first English ship of war we should meet. Next morning, from the way the men behaved, and the quietness which prevailed, no one would have supposed that a fearful conflict had been imminent the previous night. They, indeed, went about their regular duties with more than usual alacrity. We let them see, however, that we were prepared, should they be inclined for mischief. Our intention was to visit Sardinia, Majorca, Minorca, and other islands in that direction, then to run down the coast of Italy and Sicily, and afterwards steer for the Levant, making inquiries at all places and of all the vessels we met for the missing _Hector_. We were many weeks thus employed, often being delayed by calms and kept long in port while prosecuting our inquiries. When off Elba we sighted several ships showing English colours. We ran down to them, and found that they formed part of a squadron under Commodore Bodley. Heaving to, we lowered a boat, and I took Master Watkins with the three other prisoners on board the commodore's ship, telling him of the trick they wished to play us. "They'll not attempt a like one again," answered the commodore. "We shall probably engage with the enemy before long, and they will then have an opportunity of retrieving their characters." As the calm came on, I was able to visit each ship and make inquiries for the _Hector_; but no tidings could I gain of her. It would occupy too much space were I to describe the places we visited, and all the adventures we met with. We lay for several days in the beautiful Bay of Naples to refit, and then stood across for Sicily, where we saw Mount Etna casting up fire and smoke, and afterwards coming off the island of Stromboli, we were well-nigh overwhelmed by the showers of ashes which fell on our deck, making the men believe that we were about to be overwhelmed, or that the day of judgment had come. Fellows who had never before prayed, fell down on their knees and cried for mercy. A breeze springing up, we got once more under the blue sky, and they quickly forgot their fears. Hitherto we had been sadly disappointed. Had the _Hector_ touched at any of the ports we had visited she would have been remembered, as she was, as Watkins had described her, a stout ship of peculiar build. We should have regretted losing him, as he might have been able to identify her, had not two of the men who remained served on board her, and they declared that should they set eyes on the old _Hector_ they should know her among a hundred such craft. We resolved, at all events, to continue our search as long as we had the means of procuring provisions and stores. We had no small difficulty, however, in keeping our unruly crew in order; accustomed as most of them had been to the corsair life, they longed for the excitement of the battle and chase, and murmured at the peaceable work in which we were engaged. We promised them, therefore, that they should have fighting enough should we fall in with an enemy to our country, and of such England had many by this time, Dutch, French and Spaniards, though the Italian princes and Portuguese wisely wished to keep on friendly terms. We had got some distance to the eastward of Malta, when a calm came on, and we lay with our canvas flapping against the masts, the sea shining like glass, and not a cloud overhead to dim the blue heavens or to shield our heads from the rays of the burning sun. The crew lay about the decks overcome by the heat, and grumbling at the idle life to which they were doomed. The red sun went down, and the pale moon rose, casting a silvery light over the slumbering ocean. Not a ripple broke the mirror-like surface of the deep. "We must give these fellows something to do, or they'll be brewing mischief," observed Lancelot, as we listened to the growling tones which came from forward. "Unless we turn corsairs, or fall in with a Hollander or a Don, I do not see what we can give them to do," answered Dick. "The chances are we shall not have long to wait, or we may encounter a storm. That will give them some occupation, especially if it carries away some of our spars," I observed, laughing. We were in truth put to our wits' end to keep our men in good temper. Again the sun rose, and from the appearance of the sky there appeared every probability that the calm would continue. We immediately set the men to work with paint brushes and tar brushes, made them scrub the decks, and black down the rigging. We then exercised them at the guns. They were thus employed when, looking to the southward, I caught sight of a white sail rising above the horizon. "She can't move without wind, and if so, she'll be bringing up a breeze," observed Dick. "We shall soon be throwing the spray over our bows as we make way again through the water." Still the ship lay as immovable as before, her masts and spars, her black rigging, her white sails and shining hull reflected on the glass-like surface; at the same time the stranger got closer and closer, and now her topsails appeared, next her courses. "She's a big craft, that; twice the size of the _Good Hope_, I opine," observed Martin. "If she's a friend, she may bring us news, but if she's an enemy we shall have to up stick and run for it." "Not until we see how many teeth she carries," said the captain, who overheard the remark. "Big as she is, the _Good Hope_ may be able to tackle her." While we were speaking, our loftier canvas began to swell and flutter, then the topsails and courses napped against the masts, and cat's-paws ran playfully over the water. Presently ripples were seen on all sides, and every sail swelled out. The ship gathered way, but instead of keeping before the wind, the captain ordered the maintopsail to be backed, and we lay to waiting for the stranger, while our white flag with a red-cross was run up to the peak. Hardly had it blown out than the approaching ship showed her colours, and the design of a crescent moon proved that she was Turkish, or belonged to Tunis, Tripoli, or some other of the Barbary States. "My lads," cried Lancelot, "we shall probably have to fight yonder ship if she proves what I suppose her to be. If we capture her we shall obtain a rich prize. If she takes us, we shall have our throats cut, or be carried into slavery." "We will fight her, and beat her," cried the men, and they gave utterance to a loud cheer. "Brace round the main-yard, then," cried the captain, and the ship stood on close-hauled, ready to tack, so that if possible we might gain the weather-gauge. The stranger seeing this altered her course, in order to prevent our doing what we proposed. At length, finding that we could not gain the advantage we wished, we ran under her lee, and Lancelot in a loud tone ordered her to strike to the Commonwealth of England. As a haughty refusal was the answer, we opened fire, hoping to knock away a mast or some of her spars, and thus be able to gain the position we desired; but the corsair, for such the stranger undoubtedly was, replied with a broadside of upwards of twenty guns, the shot from which passing between our masts, did no further damage than cutting away some of our running rigging. We now stood on yard-arm to yard-arm, firing our guns as rapidly as they could be run in and loaded. Our enemies meantime were not idle, and their shot came crashing pretty thickly on board. Two of our men were killed and others wounded. But we judged that we were committing more damage than we received. Many of our shots went through and through the corsair's sides, others swept her decks and killed several of her crew. Still, from her superior size and greater number of guns, it was probable before we could take her that she might so seriously damage our little frigate that we might be prevented from prosecuting our object. Notwithstanding this, Lancelot had no idea of retreating from the fight, and it only made him more anxious to gain a speedy victory. It was soon seen that the corsair was suffering the most in her hull, though her masts and spars had hitherto escaped. On the other hand, we had lost our fore-topmast, and shortly afterwards our fore-yard came down by the run on deck, killing two of our men. Still these disasters did not induce us to relax our efforts. Our crew, now that they were put on their mettle, showed that they were sturdy Englishmen, and as our shot went crashing through the side of our big opponent they cheered again and again, believing that she would soon be compelled to strike. Lancelot stood on the after-castle, watching every movement of the enemy. At last his voice shouted, "Boarders! be prepared to repel boarders!" and as he spoke the big ship was seen bearing down, evidently intending to run alongside. Our men had hangers and pistols in their belts. Those not required to work the guns seized the boarding pikes and stood ready to spring to that part of the ship's side where the enemy might board us. The corsair glided up, and her bow striking ours, she hooked on to our fore-chains. The next instant a countless number of swarthy figures with turbaned heads, bright scymitars flashing in their hands, swarmed in the rigging of the corsair and came leaping down on our deck. Led by Lancelot, Dick and I fighting by his side, we met them with hanger, pike, and pistol, driving them back over the bulwarks, or cleaving them from head to chine as they got within reach of our swords. Those who were about to follow, seeing the rate of the first, held back, and the next moment the ships separated. Ere they did so their sides were brought close to each other, and I saw a man make a tremendous spring from that of the enemy and grip hold of our bulwarks, to which he clung desperately, crying out-- "I am an Englishman; save me, save me!" Several shots were fired at him by the corsairs; but he escaped, and some of our men rushing to his rescue hauled him on board. "To the guns, to the guns!" shouted Lancelot, and we again began to work our artillery with the same rapidity as before.	{ "id": "21487" }
9	THE CORSAIR BEATEN OFF.	After the failure of her attempt to board us, the corsair hauled aft her sheets and shot ahead of the _Good Hope_. We believing that she intended to rake us, quickly got headsail on the ship, and by squaring away the afteryards, and brailing up the mizen, put her before the wind, all the time blazing away as fast as we could with our guns. Instead, however, of passing either astern or ahead of us, which having all her canvas set, she might easily have done, the corsair kept on a wind, and presently, when beyond the range of our guns, going about she stood away to the south-west. We had beaten off our big assailant, and we might possibly in a longer contest have compelled her to strike or sent her to the bottom, but we were in no condition to follow her. All hands being required to repair damages, some time passed before we could question the stranger who had taken refuge on board us. As he looked sick and careworn, Lancelot had directed that he should be conducted to the cabin, where, the ship having at length been put somewhat to rights, I was able to join him. Finding that having been properly looked after and supplied with food he had much recovered, I inquired who he was and from whence he came. "My name is Joseph Aylett; I am an Englishman and a sea officer," he answered. "I was captured many a long month ago, on board a vessel by a ship from Tunis, not far from where we now are. The night was dark, the sea smooth, a light breeze only filling our sails. Not a thought of danger entered our heads. A bad look-out must have been kept, for, without warning, suddenly a large ship ran us alongside before we could fly to our arms or fire a gun, and a whole host of Moors came swarming down on our decks. Resistance was useless, though had we been prepared we might have fought the enemy as you did and beaten her off. We were prisoners to the corsairs, and doomed, as we supposed, to a life-long slavery. If the lot of us men was hard, that of our female passengers was harder still. We had two poor young ladies with a waiting woman and their father, who had been taken on board against their will and compelled to accompany us out to these distant seas. Every respect had been shown to them by the captain and officers, of whom I was one, and we had promised to send them home by the first ship we should fall in with returning to England. "As no blood had been shed we were better treated by the Moors than we had expected, the passengers even were allowed to remain in their cabins without molestation, and I was thankful to find that the young ladies did not make their appearance. Still I trembled to think to what indignities they might be exposed when carried on shore, and perhaps separated from each other and their father. Most of our crew were quickly removed to the corsair, their places being supplied by the Moors, but I and a few others were left on board to assist in working the ship. A calm coming on prevented us from reaching Tunis for a couple of days. During the time, I turned in my mind the possibility of assisting the young ladies, and at length a plan occurred to me, by adopting which their position might be rendered less perilous than would otherwise be the case. "We had had two young boys in the ship, son and nephew of the captain. The one had died from sickness, the other had fallen overboard and been drowned. Their clothes had been left in a chest, and when no one was looking, I possessed myself of the articles and carried them to their cabin. My object was quickly explained, and they at once expressed their willingness to follow my advice. "Their father saw its wisdom, and leaving them to don the garments I had brought, I hastened away that I might not be perceived. Then telling the other officer left with me what I had done, we at once agreed as to the way we should behave to the seeming lads. We were, should we have an opportunity, to inform our captain, who was on board the corsair, of what we had done, and to treat them as if they were his son and nephew." The feelings with which I listened to the officer's narrative can better be supposed than expressed. "Tell me, Mr Aylett, who were those young ladies of whom you speak?" I asked, in an agitated voice. "Their father was, I understand, a Roundhead, Kerridge by name, but otherwise a well-disposed, amiable gentleman whom I was glad to serve." "Kerridge!" I exclaimed, not regarding his remark. "Tell me, sir, the name of the vessel on board which you were." "The _Hector_," he replied. All doubt vanished from my mind as to whom those unfortunate persons were. "Go on, sir, I pray you," I said. "Tell me what happened next." "The following morning, while we were some way off Tunis, the old gentleman accompanied by the two young ladies appeared on deck, but it would have required a keen eye to have discovered that they were not what they seemed. I forthwith went up to one of them and sang out, `Lay hold of this rope and do as I do; now haul away.' The other joined us, and by the way the Moors looked at them, I felt satisfied that their disguise was not discovered. "I then spoke to the old woman who attended on them, advising her to conceal their female attire. " `I have taken good care of that, sir,' she answered. `I've thrown some through a port and packed the rest in my chest; it won't be my fault if they are found out.' "Our captors treated us with more civility than I had expected. I and the men left were doing our best to navigate the ship, and the Moors knew that we could not escape. No sooner, however, had we dropped anchor and furled sails in the harbour of Tunis, off the strong castle of Porto Ferino, than several boats came alongside, and we, as well as the poor passengers being mustered on deck, had our arms lashed behind us, by which treatment we knew that we were looked upon as slaves. We were then carried on shore to the slave market, where we found the rest of the crew of the _Hector_. I thought little of my own sufferings while reflecting on the sad fate to which Mr Kerridge and his young companions were doomed. In a short time purchasers appeared, and the sale of the captives commenced. From the prices offered it was evident that the common men were looked upon as of greater value than the officers, from its being supposed that they were capable of performing more work. "Most of the men had been disposed of, when an old Moor in magnificent costume, and several attendants, entered the bazaar. The prices of the men who remained, consisting of the boatswain and his mate, the gunner and three of his crew, all standing six feet high, with broad shoulders, had been considerably raised, but no bidders were forthcoming. "I thought that the Moorish chief would have bought them, but on hearing the price named he turned away and pointed to Mr Kerridge and the two boys. Satisfied with the sum asked, he at once paid it down, and they were transferred to the care of his black attendants. On seeing this the old woman rushed up to him, and by signs entreated that he would purchase her, amid much laughter, and finding that a very trifling amount was placed on her, he paid it over. I was thankful to find that the whole four were thus purchased by one master, and was wondering what would become of me, when the old Moor, looking into his purse, seemed to discover that he had sufficient for the purchase of another slave. After examining each of the officers, to my great satisfaction he fixed on me, for I had a fancy that he was likely to prove more kind-hearted than most of his countrymen, and that I might be of use to the young ladies and their father. "Apparently well pleased with his purchases, the old Moor left the bazaar followed by his attendants, who led us along. Outside we found several camels, on which the whole party being mounted, we set off, following a road towards the interior. Although our chance of escape would be greatly lessened by being at a distance from the coast, I was thankful to get out of the town. At last we arrived at what looked like a large farm. It was the chief's residence, a number of smaller buildings surrounding it, and at the back large gardens, shaded by fine trees, with ponds and fountains and flower beds. The whole was under the care of a big black fellow, to whose charge Mr Kerridge and I were committed. We found that it was intended we should labour in the garden, while the two seeming boys were destined to attend on the old chief, and Margaret on his wives and children. Our lot was thus happier than we could have expected, still there was the fear that the sex of the young ladies might be discovered, though, with Margaret's help, we hoped that this might be avoided. Of course, from the first Mr Kerridge and I discussed the possibility of escaping, but, removed as we were from the coast, that we should succeed appeared almost impossible. "I was one day labouring as usual, when the old chief came into the garden, accompanied by another person whom I recognised to be the captain of the ship which had captured us. "He looked at me and inquired who I was. `He is the man who brought the prize into the harbour,' he observed. `I am in want of some good seamen for my new ship, and I will buy him of you, so name your price.' "I was in hopes that the old chief would refuse, for though I might possibly, by getting on board ship effect my escape, yet I was unwilling to leave Mr Kerridge and his daughters to their hard fate. I found, however, that the transfer had been made without the option of remaining being given me, so I was carried off by the captain, and in two days going on board the vessel he spoke of, I was ordered, under pain of having my brains blown out, to perform the duty of a lieutenant. As it would have been madness to resist, I tried to appear reconciled to my lot, though I resolved on the first opportunity to make my escape. It came sooner than I had expected. "I confess when I sprang from the side of the corsair that I scarcely hoped to reach your deck alive." I need not say into what a state of agitation Mr Aylett's account threw me. He repeated it again when Lancelot and Dick came below, and it was with difficulty that we could attend to the duties of the ship, thinking of the means to be taken for rescuing those for whom we had searched so long. Mr Aylett, however, gave us no hope of success. "It would be impossible even to communicate with them," he observed; "the only chance would be to send a message to their owner, and to offer a large sum for their ransom." How this message was to be sent was the question. Aylett pointed out that were he to go he should be immediately seized as a deserter and lose his life, while any other Englishman who might set foot in the country would be carried off to slavery. Unfortunately, much time must elapse before even the best-formed plan could be put into execution, for so battered was our ship that it would be absolutely necessary to go into port and refit before we could venture on the coast. It would be difficult to describe our feelings at the delay, yet our better judgment told us it must be endured. It was a satisfaction to know that Audrey and Cicely and Mr Kerridge and poor Margaret were alive, and from Aylett's account not ill-treated; yet bondage in any form is hard to bear, and we could not tell what change for the worse in their circumstances might occur. Happily the weather remained calm, and enabled us to get up a fore-yard on which sail could be set, though we had no spar for a topmast. The men worked with a will, for they feared that the Barbary corsair might return, and they had no wish to become slaves, which would be our lot should she succeed in capturing us. A moderate breeze springing up from the southward, we were able to steer a course for Cagliari in the island of Sardinia, one of the few friendly ports in the Mediterranean, where we could refit and obtain provisions. We reached it without encountering an enemy, and lost no time in commencing the necessary repairs. Still we were in as much doubt as at first as to what means we should take to rescue our friends. One thing was certain, that force would not avail. Should we reach the coast, our little ship would be blown out of the water by the Tunisian corsairs; or, should our whole crew land, we should be out to pieces before we had advanced a mile into the country. We talked of going on shore in disguise, but our ignorance of Arabic would betray us. Our only hope of success would be to negotiate, but the old Moor would probably demand a far higher ransom than we were able to pay, and very likely should we sail into the harbour, even with a flag of truce, the Moors would seize our vessel and help themselves to everything on board, while we should be carried off as slaves. We had now been a long time without hearing from England, and were ignorant of the events taking place nearer home. Of one thing we felt certain, that Admiral Blake was not idle. If work was to be done, he was doing it. The _Good Hope_ was nearly ready for sea, but still our plan of proceeding was as unsettled as before, when a squadron of five ships with the flag of the Commonwealth flying was seen coming in from the southward. As soon as they had anchored, Lancelot and I went on board the flag-ship, to pay our respects to Commodore Bodley, the commander of the squadron, and to ask his advice and obtain his assistance in recovering our friends. We were invited into his cabin, where we found several officers collected. They were unanimous in the opinion that the attempt to rescue Mr Kerridge and his companions would be madness without a strong force at our backs, and urged us to abandon the idea of going alone. The commander declared that nothing would give him so much satisfaction as to accompany us with his squadron, but without the permission of Parliament he could not venture on the undertaking. Numerous and startling events had taken place since we sailed from Scilly. News of the latter had been brought by a large ship which had joined the squadron from England. Jersey, though gallantly defended by Sir George Carteret, had been captured by a fleet under Admiral Blake. Commodore Young had fallen in with the Dutch fleet, the admiral of which refusing to lower his flag, the commodore had attacked it, and after a sharp action had compelled the Dutchmen to strike. "Those were brave deeds, but the fighting was mere child's play compared to what took place afterwards," exclaimed Captain Harman, commanding the _Diamond_, the frigate which had just come out from England. "It was thought after the lesson they had received that the Dutch would not again flaunt their flag in British waters, but before long the Dutch Admiral, Van Tromp, made his appearance in the Downs with a fleet of forty-two men-of-war and frigates. At the time Admiral Blake was cruising in the _James_ off Eye, when the news reached him that Van Tromp was off Dover. He at once made sail. Upon reaching the Straits he saw the Dutch fleet standing out to sea. Suddenly, however, they tacked and stood towards him. He had but fifteen ships, but he had sent to Admiral Bourne to join him with a squadron of eight ships. They were, however, not yet in sight; still, our ships were larger, with more men than were on board the Dutch, so that the disproportion of strength was not so great as might appear. Tromp, who led the van in the _Brederode_, fired into the _James_, when Admiral Blake instantly ordered his gunners to return the salute. The fight then became general. The _James_ bore the brunt of the action. Her masts were knocked away, her hull riddled, and many officers and men were killed. "Young Robert Blake, who--Vice-Admiral Penn being absent--took command of the _Triumph_, greatly distinguished himself, succouring his uncle and contributing much to the success of the day. "From four o'clock to nightfall the battle raged, when Admiral Bourne arriving with his squadron turned the scale, and the Dutchmen took to flight, leaving two ships in our hands, while the rest were more or less disabled, with two hundred and fifty prisoners and many more killed. "Admiral Blake thus remained master of the narrow seas, and in less than a month had captured forty rich prizes from the Dutch, which he sent into the Thames. As the Government were well assured that the Dutch would try to revenge themselves, great preparations were made for renewing the contest, and in one month one hundred and five vessels carrying three thousand nine hundred and sixty-one guns were placed under Admiral Blake's command. "As sufficient seamen were not to be found, two regiments of foot were sent on board the fleet. "The admiral then sailed north to capture a large fleet of Dutch herring busses, in order to obtain fish for his crews. No less than six hundred fell into his hands, but, unwilling to injure the families of the poor men depending upon them, he contented himself with taking only a small portion from each buss, and forbidding them again to fish in British waters. They were convoyed by twelve Dutch men-of-war, which he attacked, sinking three and capturing the other nine. "A portion of the busses he pursued to the Danish coast. While still in those northern seas, several of his ships having been sent to the Orkneys to repair, he received news that Tromp was on his way to attack him, with a fleet greatly outnumbering his. "The evening of the 5th of August was drawing on, when as the admiral was cruising near Fair Isle, about midway between the Orkneys and Shetlands, he caught sight of the Dutch Fleet. Instant preparations for battle were made, but before a gun was fired, the admiral observing that a heavy gale was coming on, threw out a signal to his ships to prepare for it. "Down came the tempest with fearful force. The seamen instead of having to fight with mortal foes had now to contend with the raging tempest. The wind shifted to the north north-west, gaining every instant additional force. The sea ran mountains high, filling the air with sheets of foam, through which one ship could scarcely distinguish the other as they were tossed and tumbled by the raging waves. The coming darkness increased the horrors of the scene. Admiral Blake collecting his ships in time, steered for the southward of Shetland, under the shelter of which he remained secure during the height of the tempest. No sooner had it abated than he pursued the sorely battered Dutchmen, capturing many before they escaped into port. The Dutch, after this, knowing that Admiral Blake was waiting for them, did not for some time put again to sea. While he was cruising in the Channel, expecting their appearance, news was brought him that the Spaniards were besieging Dunkirk, but that the French king had sent a fleet for its relief. Believing it was to the interests of England that it should fall, lest the Dutch admiral should make it the basis of operations against the towns on the opposite coast of England, he resolved to go and attack the French fleet. "The admiral led the way in the _Resolution_, followed by the _Sovereign_, the largest of our ships, carrying eleven hundred men and eighty-eight guns. He first attacked the _Donadieu_, commanded by a Knight of Malta, and boarding her, pike in hand, took her in a few minutes, while the _Sovereign_ with her terrible broadside sank one of the royal frigates and dismantled five others. "So desperate was the onslaught, that in a few hours every French ship had been sunk or captured, the prizes being carried into the Downs. Scarcely was this victory gained when the Dutch fleet, under Admirals De Witt and De Ruiter, were sighted off the North Foreland. Admiral Blake, without waiting for the rest of his fleet, which were astern, immediately ordered each ship to engage as she came up, and leading the way attacked De Witt's line. Tremendous were the broadsides exchanged. As night came on the Dutch retreated, having suffered severely, the masts of many of the ships being shot away and vast numbers of men being slain. The next morning the Dutch seemed disposed to renew the bloody work of the previous day, but their courage failed as the English admiral bore down, and putting up their helms, they ran for their native coast, followed by Blake until the shallowness of the water compelled him to desist from pursuit. The Dutch, though thus signally defeated, would, it was thought, again attempt to regain their lost power on the return of spring, and information was received that their most celebrated admiral, Van Tromp, would take command of their fleet. It was not supposed, however, that it would be ready until the spring. "No sooner had our ships been dispersed to their winter stations, than Tromp appeared with a fleet of more than a hundred sail off the Goodwin Sands. "Admiral Blake, who was still on board the _Triumph_, on hearing of this, collected all the ships he could get, and stood out of Dover to attack the Dutch. For the whole of that winter's day the two admirals watched each other, each endeavouring to obtain the weather-gauge. "A dark and tempestuous night then coming on separated the fleets of both ships. The following day the weather moderated. Still for some hours the _Triumph_ and Tromp's flag-ship the _Brederode_ kept manoeuvring, until late in the afternoon the Dutchman made a sudden attempt to take the English admiral at a disadvantage. Blake, however, by suddenly luffing-up crossed the bow of the _Brederode_, followed by the _Garland_, against which ship the _Brederode_ ran with a tremendous crash, when both became hotly engaged. The _Bonaventura_, a trader of only thirty guns, gallantly came up to the rescue of the _Garland_. While thus fighting, Admiral Evertz attacked the latter ship, the whole four being alongside each other, when after a desperate struggle, more than half the crews of the two English ships being killed and wounded, they were boarded and carried by the Dutchmen. Meanwhile the _Triumph, Vanguard_, and _Victory_ were fighting desperately with twenty of the enemy's ships, frequently almost surrounded before many of the rest of the fleet had gone into action. The men stood bravely to their guns, although numbers were falling on their decks, and fought their way on, until the night coming down put an end to the battle. "The following morning a thick fog prevented the enemy being seen, and with his shattered fleet Admiral Blake thought it wise to retire up the Thames to repair damages and collect his ships in readiness again to encounter the enemy. Such was the last action which was fought before we left England," continued the officer; "but I am ashamed to say that Tromp was seen vauntingly sailing up and down the Channel with a broom at his mast-head, as if he had swept the English from the sea."	{ "id": "21487" }
10	A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.	The news brought by the _Diamond_ made the officers and crews of the squadron eager to return to England to avenge the insult put upon the English flag by Van Tromp. The crew of the _Good Hope_, Royalists as many of them had been, shared equally in the feeling. So would Lancelot and I, had we not had a more sacred duty to perform; but when we mentioned our plan to the commodore, he positively forbade our making the attempt. "It would be the height of madness to venture in your small ship on the Barbary coast," he repeated. "Before you could explain your object, she would be captured, and you and your crew would be carried into slavery." For a long time we entreated him in vain to allow us to prosecute our undertaking. At last he said-- "I will allow you to go, provided your people are ready to accompany you after you have clearly explained to them the dangers of the enterprise; but I again warn you of your certain fate. My advice is that you should return to England, make known the sad condition of your own friends, and numberless other Christian captives in Barbary, and I have little doubt that as soon as we have thrashed the Dutch, Admiral Blake will be sent out to compel the corsairs to give up their prisoners." The only course open to us was to follow the commodore's advice. Bitter was our disappointment when our crew declined further to prosecute the undertaking. In vain Martin and Dick urged them to fulfil their engagement, supported by Mr Aylett. They were ready to fight with a prospect of success, but they had no desire to be made slaves, or to lose their lives in a hopeless cause, they answered. I cannot describe our feelings; we did not possess even the means of communicating with the captives, and letting them know that we were making efforts for their liberation. At last the signal was made to weigh anchor, and the _Good Hope_, with several ships ordered home, set sail for England. Having met a Dutch fleet which we beat off, though they left us sorely battered, and encountered a fearful storm which well-nigh sent the _Good Hope_ to the bottom, we at length reached Plymouth in a sinking state. There the shipwrights pronounced the _Good Hope_ unfit again to go to sea. This was the climax of our disappointments, for we had not the means of obtaining another vessel. "Cheer up, shipmates!" exclaimed Dick Harvey. "I'll try and induce my father to help us. He will rejoice to see me back safe, and you too, for he has a sincere regard for you, and is grateful for the service you rendered him." Finding that Mr Harvey had gone to London, we repaired thither, taking Martin and Mr Aylett with us. Mr Harvey was glad to see his son, and treated Lancelot and me with great kindness; his means, however, would not allow him, he said, to purchase a ship, but he advised us to repair to Queensborough, in the island of Sheppey, where Admiral Blake was busily employed in fitting out a fleet to attack the Dutch. That we might not miss the opportunity of joining the fleet, we immediately went on board a hoy which was going down the river. We found the roads crowded with men-of-war, sixty sail at least, beside frigates, all busily engaged in taking stores, and powder and shot on board. The admiral's flag was flying at the mast-head of the _Triumph_. As we reached her deck, we found him surrounded by officers, to whom he was issuing orders. It was some time before we could approach to pay our respects. He recognised us at once, and holding out his hand, shook ours warmly, listening with much interest to the account we gave him of our adventures. "You have come in the nick of time," he said. "We sail to-morrow in search of the Dutch. You shall all serve on board. There's work to be done, and I have not too many officers or men to do it. After we have thrashed the Dutch, I promise you, should my life be spared, to inflict due chastisement on the Barbary corsairs, and to endeavour to recover your friends." More than this we could not expect, and we at once zealously set about performing the duties assigned to us. Lancelot and Aylett were appointed to act as lieutenants, and the admiral directed Dick and me to remain by him ready to signal his orders to the rest of the fleet, to carry messages, or to perform any other duties he might require. On inquiring for his nephew, young Robert Blake, we found that he had been appointed to command the _Hampshire_, a thirty-four gun ship; but as no boat could be spared, we were unable to pay him a visit. Near us lay the _Speaker_, Vice-Admiral Penn, and the _Fairfax_, Rear-Admiral Lawson, while the other ships were commanded by the best captains in the navy. At daybreak next morning we sailed. Soon after we got round the South Foreland, a fleet was descried from the mast-head of the _Triumph_, standing out from the land. The hearts of all on board beat high, for we believed that the enemy were in sight. But the strangers tacking soon showed English colours, and we found that it was the Plymouth squadron, which had been sent out to join us. Thus, with eighty ships, we stood down Channel, with a north-westerly wind, until we had passed the Isle of Wight. When nearly up to the Bill of Portland, the _Triumph_ leading, just as day broke the look-out aloft shouted-- "A fleet ahead, a fleet ahead! away to the south-west." There was no doubt now that the Dutch were in sight. The officer of the watch ordered me to call the admiral. With a cheerful countenance he rose, and quickly dressing himself, came on deck, going to the fore-top, where I accompanied him, that he might take a perfect survey of the enemy with whom he was about to engage. On one side of us was the _Speaker_, on the other the _Fairfax_, both within hail, and about a score of other ships forming our vanguard; but Admiral Monk, with the main body of the fleet, was still some four or five miles astern. Though we could see them, they were not visible to the Dutch admiral, Van Tromp, who, having under him many other celebrated captains, was known to command the Dutch fleet. The sun, which was just rising above the horizon, clearing away the wintry mist, showed us the whole shining ocean covered with sails, a large proportion nearest to us being men-of-war, but fully three hundred others could be counted beyond them, which were supposed to be merchant vessels. Undaunted by the overwhelming numbers opposed to him, without waiting for the rest of the fleet to come up, Admiral Blake pressed on with all sail to attack the enemy. The leading ship of the Hollanders was recognised as the _Brederode_, carrying the flag of Van Tromp. Close astern of us came the _Speaker_ and the _Fairfax_, the rest of the vanguard not being far behind. "He hasn't got the broom aloft," whispered Dick to me, as he stood close to the admiral on the after-castle watching the enemy. "If he had we should soon knock it away." "We shall, I hope, before long knock away his masts," I answered. "But see, he is getting closer; before another minute is over the fight will begin." We were now so steering, that we should speedily pass along the Dutch line, which only waited for the _Triumph_ to get within range to open fire. Presently a puff of smoke issued from the bows of the _Brederode_, and almost before the shot aimed at us could strike, the _Triumph_ opened fire from the whole of her broadside. The _Speaker_ and the _Fairfax_ followed our example, as did the other ships, receiving in return the broadside of the entire Dutch fleet. The Dutch admiral, with the wind free, shot by us, delivering his fire from one broadside, then tacking under our lee, discharged the other with tremendous effect, wounding our masts and spars, riddling our canvas and rigging, and strewing our decks with killed and wounded. Other Dutch ships imitated the example of their admiral and steered down upon us, when we should have fared ill from odds so overwhelming, had not Admiral Penn, followed by two other vessels, come to the rescue and drawn off the attention of the enemy to themselves. As we got out from the circle of fire we could better see what was going on, though all the time we were hotly engaged with one or more of the enemy. Dick and I immediately reported every circumstance to the admiral. Now the _Assistance_ was boarded by the Dutch. Now two ships ran alongside the _Prosperous_, and in spite of the valour of her crew, she was captured by the enemy. The _Oak_ shared the same fate, though her people fought long and bravely. On my reporting what I had seen to the admiral, "We must go to their help," he exclaimed, and ordering the master to steer for them, we furiously attacked the ships to which they had struck. We had, however, to contend with the rest of the Dutch fleet, and it appeared to be going hard with us. In spite, however, of almost overwhelming odds against us, we and the other ships of the vanguard fought on. Often I turned my eyes to the eastward, but could discover no signs of the advance of the fleet, the thick wreaths of smoke often preventing me from seeing to any distance. At length, however. I saw the rays of the sun falling on their white canvas, and ship after ship appeared. It was the white division, led by General Monk; as they arrived they gallantly opened their broadsides on the Dutchmen, increasing the fearful uproar. On every side the sea appeared covered with shattered spars and planks. Now a noble ship was wrapt in flames, now I caught sight of the tall masts of another sinking beneath the surface as she and her crew went down to the depths below. The ship we had rescued was the _Prosperous_, of forty guns, commanded by Captain Baker; but he and many of his crew lay dead on the deck. Admiral De Ruiter, who had attacked her, was himself almost surrounded, and would have been captured had not several of the enemy under Admiral Evertz come to his rescue. The _Speaker_, not far off, was meantime fiercely assaulted, and reduced almost to a wreck. First her foremast fell, then her mizen-mast was shot away, and she would have been captured had not several ships been sent to her assistance. A Dutch ship within sight, the _Ostrich_, commanded by Captain Krink, with her rigging cut to pieces and her sails in tatters, fought on until her masts were shot away by the board, when two of our ships ran alongside and carried her. It appearing impossible that she could swim, her captain with the survivors of his officers and crew were hastily dragged on board their captors, and the _Ostrich_ was deserted. On the other side of us another Dutch ship, commanded by Captain De Port, was attacked by two of ours, and from the way they handled their guns, in a short time it was very evident that they had reduced her to a sinking state. Another brave Hollander, Captain Swers, seeing her condition, hastened to her relief; but he came too late, and our ship turning on him, ere long reduced him to the same condition as his countryman. As I stood on our lofty after-castle I could look down on the fight, and saw the brave De Port, though lying on the deck desperately wounded, flourishing his hanger and shouting to his crew to resist. Before the English could get on board, down went his ship, carrying him and his men with her. Scarcely had she disappeared than Swers' ship was seen to be sinking, but more fortunate than his brother captain, he and several of his officers were rescued by their victors. In other directions we could see that several of the Dutch ships had struck their flags. Four of ours had been boarded by the enemy, but afterwards recaptured. Among them was the _Sampson_, commanded by Captain Bullon. So fearfully had she suffered, he and the greater portion of his crew having been slain, that the admiral ordered the remainder to be taken out, and allowed her to drift away. We ourselves, having endured the brunt of the battle well-nigh from sunrise to sunset, had also suffered fearfully. I was standing near the admiral, when a shot struck down Mr Sparrow, his secretary, by his side, and our commander, Captain Ball, also fell shortly afterwards. As I looked along the decks I could see them covered with dead and wounded, there being scarcely men left sufficient to carry the latter below, the survivors having to work on at the guns. Still the battle raged, and round shot continued tearing along our decks. One came whizzing close to me. Turning at the same moment, I saw that the admiral was struck. I sprang forward to save him ere he fell to the deck. "It's a mere flesh wound," he replied to my inquiries. "Let not the men suppose that I am hurt," and taking a handkerchief, he, with my assistance, bound it round the wound and resumed his upright position, cheering on the men as was his wont. The same shot had torn away part of the buff coat of General Deane, who had remained on board to aid his old comrade in arms. I often, as may be supposed, looked out to see how it was faring with my old friends. Though many were laid low by their sides, still they remained unhurt. The evening of that short winter's day was approaching, when our admiral, perceiving the shattered condition of a large number of the enemy's ships, and that no less than eight had been sunk, blown up, or captured, directed the fastest frigates nearest to us to make all sail and cut off the fleet of traders, which had been hove to in the distance during the day. This done he kept his eagle eye on Tromp, who shortly afterwards was seen to throw out signals to steer to the south-east, followed by a considerable portion of his fleet, evidently with the intention of protecting the traders. Seeing their admiral apparently retreating, the rest of the fleet took to hasty flight, on which from every English ship arose a loud shout of triumph, the crews for the moment forgetting the heavy price at which the day's victory had been gained. As we passed in view of the captured ships, the scene which their decks presented was sufficient to sicken our hearts. None of the brave Dutchmen had yielded until the last hope was gone. Fore and aft lay the mangled corpses of the slain, while the shattered bulwarks and even the stumps of the masts were bespattered with blood and gore. Though a battle was no new event to me, I turned away appalled and sickened at the sight. Not only were our crews exhausted, but few of our ships were in a condition to pursue the enemy, and great was our fear that they would escape during the night; but as the sun disappeared beneath the western horizon the wind dropped, and both squadrons lay becalmed on the smooth ocean. All the boats which could float were immediately lowered, and the wounded being placed in them, they were rowed to shore, where hospitals had been prepared for their reception. General Deane and others entreated the admiral to land and obtain that attention to his wound which he was so anxious to afford to others. "No, no, my friends," he answered, pointing to the lights from the Dutch ships, which streamed across the wintry sea. "With the enemy out there, it is no time for me to seek for rest," and before retiring to his cabin he issued orders that every effort should be made to prepare the fleet for another battle on the morrow. Not a man or boy able to work turned in that night, for all were employed in stopping shot holes, knotting and splicing rigging, bending new sails, and repairing the tackles of the guns. The survivors of the crew of the _Sampson_ came on board the _Triumph_ to assist, but even the united crews scarcely made up the ship's complement. As daylight broke, a light breeze enabled us to make sail, and followed by the whole fleet, the _Triumph_ stood for the enemy, who were steering under all sail to the eastward. Soon afterwards we saw ahead a ship floating which we made out to be Dutch, and as we came up to her, we perceived that she was the _Ostrich_, the ship of the brave Krink, and terrible was the spectacle she exhibited. The masts, shot away by the board, hung trailing over the side, not a human being stood alive on her blood-stained decks, which were covered with corpses, lying were they had fallen when she had been abandoned on the previous day. There was no time to take her in tow, and we left her afloat on the ocean, the coffin of her hapless crew; then onward we pressed under every sail we could carry. It was not until noon that we were near enough to open fire, and it was two o'clock, Dungeness being in sight, before the whole fleet got into action. To give an account of the battle would be to describe the scenes of the previous day. The gallant De Ruiter was well-nigh captured, and would have been so had not another brave Dutch captain come to his rescue. Well and courageously did our captains do their duty, imitating the example of the admiral, and carrying their ships as best they could alongside the Hollanders. Five or six of their men-of-war were that evening taken, besides which many others were fearfully mauled. Another night came down upon the world of waters, bitterly cold, yet calm and clear, enabling us to distinguish the lights of the Dutch ships, now retreating towards Boulogne. The second night was spent like the first, and a third day found us still in sight of our unconquered foe. The wind had shifted to the southward, preventing their escape, and our frigates being again despatched with all canvas set, bore down on the richly-laden merchantmen, while we once more assailed the men-of-war. In vain Van Tromp fought with courage and desperation, endeavouring while retreating to protect the merchantmen. Already in the distance we could see the frigates playing havoc among the traders, which were thrown into the wildest confusion, numbers running against each other, some hauling down their flags, others contriving to escape. As we pressed on, we could see the other English war ships at length got among them, and several ran up to us with the intention, it was seen, of yielding, and thereby delaying us in our pursuit of Van Tromp. "We are not to be delayed by such a device," exclaimed the admiral. "Make the signal, Bracewell, to all the ships of war to press on regardless of the traders. The frigates will look after them; they can with ease be picked up when we have finally defeated Van Tromp and his captains." Thus we continued the pursuit until again night was approaching, when Van Tromp with the remnant of his fleet was seen to run in under the French coast, where he dropped anchor and furled his sails. Before we could reach him night came down upon us. It was a night very different to the last. The wind was blowing strong from the southward, threatening every instant to increase into a hard gale. Clouds obscured the sky, and darkness and mist shrouded the enemy from view. Our fleet dropped anchor to the southward of Cape Grisnez, when every man who could keep his eyes open was employed in repairing damages. The pilots asserted that with the wind as it was then blowing from the north-east, and with the tide as it would be running during the morning, the Dutch would find it impossible to weather Cape Blanchnez, and we looked forward eagerly to the next day, in the anticipation of inflicting a final and crushing blow on our enemy. Alas! and such is war, though I thought but little at the time of its sinfulness, its horrors, and the sufferings it entails, not only on the combatants but on those at home, their wives and families. That lesson I was to learn in subsequent years from the son of one of our admirals, who pointed out to me its iniquity, and how contrary it is to all the teaching of the Gospel. Even on lower principles I had already seen the folly of that war between two Protestant nations, who ought to have continued to advance each other's commercial prosperity, and more than all, to resist the machinations of the sworn enemies of the faith.	{ "id": "21487" }
11	ONCE MORE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.	When morning broke, gloomy and tempestuous, and we stood out from under the lee of Cape Grisnez, so as to get a view of the coast, where we had seen the Dutch anchor, great was our disappointment on discovering that not a mast was visible. It was very evident that, favoured by darkness, they had slipped out with the last of the flood, and were by this time amid the sandbanks and shallows off the Flushing coast. The gale increasing, we now threw out the order for the fleet to bear away and steer for the Isle of Wight, under the shelter of which we at length brought up. On counting our prizes, we found that we had captured no less than nineteen men-of-war, and not under fifty merchantmen, which had been carried to different ports. Three Dutch captains had been taken prisoners and seven slain. Even though still suffering from his wound, the admiral went on shore, not to take a part in the rejoicings with which our victory was welcomed throughout the land, but to visit the hospitals and see that the wounded men were properly cared for. I accompanied him from ward to ward. He had a land word for every one, and many an eye was filled with tears as he thanked them for the noble way in which they had fought for their country, and the glorious victory they had won. Refusing to go home, though he required rest more than any one, he continued to superintend the repairs of the fleet. I cannot dwell on the events which followed. We again sailed in April with a hundred ships for the Texel, where we drove the Dutch fleet back into port, capturing fifty dogers. The admiral hearing that Van Tromp had gone northward, to convoy a fleet of merchantmen, we sailed in pursuit with part of the fleet, leaving Admiral Lawson in command of the larger portion. Missing the Dutch, we once again steered southward, when just as June had commenced, a fast frigate brought intelligence that Van Tromp had appeared in the Downs, and that another fierce battle was hourly expected between him and the English fleet under Admirals Penn and Lawson. Setting all sail, we pressed on before a northerly breeze, when the sound of firing reached our ears. Robert Blake in the _Hampshire_ was ahead. How we envied him! At length, some way to the southward of Yarmouth, the two fleets of England and Holland appeared in sight, hotly engaged. With every stitch of canvas set below and aloft, he sailed on into action, firing his broadsides with terrific effect into the enemy's ships. We followed, eager to engage, as did the rest of the squadron, and were soon in the midst of it. Among the ships we perceived the _James_, Vice-Admiral Penn, alongside the well-known _Brederode_, with Van Tromp's flag flying aloft. The Dutch had endeavoured to board the _James_, but were now being driven back, with fearful slaughter, and already scores of British seamen, slashing and cutting with their hangers, had gained her deck when a terrific explosion was heard. Up rose the deck of the Dutch ship, sending into the air the mangled forms of the boarders with the shivered fragments of planks. The _James_ cast off from her foe, it being believed that Van Tromp with his crew were about to founder, but the smoke clearing away, we saw them rushing up from below, with the admiral at their head. Before he could be captured, lowering a boat, he pulled away for a frigate which lay near, and was seen sailing through his fleet, assuring his followers of his wonderful escape. But his efforts and those of his vice-admiral were in vain. Hard pressed by our ships, they ere long took to flight, and steered for Ostend, leaving eleven of their men-of-war in our hands, besides six sunk, two blown up, and one burnt, and nearly fourteen hundred prisoners, including a vice-admiral, two rear-admirals, and six captains. The battle was won, but so shattered were our ships that, unable to pursue the enemy, we were compelled to put into harbour. Not until he saw his fleet at anchor would Admiral Blake allow himself to be carried on shore, when he invited me to accompany him to his country house of Knoll, near Bridgwater. Dick, I should have said, had been summoned home by his father, but I bade farewell for a time to Lancelot, as also to old Martin, who, in spite of his years, preferred remaining on board to taking his ease on shore. "Who knows but that the ship may be sent out to the Mediterranean, and if so, that I may have the chance of hearing of Mistress Audrey and Margaret, and Mr Kerridge and his daughter?" he said. "For that reason I ought to remain," I answered; "but the admiral has promised, should any ship sail for those parts, to let me go in her, and as he knows everything that takes place, I am not afraid of missing the chance. "And very right, Master Ben, that you should take a holiday. You look as thin as a line, and I have been afraid that you'd wear yourself out before your time." So I set off with my noble patron. Great was the contrast which his life in that quiet abode presented to the uproar of battle and tempest, in which so many of his days had of late been passed. His board was frugal. His mornings were passed among his books or in writing letters, in which I assisted him; a long walk when his strength was sufficiently restored through the green fields and woods; his evenings in the society of a few chosen friends, when his conversation was chiefly on religious matters or on the affairs of state. To me the change was beneficial in the extreme. I felt refreshed in mind and body, still my thoughts were often far away with my sister and friends, captives still, as I believed, in Barbary. The tranquil existence the admiral was enjoying was greatly disturbed by the news of another complete victory gained over the Dutch by Admirals Monk, Penn, and Lawson. The battle had lasted, like the former, for well-nigh three days. It was the last Van Tromp was destined to fight. On the third day, while still leading on his fleet, a musket ball entered his heart, and his captain hearing of his death took to flight, pursued by the victors, who, it is sad to say, had received orders from Monk to give no quarter, but to destroy every ship and their hapless crews as they were overtaken. The captains and their crews, however, disregarding the sanguinary order, picked up several hundred Dutchmen from their sinking ships. I was thankful to get a letter from Lancelot describing the fight, assuring me of his and Martin's safety. Ere long we heard of the arrival of ambassadors from the States General, sueing for peace, when among other matters they agreed to lower their flag to that of England whenever it should be seen flying. I must pass over several months, when once more Admiral Blake went afloat in command of a fleet of twenty-four sail, and hoisted his flag on board the _Saint George_, a new ship of sixty guns and three hundred and fifty men. Lancelot and Martin had joined her, and Dick soon after came on board, having obtained leave from his father once more to go afloat. We three were thus again united. Great was our satisfaction to learn that the Mediterranean was the ultimate destination of the fleet, though its other objects, for political reasons, were not made known. At the same time that we sailed, another still larger fleet went down Channel under command of Admiral Penn, having General Venables and a body of troops on board. Its destination was the West Indies, where it was to attack the colonies of Spain, while we were to capture and destroy her fleets on her coasts. This work, however, was not to commence for the present. We having reached the roadstead of Cadiz, found there a Dutch fleet. No sooner was the red-cross seen flying from our mastheads, than the Dutch admiral lowered his flag. "The Hollanders have learned a lesson they are not in a hurry to forget," observed the admiral, as he walked the deck, while we came to an anchor. A French squadron paid our flag the same respect, while on shore the admiral was treated with every possible consideration by the Spanish authorities, as well as by the officials of all nations. While here we received information that many more vessels had been captured by the Barbary States. The Pope and Grand Duke of Tuscany also had given offence to the Commonwealth, by allowing Prince Rupert to sell his prizes in their ports. Those combative monks, the Knights of Malta, also sworn foes to those they chose to call heretics, had captured several English merchantmen, while the Duke of Guise was threatening Naples, which State, then in alliance with England, it was deemed important to protect. We had work enough thus cut out for us, and as soon as provisions had been obtained we sailed, and passing through the Straits of Gibraltar without molestation, we directed our course for Naples. We there found that the Duke of Guise had taken his departure, but in what direction we could not discover. We therefore steered northward along the coast of Italy until we came off Leghorn. Dropping anchor, the admiral sent an envoy to the Duke of Tuscany, demanding redress to the owners of such vessels as had been sold by the corsair princes. The Duke hesitated, declaring that he must refer the matter to the Pope of Rome, at which the admiral, smiling scornfully, observed that "it was not the Pope's business, and that he would presently have to look out for himself." We had just before received intelligence of the alarm our appearance had caused in Rome. Monks had been walking in procession, many persons had been burying their treasures, and the wealthy had fled from the city, believing that ere long it would be pillaged by the English. The Grand Duke, not wishing to have Leghorn battered down, yielded to the demands of our admiral, who then despatched the envoy to the Pope. In vain that priestly potentate endeavoured to excuse himself, but his subjects had undoubtedly bought the illegal prizes, and at last, to avoid the threatened consequences of refusal, he sent the money demanded on board, twenty thousand pistoles, "which," as the admiral observed, "was probably the first cash which had ever been transferred from the Papal coffers to the treasury of England." This was not the only satisfactory task performed by our admiral. He wrote to the Grand Duke, urging him in forcible terms to permit the English and other Protestants settled in his domains liberty to keep the Bible in their houses, and to follow their own form of worship, a privilege which had hitherto been denied them. While we lay off Leghorn two Algerine cruisers came in with a flag of truce, bringing a number of English captives liberated by the Dey in order to appease the wrath of the English. "It is well," said our admiral, as he received the liberated persons; "but let the Dey understand while an Englishman remains in bonds I shall not be content." Lancelot and I eagerly questioned the freed captives, in the hopes of possibly gaining information about our friends; but they replied that the distance between the two States was so great that they were aware only of the fact that many English were held captive in Tunis. The admiral had from the first promised that he would pay that pirate city a visit, and use every means to discover and liberate our friends. We now hoped that he would without delay carry out his intention. But another disappointment occurred. Just as we were about to sail, the plague brought from the Levant broke out on board, and the admiral himself was stricken down by the fell disease. Others suffered, and for many weeks, until the admiral recovered, we were unable to sail. Although with the cold of winter the disease disappeared, a storm kept us still longer at anchor; but at length the wind proving favourable we sailed for Tunis, and ere long came in sight of its two powerful castles of Goletta and Porto Ferino. Bringing up beyond reach of their guns, the admiral despatched a messenger to the Dey, demanding the release of all prisoners and the restoration of the numerous prizes lately captured, or their value if destroyed. The Dey in return sent an envoy on board the _Saint George_, who, though he professed to wish for peace, declared that his master would not give up the prizes. While negotiations were going on, we sailed close up to the castle of Porto Ferino, piloted by Lieutenant Aylett, that the admiral might obtain an idea of its strength. He then (the envoy being sent on shore) sailed away with the larger ships, leaving Captain Stayner with the smaller frigates to watch the entrance of the harbour. Lancelot and I could not help expressing our disappointment to each other; we soon found, however, that the admiral had no intention of abandoning the undertaking, but that it was necessary to obtain provisions before we commenced operations, our stock having run short. We now steered for Cagliari in Sardinia, where we lay while vessels were despatched in all directions to obtain bread, and the ships in harbour were being refitted. Our hearts beat high when once more the tall minarets and domes of the pirate city appeared in sight, for we made no doubt that the Dey would yield, and that we should ere long recover our friends. Again the admiral sent an officer on shore, repeating his former demands and requesting water for his ships. The Dey insolently replied that "there stood his castles of Porto Ferino and Goletta, and until the English could carry them off in their ships, nothing should they have from him." "Let the Dey understand that such conduct shall not go unpunished," answered the admiral to the barbarian envoy, his anger rising, and his usually calm eye flashing fire; "God has given water to all His creatures, and the sin which one commits who refuses it to another is great indeed." No sooner had the envoy taken his departure than, to the surprise of all, the admiral ordered the fleet to sail away from the harbour, not leaving a ship behind. "Can the admiral really intend thus to allow the pirates to escape with impunity?" said Dick to Lancelot and me, as we watched the Moorish city recede from our eyes. "I much fear that your relatives will be left to languish in hopeless captivity." "Have you sailed so many years with our good commander, and yet can fancy such a thing?" exclaimed Martin, who overheard the remark. "Depend upon it, he has his reasons, and I shrewdly guess wishes to throw the pirates off their guard. Rest assured before long we shall get a nearer sight of Tunis than we have hitherto had." Notwithstanding what Martin said, we steered on until we once more entered the Bay of Cagliari. We had good reason, however, to believe that the admiral intended after all to attack Tunis. Orders were issued to all the ships to prepare for some severe work. At length, after well-nigh a week had passed, we made the signal to weigh anchor, and the whole fleet before a light northerly breeze stood under full sail towards the Bay of Tunis. Just as the evening of the 3rd of April, 1655, was approaching, we stood into the bay, where we brought up, the now well-known towers and minarets of Tunis in sight. The night which came on might be the last we knew for many a brave fellow. It was spent in preparation for the work we were destined to undertake the next day. Ere the sun rose a gun from the flag-ship was fired as a signal to the crews of the whole fleet to offer up prayer to Almighty God for protection and success in the struggle about to commence in our righteous cause. It was a solemn time. Not a sound was heard except the yokes of the ministers until those of the congregations joined in prayer, or burst forth into a hymn of praise to the all-powerful One whose protection they sought. Then rising from our knees we weighed anchor, the sails were let fall, the guns run out, and, led by the _Newcastle_, which was quickly followed by other frigates, the big ships stood into the harbour. Of these the _Saint Andrew_ was the first. Close astern came the _Plymouth_, and we in the _Saint George_ followed in her wake, not casting anchor until we had got within musket shot of the batteries, nor was a shot fired until we had furled sails. So astonished were the barbarians that their artillery remained mute. It was not for long; we setting the example, every ship opened with her broadside, to which the pirates speedily replied, their shot coming crashing on board through our bulwarks, or tearing their way between our masts and rigging. And now commenced the most tremendous din and uproar our ears had ever heard, the echoes of the guns reverberating among the crumbling walls and falling houses. For two hours the battle raged, the sky obscured, and the castles and batteries almost concealed by the dense masses of smoke, on which a lurid glare was reflected by the flames belched forth from the guns. The smoke blown in the faces of the pirates tended to conceal the ships from their sight, and prevented them aiming their pieces with accuracy. Not for an instant did our fire slacken, until the guns in the batteries were dismounted or burst, or the gunners killed or driven from their post. Within us, higher up the harbour, lay a squadron of nine stout ships. While the bombardment was taking place the admiral called Captain Stokes to his side. "Now is the time to carry out your plan," he said. "You, Bracewell and Kerridge, may accompany Captain Stokes," he added. Each ship had before received an order, at a certain time to send her long-boat with a picked crew, bringing torches, hand-grenades, and other combustibles. They now arrived. We took our places in the long-boat of the _Saint George_, and Captain Stokes at once led the way towards the pirate squadron. For some time we were concealed by the clouds of smoke from the sight of our enemies, and only such shot as passed over the ships came near us, but as we got farther up the harbour we were perceived and assailed by showers of bullets and round shot, fired at us from the corsairs. We pulled on, however, until we were alongside them. The torches were then lighted, and without a moment's delay we began to heave them into the ports of the pirate vessels. So unexpected was the proceeding, that every ship was set on fire fore and aft, before the crew on deck had perceived what had occurred, and in a few moments the flames were bursting through the hatchways and ports, and encircling the masts and spars. In vain the pirates made the most frantic efforts to extinguish the fire, wherever they were seen labouring with buckets, the broadsides of the frigates which came up to our assistance drove them away and compelled them to leap overboard. Now every one of the ships was burning furiously, the flames forming huge pyramids of fire. Leaving them to their fate, which all the efforts of the pirates could not avert, protected by the frigates, we pulled back to the _Saint George_ to report that the whole of the corsair squadron of nine large ships was utterly destroyed; and as we rowed away, first one and then two or three together blew up with a tremendous explosion, scattering their fragments far and wide, while their keels sank to the bottom of the harbour.	{ "id": "21487" }
12	THE CAPTIVES RESCUED--BLAKE'S EXPLOITS AND DEATH.	Lancelot and I had formed a plan with Lieutenant Aylett, by which we deemed that it would be possible, though no more than possible, to recover our two sisters, Mr Kerridge, and Margaret. We had asked permission of the admiral to undertake it. He pointed out the the dangers we must encounter. "Far be it from me ever to refuse my sanction to so righteous an object," he added; "such volunteers as you can obtain may go, and heaven prosper you." When our design was made known on board the _Saint George_ and _Hampshire_ we might have obtained the whole of the crews of both ships, as well, indeed, as those of the rest of the fleet. On consulting Captain Blake, however, he advised us to take only fifty men; thirty from the flag-ship and the _Hampshire_, and the remainder from among the others of the fleet. We calculated that the whole of the warlike part of the population of Tunis would have been summoned to the defence of the castles and batteries. It was our intention to land while the action continued about three miles from the city, at a spot with which Lieutenant Aylett was acquainted, and from thence he know the road to the residence of the old chief who held our friends captives. We might, he believed, reach the house and be back again to the boats before the Dey could gain intelligence of our expedition, and send any force of strength sufficient to oppose us. Dick, of course, was of the party, and old Martin was as eager as any of the younger men to go; but we tried to persuade him to remain on board, fearing that the fatigue of our march would be more than he could endure. He entreated so hard, however, to be allowed to take part in the recovery of Mistress Audrey that we gave way, and with hanger by his side, pistols in his belt, and a musket over his shoulder, he prepared for the expedition. While the cannonade was still going forward, we put off in two boats, which kept on the larboard side of one of the frigates, despatched for the service, so that we were unseen from the town. As soon as we had got near the landing-place, the frigate tacked and hove to, while we, pulling rapidly in, leaped on shore, and the boats returned to the frigate, which sailed back as if to rejoin the fleet, but according to orders was ready again to put about to receive us, should our expedition prove successful, on our return. Led by Lieutenant Aylett, we set out on our march at as fast a rate as our feet could move. Old Martin kept alongside me, showing the activity of many a younger man; fearing, however, that his strength would fail, I begged him to let me carry his musket. "No, no, Mister Ben," he answered; "I care not, if we get Mistress Audrey and Margaret back, whether I fall by the way. I have faced Death in too many shapes to fear him now." As to the character of the country through which we passed, I cannot describe it. I know that there were palm trees, and prickly pears, and other strange shrubs, and rocks covered with creepers, and here and there fields of corn and plantations of fruit trees. We saw but few people, and those women, children, or old men, who fled at our approach to hide themselves. Onwards we pushed, regardless of enemies who might be gathering behind--eager only to find the captives and to place them in our midst, when we were prepared to fight our way back against any odds which might oppose us. My heart bounded as if it would choke me when, on gaining the top of a hill, Lieutenant Aylett exclaimed, pointing ahead-- "There's old Mustapha's house!" but the next instant a sickening feeling came over me, as I dreaded lest those we hoped to find might have been removed. Without halting for an instant, we rushed down the slope, and so divided our force that we might surround the building. Orders had been given that not a shot should be fired lest we should wound our friends. In silence we dashed on, until we were close to the gates, when Lieutenant Aylett cried out-- "Open, open; we come as friends." The bars were withdrawn, the gate swung back, when instead of a turbaned Moor, who should we see but old Margaret! She recognised us at once, as we grasped hands. "Where are my father and sister?" exclaimed Lancelot. "Where is my dear Audrey?" I cried. Before she could reply there arose such a shrieking and shouting from the farther end of the hall that we could scarcely hear her speak. "Mr Kerridge is there," she at length said, pointing through an opening into the garden, "and the young ladies are with Mrs Mustapha and the other women who are making all that hubbub there." "Run, good Margaret, and tell them we are here," I exclaimed, while Lancelot, like a dutiful son, rushed out into the garden in search of his father. Scarcely had he gone than the door at the other end of the hall opened, and two young boys, as they seemed, sprang towards us, followed by Margaret. The next instant I had Audrey in my arms, and was holding the hand of Mistress Cicely. In spite of their disguise and sunburnt cheeks, I knew them directly, and in a few words explained how we had come to rescue them. They were less astonished than we expected, for the sound of firing had reached their ears, and they guessed that either the town or pirate ships had been attacked by a foreign squadron. Margaret was eagerly talking to Martin, whose attention was more occupied by Audrey than by what she was saying. The moment his sense of propriety would allow, coming forward, he took her hand and poured out the feelings of his heart at having recovered her. Before many minutes had passed, the clashing of swords and Lancelot's voice shouting for assistance reached our ears. Dick, followed by several of the men, rushed in the direction he had taken, when they found him defending himself from the attack of a sturdy old Moor and three attendants, who, however, on seeing the British seamen approaching, took to flight. The sailors pursued, and coming up with the old Moor we were about to cut him down, when a man with a hoe in his hand sprang out from behind some bushes, exclaiming-- "Spare his life, friends; though he has kept me in slavery, and is somewhat a hard taskmaster, we should return good for evil." Then, turning to the old Moor, he made a sign to him that he should remain quiet while he eagerly questioned the seamen. Lancelot by this time had come up, and I saw him spring forward and embrace the stranger, who was, I had no doubt, his long-lost father, although so greatly changed that I had not recognised him. Such he was, but as not a moment could be spared, after a few words had been exchanged, we were summoned by Lieutenant Aylett to commence our retreat. We did not stop to bid farewell to Mustapha and his family, but placing the two girls with Margaret in our midst, we recommenced our march. Not a moment did we halt, for we had many miles to travel before we could reach the water, while at any instant we might be attacked by overwhelming numbers of enraged Moors. My fear was that the rescued ones, unaccustomed to rapid walking, might sink from fatigue, but the joy of having recovered their liberty kept up their strength. The firing had ceased, but as we looked towards the city we could see a cloud of smoke still hanging over it. The last height we had to cross was gained. The sea lay before us, when one of the men on our left flank shouted out he saw a large body of Moors approaching. We all soon saw them, and it seemed doubtful whether we could reach the boats before they were upon us, but as we pushed on the frigate came in view, standing close in with the shore, towards which her guns were directed. The Moors were rushing on, and even at that distance we could hear their savage cries, when the frigate opened fire upon them, compelling them to beat a retreat, while we hastened down the hill and gained the boats which had just come in to receive us. The frigate was obliged to tack, but before the Moors could return we had pulled away beyond the range of their muskets. We were soon on board the frigate, when our arrival caused no small astonishment as well as delight, when it was discovered that we had rescued the captives, and still more so when it was known who they were. The young ladies, although they had so long worn male attire, were far from feeling at ease on finding themselves among their countrymen, and they entreated to be led below, to avoid the gaze of the seamen. We should, we feared, have great difficulty in procuring suitable costumes to enable them to appear with satisfaction in public. "We must apply to the admiral to help us; he can do everything," observed Lancelot. "So don't trouble yourself about the matter, Cicely." As we stood towards the fleet we saw the line-of-battle ships getting up their anchors, and making sail away from the shore, from which not a gun was now fired. One of the boats conveyed our party to the _Saint George_, where the admiral received our friends with the greatest kindness, highly commending us for the way in which we had achieved our undertaking. We found that he intended to inflict no further chastisement on the Dey of Tunis, it being considered that the destruction of his fleet, the ruin of his forts, and the vast number of men who had been slain would induce him to refrain from interfering with English interests in future. Running along the coast we visited Tripoli, the Dey of which State, taught a lesson by the punishment the ruler of Tunis had received, showed every desire to be on terms of friendship with us. The fleet then proceeded up the Adriatic to pay the Venetians a friendly visit. Space does not permit me to describe that curious canal-intersected city, where the admiral was received with such honours as are accorded generally only to royal persons. Thanks to his generosity, Cicely and Audrey were here supplied with all the requisite articles of female dress, which were sent on board the day after our arrival, so that they were able to go on shore in their proper characters, and view the wonders of the city. Leaving the Adriatic we again came off Tunis, when a white flag was seen flying from the castle of Porto Ferino. The Dey immediately acceded to all our demands, and signed a treaty affording advantageous terms to the English. Thence we stood across to Malta, where the haughty Templars, having heard of the way in which our admiral had exacted reparation, not only from the Grand Duke, but from the Pope himself, at once succumbed and delivered up the ships and their cargoes of which they had despoiled the English merchants. This matter settled, we sailed across to Algiers, the pirate prince of which State immediately sent a present of cattle on board the fleet, and undertook to liberate all English captives in his country at a moderate ransom per head, they being, he observed, the property of private individuals who had purchased them from others, while he undertook never again to molest English traders. To these terms the admiral consented, and in a few days a whole fleet of boats came off, bringing numerous liberated slaves, a large portion of whom had endured the sorrows of captivity for many years, the amount agreed on being paid over to their late masters. While we lay close in with the shore, we observed one morning a number of persons swimming off towards us. Just as they neared the sides of the ship, several boats, manned by turbaned Moors, were seen pulling away in chase of the fugitives, who now, shouting out in Dutch, entreated us to take them on board. Our seamen, regardless of the savage war we had lately waged with the Hollanders, hurried to lower down ropes and to drag the swimmers on board. Scarcely were they all on deck than the Algerine boats came alongside, and the Moors demanded the fugitives, affirming that they were their own runaway slaves. "What!" exclaimed Martin, "give up Christians who have once enjoyed the freedom of an English man-of-war, even though they may be enemies, to pirates and infidels. I don't believe any honest man on board will stand by and see that done. Just bundle the rascally Turks out of the ship, and let them know that when once a man steps under our flag he is free." The Algerines, with looks of indignation, took their departure, but before long they returned with a message from the Dey, insisting on the terms of the new treaty, by which a certain ransom was to be paid for all liberated captives. On hearing this, Martin suggested that a subscription should be raised to pay the ransom of the Dutchmen. A boat being sent round from ship to ship, the necessary sum was soon collected, the admiral himself paying in proportion to his rank. While we lay off Algiers we heard of the fearful massacre of the Protestants of the Vaudois valley by the soldiers of the Duke of Savoy. The admiral had received instructions from the Protector to threaten the southern coast of France and Piedmont, should the Duke refuse to make all the reparation in his power. The menace had its due effect, and the Duke gave a pledge not again to interfere with the Christian inhabitants of those lovely valleys. We sailed for the Straits of Gibraltar, calling on the way at Malaga to obtain water and fresh provisions. While a party of our seamen were on shore at that place, a procession carrying the Host, with banners and heathenish figures, passed through the streets, when they not only refused to bow, but mocked and jeered, at which the mob, urged on by a priest, savagely attacked them and drove them back to the boats. On hearing this, the admiral sent a trumpeter on shore demanding, not that the mob should be punished, but that the priest who had set them on should be delivered up to him. The governor replied that such a thing as giving up a Catholic priest to heretics had never been heard of, and that he had no power in the case. On this the admiral replied, "If I fail to see that said priest on the deck of the _Saint George_, before the lapse of three hours, I will burn your city to the ground." Within the specified time the priest appeared, when the admiral, summoning witnesses from both sides, heard the case, and decided that the seamen were wrong in mocking, even at the superstitious observances of the natives, but that the priest was also wrong in taking the law into his own hands, instead of sending on board to complain, when the seamen would have been properly punished. Satisfied that the priest had been placed at his mercy, the admiral, warning him for the future, sent him safely on shore. On the fleet reaching Cadiz, the admiral finding that he was expected to remain on the coast of Spain to wait for the Silver fleet, offered Mr Kerridge and his party a passage home in the _Constant Warwick_, by which he was sending off despatches. He at the same time sent Lancelot and me. "I intend to let you return with your friends, as you require rest after the hard work you have gone through," he said in a kind tone. "You must also take charge of Martin Shobbrok, whose great age and failing strength unfits him for active service. Your names will remain on the books of the _Saint George_, and should any captures be made, you will obtain your due share of prize money." We were both well-nigh overpowered by the admiral's kindness. Though I desired to remain with him, I felt unwilling to be again separated from Audrey as also from Cicely, as between us a warm attachment had sprung up, though I always before looked on her in the light of a sister. "But you, sir," I observed, "require rest more than any other person in the fleet." The admiral smiled faintly as he replied, "While I have life and my country requires my services. I must remain afloat." Of the homeward voyage I will not speak. Once more the well-known Start appeared in sight, and the _Constant Warwick_ steering for Lyme, we went on shore, thankful to heaven for our safe return to our native land. Mr Kerridge forthwith set about placing his affairs, which had suffered from his long absence, in order, Lancelot and I assisting him. Cicely promised to be mine when the war was over, as I acknowledged; should the admiral summon me, I could not refuse to go. My sister Audrey had made the same promise to Lancelot; and the ladies could not help laughing and archly remarking to one another that "although they had so long worn a certain pair of garments--considered the exclusive property of men--they were never again likely to put them on." In the course of the summer Admiral Blake returned to England, but there was no repose for him. In spite of his illness, and the suffering he endured from his wound, he was occupied day after day in visiting the dockyards and arsenals, forwarding the building and repairing of ships, and other duties of his station. The Commonwealth was at war with Spain. Portugal had not fulfilled the terms of her treaty, especially that clause which secured the English from the supervision of the diabolical Inquisition, and other nations were only waiting an opportunity to draw the sword against her. Another fleet was consequently fitted out, and Admiral Blake, who had hoisted his flag on board the _Naseby_, sent the summons Lancelot and I had expected to join her. The admiral looked pale and ill, yet his spirits were as high as ever, and as the fleet sailed down Channel, and the white cliffs of Old England faded from sight, we little thought that he, our beloved chief, had looked his last on the land he loved so dearly. I can but give a brief account of the important services rendered during the long cruise we had now commenced. Passing down the coast of Portugal, the admiral sent a frigate up the Tagus, demanding of the King of Portugal a complete fulfilment of the clauses of the late treaty. The effect of the message was satisfactory in the extreme. Every clause was agreed to, and among others the right of Englishmen to have Bibles and Protestant books in their houses, without thereby infringing the laws of the country. Without stopping we pressed on to Cadiz, looking out for the Silver fleet, which had not arrived. We here encountered a fearful storm, by which several of our ships were damaged and compelled to return home, but yet the Spaniards would not venture out of port to fight us; and the admiral, leaving Captain Stayner in the _Speaker_, and six other ships to watch in the bay, sailed for Malaga, on which town we inflicted condign punishment in consequence of the assistance the people had afforded to a Genoese and to a Sicilian galley which had taken part with the Spaniards against us. On our return to Cadiz, we found to our infinite satisfaction that Captain Stayner's squadron had fallen in with the first division of the Silver fleet, and had sunk or captured every galleon containing treasure of immense value. In the hopes of encountering the second division, the admiral remained at sea the whole winter off Cadiz, notwithstanding the heavy gales we encountered. We were absent from our post a short time, during which we came off Algiers to settle a dispute with the Dey, who, not forgetting the punishment inflicted on Tunis, yielded to our demands without a shot. On our return towards the Straits, we relieved Tangiers, then a Portuguese settlement, closely invested by the Moors, whom our guns drove away and dispersed. Returning to Cadiz we again endeavoured, but in vain, to draw out the Spanish fleet, and while we lay off and on the harbour, news came from undoubted sources that the second Silver fleet, hearing of the disaster to the first, was afraid of continuing the homeward voyage, and had put into Santa Cruz, a port of one of the Canary Islands. Thither the admiral resolved to sail with his fleet, now numbering by arrivals from England about twenty-five large ships and frigates. On the morning of the 19th of April, 1657, the frigate sent on ahead brought intelligence that the Silver fleet, together with several men-of-war and merchant vessels, were at anchor in the bay of Santa Cruz, guarded by castles and batteries of immense strength. Notwithstanding, the wind being favourable, the admiral resolved to attack at once, and the fleet under all sail stood in, Rear-admiral Stayner, with a portion, being directed to assail the galleons, while the admiral himself assaulted the batteries. The Spaniards, their ships formed in a semicircle, believing that our defeat was certain, opened a tremendous fire, which every British ship returned with terrible effect to the enemy. In a few minutes the action became general, equalling in fury any which we had ever fought. So well was our artillery plied, that many of the guns in the castles and batteries were ere long silenced, when, leaving a few frigates to keep them in play, the admiral sailed on to the assistance of the gallant Stayner, and now with our united guns we played havoc among the Spaniards. Ship after ship was set on fire, while two proud galleons had already sunk, and by two o'clock of that eventful day not a mast remained above water--the whole of the Silver fleet was destroyed. No sooner was the work performed than the wind shifted to the south-west, enabling every one of our ships to sail out again, beyond range of the castle guns. Not one was missing, and we had only fifty men killed and a hundred and fifty wounded in this most gallant exploit. Some of the most damaged ships were sent home, while we returned to the coast of Spain, where we found the Spaniards eager to make peace in order to avoid future disasters. Thence we sailed for Salee, to compel the corsairs of that State to restore their Christian captives to freedom. At the appearance of our red-cross banner the Moorish chief sent an envoy on board, promising to comply with all the admiral's demands. In one week every Christian captive in the country was on board our ships. Water and such provisions as we required had been received, and a treaty of peace had been signed, but, alas! we who were with him saw that the admiral's days were numbered. After looking into the Tagus, our canvas was spread for England. Onwards we pressed under all sail. Often during the voyage he expressed the hope that he might see again his native land. The Lizard was sighted. Soon Ram Head was rounded, and an officer from the deck came into the cabin to announce to us, who with sad hearts were standing round the death-bed of our beloved chief, that Plymouth itself was in sight. Stretching out his arms, he sought to rise, but his strength had failed. His eyes gazed upwards, his lips murmured a prayer, and then, when, from the expression of his noble countenance, we saw that his spirit had fled, even the stoutest-hearted amongst us burst into tears, sobbing like little children. Deep, honest grief was marked on the faces of the vast crowds which had gathered on the shores to welcome the returning hero. I need not speak of the magnificent funeral ordered by the Protector to lay at rest in Westminster Abbey the honoured remains of the greatest of England's admirals. Among the mourners stood a grey-haired veteran, leaning on a staff to support his tottering steps. "Alack, alack! Master Ben, it is a sad day, and little did my eyes wish to see it," murmured Martin. "I followed his father to the grave, but little did I expect to outlive his noble son. I knows, howsumdever, that it won't be for long, and I am ready, when the Lord wills, to depart." Old Martin's words were prophetic. He returned with Lancelot and I to Lyme, and in a few days the old sailor took to his bed, from which he never rose. We mourned for him sincerely, feeling that we had lost a true and faithful friend. But he was spared from witnessing the degradation of our country. Three years passed. The great Protector himself was dead. His son had retired into private life, and Charles Stuart came back to gain eternal infamy by a thousand vile deeds, not the least among which was to order the body of the great admiral to be exhumed and to be cast into a hole dug near the back door of one of the prebendaries of the abbey. After the death of my patron, I for a short time only went to sea. Dick, who had hitherto remained afloat, came back to be present when Lancelot and I married, and having himself taken a wife, he settled near us in the neighbourhood of Lyme. It was not from lack of my talking of them if our children were not well versed in the deeds of the great admiral which I have briefly narrated in the preceding pages. THE END.	{ "id": "21487" }
1	None	The Protectorate had come to an end ten years before the period when our story commences; and Charles the Second, restored to the throne of England, had since been employed in outraging all the right feelings of the people over whom he was called to reign, and in lowering the English name, which had been so gloriously raised by the wisdom of Cromwell. The body of that sagacious ruler of a mighty nation had been dragged out of its tomb among the kings in Westminster, and hanged on the gallows-tree at Tyburn; the senseless deed instigated by the petty revenge of his contemptible successor. The mouldering remains of Blake, also, one of the noblest among England's naval heroes, had been taken from its honoured resting-place, and cast into an unknown grave in Saint Margaret's churchyard. Episcopacy had been restored by those who hoped thus to pave the way for the re-introduction of Romanism, with its grinding tyranny and abject superstitions. The "Conventicle Act," prohibiting more than five persons, exclusive of the family, to meet together for religious worship according to any other than the national ritual, had been passed, and was rigidly enforced; the dominant party thus endeavouring to deprive the people of one of the most sacred rights of man,--that of worshipping God according to the dictates of conscience. England's debauched king, secretly a Papist, had sold his country for gold to England's hereditary foe, whose army he had engaged to come and crush the last remnants of national freedom, should his Protestant people dare to resist the monarch's traitorous proceedings. The profligacy and irreligion of the court was widely imitated by all classes, till patriots, watching with gloomy forebodings the downward progress of their country, began to despair of her future fate. Such was the state of things when, on the morning of the 14th of August, 1670, several sedate, grave-looking persons were collected at the north end of Gracechurch Street, in the City of London. Others were coming up from all quarters towards the spot. As the first arrived, they stood gazing towards the door of a building, before which were drawn up a body of bearded, rough soldiers, with buff coats, halberds in hand, and iron caps on their heads. Several of the persons collected, in spite of the armed men at the door, advanced as if about to enter the building. "You cannot go in there," said the sergeant of the party; "we hold it in the name of the king. Begone about your business, or beware of the consequences!" In vain the grave citizens mildly expostulated. They received similar rough answers. By this time other persons had arrived, while many passers-by stopped to see what was going forward. Among those who came up was a tall young man, whose flowing locks and feathered cap, with richly-laced coat, and silk sash over his shoulder, to which, however, the usual appendage, a sword, was wanting, showed that he was a person of quality and fashion. Yet his countenance wore a grave aspect, which assumed a stern expression as he gazed at the soldiers. He stopped, and spoke to several of those standing round, inquiring apparently what had occurred. About the same time, another man, who seemed to be acquainted with many of the persons in the crowd, was making his way among them. He was considerably more advanced in life than the first-mentioned person, and in figure somewhat shorter and more strongly built. Though dressed as a civilian, he had a military look and air. From an opposite direction two other persons approached the spot, intending, it seemed, to pass by. The one was a man whose grizzly beard and furrowed features showed that he had seen rough service in his time, his dress and general appearance bespeaking the soldier. His companion was a youth of sixteen or seventeen years of age, so like him in countenance that their relationship was evident. From the inquiries they made, they were apparently strangers. "Canst tell me, friend, what has brought all these people together?" said the elder man to a by-stander. "Most of these people are `Friends,' as they call themselves," answered the man addressed, a well-to-do artisan, "or `Quakers,' as the world calls them, because they bid sinners exceedingly to quake and tremble at the word of the Lord. To my mind they are harmless as to their deeds, though in word they are truly powerful at times. The bishops and church people do not like them because they declare that God can be worshipped in the open air, or in a man's own home, as well as in the grandest cathedral, or `steeple house,' as they call the church. The Independents are opposed to them, because they deem ministers unnecessary, and trust to the sword of the Spirit rather than to carnal weapons; while the wealthy and noble disdain them, because they refuse to uncover their heads, or to pay undue respect to their fellow-men, however rich or exalted in rank they may be. They have come to hold a meeting in yonder house, where the soldiers are stationed; but as speaking will not open the doors, they will have to go away again disappointed." "If they are the harmless people you describe, that seems a hard case," observed the stranger. "By what right are they prohibited from thus meeting?" "I know not if it is by right, but it is by law," answered the artisan. "You have doubtless heard of the `Conventicle Act,' prohibiting all religious worship, except according to the established ritual. The `Friends' alone hold it in no respect, and persist in meeting where they have the mind!" "What! do all the other dissenters of England submit to such a law?" exclaimed the stranger. "Marry do they," answered the artisan. "They pocket the affront, and conform in public to what is demanded, satisfying their consciences by worshipping together in private. Do you not know that every head of a family is fined a shilling on every Sunday that he neglects to attend the parish church? You can have been but a short time in England not to have heard of this." "Yes, indeed, my friend. My son and I landed but yesterday from a voyage across the Atlantic; and, except from the master and shipmen on board, we have heard but little of what has taken place in England for some years past." "Then take my advice, friend," said the artisan. "Make all the inquiries you please, but utter not your opinions, as you were just now doing to me, or you may find yourself accused of I know not what, and clapped into jail, with slight chance of being set free again." "Thank you, friend," said the stranger; "but will all these people submit to be treated thus by those few soldiers? By my faith, it's more than I would, if I desired to enter yonder house of prayer." While this conversation was going on, the number of people in front of the Quaker's meeting-house had greatly increased; and though the greater number appeared quietly disposed, there were evidently some hovering about, and others now elbowing their way through the crowd, who were inclined to create an uproar. At this juncture, the young gentleman who has already been described, stepping on one side of the street where the pavement was highest, took off his hat. "Silence, I pray you, dear friends; I would speak a few words," he said, in a rich musical voice. "We came here purposing to enter yonder house, where we might worship God according to the dictates of our consciences, and exhort and strengthen one another; but it seemeth to me that those in authority have resolved to prevent our thus assembling. We are men of peace, and therefore must submit rather than use carnal weapons; and yet, friends, having the gift of speech, and the power of the pen, we must not cease to protest against being thus deprived of the liberty which Englishmen hold so dear."	{ "id": "21492" }
2	None	While the young man was speaking, the stranger and his son had worked their way close to the stout soldier-like man who has been described. The stranger's eye fell on his countenance. He touched his son's shoulder. "An old comrade in arms!" he whispered. "A truer man than Captain William Mead,--trusty Bill Mead, we used to call him,--never drew sword in the cause of liberty. If I can but catch his eye and get a grip of his honest hand, I will ask him who that young man can be,--a brave fellow, whoever he is." In another instant the two old comrades had recognised each other. "What, Christison! Nicholas Christison! is it thou?" exclaimed Captain Mead, examining the stranger's countenance. "Verily, I thought thou wast no longer in the land of the living; but thou art welcome, heartily welcome. Come with me to my house in Cornhill, at the sign of the `Spinning Wheel,' and thou shalt tell me where thou hast been wandering all this time; while, may be, we will have a talk of bygone days." "With all my heart," answered Christison; "but tell me who is that noble youth addressing the people? He seems by his dress and bearing not one likely to utter such sentiments as are now dropping from his mouth!" "Verily, he is not less noble in deed and word than in look," answered Mead. "He is William Penn, the son of the admiral who fought so well for the Commonwealth, and now serves a master about whom the less we say the better." "I remember him well; a brave, sagacious man, but one who was ever ready to serve his own interest first, and those of his country afterwards. I should not have expected to find a son of his consorting with Quakers." "No, verily; as light from darkness, so does the son differ from the father in spiritual matters," answered Mead. "The son has sacrificed all his worldly prospects for the sake of his own soul and for those of his fellow-creatures. In a righteous cause he fears no foes, temporal or spiritual; and is ready to lay down his life, if needs be, for the truth." "A brave youth he must be, by my troth," observed Christison. "Wenlock, my boy, I pray Heaven you may be like him. I would rather have thee a thorough true-hearted man, than the first noble in the land." At this moment, Mead, who had been stopped by the crowd from making his way towards the place where William Penn was speaking, saw an opportunity of advancing, and again moved forward, accompanied by his old friend and his son. There was, indeed, a general movement in the crowd, and voices in tones of authority were heard shouting, "Make way there; make way!" The people who uttered these cries were soon recognised as sheriffs' officers. They were advancing towards Penn. Their intention was evident. "They are about to arrest him," said Mead; "but he has done nothing worthy of bonds." "No, by my troth he has not," exclaimed Christison; "and I would gladly, even now, strike a blow for the cause of liberty, and rescue him from their power, if they attempt to lay hands on him." "No, no, friend, put up thy sword," said Mead; "we fight not with carnal weapons. He would not thank you for any such attempt on your part." By this time the constables had reached Penn, and informed him that he was their prisoner. Two others at the same time came up to where Mead was standing, and arrested him also. It was a sore trial to the old Republican officer to stand by and see his friend carried off to prison. "By whose authority am I arrested?" asked Penn, turning with an air of dignity to the officers. One of them immediately produced a document. "See here, young sir," he said in an insulting tone, "This is our warrant! It is signed by the worshipful Lord Mayor, Sir Samuel Starling. I have a notion that neither you nor any of your friends would wish to resist it." "We resist no lawful authority; but I question how far this warrant is lawful," answered the young Quaker. "Howbeit, if thou and thy companions use force, to force we yield, and must needs accompany thee whithersoever thou conductest us." "Farewell, old friend," said Mead, shaking Christison by the hand, as the constables were about to lead him off. "I would rather have spent a pleasant evening with thee in my house than have had to pass it in a jail: but yet in a righteous cause all true men should be ready to suffer." "Indeed so, old comrade; and you know that I am not the man to desert you at a pinch. As we are not to pass the evening together at your house, I will spend it with you in jail. I suppose they will not exclude you from the society of your friends?" Mead shrugged his shoulders. "It is hard to say how we may be treated, for we Quakers gain but scant courtesy or justice." These last remarks were made as Mead, with a constable on either side of him, was being led off with William Penn to the Guildhall. The old Commonwealth officer and his son followed as close behind them as the shouting, jeering mob would allow them; Christison revolving in his mind how he should act best to render assistance to his old friend. At length they arrived at the hall where the Lord Mayor was sitting for the administration of justice. Captain Christison and his son entered with others who found their way into the court. A short, though somewhat corpulent-looking gentleman, with ferrety eyes and rubicund nose, telling of numerous cups of sack which had gone down between the thick lips below it, occupied the magisterial chair. "Who are these knaves?" he exclaimed, in a gruff voice, casting a fierce glance at the young William Penn and his companion, Captain Mead. "What! ye varlets, do you come into the presence of the Lord Mayor of London with your hats on? Ho! ho! I know you now," he exclaimed, as an officer handed him a paper, while he turned his eyes especially on Penn. "Let me tell you, if you pay not proper respect to the court, I will have you carried to Bridewell and well whipped, you varlet, though you are the son of a Commonwealth admiral! Do you hear me, sirrah?" "By my troth," whispered Christison to his son. "I should like to rush in with my sword and stop that foul-speaking varlet's mouth, Lord Mayor of London though he be. And now I look at him, I remember him well, Master Starling, a brawling supporter of the Protector when he was seated firmly at the head of Government. And now see, he is louder still in carrying out the evil designs of this Charles Stuart and his myrmidons." These words, though said in a low voice, were not altogether inaudible to some of the by-standers. "Beware!" said some one at his elbow. To this tirade of the Lord Mayor, the young gentleman made no answer. "Do you hear me, sirrah?" he exclaimed again; "I speak to you, William Penn. You and others have unlawfully and tumultuously been assembling and congregating yourselves together for the purpose of creating a disturbance of the peace, to the great terror and annoyance of His Majesty's liege people and subjects, and to the ill example of all others; and you have, in contempt of the law of the land, been preaching to a concourse of people whom you tumultuously assembled for the purpose of instigating them to rebel against His Majesty the king and the authorities of this city of London." "Verily, thou art misinformed and mistaken, sir," answered the young man, in a calm voice. "I neither created a disturbance, nor did I utter words whereby any disturbance could have been created, while I have ever been a loyal and dutiful subject of King Charles as His Majesty." "Ho! ho! ho! you have come here to crow high, I warrant you," exclaimed Sir Samuel Starling; "and your companion, Master Mead, will, I warrant, declare himself equally innocent of offence!" "Thou speakest truly, friend," answered Captain Mead; "I was the cause of no disturbance, as all those present very well know; for no disturbance indeed took place, while my principles forbid me to oppose the authorities that be." These calm answers only seemed to enrage Sir Samuel Starling, who, heaping further abuse on the prisoners, exclaimed, "Take the varlets off to the `Black Dog' in Newgate Market; there they shall remain in durance till they are tried for their crimes at the Old Bailey, and we shall then see whether this young cock-of-the-woods will crow as loudly as he now does." Young Wenlock could with difficulty restrain his father's indignation when he heard this order pronounced by the city magistrate. He however, managed to get him out of the court. "We will go and see where they are lodged, at all events," said the captain, who at length yielded to his son's expostulation. "Perchance I may render my old friend Mead, and that noble young fellow Penn, some assistance."	{ "id": "21492" }
3	None	In a dirty, ill-ventilated room in a low sponging-house in Newgate Market, known as the "Black Dog," two persons were seated. Cobwebs hung from the windows and the corners of the ceiling, occupied by huge, active spiders, lying in wait for some of the numerous flies which swarmed on the dust-covered panes. On the walls were scrawled numerous designs, executed by the prisoners who had from time to time occupied the room, to while away their hours of durance. The air felt close and sultry, the heat increased by the rays of the sinking sun, which found their way in by the window, through which also entered unpleasant odours ascending from the court-yard below. One of the persons, whose handsome dress contrasted strangely with the appearance of the room, was busy writing at a rickety table. With youth, wealth, talents, a fair fame, the godson of the future monarch of England, he might, had he so willed, have been a peer of he realm, the founder of a noble family. The other, who has been described as Captain Mead, rose from his seat, and walked up and down with somewhat impatient steps. "I am writing to my dear father to tell him the cause of my absence," said young Penn, stopping for a moment. "I fear that his sickness is very serious, and deep is my regret to be kept away from him; yet do I glory in thus suffering for the great and noble principles for which we are striving,--liberty of conscience, liberty of action. What is life worth to man without these? And yet our infatuated countrymen run a great risk of losing both, if they refuse to listen to the voice of warning, and to prepare in time for the threatened danger." Just then a turnkey opened the door, and in an impudent tone of voice said, "Here's a man and a lad come to see Master Mead. There, go in and sit as long as you please, till the hour arrives when all visitors must be turned out." "Ah! friend Christison and thy fine boy, thou art welcome to this our somewhat sorry abode," said Mead. "I would rather have seen thee at my family board this evening, as I had proposed; but we must submit to the powers that be. I will now make thee known to our friend Master William Penn, whose father thou and I served under in days gone by." "Ay, marry, I remember him well!" exclaimed Christison. "We were with him when he chased that piratical, malignant Rupert, and well-nigh caught him. Many a rich argosy would have been preserved to the Commonwealth had we succeeded; but the devil favours his children, and the rover got off." "We will not now speak of those times," said Mead. "I am not surprised to hear thee, old comrade, allude to them thus; but I, now taught better, have laid aside the use of carnal weapons." "Well, well, I know you will always do as your conscience dictates," said Christison; "and gladly do I shake hands with the son of my old commander." William Penn rose, and courteously welcomed the visitor, giving a kind smile and a touch on the shoulder to young Wenlock. "Let my presence not interfere with you, friend," he said; "but as thou seest I am busily engaged in writing on matters of importance; thou mayst talk state secrets to each other, and I shall not hear them; so, pray thee, Master Christison, make thyself at home with thy old friend." Saying this, he resumed his seat and continued writing, completely absorbed in his work. Captain Mead warmly thanked his old friend for coming to see him. "And what is it I hear of you," asked Christison; "that you have joined the followers of George Fox?" "Verily, I have deserted all worldly systems, and have united with those who believe that the guidance of the Spirit is sufficient to lead us into all truth: the Holy Scriptures being the only fit and outward rule whereby to judge of the truth. I pray thee, old friend, do not strive against that Holy Spirit, a measure of which has surely been given to thee. That is the light and life of the Holy Word which `in the beginning was with God, and was God.' That it is which will enlighten thy mind, if thou strivest not to quench it." In a similar strain Mead continued putting forth and explaining to his old friend the doctrine held by the Quakers. He spoke to him of the unity of the Godhead. "We believe," he added, "that their light is one, their life one, their wisdom one, their power one; and that he that knoweth and seeth any one of them knoweth and seeth them all, as our blessed Lord says, `He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.' We believe, too, though most wrongfully accused of the contrary, that God the Son is both God and man in wonderful union; that He suffered for our salvation, was raised again for our justification, and ever liveth to make intercession for us. He is that Divine Word that lighteth the souls of all men that come into the world with a spiritual and saving light, as none but the Creator of souls can do. With regard to our worship, we hold that `God is a Spirit, and desires to be worshipped in spirit and in truth,' not only on one day, but on all days of the week; not only when meeting together, but in the daily concerns of life; and the man who worships not then, will render poor worship when he assembles with his fellow-men at the time he may think fit to set apart for that purpose. As we acknowledge no other Mediator than the Son of God, who came on earth and died for our sins, and, having risen from the grave and ascended into heaven, is now seated at the right hand of God; so we require no person to pray for us, or allow that it is according to God's will that persons should receive payment for praying, exhorting, or preaching, or in any other way spreading God's truth. We believe, too, that the water-baptism, so generally administered, is not according to God's mind; that the baptism spoken of in the Scriptures is that of the Spirit,--the answer of a good conscience towards God by the resurrection of Jesus Christ; that by one Spirit we are all baptised into one body; while, with regard to the Lord's Supper as it is spoken of, we do indeed deem that the supper of the Lord is needful, but that it is altogether of a spiritual nature. We object altogether to oaths, because our Lord says, `Swear not at all.' We hold war to be an abomination to God, and contrary to that new commandment given us by Christ, `That ye love one another, even as I have loved you.' We hold, too, that a civil magistrate has no right to interfere in religious matters, and that though `Friends' may admonish such members as fall into error, it must be done by the spiritual sword; and as religion is a matter solely between God and man, so no government consisting of fallible men ought to fetter the consciences of those over whom they are placed." "No, indeed," exclaimed Christison. "To the latter principle I have long held; and it seems to me that there is much sense and truth in the other tenets which you have explained. I, as you know, am a blunt man, not given to book learning; but, in truth, old friend, I should like to hear from you again more at large of these matters." "There seems every probability that thou wilt know where to find me for some time to come," answered Mead; "and I shall be heartily well-pleased further to explain to you the principles we hold to be the true ones for the guidance of men in this mortal life." "Father," said young Wenlock, as he and the elder Christison were returning to their lodgings; "I should like to take service with young Master Penn, should he require a secretary. Your old friend, Captain Mead, has also taken my fancy; but yet I feel I would go anywhere with so true-hearted and noble a man as the other." "You have formed a somewhat hasty judgment, Wenlock," said his father. "We have been but a couple of hours in his society, during which time he spoke but little; and though, I grant you, he is a true gentleman, and would have made a fine soldier, yet his temper and habits may be very different to what you suppose." "Oh! no, no, father. I know I could trust him; I watched him all the time he was writing. He said he was addressing his father, and I saw his change of countenance; sometimes he was lost in thought, sometimes he seemed to look up to heaven in prayer; and more than once I saw his eyes filled with tears, and a firm, determined look came over his countenance; yet all the time there was nothing stern or forbidding,-- all was mild, loving, and kind. I have never seen one I would more willingly serve." "I hope that you may see him frequently, Wenlock," said his father, "and you may thus have an opportunity of correcting or confirming your judgment. I purpose visiting my old friend Mead whenever I can." Captain Christison kept to his word. The result of those frequent interviews with the worthy Quaker, as far as Wenlock was concerned, will be shown by-and-by. The first of September, 1670, the day fixed for the trial of William Penn and Captain Mead, arrived, and the prisoners were placed in the dock to answer the charge brought against them. Christison and his son were at the doors some time before they opened, that they might, without fail, secure a place. "Now most of these people, I warrant, fancy that they have come simply to witness the trial of the son of one of England's brave admirals for misdemeanour. The matter is of far more importance, Wenlock. Master Penn disputes, and so do I, that this `Conventicle Act' is legal in any way. We hold it to be equally hostile to the people and our Great Charter. Is an edict which abolishes one of the fundamental rights secured to the nation by our ancient Constitution, though passed by Crown and Parliament, to be held as possessing the force of law? If this court cannot show that it is, the question is, will a jury of Englishmen, when the case is made clear to them, venture to convict?" On entering the hall they found ten justices occupying the bench, Sir Samuel Starling, the Lord Mayor, at their head. As soon as the court opened, the clerk ordered the crier to call over the jury. Having answered to their names, of which the result showed that they had every reason to be proud, they were sworn to try the prisoners at the bar, and find according to the evidence adduced. If Wenlock had been inclined to admire William Penn before, much more so was he now, when, standing up, he replied to the question whether he was guilty or not guilty. Of course he and Mead pleaded not guilty. The court then adjourned. After it had resumed its functions the prisoners were brought up, but were set aside in order that several cases of common felony might be disposed of; this being done for the purpose of insulting Penn and his friend. Little progress having been made in their case, they were remanded to their abominable dungeons in Newgate, and the court adjourned for two days.	{ "id": "21492" }
4	None	Christison and his son arrived in good time when the court again sat, on the 3rd of September. The officers having taken off the hats of the prisoners as they entered, the Lord Mayor abused them for so doing, and bade them put them on again. He then abused the prisoners for wearing their hats, fining them forty marks each for contempt of court. The indictment was again read. It was to the effect that William Penn and William Mead, with other persons, had assembled on the 15th day of August for the purpose of creating a disturbance, according to an agreement between the two; and that William Penn, supported by William Mead, had preached to the people assembled, whereby a great concourse of people remained, in contempt of the king and his law, creating a disturbance of his peace, to the great terror of many of his liege people and subjects. William Penn, who ably defended himself, proved that the day when he had gone to Gracechurch Street was the fourteenth, and not the fifteenth; that he did not preach to the people; that he had not agreed to meet William Mead there; that William Mead had not spoken to him. Mead also proved that he had not preached; that he had not abetted Penn, and that no riot had taken place. Contrary to the evidence, the Recorder Jefferies insisted that the prisoners should be brought in "guilty." The jury, however, in spite of the threats held out to them by the Lord Mayor and the Recorder and others, would not agree upon a verdict. The most determined to give an honest one was Master Edward Bushel, whose name deserves to be recorded. On again being compelled to retire, they were absent for some time. When they once more returned, the foreman announced that their verdict was "Guilty of speaking in Gracechurch Street." Again every effort was made to induce them to pronounce a different verdict. A third time they were ordered to retire. Again, in writing, they handed in their verdict, finding William Penn "Guilty of speaking to an assembly in Gracechurch Street," and acquitting William Mead. The baffled and beaten bench, now losing temper, ordered the jury to be locked up, and the prisoners to be taken back to Newgate. Penn, now addressing them, required the clerk of the peace to record their verdict. "If, after this," he exclaimed, "the jury bring in a different verdict to this, I affirm that they are perjured men. You are Englishmen," he said, turning to the jurors. "Remember your privileges. Give not away your rights!" The following day was Sunday. They were called up, however, and the clerk again inquired if they were agreed. The foreman replied as before, "Guilty of speaking to an assembly in Gracechurch Street." "To an unlawful assembly?" exclaimed the Lord Mayor. "No, my lord," answered the noble Master Bushel. "We give no other verdict than we gave last night." In vain the Lord Mayor and the Recorder Jefferies threatened as before; the Lord Mayor shouting out, "Gaoler, bring fetters, and shake this pestilent fellow to the ground!" "Do your will," answered Penn; "I care not for your fetters!" The Recorder Jefferies now cried out, "By my troth, I could never before understand why the Spaniards suffered the Inquisition among them; and, to my mind, it will never be well with us in England till we have among us something like the Inquisition." "Boy," whispered Christison to his son, "you heard those words. The knave has a good idea of his master's notions and designs. If the Inquisition,--and I know something of it,--is ever established in this fair England of ours, it must either be quickly driven out again, or our country will be no fit place for honest men." Once more the jury were locked up, without food, fire, or water; but they were Englishmen to the backbone, and were ready to die in the cause of civil freedom, rather than play traitors to their own convictions. On Monday the court again sat. Each juror was separately questioned, and one and all pronounced "Not guilty." The Recorder on this fined them forty marks a man, and imprisonment in Newgate till the fines were paid. Penn and Mead were fined in the same way, the Recorder crying out, "Put him out of court! Take him away!" " `Take him away!'" exclaimed Penn. "Whenever I urge the fundamental laws of England, `Take him away!' is their answer; but no wonder, since the Spanish Inquisition sits so near the Recorder's heart." Both prisoners and jurors were carried off to Newgate, refusing to pay the fines: Penn and Mead as a case of conscience; while Bushel advised his fellow-jurors to dispute the matter. The jurors were committed to prison on the 5th of September, and it was not till the 9th of November that the trial came on. Learned counsel were engaged for their defence; Newdegate, one of them, arguing that the judges may try to open the eyes of the jurors, but not to "lead them by the nose." Christison and his son were present. "I had hoped to spend some years in my native land, and renew the friendship I formed in my youth," observed the former; "but I tell thee, Wenlock, if this trial goes against those twelve honest men, I will forswear my country, and go and seek thy fortune and mine in some other land, where knaves do not, as here, `rule the roost.'" When, however, the twelve judges gave an almost unanimous verdict in favour of the jurymen, Christison agreed that, after all, there were more honest men in the country than he had feared was the case. To return, however, to William Penn and Mead. They were remanded to Newgate, refusing to pay the fines imposed on them, as a matter of conscience. Without difficulty, Christison and Wenlock obtained admittance to them. "Truly, friends, you are hardly dealt with," said the former, as he shook hands. "We had tyrannical proceedings enough in the time of the first Charles, but it seems to me that we are even worse off now. I would that I could collect a band of honest fellows and rescue you out of this vile den." "I pray thee, be silent, dear friend," said Mead. "We are here for conscience sake; and our consciences being right towards God, would support us under far greater trial." "Well, well, I suppose you are right," answered Christison; "but it sorely troubles me to see you here. I came back to England, understanding that the country was enjoying rest, and prospering under the new reign; but it seems to me that the rest is more that of wearied sleep than prosperous tranquillity, and that ere long the people will revive, and will once more draw the sword to reassert their rights." "I pray not," said Mead; "but I do pray that those principles which I have unfolded to thee, old friend, may be promulgated throughout the length and breadth of England; as it is through them, and them only, that the country can obtain true rest, and prosper as a Christian people would desire." Two days after this, the prisoners were pacing their cell, talking earnestly on matters seldom discussed within prison walls, when the turnkey entered. "Gentlemen," he said, "I bring you news such as may perhaps be satisfactory. Your fines have been paid, and you are at liberty to depart from hence. I trust you will not forget the attention and courtesy with which I have treated you!" "Verily, knave!" exclaimed Mead, laughing as Quakers were not wont to laugh, "thou ought to go to Court and push thy fortune there. I would willingly pay thee for all the attention thou hast shown us, but I fear thou wouldst not be satisfied with the payment. If I give thee more than thy deserts, thou wilt be better pleased. Here, take this groat. Art thou satisfied?" The turnkey made a wry face, and Mead followed Penn, who had hurried out, anxious to be free from the prison. On the outside they met Christison and Wenlock, with several other friends, waiting for them. Penn hastened to his lodgings to change his dress, requesting Mead to order horses directly, that he might proceed down to his father. "Come," said Mead to his old comrade; "many days have passed since I gave thee an invitation to my abode; but as I have not since then been a free agent, I could not have received thee as I desired."	{ "id": "21492" }
5	None	Wenlock Christison and his son proceeded up Cornhill a short time after the events which have been described. They were examining the various signs over the shop doors, in search of that which distinguished Master Mead's abode. "Ah! there it is," said Wenlock; "that must be the `Spinning Wheel' he told us of." A demure youth with well-brushed hair was standing at the door, in courteous language inviting passers-by to enter and inspect his master's goods. "Is this Master Mead's abode, young man?" inquired Captain Christison. "Verily, friend, it is," answered the shopman. "If thou wilt enter, thou wilt find thy money's worth for any goods thou mayst purchase. Master Mead bringeth good judgment to bear on his purchases, and buys only such goods as those in which he has confidence. Enter, friend; enter, I pray thee." "Thank you," said Christison; "but I wish to see Master Mead himself." "If thou wilt enter through this door, thou wilt find him in the upper story with his family," answered the shopman, leading the way; and Christison and Wenlock proceeded upstairs. Master Mead cordially welcomed his old friend, introducing him to a comely matron whom he spoke of as his wife Martha. "And here is my daughter Mary," he added, pointing to a remarkably pretty and fair-haired girl, who smiled sweetly, and held out her hand to her father's guests. She might have been two or three years younger than Wenlock, though, being well grown, there seemed but little difference in their ages. While their elders were talking, the young people, after a few desultory remarks, found themselves drawn into conversation. "I hear from my father that thou hast been a great traveller already," said Mary Mead. "Yes, indeed," answered Wenlock. "I scarcely remember ever remaining more than two or three months in one place. When my mother died, my father left our home in New England, ever after seeking for some spot where he might settle, but finding none, till at length he determined to go back to the old country." "You can have had but little time for obtaining instruction then?" said Mary, "I thought boys were always sent to school." "I picked up what I could out of what my father calls the `big book of life,'" answered Wenlock. "He also gave me such instructions as time and opportunity would allow, though there are many more things I should like to learn. I have, however, read not a few books; I can handle a singlestick as well as many older men, can ride, row, and shoot with arquebuse or crossbow, and I can write letters on various subjects, as I will prove to you, Mistress Mary, if you will allow me, when I again begin my wanderings; for I doubt whether my father will long remain in this big city. He is constantly complaining that the times are out of joint; and although we have been in England but a few weeks, he threatens again speedily to leave it." "That were a pity," said Mary. "I prefer the green fields, and the woods, and the gay flowers, and the songs of birds, to the narrow streets, the dingy houses, and the cries of London; but yet I opine that happiness comes from within, and that, if the heart is at rest, contentment may be found under all circumstances." "You are a philosopher," said Wenlock. "No," answered Mary quietly, "I am a Quakeress, an you please: and our principles afford us that peace and contentment which they of the world know not of." "I must get you to teach me to be a Quaker, then," said Wenlock. "I have been listening attentively to your father's discourses to mine, and even he, who was so much opposed to such ideas, has greatly been attracted by them; and, to tell you the truth, Mistress Mead, I have made up my mind that they are the best that I have heard of. There may be better, but I know not of them." "Oh, no, no. There can be no better than such as are to be found in the Book of Life," said Mary. "You must judge of our principles by that, and that alone. If they are not according to that, they are wrong; but if they are according to that, there can be none better." Wenlock, as he talked to the fair young Quakeress, felt himself every moment becoming more and more a convert to her opinions; and had not his father been present, he would then and there have undoubtedly confessed himself a Quaker. The young people had found their way, somehow or other, to the bow window at the further end of the room, their elders, meantime, carrying on a conversation by themselves, not altogether of a different character. Mead, aided by his wife, was explaining to Christison, more fully than he had hitherto done, the Quaker doctrines. Could he, a man of the sword, however, acknowledge fighting to be wrong, and henceforth and for ever lay aside the weapons he had handled all his life? "But surely, friend, if thou dost acknowledge that man is formed in God's image, it must be obvious to thee that to deface His image must be contrary to His law and will. The world is large, and God intends it to be peopled; whereas, by wars, the population ceases to increase, and that happy time when hymns of praise shall ascend from all quarters of the globe is postponed." Mistress Mead occasionally made some telling remark to the same effect. "Well, friend Mead, I have listened to all you have advanced," said Christison at length, "and I cannot, as an honest man, fail to acknowledge that you are in the main right. When next I come, I will hear what further arguments you have to adduce; but the truth is, when I determined to return to England, it was with the purpose of taking service in the English army, or in that of some foreign Protestant State, in which I hoped also to obtain employment for my son; whereas, if I turn Quaker, I must, I see, from what you tell me, give up all such ideas, and then how to obtain employment for him or myself I know not. I have no wish to be idle, and as `a rolling stone gains no moss,' I have laid by but little of this world's wealth for a rainy day, or for my old age." "Verily, thou must indeed give up all ideas of fighting and blood-shedding," answered Mead. "Yet I see not that thou needst starve. There is no lack of honest employments, if a man will but seek them. `Thou canst not serve two masters.' Our God is a God of peace. The devil is the god of war; and devilish work is fighting, as I can answer from experience, and so canst thou, old comrade." Christison sighed. "Well, well, friend," he said, "I feel you are right, and I will think over the matter. And now it is time that I should bid thee farewell. I have a visit to pay to a friend who lives some way on the other side of Temple Bar, and it will be late before we can get back to our lodgings." Mead did not attempt to detain his friend. The young people started when Wenlock was summoned. They were sorry the visit had so soon come to an end. "We shall see you again," said Mary, frankly putting out her hand, "and then I will speak to you more of these matters." Wenlock of course promised that he would very soon come again. Christison and his son took their way along Cheapside, past old Saint Paul's, and proceeded down Ludgate Hill. "You seemed pleased with young Mistress Mead, Wenlock," said his father. "Indeed I was," answered Wenlock. "Though so quiet in manner, she has plenty to say. I never felt more inclined to talk in my life. I have promised to pay another visit as soon as I can, and when we go away, to write to her and give her an account of our adventures." "You seem to have made progress in her good graces, Wenlock," said his father; and as he was a man of the world, it might possibly have occurred to him that when his son should desire a helpmate, fair Mistress Mary might prove a very suitable person. That perfect confidence existed between father and son which induced Wenlock to speak his mind on all occasions and on all subjects. They at length reached their destination, and the old soldier found his friend Lawrence Hargrave at home. In their conversation, which was chiefly on matters political, Wenlock took but little interest, his thoughts indeed being just then occupied chiefly by Mary Mead. He was glad, therefore, when his father announced his intention of returning home. They walked on rapidly, for the night was cold. It was dark also, for the sky was overcast. As they were going along Fleet Street, they heard the sound of horses' hoofs approaching at a somewhat rapid rate. They drew on one side, when a faint cry of "Help! help!" reached their ears. "Come on, Wenlock," shouted the captain, rushing on. Directly before them they saw the outlines of two horses and several persons apparently struggling on the ground. The sounds of "Help! help!" again reached their ears. "Here is help to whoever is in the right," cried Christison, drawing his sword. "I am in the right; the others wish to kill me," said the same voice. "No, no; he is a prisoner escaping from justice," growled a man in a rough voice. "It is false! Help! I am the Duke--" At that moment, a blow was heard, and the speaker was felled to the ground. "I take the weakest side," cried Christison, attacking the other men, who now, drawing their swords, attempted to defend themselves. The old officer, a dextrous swordsman, disarmed the first, sending his weapon flying to the other side of the street. The next he attacked, giving him a severe wound on the arm. Young Wenlock, who, according to the fashion of the times, also wore a sword, joined in the fray, and made so furious an onset on the third fellow, who was at that moment about to run his weapon into the body of the prostrate man, that he compelled him to draw back. Placing himself across the body, he kept the fellow at bay, till another wound which his father bestowed on his antagonist made him retreat; when, the sound of carriage-wheels being heard in the distance, the three fellows, leaping on their horses, took to flight, leaving Christison and Wenlock masters of the field; the fallen man, only slightly stunned, had been slowly recovering; and when Christison stooped down to help him up, he was able, without much difficulty, to rise to his feet. "Thanks, my friends, whoever you are," he said. "I observed the brave way in which you attacked my dastardly assailants; and I observed also the gallant manner in which this young gentleman defended me, when one of them would have run me through the body. To him I feel, indeed, that I am indebted for my life."	{ "id": "21492" }
6	None	In a country house near Wanstead, in Essex, one of England's bravest admirals,--Sir William Penn,--lay on a bed of sickness. By his side stood a grave-looking gentleman in a scarlet cloak, and huge ruffles on his wrists. "Tell me honestly, Master Kennard, whether you deem this sickness unto death?" "Honestly, Sir William, as you ask me, I confess that you are in a worse state than I have before known you. At all events, it behoves you to make such preparations as you deem important, should you be summoned from the world." "It is enough; I understand you, my friend," said the admiral, with a smile. "I would rather it were so. I am weary of the world, and am ready to leave it; but there is one who seems but little able to watch over his own interests, and, I fear me much, will be subjected to many persecutions in consequence of the opinions he has of late adopted. I would therefore ask you to indite a letter in my name to our gracious Sovereign and his royal brother, that I may petition them to extend to him those kind offices which they have ever shown to me. The Duke of York is his godfather, as you know; and, whatever may be his faults, he is an honest man, and will fulfil his promises. You will find paper and pen on yonder table. I pray thee perform this kind office for me." Dr Kennard did as he was requested, and forthwith the letter was despatched by a trusty hand to London. Soon after it had been sent off, a servant announced that Master William Penn had just arrived, and craved permission to see his father. Grief was depicted on the countenance of the young man when he entered his father's chamber. He had just had an interview with his mother, and she had told him that all hopes of the admiral's recovery had been abandoned by his medical attendants. He knew not how his father might receive him. Although, when they last parted, the admiral's feelings had been somewhat softened towards his son, yet he had not even then ceased to blame him for the course he had pursued. Sir William Penn had already received numerous rewards and honours for the services he had rendered to his sovereign, and he had every reason to believe that he would have been raised to the peerage. His son William had, however, refused to accept any title, and he had therefore declined the honour for himself. He was now, however, at the early age of forty-nine, struck by a mortal disease, and he had begun to estimate more truly than heretofore the real value of wealth and worldly honours. When William entered, he put out his hand. "I thank Heaven, son William, you have come back to see me ere I quit this troubled scene of life," said the dying admiral. "I once wished to know that my son was to become a peer of the realm, the founder of a great family; but such thoughts have passed away from me. I now confess, William, that you have `chosen the better part.' Your honour and glory no man can take away from you. In truth, I am weary of this world, and, had I my choice, would not live my days over again, for the snares of life are greater than the fears of death." The affectionate son expressed his joy at hearing his father speak thus. The admiral smiled. "Yes," he said, "our thoughts change when we see the portals of death so close to us. With regard to you, William, I am satisfied; but for our unhappy country I cannot cease to mourn. Alas! what fearful profligacy do we see in high places: vice and immorality rampant among all classes; the disrepute into which the monarchy and all connected with it have justly fallen; and the discredit into which our national character has been brought abroad." William almost wept tears of joy when he described his father's state of mind to his mother. They could now converse freely on important matters. One day, while his son was with the admiral, two letters were brought him. "Here," he said, "read them, son William, for my eyes are dim." The young man took the letters. "Indeed, father, they are such as should satisfy us," he said. "This one is from the king, who seldom puts pen to paper. He promises largely to protect me from all foes, and to watch over my interests. He expresses great regret at hearing of your illness, and wishes for your recovery. The other, from the Duke of York, is to the same effect. He speaks of his friendship to you for many years; and his sincere desire is, to render you all the service in his power. Therefore, with much satisfaction he undertakes the office of my guardian and protector when I am deprived of you. There is a kind tone throughout the epistle, for which I am duly grateful." William then read both documents to his father, who desired to hear them. Still the admiral's constitution was good, and hopes were entertained that he might recover. "My children," he said, calling his son and daughters to his bedside, "I have but a few days to live,--I know it. I leave you some worldly wealth, but that may be taken from you. I would leave you my counsel, of which no man can deprive you. There are three rules I would give you, which, if you follow them, will carry you with firmness and comfort through this inconstant world. Now listen to me. Let nothing in this world tempt you to wrong your conscience; so you will keep peace at home, which will be a feast to you in the day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you design to do, lay it justly, and time it seasonably, for that gives security and despatch. Lastly, be not troubled at disappointments, for if they may be recovered, do it; if they cannot, trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, be content. There is often peace and profit in submitting to Providence; for afflictions make wise. If you could have helped it, let not your trouble exceed your instruction, for another time." These rules, the admiral's son laid to heart; and, as his after life showed, they were never forgotten. William was greatly rewarded for all he had gone through by hearing his father at length thoroughly approve of his conduct. "My son, I confess I would rather have you as you are, than among those frivolous and heartless courtiers who beset our sovereign. Their fate must be miserable. They are bringing reproach and ruin upon our country; and albeit, though I wish to die as I have lived, a member of the Church of England, yet I am well-content that you, my son, should be guided by the principles you have adopted; and I feel sure that if you and your friends keep to your plain way of preaching, and also keep to your plain way of living, you will make an end of priests to the end of the world." Almost the last words the admiral uttered were: "Bury me near my mother. Live all in love. Shun all manner of evil. I pray God to bless you; and He will bless you." The spirit in which the admiral died, greatly softened the poignancy of the grief felt by his wife and son. The funeral procession set forth towards Bristol, where the admiral had desired to be buried, in Redcliffe Church, where a monument, still to be seen, was raised to his memory. William Penn was now the possessor of a handsome fortune inherited from his father. With youth, a fine appearance, fascinating manners, well acquainted with the world, numerous friends at court, and royal guardians pledged to advance his interests, he, notwithstanding, resisted all the allurements which these advantages offered to him, and set forth through the country, travelling from city to city, and village to village, preaching the simple gospel of salvation. In a picturesque village in Buckinghamshire, called Chalfont, a young gentleman on horseback might have been seen passing up the chief street. There were but few people moving about at that early time of the morning. At length he saw one advancing towards him, who, though dressed in sober costume, had the air of a gentleman. "Friend," said the young horseman, "canst tell me the abode of Master Isaac Pennington?" "Ay! verily I can," answered the pedestrian; "and, if I mistake not, he to whom I speak is one who will be heartily welcome. His fame has gone before him in this region, remote as it is from the turmoils of the world. Thou art William Penn; I am Thomas Elwood, a friend of the family. Their abode is the Grange, which they have rebuilt and beautified. Further on, at the end of the street, is the dwelling of one known to all lovers of literature,--John Milton. And here is my cottage, where thou wilt be always welcome." "Thanks, friend Elwood," said William Penn, dismounting from his horse. "If thou wilt show me the Grange, I will thank thee, and accept at another time thy hospitality." "I am bound thither myself," said Elwood, "and I shall enjoy thy society on the way." On reaching the Grange, William Penn found assembled in the breakfast parlour several guests. The lady of the house was Lady Springett, the widow of a Parliamentary officer; she had some years before married Isaac Pennington, both having adopted the Quaker principles. But there was one person present who seemed more especially to attract the young Quaker's attention. She was the daughter of Lady Springett; her name, Gulielma Maria, though addressed always by her family as Guli. William Penn had not been dreaming of love, but he at once felt himself drawn towards her; and before he left the Grange he acknowledged to himself that she had the power of adding greatly to his worldly happiness. Again, however, he went forth on his mission, but he frequently returned to Chalfont, and at length the fair Guli promised to become his wife.	{ "id": "21492" }
7	None	We left Captain Christison and his son just as they had gallantly rescued the stranger who had been set upon by ruffians in one of the principal thoroughfares of London. They had scarcely time to proceed far with him before they met a carriage accompanied by a couple of running footmen. "O my lord duke! Are you safe? are you safe?" exclaimed the men. "No thanks to your bravery, varlets," answered the nobleman. "Had it not been for these gentlemen, you would probably have never seen me again alive. And now, gentlemen," he said, turning to the captain and his son, "let me beg you will take a seat in my carriage, that I may convey you to your abode; or, if you will, honour me by coming to my mansion, that I may thank you more particularly for the essential service you have rendered me. I am the Duke of Ormonde. I was seated in my carriage, not dreaming of an attack, when two men suddenly opened the door, dragged me out, and, before my attendants could interfere, one of them, a powerful fellow, hoisted me up on the saddle before him. I struggled, and had just succeeded in bringing him with myself to the ground, when you came up. Why I have been thus assaulted I cannot tell, but I fear that it was in consequence of the animosity of some political opponents." "Thank you, my lord duke," answered Christison. "We are lodging in the City, and I would not wish to take your grace so far out of your way, nor can we intrude upon you at this hour of the evening; but to-morrow morning we will, with your leave, wait on your grace. We have met before, though perhaps the recollection of the circumstances may not be altogether pleasant. I will not therefore now speak of them, though, as your grace at present sits on the upper end of the seesaw, you may look back on those days without annoyance." "As you will," said the duke; "but you have not given me your name, and I should wish to recollect one who has rendered me so essential a service." "Wenlock Christison,--an old soldier, an it please your grace," said the captain, introducing his son at the same time. "Ah! ah! now I recollect you well, Captain Christison," answered the duke, "and truly I bear you no grudge because you sided with those I considered my foes; but let bygones be bygones, and I shall be very glad to see you again." Saying this, with the help of his attendants, the duke entered his carriage, shaking hands very warmly with Wenlock. "I owe you a heavy debt, young gentleman," he said, "and one I shall at all times be glad to repay, and yet consider that I have not paid you sufficiently." "A fortunate meeting," said Captain Christison to his son, as they walked on together. "The Duke of Ormonde is a powerful nobleman, and a truly upright and honest gentleman at the same time. What he promises he will fulfil. It is more than can be said of most of those in King Charles's court. Take my advice, Wenlock. Do not let this opportunity of gaining a good position in the world pass by. I do not suppose that he will offer me anything, but if he does, I shall be inclined to accept it. You see, Wenlock, our finances are far from being in a flourishing condition. I cannot turn to trade like my friend Mead, as I have no knowledge of it. In truth, as our family have always followed the calling of arms, or one of the liberal professions, I am not much disposed to yield to my worthy friend's arguments, and sheathe my sword for ever. I cannot understand why people should not be soldiers, and at the same time honest men and Christians." "I will have a talk with Mistress Mary Mead on the subject," answered Wenlock, "when next we meet. At the same time I desire to follow your wishes, father." "I rather suspect that Mistress Mary's bright eyes will weigh somewhat in the balance with her arguments, Master Wenlock," said his father, with a laugh. "However, we will pay our visit to the duke, and if he throws fortune in our way, I see not why we should refuse to clutch it." The next morning was bright and dry. The captain and his son set off to pay their intended visit to the Duke of Ormonde. Wenlock, in his new slash doublet and hose, with a feather in his cap and a sword by his side, looked a brave young gallant, as in truth he was. His father gazed at him proudly. "It were a pity," thought the old soldier to himself, "to see the lad turn Quaker, and throw away the brilliant prospects he has of rising in the world. Such a chance as this may never occur to him again; for though I perchance might get him a commission in a troop of horse with myself, yet he would have many hard blows to strike before he could rise to fortune and fame, while a bullet might, long ere he reached them, cut short his career." On arriving at the Duke of Ormonde's residence, they were at once shown into an ante-chamber, where two or three pages in attendance minutely scrutinised young Wenlock. They suspected, perhaps, from his manner and appearance, that he had come to take service with them. Courtesy, however, prevented them making any inquiries on the subject. After a short time, a gentleman came out of the duke's chamber and invited Captain Christison and his son to enter. His manner was especially respectful, and this evidently raised the visitors in the opinion of the young pages. The duke came forward and shook Captain Christison cordially by the hand. He received Wenlock in a still more kind manner. Then turning to a dignified young man by his side, he said, "Allow me to introduce you to my son Ossory. He desires also to thank you for the service you have rendered his father." "Indeed I do, gentlemen," said Lord Ossory, coming forward; "and I only hope that this young gentleman will allow me to show my gratitude. Who the villains were from whom you rescued the duke we have been as yet unable to ascertain, but there can be no doubt that their purpose was to murder him; indeed, preparations for hanging some one were found made this morning under the gibbet at Tyburn; and coupling this with a threatening letter received a few days ago by the duke, we suspect that they intended to put him thus ignominiously to death." Captain Christison made a suitable reply to these remarks of the duke and the earl. "As to myself," he said, "I have been a stranger to England for many years, and came home for the sake of seeing my native land again, and then taking service afloat or on shore, wherever I might find my sword acceptable, and my conscience would allow me." "I understand you, my friend," said the duke; "and since old foes have shaken hands, and Roundheads and Cavaliers now unite together, I trust that you will not object to accept a company in my regiment. As senior captain, you will have the command; and as you have fought at sea, you will not object, I presume, to serve again on board ship, should a war break out. Lord Ossory, who is in the navy, desires to retain your son about his own person, should the young gentleman like to see something of the world. Otherwise, I should be glad to give him a post in my household." "You overwhelm us with kindnesses, my lord duke," said Captain Christison. "For myself, nothing would suit me better than what you propose, and I must beg to leave my son to choose for himself. What say you, Wenlock? Do you wish to take time to think on the matter, or will you run the chance of seeing service under the noble Earl of Ossory?" The worldly ambition of the old soldier, excited by the flattering remarks of the duke, imparted itself to Wenlock. Could he make up his mind to turn draper's assistant in the City, as he had been meditating doing yesterday, while so brilliant a prospect had opened itself up before him? The thought were ridiculous. "I heartily accept the offer of the Earl of Ossory, my lord duke," he said, with a bow which could not have been surpassed had he been all his life at court. "I could not wish to serve under a more noble and gallant leader." "I am glad it is so settled," said the Duke. "To be frank with you, Captain Christison, I remember you well, and the good service you did to the cause you advocated. I have not forgotten, either, the courteous way in which you treated me when I fell into your hands on the fatal field of Worcester; and, by my troth, the way the Cavaliers behaved on that occasion made me ashamed of my order and the cause I served. You tell me that you are lodging in the City. You can, however, move here as soon as you please. There are rooms for you both, and places at my table. In truth, after the dastardly attack made upon me last night, I shall be thankful to have two such trusty friends within call, for I know not when I may be again assaulted." Thus invited, the captain and his son were glad to move that very evening to the duke's house; indeed, the few gold pieces remaining in the old soldier's purse reminded him that he must find some speedy means of replenishing it, or run the risk of having to live upon short commons. The captain had never been a prudent man, and Wenlock little thought what a hole the cost of his suit had made in his father's exchequer.	{ "id": "21492" }
8	None	"And thou art going away on board a warship to fight and slay, and, alack! perchance to be slain," said Mary Mead, whose hand was held by Wenlock Christison. "It is sad to think of such cruel deeds, and sadder still that thou, Wenlock, should engage in such work. I had thought my father had shown thee the sinfulness of warfare, and that I might have said something to the same effect that might have moved thee." "So you did, Mary; and when I am with you truly I feel inclined to play the woman, and, throwing up all my brilliant prospects, to join myself to your father or Master William Penn, and to go forth as they are wont to do to promulgate their doctrines." "Nay; but that would not be playing the woman, surely," said Mary, reproachfully. "It is no woman's work they have to go through, although some women are found who boldly go forth even into foreign lands, and, in spite of danger and opposition, are not behind the men in zeal in the good cause." "I am wrong, Mary, thus to speak. I should greatly have disappointed my father had I refused to serve under the Earl of Ossory; besides which, no other means are open to me of supporting myself. I must, I find, depend upon my sword; for my father now tells me, what I did not before know, that all his means are expended, and that without a profession I should be little better than a beggar." "Alack! alack!" said poor Mary, and the tears came into her eyes. "For `they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.' You know, Wenlock, too, that my father would gladly have found employment for you, if you would have accepted it." This remark came home to Wenlock's heart. It was the truth, and he could not help acknowledging that he had preferred his worldly associates, and the so-called brilliant prospects offered to him by the earl, instead of becoming a haberdasher's apprentice, an humble Quaker, and the husband of the pretty Mary Mead. He still hoped, indeed, to win her. She had acknowledged her love for him, and he had built up many castles in the air of which she was to be the mistress. After serving a few years under Lord Ossory, he expected to rise in rank, and to come home with ample wealth, which would enable him to settle down on shore, and marry her. Master Mead had parted from Captain Christison somewhat coldly. He bade Wenlock farewell with a sigh. "Thou hast been led to act as thou art doing by thy father, and I cannot blame thee," he said. "I had hoped better things of thee, and I would now pray that thy heart may be turned to the right way." Mary was very sad after Wenlock had gone. He was frank and artless, good-looking, and of agreeable manners; and believing that he was about to join her sect, she had given her heart to him without reserve. He had come frequently to the house after he had taken service under Lord Ossory, though his duties had of late prevented his visits being as frequent as at first. Several months had thus passed away, his father having in the meantime joined the fleet under the Earl of Sandwich, one of the bravest of England's admirals at that time. He would have taken Wenlock with him, had not Lord Ossory desired that the young man should remain in his service. The morning after parting from Mary, Wenlock accompanied Lord Ossory to Portsmouth. Here a ship of sixty guns, the _Resolution_, was waiting to receive the earl as her captain. Not till Wenlock was on board, and sailing out from Spithead past Saint Helen's, had he any notion whither the fleet was bound. He, with several other young men and boys, were occupants of part of the captain's cabin, which was devoted to them. "You will see some service, Christison," said the earl. "I wish it were of a more worthy character than it is likely to prove. King Charles's exchequer is low, and we have been sent out here to capture a homeward-bound fleet of Dutch merchantmen expected shortly in the Channel. You heard the other day of the Dutch refusing to strike their flag when the _Merlin_ yacht passed through their fleet with Lady Temple on board. Her captain fired in return, and was rewarded with a gold chain on his arrival at home. This is our pretence, a sorry one, I confess, for war." The _Resolution_ formed one of the fleet under Sir Robert Holmes, consisting altogether of some thirty-six men-of-war. Eight only had, however, been got ready for sea, and with these Sir Robert was about to take a short cruise outside the Isle of Wight, for practising the crews. Scarcely, however, had they lost sight of land before the _Resolution_, being to the westward, descried a fleet standing up Channel. She communicated the intelligence to the rest of the squadron. They were soon made out to be Dutch. The sea officers, after examining them carefully, declared that there were several men-of-war among them. On their approaching nearer, of this there was no doubt. Sir Robert Holmes, however, followed by the _Resolution_, stood gallantly towards them, when in addition to the seventy merchantmen expected, six stout men-of-war were perceived. Of the English ships five were frigates. The Dutch, who had timely notice of the intended attack, were prepared for battle, with their decks cleared, divided into three squadrons, each guarded by two men-of-war, and together forming a half-moon. Sir Robert approaching them, ordered them to strike their flags. On their refusing to do so, he fired a broadside into the nearest ship. They, however, lowered their topsails. Again he asked whether they would strike their flags. On their refusing, he again fired; and now the action became general. Sir Robert especially attacked the ship of the Dutch commodore, while Lord Ossory attacked another commanded by Captain du Bois. For some hours the action continued, but so well did the Dutch defend themselves, that when darkness put an end to the fight, no material advantage had been gained. The next day, however, the English fleet being joined by four more frigates from Portsmouth, again attacked the Dutch. Lord Ossory gallantly boarded Captain du Bois' ship. Wenlock was among the first to dash on to the deck of the enemy. His swordsmanship served him in good stead. Many, however, of his companions were killed around him, and for some time he was left with but few followers on the enemy's deck. Lord Ossory, seeing the danger of his young officer, calling upon his men, led a fresh body of boarder on to the deck of the enemy. In spite however of his valour, they were driven back on board his own ship. Out of the whole Dutch squadron, indeed, when darkness again came on, only one man-of-war and three merchantmen had been captured. With these Sir Robert was compelled to return to port, the Dutchmen making good their escape. "It was scurvy work," exclaimed Lord Ossory, as the ship came to an anchor. "Such is unfit for gallant gentlemen to engage in. I would rather sheathe my sword, and forswear fighting for the future, than to undertake again such a buccaneering business." Wenlock, however, had got a taste for sea life. His gallantry in the action had been remarked, and was highly commended. When therefore the _Royal James_, on board which his father was serving under the Earl of Sandwich, came to an anchor, he begged that he also might join her. Through Lord Ossory's introduction, the admiral received him very courteously, and promised to look after his interests. The captain of the ship, Sir Richard Haddock, also expressed his satisfaction at having him on board. The _Royal James_ was one of the largest ships in the navy, carrying a hundred guns, and nearly one thousand men, including seamen and soldiers. Captain Christison, now in his element, was delighted to have his son with him, and well-pleased at the credit the young man had gained. "You will see some real fighting before long, Wenlock," he observed. "Braver men than Lord Sandwich and his captain do not exist, and now this war with the Dutch has broken out we shall not let their fleets alone." Some time after this, the English fleets, consisting of nearly a hundred sail, under the command of the Duke of York, the Earl of Sandwich being the admiral of the blue squadron, were lying at Spithead. War had been declared against the Dutch, in reality at the instigation of France, whose armies were at the same time pouring into Holland. Early in May, a French fleet of forty-eight ships, under the command of Count d'Estrees, arrived at Portsmouth, and soon afterwards he and the English together put to sea. After cruising about for some time in search of the enemy, they anchored in Sole Bay. "Wenlock, before many days are over you will have seen a real sea-fight. The very thought of it warms up my old blood," exclaimed his father. "I know you will acquit yourself well; and if the enemy's fleet falls into our hands, as I doubt not it will, we shall have no cause henceforth to complain of want of money in our purses." Alas! what would Mary Mead, what would her father and William Penn, have said to such sentiments?	{ "id": "21492" }
9	None	The English and French fleets lay in Sole Bay, a brave sight, with flags flying and trumpets sounding from the different ships. Just as day broke on the 28th of May, numerous sail were seen dotting the horizon. On they came. There was no doubt that they were the ships of the Dutch fleet. The Duke of York threw out the signal for action; and the ships setting sail, some of them cutting their cables in their eagerness, stood out of the bay. The French, who were on the outside, were nearest to the Dutch. From the deck of the _Royal James_, no less than seventy-five large ships were discovered, and forty frigates. The fleet was commanded, as was well known, by the brave Admirals de Ruyter, Banquert, and Van Ghent. The French were first attacked by Admiral Banquert. And now the guns on both sides sent forth their missiles of death,--round shot and chain shot, the latter cutting to pieces the rigging and spars of their antagonists. "See, Wenlock, those Frenchmen fight well," exclaimed Christison. "We must acquit ourselves in a like gallant way." This was said as the _Royal James_ was standing into action, approaching a large Dutch ship called the _Great Holland_. "But see! what are they about? They are beating a retreat. Two or three of their ships remain in the enemy's hands. They have no stomach for the fight, that is clear; or, from what I hear, they are playing the game they have long done. It is the old story. They wish the Dutch and us to tear ourselves to pieces, and then they will come in and pick up the fragments." Meantime, the Duke of York in the _Saint Michael_ was engaged with Admiral de Ruyter, his ship being so severely handled that he had to leave her, and hoist his flag on board the _Loyal London_. "Ah! we have enemies enough coming down upon us," exclaimed Christison, as the _Royal James_, at the head of the blue squadron, became almost surrounded by Dutch ships. The _Great Holland_ was the first to lay her alongside, the Dutchmen, however, in vain endeavouring to board. Admiral Van Ghent next attacked her with a squadron of fire-ships. The brave Earl of Sandwich encouraged his men to resist, in spite of the numerous foes round him. Again and again the Dutchmen from the deck of the _Great Holland_ attempted to carry the _Royal James_. Each time they were beaten back. Sometimes the earl put himself at the head of his men; at others Christison and his son repelling the boarders. All this time the other Dutch ships kept up a terrific fire on the _Royal James_. More than once the earl turned his eyes towards the remainder of the English fleet, but none of the ships seemed prepared to come to his assistance. The Englishmen were falling thickly; already many hundreds strewed the deck. "When a man's destruction has been resolved on, it is easy to bring it about," observed the earl to his captain, Sir Richard Haddock, who stood by his side. "However, neither friends nor foes shall say that Edward Montagu failed in his duty to his country, or ceased to fight till the last." Saying this, he again cheered his men. Never did a crew fight with more fierce desperation than did that of the _Royal James_. Even the wounded refused to quit their guns, till they dropped at their quarters. A cheer at length arose from their decks. The _Great Holland_ had been beaten off, and was retiring in a disabled state. De Ruyter, his person conspicuous on the deck of his ship, still assailed her however. At length a shot was seen to strike him, and he sank, apparently slain, to the deck. For a short time the hard-pressed ship of the gallant admiral enjoyed a respite; but by this time she was reduced almost to a wreck, while six hundred of her brave crew lay dead or dying about her decks, with many of her officers, and several gallant gentlemen who had volunteered on board. Night was coming on, the constant flashes from the guns, however, showing the fury with which the fight was continued. Still the earl refused to retire from the combat. Christison and his son had hitherto escaped. "I have seen many fierce battles, Wenlock, but never one like this," said the old officer; "and our fighting is not over to-day. See here come more foes!" As he spoke, several ships were seen bearing down upon the _Royal James_, and now, opening their fire, they surrounded her with smoke. The four hundred survivors of her crew fought their guns with the same desperation as at first; but in the midst of the smoke a ship, approaching unperceived, grappled closely with her. Directly afterwards there was a cry of fire! Flames were seen bursting forth from the enemy, now, when too late, known to be a fire-ship. In vain the crew endeavoured to free themselves from her, but the Dutch sent such showers of shot among them that many were killed in the attempt. Wenlock had been keeping near his father, who, for the first time since the commencement of the fight, acknowledged that they were in desperate circumstances. Scarcely had he spoken, when Wenlock heard a sharp cry by his side, and turning round, he saw his father falling to the deck. He lifted him up; but as he gazed in his countenance, he saw that those eyes which had always looked at him with affection were glazing in death. "Father! father! speak to me," said Wenlock; but there was no answer. He laid him down on the deck. And now on every side the flames were bursting forth through the ports. Already the fore part of the ship was a mass of fire. Just then the brave Sir Richard Haddock received a shot in the thigh. He fell, but again raised himself to his feet: "Lower the boats, lads!" he shouted. "Ere a few minutes are over, no one will be able to live on board our stout ship. Where is the earl?" "He went to his cabin," answered some one. "Christison, come with me; we must get him into a boat. I fear he is wounded." Wenlock was obeying his commander, when just at that moment he felt a severe pang, and was conscious that a missile of some sort had passed through his side. In spite of his wound, however, he followed the captain. The earl was seated at the table, with a handkerchief over his eyes. "My lord, a boat is in readiness, and we have come to conduct you to it," said Sir Richard. "No, friend, no," answered the earl. "I cannot brook some bitter words spoken to me yesterday by the Duke of York. If my ship is to perish, I will perish with her." In vain Sir Richard and Wenlock tried to persuade the brave earl to listen to reason. Already the crackling sounds of the flames were heard, and wreaths of smoke came driving into the cabin. Then came a terrific sound. Wenlock scarcely knew what had happened, when he found himself plunged into the water. He was a strong swimmer, and struck out for life. Near him was another man whose features, lighted up by the flames from the burning ship, he recognised as those of Sir Richard Haddock. He swam towards him. "Leave me, Christison," he said; "I am desperately wounded, and cannot survive this night. You too I saw were wounded, and will have enough to do to save yourself." "No, no, sir," answered Wenlock; "I see close to us a spar. It will support us till some help arrives. I will tow you towards it if you will float quietly." Sir Richard did as he was advised, and in a short space of time Wenlock had placed him on the spar. It was not, however, sufficient to support both of them. Another was seen at a little distance. Securing the captain to the first, Wenlock swam to the other. He had wished to remain by his captain, but by some means he perceived that they were gradually receding from each other. In vain he shouted to the ships nearest to him. The din of battle drowned his voice. First one tall ship, then another, went down. The whole ocean around seemed covered with fragments of wrecks and struggling men. Of the latter, one after the other, however, sunk below the surface. At length he saw several ships approaching him. Again he shouted. It seemed to him that one was about to run over him, and courageous as he was, he gave himself up for lost. Leaving the spar, he swam off, hoping thus to avoid her. She must have been hotly engaged, for her topmasts and all their rigging were hanging over the side. As the ship passed by, he caught hold of the rigging, and drawing himself up, found a firm footing. Though his wound pained him considerably, he still had sufficient strength to climb on board, not knowing as he did so whether he was to find himself among friends or foes.	{ "id": "21492" }
10	None	Almost exhausted, pale as death, the blood flowing from his wound opened by the exertions he had made, Wenlock Christison dropped down on the deck of the stranger, not knowing whether he was to find himself on board an English or Dutch ship. The condition of the ship showed that she had been hotly engaged, for numbers of dead men lay about her blood-stained decks. From their appearance, as the light of the lanterns occasionally glanced on them, Wenlock at once saw that they were Dutch. Dutch was among the languages with which he was acquainted, having met many Hollanders in America. "Who are you?" said an officer, who saw him come over the side. "An Englishman, and one of the few survivors of the ill-fated ship which blew up just now," he answered. "Well-nigh a thousand men who walked her decks in health and strength this morning are now in eternity." "You are indeed fortunate in escaping then," said the Dutch officer, "and though we must consider you a prisoner, you will be treated with due courtesy on board this ship. I see that you are wounded, and badly it seems to me, so that you must be forthwith put under the surgeon's care." Wenlock thanked him, and supported by a couple of men was carried below. After this he knew nothing of what happened to him, for scarcely had he been placed on a bed than he fainted. When he came to consciousness he found the surgeon ready to administer some medicine, soon after which he fell asleep, nor did he awake again till daylight. He inquired eagerly what had occurred. "You must not talk much," said the surgeon; "but this I will tell you, that we have had a very fierce engagement, and lost three of our stoutest ships; while, if the truth is known, you English have not been less sufferers. Depend on it, altogether between us, four or five thousand people have been killed: a sensible employment for human beings. Heu! while we,--a free Protestant people,--were fighting for liberty, you English were beguiled by your own traitorous sovereign, bribed by the King of France, to attack us." The surgeon, Nicholas Van Erk, notwithstanding his remarks, treated Wenlock with the greatest kindness. They however gave him ample material for thought. In a short time the Dutch fleet arrived off the coast of Holland, and the injured ships proceeded to the chief naval ports to undergo repair. The _Marten Harptez_, the ship on board which Wenlock had found refuge, proceeded to Rotterdam. "You are a prisoner, but I have got leave to receive you at my house," said Mynheer Van Erk; "and as I have a good many sick men to look after, I do not purpose again going to sea. In truth, fighting may be a very satisfactory amusement to people without brains; but I am a philosopher, and have seen enough of it to be satisfied that it is a most detestable occupation." Wenlock found himself conveyed to a comfortable mansion in Rotterdam overlooking a canal; indeed, what houses do not overlook canals in that city? He was very weak, for his wound had been severe,--more severe than he had supposed; and he was surprised that he should have been enabled to undergo so much exertion as he had done. Van Erk, indeed, told him that had he remained much longer in the water, he would probably have fainted from loss of blood, and been drowned. "As you may become a wise man and enjoy life, being young, that would have been a pity," observed the philosopher; "but it depends how you spend the future whether you should or should not be justly congratulated on your escape." The doctor's wife and only daughter,--the fair Frowline Gretchen,-- formed the only members of the surgeon's household, with their serving maid Barbara. They, fortunately for Wenlock, were not philosophers, but turned their attention to household affairs, and watched over him with the greatest care. He, poor fellow, felt very sad and forlorn. For many days he could only think with deep grief of the untimely loss of his brave father. In time, however, he began to meditate a little also about himself. All his prospects appeared blighted. The friends who might have spoken of his brave conduct in the fight were dead. He had hoped to obtain wealth, and to return and marry Mary Mead. He had not a groat remaining in the world. Never in his life before had he been so downhearted Gretchen observed his melancholy. "You should not thus grieve for being a prisoner," she observed; "many brave men have been so, and the time will come when you will be set at liberty." Wenlock then told her how he had lost his father, and how his own hopes of advancement had been blighted. "Have you no one then who cares for you?" she asked, in a tone of sympathy; "no one in your native land to whom you desire to return?" "Yes," said Wenlock; and he then told her of his engagement to the fair Quakeress. "Ah! I am not surprised at that," observed the Dutch girl, with a sigh. After this, though as kind as usual, Wenlock observed that she was somewhat more distant in her manner to him than she had been at first. Considering that he was a prisoner, his time passed very pleasantly. Having given his word to the authorities and to his host that he would not attempt to escape, he was allowed to go about that picturesque town as much as he pleased. Month after month the war continued, and he remained a prisoner. His affection, however, for Mary Mead had rather increased by absence than diminished; and fearing that she might forget him, he at length wrote her a letter, entreating her to remain faithful, and promising, as soon as he should be able, to return to England and follow any course she might advise. In vain he waited for an answer to this letter; week after week passed by, and none came. "She has forgotten you," said Gretchen one day, observing him look very sad. Wenlock started! He was thinking the same thing. "I know not," he answered; "I have heard that women are fickle." "I did not say that," observed Gretchen; "but if you chose to disregard the wishes of one you professed to love, I am not surprised that she should at length have dismissed you from her thoughts. I do not say she has, but it is possible." Wenlock had for some time felt ashamed of being idle; for though his host might have received payment for his support from the government, yet that, he was sure, could not be sufficient to cover the expense to which he was put. He expressed his wishes to his kind host. "A very sensible remark," observed the surgeon, "and as you have now recovered from your wound, and regained your strength, it is proper that you should be employed. I have a brother, a merchant, trading with Surinam. He may possibly give you employment. You speak several languages, and write a good hand. You will, I doubt not, soon be ranked among his principal clerks, if you have a good knowledge of accounts." "If he will try me, I will do my best," answered Wenlock. The next day he was installed as a clerk in the office of Peter Van Erk, one of the principal merchants in the city. Wenlock had an aptitude for business of which he had not been aware. He took a positive pleasure in his work, and soon attracted the observation of his quick-sighted employer. The kind surgeon was highly pleased. "You do credit to my recommendation, Christison," he observed; "you will soon win the confidence of my brother, and will then be on the fair way to making your fortune." Time passed by. Wenlock made himself so useful that in a short time his employer agreed to pay him a handsome salary. When peace was declared, therefore, he felt that it would be folly to return to England, where he had no home and no one from whom he had a right to demand assistance. He had forfeited William Mead's regard by acting contrary to his advice, while from Lord Ossory he might possibly fail to receive further patronage. He had heard enough of the fickleness of those in authority, and he did not expect to be better treated than others. He therefore continued to work away steadily as a merchant's clerk in the house of Van Erk and Company, of Rotterdam.	{ "id": "21492" }
11	None	"Come with my mother and me to a meeting to which we are going this evening!" said Gretchen, when Wenlock returned home at a somewhat earlier hour than usual, for he still lived at the house of the kind surgeon. "Some Englishmen arrived yesterday in Rotterdam, and they are about to address the public on some important religious matters. They are said to be very earnest and devoted people, and one of them speaks Dutch perfectly. Their names I cannot remember. Those short, curious, English names quickly escape my memory." Wenlock at once agreed to Gretchen's request; indeed he had no longer the heart to refuse her anything she asked. It might have been just possible that, had he learned that the fair Mary had forgotten him and accepted another suitor, he would have had no great difficulty in consoling himself. Yet it was not so at present. He always treated Gretchen with kindness and respect, but was fully convinced in his own mind that he never allowed a warmer feeling to enter his bosom. The large public hall in which meetings of the sort were generally held was nearly filled by the time the Van Erk party arrived. They, however, were shown to seats near the platform whence the speakers were to address the people. Many more persons crowded in, till the hall was quite full. Just then five gentlemen appeared on the platform, advancing with slow and dignified steps. A curious and very mixed feeling agitated Wenlock's heart when among them he recognised Master William Penn, and his father's old friend, Captain Mead. The thought of his father rushed into his mind, and a tear filled his eye. He thought, however, also of Mary, and he longed to ask her father about her; yet, at that moment, to do so was impossible. As the speakers appeared, the whole hall was hushed in silence. At length William Penn offered up a prayer in Dutch. He then introduced a tall thin, careworn man, as George Fox, who addressed the people in English, Penn interpreting as he spoke. He urged on them in forcible language to adopt the principles which the Friends had accepted, and many were moved to tears while he spoke. William Mead then came forward, but said little. Another Englishman, Robert Barclay, then addressed the assemblage. He was followed by Penn himself; who, in calm yet forcible language, placed the simple truths of the gospel before his hearers. Wenlock's feelings were greatly moved. His reason too was convinced. He had had a severe lesson. He had declined to accept those principles, and sought for worldly honour and distinction instead. The result had been the loss of his beloved father, he himself escaping with life almost by a miracle. "Those are old friends I little expected to meet again," said Wenlock to Gretchen and her mother. "I must speak to them now, lest they leave the city to-morrow and I may miss them." As the assembly broke up, the speakers descended into the body of the hall, and Wenlock found himself standing before William Penn and Captain Mead. Neither of them knew him, though they looked at him kindly, having observed the deep attention with which he had listened to their discourses. "I am afraid, Master Mead, I am forgotten," said Wenlock, feeling that he must speak at last. The Quaker started, and examined his countenance narrowly. "What!" he exclaimed, "art thou the son of my ancient comrade? Verily I thought that he and thou were long since numbered with the dead. How is it, young man? Has thy father escaped also?" "Alas! no," said Wenlock; and he gave a brief account of his father's death. "And hast thou been content to pass so long a time without communicating with thy old friends?" said Mead, in a reproachful tone. "No, indeed. I wrote to Mistress Mary," said Wenlock; "but she replied not to my letter." "My daughter received no letter from thee, young man," said Mead; "and I will not deny that she grieved at the thought of thy loss." "O Master Mead, I wish that I had written oftener, till one of my letters had reached you or her," exclaimed Wenlock; "but I thought that she had discarded me." "I see; I see! And thou wast too proud to run the risk of being chid further for thy youthful folly," said the Quaker. "You are right, I confess," answered Wenlock. "But tell me, how is she? Where is she? Would I could once more see her and explain my conduct." "Perchance thou mayst see her sooner than thou dost expect," said Mead. "Come to-morrow morning to the house where we lodge, and we will talk further of this matter." "What! is she in Rotterdam?" exclaimed Wenlock, in a voice trembling with agitation. "She accompanied us thus far on our journey; but I know not whether she will go farther. I must not let thee see her, however, to-night, as, believing thee dead, it might perchance somewhat agitate her; for I do not deny, Wenlock, that thou wast once dear to us all. But whether thou canst sufficiently explain thy conduct since thou didst part from us, to regain thy lost place in our regard, I cannot now determine." "Oh, I trust I can," exclaimed Wenlock, all his affection for Mary reviving immediately at the thought of again meeting her. William Penn received the young man very kindly, and then for some minutes spoke to him with deep seriousness of his past life. "Thou canst not serve God and Mammon, Friend Wenlock," he said. "Thou didst attempt to do so, and Mammon left thee struggling for thy life on the ocean. More on that matter I need not say." Wenlock, on reaching home, found that his friends had been deeply impressed by the addresses they had heard. They were also much surprised to find that two of the speakers were known to him. "Indeed, one of them," he said, "is a very old friend; and should he invite me to accompany him to England, I should wish to do so." "What! and leave us all here, not to return?" said Gretchen. "It is right that I should tell the truth at once," thought Wenlock. He did so. "And is this English girl very, very pretty," asked Gretchen; and her voice trembled slightly. "I thought her so when we parted; and amiable, and right-minded, and pious I know she is." "Ah!" said Gretchen, "I should like to see her while she remains in this city." The next morning Wenlock set out to pay his promised visit to his Quaker friends. Master Mead met him at the door of the house. "Come in; Mary will see thee," he said; and taking him upstairs, he led him into a room, at the farther end of which a young lady was seated with a book before her. She rose as her father and their visitor entered, and gave an inquiring glance at Wenlock, apparently at first scarcely knowing him. Another look assured her who it was, but no smile lighted up her countenance. She advanced, however, and held out her hand. "Thou art welcome, Master Christison," she said; "and I rejoice to find that thou didst escape the sad fate we heard had overtaken thee. And yet, was it kind to leave old friends who were interested in thee, albeit thou didst differ from them in opinion, without knowing of thy existence?" Her voice, which had hitherto remained firm, began to tremble. "Oh, no, no, Mary!" exclaimed Wenlock. "I cannot blame myself too much. Yet I did write; but I ought to have written again and again, till I heard from you. I should have known that the risk of a letter miscarrying was very great." "Yea; verily thou ought to have put more confidence in us," said Mary. Then Wenlock again blamed himself, and Mary showed herself before long inclined to be more lenient than her manner had at first led him to hope she might prove. Penn and his party remained for some days at Rotterdam, holding numerous meetings. Many among the most educated of the inhabitants,--officers of the government, merchants, and others,--came to hear them preach; while many of the principal houses of the place were thrown open to them. Among other converts was Wenlock's employer, Mynheer Van Erk, as was also his kind friend the surgeon and his family. Gretchen and Mary met frequently. "You have not over praised the English maiden," said the former to Wenlock. "I hope you will be fortunate in regaining her regard; for it is clear to me that you still look on her with affection." Penn, with three of his companions, proceeded on their tour through Holland and part of Germany, gaining many proselytes to their opinions. Mead, who had some mercantile transactions at Rotterdam, remained in that city. After they were concluded he prepared to return home. Wenlock wished to accompany him. "No, my young friend," he answered, "I cannot allow thee to quit thy present employer without due notice. Should he wish to dispense with thy services, I will receive thee when thou dost come to me." Wenlock had now openly professed himself to be a Quaker. Perchance, Master Mead, who had no lack of worldly wisdom, desired to try the young man's constancy, both as to his love and his religion; for, in both, people are very apt to deceive themselves, mistaking enthusiasm and momentary excitement for well grounded principle. As winter approached, Penn and his party returned to Rotterdam, and sailed for England.	{ "id": "21492" }
12	None	The beams of the evening sun were streaming through a deep bay window of the country house of Worminghurst, in Sussex, on the heads of two men seated at a large oak writing table in a room which, lined as it was with bookcases, showed that it was devoted to study. The heads of both of them betokened high intellect, traces of care and thought being especially discernible on the countenance of the elder,-- that lofty intellect to be quenched, ere a few short years were over, by the executioner's axe,--a deed as cruel and unjust as any caused by the cowardice and tyranny of a monarch. The table was covered with parchments, papers, books, and writing materials. Both were holding pens in their hands, now and then making note from the documents before them, at other times stopping and addressing each other. The younger man was William Penn, who, lately having obtained a grant of a large tract of country on the American continent, was now engaged in drawing up a constitution for its government, assisted by the elder,--the enlightened patriot and philosopher, Sidney. "See! such a constitution as this for Carolina will not suit a free people such as will be our colonists!" said the former, pointing to a document before him, "albeit it emanated from the brain of John Locke. Here we have a king, though with the title of palatine, with a whole court and two orders of nobility. Laws to prevent estates accumulating or diminishing. The children of leet men to be leet men for ever, while every free man is to have power over his negro slaves. Truly, society will thus be bound hand and foot. All political rights to be taken from the cultivators of the soil. Trial by jury virtually set aside. The Church of England to be alone the true and orthodox, and to be supported out of the coffers of the State." "In truth, no," said Sidney. "John Locke has not emancipated himself from his admiration of the feudal system. Let this be our principle,-- that those whose lives, properties, and liberties are most concerned in the administration of the laws shall be the people to form them. Let there be two bodies to be elected by the people,--a council and an assembly. Let the council consist of seventy-two persons, to be chosen by universal suffrage, for three years, twenty-four of them retiring every year, their places to be supplied by new election. Let the members of the assembly be elected annually, and all votes taken by ballot. The suffrage to be universal. Let it have the privilege of making out the list of persons to be named as justices and sheriffs, and let the governor be bound to select one half of those thus recommended. Now we must consider numerous provisional laws relating to liberty of conscience, provision for the poor, choice of civil officers, and so on, which can be in force until accepted by the council. We shall thus, dear friend, I trust, have secured freedom of thought, the sacredness of person and property, popular control over all powers of the state; and we will leave our new democracy to develop itself in accordance with its own genius, unencumbered with useless formalities and laws." "Yes; I trust that the simplicity of our constitution will secure its permanence," said Sidney. "I will take the papers home with me to Penshurst, and there maturely consider over all the points." Left alone, William Penn might have been seen lifting up his hands in earnest prayer to heaven that his noble scheme might prosper. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a servant announced a visitor. In another minute a young man entered the room with modest air and in sober costume. "Who art thou?" said Penn, looking up. "Wenlock Christison," answered the visitor. "I came at the desire of Friend Mead." "Yea; I wish to see thee, young friend," said Penn; "but when thou earnest into the room I did not at first recognise thee. Thou art somewhat changed, I may say, for the better. Sit down, and I will tell thee what I require. Look at this map of the American continent. See this magnificent river,--the Delaware, entering the Atlantic between Cape Henlopen and Cape May. See those other fine rivers,--the Susquehannah, the Ohio, and the Alleghany. Here is a country but a little less than the size of England; its surface covered with a rich vegetable loam capable of the highest cultivation, and of producing wheat, barley, rye, Indian corn, hemp, oats, flax. Here too are mighty forests supplying woods of every kind, abounding too in wild game and venison, equal to any in England. The rivers are full of fish, oysters, and crabs in abundance. On the coast the most luscious fruits grow wild, while the flowers of the forest are superior in beauty to any found in our native land. A few settlers from Sweden are already there, and some Hollanders. The native red men have hitherto proved friendly; and I trust by treating them kindly, with due regard to their just rights, we may ever remain on brotherly terms with them. They are mere wanderers over the land, build no cities, nor permanently cultivate the ground. I trust before to-morrow's sun has set, unless I am deceived, to obtain a grant of this territory, in lieu of a debt owing by the government to my father of nearly 15,000 pounds. I wish forthwith to despatch a vessel with certain commissioners authorised to purchase lands from the natives; and as Friend Mead has spoken favourably of thee, it is my wish to send thee with them. Wilt thou accept my offer? I will tell thee, if thou wilt, more particularly of thy duties." Wenlock's heart somewhat sunk within him at this proposal. He had been hoping to make Mary Mead his wife; yet he was sure her father would not allow her to go forth into a new settlement, and to undergo all the incidental risks and hardships. How long a time might pass before he could return, he could not tell. Of one thing only he felt sure, that she would be faithful to him. Some time had passed since he left Rotterdam, his friend Van Erk having given him permission to go over to England to enter the employment of William Mead. He had, since then, been living in his family, enjoying an almost daily intercourse with Mary; not yet, however, having obtained a position to enable him to marry her. Her father had resolved to put his patience and constancy to the test. Here, however, was a trial he had not expected; and when Penn had sent for him, he had, with the sanguine spirit of youth, hoped that it was to receive some appointment which would enable him to realise the wishes of his heart. Still the offer was a flattering one, and he felt that it would be unwise in him to decline it. He therefore, in suitable language, accepted the offer. "Stay here then," said Penn, "as I have abundance of work for thee for some days to come, and I will then more fully explain to thee my wishes." While Penn was still speaking, a messenger arrived from London. He brought a summons for him to attend a council at Whitehall, a note from a friend at court informing him that it was to settle the matter of the colony. He hastened up to London. In the council chamber were already assembled his majesty's privy councillors, and at the farther end of the room was the king himself, hat on head. William Penn, not the least conspicuous among them for his height and manly bearing, advanced up the room in his usual dignified manner; but neither did he doff his hat nor bend his knee before the king's majesty, although he has come in the hope of obtaining an object among the dearest to his heart. "I have come at thy desire, and thank thee for the invitation," said Penn, standing before the king. "Verily thou art welcome," said the monarch, with a smile on his lips; at the same time removing his hat and placing it by his side. "Friend Charles, why dost thou not keep on thy hat?" said Penn with perfect gravity; at the same time making no attempt to remove his own. "Ha! ha! ha! knowest thou not, Friend William, that it is the custom of this place for only one person to remain covered at a time?" answered the king, laughing heartily. "To business, however, my lords," he added. "And what name hast thou fixed on for this new province, Master Penn?" "As it is a somewhat mountainous country, I would have it called New Wales," answered the Quaker. Here Master Secretary Blathwayte, who was a Welshman, interposed; in reality objecting to have the country of a sect to which he was no friend called after his native land. "Well then, as it hath many noble forests, let it be called Sylvania," said Penn. "Nay, nay; but I have a better name still," exclaimed the king. "We will call it Pennsylvania, in honour of your worthy father,--the great admiral. The forest land of Penn, that shall be it; and my word shall be as the law of the Medes and Persians." At this the courtiers laughed, not, perchance, considering the king's word of much value. However, the name was thus fixed, the patent being then and there issued under the king's inspection. With the charter in his possession, Penn returned home to make the final arrangements with Sidney for the great work he had undertaken. The document was written on a roll of parchment. At the head of the first sheet there is a well-executed portrait of Charles the Second, while the borders are handsomely emblazoned with heraldic devices. Great had been the opposition made to Penn's receiving this grant. Sidney had come back to Worminghurst. "God hath given it to me in the face of the world," exclaimed Penn, as the friends met. "He will bless and make it the seed of a nation." Truly has that prediction been fulfilled.	{ "id": "21492" }
13	None	Two fine vessels lay in mid stream a little way below London, with sails loosened, ready to take their departure. The wind was light, and they were waiting for the turn of the tide. Many boats surrounded them, and numerous visitors still thronged their decks. On board one of them was William Mead and his family. Wenlock Christison held Mary's hand as her father was about to lead her to the side of the vessel, to descend into the boat. "Thou wilt be supported, Wenlock, if thou dost look whence support can alone be gained," said Mary; "and my father has promised that when thou dost return he will no longer withhold me from thee. What more can I say? Thou dost know my love, and I have faith in thee." "Thanks, Mary, for those words," said Wenlock. "I trust I may do my duty, and soon return to thee." Thus the young Quaker and his betrothed parted. The other visitors quitted the good ship _Amity_, and her consort the _John Sarah_, which now, with sails sheeted home, slowly glided down the Thames. They made but slight progress, however, as they had frequently to come to an anchor before they altogether got clear of the river. They then proceeded once more without interruption until they reached Plymouth Sound. Here they took in more provisions. On board the _Amity_ also there came a passenger, who announced himself as Master Jonas Ford, the son of the factor of the Irish estates of Mr William Penn. He brought a letter. He was a Quaker, his figure slight, his cheeks smooth. His dress, his language, and manners were equally correct. Yet Wenlock did not feel attracted towards him. Jonas Ford, however, seemed determined to obtain his friendship, and from the first attached himself especially to him. "Hast ever crossed the ocean before, young sir?" said honest Richard Dinan, captain of the _Amity_, addressing Wenlock. "You seem to have a pair of sea legs of your own." "Yea, verily, friend. I served on board a man-of-war, and saw no little service," answered Wenlock. "Then how didst thou quit it? It is an honest calling, to my mind," observed the captain. "Why, by being blown up and left floating alone on the water. Verily I thought that was a sufficient sign to me no longer to engage in carnal warfare." "Oh, ay, I see. You have joined friend Penn. Well, well, each man to his taste. However, I guessed you had served at sea directly I saw you walking the deck." After this, Captain Dinan paid considerable attention to Wenlock,--much more so, indeed, than he did to Jonas Ford. Altogether there were about twenty passengers on board the _Amity_, with a crew of forty men. She also carried guns, to be able to defend herself against Algerine rovers, or West Indian pirates, of whom there were not a few roving those seas at that time. Prince Rupert and his brother had made piracy somewhat fashionable during the days of the Commonwealth, and there were not wanting a few lawless spirits to follow their example. For some time the voyage continued prosperous, though, as the wind was light, the progress of the two emigrant ships was but slow. One day Wenlock had gone forward, when a seaman, whose furrowed countenance, thickly covered with scars and grey locks, showing the hard service he had gone through during a long life, addressed him. "I know your name, Master Christison," he said, "for I served under a man who I think was your father. It was many years ago; but yet I remember his looks and tone of voice, as you remind me of him. He saved my life, and did more than save my life, for he prevented me from becoming a hardened ruffian like many of my companions." On this the old seaman ran on, and gave him many accounts of his father, to which Wenlock listened with deep interest. "Well, sir," said the old man, "whenever you have time to listen to a yarn, if I happen to be below, just send for old Bill Rullock." Wenlock promised the old man that he would not fail to come and talk to him, hoping indeed, as in duty bound, to put the truth before him. The two ships were now about ten days' sail from the American continent. Wenlock was walking the deck with Captain Dinan, most of the other passengers having gone to their cabins, for the sea was somewhat high, and the wind had increased. Dark clouds also were rising in the north-west, and driving rapidly across the sky. "I do not altogether like the look of the weather," observed the captain. "I see Captain Smith is shortening sail; we must do the same:" and he forthwith summoned the crew to perform that operation. Scarcely were the men off the yards, when the wind, as if suddenly let loose, struck the ship with terrific fury, throwing her on her beam ends. Many of the passengers cried out for fear, thinking that she was going down. Among those who exhibited the greatest terror was Jonas Ford, who wrung his hands, bitterly repenting that he had ever come to sea. The captain issued his orders in a clear voice, which the crew readily obeyed, Wenlock giving his assistance. "Cut away the mizen mast," cried the captain. A glittering axe soon descended on the stout mast, while the active crew cleared the shrouds and all the other ropes, the mast falling clear of the ship into the foaming ocean. Still she lay helpless in the trough of the sea. "The mainmast must go," cried the captain. That too was cut away. The ship instantly felt the relief, and now rising to an even keel, she flew before the furious gale. Those on board had been so taken up with their own dangerous condition, that no one thought of looking out for their consort. When, however, the most imminent danger was over, Wenlock cast his eye in the direction in which she had last been seen. In vain he looked out on either side; no sail was visible. Others also now began to make inquiries for the _John Sarah_. Many had friends on board. Too probably, struck by the furious blast, she had gone down. Sad were the forebodings of all as to her fate. Such might have been theirs. Human nature is sadly selfish, and many were rather inclined to congratulate themselves on their escape, than to mourn for the supposed fate of their countrymen. On, on flew the _Amity_ towards the south, far away from the Delaware, from the land to which she was bound. The dark foam-crested seas rose up on every side, hissing and roaring, and threatening to overwhelm her. Still the brave captain kept up his courage, and endeavoured to keep up that of those on board. "We must get jury-masts up," he said, "when the storm abates; and plying to the north, endeavour to regain the ground we have lost." "Verily we had a fierce gale, friend Christison," said Ford, coming up to Wenlock when the weather once more moderated. "Didst not thou fear greatly?" "No," answered Wenlock; "though it seemed to me that the ship might probably go down." "Ah! truly, I felt very brave too," said Ford. "You took an odd way of showing it," answered Wenlock, who had observed the abject fear into which his companion had been thrown. "Ah! yea, I might have somewhat trembled, but that was more for the thought of others than for myself," said Ford. "And now tell me, when dost thou think we shall arrive at our destination?" "That is more than any one on board can say," said Wenlock; "but we must do all that men can do, and leave the rest to Him who rules the sea!" All hands were now engaged in getting the ship to rights. Scarcely however had jury-masts been set up, than signs of another storm appeared in the sky. "I like not the look of the weather," observed the captain. "Christison, your eyes are sharp; is that a sail away to the north-east?" "Yes, verily," answered Wenlock. "Can it be our consort?" "No; she would not appear in that quarter. She is a stranger, and seems to be coming rapidly on towards us," observed Wenlock, after watching her for little time. "A tall ship too, I suspect." Captain Dinan had hoped before this to haul up to the wind, but the increasing gale made this impossible. As, however, he was going out of his course, he only carried as much sail as necessity required. The stranger therefore came quickly up with the _Amity_. The captain now began to eye her very narrowly. "I like not her looks," he observed. "She is a war ship, and yet shows no colours." The captain asked his officers their opinion. They agreed with him. Bill Rullock, who was a man of experience, was called aft. "I have little doubt about it," he observed. "That craft's a pirate, and we must keep clear of her if we would escape having to walk the plank or getting our throats cut." Nearer and nearer drew the stranger. "Rather than surrender we must fight to the last," observed the sturdy captain. "Christison, Ford, which will you all do, gentlemen?" he asked, addressing the passengers. "Verily, I will go below and hide myself," said Ford. "It becometh not one of my creed to engage in mortal combat." "If you order me to work a gun, I will do so," answered Wenlock. "Albeit peace is excellent and blessed, and warfare is accursed, yet I cannot see that it would be my duty to allow others to fight for the defence of my life which I will not defend myself; or, for lack of fighting, to allow myself or those who look to men to protect them,--the women and children on board,--to be destroyed by outlawed ruffians such as are probably those on board yonder ship."	{ "id": "21492" }
14	None	As soon as the captain of the _Amity_ was convinced of the character of the stranger, he set all the sail the ship would carry, yet hoping to escape from her. Looking to windward however, he saw that they had an enemy to contend with, as much to be dreaded, in their crippled condition, as the pirate ship. His experienced eye told him that another hurricane was about to break. Part of the crew, and most of the passengers also, were standing at the guns, the remainder of the crew being required to work the sails. The courage showed by all on board gave the captain hopes of being able to beat off the enemy. On came the tall ship. As Wenlock watched her, he could not help perceiving that she was of overpowering force. "Stand by to shorten sail," cried the captain. His eye had been fixed on a dark cloud, which came flying like some messenger of destruction across the sky. "You must be smart, lads," cried old Bill Rullock, "if you have no fancy for being sent to Davy Jones's locker before you are many minutes older." The old man set an example by his activity. Nearer and nearer drew the pirate, for such, there was no doubt, was the character of the stranger. A bright flash issued from her bows, and a shot came bounding over the water towards the _Amity_. On this Captain Dinan ordered the English flag to be hoisted. Scarcely had it flown out when another shot followed. Still, neither hit the ship. As the first flash was seen, Jonas Ford was observed to dive below. "Our friend is as good as his word," observed the captain, laughing. "If any others wish to follow his example, let them go at once, for we may have warm work ere long. To my mind, though I am a plain man, a person should so live as not to fear the lightning's flash, nor the foeman's shot, nor the raging ocean either; and then, whether in tempest or battle, he will be able to do his duty like a man, knowing that there is One above who will look after him, and, if He thinks fit, carry him through all dangers." Shot after shot followed. Now one went through the ship's sails; now one passed on one side, now on the other; but none did any material harm. Still, Captain Dinan gave no order to fire in return. Thus for some time the ships continued to sail on, the pirate gradually drawing nearer. At length she yawed and let fly her whole broadside. Several shots struck the _Amity_, two poor fellows being killed, and a third wounded. The faces of many of the passengers, on this grew pale, yet they stood firmly at their quarters. And now, once more, the pirate kept on her coarse. Still Captain Dinan would not fire. "Christison," said the captain, "we have someone who knows better how to fight for us than we do ourselves. See! if the pirate attempts that manoeuvre again, he will pay dearly for it." So eagerly, it seemed, were the pirates watching their expected prize, that they had not observed the rapid approach of the dark cloud. Once more the pirate yawed. At that instant a loud roar was heard, and the hurricane broke over the two ships. The flashes of the guns were seen, but none of the shots struck the _Amity_; all were buried in the ocean. Over went the tall ship, her masts level with the ocean. The crew of the _Amity_, at a signal from their captain, had lowered most of their sails; and now away she flew, leaving the pirate ship apparently on the point of sinking beneath the waves. They were seen leaping and roaring round her; but even had those on board the _Amity_ desired to render their fellow-creatures assistance, they would have had no power to do so. The hurricane increased in fury, and often it seemed as if the _Amity_ herself would go down. Tossed and buffeted by the seas, the water poured in through many a leak. The pumps were manned, and all the passengers were summoned to work them. Some, however, complained of sickness, and retired to their berths. Among them was Jonas Ford. "Nay, though our friend finds it against his conscience to fight, he shall, at all events, labour at the pumps," exclaimed the captain, ordering three of the seamen to fetch him up. "Will you go also, Master Christison? Perchance you can persuade him more easily; but I can take no refusal." After searching for some time, Ford was found concealed in the hold, into which he had crawled. The water, however, coming in, had somewhat frightened him, and he was just creeping out of his concealment. Not unwillingly, Wenlock brought him on deck, and assigned him a place at one of the pumps. There he was compelled to labour. Once he attempted to escape below, but Bill Rullock caught sight of him, and quickly brought him back; and he was kept labouring, uttering moans and groans at his hard fate. All night long the ship ran on. Another day and another night followed, and yet the wind blew furiously as ever, and with difficulty could she be kept afloat. While the gale continued there was no hope of getting at the leaks. Many of the seamen and some of the officers began to look grave. "Depend upon it our time has come," said the second mate to Wenlock. "I have had enough of the world, and have been knocked about in it so roughly, that I care but little." "Our times, we are told, are in God's hands," answered Wenlock, calmly. Wenlock, who had been taking his spell at the pumps, walked aft. "We are in the latitude of the West India Islands," observed the captain. "Any hour we may make land, and a bright look-out must be kept for it." Experienced seamen were aloft straining their eyes ahead and on either bow. At length a voice came from the foretopmast-head, "Land! land!" "Where away?" cried the captain. "On the starboard bow," was the answer. "What does it look like?" "A low land with tall trees," replied the seaman from aloft. Two of the mates went up to look at it. They gave the same description. The captain examined his chart. "Bill Rullock says he has been there," observed the first mate. Bill Rullock was sent for. "Do you know anything of the land ahead?" asked the captain. "I think I do, sir," was the answer; "and that craft which chased us the other day knew it too, I have an idea. To my mind, she also would have been looking in there before long; but if she has gone to the bottom there is no fear of that, and we shall find shelter and wood and water and plenty of turtle, and the means of repairing our ship." "Is there a harbour there, then?" asked the captain. "As good a one as you can desire, sir," said Bill; "and if it please you, I can take the ship in." As the crew were nearly worn out with pumping, and the water, notwithstanding, still gained on the ship, the captain determined to take the _Amity_ into the harbour of which Bill Rullock spoke. The ship was therefore kept away for the island, Bill Rullock taking charge of her as pilot. He at once showed by his calm manner and the steady course he steered that he knew well what he was about. As the ship drew nearer the island, it appeared to be larger and higher than was at first supposed, and covered with cocoa-nut and other trees. Rounding a point, a narrow opening appeared. The ship's head was directed toward it, and, guided by the old seaman, she passed safely through it, though it seemed as if an active man could have leaped on shore from either side. So clear, too, was the water, that the bottom could be seen below the ship's keel. The order to "furl sails" was given, and the ship came to an anchor in a broad lagoon, where she could lie secure from the fiercest hurricanes of those regions. On one side was a sandy beach, where the old sailor assured the captain the ship could be placed on shore with safety, when her damages might be examined. The trees came close down to the water's edge, and among them were seen several huts, and ruins of huts, showing that the spot had at one time been inhabited, but no persons appeared. Hauled up on shore, too, were several boats, one or two in good repair, but the others considerably damaged. Broken anchors, spars, pieces of cable, and other ship's gear lay scattered about, confirming the account given by old Rullock. As there was no time to be lost, the passengers immediately went on shore, and they and the crew set to work to land their goods as well as the cargo, that the ship, being lightened, might be hauled up for repair. The ruined huts were repaired, and others were built, so as to afford shelter to the passengers while this operation was going on. Every one worked with a will, with the exception of two or three, Jonas Ford being one of them. He grumbled greatly at having the voyage thus prolonged, and not ceasing to blame the captain for the ship having failed to reach the Delaware at the time expected. From a slight elevation near the harbour, a view of the whole sea on that side of the island could be obtained. Old Rullock had not been quite easy since their arrival. He had found evident traces of a late visit of persons to the island, and he confided to Wenlock his fears that should the vessel which had chased them have escaped, she might possibly come into that harbour to repair damages. One morning, soon after daybreak, and before the men were called to their work, Rullock came hurrying into the village. Wenlock was the first person he met. "It is as I feared," he said. "I have just made out a tall ship standing towards the island. Come and see her, and then let us ask the captain to decide what he will do. I advise that we should bring the guns down to the mouth of the harbour and defend it to the last. If those are the people I fear, they will give us no quarter; and if we yield, it will be only to have our throats cut, or to be thrown to the sharks." On reaching the look-out place, Wenlock saw the ship of which the old seaman spoke. She was yet a long way off, and, as far as he could judge, was very like the vessel that had chased them. The whole party were quickly astir. The captain determined to follow the old sailor's advice, and even the Quakers among the passengers agreed that they had no resource but to defend themselves, should the stranger prove to be the pirate they dreaded. As she approached the island, she must have discovered the English flag flying from the _Amity's_ masthead; for instantly her own dark symbol was run up, and a shot was fired from her side, as if in defiance. Happily, the wind, which had been light, prevented her from entering the harbour. As she passed by, however, the number of guns seen from her sides showed that she would be a formidable antagonist, and that she could scarcely be prevented, with a favourable breeze, from entering the harbour. The whole of the morning the party were kept in anxious expectation of what would occur, the pirate being seen to tack every now and then to keep her position off the land. At length a breeze from the sea set in, and once more she was seen approaching the harbour. Nearer and nearer she drew. All eyes were kept turned towards the dreaded object. In a brief time they might all be engaged in a deadly struggle, while the fate of the poor women and children was dreadful to contemplate. The captain and several of his officers were collected on the mound, watching the progress of the pirate. "See, sir! see!" exclaimed Wenlock. "What say you to that?" and he pointed towards the sails of a lofty ship which at that instant appeared rounding a distant point of the island.	{ "id": "21492" }
15	None	The pirate had descried the stranger; for now her yards were seen to be braced up, and instead of standing towards the island, she tacked and stood again out to sea, her pirate flag still flying from her peak. As the stranger drew nearer, she was seen to be a much larger ship. Wenlock at once declared her to be a man-of-war; and this was soon seen to be the case, by the pennants and ensigns she hoisted. And now she was observed to be making more sail, and standing towards the pirate, which was evidently endeavouring to escape. The latter, however, in a short time, either considering escape impossible, or confiding in her own strength, again tacked, and stood boldly towards the man-of-war. Nearer and nearer they drew to each other. It was evident, from the pirate keeping her flag flying, that she intended to fight to the last. She was the first to fire, discharging her whole broadside at the man-of-war. The latter fired not a shot in return, but stood on, gradually shortening sail. Then suddenly luffing up, she crossed the bows of the pirate. As she did so, before the other could keep away, she fired her whole broadside, raking the pirate's decks fore and aft. The latter, again keeping away, fired in return, but little damage seemed to be done. The crew of the _Amity_ set up a loud shout as they saw the success of their friends. And now the combatants, shrouded in smoke, stood away from the land, the rapid sound of their guns showing the desperation with which they were fighting. Those on shore watched them anxiously. Many a prayer was offered up for the success of the royal cruiser. Their own safety, indeed, depended on it. Farther and farther the combatants receded from the shore, till it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. Now they were shrouded with smoke, now the wind blew it away, and they were seen, still standing on, exchanging shots. Now at length they appeared locked in a close embrace. Then a dense mass of smoke was seen to ascend from their midst, followed by flames, and the loud sound of an explosion; but which was the sufferer it was impossible to discover, or whether both were involved in the same ruin. How earnestly, how anxiously they were watched from the shore! Now, at length, once more they were seen returning towards the island; but one was leading, the other apparently being towed astern. Which was the conqueror? was the question. On they came, nearer and nearer. Some declared that the pirate was the leading ship, and seemed ready to _give_ way to despair. "No, friends, no," exclaimed the captain. "I can assure you that yonder tall ship, although her spars and rigging are somewhat shattered by the fight, is the royal cruiser." That he was right was soon made evident. Captain Dinan now ordered the boats to be got ready, and he, with Bill Rullock, accompanied by Wenlock and one of his mates, went out in order to assist in piloting in the king's ship. The latter shortened sail to allow the boat to come alongside. The deck showed the fierce combat in which she had been engaged. The bulwarks were shattered; the decks ploughed up, and stained with blood; and numbers of the crew were going about with their heads and limbs bound up with handkerchiefs, while several bodies lay stretched out on the deck, a flag hastily thrown over them, partly concealing their forms. On one side stood a wretched group, their arms lashed behind them with ropes, and stripped to the waist, covered with smoke and blood. They were some of the survivors, it was evident, of the pirate crew. Captain Dinan, accompanied by Wenlock went aft to speak to the captain. The countenance of the latter, a fine, dignified-looking man, Wenlock at once recognised. He advanced towards him. He started when he saw Wenlock. "Why, my friend!" he exclaimed, "I little expected ever to see you again!" "Nor I you, Sir Richard. I thought you had perished on the fatal day when the _Royal James_ blew up." "No; thanks to you, my life was spared; for after we were parted, I was picked up by an English boat." Sir Richard Haddock informed Wenlock that he had come out as commodore to the American station. His ship was the _Leopard_, of fifty-four guns. "The pirates fought well," he observed; "and as many perished in attempting to blow up the ship, we shall have but few to hand over to the executioner when we arrive in Virginia, whither I am now bound." As both ships, after the action, required a good deal of repair, the commodore accepted Captain Dinan's offer of piloting him into the harbour. It was a trial to Wenlock to find himself once more among his former associates; for he had met several of the officers of the _Leopard_ when serving under Lord Ossory. They, however, treated his opinions with respect. In truth, thanks to the courage and talents exhibited by William Penn, the character of the sect had been raised considerably in the opinion of the public of late; albeit, there were many who were ready to ridicule and persecute them on occasion. Happily, too, there was no time for idleness, as officers and crew were engaged from sunrise to sunset in repairing the damaged ships. One day, old Rullock came up to Wenlock, who had gone alone a little distance from the village. "I do not know what you think of that young gentleman, Master Ford," said Rullock; "but I have an idea that he is a rogue in grain, and a fool into the bargain, as many rogues are. He was so frightened in the hurricane that he does not want to go to sea again. I heard him talking the other day with three or four passengers and several of the crew about a plan he had proposed to remain behind. They have a notion that if they were to set the _Amity_ on fire before we get the cargo on board, the captain would only be too glad to leave those who might wish to stay behind; he going off in the _Leopard_, or the pirate ship. Master Ford thinks, as the chief part of the stores would be left behind, they would have the advantage of them. They have induced three or four silly young women to promise to remain with them. Of course, the plan of burning the ship is a secret. Soon after I heard the precious plan, they invited me to join them; because, knowing that I had been an evil-doer, they thought I should have no scruple about the matter." Wenlock, on hearing this, immediately sought the captain. "It would be very easy to prevent these plans being carried out," he said; "but what to do with Ford and his companions is more difficult." The captain took the matter very coolly. "We will just pick out Master Ford and three or four of the ringleaders, and clap them into limbo, and depend upon it they will not further attempt to carry out their plan," he observed. This was done forthwith by a party of soldiers from the ship of war, for whom Wenlock had applied to Sir Richard Haddock. No further time was now lost in getting the cargo on board. Ford and his companions had been kept in durance vile in a hut by themselves, and a guard placed over them. Sir Richard and Captain Dinan, and some other officers, visited them together. "Now, my friends," said the captain, "you have your choice. If you desire to remain here, you are welcome to do so, but neither stores nor provisions can we afford you. Otherwise, you will return on board the ship, and, when we arrive in Pennsylvania, the matter will be submitted to the proper authorities." As Ford's companions were three of the greatest ruffians among the crew, he, dreading to be left with them, entreated that he might be allowed to return on board. They, however, wished to remain. "No, no!" said the captain. "We did not give you your choice. You are good seamen, and are wanted to work the ship. You were misled by this silly young man, and therefore will return on board with us." The three ships were at length in a condition for sea. The pirates' ship was sent out first, navigated by some of the officers and crew of the _Leopard_. The _Amity_ followed, the king's ship coming last, and the wind being favourable, all three steered a course for Virginia; the _Amity_ afterwards to continue her voyage to the Delaware.	{ "id": "21492" }
16	None	The good ship _Amity_ was sailing up the magnificent stream of the Delaware. Her progress, however, was not without impediment, as huge masses of ice came floating down, lately broken up by the warm sun of the early spring. "There's your future home, my friends," said the captain, pointing to the left side of the coast; "but it will take us some time before we can reach the spot where our friends have settled. On the right we have West New Jersey, where, owing to Master William Penn, a new free colony was settled some time ago; but that is but a small portion of the territory compared with Pennsylvania. I went out as mate in the _Kent_, commanded by Captain Gregory Marlow. We carried out the first settlers and the commissioners. They were nearly all Quakers, and a very good sort of people they were. I remember, just as we sailed from the Thames, the king coming alongside, and nothing would satisfy him but that he must come on board; whereupon he gave us his blessing. Whether it was of much value or not, it is not for me to say; but whether or not, we reached port in safety. Several other ships followed. The commissioners bought land of the natives, and established friendly relations with them; and if you were to go on shore there now, you would find as prosperous a community as any in the world." The new settlers, on hearing this account, looked with greater interest on the far distant shores of the land to which the captain pointed. On either side tall forests rose up,--a thick barrier to the country beyond. "Ay, friends," continued the captain, "it is a fine land, but you will have many a tall tree to cut down before you can grow wheat and barley out of it; and for those who love work, there is work enough before them, not only for them, but for their children, and children's children after them, and no fear of the country being too thickly peopled." At length, on a point of land an opening in the forest was seen, with numerous log huts and other buildings of more pretensions below the tall trees. It was the town of Newcastle, lately established. However, as the wind was favourable, and the captain was anxious to reach his destination, he declined staying there, but sailed on farther up the river. Each reach of the stream presented some fresh views, greatly by their beauty delighting the new comers. At length, two vessels were seen moored off a town on the west bank, which the captain informed them was the Swedish settlement of Upland. All eyes were directed towards them. As they approached, the captain declared his belief that one of them was the _John Sarah_, and in a short time the _Amity_ came to anchor close to her. She had fortunately, when the hurricane came on, by furling her sails in time, escaped injury, and had thus been able to haul up, and gain the mouth of the Delaware. On proceeding up the stream, however, she and the _Bristol Factor_, the other ship, had been frozen up where they now were. There was a pleasant meeting of friends, and all going on shore, offered up their thanks to Heaven together, for their safe arrival and preservation from so many dangers. The village off which the _Amity_ had brought up had been built by a number of Friends, who had arrived in the country several years before. The site they had chosen was a good one, and many believed that it would be the future capital of the colony. The scene was very wild, albeit highly picturesque. Many of the inhabitants of the new settlement, unable to build houses, had dug caves in the banks of the river, in which they had taken up their abodes, roofing over the front part with pieces of timber and boughs. From early dawn till sunset the woodman's axe was at work felling the tall trees. At night these were piled up, with the branches and lighter wood beneath; huge fires being kindled as the most rapid way of disposing of them. Primitive ploughs were at work between the stumps of the trees, turning up the ground for receiving grain, both of wheat and Indian corn, while the spade was also wielded by those preparing gardens. Many languages were heard spoken, while the costumes of the settlers were still more varied. The dusky forms of the Indians also were to be seen collected round the settlers, with their painted faces, their feathered head-dresses, and costumes of skin ornamented with thread of various colours. Numerous sawpits had been formed, and sawyers were at work preparing planks for the buildings. Already many houses had been run up, with high gables, gaily ornamented with paint and rough carving; for the Swedish settlers had been there already nearly forty years. The somewhat romantic notions entertained by Wenlock and his younger fellow passengers were rather rudely dissipated on their arrival. The work of settling he soon found was a plain matter-of-fact business, requiring constant and persevering labour. Some of the settlers remained at the town, others proceeded farther up the river to a spot near the confluence of the two rivers Schuylkill and Delaware. Wenlock, however, resolved to wait the arrival of Colonel Markham, who had gone out as chief agent and commissioner for his cousin, the governor, some months before. He was now, with his staff, some distance off, surveying the province. Although not a Quaker, he was greatly trusted by William Penn, as a man of dauntless courage, talent, and perseverance. Soon after landing, old Bill Rullock came up to Wenlock. "I have a favour to ask," he said. "I have knocked about at sea all my life till I am weary of it. I heard your addresses and those of others on board, and I have made up my mind to turn Quaker. I want you, therefore, to get my discharge from the captain. I could run from the ship, of course, but that would not be a good way of beginning my new career; so if I cannot leave with a proper discharge, I must go to sea again. If it is God's will that my old carcase should become food for fishes, I must submit to it; but I have truly a great fancy for ending my days in these green woods." Wenlock promised to make interest with Captain Dinan. "I shall be sorry to lose him," answered the captain; "but he deserves a reward for the service he rendered us, and it would be hard to take him off again to sea against his will. Here is his discharge, and his pay up to the present time." The old seaman was highly delighted when Wenlock told him that he was free. "And, now, another favour I have to ask is, that I may stick fast by you. I have still got plenty of work in me, and I should like to serve you as long as I live. There is another person, however, I should not like to serve, and that is Jonas Ford." Ford had behaved so cunningly during the voyage from the West Indies, that he had considerably lessened the suspicions against him. He had assured Captain Dinan that he had no thoughts of committing the crime of which he had been accused; that the words he had uttered, overheard by Rullock, had reference to an entirely different matter. As Rullock, indeed, was the only witness against him, and as even the other accused persons did not criminate him, the captain came to the determination of proceeding no further in the business. He was, therefore, set at liberty, and landed with the other passengers. His companions were also liberated, as they had committed no overt act, and there was no evidence against them. Ford, who had all along protested his innocence, tried to worm his way into the confidence of Wenlock, and always volunteered to accompany him whenever he made any excursions into the interior. Wenlock, in spite of the young man's professions, disliked him more and more. Still he could not altogether get rid of him. With the aid of old Rullock, Wenlock had built a hut for himself in the neighbourhood of Upland, and he purposed awaiting there the arrival of Colonel Markham. Hearing, however, at length, that the colonel was within the distance of five days' march, though he had had but little experience in traversing the American forests, he yet--by noting the appearance of the bark on the trees, by the aid of the sun during the day, and by certain marks which the surveyors had made--believed that he should have no great difficulty in reaching the colonel's camp. Rullock, of course, wished to attend him. "No, my friend," he answered; "you stay at home and take care of the house. I am strong, and well accustomed to exercise; but, depend upon it, you would knock up with the fatigue." The old man was at length obliged to acknowledge that Wenlock was right, and to submit. Two or three of the old settlers advised him to take a guide, pointing out the difficulties of traversing the forest; but he, confident in his own knowledge, persisted in his determination. Staff in hand, with knapsack on his back, he set forth. It did occur to him, perhaps, that he should be more at his ease had he possessed a brace of pistols or a musket; but his profession prohibited their use as a means of defence, and he declined accepting some arms from a friendly Swede, who offered them. The weather was fine, and he had learned the art of camping out. Starting early, he marched on bravely all day, believing himself to be in the right course. Once or twice he stopped to rest, and then again proceeded on. At night, collecting a supply of birch-bark, as he had seen the Indians do, he built himself a wigwam. Abundance of fuel was at hand, and, lighting his fire, he cooked some provisions he had brought with him. After this, commending himself to the care of Heaven, he lay down in his wigwam, and was soon fast asleep. The following day he journeyed on in like manner. Clouds, however, obscured the sky, and more than once he doubted whether he was continuing in the right direction. The third day came, and he pushed onwards, but before he encamped at night, he felt sure that he must have diverged greatly from the right path. Still believing that he might recover it the following day, he lay down to rest. His provisions, however, ran somewhat short; indeed, he had miscalculated the amount he should require. At length the fifth day came: his food was expended, and he had to confess that he had entirely lost his path. The whole day he wandered on, endeavouring to regain it. At last he got into what appeared an Indian path. He followed it up, but in the end found that it only led to a spot where an encampment had once stood--now deserted. He had been suffering greatly from thirst, even more than from hunger. To stay still might seal his fate. Onward, therefore, he pushed. At length, however, from want of food and water, his strength failed him. His sight grew dim, and, fainting, he fell on the ground. How long he had lain there he knew not, when he heard a strange, deep-toned, sonorous voice. Languidly he opened his eyes, and saw standing over him a tall Indian, of dignified appearance and full costume of paint and feathers. "Who are you?" asked Wenlock, dreamily. "I am Taminent, chief sachem of the red men of this country," answered the Indian, who, stooping down as he spoke, raised him in his arms.	{ "id": "21492" }
17	None	The Indian chief, applying a leathern bottle to Wenlock's mouth, poured some water down his throat. It greatly revived him. "I see white skin want food," said the chief. Saying this, he produced a cake of Indian corn, which Wenlock eagerly devoured. "Now, come; I will take you with me," said Taminent, in more perfect English than Wenlock had expected to hear; and, supporting him in his arms, the chief led him along a path into which they quickly entered. After going some distance, an open space amid the trees appeared, and within it a collection of tall birch-bark wigwams of a conical shape. A number of women were seated in front of the huts, while children were playing about. On one side, the ground had been turned up, evidently for the reception of Indian corn or other seed, while stretched between poles were the skins of animals, the bodies of others being hung up over fires to dry in the smoke. As soon as the chief was seen, the women rose from their seats, and a number of men came out of the tents to welcome him. He introduced Wenlock in a few words, which the latter did not understand. "Come," said the chief, "wigwam ready. You rest;" and leading him to an unoccupied hut, he pointed to the interior, the floor of which was covered with a number of handsomely-woven mats. On one side was a pile of small twigs and leaves. This was spread out, and a mat placed on the top of it. The chief then made signs to Wenlock that he should rest there. He seemed well-pleased when Wenlock threw himself down on the couch. "There; you rest," he said. "No harm come to white skin;" and, covering him with a mat, he retired, drawing a curtain across the entrance of the wigwam. Wenlock slept soundly for some hours, feeling perfectly secure under the protection of the chief. On awaking, he found that it was already dark, but the sounds of voices outside the wigwam showed him that the Indians had not yet retired to rest. On drawing aside the curtain, he saw several fires lighted, over which women were presiding with pots and spits, on which birds and small animals were being cooked. Close to the entrance a warrior was seated on a mat, as if keeping guard. No sooner did he observe Wenlock, than he rose up and ran off, apparently to inform the chief that his guest was awake. Taminent soon after appeared, and invited Wenlock to take his seat on the ground. Immediately several women came up with various dishes of roast and boiled food, with cakes of maize. Pure water, poured from a skin bottle, was their only beverage. Happily the fire-water had not yet been introduced among the red men,--that fearful poison which has destroyed thousands and tens of thousands of their race. While the chief and his guest were seated at their repast, an Indian came up to them, and addressed the former, who, in return, apparently gave some directions. Wenlock observed the Indians employed in making a couple of rough litters, with which a party of them started away. In a short time they returned, bearing between them a couple of persons, who were brought up and placed near the fire. Wenlock at once recognised the features of Ford, while in the other man he discovered one of the seamen of the _Amity_, who had been connected with Ford's plot to burn the ship. They were both in an exhausted state; indeed, it seemed to Wenlock that Ford especially could scarcely recover. He at once suspected that they had been by some means lost in the forest, and were suffering from exhaustion, as he had been. The Indian chief, taking upon himself the office of doctor, poured some water down their throats, and then gave them a small quantity of food. Both somewhat revived. The seaman, indeed, in a short time was able to sit up. To Wenlock's questions, however, as to how he had come into that condition, he would make no reply, except saying, while he pointed to his companion-- "He took me; he will tell you all about it. I came as his servant, and a pretty mess he led me into." Wenlock then begged that Ford might be placed on the couch he had occupied, feeling sure that perfect rest was what he most of all now required. He explained to the chief, also, that a little food at a time was more likely to restore him than a large quantity taken at once. The two men were accordingly carried into the wigwam, while some of the Indians brought in a further supply of leaves and mats, to make a bed for Wenlock. The chief then signified to him that three squaws would sit up and prepare food, that he might give it to his countrymen as he thought fit. Night was drawing on, when the loud barking of dogs announced that some stranger was approaching the camp. "Hallo! I am glad I have found some living men at last," exclaimed a voice which Wenlock thought sounded very like that of old Rullock. "I pray thee, friends, call in your beasts, or maybe they will be taking a mouthful out of my legs, seeing that there is but little covering to them--thanks to the bushes. Hallo! I say, friends, red men!" The Indians, who had lain down in their wigwams, now got up, and hurried forth to meet the newcomer, followed by Wenlock, who had no longer any doubt as to who he was. A torch, lighted at one of the fires, which were not yet extinguished, was carried by one of the Indians, who at the same time, called in the dogs. Its light fell on Wenlock's countenance. The old man started. "Hurrah!" he exclaimed. "Verily, I am truly glad to see thee alive and well, friend Christison. I have a long yarn to spin into thine ear, but it is as well that our red friends shall not hear it. They might not hold the white skins in quite as much respect as they now do." "Thou art right, friend Rullock. Hold thy peace about it now," said Wenlock. "I am glad to see thee, and thou wilt receive a hearty welcome from our red brothers in this encampment. There are two white men also here;" and Wenlock told him the way in which Jonas Ford and his companion had been brought into the camp. "Ah, verily! the scoundrels would only have got their deserts if they had been left in the woods," answered the old sailor, who did his best to speak in Quaker fashion, but did not always succeed. "Hark thee, friend Christison. Those two villains had formed a plot to follow thee; and if they had found thee alone and unprepared, to have put thee to death." "Impossible!" answered Wenlock. "Ford is a weak, cowardly young man; but I do not think that he would be willingly guilty of such a crime." "I tell thee, I overheard them plotting to murder thee!" persisted the old man. "I had thoughts of getting some one as my companion to go after them, but as you had gone, and they were just setting out, I thought I might be too late; so taking my well-tried musket, and trusting that my old legs would carry me as well as their young ones, I set out in their track, hoping to come up with them before they could overtake you." "I thank thee heartily, friend Rullock; but they are fellow-creatures, and I will try to soften Ford's heart by heaping `coals of fire upon his head.' They will see you, and guess what your coming means; but we will say nothing about it, and only for prudence sake keep an eye on their proceedings. When you see them both almost on the point of death, you will feel inclined to have compassion on them." "I shall be inclined to think that a certain person, who is nameless, has been baulked of his prey," answered the old sailor. "However, it's not for me to lay hands on them, villains though they are; but I hope that thou wilt bring them up before. Colonel Markham, or Master Penn when he comes out." "That would not be the best way of heaping coals of fire on their heads," answered Wenlock. "No, no; if they had evil intentions against me, they have been frustrated; and God will look after me in future, as He has done heretofore." The chief, who was among those risen, received the old sailor with great kindness, and ordering some food to be prepared for him, told him that he was to consider himself a brother, and rest assured that he would be treated as such as long as he chose to remain with them. Rullock, having gone through a good deal of fatigue, soon fell asleep after his supper, and left Wenlock the chief charge of attending to the other two white men. By the morning, Ford was considerably better. His companion, who was still stronger, wished to persuade him to return to the settlement, but it was very evident that he would be unable to perform such a journey. "Be at rest, friends," said Wenlock to them. "Whatever might have been the cause of thy coming out into the forest, be not anxious about it. I will treat thee as if thou wert my dearest brother. More, surely, thou canst not desire." "O Christison, I am very different from thee," answered Ford, for a moment some better feeling rising in his bosom. Cowardice, however, and want of confidence in others, made him very quickly add: "I harbour no ill-will against any man. I had been anxious to see something of the country, and finding that thou hadst started, I wished to join thee. Thou canst not suppose that I should ever harbour any other feeling than affection and regard for thee." The day was drawing on, and most of the Indians had gone forth to hunt, or to tend some cultivated ground in another part of the forest, when a messenger arrived, bringing the information to Taminent, that the white chief was coming to his camp. On hearing this, Taminent and the principal men retired to their wigwams, and in a short time came forth dressed in full Indian costume, with feathers in their hair, their cheeks painted, and their dress ornamented with a variety of devices. Wenlock had not seen Colonel Markham before leaving England, but fortunately had with him his letter of introduction. In a short time a fine, dignified-looking man, in military undress, attended by several persons, was seen through an open glade of the forest approaching the encampment. He advanced with free and easy steps, and saluted Taminent, who received him in a dignified manner. As soon as the first ceremonies were over, Wenlock presented his letter. "I am truly glad to see you," said Colonel Markham, "and I trust your patron and my good cousin will soon arrive and take the command of the colony." "It is reported in Upland and the other settlements that his ship is on the way, and will soon be here," said Wenlock. "I am glad to hear it," said the colonel; "and indeed, I am on my way back, hoping to meet him. But, tell me, who is that pale young man and the two seamen I have observed in the camp." "They were endeavouring to make their way through the forest, and lost it, as I did," answered Wenlock. "He speaks truly," said Ford, who crawled up to where the colonel and Wenlock were standing. "I wished to join my friend, that I might, without delay, receive my directions from thee, Colonel Markham," said Ford, "and well-nigh lost my life in the service of my fellow-creatures." "Well; I doubt not, when Governor Penn arrives due attention will be paid to the merits of all men in the colony," said the colonel. "For my own part, I do not interfere in such matters." Colonel Markham having spent the remainder of the day at the camp, and rested there during the night, the Englishmen sleeping as securely as if they were in their own country, the whole party set forth for the settlements.	{ "id": "21492" }
18	None	Bristol was in those days the chief commercial city of England next to London. It was the centre, too, of a district where large quantities of woollen cloths were manufactured, which were sent forth to foreign lands by the numerous vessels which traded to its port. In a large room belonging to one of the principal merchants in the city, a number of persons were collected. At the head of a long table sat William Penn, while on either side of him were several friends,--Claypole, Moore, Philip Ford, and many others. They were engaged in organising a mercantile company, to which was given the name of the "Free Society of Traders" in Pennsylvania. William Penn, the governor of the new colony, was addressing them. "I have secured, friends, a number of persons skilful in the manufacture of wool, who have agreed to go forth to our new colony from the valley of Stroud. From the banks of the Rhine, also, many persons conversant with the best modes of cultivating the vine have promised to emigrate." "We need not fear, then, for the success of our holy enterprise," observed Philip Ford; "and I am ready to embark all my worldly possessions. I have already sent out my beloved son Jonas, a youth of fair promise, and what thing more precious could I stake on the success of our undertaking." William Penn having made all his arrangements with the new company, giving them very great facilities, returned to London. Here he made preparation for his own departure. It was grievous to him to leave his children and his beloved wife. He hoped, however, in a short time to come back and return with them to the land of his adoption. There was a great stir in the Quaker world, for not only farmers and artisans, but many persons of wealth and education were preparing to take part in the enterprise. Among the first ships which sailed after the departure of the _Amity_, and those which have before been spoken of, was one, the _Concord_, on board which William Mead and his family, with several friends, set sail for the New World. William Penn saw his old friend off, his prayers going with him, and hoping himself to follow in a short time. In the autumn of the year 1683, a large vessel might have been seen floating on the waters of the Thames. She was the _Welcome_. Surrounding her were a number of boats which had brought off passengers, while her decks were loaded with bales and packages of every possible description, which the crew were engaged in stowing below. On the deck, also, had been built up sheds for horses and pens for sheep, as also for goats to afford milk, and pigs and poultry in large quantities for provision. Already nearly a hundred persons were collected on board, besides the crew. The signal was given, and the _Welcome_ got under weigh to proceed down the Thames. Once more she brought up in the Downs, off Deal. The 1st of September broke bright and clear. Her flags were flying out gaily to the breeze, her white canvas hung to the yards, when a large boat, followed by several smaller ones, came off from the shore, and the young and energetic preacher of the gospel, the governor of a vast province, the originator of the grandest scheme of colonisation ever yet formed, ascended the side of the _Welcome_ which was to bear him to the shores of the New World. Prayers ascended from the deck of the proud ship as her anchor was once more lifted, and she proceeded on her voyage to the west. All seemed fair and smiling, and all that forethought and care could arrange had been provided for the passengers. Few who saw William Penn at that moment would have supposed, however, that he was a man of indomitable energy and courage. Downcast and sad, he gazed on the shores of the land he was leaving, which, notwithstanding his general philanthropy, contained those he loved best on earth, where all his tender affections were centred. The Isle of Wight was soon passed. The Land's End faded in the distance, and the stout ship stood across the Atlantic. William Penn soon recovered his energy and spirits, and the captain promised a speedy and prosperous voyage. The governor was walking the deck, talking earnestly with his friend Pearson, a man of large mind and generous heart, when the captain came to them. "I fear, friends," he said, "that one of our passengers is not long for this world. She has been unwell since she came on board at Deal. Her lips are blue, and dark marks cover her countenance." The governor and his friend instantly went below; a young girl of some twelve years old lay on her bed in one of the close cabins. "I fear me much it is the small-pox," said Pearson. "Yet it would be well if we could avoid alarming the other passengers." The news, however, soon spread, and, alas! so did the disease. Before the next day closed in, the young girl had breathed her last, and her body was committed to the sea. By that time signs of the fearful disorder had appeared on four other persons. The governor, Pearson, and others went about the ship, urging the passengers to air and fumigate their cabins, beseeching them also not to lose courage, and fearlessly visiting those who were already attacked. The sun rose, and ere it sunk again into the ocean, death had claimed two other victims. All this time no sign of alarm was perceptible on the countenance of the governor. He set a noble example to his companions, as, indeed, did his friend Pearson. Perseveringly they went about at all hours of the night and day, attending to the sick, speaking words of comfort to them, and pointing to a Saviour who died to save them; and urging them to put their trust in Him, so that they might not fear, even should they be summoned from the world. It was a time to try all. Some who had appeared weak and nervous before, now exhibited courage and confidence in God's protecting mercy; while others, who had seemed bold and fearless, trembled lest they should be overtaken by the fell disease. Young and old, however, were attacked alike. Day after day one of their number was summoned away, and before the shores of America appeared in sight, thirty-one had fallen victims to the disease. With the change of climate its virulence appeared to cease, and when the _Welcome_ sailed up the Delaware, all were convalescent who had escaped its ravages. The tall ship came to an anchor before Newcastle, and numbers of boats came on to welcome the passengers. Loud shouts arose from the shore when it was known that the long-looked-for governor had arrived. He had lived too long in the world not to be well aware of the importance of appearing to advantage among strangers. He, accompanied by Pearson and the principal friends who had been companions in his voyage, landed in the ship's barge, with flags flying and all the party dressed in their best. He himself appeared in a plain though becoming costume, being distinguished among his companions by his tall and graceful figure, and the blue silk scarf which he wore across his shoulders. It was on the 27th of October, a day memorable in the annals of the colony. As he stepped on shore, old and young of his motley colonists, habited in the costumes of their different nations, crowded forth from their quaint old Dutch and Flemish houses to the shore to meet him. Swedes and Germans-- the original settlers--Dutchmen with pipe in mouth, a scattering, albeit, of Scotch everywhere to be found, and English and Welsh in greater numbers. As the party leaving the stately ship reached the land, the crowd on shore opened, and two persons, remarkable for their appearance, with numerous attendants, advanced to the landing-place. One was Colonel Markham, known by his soldier-like bearing, and the handsome uniform of the British army which he still wore. Near him was Wenlock Christison, and Jonas Ford also, who took care to appear among the first in the group. On the other side, a tall figure, his war plumes waving in the breeze, his dress richly ornamented with feathers, his countenance marked with paints of various hue appeared. He was Taminent, the chief of the country, accompanied by a number of his followers of the tribe of Leni-Lenape. With earnest words of congratulation the governor was welcomed to the land of his adoption by the chief, while Colonel Markham briefly described how far he had carried out his employer's wishes. He had selected a site for the governor's residence, on the Delaware, a few miles below the Falls of Fenton, having purchased the land from the chiefs, who claimed it as their own. He had also laid out the grounds and commenced the building, to which he had given the name of Pennsbury. Then turning to the chief, he said: "And our brother will bear witness that happily no dispute has taken place between the white men and the natives, while not a drop of blood of either has been shed." "And while Taminent and his descendants live they will pray the Great Spirit to watch over the white men who have come to their land, and to guard them from all harm," said the chief, taking the governor's hand.	{ "id": "21492" }
19	None	As soon as Wenlock could approach the governor, he inquired for his friends, the Meads. "Have you not seen them?" exclaimed Penn. "Surely the _Concord_, in which they sailed, left England nearly three months ago, and they should have been here for some time already." "The _Concord_ has not arrived," answered Wenlock, and his heart sunk within him. Every inquiry was made, but none of the vessels which had arrived of late had heard of the _Concord_. Wenlock had been hoping that they might have come out, and almost expected to see them on board the _Welcome_. He was now almost in despair. "I grieve for thee, young man," said the governor; "for I know thy love for my old friend's daughter. I grieve also myself at his loss, if lost he is." Wenlock was unable to speak in reply. "The only remedy I can advise for thee, is active employment of body and mind, and the reading of the best of books," added the governor, with a look of compassion at the young man. Wenlock endeavoured, as far as he could, to follow the advice of his friend. The governor now proceeded up the river, touching on his way at Upland. The inhabitants of the place came out to receive him with delight, a tall pine, which had been allowed to stand when its neighbours were cut away, marking the spot where he went on shore. Turning to Pearson, who had so nobly supported him in his arduous labours among the sick daring the voyage: "What wilt thou, friend, that I should call this place?" he asked. "Chester, an' it please thee," answered Pearson. "It is my native city, and the affection I bear for it will never be effaced. Yet I might transfer some slight portion to this town." "Chester, therefore, let it be henceforth called," answered Penn. While the governor was stopping at the house of Mr Wade, Wenlock went to visit old Rullock, and to see his own humble abode. He found a large party of Dutch emigrants in the town, who had arrived the day before. Among them he recognised a face he knew. Yes, he was certain. It was that of Dr Van Erk. "Yes, I am indeed myself!" exclaimed the doctor, shaking Wenlock warmly by the hand. "Not knowing by what tyranny we might next be oppressed at home, I resolved to quit the shores of the Old World, and to seek refuge in the New; and my brother agreeing with me, we have come over with our wives and families. He will carry on mercantile pursuits,--and, by the by, he will be glad, I doubt not, to give you employment,--and I shall follow my own profession. My wife and children will, I am sure, be very glad to see you, but as yet we can show you very little hospitality. But you look somewhat sad, my young friend. Tell me what has occurred?" Wenlock told him the cause of his sadness. "Well, we will give you all the consolation in our power." Wenlock felt much pleased at meeting his old friends, and was amply employed, for some time, in obtaining accommodation for them. Every day vessels were arriving with passengers and cargoes, but not one of them brought any account of the _Concord_. His Dutch friends, however, did their utmost to console Wenlock. He thanked them, but yet found his thoughts more than ever going back to Mary. He would have been well-pleased if Ford had kept out of his way, but that person managed to introduce himself to the Van Erks, and he felt sure he was meditating mischief of some sort. The governor then proposed that he should go on a mission on state affairs to Boston, hoping that the change of life and scene might benefit him. Wenlock having received his instructions, accordingly went on board the _Amity_, which vessel, having been thoroughly repaired, was engaged for the purpose. "But I cannot part from you," exclaimed old Bill Rullock. "I did not think to go to sea again, but if the captain will let me work my passage there and back, I will go along with you." No arguments would induce the old man to give up his purpose, and Wenlock was not sorry to have so faithful a companion. Rounding Cape May, the _Amity_ sailed along the shores of New Jersey, steering to the north, keeping in sight of land till she came off Long Island, forming one side of the magnificent harbour of the New York Bay. Then she stood on, through Massachusetts Bay till the long established city of Boston was reached. Wenlock had expected to meet with kindness and sympathy from the descendants of those who had been driven for conscience' sake to seek a home in the New World. However, even by those to whom he had letters he was received with coldness, and he heard remarks made about Quakers generally, and himself especially, which somewhat tried his temper. His name, too, seemed especially to excite anger among the citizens. At length he was summoned to appear before the governor of the state. "Know you not, young man, that we allow no persons of your persuasion to remain in our state?" exclaimed the governor. "There was one, of your name too, banished not long since; and some who have ventured to return, have of necessity been put to death, as breakers of the law and rebels against the state." "Verily, I knew not that such was the case," answered Wenlock; "and when I have performed my business here, I am ready to take my departure. I have never been here before, and truly I should be glad to hear of one of my name, hoping that he might prove a relative; for at present I know not any one to whom I am kith and kin." "Stand aside, young man, and bring forth the prisoner, with whose trial we will proceed," exclaimed the governor, casting a frowning glance at Wenlock. The governor was proceeding to condemn the prisoner, when a loud voice was heard, exclaiming, "Pronounce not judgment." Wenlock started, and looked towards the speaker. He almost fancied that he saw his father standing before him. "Who are you, who thus dares to interrupt the court?" exclaimed the governor. "I am Wenlock Christison," was the answer. "I come to prevent you from condemning the innocent." "Then thou art my uncle!" exclaimed Wenlock, hurrying towards him. "I know thee by thy likeness to my father." "And, verily, I know thee," exclaimed the old man. "And what is thy name?" "Thine own," answered Wenlock. "Carry them both off to prison. They will hang together well," exclaimed the governor. In spite of Wenlock's protestations that he had been sent in the character of an envoy by the governor of the new state, he and his uncle were committed to prison. The old man, however, seemed but little concerned at this. "We shall be set at liberty ere long, nephew," he said; "and I rejoice greatly to have at length found thee, and more than all, that thou hast embraced the true and perfect way of life." Bill Rullock, on hearing what had occurred, was very indignant, and, almost forgetting that he himself had become a Quaker, was about to attempt forcibly to liberate his friend. The governor kept Wenlock shut up, but seemed doubtful about proceeding with him. His uncle was, however, brought up day after day, refusing to acknowledge himself guilty, warning his persecutors of the punishment which was soon to overtake them. Old Rullock employed himself in making interest with various people in the place, to obtain the liberation of his friend, warning them that though Master William Penn might not take vengeance on them, there was a certain Colonel Markham, who would be influenced by no such scruples. The result was, that not only young Wenlock, but old Christison, was set at liberty. "Nephew, I have wealth," exclaimed his uncle, "and I rejoice to find one who will inherit it. However, of one thing I am resolved, not to spend it among this people. The account thou dost give me of the new colony has made me resolve to go and end my days there; and we will together leave in the vessel that brought thee hither, as soon as she is ready to sail." Although the Friends were no longer persecuted at Boston, as may be supposed, it was not a pleasant city for them to reside in. A considerable number, therefore, set sail on board the _Amity_, which had a prosperous voyage to the Delaware.	{ "id": "21492" }
20	None	We left the _Amity_ sailing up the Delaware. During her absence, a number of vessels had arrived both from England and from Dutch and German ports, and it pleasant to those interested in the welfare of the colony to see them land their passengers and cargoes, the former often collected in picturesque spots on the banks, under the shelter of white tents, yellow wigwams, dark brown log huts, and sometime green arbours of boughs. Off Chester a shattered weather-beaten bark was seen at anchor. Here also the _Amity_ came to an anchor, although news was brought on board that the governor had already selected the site of his capital on the point of land at the junction of the Delaware and the Schuylkill. Wenlock turned his eyes towards the shattered vessel, and naturally inquired who she was. "Oh, she is the long lost _Concord_!" was the answer. Wild agitation filled his bosom as he heard these words, but it was succeeded by fear. "What have become of the passengers, then?" he asked. "Some of them died, but others arrived in her. She was cast away on an island, and only with great difficulty was at length got off." "But where are they?" asked Wenlock. "Most of them are at Chester, though some have gone off to the new city," was the answer. Unable to obtain any further information, Wenlock jumped into the first boat returning on shore. He bethought him that he would at once go to his friend, Dr Van Erk, who would be more likely than any one else to give him information. He inquired for his house. Wealth will do much. While others were lodged in huts, the doctor had already secured a comfortable residence for his family. Wenlock hurried towards it, but before he reached it he met the doctor. After they had greeted each other, he told him of whom he was in search. "Come, my young friend, and perhaps we may find them." The doctor took his arm and led him along till they reached a somewhat highly-pointed but very neat cottage. "There, whom do you see there?" he asked, pointing through the window. There were four ladies, two old ones and two young. One of them was Gretchen. She was close to the window, so he saw her first; but beyond her,--yes, there was no doubt about it, there sat Mary Mead. They were engaged in their work, so they did not see him. "Stay," said the doctor, "I forgot. A certain friend of yours has been telling them that you are dead; that he has had news of it; and it might agitate them somewhat, if you were to appear suddenly. I will go in and prepare them." Wenlock stood outside, hid by the porch. He heard first Master Mead's rich voice utter a note of surprise, and then several female voices. He thought he could distinguish Mary's. It was very low, though. Master Mead was the first to come out and welcome him, and in a few seconds he was in the presence of Mary and Gretchen and the two old ladies. "My dear sister, I am so thankful," exclaimed Gretchen, bestowing a kiss on Mary, "that he has been restored to you." Whatever doubt Master Mead had before, as to bestowing his daughter on Wenlock, it was set at rest by the appearance of the elder Wenlock Christison, who very speedily satisfied all prudential scruples, by informing the worthy father of his intentions regarding his nephew. While the party were assembled, _a head was put into the door_. It was quickly withdrawn. "Oh! it is that odious Jonas Ford," said Gretchen. "I am sure he never comes here to speak truth." "Nay; but we should not think harshly of a friend," observed Mead. "I do not think over harshly," answered Gretchen. "If ever there was a sleek hypocrite, that man is one." Time showed that Gretchen was right, although Wenlock escaped the consequences of his machinations. Wenlock, however, could not remain long at Chester, having to proceed up to the new capital, Philadelphia, to give an account of his mission to the governor. He was received in the kindest manner by the governor, who was living in a log hut while his intended residence, some way higher up, was building. "Here, my young friend," he said, pointing to a large sheet of paper spread out on a table, "is the plan of our future capital. See, we shall have two noble rows of houses fronting the two rivers; and, here, a magnificent avenue of one hundred feet in width, which we will call the High Street, uniting them with lines of trees on either side. Then we will have Broad Street, cutting the city in two parts from north to south, with a magnificent square of ten acres in the centre, and in the middle of each quarter there shall be another square, each of eight acres, for the recreation of the people, and we will have many detached buildings covered with trailing plants, green and rural, to remind us of the country towns of England. Already many houses have been put up, and the people show a commendable energy in erecting more, as fast as materials can be procured. To-morrow I have appointed for a meeting with the native chiefs, to hold a solemn conference for the purpose of confirming former treaties, and forming with them a lasting league of peace and friendship. I am glad that thou art come, Christison, as it will be a matter of great interest. Thou hast probably visited the spot with my kinsman, Colonel Markham. It is called Sakimaxing, the meaning of which is, `The place or locality of kings.'" "Yea," answered Wenlock; "I accompanied him on more than one occasion, when he had to make arrangements with Taminent. The natives hold in great respect an ancient elm of vast size which, they say, is already one hundred and fifty-five years old. Under its branches the tribes are wont to meet to smoke the calumet of peace, and to arrange their disputes." "No fitter spot could have been chosen," observed Penn. "We hope, too, that they will ever be ready to smoke with us the calumet of peace." At an early hour the following morning, the governor, with his faithful friend Pearson, and other attendants, men of influence among the settlers, set forth on horseback to a spot where the conference was to take place. It was an open space, close to the banks of the magnificent Delaware. In the centre stood the stately council elm, spreading its branches far and wide over the green turf. Circling round was the primeval forest, with the dark cedar, the tall pine, the shining chestnut, and the bright maple, and many other trees, stretching far away inland. The governor and his companions, leaving their horses, advanced towards the meeting-place. His tall and graceful figure was especially distinguished by the light-blue sash he wore, as a simple mark by which the natives of the forest might recognise him. He had never affected ultra-plainness in dress, preferring rather to simplify the costume which he had hitherto worn. His outer coat was long, covered, as was the custom, with buttons. An ample waistcoat of rich material, with full trousers, slashed at the sides and tied with ribbons, while his shirt had a profusion of handsome ruffles, and a hat of the form worn in his younger days, completed his costume. On one side was Colonel Markham, already well known to the natives, and on the other his faithful friend Pearson; while Wenlock and his other companions came a little way behind them. As they advanced, the Indians were seen to approach, led by Taminent, their chief, all habited in the ancient costume of the forest, with the brightest of feathers, their faces painted in their most gorgeous style. A number of the settlers from various parts had followed the governor, and now formed a circle at a respectful distance. No monarchs of the Old World could have behaved with more dignity than did the Indian chief and the Quaker governor. Taminent having retired and consulted with his councillors, again advanced, placing on his own head a chaplet, in which was fastened a small horn, the symbol of his power. Whenever a chief of the Leni-Lenape placed on his brow this chaplet, the spot was made sacred, and all present inviolable. The chief then seated himself with his councillors on either side, the older warriors ranging themselves in the form of a crescent round them, the younger forming an outer semicircle. The English governor then arose, the handsomest and most graceful of all present, and addressed the natives in their own language. He told them that they had one common Father, who reigns above; and that his desire was that his people, and theirs should be brothers, and that as brothers and friends they should treat each other, and that thus they should help each other against all who would do them harm. And, lastly, that both his people and the Leni-Lenape should tell their children of this league and bond of friendship which had been formed,--that it might grow stronger and stronger, and be kept bright and clean, as long as the waters should run down the creeks and rivers, and the sun and moon and stars endure. He then laid the scroll containing the proposed treaty on the ground, which was accepted by Taminent, and preserved for ages afterwards by the Indians. Thus was this treaty ratified with a "Yea, yea,"--the only treaty, as has been remarked, known in the world, never sworn to, and never broken. Thus was Pennsylvania happily founded without injustice, without bloodshed, without crime; and, blessed by Heaven, continued to flourish, the most happy and prosperous colony ever formed by Britons. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Our tale is ended. A faint outline of the history of a true hero has been traced. From it may be learned in what true heroism consists. William Penn (for he is our real hero), like the Master he served, though in the world, was not of it. He, as all must who desire to be faithful subjects of the Lord Jesus Christ, and not mere nominal Christians, took Him as his example. He had counted the cost, and entered boldly on the warfare. Worldly honours and distinctions were given up, though the highest were within his grasp. Persecution and contempt were willingly accepted; imprisonment endured without murmuring. He trusted to One all-powerful to help in time of need. His firm faith even in this life was rewarded. He was enabled to overcome the world. So will it be with all who like William Penn, know in whom they trust, if they persevere like him without wavering. THE END.	{ "id": "21492" }
1	LAST DAY AT HOME--JOIN THE "HEROINE" AS A MIDSHIPMAN--BOUND FOR THE PACIFIC--ORDERED TO TOUCH AT CAPE COAST CASTLE--ON THE LOOK-OUT FOR A PIRATE--CHASE HER UP A RIVER--OUR BOAT ATTACKED--DICKY POPO BRINGS US INFORMATION--FIGHT WITH THE PIRATES--A CAPTURE--A SCHOONER BLOWS UP-- DELIVER UP OUR PRIZE TO THE COMMODORE--PROCEED ON OUR VOYAGE.	The last day of my home-life came to an end. Pierce and I went to our room and turned in to our beds, but not to sleep. We had still many things to say to each other, though we had probably said them over and over again before. I promised to write a journal, to show to him when I came back from my first voyage; and he agreed to keep one, from which he might make extracts when he wrote to me, so that I might know everything that took place in our family circle. Our father, Mr Rayner, was a half-pay lieutenant; but at the end of the war, having no expectation of promotion, he had left the service and joined his elder brother, our Uncle Godfrey (after whom I was named), in a mercantile business at Bristol, near which city we lived. He knew nothing of office work, but hoped by diligence and attention to be of assistance. Our uncle, however, died before he had gained a thorough knowledge of the business; and, besides the sorrow he felt at losing one he loved, much responsibility in consequence devolved upon him. I believe that his affairs were not as prosperous as he could have desired; and he sometimes expressed his regret that he had engaged in an undertaking for which he was not fitted. I had shown no predilection for a seat in the counting-house; and consequently, when his old shipmate Captain Bracewell, who had just been appointed to the command of the _Heroine_ sloop-of-war, offered to take one of his sons as a midshipman, he allowed me, greatly to my delight, to enter the navy. My sea-chest, already packed, stood at one end of the room, with my dirk and the uniform I was to put on next day lying upon it; in which, as may be supposed, I had already exhibited myself to Pierce and our sister Edith, who was younger than either of us, and naturally thought it, as she told me, very becoming; an opinion I also entertained, as did our mother, and--I flattered myself--the rest of the household. At last Pierce's voice grew more and more inarticulate, and he dropped off to sleep. I, after some time, was following his example, when the door opened, and our mother glided into the room, afraid of awakening me. I was conscious that she was bending over me: a tear dropped on my cheek, and I felt her loving kiss on my brow. I started up and passed my arm round her neck. She perhaps thought that it was the last time I should be with her alone on earth. "Godfrey, my dear boy," she said, "fear to offend God, and be faithful and true to him and to all men. He will ever prove your best Friend, here and throughout eternity." "I will, mother; indeed I will," I answered, as soon as the beatings of my heart and the sobs which burst from my breast allowed me to speak. "Hush," she said at length; "we must not awaken Pierce. And you too, Godfrey, must go to sleep, to be ready for your journey to-morrow." She left me, but I could hear her breathing outside the door till she thought I had dropped off to sleep. Next morning all the family were up to see me off. I won't describe the scene: my dear, sweet little sister Edith, though she looked so proud of me in my uniform, sobbed as if she would break her heart; and I found it a hard matter to restrain my feelings, till the coach came by, and, my chest being stowed away in the boot, my father and I mounted to the top. I soon recovered my spirits, when my father, entering into conversation with our fellow-passengers, led me to join in it. Most of them were seafaring men; and one of them, with naval buttons on his greatcoat, made himself known to my father as Peter Mudge, once a little midshipman with him, but now an old master's mate on his way to join the _Heroine_. "You'll keep an eye on this youngster, then, for my sake, Mudge?" said my father; "though I know you would without my asking you." "That I will, Mr Rayner," answered Mr Mudge; "I'll do all I can for him, though that may be but little." "You've got one friend on board already, Godfrey," observed my father, "through my interest. I hope you will soon have many more by your own merits." We reached Plymouth late in the day; and the next morning my father took me on board to introduce me to the captain and officers. Captain Bracewell received me very kindly; and when my father left--as he was soon obliged to do--to return home, Peter Mudge took charge of me, and led me down into the midshipmen's berth, where he introduced me to my new messmates. I was at home in a few minutes, and made up my mind that I should be very jolly. In this opinion I was confirmed by the assurances of another midshipman of about my own age, or rather younger, Tommy Peck by name, who had also come to sea for the first time, and who naturally became my chief chum. He was a merry fellow, delighting in fun and mischief; caring very little about the result of the latter, provided he could amuse himself for the moment; and without a particle of forethought. He was not altogether destitute of sense, but at the time I speak of he greatly required a friend like Mudge to keep him in the right way. The sails were loosed, the men were going round the capstan to the sound of the merry fife, when a messenger from the Admiralty arrived in hot haste, directing the captain to carry out despatches to the governor of Cape Coast Castle, instead of proceeding direct to the Pacific, whither we were bound. The wind being fair and fresh, in a few hours we were out of sight of land. For the first time in my life, as I gazed round from the deck, I saw only the circle of the horizon where sea and sky met. It produced in me a sensation of pleasure not unmixed with awe, though I confess that the feeling very soon wore off. The next day at noon the midshipmen were ordered to bring up their quadrants; and I received my first practical lesson in navigation. I was anxious to gain a knowledge of my profession, and Peter Mudge did his best to instruct me. Day after day we sailed on, the fair wind lasting us till we got to the latitude of the Cape de Verde Islands, and I began to fancy that the stories I had heard of gales and hurricanes were fabulous, and that we were to enjoy the same sort of weather during our cruise. "Wait a bit, my lad, till we're rounding Cape Horn; you'll then chance to pick up a notion of what a heavy sea is like, if you don't happen to learn sooner," said Peter Mudge. In spite of calms and light winds, however, we at length came off Cape Coast Castle; consisting of an extensive range of buildings surrounded by fortifications, appearing of snowy whiteness against the dark foliage of the wooded height in the background. The captain went on shore to deliver his despatches to the governor. We were expecting the pleasure of a run on shore, when he returned on board, and ordering the anchor to be hove up, we stood to the south-eastward under all sail. It soon became known that the governor had received intelligence of the appearance of a large craft off the coast, supposed to be a pirate, of which he had directed the captain to go in search. A sharp look-out was accordingly kept for her during the night. She was said to be heavily armed; under Spanish colours; and that her plan of proceeding was to capture any traders she could fall in with, take possession of their cargoes, and exchange them on the coast for slaves, with which she returned to Cuba. "A profitable style of business, whatever might be said of its honesty. I only hope that we may catch her with English property on board," said Mudge; "we shall soon put a stop to her tricks." The next evening a sail was sighted on the starboard bow, steering the same course as we were; and we immediately stood for her, hoping that she was the pirate. It was doubtful whether she had seen us; if she had, she had possibly taken us for a merchantman. Darkness was coming on, but we had got her bearings; and unless she was suspicious of us she would stand on as she was doing, and perhaps shorten sail to allow us to come up with her; if so, we had no doubt that we should take her. As it was fully believed that she would not yield without fighting, the ship was cleared for action; the crew went to their quarters, and all stood ready should we sight her, which we might do at any moment. On glided our ship over the dark waters, her masts towering to the sky like some phantom of the night. A strange feeling came over me as I thought that in a few minutes we might be hotly engaged in firing away at the enemy, round shot and bullets flying about us. "Sail right ahead, sir!" shouted the second lieutenant from forward. I looked out eagerly, and saw the tall masts and sails of a ship fully as large as, if not larger than, the _Heroine_. "We must speak her before firing, lest we should be engaging a friend," I heard the commander observe to Mr Worthy, the first lieutenant. "If yonder craft is a pirate, she takes us for a merchant vessel, as she probably knew that no man-of-war of our size was on the station. Don't fire a shot till I give the order." After this not a word was spoken. In perfect silence we glided onwards, rapidly approaching the dark ship, which we could now distinguish clearly, with her courses brailed up, evidently awaiting us. The captain's intention was to run up on her starboard quarter, so as to keep her between us and the land. We were almost within hail, and expected in another instant to be engaged, when down came her courses, the yards were braced sharp up, and she stood away on a bowline towards the coast. On this our helm was immediately put down, and we did the same, keeping directly after her and firing our bow-chasers. She was evidently a fast craft, for she rapidly drew ahead of us. The breeze freshened, and having all sail set, we heeled over till the lee guns dipped into the water. "We shall be whipping the masts out of her, if we don't take care," I heard Mudge observe. The captain seemed to think the same. "Hand royals and topgallant sails," he sang out; "be smart, my lads." The top-men hurried aloft to obey the order, for every one knew there was no time to be lost. The masts bent like willow wands, and I expected every moment to see them go over the side. While attending to shortening sail, the eyes of the officers were withdrawn from the chase; for some of the ropes getting foul during the operation, we were obliged to luff up to clear them, thereby allowing her to get still farther ahead. Still, she could be distinguished standing to the eastward. As soon as the sails were handed we stood on again after her, staggering along under such canvas as we could carry, and every eye on board turned towards her. "If she runs us out of sight, she'll put her helm up and stand down the coast," observed Mudge; "and it will be a hard matter to find her again." Our chief hope was that our shot might wing her; but only one gun could be brought to bear, and with the sea there was on, though it was not very heavy, our aim was uncertain. Still, as we had got her jammed in between us and the coast, there was little chance of her ultimately escaping. We had been running on for some time, the chase still gaining on us, and becoming dimmer and dimmer to view, when a heavy squall struck the ship, and heeled her over so much that the captain gave the order to shorten sail. It cleared off, however, before the sheets were let fly; but when we again looked ahead the chase was nowhere to be seen. We accordingly edged away to the southward, in case she should have gone off before the wind. Not long after this the morning broke, and the wind went down. As the chase was not to be seen to the southward, the captain and Mr Worthy were still convinced that she had continued her course to the eastward, but that the thick mist hanging over the coast was hiding her from sight. We had again made all sail, and were standing on as before, when the look-out at the mast-head shouted, "Land! land!" and shortly afterwards, as the atmosphere cleared, we could see the wood-covered heights of the African coast rising above the belt of thick mist which still hung over the lower ground, and which would effectually conceal the chase should she have stood in for the shore. "Should she be there, we shall soon sight her," observed Mudge. "I only hope that her rascally crew will have the courage to fight for their lives and liberty; though there isn't much chance of that." The lead was kept going, of course, and showed a much greater depth of water than had been expected. On reference to the chart, the captain found that we must be approaching the mouth of a large river. The sun rising, dissipated the mist; and we had got close to the mouth of the river when the wind fell. Being thus unable to enter it, we were compelled to bring up at no great distance from the shore. From where we lay we could see but a very little way up the river, a point of land covered with trees hiding the next reach, so that the chase might be there, though invisible to us. The captain accordingly directed the first lieutenant to pull up in the gig to ascertain if she was there; intending, if so, to carry the ship into the river whenever the sea-breeze should set in. As she was a large, well-armed vessel, with a numerous crew, he was unwilling to risk the loss of his men, at the commencement of a long voyage, by attacking her with the boats. The gig was soon hidden behind the point; when the watch below, to which I belonged, was allowed to lie down in the shade on deck--for, having been awake all night, we could scarcely keep our eyes open. I was in an instant asleep; and being roused up again after a snooze of two hours, I found that the gig had not returned. The captain was beginning to get anxious, when the look-out from the mast-head, who could see farther over the point than we could on deck, shouted, "The gig in sight, and another boat following her." Some minutes passed, when we saw the gig chased round the point, the crew pulling with all their might; and the next instant a much larger boat hove in sight. As she did so, a man standing in the stern-sheets was seen to lift a musket and fire at the gig: at the same moment an oar dropped from the hands of one of the crew, who sank down on the thwart; the gig, however, still coming on. It was a wanton act. The large boat pulled round, and before we could have brought one of our guns to bear on her she was again hidden behind the point. The captain, on seeing the occurrence, ordered the other boats to be got ready, intending to send them up in chase of the audacious stranger, and they were in the water before the gig was alongside. Lieutenant Worthy, on coming on deck, informed the captain that he had gone up the river for some distance without seeing the chase, when, just as he had at length caught sight of her topgallant-masts over a wooded point, a large boat had darted out from behind it; while several shots fired from the shore warned him of the danger of proceeding farther. Immediately putting the gig round, he pulled down the river, seeing that it would be madness to attempt attacking the larger boat with his small crew. The daring way in which the large boat had attempted to capture the gig proved the character of the craft to which she belonged; as also that either her crew must consider themselves strong enough to resist a man-of-war, or possibly might suppose that we should not venture into the river. In the meantime, the gig with the wounded man had been hoisted up. He still breathed, and was immediately carried below, and placed under the care of the surgeon; who, on examining his wound, expressed but slight hope that he would recover. On hearing this, the crew threatened the pirates with their vengeance, and were eager to go up the river and take them. We now anxiously waited for the sea-breeze. The cable was hove short, the sails loosed; still, as we looked eastward, not a ripple disturbed the glass-like surface of the ocean. "We've got the fellow in a trap, at all events," observed Mudge, "and fight he must, whether he likes it or not." "I hope he will," I answered. "I should like to see a good fierce battle; and there will be little glory in taking the pirate, should she give in at once." "You'll sing a different note when you find the shot come flying thickly about your ears, my boy," answered Mudge; "and as for the glory, there's not much to be gained by capturing a rascally pirate. For my part, I hope she'll knock under at once, and give us as little trouble as possible." Hour after hour went by, but the breeze did not come; and I heard Lieutenant Worthy remark that it would afford time to the pirates, if they were so minded, to fortify themselves on shore, which would enable them to hold out much better against us, as we should have both the fort and the ship to contend against. "That must not stop us," observed the captain; "we must take the ship first, and the fort afterwards." At last a few cat's-paws were seen playing over the water. The dog-vanes blew out, and the breeze, fresh and pure from the ocean, began to blow. The anchor was quickly got up; and the ship, at first standing close-hauled to weather the point, glided on towards the main channel of the river. The bar, on which the water was unusually deep,--a few slight rollers only coming in over it,--was safely passed, when we began to stand up the stream. The shores on either hand were thickly covered with trees, forming impenetrable walls of foliage, and preventing us from seeing the country beyond, with the exception of some high hills which rose in the distance. The wind being light, and the current running out, we made but slow progress; and before we got far up the river the wind again failed us, and we were compelled to come to an anchor. Had it not been for Mr Worthy's report, we should have supposed that the ship was not there, and should probably have stood out to sea again, in the hope of falling in with her elsewhere. As evening drew on, the hot land-breeze again blew down the river, which was here of considerable width. "I shouldn't be surprised if the pirate were to try to give us the slip after all," observed Mudge. "We must keep a sharp look-out, so that we may stop her should she make the attempt. I only hope she will, as it will be more to our advantage to bring her to action under way, than to have to attack her at anchor, with springs on her cables, and protected by a fort which, if the fellows have any sense in their heads, they are sure to throw up." It was still daylight, and Peter and I were walking the deck, for it was our watch; indeed, the midshipmen's berth not being the pleasantest place in the world in that climate, we were seldom in it, except at meal-times. I have not talked much about the heat, but the air, if not hotter, was more stifling in that river than we had felt it since we reached the coast. I was looking towards the nearest shore, off which we had brought up at the distance of scarcely a cable-length, when I saw a figure moving amid the trees. I pointed him out to Mudge. Presently, as he reached the bank, we saw that he was a black man, without a particle of clothing on. Putting his hand to his mouth, he hailed, and then waved vehemently, as if to attract our attention. Mudge sent me to tell Mr Worthy; who at once ordered a boat to be lowered, and directed Mudge to pull in to the shore, to ascertain what he wanted. The black, however, turning his head over his shoulder, either saw or heard the approach of some one he wished to avoid, and plunging into the river, began to swim towards the ship. Mudge and I had jumped into the boat, and as we were approaching the shore to pick up the black I saw a dark fin rise just ahead of us. I told Mudge. "That's a brute of a shark!" he exclaimed, "and a big fellow too, and the chances are he has poor Blackie for his supper." "Not if our voices can drive the monster away," I answered, horrified at the thought of witnessing the destruction of a fellow-creature. "Shout! shout, all hands!" Mudge and I raised our voices, joined by the crew, who gave way with redoubled vigour. The black, who just then saw the shark coming, began to splash and kick, and to shout pretty lustily. This was not the only peril to which he was exposed, for at the same moment several persons appeared among the trees, with muskets in their hands, and began to fire at him. Happily, one of the bullets aimed at him or at us struck the savage shark, just as it was about to make a dash at him; and, either from the wound it had received, or frightened by our shouts, it suddenly turned round, with a whisk of its tail, and darted away from Blackie. We immediately dashed on, in spite of the bullets. The black was close alongside, when I saw the monster's huge form gliding like lightning beneath the surface; his head rising just as, with a violent jerk, we drew the poor fellow into the boat. The disappointed brute made a grab at one of the oars in revenge, though he got nothing but a broken tooth for his pains. Without stopping to ask questions, Mudge put the boat round, and pulled away for the ship, fortunately not one of us being hit, while the enemy in the bush quickly vanished. As soon as we were out of the line of fire, one of the ship's guns, loaded with grape, was let fly at the spot from which the shots had come, and greatly contributed to the rapid retreat of Blackie's pursuers, whoever they were--at all events, of those of them who escaped being hit; but whether any were so, we could not tell. As soon as the boat got alongside, the black sprang on board with considerable activity, showing that he was none the worse for his run and subsequent swim. There he stood, naked as he was born; when an old quartermaster, a wag in his way, brought him a pair of duck trousers, evidently considering that he was not fit, as he then stood, to appear on the quarter-deck of a British man-of-war. Blackie put them on with a grin, shook the water out of his woolly pate, and then, with an air of perfect self-possession, walked aft to where the commander and several of the other officers were standing. "Me Dicky Popo, please, sar," he said, giving a haul at his hair; "me loyal British subject--once serve His Majesty--but de nigger slave-catchers find me ashore, carry me off, and sell me to still bigger rascals. Dey ship me aboard wid oder slaves; and den a bigger rascal still take de whole of us on board de _Sea-Hawk_ dere. I seed dat somefing was wrong when dey run up de river, and den I find out dat an English ship chase dem, and come to an anchor inside de bar; den I tink if I run away and get aboard English ship, I know I safe under dat flag." As he spoke he pointed to the ensign blowing out from the flagstaff astern. Finding that Dicky Popo, as the black called himself, understood English pretty well, the commander questioned him further, and learned many more particulars about the ship we had just chased. She was the _Sea-Hawk_, belonging to Havana, fully as large as the _Heroine_, with as numerous a crew, and carrying two more guns than we did; so that, if well fought, she would prove a formidable antagonist. She had already captured a vessel which had, Dicky Popo said, about a hundred and fifty slaves on board, and was waylaying another, when we somewhat put out her arrangements, and obliged her to run up the very river in which the schooner she had intended to capture was lying. The pirate, not telling the captain of the schooner of his intentions, had persuaded him to assist in defending his vessel in case they should be attacked. For this purpose they had both landed some of their men and guns; and he had also sent on shore the strongest among the slaves, to assist in throwing up fortifications. Dicky Popo, hearing that the corvette had entered the river, took the opportunity, while so engaged, of slipping off, in the hope of getting on board; resolved, should he regain his liberty, to give us information of the preparations made for our reception. I liked the expression of Dick's countenance, and was certain from the first that he was an honest fellow. He had been kindly treated on board a man-of-war in which he had served--having been rescued from slavery by her; and he was truly grateful to the English, and anxious practically to show his gratitude. I do not believe the person who talks of his grateful heart, when he takes no pains to exhibit it. The captain was in no way inclined to change his purpose on hearing of the preparations made by the slavers for their defence. "I know that I can trust to our stout fellows, who will bravely do their duty; while our rascally enemies are fighting with halters round their necks," he observed to Mr Worthy. "No doubt about that, sir," was the answer; "and I hope that it will not take us long to capture the pirate, in spite of the battery on shore, and the assistance the slave-schooner may give her." Soon after Dicky Popo had made his appearance on deck, night came on. Notwithstanding the preparations the pirates had been making for their defence, the commander expressed his opinion that they might try to slip by us and get out to sea during the darkness, rather than wait our attack in the river. A sharp look-out was therefore kept, the anchor was hove short, and the watch below lay down on deck, so as to be ready to make sail at a moment's notice. A boat was also sent some way ahead to row guard, and bring us early information should either of the vessels be seen coming down. We knew, of course, that the pirates were aware of our exact position, but they could not tell that a boat was also watching for them. The greater part of the night passed by quietly. The middle watch had nearly come to an end when the boat's oars were heard, and she shortly after dashed up alongside. "The ship is coming down, and will be abreast of us in a few minutes," said the officer in command. "She was shortening sail when we caught sight of her, and she hopes to escape being seen by dropping past us under bare poles." On hearing this, the captain gave the order to make sail; and slipping our cable with a buoy to it, so that we might easily pick it up, we stood towards the centre of the river. In another minute we caught sight of the tall masts of the pirate, gliding down with the current, not many cable-lengths off. It was impossible for her to return; and should she bring up, we might sail round her and fire at her at our leisure. On discovering us (which she must have done some time before, as we, being under sail, must have been seen before we could make her out), she had begun to set her canvas. That availed her but little, however, as we now had her within range of our guns; which, the captain giving the order, began firing away as rapidly as they could be run in and loaded. She immediately fired in return from her foremost guns, the only ones which for some minutes could be brought to bear on us, as we were, it will be understood, standing across the river directly ahead of her. Her sails being let fall, she soon got abreast of us; when we went about, and passing directly under her stern, so closely that I thought we were going to run her aboard, fired the whole of our broadside into her; we during the operation having received only two or three shots, which did no material damage. Shrieks and cries arose from her deck, proving the fearful havoc produced by our raking fire; while several halyards and braces having been shot away on board her, and only part of her canvas having been set, we again kept away, speedily got up alongside her, and poured in another well-directed broadside. She returned a feeble fire; many of her crew at the guns having been, we had thus good reason to suppose, killed or disabled by our shot. We, having all our canvas set, were running ahead of her, the captain intending to luff across her bows, and to pour in another raking fire, when we heard a voice from her forecastle shouting, in broken English, "We give in--we haul down flag--don't fire, don't fire!" "Let go your anchor, then, and bring up, or I'll not trust you," shouted the captain. The sound of voices in loud altercation now reached us, some apparently crying out one thing, and some another, in Spanish; while we were steering so as to keep on the weather bow of the pirate. "Stand by,--brace up the yards," cried the captain in a loud voice, so that the Spaniards might hear him. "Do you yield, or I fire?" he shouted. "Yes, yes," answered a voice. Immediately the sheets were let fly, and the splash of the anchor and the sound of the cable running out reached our ears above the hubbub still going forward on deck, when the ship slowly swung round to the current. We immediately hauled our wind, and having good way, went about and shot up abreast of our opponent, whom we thus had completely in our power. As soon as we had furled sails, two boats were lowered; Mr Worthy going in command of one, and Peter Mudge of the other, the crews being well-armed. As I was the midshipman of the lieutenant's boat, I accompanied him. No opposition was offered, though no assistance was given, to us, as we got alongside. We quickly, however, scrambled up on deck, which, by the light of several lanterns carried by the men, presented an appearance such as I had never before pictured to myself. The first step I made, my foot slipped and I nearly fell. On the light falling on the spot, I found that I was literally standing in blood. Twenty or more human forms lay stretched out motionless, while others were gathered round the masts or leaning against the guns, endeavouring to bind up their wounds. One group stood aft in sullen silence awaiting our coming, while the remainder of the crew were collected forward. By their dress we saw that most of those aft were officers. "Where is the captain of this ship?" asked Lieutenant Worthy. One of them pointed to a body which lay between two of the guns, with part of the chest and one of the arms carried away. "Poor wretch!" observed the lieutenant. "He will not then have to answer to us for his misdeeds. And are you the officer in command?" The man to whom he spoke bowed his head, and, advancing, presented his sword. "Take his weapon," said the lieutenant, turning to one of the men; "and disarm all the rest. I shall not receive the sword of a pirate, as if he were a naval officer." The whole of the party were quickly disarmed, and by the lieutenant's orders our men then lashed their arms behind them. Peter Mudge with his boat's crew had, in the meantime, made their way along the slippery deck forward, when he treated the men collected there in the same fashion. Mr Worthy then hailed the corvette, and begged that the surgeons might be sent on board to attend to the wounded; and those who appeared to be officers were lowered into the boat which brought them, to be conveyed to the ship for safe keeping. While the surgeons were hurriedly binding up the limbs of the wounded men, we were engaged in collecting the dead bodies, that they might be hove overboard. On counting them, we found that five-and-twenty had been killed outright; and one by one, after the surgeon had examined them, they were thrown into the water through the ports. "Here's another fellow, sir, who seemed just now as dead as a door-nail; but as I was dragging him along the deck he began to sing out, and to swear by all the saints that he was alive and kicking; and, faith, that same he was, for I had a hard matter to keep hold of his legs. He's quiet enough now, though; and for the life of me I can't tell whether he was after speaking the truth or not." This address was made by Paddy Doyle, an Irish top-man, to the surgeon who was examining the bodies before they were hove overboard. The surgeon, thus appealed to, went to the man. "He seems to be unhurt, and is still breathing," he remarked. "By his dress he appears to be an officer. Throw some water in his face; and keep a watch over him, Doyle, when he comes to, as I have no doubt that he soon will. I must look after the other wretches." The dead having been disposed of, and the unwounded prisoners placed under a guard, the wounded were carried into the large and handsome cabin--which, however, could not afford accommodation for all of them; the rest were therefore placed, with such spare bedding as could be found, on the upper slave-deck. By the time these arrangements were made, it was nearly daylight. A prize crew of twenty men was left on board the _Sea-Hawk_, with the assistant-surgeon to look after the wounded, the second lieutenant coming on board to take command of them. I was thankful to be ordered to return to the corvette, for I was heartily sick of the scene I had witnessed. Just as I was going over the side, I heard Paddy Doyle sing out,--"Arrah! my dead man's come to life again! Bear a hand, and help me to haul him in;" and looking back, I saw that the Irishman's prisoner had jumped up, and was endeavouring to spring through a port--having watched the moment that Paddy's back was turned on him. Paddy had seized one of his legs, and was tugging away with might and main; while the Spaniard, with his other foot on the port-sill, had nearly effected his purpose, notwithstanding the Irishman's desperate efforts to prevent his escape. "Arrah! now he's done it!" exclaimed Doyle, holding up the Spaniard's shoe and a piece of his trousers which had come away in his hand. The man, who was evidently a good swimmer, and had been trusting to this for escape, was striking out at a rapid rate for the shore. "Give way after him!" cried Lieutenant Worthy to Mudge, who was in the boat on the opposite side to that from which the pirate had escaped. The boat shoved off, but had to pull ahead of the ship. It was not till then that Mudge could see the swimmer, who had already made considerable progress towards the shore. I jumped into the rigging to watch him. Should he once land, and get in among the thick trees, he might effect his purpose. Possibly he expected to find friends to assist him. He was still some way ahead of the boat, when I caught a momentary glimpse of the dark fin of a shark. It disappeared, and the next instant a piercing shriek rent the air; the pirate threw up his arms, and sank beneath the surface! Then the boat pulled round and returned to the ship. Just as I got on board the corvette, a loud sound of tom-toms and horns was heard from the upper part of the river, and presently a fleet of large canoes appeared paddling rapidly towards us. It seemed scarcely possible that they should venture to attack an English man-of-war; and yet, from the gestures of their crews, and the way they came on, such appeared to be their intention. Possibly they had heard the firing, and, taught to believe the _Sea-Hawk_ the most powerful ship afloat, supposed that she had gained the victory. On discovering, however, that she was anchored astern of us, they ceased paddling; then after a short interval regaining courage, they again came on, shrieking and shouting and beating their tom-toms louder than ever, to intimidate us before they attempted to board. "Fire a shot over their heads," said the commander. "It will show the ignorant savages that we are not to be trifled with." Scarcely had the gun been discharged, when the canoes were seen paddling away as fast as their black crews could urge them on, each endeavouring as soon as possible to get out of the range of our shot; and in a little time they had disappeared behind the point which had before concealed them from us. We had still another task to perform--the capture or destruction of the slave-schooner of which Dicky Popo had told us. As the navigation of the river was intricate and dangerous above where we lay, the commander, unwilling to risk the safety of the ship, resolved to send up the boats, notwithstanding the assistance which the canoes might be expected to afford her. Three were accordingly sent away under the command of Mr Worthy, with whom I went; the pinnace having a six-pounder in the bows, and the others being armed with swivels. We soon came in sight of the canoes, with the schooner at anchor some distance beyond them. A shot from our six-pounder quickly sent them paddling away up the stream. Popo, who had been taken in our boat to point out where the battery had been thrown up, directly afterwards exclaimed,--"Dere! --dere it is!" Scarcely had he spoken, when a shot came whizzing over our heads. At our lieutenant's orders, the boats' heads were immediately turned towards the battery, when, our gun being fired at it, we rapidly pulled on. We quickly reached the bank; and the lieutenant, whose example I imitated, leaped on shore, calling to the small-arm men to follow him. In a few seconds we were scrambling into the battery, the Spaniards and blacks who had just before been in it making their escape helter-skelter into the thick wood behind it. A few of the white men--who, to do them credit, were the last to run--were shot or cut down, but the greater number made their escape,--our lieutenant wisely not allowing us to follow. Five guns found in the battery were spiked, upon which we immediately re-embarked and pulled away towards the schooner. We had not got many fathoms from the shore, however, when a thick smoke was seen issuing from her hatches, followed by flames which burst out from every part. We pulled on, in the hope of being able to extinguish them; for she appeared to be a remarkably fine vessel, and would have proved a prize worth capture. Before we got up to her, however, the lieutenant ordered the men to back their oars. And not too soon. The boats had still some way on them, when up went the masts and deck of the schooner, numerous fragments falling close around us. The flames raged furiously for a few minutes longer, after which the hull of the lightly-built vessel, shattered by the explosion, sank beneath the surface. What had become of the unfortunate slaves we could not tell; but it was to be hoped, for the sake of humanity, that all had been landed. One thing was very certain,--that we should be unable to capture any of them should we land, as they would all have been driven up into the interior. We therefore pulled back to the ship; and the breeze blowing strongly down the river, she and our prize were got under way, and we stood towards its mouth. The water on the bar being tolerably smooth, we got out without difficulty, and shortly afterwards sighted a sail beating up towards the land. She was made out to be a frigate, and proved to be that of the commodore on the station, who had also heard of the pirate, and was come to look for her. He complimented our commander on his conduct in the affair, and, greatly to our satisfaction, relieved us of our prisoners, as also of the charge of our prize, directing us to proceed on our voyage to the westward. Dicky Popo, who had been entered on board, remained with us, and became a great favourite both with officers and men. It was not till long afterwards that I heard of the fate of the _Sea-Hawk_ and the survivors of her piratical crew.	{ "id": "21493" }
2	ROUNDING CAPE HORN--A GALE--PUT INTO A PORT IN PATAGONIA--VISIT A WHALER--A ROMANTIC HISTORY--THE LOST CHILD--A YOUNG LADY--A SNUG HARBOUR--CLIMB A MOUNTAIN--A NARROW ESCAPE--VALPARAISO--THE CORAL ISLAND--COMMUNICATE WITH THE NATIVES--AN ADDITION TO OUR CREW--DICKY POPO LOST OVERBOARD--THE SANDWICH ISLANDS--MY SHIPMATES--SURVEY AN ISLAND--RECOVER POPO, AND FIND A WHITE BOY--HOW POPO WAS SAVED--GAIN INFORMATION ABOUT HARRY, THE WHITE BOY.	Little did I think, scarcely six months before, when seated at a desk in my father's counting-house, that I should ever see Cape Horn; yet there it rose on our starboard beam, dark, solitary, and majestic, high above the ocean, which rolled in vast undulations at its base. Onward we glided, with the ship's head to the westward and the wind aft, under all sail; now rising to the summit of a glass-like billow, now sinking deep down into the valley to climb up the watery steep on the opposite side. We had touched at Rio, to obtain a supply of wood and water and fresh provisions; but I need not give a description of that magnificent harbour, as nothing very particular occurred there. "That's a fine sight!" I exclaimed, as I watched the mighty headland, which gradually faded from view over our starboard quarter. "You'll see a good many other fine sights," observed Peter Mudge, who was somewhat matter-of-fact. "For my part, I have been glad to see the last of it each time I have come round this way, and to get safe into the Pacific; for twice I have been driven back, and have been kept knocking about among the icebergs, with the wind sharp enough to cut our noses off, for six blessed weeks or more. I only hope that is not to be our lot this time." "I hope not," I answered. "I was expecting to be in smooth water, with a sunny sky overhead, before many days are over." "So we may, youngster; then we'll hope for the best," said Mudge. "Still, when a fellow has met with as many ups and downs as I have, he learns not to fancy himself safe in harbour till he has got there." This time, however, Mudge, and we his shipmates, were not doomed to disappointment, and were, ere long, floating on the waters of the Pacific. We ran to the northward with a flowing sheet, keeping much closer in with the coast than, I believe, is usual, till we reached the 46th degree of south latitude. It then fell a dead calm. We had just before caught sight of a sail away to the eastward, beyond which, some forty or fifty miles off, rose the lofty peaks of the Cordilleras, covered with eternal snows; or I should say, perhaps, the southern end of that mighty chain which rises abruptly from the Isthmus of Panama, and extends the whole length of the continent. For the entire day we lay rolling our masts from side to side, till it almost seemed as if they would be shaken out of the ship. The commander wished to speak the stranger, on the chance of her being lately from England, and able to give us fresher intelligence than we possessed. He had ordered a boat to be got ready to be sent away, when, on looking at the barometer, he found that it was falling, while a bank of clouds was seen to be rising to the north-west. "Hold fast with the boat," he said; "before she can return, we may have a gale down upon us." We had not long to wait for it; and in half an hour or so we were dashing through the water under close-reefed topsails, heeling over with the wind from the north-west till the water came rushing in through the lee ports. The master, who had been on the coast before, recommended that, in order not to lose ground, we should run for the Gulf of Penas; where we could find shelter under the lee of an island, or get into one of the snug ports of the mainland. The ship's head was accordingly kept to the eastward. The sail we had seen was also standing in the same direction, probably with the same object in view. We guessed, therefore, that she was also bound to the northward, and wished to avoid being driven back. Mudge expressed his satisfaction that we had not stood away on the other tack. "If we had, we should have run a chance of being blown back again round the Cape into the Atlantic," he observed. "Not every captain, however, would venture to stand in for the land as we are doing; we must keep our eyes open and the lead going, or we may chance to run the ship on shore. But as yonder vessel probably knows her way, we shall have her as a guide, and may hope to find shelter without difficulty." We quickly overhauled the stranger, which proved to be a barque; and from her appearance, as we caught sight of her hull, there was no doubt that she was a South Sea whaler, and that, consequently, she was likely to be well acquainted with the coast. As we stood on, we caught sight of an extensive chain of islands, stretching out from the mainland on our larboard bow. Gradually they appeared more and more abeam, while ahead rose up several lofty and rugged peaks. The stranger still kept the lead; and following her, we at length found ourselves in an extensive bay, completely sheltered from the gale blowing without. Being now in perfectly smooth water, and the commander considering it not prudent to run farther in, we furled sails, and brought up some distance ahead of the whaler, which had just before come to an anchor. The spot where we found ourselves was about the wildest I had ever seen: dark rocks rose out of the sea fringing the shore, and rugged mountains towered up to the sky in all directions; while not a sign of human life was visible. As we swept the coast with our glasses, we discovered, almost abreast of the ship, a deep indentation which looked like the mouth of a gulf or estuary. This we naturally felt anxious to explore, and we hoped to have leave to do so the next day. Soon after we had furled sails, the commander directed Peter Mudge to take the jolly-boat and board the whaler, with a message to the master requesting any newspapers of a late date which he might possess. "Yes, you may go, Rayner," he said to me. "And, Mr Mudge, take him a leg of mutton my steward will put into the boat, and some oranges we brought from Rio." We had killed a sheep the previous day. We were soon on board the whaler. The master, a middle-aged, grave-looking man, in a long-tailed coat and broad-brimmed hat, not much like a sailor in outward appearance, received us very civilly, and was grateful for the present, as his wife, he said, was in delicate health, and to her it would be especially welcome. He invited us into the cabin where she was seated. She was a nice, pleasant-looking woman, though it struck me that her countenance bore a peculiarly melancholy expression. He at once handed us a bundle of English papers, published long after we had left home, and which were very welcome. "You'll stop and take supper with us, gentlemen. I hope," he said; "it will be on the table immediately. I don't know, however, that I can offer you better fare than you'll get on board your own ship." Mudge assured him that he did not care about that, and was happy to accept his invitation. While we remained in the cabin, our men were entertained by the crew. We had just taken our seats, when the door of a side cabin opened, and a young lady stepped out, looking more like a fairy, or an angel, or some celestial being, than a mortal damsel. So I thought at the time. Mudge and I rose and bowed; she returned our salutation with a smile and a slight bend of her neck. The master did not introduce us, nor did he say anything to let us know who she was. I, of course, thought that she was the captain's daughter; but she did not address Mrs Hudson as mother, and from some remarks she made I doubted whether such was the case. She at once entered into conversation without the slightest bashfulness; and it struck me that she was exerting herself, not so much to entertain us, as to keep up Mrs Hudson's spirits. The meal did not occupy much time, so that we had but little opportunity of talking. I thought the young lady's voice very sweet and melodious; indeed, she seemed to me the most perfect being I had ever seen. But then, it must be remembered, I was but a midshipman, and my experience was not very extensive; and the best part of a year had passed since we left England. At last, however, Mudge, pulling out his watch, observed that it was time to be on board again; so getting up, he wished Mrs Hudson and the young lady good-bye in his hearty way, and I was compelled to follow his example. Tears came into Mrs Hudson's eyes as she took me by the hand and murmured, "May Heaven preserve you from the dangers of the sea!" The young lady smiled very sweetly, and I could not help wishing that I might have the opportunity of paying another visit to the _Hopewell_. The first mate had accompanied me on deck, where I found the master talking to Mudge. I therefore went a little way along the deck to summon our boat's crew, who were with the men forward. "Mrs Hudson appears to be very melancholy," I observed to my companion. "She has reason to be so, poor lady," said the mate. "She has never got over the loss of her only child, in these seas, some years ago. It was a sad affair, for he was a fine brave little chap, the pet of all hands. The master's, and my boat, and the second mate's, had gone off in chase of whales, when another fish was seen spouting in an opposite direction. The third mate's boat was lowered, when the little fellow, whose mother was ill below, asked to be taken. The third mate, instead of refusing, thoughtlessly consented to let him go; and before the boatswain or any one else who had sense in his head saw what he was doing, he had carried him down into the boat; no one on deck, indeed, knew he had gone. Away pulled the boat, when the look-out at the mast-head shouted that one of our boats had struck a fish, and the boatswain accordingly made sail towards her. The whale, however, darted away, towing the boats for a league or more farther off, and we then had a hard matter to kill it. It had long been dark before we got alongside, by which time the weather had changed, and the wind was blowing very strong, while a nasty sea had got up. "I shall never forget the state poor Mrs Hudson was in when she could not discover what had become of her child; while her husband was almost as bad. At last one of the boys, who had before been afraid to speak, acknowledged that he saw little Harry in the arms of the third mate just before the boat shoved off, but that he, being called below at that moment, could not tell what had become of the child. We at once cut adrift the fish we had secured, and made sail in the direction the boat was supposed to have gone, placing lanterns in the rigging and firing guns to show our whereabouts. The weather, however, had been growing worse and worse, and with the heavy sea there was running, the boat herself, we knew, would be in no slight peril. "All night long we continued cruising over the ground; but not a sign of the boat could we discover. When morning came, we continued our search, with the same want of success. Towards noon the weather again moderated; but though fish were seen spouting, the master would not send the boats after them; and unwilling as we were to lose them, none of us had the heart to press him to do so. "For the best part of a week we stood backwards and forwards in all directions looking for the boat; till at last the men began to grumble, and I felt it my duty to urge the master to carry out the object of the voyage. Almost broken-hearted, he consented to do so. Slowly his poor wife recovered; and from that day to this they have never found any trace of their lost child. Probably the third mate had got hold of a fish; and he having but little experience, his boat must have been knocked to pieces, or else dragged down by the line becoming foul before it could be cut." "A very sad history," I remarked; "and I am not surprised at poor Mrs Hudson's melancholy. But who is the young lady?" I asked. "That is more than I can tell you," he answered. "She came on board the evening before we sailed, but not one of us had ever heard of her till then, and neither the master nor Mrs Hudson thought fit to enlighten us on the subject; while she herself, though ready enough to talk to me at the dinner-table, seldom says anything to any of us on deck." "How very romantic!" I could not help exclaiming, more interested than ever in the young lady. Wishing Captain Hudson good-bye, we shoved off, and as we pulled away we saw the young lady standing on the poop watching us. I pulled off my cap, and she waved her handkerchief in return. The account we gave of her and the master's wife excited much interest on board. The next morning, as the gale continued, a party was made up to visit the shore. It consisted of the second lieutenant and master, Peter Mudge, Tommy Peck, and I. We pulled in for the opening we had seen, and which I found to be much farther off than I had supposed--the height of the rocks at the entrance, which rose sheer out of the water, making the land appear quite close to us. At length we entered a narrow passage with high rocks on both sides for some distance, completely bare of trees; indeed, there was not a spot in which the roots could have fixed themselves. Gradually, however, the passage opened out, and we found ourselves in a large basin, the shore of which was covered with the richest vegetation, extending far up the sides of the mountains rising around us. Dark rocks peeped out from amid the trees which grew on the mountain-sides till lost to view, while above them were seen towering peaks covered with glittering snow. The master sounded as we went in, and found the depth of water sufficient for the largest ship. Here she might remain at anchor or moored to the trees, while the fiercest gale was blowing outside, as securely as in an artificial dock. We pulled round one side of the basin, but could find no opening by which, should we step on shore, we could make our way up the mountain. We did, indeed, land at two or three places, but it was impossible to get beyond a few yards from the water's edge. Probably, no human being had ever before set foot in that wooded region. Not even the chirp of a bird was heard, nor was any sign of life visible--silence and solitude reigned around. The whole surface of the ground was one mass of rotten timber, covered with various descriptions of moss and ferns. The trunks of trees which had fallen either from age and decay, or from being blown down by the wind, lay about in all directions; another generation having grown up to share the same fate, and to be succeeded by others still proudly rearing their heads green and flourishing. "Come, it won't do to be balked!" exclaimed the master. "We'll make our way somehow or other through the forest;" and the boat was run with her bow against the yielding bank. "You'll follow me!" As he said this he sprang on shore, or rather on to the trunk of a tree. "All right--come along," he exclaimed; "do as I do." The next instant, however, over he went on his nose, and disappeared. We followed, and found his legs sticking up, while his head and shoulders were three or four feet deep in damp wood and moss. We managed to haul him out, covered from head to foot with wet moss; his blue suit turned into one of green, fitted for the woodland region in which he was so anxious to roam. Undaunted, however, he made his way onwards, now climbing over a somewhat firm trunk; only, however, the next instant to sink up to his middle in the moss and decayed wood. Tommy followed, but was very nearly smothered, and not without difficulty we hauled him out; then the master, finding himself alone, came back grumbling at our cowardice, as he called it. We now all embarked, and pulled along the shore in the hope of finding a more practicable way up the mountain. As we got to the head of the basin, we discovered a stream flowing into it; up this we pulled for some distance,--the bank on either side being covered with vegetation,-- till we reached a rocky ledge on one side, over which the water had apparently at one time flowed. A low waterfall a slight distance ahead showed that further progress was impracticable. We accordingly landed on the ledge, and once more attempted to make our way up the mountain. We had much the same sort of ground to go over as that on which the master had made his first essay; but as the belt of forest which separated us from the steep side of the mountain was much narrower than in the former place, we persevered, and soon found that we were ascending. Up and up we went, helping ourselves along by the roots and branches of the trees, the more stunted growth of which at length showed the height we had reached. We now emerged from the forest, when the ground above us appeared covered with spongy moss, the walking over which we found comparatively easy, saturated though it was with snow-water, which fell in every direction in tiny cascades over the side of the mountain. Even the grass and moss were at length left behind, and we found ourselves treading on half-melted snow, which, as we ascended, became more crisp and solid--the bright glare, as the sun fell on it, proving very trying to our eyes after the gloom of the forest. Still, on we went for some distance, the ground being almost level; then we ascended, and, passing over the ridge, descended once more into a shallow valley, on the other side of which the mountain rose at a moderate inclination, which, it appeared to us, we could mount without any impediment till we reached the summit. Thence we expected to obtain a magnificent prospect over the sea on one side, and the country towards the interior on the other. We did get up it somehow or other, panting and exhausted, with our heads aching and our eyes dizzy, to encounter a fierce snow-storm which shut out all objects from view. To remain here longer might prove our destruction; we soon, therefore, began our descent. But the traces of our upward path were obliterated, and after descending a short distance we discovered that we had lost our way. I had gone some little distance ahead of the rest of the party, when I saw before me a gentle slope of snow, by sliding down which I fancied that I should quickly arrive at the bottom; so, calling to my companions, I began slipping gently downwards. "It's very pleasant and easy," I shouted out--"come along;" and on I went. I had gone some hundred yards, when, the atmosphere clearing, I saw rising before me a perpendicular cliff, which I knew was the opposite side of a deep chasm. Unless I could stop myself, I should be dashed to pieces. I thereupon dug my arms and legs into the snow; but still on I went. I now heard a shout, and looking up I saw Tommy laughing merrily as he descended, totally unaware of the fearful peril he was in. I cried out to him to stop himself if he could; but he did not understand what I said. On I went; not a tree nor a rock appeared to which I could cling. The precipice could not have been fifty yards before me, when, making another desperate effort, I got my feet through the snow and fixed against a rock in the ground. Still Tommy came on, with the rest of the party some way above him. Just as he shot by me, I seized him by the leg and brought him up. "Why did you do that?" he cried out, even then not knowing how close he was to the edge of the precipice. When he saw it, he joined his shouts with mine; and then pointing to the left, where I observed that the inclination was less steep, we directed the party towards it. Scrambling along on our knees and hands, we joined them; and now, moving with the greatest care, fearing every instant to be sent sliding down to our right, we at length reached a ledge by which we made our way into the valley. The danger was now past, but we had to undergo immense fatigue before we got back to the boat. We had intended calling on board the whaler, to pay another visit to Captain Hudson, but the lateness of the hour compelled our return to the ship. I was much disappointed, as I hoped to see the young lady by whose appearance I had been so much struck the previous day; but I consoled myself with the expectation of being able to go on board the next morning. During the night, however, the gale completely ceased; and when I came on deck I saw the whaler under all sail standing out of the harbour, with the wind off the land. We followed, but did not again get near enough to communicate with her. We stood some distance off the coast, and then continued our course to the northward. Very frequently, afterwards, did the image of that fair young girl recur to my memory, though she did not appear to have made so much impression on Peter Mudge; but he sometimes spoke of the captain's wife, and seemed to sympathise with her on the loss of her child, though it had happened so long ago. The peaks of the Cordilleras again came in sight, at a distance of a hundred and fifty miles, long before the shore at the base of the mighty range was visible--one of them, Aconcagua, rising to an elevation of upwards of 23,000 feet above the ocean. We touched at Valparaiso; which might, we agreed, possibly be a paradise for fleas, but certainly not for human beings of good taste. The climate is fine,--of that I have no doubt,--but the surrounding country is sterile and monotonous, the vegetation just then on the hills consisting of half-withered cacti, though in the valleys and the plains to the left of the town we saw groves of fruit trees and flowering shrubs. I can best describe the place by saying that it is divided by two deep ravines into three hills, sprinkled over with whitewashed houses; the hills are called fore-top, main-top, and mizen-top. Sailing from thence, during my watch one morning I heard a cry of "Land ahead!" I looked out, but nothing like land could I see. "We shall get sight of it before long from the deck," observed Mudge, "if we keep our eyes open." The ship, as she glided onward, rose and sank with the swell of the ocean; and presently, as she rose, I caught sight of what appeared to be a fleet of vessels at anchor. The next instant they had disappeared; but as she rose on the next swell I again caught sight of the seeming masts, which I gradually discovered to be tall cocoa-nut palms or pandanus trees. On approaching nearer, the whole white beach was distinctly seen; and above it a narrow belt of land of a light clay colour, surrounding a perfectly smooth lagoon of a beautiful blue tint; while against the outer belt the surf was breaking with terrific force. The highest part of the land appeared to be about ten or twelve feet above the level of the sea; and we calculated that the belt between the sea and the lagoon was about seven hundred feet wide, the soil being composed of coral debris and vegetable matter. Besides the palm-trees, there were a few shrubs not more than fourteen or fifteen feet in height. The whole island was about eight miles long, and from one and a half to two miles wide. We sounded as we approached, but could obtain no bottom; and it was not till we got quite close that the lead gave us ninety fathoms, and farther on seventy, thus proving that the land was the top of a submerged mountain. Such, indeed, are all the islands of this group. Once upon a time in the world's history, a mountainous region existed on the spot over which we were sailing, which gradually sank till the ocean flowed over all the highest portions. The coral insects finding it a convenient situation on which to build, the temperature of the water suiting their constitution, commenced operations, and formed an encircling reef round the shore. These creatures can only live at a certain depth beneath the surface; thus, as the land continued to sink, the first builders died, while others continued to work above their habitations. Still the land sank, and the coral insects worked on, building higher and higher till the summit of the mountain was not only covered, but was many fathoms deep below the surface. This, however, did not prevent the persevering creatures from continuing their operations; till at length a time came when the subsidence of the land ceased. The breakers then washed up portions of the coral on to the summit of the reef, which by degrees crumbled away from the action of the atmosphere. Sea-birds made it their home, and deposited the seeds of various plants, while the ocean washed up other seeds still containing germinating powers. Thus vegetation commenced; and the trees and shrubs decaying, more vegetable mould was formed to support the existence of a further succession of trees and shrubs. I give this information here, though I did not obtain it till long afterwards; indeed, I believe that no one at the time understood how the island was formed. I asked Mudge, who told me that it was placed there by Nature, as other parts of the earth had been formed, to give a pleasing variety to the face of the globe. "It will afford us anything but a pleasing variety, if we have to sail through a sea studded with such islands as these," I could not help observing; "for if we don't keep our eyes open, we shall be running on them." "You may well say that, my boy," he answered. "And as they extend for the best part of two thousand miles across the Pacific, we shall be lucky if our keel escapes acquaintance with some of them, should the commander take it into his head to cruise through their midst." The ship having reached the lee side of the island, a boat was lowered, and Mudge and I accompanied the first lieutenant to try and open a communication with the inhabitants,--carrying with us some trifles, such as beads, small looking-glasses, and other trinkets, furnished us at home to barter with the natives or to use as presents in order to gain their good-will. As we pulled in, a number of them appeared on the beach armed with long spears and clubs, which they brandished with menacing attitudes, as if they would prevent us from landing. We had taken Dicky Popo with us, under the belief that, seeing a person of a darker skin than ours among us, they might be inclined to trust us; not that it was supposed he could understand their language. As they still continued waving us off, the lieutenant held up a string of beads and some other articles. Then, not wishing to risk the safety of the boat by running her on the coral beach,--on which the surf, beating heavily, might soon have stove in her bows,--we pulled in as close as we could venture, and he threw the articles on shore. The savages eagerly picked them up; but still they did not appear satisfied as to our friendly intentions, and continued waving us off, shouting, at the same time, at the top of their voices. As they did not throw their spears, however, or make any other hostile movements, we remained at a short distance from the beach, hoping that the presents we had given them would produce a more amiable state of mind. Still, though we did all we could to win their confidence, whenever we got a little nearer they again began gesticulating, showing that they had no intention to let us land if they could help it. Besides the men on the beach, we saw a group of people at some distance, who seemed to be watching our proceedings with great interest, and apparently holding back one of their number who was making efforts to break away from them. In colour and costume, or rather in the want of it, he differed but little from the rest; and we therefore concluded that he was insane, or that from some other cause his companions objected to his coming near us. As the commander had given orders that we should on no account force a landing, our lieutenant, believing that we should be unable to accomplish our object, put the boat round; and we were pulling off, when the man we had seen escaped from those who held him, and, dodging round the others, sprang into the water, and with rapid strokes swam off towards us, in spite of several spears hurled at him. Mr Worthy instantly pulled back to take him in. "Glad get among you," he exclaimed, greatly to our surprise, in tolerable English, as he climbed over the side. "Why, my friend, who are you?" asked Mr Worthy. "I Kanaka," he answered; by which we knew that he was a Sandwich Islander. As we returned to the ship, he explained that he had belonged to a vessel caught in a gale off the island; when, having been washed overboard from the bowsprit, and no attempt being made to pick him up, he had remained afloat all night, and succeeded the next morning, in a way that only a Sandwich Islander could have accomplished, in reaching the island. Happily the inhabitants did not see him till he had recovered his strength. He then went boldly among them; and as he was able to make himself understood, he had, by the way he addressed them, gained their confidence, though he believed that they would otherwise immediately have put him to death. His knowledge being superior to theirs, he was looked upon with much respect; and as he had already taught them many things they did not before know, the people wished to retain him among them. "Dey stupid savages," he observed with a look of contempt; though, except that he could speak a little English, we were not inclined to consider him much raised above them in the scale of civilisation. The lieutenant then inquired the character of the vessel from which he had been washed overboard. The Kanaka, shaking his head and throwing an expression of disgust into his countenance, answered, "No good;" and on further examining him, Mr Worthy came to the conclusion that she was either a pirate, or a craft engaged in carrying off the inhabitants to work in the mines of Peru--the rumour having reached us at Valparaiso that some vessels had been fitted out for that purpose. He had for some time been serving on board a whaler, where he had learned English; and having deserted at a port in Peru, had joined this craft in the hope of getting back to his own island, whither he had understood she was bound. His name, he told us, was Tamaku. He and Dicky Popo soon became great friends, and both made themselves very useful on board. It was singular that they should have joined us much in the same way. Tamaku was likely to prove of service in acting as interpreter with the natives of Polynesia; for the language of the Sandwich group differs but slightly from the dialects of the other brown-skinned races inhabiting the numerous archipelagoes which dot its surface. The Sandwich Islanders can thus generally make themselves understood wherever they go. Tamaku being a merry, obliging fellow, became a favourite with the crew, and we hoped that we should be able to retain him on board even after our visit to the Sandwich Islands, to which we were now bound. We were glad enough to get clear of the Low Archipelago, for it is a serious matter to be caught in a gale amid its countless coral reefs, many of which are not to be seen until the ship is close upon them; and even in fine weather the greatest vigilance is required to avoid them. We had a look-out at each fore-topsail-yardarm, at the fore-topmast-head, and often at the bowsprit end, as the submerged reefs can in calm weather be distinguished only by the darker colour of the water. Even when we were clear of these, we had still to keep a look-out for other islands in our course; as well as for the craft which Tamaku had described to us, or for her consorts, which the commander was very anxious to catch. As we were soon afterwards running on with a flowing sheet during the night, the stars being obscured by clouds, and the wind pretty strong, "Land! land on the starboard bow!" was shouted from forward. "Land ahead!" was the next startling cry. What dangerous reef might run off it was not known. "Starboard the helm!" shouted the officer of the watch; "brace the yards sharp up!" "All hands on deck!" was the next cry; for the ship was heeling over so much to the gale that it became necessary to shorten sail without delay. As it was, the risk of carrying away the yards, if not the masts, was very great. While the hands were hauling aft the sheets, a loud clap was heard. The main-tack had given way, and the clew of the sail was flapping furiously in the wind, threatening with death all within its reach. At the instant it gave way a sharp cry reached my ears. Immediately afterwards a voice from the poop shouted, "Man overboard!" But, alas! whoever he was, no assistance could be rendered him. Destruction awaited the ship should she not weather the land ahead. One of my messmates who was on the poop--Tommy Peck by name--acting upon the impulse of the moment, cut the lanyard of the life-buoy, which fell into the seething ocean; though he either forgot to pull that which would have ignited the port-fire, or the port-fire itself was damaged, as no light was seen as it fell into the water. Some minutes of anxious suspense followed, during which the ship was ploughing her way through the dark seas which, rolling onward, burst into masses of foam on the rocky shore to leeward. At length the open ocean could be seen beyond the point which gradually appeared over our starboard quarter; but the commander dared not yet keep the ship away, not knowing how far the reef extending from it might reach. In the meantime the tack had been secured, and two reefs taken in the topsail. Even as it was, however, the ship, slashing through the foaming seas, could scarcely look up to the gale, and I every moment expected to see her go right over. The water was rushing through her ports, and rose half-way up the deck to the combings of the hatchway. With infinite relief, therefore, I heard the order given to port the helm and square the yards; and once more we flew on before the wind, leaving the dark land astern. It seemed as if there had come a sudden lull, so easily did she now speed on her way over the ocean. All were eager to know who had been lost, and the muster-roll was called. One after another the men answered to their names, till that of Dicky Popo was shouted out. No Dicky answered, and it became certain that he was the unfortunate individual lost. Tamaku expressed his grief with a loud wail. "O Popo! Popo! why you go overboard?" he cried out. "You not swim like Kanaka, or you get to shore. But now I know you at de bottom of de sea." It was sad, indeed, to think that the poor lad had gone overboard at a moment when it was utterly impossible to render him any assistance. Under other circumstances he might easily have been saved, as the sea, though rough, was not sufficiently so to prevent a boat being lowered. Now, however, we could not go back to look for him; indeed, as Tamaku said, he must long before this have perished. We after this sighted the Marquesas, to which the French have laid claim, though they have made no attempt to colonise these beautiful and fertile islands. The Sandwich Islands were at length reached, and we brought up off Honolulu, in the island of Oahu. We were more struck with the beauty of the scenery than with that of the female portion of the inhabitants; but as the islands have been so often described, I will not attempt to do so; merely remarking that they are eleven in number, some of them about a hundred miles in circumference. Hawaii, formerly known as Owhyhee, is very much the largest, being eighty-eight miles in length by sixty-eight in breadth; and it contains two lofty mountains, each upwards of thirteen thousand feet in height--one called Mauna Kea, and the other Mauna Loa, which latter is for ever sending forth its volcanic fires, while it casts its vast shadow far and wide over the ocean. After leaving Honolulu, which in those days was a very different place to what it is now, we brought up in the Bay of Kealakeakua, celebrated as the place where Captain Cook lost his life. As we entered the bay we could see in the far distance the towering dome of Mauna Loa. The whole country round bore evidence of the volcanic nature of the soil; broken cliffs rose round the bay, on the north side of which a reef of rocks offers the most convenient landing-place. It was here that Captain Cook was killed, while endeavouring to reach his boat. A few yards from the water stands a cocoa-nut tree, at the foot of which he is said to have breathed his last. The _Imogene_ carried away the top of the tree; and her captain had a copper plate fastened on to the stem, the lower part of which has been thickly tarred to preserve it. On the plate is a cross, with an inscription--"Near this spot fell Captain James Cook, the renowned circumnavigator, who discovered these islands, A.D. 1778." Tamaku having been allowed to remain on shore during the time we were here, came off again of his own free will, and expressed his readiness to continue on board. We again sailed to the southward. The commander had been directed to visit the archipelagoes on the western side of the Pacific, but he wished first to make a survey of the island on which we had so nearly run during the gale on our course northward. I have, by-the-by, said very little about my messmates, except Mr Worthy, Peter Mudge (who acted as my Mentor, as he was likewise that of all the youngsters), and my chum Tommy Peck. There was another mate, who had lately passed,--Alfred Stanford, a very gentlemanly, pleasing young man. We had, besides, a surgeon, a master's assistant, the captain's clerk and the purser's clerk, who made up the complement in our berth. My chief friend among the men was Dick Tillard, an old quartermaster, to whom I could always go to get instruction in seamanship, with the certainty that he would do his best to enlighten me. He had been at sea all his life, and had scarcely ever spent a month on shore at a time. He was a philosopher, in his way; and his philosophy was of the best, for he had implicit confidence in God's overruling providence. If anything went wrong, his invariable remark was,--"That's our fault, not His who rules above; trust him, lads, trust him, and he will make all things right at last." I have very little to say about our second lieutenant, or the master, or surgeon, or purser,--who, as far as I knew, were respectable men, not above the average in intellect, and got on very well together in the gunroom; so that our ship might have been looked upon as a happy one, as things go, though I confess that we cannot expect to find a paradise on board a man-of-war. I must not omit to mention our boatswain, a person of no small importance on board ship. So, at all events, thought Mr Fletcher Yallop, as he desired to be called; and if we youngsters ever wanted him to do anything for us, we always thus addressed him--though, of course, the commander and officers called him simply Mr Yallop. If the men addressed him as Mr Yallop, he invariably exclaimed,--"Mr Fletcher Yallop is my name, remember, my lad; and I'll beg you always to denominate me by my proper appellation, or a rope's end and your back will scrape acquaintance with each other." He explained his reasons to me in confidence one day. "You see, Mr Rayner, I expect before I die to come into a fortune, when I shall be, of course, Fletcher Yallop, Esquire. I can't make the men call me so now, because I am but a simple boatswain; but I like the sound; it keeps up my spirits. When I get out of sorts, I repeat to myself: `Fletcher Yallop, Esquire, be a man; be worthy of your future position in society when you take your place among the nobility of the land, and perhaps write M.P. after your name,'--and in an instant I am myself again, and patiently bear the rubs and frowns to which even warrant-officers are subjected. In truth, though I wish you not to repeat it, Mr Rayner, I may become a baronet; and I always look with trembling interest at the Gazette, to see if a certain person, whose heir I am, has been raised to that dignity." I ventured to ask the boatswain on what he grounded his hopes of fortune. "That is a secret, Mr Rayner," he replied, "which I must not divulge, even to you; but you would not doubt my word, I am sure. That must be sufficient for the present; and I must request you not to make the matter a subject of conversation among your messmates. They would not enter into my feelings as you do." I found, however, that Mr Yallop had been equally confidential to Tommy Peck, though he had not ventured to talk of his hopes either to Mudge or Stanford. Tom and I, on comparing notes, came to the conclusion that the boatswain was under a hallucination; though, as it was a very harmless one, and afforded him intense satisfaction without in any way interfering with his duty, we agreed that it was as well to let him enjoy it. He was, indeed, a first-rate seaman and an excellent boatswain, though he handled the rope's end pretty freely when any of the ship's boys or ordinary seamen neglected their duty. He was a broadly built man, with enormous black whiskers; and no one would have supposed that he possessed a single grain of romance in his composition. He had an eagle eye, and a sun-burned, weather-beaten countenance; but I believe he had as tender a heart as any man in the ship. Nothing of importance occurred till we sighted the island against which we had so nearly run. Standing in with the lead going, we found good anchorage in a wide bay, protected by a high point of land on one side and a reef on the other. The captain wishing to survey the island, and the weather being fine, he ordered his gig to be manned, and, much to my satisfaction, told me to be ready to accompany him. We took a supply of provisions for the day, as we did not expect to be back till late in the evening. While the first lieutenant and master were surveying the bay in which the ship lay, and the coast in its immediate neighbourhood, we pulled round to the opposite side of the island. We had as yet seen no natives, but as cocoa-nut trees were visible on shore, we concluded that some parts of it were inhabited. The centre was of considerable height, and was evidently of volcanic origin, the highest point being apparently a volcano, though no smoke or fire was seen proceeding from it. We had been pulling on for three or four hours, keeping at some distance from the shore, to avoid the reefs which ran off it, as the captain wished to make the whole circuit during the day, when, just as we had doubled the point, we saw right ahead, some way from the shore, a small canoe with a flag flying at her bow. The commander ordered the men to give way, fearing that the natives in the canoe, when they saw us, would attempt to escape, and he specially wished to gain information from them. (Tamaku, I should have said, formed one of the crew, having been taken to act as interpreter.) There appeared to be no one on board the canoe, which was at anchor; but as we drew nearer we saw the head of a person rise up above the gunwale, when, as it seemed, he for the first time caught sight of us. He gazed towards the gig with astonishment, though without uttering any cry of alarm. "He has an unusually white skin for a native," observed the captain; "indeed, he must be, I am sure, a European." The boy, for his features showed that he was very young, took something from the bottom of the canoe, as we drew near, and kneeling down in the bow in a suppliant manner, held out his hand towards us. The commander, anxious not to alarm him, ordered the gig to pull round and back in quietly astern, while, standing up, he leaned forward to examine what the boy had got in his hand. Just at that moment another head rose above the gunwale of the canoe from the outside; but that was black as jet; and what should I see but Dicky Popo's astonished countenance, his ivory teeth gleaming whitely as his mouth distended from ear to ear. "Oh, ky! cappen--and you, Massa Rayner--where you come from?" he exclaimed, as he rested on his elbows before getting into the canoe. So interested was the captain in the appearance of the white boy,--more even than in the number of beautiful pearls he held in his hand,--that he scarcely recognised Popo. "Who are you, and where do you come from?" asked the commander. The lad only shook his head, as if he did not understand his question-- still keeping his hand extended, with the pearls in it. "He no speakee English," said Popo, who had just scrambled into the canoe. "Why, Dicky Popo," cried the commander, "you here, my boy!" I could not resist shaking Popo by the hand, so delighted was I to see him. "Yes, massa cappen; me no drownee," he answered. "That's very evident," said the commander; "and I shall be glad to know how you escaped. But first I want you to set the mind of this poor lad at rest, as he seems in a great fright. Tell him we are friends, and will do him no harm, for he does not understand what I say to him." Popo, more by signs than words, quickly succeeded in tranquillising the lad. "Who is he?" asked the commander, "for his skin is as white as ours; and I cannot suppose that he is a native." "He not say who he is," answered Popo; "but by-and-by perhaps talkee more." "Well, we must wait patiently," said the commander. "Ask him if he has any objection to accompany us; and if he is ready to come we will take you and him into the gig, while we tow the canoe astern." After a few more signs and incomprehensible words had passed between Popo and the white boy, they both stepped into the gig; the latter still holding the pearls in his hand, which, as soon as he was seated, he again offered to the commander, who this time received them, and after examining them put them into his pocket. The canoe was then made fast to the gig astern, and we continued our course round the island. The commander was engaged in noting its headlands and bays and other features, and could not give his attention to the lad; but I lost no time in trying to learn from Popo how he had escaped,--also drawing from him anything he knew about the white boy. On the first point he quickly enlightened me. On falling overboard, he had caught sight of the life-buoy which Peck had providentially let go; and being a good swimmer, he had reached it, and climbing up, had made himself fast to it. With a feeling of dismay he saw the ship sailing on, but he did not gave way to despair, as after some time he discovered that the life-buoy was drifting towards the land. Still, he knew that, should it be driven among the breakers, he should in all probability be dashed to pieces on the rocks. However, as he told me, he hoped for the best, and clung on, finding himself getting nearer and nearer the shore. When morning broke, he found that he was not more than a few cable-lengths from the beach. As the light increased he looked out anxiously, and, much to his satisfaction, saw that he was drifting towards a sandy bay. He cast off the lashings which had hitherto secured him, that he might swim on shore, knowing that the life-buoy would in all probability be rolled over and over. It now advanced but little; and he was on the point of parting from it and beginning to swim, when he saw several natives come down to the beach, and among them a white lad. The former stood gazing at him, apparently indifferent to the rude breakers; the lad, however, directly afterwards began to launch a small canoe which lay on the beach, and jumping into it and actively working the paddle, made his way through the breakers towards him. Popo being quite sure that he came as a friend, left the life-buoy as soon as he drew near, and with a few strokes reached the bow of the canoe, over which he soon scrambled; when the boy at once paddled back to the beach, carrying him safely through the breakers. The savages, who were as brown as those he had before seen, gathered round him and examined his skin with much curiosity, supposing, he observed, that he had got on a black coat. They then made him and the white boy stand together, grinning at the contrast which their colours presented, and evidently satisfied that they themselves were the just medium. Popo, who was very hungry, now made signs that he wanted something to eat. His new friend, hastening away, quickly returned from a hut at no great distance with some food, which the brown savages did not prevent his giving him. Popo soon found, however, that although his life was to be spared he was to be treated as a slave, as the white boy appeared to be. After remaining on the beach a short time, the savages led him to their village, which consisted of a number of low huts. The women had been preparing their morning meal, after which some of the men went out to kill birds, while others occupied themselves in a taro plantation on some level ground to the rear of their village. Popo, meantime, who could scarcely keep his eyes open, was conducted by his white friend to a hut, where the latter spread a mat for him, and made signs that he might lie down. Scarcely had he done so when he fell fast asleep. The next day, the weather being finer, many of the men went off in their canoes; Popo and the white boy being taken out in that of the chief. Popo found that they were engaged in diving for pearl-oysters. The white lad appeared to be among the best of their divers. He fearlessly plunged overboard with a net and a small axe--the net being attached to the boat by a line; and when his net was hauled up it was invariably full of oysters. The chief made signs to Popo that he must do the same. Though he was a good swimmer, he had never been accustomed to diving; but the white boy showed him how he could accomplish the feat, and after some practice he was able to go down, and succeeded almost as well as his companion. Since he had been there, three vessels had come and purchased all the pearls which had been collected, when he and the white boy had been carried off some way from the shore, so that they might not communicate with the crews. After each visit paid by the pearl-traders, all the men in the village had become excessively tipsy; and on the first two occasions they, fearing that they might be ill-treated, had run off and hidden themselves, though they did not escape punishment. Popo had begun to learn his companion's language; which he spoke, however, in a way very different from the natives. They were thus able to communicate with each other. Only the day before our arrival another trader had gone away, and at the present time every man in the village was drunk. As the old chief had on previous occasions beaten them, when he came to himself, for not having some pearls ready for him, they had come off in the canoe by themselves, and were engaged in fishing,--for so it may be called,--when we found them. Such is an outline of the account Popo gave me. All the time I was talking to Popo, the lad had his eyes fixed intently on me, as if he was endeavouring to understand what we were saying. "And you, Popo," I asked; "are you glad to escape from the savages?" "Yes, massa; dat I am," answered Popo. "And do you think your companion is the same?" I added, looking towards him. "Yes, yes," said the white boy, looking up at me. "Why, you must be English; you have thoroughly understood what I said," I exclaimed. "Me tink so too," observed Popo. The commander, who had been listening to what we had been saying, now called Tamaku aft, and desired him to try if he could understand the white boy, who after he had last spoken seemed abashed, and could not be got to utter a word. Tamaku at once began to ask him questions, which he answered with apparent readiness in the same language, differing but slightly in sound. "Can you make out how he came to be among the natives?" asked the commander, when Tamaku and the boy had ceased speaking. "He not know much," answered the Kanaka; "long time wid dem--say dey find him in a boat at sea, and bring him here and make him slavey." "Try and find out his name," said the commander; "whether it is Tom or Dick, or Jack or Harry." Scarcely had he uttered the last word when the boy exclaimed, "Harry! Harry! dat my name," and seemed almost overcome by hearing it uttered. "Well, Harry, my boy, can't you talk a little more English? Since you remember your name, tell us something about your father and mother, or any of your other friends," continued the commander. "Father--mother," repeated the boy, with a look of pleasure, as if they were words once familiar to his tongue. "Well done, my boy," exclaimed the commander, pleased with the result of his experiment; "you'll remember more words by-and-by, when you get on board. And we'll not yet pay your drunken friends a visit to let them wish you good-bye." It was difficult to say whether the boy understood him; but, at all events, the commander's kind tone of voice gave him confidence, and he seemed contented and happy. As we had only just time to get round the island, the commander did not put on shore anywhere; also, with so small a party, he thought it imprudent to go among the natives, who might prove hostile--especially if they found that he was carrying off their slaves. Popo and the white boy appeared well-pleased at this; and it was evident that the latter had no great affection for those among whom he had lived so long. Frequently during the remainder of the day we heard the boy saying to himself, "Yes, yes--Harry--father--mother," as if pleased with the sound of those long-forgotten words. Then I was nearly certain that I heard him muttering to himself a verse of a child's hymn; but the words were indistinct. He listened attentively to every word we said, and now and then uttered a word after us. "I suspect that in the course of a few days he will be able to tell us more about himself than he can do now," observed the captain; "in the meantime, we must not bother him too much." We got on board just before darkness set in. Popo was greeted warmly by the whole of the crew, who were delighted to find that he had escaped and to have him back among them again; while Harry, as the white boy was at once called, was received with much curiosity, every one being eager to know who he was and how he had fallen into the hands of the savages. As may be supposed, he had not been many minutes on board before he was rigged out in a shirt and trousers and jacket, with a handkerchief round his neck, and a broad-brimmed hat on his head. He made no objection to putting on the dress, which really became him; and Dick Tillard, who acted as his valet, observed that it was surely not the first time he had been so rigged out. Next day, the commander went on shore with a strongly-armed party, taking Tamaku with him, that he might try and obtain further information from the natives. The latter showed no signs of fear, being apparently accustomed to the sight of white men. They inquired what had become of the boys, and demanded to have them back. Tamaku replied that one of them belonged to the ship, and that the other desired to remain on board, so that they could not be given up; but the English commander would make a present to them if they would inform him honestly how they came to have the white boy among them. After this, by Tamaku's account, they had a long palaver, when the old chief, stepping forward, said that he was ready to declare the truth: that some seven years before, as he and his people were on board a large canoe on their way to this island, they had fallen in with an English boat containing several men and a little boy; but the men had all died; and the little boy had been taken care of, and had lived with them ever since. Tamaku had his suspicions that the men had been put to death; however, it was not worth while pressing the matter home on the chief, as, of course, he would have denied it. The commander having finished his survey of the island, and obtained all the information respecting the boy which he could collect, we again made sail and stood to the westward.	{ "id": "21493" }
3	HARRY A MEMBER OF OUR MESS--HE RAPIDLY IMPROVES--ANCHOR OFF A VOLCANIC ISLAND--OUR BOAT-CRUISE ROUND THE ISLAND--CHASE A WHALER--A HURRICANE-- RUN BEFORE IT--DRIVEN ON AN ISLAND--BOAT DAMAGED--FIND COCOA-NUTS-- SEARCH FOR FOOD--THE BIRD ISLAND--WE FORM A CAMP, AND GO TO SLEEP.	I must not stop to describe our run to the westward, the islands we sighted, the narrow escapes we had of knocking our bows in against coral reefs, or the gales we encountered in the falsely so-called Pacific,-- not but that it is pacific enough at times, when long calms prevail; and on two such occasions we lay basking, or rather sweltering, under the rays of a tropical sun, scarcely cooled even during the night. Still we all retained our health, being amply supplied with lime-juice and preserved vegetables, calculated to keep the much-dreaded scurvy at bay. Harry at once became a favourite on board; for though he had been cowed by his task-masters, his spirit had not been broken. He was grateful for all kindness shown him, and anxious to learn, so that he in a short time was as civilised as any one on board. He also rapidly acquired a knowledge of English,--or, I may say, regained it, for so quickly did he pick up the more simple words, that it was clear he must have known them before. As he did so, recollections of the past seemed to come back to his mind; and when he was able to speak his thoughts, he mentioned numerous circumstances which convinced us of what the commander had from the first suspected. I took a great liking to him, as he did to me; and taking care not to suggest ideas to him which might have led him into error, I frequently got him to tell me the recollections of his early days. He remembered his mother, whom he described as very beautiful, as he naturally thought her, and very like what Mrs Hudson must have been; and he spoke of his father as being a great chief, who commanded a number of men; and also of being on board a ship, which he said was very much larger than the _Heroine_, and had a great number of men and boats. He spoke, also, of enormous fish being caught, and brought alongside, and cut up and burned; so that, of course, I knew she must have been a whaler. At length he said he recollected being carried into a boat and rowed away from the ship, which he had never seen again; and now I had not a shadow of doubt that he was indeed the long-lost child of Captain and Mrs Hudson. He had no recollection of the murder of the crew, however; but he next remembered finding himself among dark-skinned savages, with whom he had ever afterwards remained. Possibly he might have been in an unconscious state, from want of food, when the boat was seized by the savages, and had so escaped witnessing the murder of her crew. As soon as I made this out, I told the commander; who took great pains to cross-question Harry, and ultimately arrived at the same conclusion that I had done. He therefore at once told Harry that his surname was Hudson, and that he would spare no pains to restore him to his father and mother, who had long mourned him as lost. Harry seemed much affected by this, and often expressed to me his wish to see his mother again, declaring that he should know her at once; and he thought, also, that he could recognise his father. I reminded him that his mother would look much older than when he had been parted from her, as grief and sickness had paled her cheek; but that I felt sure she would recognise him, and that he must do his best to be like us, so that she might find him a real English boy. The commander, on thus ascertaining who he was, asked us if we would receive him in the midshipmen's berth,--charging us at the same time to set him a good example, by avoiding anything that was wrong, and by teaching him only what was right. Without a dissentient voice we all agreed to the commander's proposal, and Harry Hudson forthwith became a member of our mess. Some of the men, and Dick Tillard especially, were at first rather jealous of this. When I told him what the commander had said, he replied,--"It's all right, Mr Rayner; and if you follow his advice, it will do you as much good as it will Harry; and we'll all be ready to serve him as much as before." The commander also spoke on the subject to Harry; who, however, did not require his lecture, as he took the greatest possible pains to imitate us, as well as to speak correctly. We began also to teach him to read and write; but I think he must have known his letters before, from the rapid way in which he learned them--he knew them all in a couple of days, and in a week could read short words; indeed, it was evident that he was possessed of great natural intelligence, and an amiable disposition. Yet, had he lived on with the savages, he would have remained as wild and ignorant as they were. The commander, who was a truly religious man, frequently had him in to talk to him about God, and to tell him how man, being sinful, had separated from God, and had become a rebel to him; how God, notwithstanding, loved him, and yet how, being a God of justice, he must punish sin, and could not therefore forgive him unless he had allowed another--his own sinless Son--to be punished instead of sinful man. Harry thought over what the commander told him; and a day or two afterwards he repeated to me all that had been said, and observed that he was convinced it was just the plan to suit man's wants, and that he would henceforth try to serve so good and merciful a God, and love that dear Son who had been punished instead of him. Thus Harry became a Christian; and, I believe, a much better Christian than very many on board. Of course, when we found him his mind was imbued with the same dark heathenism as were the minds of the savages among whom he had lived. A sharp look-out was kept for a sail; and our earnest wish was, that as we got to the westward we should fall in with Captain Hudson's ship, as he had intended to proceed in that direction. We were not so likely, it was feared, to fall in with any of the abominable Chilian kidnappers; they would probably only attempt to carry off the brown natives from the islands on the eastern side of the Pacific. We were now, it will be understood, approaching the region inhabited by the black-skinned races. We had stood to the southward, and visited Samoa or Navigator's Islands, inhabited by an intelligent brown-skinned race, far more advanced in civilisation than the people we now expected to meet with; but I must not stop to describe them. We had been some days at sea, still running to the westward, when we sighted a small island ahead. The captain considered that it was the northernmost of a chain of volcanic islands extending from the Friendly group; and, as it was not marked on the chart, he wished to survey it, so we accordingly stood on. As we approached nearer, we saw that it consisted of a range of conical peaks,--many of the hills rising sheer out of the water, while others were bordered by low cliffs or beaches. It had also several deep bays or inlets. Though it was surrounded by a coral reef, two openings were perceived in it, through which it appeared that there would be no difficulty in taking the ship, when we might find secure anchorage in one of the bays within it. A passage nearly the eighth of a mile wide appearing ahead of us, we entered, having look-outs as usual aloft, to warn us in time of any hidden reefs in our course, while the lead was also kept going. The wind being light, it was evening before we came to an anchor; and darkness soon coming on, displayed to our eyes the magnificent spectacle of a volcano sending forth masses of flame, with hot lava running down the sides of the mountain in broad streams, some making their way towards the bay in which we lay, others being lost to sight in a deep gully, apparently on the other side. Now and then loud rumbling sounds were heard, like the discharge of big guns in rapid succession or the rattling of thunder; and the watch on deck declared they felt the ship shake, as if there had been an earthquake. Once, also, a shower of ashes fell on the ship's deck, the wind having shifted, and blowing from off the land. The commander, however, did not consider there was any danger, so we remained quietly at anchor. The next morning, when the commander and master were preparing to set off to commence their survey, Mudge asked me if I should like to make a trip along the coast. Of course I said Yes. As Tom and Harry begged that they might accompany us, Mudge got leave to take the jolly-boat, with Tillard, Tamaku, and Popo to assist in pulling. We provided ourselves with food to last us for the day, put four muskets and a cutlass apiece into the boat; though, as the island did not appear to be inhabited, we did not expect to meet with natives. We might, however, we thought, get a shot at some wild-fowl; and we intended landing somewhere and lighting a fire to cook our provisions. Fully expecting to have a pleasant day, we pulled away from the ship. Shortly afterwards a breeze sprang up, and we made sail, running swiftly along the shore. Mudge and I had our note-books, in which we noted down the points and inlets, with the computed distances. We soon got to the extreme end of the island, and had just doubled it when I caught sight of a vessel in the offing. I pointed her out to Mudge. He looked at her through his spy-glass. "She is becalmed," he observed; "and, Rayner, do you just look at her, and tell me what you think she is; but speak in a low voice, because I don't want Harry to hear." I took the glass, and made out that the vessel was barque-rigged; and though she was hull down, I felt sure that she was a whaler. "From the appearance of her sails, I shouldn't be surprised if she was the _Hopewell_," said Mudge. "I am sure that the commander would wish us to try and communicate with her, and restore that poor lad to his parents; and even if it should fall dark before we can get back, the volcano will serve to guide us." Of course I was very willing to do as Mudge proposed. We agreed, however, not to say anything to Harry, lest we should disappoint him. "We are going to board yonder barque," said Mudge aloud; "there is an opening through the reef just abreast of us, and we shall have no difficulty in reaching her." "Orders are orders," said Tillard; "I never knew any good come of disobeying them." Mudge, however, did not hear him; and I, looking forward to the pleasure of seeing Harry restored to his parents,--and it may be that I just thought of the pretty young lady I had seen on board,--did not repeat what he had said. As there was a light breeze off the land, we hoisted our sail, that we might benefit by it as long as it lasted. Our only fear was that the barque might get the breeze also, and stand away from us. We kept rowing, therefore, to increase our speed. On we pulled, but in my eagerness it appeared that we were no nearer the barque than at first. I saw by Harry's countenance that he was as eager as we were, and I could not help thinking that he suspected the object of our trying to board the barque. At last he asked, looking at me intently, "Do you think that my father's ship?" "We have some hopes that she is; but, you know, we may be mistaken, Harry," said Mudge; "so you must not raise your expectations too high. Even if she is, we may not reach her; but, at all events, we'll do our best to get on board." Soon after this, on looking through the glass I observed the barque's sails fill out, though the wind came from a different quarter to that from which we got it. "We may still cut her off, though we must steer rather more to the westward than we are doing," remarked Mudge, altering the boat's course. We immediately afterwards got a much stronger breeze; and the boat ran merrily over the waves, which, as we got from under the lee of the land, were somewhat higher than they had before been. Still Mudge, in his eagerness, did not seem to notice this, nor, I confess, did I; having our eyes fixed on the vessel, we did not look astern. We had been standing on for some distance, when an exclamation from Tillard made me look towards the land, over which hung a dense black cloud. Directly afterwards, a loud rushing noise reached our ears, resembling the continuous roar of thunder, mingled with the sound of a downpour of rain. It was the voice of the hurricane. Tillard sprang to the halyards, and, without waiting for Mudge's orders, lowered the sail half down. "Keep her before the wind, Mr Mudge; it's our only chance now!" he exclaimed. Mudge, seeing that this was the best thing to be done, followed his advice; and the wind striking us the instant afterwards, away we flew directly before it. Had the seas been higher, we might have attempted to keep the boat's head to wind, and our chance of escape would have been small indeed; as it was, fast as we flew through the seething ocean, we hardly escaped being pooped, the crests of the seas continually breaking over the stern and compelling all hands to keep baling. I looked for the barque, but could nowhere see her; indeed, the masses of spray which filled the atmosphere, mingled with showers of dust and ashes which came from the volcano, completely obscured all objects at a distance; and in a short time we entirely lost sight of the land itself. We all felt that we were in a most perilous position: did the sea get up more, we should in all probability be swamped; or did the gale continue and we live through it, we should be driven far away from the island. There might be others ahead, but they were certain to be surrounded by reefs, on which the boat would probably be dashed to pieces. All we could do was to keep the sail hoisted a few feet up, and to bale out the water as fast as it washed over the gunwale. Night now came on, adding to the horrors of the scene. On and on we went, Mudge sitting at the helm, and steering the boat in a way which a good seaman only could have done. Tillard offered to relieve him. "No," he answered; "I got you into this mess, and it is my business to get you out of it if I can. The hurricane will come to an end at last,--maybe before daybreak,--and then we must do our best to make our way back to the island." In spite of our dangerous position, we were all getting very hungry; we had been about to land in order to cook our dinner, when we saw the barque, and after that we were too eager to think of eating. I got some biscuits out of our basket, which I served round to all hands; and I then found a bottle of wine. "We must economise that," observed Mudge, when he found what I was about; "half a glass to each person is as much as we ought to take--it may be longer than you suppose before we get back over the ground we have come." The food somewhat revived our spirits. Harry sat wonderfully quiet and calm; Tommy Peck's teeth chattered a little, as if he did not like it; but neither Popo nor Tamaku uttered a word. The storm gave no signs of breaking, and on and on we went, rushing through the darkness. At any moment we might find ourselves, we knew, cast upon a reef, and the boat dashed to pieces; but that risk, fearful as it was, must be run. I asked Mudge if he could tell what o'clock it was. "It's too dark to see the hands of my watch, but I judge that it is some time past midnight," he answered. I groaned, for I thought it must be nearly daybreak. "God has taken care of us thus far, and he will take care of us, if he thinks fit, till morning," observed Tillard; "we must not give in, however bad things look." At last day began to break. The wind blew as hard as ever, and no land was visible--only the tumbling, foam-crested seas, amid which we flew, were around us. "Patience, lads," said Mudge; "all we can do is to stand on as we have been going,--and we may be thankful that we have been preserved thus far,--better to have no land, than to find ourselves close to a coral reef with the sea dashing furiously over it." Which there was no gainsaying. After a time I again asked if I might serve out some food; to this Mudge consented, charging me to be careful as to quantity. After taking our scanty meal, most of us lay down to rest again. Tillard having repeatedly begged Mudge to let him take the helm, Mudge at last agreed to his offer, desiring to be called in a couple of hours, or immediately should there be the slightest change; and in a moment, almost, he was asleep. Tillard ordered Tamaku to keep a look-out ahead, while we four younger ones went to sleep. Before I did so, however, I took a look-out in every direction in the hope of seeing the barque; but no sail was in sight. Though the weather was much clearer than it had been on the previous evening, the gale blew as heavily as at first; and in a couple of hours Mudge started up and insisted on taking the helm again, while Tillard lay down to obtain the rest he so much needed, I taking Tamaku's place in the bows. Thus we ran on for the greater part of the day, hoping every hour that the wind would abate. Late in the afternoon I thought I saw land. I told Mudge, who, standing up, observed that there was no doubt about it. It was a small island directly in our course, so that we should have to haul up to avoid it. "If we do, we shall be swamped," said Mudge. "We must trust, therefore, to find an opening in the encircling reef, if there is one; but if not, to run into a harbour, or to beach the boat on the sand. Of course, you will understand, we may run on a coral reef and be dashed to pieces, or we may meet with the same fate against a rocky shore. We must trust to Providence, as we have done heretofore, and not expect the worst till it comes upon us." "We are ready, I hope, for whatever is to happen, Mr Mudge," said Tillard; "and we know that you will do the best that is to be done under the circumstances." Though it would be satisfactory to run into a snug harbour, yet I could not help wishing that the land was farther off. We approached it with terrible rapidity; in a few minutes, I knew, our fate must be sealed. Mudge stood up and gazed ahead. "The sea is breaking heavily over the encircling reef," he said; "but there is a smooth lagoon between it and the land. If we strike the reef, though our boat may be knocked to pieces we may be washed over into the lagoon, and those who can swim well may reach the shore," he said quite calmly. He was silent for a minute, and no one else spoke. "Lads," he exclaimed at length, "I see an opening--it is a narrow one, but we may get through it if we can hit the centre; get your oars ready, and stand by to hoist the sail, should I tell you." Soon after he spoke I heard the roar of the breakers borne up against the blast, and turning round for a moment I saw that we were rapidly approaching them. "Hoist the sail," he cried out; "and you at the oars, give way for your lives!" We tore on, the foaming surges rising up on either side; the sea washed into the boat, and half filled her, but still we flew on. I know that I held my breath, as I should think did most of the party; but Mudge had a firm grasp of the helm, and I saw that his countenance exhibited no signs of dismay. Another sea struck the boat on the opposite quarter; the next moment, when I thought we were safe, a crash was heard,--the boat quivered from stem to stern,--we had struck the reef. A cry escaped from several of us, for we expected the boat to sink. Another sea came roaring towards us, completely deluging us, and washing away everything not firmly secured; but we held tightly to the sides and thwarts. I felt that the boat was being hurled forward. "Pull for your lives, lads!" shouted Mudge. Alas! only two oars remained. Those were plied lustily by Tillard, and Harry, and I; and before we had time for much more thought the boat was driven on the beach which formed the inner shore of the lagoon. How we had got there we could scarcely tell: all we knew was that we had been mercifully preserved. We leaped out of our shattered boat, and endeavoured to haul her up so as to prevent her being carried away by any of the following seas; but none of those which succeeded were of like size to that which had carried us on to the beach. We had great cause to be thankful that we had escaped the fearful danger which had threatened us. Exhausted with the anxiety we had felt, and want of sleep, we all sank down on the sand. It was now nearly dark, and we felt too tired to go in search of any other spot on which we could rest. After a little time, however, our hunger reminded us that we had had no food for some hours; and as we naturally expected to obtain an abundance on the island, we agreed that we would at all events have a good supper. Tillard and Tamaku accordingly went to the boat to bring up our provisions, which had been stowed away in the locker. As they were some time absent,--"Well, lads, when are you coming back with our food?" asked Mudge. "We can't find it, sir," was the unsatisfactory answer. "It must have been washed out of the boat when that sea struck us." There could be no doubt about the matter. The breaker of water, which had fortunately been secured, was at length found; the contents served to quench our thirst, but we had to go to sleep in our wet clothes, and supperless. Tommy began to grumble at his hard fate, for he was very sharp set; and so were we all. "I'll tell you what, my lads," said Mudge: "we ought to be thanking God from our hearts that we have been preserved thus far; for in all my life I never came through so bad a sea as that we have just escaped from. Now let us just lift our voices together and praise Him from whom all blessings flow." We joined heartily in the prayer Mudge offered up, as also in the hymn in which he led us; and then we again lay down on the bank, trusting that we should find food the next morning; and that if there were any inhabitants they might prove friendly. The rays of the sun just rising out of the ocean awoke me. Harry and Tom were already sitting up; the rest of the party, having their faces turned away from the bright luminary, were still asleep. The country wore a more pleasing aspect than it had done when we landed in the gloom of evening. The shore was fringed by a variety of trees, among which we recognised the graceful plume-like heads of a grove of cocoa-nut trees, several broad-leaved bananas, and a number of the pandanus or screw-pine (readily known by the beauty of its form and its white glossy leaves), as also the paper mulberry tree, of much lower growth, with large leaves. The gnawings of hunger, however, made us consider more particularly how we could most quickly obtain some cocoa-nuts,--which I saw hanging from the trees,--rather than about anything else. Harry and Tom were thinking of exactly the same thing; so we got up, and being unwilling to awaken our companions, proceeded together along the shore till we reached one of the smaller trees, which Harry said he could climb without difficulty. "Then the sooner you are up it the better," cried Tom; "for if I don't get something solid to eat soon, I must turn into a sheep, and begin to nibble the grass and leaves." "Other animals than sheep eat grass and leaves," I could not help saying; "you might find yourself turned into one of them." Tommy looked somewhat angry, which surprised Harry, who did not understand my allusion, never having seen either a sheep or a donkey. "Don't quarrel," he said. "I will soon get the cocoa-nuts; and Tom may eat a whole one if he likes." So saying, he pulled off his shoes and socks, and began climbing the tree in a way neither Tommy nor I could have accomplished. We watched him eagerly. I ran under the tree, intending to catch them. "You had better stand away, or they may chance to break your head," shouted Harry. In a short time he had reached the top of the tree, and broken off two large clusters of the fruit, with which he descended. "They might have broken, and we should have lost the milk," he observed, as he reached the bottom. While we were employed in breaking off the outer husks, Harry ran down to the beach and brought back a piece of sharp coral, with which he soon made a hole in one of the cocoa-nuts. "There," he said, handing it to me, "drink that--that will do you good." How delicious the milk tasted! I passed it on to Tommy. In the meantime, Harry had another cocoa-nut ready. We insisted, however, on his taking the first draught from it. A third cocoa-nut supplied us all with as much liquid as we required; we then broke open the shells, but one cocoa-nut afforded us a sufficient breakfast. With the remainder we returned to the spot where we had left our companions; who were very glad, when they awoke, to find their breakfast ready. The hurricane, I should have said, was over, and the sea glittered brightly in the rays of the sun. We asked Mudge whether he proposed returning at once to the island where we had left the ship. "There are several reasons against our doing so," he answered. "We must in the first place repair our battered boat--and that will be no easy job, I suspect; and we have but two oars remaining to pull, should it prove calm; then, we have no food nor water, and the distance which it has taken us a night and a day to accomplish may occupy us three or four days in returning, perhaps longer, should the wind be contrary. Before we can put to sea, therefore, we must repair our boat, and make a couple of oars at all events, if not more, and obtain a sufficient stock of provisions and water. It won't do to trust to cocoa-nuts; we want fish or fowl, and it will take us more than a day to get them. We must also consider whether it will be prudent to go in search of the ship, as she may have left the harbour to look for us. Judging from the appearance of the country we saw, we are not likely to find any food upon it; so that should we arrive there after she has gone, we should be in a worse predicament than we should be by remaining here." The rest of the party agreeing to Mudge's proposal, we went down to the beach and anxiously examined the boat. Two planks in her starboard bilge had been stove in, as had also a portion of her bow; and it seemed wonderful that she should have floated till she had reached the shore. Harry and I must have placed our feet unconsciously on the shattered planks, and thus partially prevented the water from rushing in. Tom, who was in the bows, had also pressed down the sail with his body, while he was desperately clinging to the foremost thwart. We could account for our preservation in no other way. Without nails, or tools of any sort except our clasp-knives, we could scarcely hope to render the boat sufficiently sea-worthy for such a voyage as we might have to take before we could get back to the ship. We all looked at each other, wondering whether any one would suggest something. "Our safest plan will be to remain on the island, in the hope that the ship may, in the course of time, come off the shore to look for us," said Mudge. "They will know that if we have escaped, we must have been driven in this direction; and I don't think our commander will desert us till he has made a thorough search in all directions. If the _Heroine_, from any cause, does not appear, we may hope that a whaler or some other craft may pass by and see our signals. We must keep a look-out on both sides of the island; for though we may be happy enough while we remain here, it won't do to turn altogether into Robinson Crusoes." "Pleasanter than having to keep watch, however," remarked Tom. "We must think of our friends at home," I observed. "Should the report reach England that we are lost, they will be mourning for us; and I for one am anxious to let Captain and Mrs Hudson know that we have found their son." "Very right, Godfrey," said Mudge. "I am glad to see you thoughtful about others; and I don't suppose Tom would wish to make his own family unhappy, as I have no doubt that they care for him more than he fancies." "I was not thinking about them just then," said Tom. "However, if I catch sight of a passing sail, depend upon it I will do my best to let her know that we are here." The idea of immediately going off in the boat to try and find the ship was, therefore, of necessity abandoned. We agreed that our first business must be to explore the island, and ascertain what supplies of food we were likely to find. We had little doubt that we should procure other fruit besides cocoa-nuts, while we might also obtain oysters or other molluscs, and perhaps be able to catch fish--though we should first have to manufacture hooks and lines or nets of some sort. While Mudge and Tom and I had been talking over these matters, Tillard had been again examining the boat. "I have been thinking, Mr Mudge, that if we could manage to get some small nails, we might secure some canvas over the damaged part of the boat, and patch her up fit to go to sea again," he said. "That `if' is the most difficult thing to get over," said Mudge. "Where are the nails to come from?" "Out of the handles of our clasp-knives," answered Dick. "I am a bit of a blacksmith; and I have been thinking that if I could manage to make a pair of bellows, I would soon get a forge up, and I should not be long before I had a few dozen of nails." "There's another `if' in the case," observed Mudge. "Yes, sir; but it's one that can be got over, if I can catch a seal or some other animal with a thick skin." "Still there is an `if,'" said Mudge. "Well, sir, but perhaps I can do without the skin. I'll try and make use of a piece of canvas. I'll render it air-tight with grease or wax, or something of that sort. I don't promise to succeed, but I'll try my best." "That's all we can expect of you," said Mudge. Tillard's proposal somewhat raised our hopes. We had, however, in the first place, to look out for water, though the cocoa-nut milk prevented our suffering from thirst; and, what was of equal importance, to search for food. Before setting out, we each of us cut a long pointed stick-- the most ready weapon we could manufacture; not for defence, for it would be useless against the arms of the natives, should any exist on the island, but to enable us to kill any animals we might meet with, as also to assist us in getting over any rough ground, or to beat down the brushwood should we meet with forests through which we might have to force our way. Leaving Tillard to look after the boat and to make preparations for repairing her, we set out. Mudge led the way, Tom and Harry and I followed, Tamaku and Popo brought up the rear. We proceeded along the sea-shore, which was more level than the interior, and presented few impediments to our progress. After going some distance to the south, we reached a region which had apparently, at no remote period, been covered by the sea--probably upheaved by some convulsion of nature. A few cocoa-nut and pandanus trees, however, grew on it, and a scant herbage. We were about to keep along the sea-beach, near which the land rose, covered thickly with trees, when I observed a number of birds hovering over the part of the island I have described. Crossing a level space covered at high tide by the sea, we reached what was evidently at such times an island. Numberless birds had made it their abode. As we approached, they seemed in no way alarmed--those which were sitting on their nests keeping their posts, merely poking out their necks, and uttering such hoarse croaks that we were almost deafened by the sound, and could scarcely hear each other speak. "Hurrah!" cried Mudge, "we have here food enough to supply all our wants; and, what's better, such as I hope we may be able to preserve for our voyage." A large number of the birds were sitting on their eggs, and so tame were they that we had to push them over to get at the said eggs. Among them were numerous beautiful tropic-birds, sooty terns, and gannets. The eggs of the latter were laid on the ground, without any nest; and so faithful were the hens to their trust, that they allowed themselves to be captured rather than desert them. The most remarkable and beautiful of those we saw, however, were the frigate-birds, whose nests, constructed of a few sticks, were seen in all the surrounding trees. The old birds, as they flew off, inflated their blood-red pouches to the size of a child's head, looking exactly as if large bladders were attached to their necks, and not at all improving their appearance, handsome as they were in other respects. We at once filled our pockets with eggs; choosing such as looked the freshest. We also knocked down as many birds as we were likely to require for our dinner and supper. This discovery raised our spirits, as we had now as much animal food as we could require. On our return along the sea-shore, we met with several large crabs. One big fellow had caught a snake, and was walking off with it wriggling in his claws, when down pounced a frigate-bird, and carried off both crab and snake together. Whole armies, too, of soldier-crabs, with their shells on their backs, were moving about in search of prey, or looking out for more commodious homes; it being their wise custom not to leave one home until they have found another. When they neglect this precaution, their soft tails are nearly sure to be nabbed by one of their numerous enemies. The snakes, as far as we could judge, were not venomous; though, as we were not certain of that fact, we agreed that it would be as well to avoid them. The tropic-birds were the tamest,--or I should rather say the least aware of the harm we might do them,--and allowed us to put our hands under them and carry off their eggs without showing the slightest fear. We had to hurry back, as the tide was rising, and our retreat might be cut off. On reaching the bay where we were cast ashore, we found that Tillard had made some progress with his forge. "If I can once get the bellows to work, it will not be long before we shall have as many nails as we want. But we must have patience, sir," he observed to Mudge; "patience will overcome all difficulties." We none of us were disposed to dispute this; so, just then, being rather anxious to cook our eggs and birds, I inquired how we were to get a light to kindle our fire. No one till then had thought of that important point. We each of us searched in our pockets for flint and steel, but none were to be found. The Sandwich Islander was applied to. We had heard that the natives of the South Sea Islands obtained a light by rubbing two pieces of wood together. He could do it, he replied, if he could find the right sort of wood. But the process was not an easy one, and required time; so, as we were too hungry to wait, we dined off raw eggs, with a dessert of cocoa-nut, washed down with the milk. After we had finished our meal, Tamaku set off to look for the wood he required, while we were employed in collecting leaves and erecting some arbours of boughs, in which we might shelter ourselves during the night, instead of spending it, as we had done the previous one, on the open beach. It was nearly dark when Tamaku returned, saying that he had found the wood he required; but as we were tired and sleepy, we preferred lying down to rest instead of waiting till a fire could be kindled and provisions cooked.	{ "id": "21493" }
4	ON THE ISLAND--OYSTERS ON TREES--HARRY'S NARROW ESCAPE FROM A SHARE--OUR FIRST BREAKFAST--TILLARD'S FORGE--EXPEDITION ACROSS THE ISLAND--WE MANUFACTURE NAILS AND HOOKS--FIND A BOAT--SUCCESSFUL FISHING--OUR FRIENDS RETURN--LAUNCH THE BOAT--DICK AND I START TO SAIL ROUND THE ISLAND--DICK TAKEN ILL--MY DISMAY--WE ARE BLOWN OFF THE COAST.	Although our beds of leaves were tolerably comfortable, and our clothes were dry, we did not oversleep ourselves, but awoke at daybreak the next morning. Refreshing as was the cocoa-nut milk we had obtained, we all felt very thirsty; so Mudge announced his intention of setting off to look for a spring of water, taking Popo with him to carry the breaker. Tamaku sat down with his knife to cut the wood he had found into the required shape for producing fire; Tillard proceeded with the arrangements for his forge; while Harry and Tom and I agreed to go along the shore to look for shell-fish, and to obtain a further supply of cocoa-nuts. We had not gone far when we came to a creek, or narrow bay, running inland for some distance. Its shores were thickly lined with trees, their roots being washed by the water, and many of their boughs dipping into it. Near at hand we discovered a cocoa-nut tree bearing several bunches of fruit, and Harry at once volunteered to climb to the summit. While he was thus engaged, I heard Tom shouting out, "Halloa, here are oysters growing on the trees!" I ran down to the opening by which he had gained the water; and there, sure enough, all the boughs reaching the surface were fringed with good-sized oysters. We gathered those we could reach; and looking down into the clear water below the trees, I saw that the rocks at the bottom were thickly covered with those nutritive shell-fish, in every stage of growth, many of the size of a shilling and even smaller. Here, at all events, was an unfailing supply of food; and, encouraged by the discovery, we hoped that we should obtain a still further variety. Having filled our pockets and handkerchiefs, we hurried back to the tree, down which Harry was descending with a load of cocoa-nuts. On our showing him the oysters, he observed that they were too small to be of much use, and volunteered at once to dive to the bottom and obtain some larger ones. We accordingly returned to the bay; when, stripping off his clothes, he at once plunged in, and soon brought a number of large oysters to the surface in his handkerchief, which he had taken down with him for the purpose. "Oh, there are not enough," he said,--"I will soon get some more;" and again he plunged down. We could see him at the bottom, working away with his knife. I could not have remained half the time beneath the surface. While he was thus engaged, I caught sight of a dark object at the entrance of the bay. Horror seized me, for I knew it to be a shark. I shrieked out to Harry to return. Tom also saw the fearful monster, and, with a presence of mind for which I should not have given him credit, he took up one of the larger oysters and sent it skimming along the surface, in the way boys are accustomed to make "ducks and drakes" with pieces of slate on a calm day by the sea-side. I immediately followed his example, hoping thus to distract the attention of the shark. At length, though it seemed a long time, Harry came up, and only then hearing our cries, swam rapidly to the shore. We held out our hands to help him, and I breathed more freely when his feet touched the dry ground. A moment longer, and he would have been lost; for the shark, darting forward, almost ran his snout against the bank in his eagerness to seize his prey; then, startled by our cries, and the oysters we continued to heave at him, he suddenly turned round, whisking the water into our faces with his tail. Harry took the matter very coolly. "It is not the first time I have had a shark dart at me," he observed; "but I have generally had a companion who has attacked the creature with his knife. Had I been prepared, I would have met him in the same way." "I am very glad you did not make the experiment, Harry," I answered. "However, it is a lesson to us not to venture into the water without keeping a look-out; and I am very thankful that you have escaped." "So am I," he answered; "but now, as we have got as many oysters as we can carry, in addition to the cocoa-nuts, we may as well join our friends and have breakfast." "I hope that Tamaku will have managed to light a fire," said Tom; "for though the oysters and cocoa-nuts are nice enough as they are, I don't like raw eggs; and I have an especial fancy for some roast-duck." As we approached the bay we saw a cloud of smoke ascending from the sand, and we found Tamaku busily employed in blowing up a fire which he had kindled there. We soon rejoined him, and asked why he had chosen this spot. "Because, you see, if I had lighted it on the grass, we might have had a larger fire than would have been pleasant." While we were standing round the fire, Popo came back with a breaker of water, saying that Mr Mudge would soon follow. Wishing to surprise him, we set to work to pluck the ducks, and spit a couple, and roast some eggs. We were thus employed when we saw him coming leisurely towards us; but discovering the fire, he held up his hand with a look of astonishment, and hurried forward. "Well, lads, you have prepared a feast," he exclaimed, sitting down on the bank above the sand. "I little expected to have so many good things; and I am thankful to say that I have found a stream of fresh, cold water, issuing from the side of the hill, and falling into a deep basin--in which I could not resist taking a bath; and I would advise you to do the same." We were too hungry to wait for the roast-ducks, so we sat down and commenced our breakfast on eggs and oysters, with cocoa-nut milk. By the time we had taken the edge off our appetites, the ducks, under Tamaku's superintendence, were thoroughly cooked. They were pronounced excellent, and we agreed that no aldermen could have breakfasted better. "And what are we to do now?" I asked. "We have no necessity to be anxious about food; we must first of all go across to the other side of the island, which I believe is not far off, and establish a look-out place from whence we can make signals should any vessel pass by," answered Mudge. "You, Tillard, I suppose, will prefer waiting to finish your forge; and we must trust to you to keep up the fire, so that, should a ship appear off the coast, her attention may be attracted." "I'll undertake to do that, sir," answered Tillard; "but as I shall want help, I shall be obliged if some one will remain with me. I would rather have one of the young gentlemen; they will understand what I want better than either Popo or Tamaku. Mr Rayner, will you stay by me?" "I was going to offer to do so," I answered; "although I should have liked making an exploring expedition across the island." I was anxious to be of use; and besides wishing to oblige Dick, I was curious to see how he would proceed. He thanked me very much; and the rest of the party wishing us good-bye, set off with their thick sticks as arms, and a supply of ducks and eggs, wild-fowl, and cocoa-nuts for provisions, leaving us as much as we could require for a couple of days. As soon as they were gone, Tillard and I set to work on the forge. He had already nearly manufactured a pair of bellows with the aid of the bottom boards of the boat,--fortunately of considerable width,--and some of the spare canvas which had remained in the boat's bows. It was a very rough-looking machine, but still was likely to answer its purpose. We also found several pieces of iron about the boat which could be removed without impairing its strength; and these we managed to wrench off, with the help of a sharp piece of coral. At length the fire was kindled in the forge, and on working the bellows a strong flame was produced. All our tools were composed of coral; two long pieces served as tongs, and another as a hammer. Having heated the iron, Dick knocked it out into a long thin bar, and then placing it on the mass of coral which served as an anvil, cut it with successive sharp blows of his knife into small pieces. Each of these had to be re-heated, and taken up and dropped into a small hole with a blow from the hammer, when the head was produced by another sharp blow. In this way he formed a number of small nails with large heads, which, if not very well-shaped, were at least likely to answer the purpose. We had found a gum issuing from some pine-trees, which did not dissolve in water; and by mixing it with some grease which we happily found in the after-locker, a thick paste was formed with which we payed over the canvas. The boat had been hauled up sufficiently to enable us to get at both leaks during low tide; so we at once set to work, and were thankful to find that the nails answered very well: fortunately, I should have said, I had a small bradawl in my knife, and also a file, with which I sharpened the points of the nails. The whole work was accomplished sooner than I could have expected; and Tillard declared his belief that not a drop of water would come through the damaged part of the boat, whatever it might do elsewhere. "I wish we could try her," I said, when our last nail was expended. "Wait patiently, Mr Rayner," answered Dick; "when the tide rises, we'll get her afloat." He was mistaken, however, for with all our efforts we could not succeed in launching her. We had to wait, therefore, for the return of our companions. Getting into the boat, however, we made another thorough search; and while doing so I found jammed into a corner of the after-locker a large fishing-hook, such as is used for catching sharks, bonitos, and other finny monsters of the deep. Besides this, we discovered a ball of twine and some spare pieces of rope. Dick examined the fishing-hook. "We must keep it as it is," he observed. "At first I thought that I might form it into smaller hooks; but we have still some iron remaining, and I will try my hand at making such as will catch the moderate-sized fish we are likely to find in the lagoon or outside the reef." Returning to the forge, Dick at once set to work, and succeeded in shaping four hooks, though he and I burned our fingers in the operation. On trying them, however, they were found to be too soft for use. "We must temper them," I observed; and I ran and filled a cocoa-nut-shell with water. We again heated the hooks, and plunged them into the water, when we found that they were considerably hardened. I then worked away with the file till I had sharpened the barbs and reduced them to a fair shape. With the twine we manufactured a couple of serviceable lines, to which we attached some small pieces of coral. Our companions not having returned, we agreed to walk along the shore to the northward of the oyster creek, where Harry had been so nearly caught by the shark. Having made up our fire so that it was not likely to go out before our return, we set forth with our sticks in our hands. We walked on rapidly, anxious to get back to receive our friends,--who would, we thought, at all events return before nightfall. Having doubled the creek, which did not run far inland, we proceeded along the shore, turning our eyes every now and then seaward in case a vessel should appear, though I scarcely expected to see one. Some way on we discovered another opening in the reef, through which we might have passed, had we known of it, with greater ease than by the one through which we had entered. "We must go out by that opening, if Mr Mudge determines to put to sea," observed Tillard; "though, without a compass or chart, I doubt whether it will be wise to leave this island, where we have an abundance of food." I was inclined to agree with him, as I thought that we had a fair prospect of being taken off by our own ship or by a passing whaler. We had got nearly abreast of the opening, and were about to turn back, when I caught sight of a dark object on the shore some distance off. I pointed it out to Dick. "What can that be?" I asked. "It looks to me like a boat," he answered; "and if so, perhaps we may find that there are other people on the island besides ourselves." We hurried eagerly on, and as we drew nearer we saw that we were not mistaken. There lay a small boat, somewhat clumsily though strongly built, but evidently after a European model. From the position in which she lay, almost floating in a miniature lagoon still full of water, we agreed that she must have been thrown up by an unusually high sea, and left there by the receding wave. She was in no way injured; and except that her upper works were likely to leak from having been exposed to the sun for some time, she was still fit for use. Her painter was over her bows; and Dick, having examined the end, was of opinion that she had broken adrift while towing astern of a vessel, probably during a gale of wind. What had become of the craft to which she had belonged, it was impossible to say. Whether she had gone to pieces on the reef, or had managed to haul off, was the question. Hunting about, we found a broken oar and two pieces of board, which had probably been washed out of her, "I think that we might get her afloat; and it will save us a long walk if we can paddle her back," observed Dick. I agreed with him; and we accordingly set to work to clear a channel through the sand into the lagoon, using the pieces of board as spades. It did not take us long; and though it was as much as our strength could accomplish, we contrived, by putting our shoulders under the gunwale, to lift the boat out of her bed, and to launch her on the water of the lagoon. We then got in; and though she leaked, as we expected, we were able with our hats to bale out the water fast enough to keep her afloat. Paddling on with the broken oar and one of the pieces of board, we reached Refuge Bay, as we called the spot where we had landed. Much to our disappointment, our companions had not returned. Expecting, however, that they might arrive at any moment, we set to work to roast some eggs and the remainder of our wild-fowl, sufficient for all hands. Still our friends did not appear. Though we began to feel somewhat anxious about them, the smell of the roast-duck made us so hungry that we could not resist the temptation of eating our share without waiting for them. Dick then set to work to prepare our fishing gear, and in the course of the evening not only made a netting pin and needle, but manufactured a landing-net, which would serve the double purpose of catching some small fish for bait, and rifting up any larger fish likely to break our tackle should we attempt to haul them out of the water. Darkness now came on, and at last we had to give up all hope of seeing our friends that night. We agreed that in all probability they had found the distance greater than they had expected; so creeping into our arbours, and repressing the anxiety we could not help feeling, we went to sleep. On awaking next morning, we found that the weather was still calm and fine; and supposing that our friends would remain on the other side of the island to breakfast, and perhaps still longer, we did not expect them back till late in the day. "I vote that we go off and try to catch some fish," I said. "Our friends will be much obliged to us if we can offer them some fish instead of the ducks, which, to say the best of them, are rather tough and strong-tasted." Dick agreed to my proposal; and having payed over the seams of the small boat with the mixture we had before used, we found on launching her that she no longer leaked to any extent. Before embarking, Dick, tucking up his trousers, waded into the water with his hand-net, and soon caught an ample supply of small fish for bait. Indeed, had we been pressed for food, we should have been glad to cook and eat them. We then put the jolly-boat's oars and the boat-hook, which had been preserved, into the small boat, and shoved off, carrying a lump of coral with a long rope to serve as our anchor and cable. We first tried the centre of the lagoon, where before long I got a bite, and hauled up a fish with a large mouth and scales of rich and varied colours. "I should be sorry to eat that fellow," observed Dick; "for, in spite of his gay coat, I suspect he is poisonous; but we will keep him in case the bait runs short." Dick soon afterwards caught three others of the same description. "We must try fresh ground," he observed; so hauling up our anchor, we pulled away towards the broad entrance of the lagoon, and again brought up. We soon caught several more fish of good size and sombre colours, which, as far as we could judge, were likely to prove wholesome. They tried our hooks, however; and I was hauling up another big fellow, when he broke away just as Dick was getting the landing-net under him. Another hook disappeared before we could even see the fish which carried it off! "I must try our shark-hook," observed Dick, putting on a large bait, and fastening it to the end of a thick rope. "Nothing frightens the fish in these seas; and if we were to lower down a hempen cable with a baited hook, they would bite as freely as they would if we were to use a hair-line." The hook had not been overboard a minute when he shouted out, "I've got hold of a big one now, anyhow!" and began hauling away. "He must be a shark, by the way he is pulling," I observed. "No, he isn't," he answered; "though he is bigger than any fish I ever caught with a hook and line before. Just you lean over to the other side of the boat, Mr Rayner, or maybe he'll capsize us. I'll tackle him." I did as Dick told me; while he hauled and hauled away, and soon brought to the surface a fish shaped something like a perch, but apparently of sixty or seventy pounds weight. It was indeed, I saw, a species of sea-perch, from the large spines on its back. In spite of the monster's struggles, Dick held it fast, and at length hauled it into the boat. "This fellow is a prize," he exclaimed, and I agreed with him. A blow on the head made it remain tolerably quiet; and on further examination I was convinced that I was right in supposing it to be the fish above-named. Having now more food than we could consume, we pulled back to the shore; to find that our companions had not yet returned. Having hauled up our boat, we had ample employment in cleaning our fish for cooking. The big fellow could only be dressed by being cut up into slices; but as we wished to show it to our friends, we allowed it to remain entire. We had just finished our own dinner on one of the fish--which being well-shaped and of sombre hue, we believed to be wholesome--when we heard a shout, and saw Harry and Tom running towards us, followed by Tamaku. I pointed to the big fish, which hung, in the shade, from the bough of a tree. "That's grand!" exclaimed Tom. "Still, I don't know but what the other side of the island beats this; for we have found bread-fruit trees, and plantains, and yams, and all sorts of other roots and fruits. And Mudge has sent us over to tell you to bring the jolly-boat round, if you have made her sea-worthy, as he thinks we should have a better chance of getting on board a vessel on that side than this. There is a capital harbour, in which she can lie at anchor; and a hill near it from whence we can obtain a fine look-out over the ocean for ever so many miles. Tamaku, Harry, and I are to remain here to keep a look-out on this side till you have arrived on the other; and then you can come back and relieve us if you think fit." I told him that I was ready to do whatever Mudge wished, but that the difficulty would be to launch the jolly-boat, which Dick and I had in vain attempted to do. "Five hands may accomplish what two could not," he answered. "Perhaps, if we can get some rollers under her keel, we may be able to do it; and Tamaku is as strong as an elephant." Dick, feeling confidence in the sea-worthiness of the jolly-boat, was ready to take her round, either by himself, or with one of us to help him. I said that I was willing to go, and we settled to start the next morning. Our friends were highly pleased at finding another boat in which they could go off fishing. I reminded them that they must make some oars first, as we should have to take ours; and as they only had their clasp-knives, it would be a pretty tough job. "Patience, as Dick says, will accomplish wonders; and Tamaku cuts away with his knife in a fashion I never saw any one else do," answered Tom. "I cut out the oars," said Tamaku. Indeed, he was ready to aid in any way proposed, and was well-pleased to find that he should be able to go fishing in the punt. The rest of the day was spent in making some rollers, and also in preparing some food for our voyage; for although the distance was not great, we might encounter a calm or contrary wind, and be delayed longer than we expected. Unwilling to lose our big fish, too, we now cut it up into slices, which we smoked over the fire. Dick Tillard also advised us to search for some salt, that we might still better preserve our fish; and Tom and Harry undertook to do so after we had set sail. The next morning, breakfast being over, and the tide at its highest, we got the rollers under the boat, and by our united exertions managed to launch her. Dick, on getting on board, was well satisfied with the way in which he had repaired her damages, and expressed his confidence that she was not only fit to perform the voyage round to the other side of the island, but to make a much longer one if necessary. Having taken our provisions on board, we hoisted the sail; and the wind being from the southward, we intended to go out at the broad passage, and round by the north end of the island. Our friends accompanied us in the small boat to the entrance of the lagoon, and then with three cheers left us. As we kept some distance from the coast, to avoid any reefs which might run off it, we could see the land stretching away much farther to the north than we had expected. "Our trip will be longer than I thought for, Mr Rayner," said Dick; "but now we have got thus far, and have the wind with us, it will be better to keep on, and maybe when we round the point we shall then get it favourable; though I don't suppose Mr Mudge was aware how far the island stretches to the northward." I thought as Dick did, and agreed with him that it would not now do to try and beat round the southern end, which appeared quite as far off as the northern one. On we sailed; but still the northern cape we wished to double seemed a long way off. The weather, too, which was very fine when we started, now gave signs of changing. I saw that Dick was looking graver than usual: still he was not a man to give up a task he had undertaken; so we continued running on, though clouds had gathered in the sky, and the wind blew much stronger than at first. "We may as well take a reef down, Mr Rayner," he observed--"or perhaps two. When we come to haul our wind, we shall have as much sail as the boat will bear." We soon had the reefs in, and the sail again hoisted up. The boat now flew rapidly over the fast-rising, foaming seas. On the larboard side the surf was breaking furiously on the coral reef, through which no opening could be seen; while out at sea, on the opposite side, all was dark and lowering. The wind came in fitful gusts; now from the southward, now blowing from the land. I at length proposed returning. "That would be a harder matter than standing on," answered Dick. "Maybe we shall come in sight of a harbour, and if so we will stand in and take shelter; but if not, our only course is to run on till we can double the cape. And then, unless the wind shifts to the westward, we shall be under the lee of the island, and make better weather of it." Dick spoke calmly; but as I looked at his countenance I observed a strange expression pass over it. "Are you in pain, Dick?" I asked. "To say the truth, I am, sir," he answered; "though I didn't like to alarm you by telling you how I feel I should like to have some doctor's stuff: or maybe a glass of rum would set me to rights; but as that isn't to be got, I must grin and bear it." As I watched Dick, he appeared to grow worse and worse, and every now and then a groan he could not suppress escaped him. Still, he kept his seat at the helm, steering the boat before the wind with his usual care. I remembered the supposed poisonous fish he had spoken of, and wondered whether he had taken any; but I did not like to suggest the thought to him. Presently, to my horror, his hand relaxed its hold of the helm, and he sank down in the bottom of the boat. I seized the tiller in time to prevent the boat broaching-to, and kept her on as we had before been steering. I could do nothing to help him, except place his head against the side of the boat. He breathed heavily, every now and then giving a groan. I was greatly alarmed, not knowing what I should do by myself; while I felt much grieved at the thought of losing him. All I could do was to sit and steer. Nothing I could offer him was likely to do him any good; and I could only hope that his strong constitution would carry him through the attack, whatever it was. At length I was very nearly up to the cape, and expected to get round it in the course of half an hour or so, when the wind fell even more suddenly than it had risen, and the boat lay rocking on the water, making no perceptible way. I tried to do all I could to restore Dick. I sprinkled his face with water, and poured some cocoa-nut milk down his throat; but it did not appear to have the slightest effect. He remained perfectly unconscious, only giving signs of life by his heavy breathing and his groans, which grew fainter and fainter. Hoping that at last a moderate breeze would spring up, I shook the reefs out of the sail, and again hoisted it. Still there was no change. The sun was setting over the island, and I expected to have my difficulties increased by the approaching darkness. The weather also still looked very threatening. Scarcely had the sun disappeared behind a cliff on the left, when the wind again suddenly sprang up, and blew with even greater violence than before. I now wished that I had not shaken the reefs out of the sail, but I could not venture to leave the helm to make any alteration. On flew the boat as before, the foaming seas rising up on either hand. I could but dimly distinguish the cliff. At length it was lost to sight. As I looked out on the larboard side, I fancied that I saw a line of white breakers, indicating a reef running off from it. How far it might extend I could not tell; perhaps a mile, or a couple of miles. It would be destruction, should I haul up too soon and strike on it; indeed, with the sail I had set, I dared not do that. My only resource was to stand on, hoping that the squall would pass away as quickly as it had sprung up. I knew that I was leaving the land farther and farther astern. In vain in my anxiety I called to poor Dick to help me. Sometimes the horrid thought came over me that he was dead, the splashing of the water and the howling of the wind drowning the sound of his breathing. My anxiety--or, I may confess it, my alarm--made me feel very ill; and I began to fancy that I too had been poisoned, either by the fish or the wild-fowl we had eaten. I scarcely know how many hours thus passed. At last, as I had expected, the wind suddenly fell to a gentle breeze. I immediately hauled aft the sheet, hoping to be able to beat up to the island again by daybreak; but scarcely had I stood on for a quarter of an hour when it dropped altogether, and the boat lay rocking on the heaving waters. As there was no use in keeping the sail set, I lowered it, and sat down with my arm round the mast, intending to keep awake till the breeze should again get up; while I heartily prayed that it might come from a direction which might enable me to fetch the island. I could hear Dick breathing; but though I called to him he did not answer, and appeared quite as unconscious as at first. I felt very tired, after the excitement I had gone through; still I did my utmost to keep awake. All my efforts, however, were vain, and I dropped off to sleep. Suddenly I awoke; and standing up, I looked out anxiously for the land. My heart sank: an unbroken sea-horizon was around me. As I was still gazing, a bright glow appeared in the direction towards which the boat's head was turned; and presently the sun, a vast globe of fire, arose out of his ocean-bed, tinging with a ruddy hue the edge of the clouds which still covered the sky. The breeze, however, had sprung up from the eastward, and I knew from the position of the sun in what direction to steer. The numerous birds, also, which hovered round me, proved that the island was not far off. I again attempted to arouse Dick; but though I did not succeed, his more quiet breathing made me hope that he was recovering. I now hoisted the sail; and hauling aft the sheet, went to the helm, and steered to the southward.	{ "id": "21493" }
5	DAYLIGHT--I MAKE THE LAND--DICK RECOVERS--CAPTURED BY A NATIVE CANOE-- TAKEN ON SHORE--COMPELLED TO WORK AS SLAVES--OUR HOPES OF ESCAPE DISAPPOINTED--DICK AGAIN ILL--HIS DEATH--I BURY HIM--THREATENING OF WAR--HARRY JOINS ME--WE WITNESS A SINGLE COMBAT--OUR CHAMPION DEFEATED-- CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY--ILL-TREATED--HARRY DISAPPEARS--I ESCAPE TO THE BEACH--SEE A BOAT--THE SAVAGES PURSUE ME--RESCUED BY MUDGE.	Anxiously I looked out ahead for land--now on one bow, now on the other; for I could not tell how far to the westward I had been driven, or on which side it might appear. It was possible, indeed, that I might have got so far to the west as to pass the island altogether should I continue to steer due south; and yet in the uncertainty I hesitated to take another course. As I sat in the stern-sheets, I watched Tillard's countenance. He seemed at length to have fallen into a quiet sleep, and I trusted that when he awoke he would feel himself much better. I bored a hole in the end of a cocoa-nut, and also got some fish ready, that I might give him some food as soon as he awoke. But still he slept on; and the fear came over me that it might prove the sleep preceding death. Under other circumstances, I should not probably have thought so; but I was weary and anxious, and my spirits sank to the lowest ebb. As I sat in the boat, gliding over the now tranquil sea, glittering with the rays of the sun, I might have been regarded as a picture of perfect contentment,-- very different, indeed, from what was really the case. Every now and then I stood up to look out for the wished-for land; till at length a light mist which had hung over the water was dissipated by the increasing heat of the sun, and to my joy I caught sight of the lofty headland we had hoped to double the day before, rising out of the blue water much nearer than I had expected to find it. My spirits rose; and I began to hope that, should Dick recover, my troubles and anxieties would be at an end. I could not help shouting out "Land! land!" though I was not aware that I had done so till I heard the sound of my own voice. It had the effect of arousing Dick, however. "Land, Mr Rayner!" he exclaimed. "I thought we were about to enter the harbour to meet Mr Mudge and the rest." I tried to explain what had happened, but his senses were too confused to allow him for some time to understand me. "What! have you been at the helm all night? You must be pretty well knocked up, sir," he said. "Let me take it while you lie down. You need rest." I observed, from the way he spoke, that his senses were still confused; so I told him that I had already had some sleep, and that I was able to keep at the helm very well for the present. I now gave him some cocoa-nut milk and a little fish, which he took very readily; and after eating some of the solid food he appeared much better, and was soon able to sit up and talk rationally. Calculating by the time we had taken to reach the headland, he judged that we should not get into the harbour at soonest till sunset; and he advised that we should economise our food, in case we should be kept out still longer, as would certainly be the case did it again fall calm. We at length got up with the island. On the western side it presented a succession of high cliffs, along which we coasted. As the day advanced the breeze freshened, and we ran briskly through the water. We had gone half a mile or so along the coast, when I caught sight of a sail ahead. "Hurrah!" I cried out. "Perhaps that is a ship. Yonder craft may be able to take us and our companions on board." "She is only a native canoe," observed Dick; "and it is questionable whether she has friends or enemies on board. If the latter, and she catches us, we may have our voyage put a stop to in a way we didn't bargain for." The craft at which we were looking was one of the large double canoes of these seas, with a single triangular sail of white matting, which I, in the first instance, had taken for canvas. On she came towards us, close-hauled, at a rate which would have made it useless to attempt escaping her. The two canoes which formed the lower part of her structure were of great length, and very narrow, supporting a large platform of some height, which served to keep them some distance apart. We could only distinguish three men on her deck; and had Dick been well, we might easily have resisted them in the event of their exhibiting any hostile intentions. But he felt himself too weak to show fight, and we agreed that our best course was to put a bold face on the matter, and to bid them go on their way, while we continued our course to the southward. As we drew nearer, however, three more men appeared from below, holding bows and spears in their hands. Placing the spears on the deck, each fixed an arrow to his bow; on seeing which--believing that they were going to shoot--I hauled down the sail, and, holding up my hands, tried to make them understand that I surrendered. On this they withdrew their arrows, and the canoe was steered up alongside the boat. I then pointed to Dick, wishing to explain to them that he was ill. They took no notice of my signs, however; and two or three of them leaping into the boat, which they secured by a rope to the canoe, dragged him and me out of it on to their deck. At first I thought that they were going to kill us immediately. Dick was too weak to make any resistance; and I knew that I could do nothing by myself. I endeavoured to exhibit as little fear as possible, however, and taking one of the savages by the hand, shook it and smiled, to show that I wished to be on friendly terms. After they had talked together, they appeared to have determined to spare our lives; then lowering their sail, they hoisted it on the other tack, and stood for the shore, towing our boat astern. Dick was allowed to sit on the deck, while I stood near him, no one molesting us. "We're in a bad case, Mr Rayner," he observed; "but it won't do to give way to despair, and we must try to put a good face on the matter. If I was well, and able to help you, I shouldn't so much mind it; but I feel as weak as a baby, and that tries me." "I hope you will get stronger soon, Dick, and then we must try to make our escape to our friends," I answered. "I am afraid that the savages are more likely in the meantime to get hold of them," he observed. "What puzzles me is, that they didn't find us out before; but I suspect that, for some reason or other, the southern end of the island is not inhabited." I could only account for the circumstance as Dick did; and I hoped that Mudge would discover that there were natives on the island in time to guard against them. Of course, I regretted much that he should have divided our party, as I felt that, united, we might have held out against them, or, at the worst, have escaped in our boats. However, there was no use thinking of what had been done; and we must, I felt, employ our energies in making the best of our situation. I did my utmost to appear contented, as if I had no fear of our captors. To show this, I walked about the deck and examined the structure of the canoe. The separate lower portions, I found, were composed of two large trees hollowed out, each having a raised gunwale about two inches high, and closed at the ends with a kind of bulk-head of the same height; so that the whole resembled a long square trough, about three feet shorter than the body of the canoe. The two canoes thus fitted were secured to each other, about three feet asunder, by means of cross spars, which projected about a foot over the side. Over these spars was laid the deck, made of small round spars placed close together. On it was a fire-hearth of clay, on which a fire was burning; and I observed a large pot suspended over it, with something boiling within which had a savoury smell. The mast was secured to the deck by knees; the whole being fixed to a cross-beam resting on the lower sides of the canoe. The sail, which was composed of matting, was stretched on a lateen yard, the foot being extended to a boom. The ropes were made of the coarse filaments of the plantain-tree, twisted into cordage of the thickness of a finger; and three or four such cords marled together served for shrouds. This curious craft was steered by a long scull, the handle of which rose four or five feet above the deck. In calm weather, as I afterwards observed, the natives propel these canoes simply by sculling; a man standing astern and working the scull with both hands--a very slow process. They are, indeed, better fitted for sailing than paddling. Beginning to feel very hungry, I made signs to our captors that I should like to have some food; and I also pointed to Dick, wishing to make them understand that he too required nourishment. One of them on this went to the pot and stirred it with the handle of his spear, as if to ascertain whether the contents were sufficiently boiled. Satisfied on this point, he dived down into one of the canoes and brought up from a locker a hooked stick and some plantain leaves; whereupon all the party, with the exception of the helmsman, gathered round the pot, when the same man drew out some fish and roots, and divided them among his companions, giving Dick and me an equal share. We thanked them as well as we could by eating the food. Dick, who relished it very much, nodding his head and stroking his stomach, exclaimed "Bono, bono,--very good, master savages." The fish certainly was very good; and as our captors ate it, we had no doubt that it was wholesome. Dick said he felt much the better for it, and could now look things in the face with less despondency than before. The canoe all this time was gliding smoothly over the water, though I confess, from her apparently slight structure, I should not have relished being on board her in a heavy sea. As we approached the island, I observed a small bay or inlet for which she was steering, with high cliffs above it, and a valley running up inland to some distance, while on all the level spots near the beach grew cocoa-nut and other trees. The aspect of the country was highly picturesque, and altogether pleasing. As we drew nearer, I saw a number of dark-skinned natives, almost naked; some in the water, engaged apparently in fishing, others lolling about on the beach watching them. At first they took but little notice of the canoe; but as they caught sight of us, and the jolly-boat towing astern, those not employed in fishing hurried down to the shore of the harbour, up which the canoe ran till she reached a secure spot alongside a rock, on to which her crew could step from the canoe without difficulty. The captain, or chief man of the canoe, now made a long speech to the natives on shore, describing apparently how he had found us; on which Dick, who was now much recovered, and I shook him by the hand, hoping that what he had said was in our favour. This seemed to please him and his countrymen; and we were now conducted on shore with far more respect than we had at first expected to receive. While some inspected our boat, others, collecting round us, examined our clothes, looking curiously at our light-coloured skins. After more palavering, we were led towards their village, when a few old men and a number of women and children came out to have a look at us, and we had again to endure the same sort of scrutiny as before. After a little time, we made out that the captain of the canoe which had captured us was the son of the old chief of the village, under whose protection we were placed, or rather whose property we had become. I asked the old man his name, mentioning my own, and then pointing to Dick and pronouncing his. The old man understood me, and replied, "Paowang." I then asked the son his. He replied, "Whagoo;" on which Dick and I again shook hands with him, thanking them for the information. "Well, Mr Paowang, I hope you and we shall be friends," said Dick; "and we shall be further obliged to you if you will show us a house to live in, for we should be glad to get out of the heat of the sud, and to take a quiet snooze; and at supper-time, if you will tell your people to bring us a dish of fish, and any other articles you may think fit, we shall be further indebted to you." Although Paowang could not understand Dick's words, he comprehended his gestures, and pointing to a hut near his own, signified that we might take possession of it. It was a simple structure, consisting of uprights on which matting was stretched for walls, the roof being thatched with plantain leaves. Some coarse mats were also spread on the floor. It enabled us to escape from the pressure of the crowd, which was just what we wanted to do. The personal appearance of most of the people was not specially prepossessing, though the chief and his son had good-humoured countenances. The women wore petticoats of matting; and the men kilts or cloths round their waists and brought between their legs. They were naturally brown rather than black; but many of them had covered their bodies with a pigment mixed with either earth or charcoal, which made them much darker than they really were. The older men had short bushy beards, and large heads of almost woolly hair. Besides spears and bows, they carried large heavy carved clubs in their hands, of various shapes, some being very formidable-looking weapons. They had also darts with barbed edges, which they threw from a becket or sort of sling fixed to the hand. With these darts we saw them kill both birds and fish at a distance of eight or ten yards. The only tools we saw were composed of stone or shells. Their hatchets were in form like an axe, the pointed end being fixed to a hole in a thick handle. However, I have not time at present to describe the people. What disgusted Dick and me most was to see the poor women compelled to perform all the hard work, and often to receive blows or abuse from their ill-tempered masters. We were allowed to rest in quiet till the evening, when the chief sent us, by one of his daughters, some more fish and a dish of poi,--a sort of paste made of the bread-fruit or yams. At night, also, we were allowed to sleep without interruption. The next morning, however, the chief signified that we must not expect to eat the bread of idleness, and that we must either work in the taro grounds, or go out hunting and fishing. Dick at once said that we would go out fishing in our own boat; hoping, as he whispered to me, that we might thus have the chance of escaping. I warned him not to show too great eagerness, lest they might suspect that such an idea had entered our minds. As we could only converse by signs, we had some difficulty in making them understand what was meant. Dick was the most successful. He signified that we could not go out hunting, as we had no arms to hunt with; then he pretended to hoe and dig, shaking his head to signify that that was not to his taste; then he went through the attitudes of letting down the line and hauling up a big fish. The chief nodded his head and pointed to the sea, and allowed us to go down to the harbour. We showed our hooks, which were stowed away in the locker; and seeing some small fish, begged to have them as bait,--quite happy in the thought that we should be allowed to go out alone, and might thus, having thrown our captors off their guard, in the course of a few days easily make our escape,--when three black fellows, with heavy clubs and sharp axes, stepped in after us, showing by their grinning countenances that they suspected our intentions. Dick looked in no way disconcerted, but putting the oars into their hands, bade them sit down and pull. Of this, however, they had no conception; so he and I had to row the boat out of the harbour, thus letting them see how we managed the oars. After some time two of them proposed trying; but they were not very successful. First one caught a crab, then the other toppled right over on his back and very nearly lost the oar; then the first went over with his legs in the air, bringing his head with a crack against the thwart behind him. Dick and I could not help laughing at the hideous faces he made--at which he grew angry, and seizing his club, threatened to use it on Dick's head. Dick, patting him on the back, advised him to cool his temper; then telling him to steer, took the oar to show him how he could use it. At last, having got some distance from the shore, Dick proposed bringing up and trying our luck. Almost immediately I got a bite, and pulled up a big fish; Dick directly afterwards caught another; and thus we went on, greatly to the delight of the natives. Indeed, our hooks and lines caught more fish in the course of three hours than their nets usually entrapped in a day. The chief, when we got back, was highly pleased, and bestowed the name of Big-fish-man on Dick. Several days went by. We were in high favour with Paowang, and the rest of the people treated us with much kindness; still we were slaves, and we felt very anxious about the fate of our companions. Should the savages discover them, and they be tempted to defend themselves, they might not be treated so well as we were; whilst, should they be captured, our chances of escape would be smaller than ever. A fortnight or more had gone by; and the natives began to treat us more capriciously than at first. Several of them had by this time learned to row, and sometimes Dick was compelled to go out to fish by himself with a couple of natives; sometimes I was sent, while Dick was ordered to work in the taro fields. When I was kept on shore, I had to perform the same sort of labour, in company with the women and girls. I should not have minded it very much, had it not been for the heat of the sun: and from this I found Dick also suffered extremely; indeed, he was looking very ill, and I much feared that he would have a relapse. My worst apprehensions were too soon fulfilled. One evening, when I and my black crew returned home from fishing, I found Dick lying in our hut scarcely able to speak. He had been out the whole day in the fields, scantily supplied with food, and had received a sun-stroke. He was in a high fever. I ran to the chief and entreated him to give me a supply of cocoa-nut milk, which I hoped, at all events, might alleviate his sufferings. The chief replied that I might help myself to some cocoa-nuts, but offered me no other assistance. In desperation I climbed the nearest tree, on which some were still hanging, and threw them to the ground; two were split and the milk lost, but I brought home three others. I feared, however, as I offered the contents of one of them to my poor companion, that it was too late to afford him any relief. I sat up with him all night, giving him from time to time some of the cooling beverage; but he was evidently getting worse. Once only he spoke to me. "Get off in the boat, Mr Rayner," he said; "it is your only chance. Trust in God; he will help you in time of need." He was silent after this, and, overcome with fatigue, I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke the light was shining in through the door of the hut. I looked at Dick's countenance; it was calm and pleasant. I took his hand--it dropped by his side. Then I knew that my poor friend was dead; and I burst into tears. When I recovered myself I got up and told the chief what had happened, begging that some men might be sent to help me to dig his grave, for already the flies were gathering about his face. The chief complied with my request; so we dug a grave on the top of a hill a short distance from the village, and within view of the sea. In the evening we carried him there, and I took my last look of his honest countenance ere the soil was thrown in on his body. I then got some young saplings and planted them round the grave, which I covered up with a pile of earth. On this also I planted some flowering shrubs. Next day I employed myself in carving on a piece of wood his name, and the date, as far as I could calculate it, of his death. Soon after this I discovered that something unusual was going forward in the village. The chief had evidently important intelligence brought him; for the warriors were arming, and the women were in a state of agitation. What it was all about I could not tell, and the savages did not think fit to enlighten me. They did not, however, neglect their taro fields; and I was sent out as usual to work. I had started at daybreak, that I might get as much done as possible during the cool hours of the morning, and was labouring away, when, hearing a noise in the bushes near me, I looked up and saw a figure spring out from among them. The next instant I recognised Harry Hudson, who ran towards me. "Come along," he exclaimed; "I am pursued, and we may both be captured. I'll tell you what has happened when we reach a place of safety." I set off with him towards the village. Our appearance, with the account we gave, made all the warriors turn out, led by Whagoo, to stop the progress of the enemy; for by Harry's account the hostile party was approaching, and would, if not stopped, quickly destroy the taro fields and cut down all the trees in their course. The chief expressed his gratitude to Harry for giving him the warning, and promised to defend him should those from whom he had escaped attempt his recapture. To my surprise, Harry was able to make himself clearly understood, though the dialect he spoke evidently differed considerably from that of Paowang and his people. "But I am eager to learn how you found your way to this place, and knew that I was here," I observed. Harry then, having said how anxious he and the rest of them had become at not hearing of Dick and me, told how one day he and Tamaku had set off on an exploring expedition farther to the north than they had yet ventured, in search of cocoa-nuts and other fruit, which was becoming scarce around them; that they had crossed a stream which seemed to separate the southern from the northern end of the island; but as they were going through a forest which extended down to the sea, they were suddenly set upon by a large party of savages; when Tamaku, attempting to defend himself, was struck down, and, he feared, killed. The savages then hurried him along with them to their village, where they treated him with tolerable kindness; but still he dreaded lest, should he by any chance offend them, they might without ceremony kill him, and he intended to make his escape, if possible, in order to warn Mudge and the rest of their danger. Understanding tolerably well what they said, he learned that a white man and a boy--and of course he had no doubt that Dick and I were spoken of--had been captured in a boat by their enemies at the northern end of the island, and that an attack upon Paowang's tribe had been planned. The chief of the party into whose hands he had fallen was, he found, called Oamo; he appeared to be a fierce, sanguinary savage, and he felt that his own life, while he remained in the chief's power, was very insecure. So, finding that he could much more easily reach us than get back southward, and that his captors were less likely to look out for him on our side, he resolved to escape; and that very night succeeded in doing so. On hearing this, Paowang and Whagoo hurried on their preparations; and, led by the latter, the warriors sallied forth in battle array, taking Harry and me with them. As we had no arms, and should have been unwilling to fight even had we possessed any, we were surprised at this; but Whagoo insisted that it was necessary, and we were compelled to comply. We marched on at a rapid rate till we reached a broad stream, which separated, we learned, the territory of Paowang from that of Oamo. On reaching the stream we caught sight of Oamo's forces drawn up on the opposite side. The two armies then set to work to hurl abusive epithets at each other, instead of, as we expected, making use of murderous weapons. This had the effect, however, of exciting their courage and working up their anger. Harry told me, that as far as he could make out, each party was trying to induce the other to cross the stream and fight. At length Whagoo dared Oamo to come over and engage in single combat. The challenge, after some deliberation, was accepted; and that chief, with about twenty of his followers, wading across the stream, formed on the northern bank, where they stood facing our party at about the distance of fifty yards. The two champions then advanced to meet each other, armed with the formidable carved clubs I have described, one blow from which would, it appeared, quickly decide the contest. As they advanced slowly, they narrowly eyed each other, waiting for a favourable moment to deal the first blow. Whagoo was young and active, but Oamo appeared to possess superior strength. Cautiously he advanced, holding his club with both hands towards the ground; while Whagoo kept his elevated above his shoulders, as if ready to bring it down on his antagonist's head. For a minute or more they stood facing each other, their eyes glaring like balls of fire, when like lightning Oamo bounded towards his antagonist and dealt a blow of force sufficient to bring an ox to the ground; but Whagoo, actively leaping on one side, avoided it, and prepared to strike in return. In an instant Oamo, recovering himself, lifted his club in a position to receive his enemy's attack. They thus stood for another minute or more face to face, each unwilling to risk defeat by giving a fruitless blow. At length Whagoo, losing patience, gave a sudden bound for the purpose of reaching the right side of Oamo, who, however, quickly faced him and made a blow at his head; which he avoided by dropping on his knee, receiving it on the blunt part of his club. In an instant he was again on his feet, and with another bound attempted to reach Oamo's unguarded shoulder. The latter, however, was too wary to allow him to succeed. Thus they continued springing round each other, Oamo's aim being evidently to exhaust the strength of his antagonist. At last he succeeded in bringing his weapon down on Whagoo's left shoulder, and inflicted a fearful wound; sufficient apparently to disable him completely, for the blood gushed forth in a way which must quickly, it seemed, drain his veins of their contents. He, however, took no notice of it, though it had evidently excited his rage and made him abandon the caution he had hitherto maintained. I now began seriously to fear for the result. Oamo saw his advantage, and allowed Whagoo still further to exhaust his strength. "What are we to do, Harry, if our friend gets beaten?" I asked. "We must try and escape, for otherwise I fear that we shall be handed over to the victorious party," he answered. "Will they kill us?" I asked. "Not if Oamo escapes without a wound," he answered; "they will be so delighted with their victory that they will keep us as trophies. I don't like the look of things, however." Our fears were still further increased when Oamo succeeded in bringing his weapon down on Whagoo's thigh, leaping back quick as lightning to avoid the blow which the other dealt in return. In his eagerness to strike, and much weakened by his wounds, Whagoo overbalanced himself, and before he could again recover his feet or raise his club Oamo brought his weapon with tremendous force down on his unguarded skull, which with a single blow he clove in two, and our champion fell dead to the earth. Oamo's followers, uttering loud shouts of triumph, immediately rushed forward, and before Harry and I, who stood rooted with horror to the spot, could make our escape, they had surrounded us; Whagoo's party having bounded off like startled deer the instant they perceived the fall of their chief. Satisfied with his victory, Oamo did not attempt to follow them, aware probably that Paowang, with the rest of his tribe, would quickly be down upon them to avenge his son's death. We were at once dragged off across the stream; after which the whole party, carrying us with them, retreated southward, singing songs of triumph. Our captors did not halt till they reached their village, when the women came out in crowds to welcome them and to gaze at us. I expected nothing less than torture and death; but even Oamo, savage as he was, did not look at us fiercely, as if intending to do us any harm: possibly he was so well-pleased with his victory that he was inclined to treat us more kindly than he would otherwise have done. We were, however, doomed, we found, to captivity; and I naturally supposed that they would keep so strict a watch over us that we should have no chance of escaping. "I do not despair, however, of doing that," said Harry, when we were talking over the subject. "They are not aware that I understand what they say, and I shall thus be able to learn what they are about; so we may be able to get off by watching an opportunity. From what I understand, the southern end of the island is tabooed, having belonged to a chief who was looked upon as a priest, or sacred character of some sort. He, before setting out on an expedition with all his people, from which he never returned, threatened to visit with the most fearful curses any who should take possession of his territory during his absence. Oamo and his people had therefore been afraid to occupy it, and thus we were allowed to remain there so long unmolested. I thus hope that if we can once get across the stream which divides it from this region, we shall be safe." Harry's remarks greatly raised my spirits, and I was better able to endure the annoyances to which we were subjected than I should have been had there been less hope of escape. Day after day passed by, and we were treated much as I had before been by Paowang and his people. We were not compelled, however, to go out and fish, for the best of reasons--our captors had no canoes: indeed, Harry learned that Paowang possessed but the one canoe, which had captured us; and as Whagoo was dead, there was no one in the tribe to command it, so that in all probability it was either laid up on shore or kept in the harbour. This seemed at first to be a matter of little consequence to us; but on further consideration we saw that, should we find it necessary to escape in our boat, there would be little risk of our being pursued. As time went on, our captivity became more and more galling, though it was a satisfaction to us to be allowed to remain together; and during the evenings, when our work was over, I had a constant source of amusement in endeavouring to impart such knowledge as I possessed to Harry. I fortunately remembered portions of the Bible, and numerous pieces of poetry and prose; and by repeating them to him, he also was able to get them by heart. I used to tell him all about England, and how various articles in common use were manufactured. I taught him a good deal of history and geography; and even arithmetic, by making use of pebbles. By this exercise of my memory I benefited greatly, as I was thus induced to recall subjects which I should otherwise in time have forgotten. Our comparatively pleasant life was, however, at length to come to an end. From some motive which we could not understand--perhaps because they thought we should attempt to escape--the savages at length separated us, and compelled us to sleep in different huts; while we were employed apart during the day. Harry, however, contrived one evening to find me; and I then urged him, if he had an opportunity of escaping by himself, not to run the risk of being caught by coming to look for me. I said that I would either follow, or that perhaps Mudge would manage by some means or other to obtain my liberty, should he not already have left the island. There was some risk of this being the case, we agreed; and if so, Harry said that he would come back to me rather than have to live alone in Taboo Land, as we called it. Several days passed after this, and though I looked about for Harry, I could nowhere meet with him, so I began to hope that he had escaped. Sometimes the dreadful idea occurred to me that the savages might have killed him; and I was more inclined to think this, owing to the way in which they began to treat me. I was made to work harder than ever; and even the women, who had hitherto looked kindly on me, turned away their faces; and I was often almost starving, being glad of the scraps left by the women after their lords and masters had handed them the remains of their meals. Still, being of a buoyant disposition, I did not give way to despair, and trusted that I might some day effect my escape. I had various plans for doing so. If I could get down to the coast, I thought that I might make my way along the beach, hiding among the rocks in the day time, and moving on in the water just at the margin at night, so that no traces of my footsteps might be left. As I returned very regularly to my hut at night, my savage masters became less vigilant than before. At last I felt my captivity so irksome that I determined at all risks to put my plan into execution. I came back as usual to the village in the evening, and, pretending to have hurt my foot, as soon as I had eaten the scanty meal given to me I lay down, as if about to go to sleep. I waited anxiously till all noises had ceased in the village, and then quietly stole out of my hut; and, having well noted the way, as soon as I had got to such a distance that my footsteps were not likely to be heard, I ran as fast as I could to the west shore, which was much the nearest. In about an hour I reached it, and at once began to make my way, as I had proposed, along the beach. At all events, Oamo would not be able to ascertain whether I had gone to the north or to the south. Fortunately the water was high, so that I had the soft sand to tread on, my feet being on the margin. As fast as I could move, afraid even for an instant to step on the dry sand lest I might leave a footprint behind me, I went on. Sometimes I had to climb over rocks; but fortunately there were no cliffs in this part of the island rising sheer out of the water, or my progress would have been effectually stopped. All night long I went on; the light of the moon, which rose soon after I reached the shore, enabling me to make way with less difficulty than I had anticipated. In spite of the temptation to continue my course, when morning dawned I sought shelter among some rocks, amid which I judged that I should be effectually concealed from any pursuers on the shore. How far I had gone I could not well calculate, but I supposed that I was still a long way from the harbour, where I hoped to find Mudge. As I was well beyond the high-water mark, I had no fear of being overwhelmed by the rising tide; therefore, feeling very tired, I composed myself on my somewhat hard couch to sleep. I awoke with the idea that a pair of huge wings were fanning me; and on looking up I saw a large sea-fowl, as big as an albatross, about to pounce down on my head. I started to my feet, defending my face with my arm, and shouting at the top of my voice to frighten it off. My cries had the desired effect; and as I watched its flight seaward, I saw a small speck on the water. Eagerly I gazed at it; it was a boat, not a canoe, as I had at first feared. It came nearer and nearer, evidently steering along the coast. I feared that I should not be seen among the broken rocks where I had concealed myself, and I could scarcely hope to make my voice heard so far. My only chance was to run along the light-coloured sand, and to wave my hands, trusting that I might attract the attention of my friends in the boat--for that they were my friends I felt certain. Without further consideration, I rushed from my hiding-place, and began frantically waving my hands, shouting at the same time at the top of my voice. As I for a moment ceased, I heard an echo to my cries; and looking over my shoulder, I saw a party of dark-skinned savages descending the hill towards the beach. From the glimpse I got of them, I saw that they differed in appearance from those among whom I had so long been held captive; I saw, also, that they had neither bows nor spears. With fierce cries they rushed down the hill towards me; while louder and louder I shouted, and waved my hands more vehemently towards the boat. The savages, with pointed daggers in their hands, had reached the foot of the hill; and I was almost abandoning myself to despair, when I saw the boat's head turned towards the shore, and a figure in the bows stand up and wave to me, while a friendly cheer reached my ears. In a few minutes more--long before the boat could get up to me--the savages were on the beach. Though I knew that sharks abounded on the coast, I no longer hesitated, but, rushing into the water, waded as far as I could, and then struck out towards the boat. I did not take time to throw off my jacket, but, fully clothed as I was, swam on; one glance, as I looked backward, revealing the savages not a dozen yards behind me. If they chose to swim after me, I should have scarcely a chance of escaping; but that thought did not make me abandon the attempt. I struck out boldly, and my friends in the boat pulled away lustily to meet me. On turning on my back for one moment to rest, though not to stop, for I still struck out with my feet, I saw the savages on the margin of the water, fiercely threatening me with their daggers, but not daring to swim off in pursuit. My mind was greatly relieved; but there was the risk of cramp, or giving way from fatigue, as also the still greater danger of being snapped up by a huge shark. My friends, however, knew this as well as I did, and continuing to exert themselves as at first, at length came up with me. The time, however, seemed very, very long, and I was almost fainting from my exertions, when I felt a strong hand seize me by the collar of my jacket, and Mudge--for it was he who had got hold of me--pulled me over the gunwale and placed me in the stern-sheets. I soon recovered, and the first face my eyes fell upon was that of Harry. The pleasure of seeing him soon restored me. He told me that he had effected his escape just as I was attempting to do, though he had been compelled to remain concealed for several days among the rocks. As soon as he reached the harbour he told Mudge, who had given up all expectation of ever seeing me again alive, of my captivity; and arranged with him a plan for rescuing me. Harry's intention was to land after nightfall, and boldly make his way up to the village; where, knowing my hut, he hoped to be able to find me, and to conduct me back to the boat before daylight. The boat, however, had first to be brought round to the east side; so Mudge, himself, and Tom went across the island together, and brought her round by the south end. The day after his arrival, while they were employed in putting on board provisions for the expedition, Popo, who had been out shooting with his bow and arrows, came rushing back, saying that he had seen a party of savage natives, who were evidently advancing towards the harbour. They had but just time to jump into the boat, leaving a large portion of the provisions they had prepared behind them, and to shove off, when the savages came rushing down with threatening gestures, shouting and shrieking. From Harry's account, they were similar in appearance to the men from whom I had escaped, and we agreed that they were probably part of the tribe who had been absent, and had just returned to Taboo Land. In the meantime, Mudge had put the boat round, and we were pulling away from the shore. One of the plans formed by my friends, they told me, had been, as soon as they had recovered me, to try and cut out our jolly-boat, as the small boat was but ill adapted for the long voyage we might have to take. They were afraid, however, should we linger on the coast, that the savages who had just landed would pursue us in the canoes in which they had arrived; and hence our only safe course was at once to get to a distance, in the hope that we might either fall in with a whaler, or reach some island inhabited by people of a more hospitable disposition. With reluctance, therefore, we abandoned the design of trying to get hold of the jolly-boat. There would, of course, have been danger in the attempt, and we therefore considered it altogether wiser to avoid it. Unhappily, we had no sail, and only a couple of rough oars, formed by Tamaku; we had a few salted fish and birds, a basket of eggs, and some cocoa-nuts. Our stock of water was contained in a dozen cocoa-nut-shells, prepared as bottles by poor Tamaku. This stock would not last us many days; and should it be exhausted before we could reach another island, or fall in with a ship, we must starve. Such were our prospects as we rowed away from the island, without chart or compass, or any other means of guiding our course, with the exception of the stars by night and the sun by day.	{ "id": "21493" }
6	WE PULL SOUTH-WEST--WANT OF WATER AND FOOD--CATCH SOME FLYING-FISH-- SUFFERINGS FROM THIRST--A BREEZE--A SAIL--TAKEN ON BOARD THE "VIOLET"-- VISIT NEW CALEDONIA--OFF THE AUSTRALIAN COAST--A HURRICANE--BRIG WRECKED--THE PUMPS MANNED--HOPES OF GETTING HER OFF--LAND IN THE BOATS-- MY FATHER REMAINS ON BOARD.	We pulled on all night, taking it by turns; and when the sun rose next morning we were out of sight of land. Mudge had come to the determination of steering to the south, under the belief that the inhabitants of the islands in that direction were less barbarous than those we had left. We thought, also, that we should be more likely to fall in with a whaler or sandal-wood trader belonging to New South Wales, which Mudge understood were in the habit of visiting the islands in those seas. Missionaries also, we knew, were settled on some of the islands to the southward; but, unfortunately, none of us had heard much about them, though we felt sure that, should we reach a place where one was established, we should be treated kindly. But the London and Wesleyan Missionary Societies had not in those days made the progress they have since done,--the blessings of Christianity and civilisation having been by their means carried among a very large number of the brown and black-skinned races of the Pacific. They had for some years been working among the Society Islands, and a few had visited Tonga, Samoa, and Fiji; while some of the native converts had gone forth among the more savage tribes, fearless of the perils they had to encounter. Mudge proposed that we should at once be placed on an allowance both of food and water, to which we all readily agreed. We rowed on all day; but the boat was heavy, and though the water was calm we did not make more than three knots an hour--and we knew not how many miles we might have to go before we should reach land. During the day we each pulled about an hour at a time; and at night, that we might enjoy longer sleep, those at the oars continued two hours before they were relieved. Providentially, the weather continued fine, and the sea almost as calm as a mill-pond; thus we were able to make between sixty and seventy miles a day. I cannot describe the events of each day, as they are much confused in my mind. We did our utmost to keep up our spirits: sometimes we sang, and sometimes we told such stories as we could remember, either of fiction or truth. Had poor Dick Tillard been alive and with us, his fund of yarns would have been invaluable. We frequently spoke of him, and mourned his loss. Mudge had seen a good deal of service, but he had not the happy knack of describing what had happened to him in the graphic, racy way poor Dick had of spinning a yarn. Mudge had been with Lord Cochrane during the war, and had taken part in some of his most gallant adventures. He was with him on board the _Pallas_ when her boats had gallantly cut out the _Tapageuse_ brig, and afterwards in her action with the _Minerva_, a ship nearly double her size; but his gallant commander having been, by the malignity of his foes, compelled to leave the navy, he himself had very little prospect of ever getting his promotion. He gave us an account of the capture off Barcelona, by the _Speedy_ sloop-of-war, of the _Gamo_ frigate, more than twice her size. The _Speedy_ was a little craft, of one hundred and fifty-eight tons only, and carried fourteen pop-guns--four-pounders--with a crew of fifty-four men; while the _Gamo_ measured six hundred tons, and had thirty-two guns, with a crew of three hundred and nineteen men. After a desperate action, Lord Cochrane laid the little _Speedy_ on board his big antagonist. He had ordered his men to blacken their faces; and one party, led by his gallant Lieutenant Parker, boarded at the bow, and soon gained a footing on the enemy's deck. Their begrimed faces and the impetuosity of their onset struck dismay into the hearts of the Spaniards, and they incontinently gave way. Meantime Lord Cochrane headed the aftermost division; and the enemy, thus unexpectedly assailed fore and aft, were driven a confused mass into the waist. Here a desperate hand-to-hand struggle ensued; till one of the _Speedy's_ men, having by the captain's direction fought his way to the ensign-staff, hauled down the Spanish colours, when the Spaniards, believing that their officers had struck the flag, cried out for quarter. The difficulty was to secure the prisoners, they having been driven into the main-hold of the _Gamo_. The ladders were removed, and guns were pointed down on them, a man being stationed with a lighted match, ready at any moment to fire among them should they attempt to retake the ship. Meantime sail was made on the prize, and she stood away from the shore just as a number of gunboats were seen coming out of Barcelona, which, had they acted with any degree of spirit, might have captured the _Speedy_, or compelled her to relinquish her prize. "I wish I had been with him," exclaimed Mudge; "but I was not, for the best of reasons--I was still in the nursery, and had not thought of going to sea." We all said the same, though none of the rest of us happened to have been born at that time, as it was just the beginning of the century. Poor Mudge--and there were many officers at that time, like him, old enough to be post-captains, who were still master's mates--often sighed as he talked of the events of former days, and I have seen him more than once brushing away a tear as he spoke of his disappointed hopes and blighted prospects. Day after day we pulled on, each day looking more eagerly than ever for land or for a ship. Our food was rapidly diminishing; and we had barely sufficient water to give us a wine-glassful apiece for two more days. Still, what might not happen in that time? Mudge urged us to keep up our spirits and pull on. Tommy grumbled a little now and then, and expressed a wish that he had never come to sea; but neither Harry nor Popo uttered the slightest complaint. When it was their turn to row, they pulled away with all their might; when they knocked off, they generally lay down in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep. The day was the most trying period, when the sun beat down on our unprotected heads. Even with an ample supply of food and water we should have found it trying; as it was, we suffered doubly. But then came the cool refreshing night and an unbroken sleep of two hours, when we all revived, and felt much better in the morning. With a feeling which I cannot well describe, we at length emptied our last nut-shell of the salt, strong-tasting liquid it contained. "I trust we shall make the land before many hours are over, lads," said Mudge, in as cheerful a tone as he could command; "or maybe we shall fall in with some craft or other. I should prefer the latter, provided she happens to be English, with a good supply of water on board." "But suppose we don't," said Tom, gloomily. "We mustn't think of that, lad," said Mudge; "we can all easily hold out for another four-and-twenty hours; and we have still some cocoa-nuts, which we must chew to prevent ourselves from feeling thirsty." We now counted the hours as they went by. As yet our strength was not materially decreased. Though our arms ached, we could still mechanically labour at the oars when we got into our seats; but I very much doubt that we made as much as three knots an hour. That next night was the most trying we had yet passed in the boat. We had had no breakfast in the morning, not a drop of water to cool our parched tongues, or even to moisten our cracked lips. We might have made the water, by more economy, hold out another day, but there was no use regretting that now. We felt the heat greater than ever. Tom proposed getting overboard; but there was the difficulty of getting in again; so Mudge advised that we should simply dip our clothes in the water and put them on again, that we might thus imbibe some moisture through our skins. He charged us on no account, however thirsty we might feel, to drink the salt water, pointing out the fearful result which might ensue. Once more the sun went down, and we tried to row, but could now scarcely move the oars. At length, afraid of losing them, Mudge told Harry and me, who were then rowing, or rather trying to row, to haul them in; and we all stretched ourselves in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep. Morning came again, and one by one we sat up and looked about us, and then gazed into each other's faces without speaking. "I vote we have breakfast," said Tom at length, "for I'm sharp set and very thirsty." "There's neither food nor water remaining, boy," answered Mudge in a hollow tone. "God may, if he thinks fit, send us help before the day is over. We can hold out a few hours longer, I should hope; but if help does not come, we must make up our minds like men to die. It has been the lot of many; why should we complain?" These remarks were not calculated to raise our spirits. Perhaps Mudge knew that it would be useless to make any attempt to do so. He spoke but the truth, and we all knew that. It was a perfect calm; no vessel could approach us, and we were too weak to row. Mudge and I made the attempt, telling Tom to steer; but after a few strokes I could row no more, and nearly let my oar slip before I could get it inboard. "We must wait for a breeze," said Mudge, "which will come some time or other; it is our only hope." For some time he was silent. He alone continued seated on a thwart, the rest of us having sunk down with our heads upon them, while we leaned against the side of the boat. As the sun rose, the heat became more and more oppressive. "Lads, it won't do to give way to despair," exclaimed Mudge suddenly, after he had been silent for an hour or more. "Can't some of you sit up and talk?" On hearing him say this, I endeavoured to arouse myself. Just then I heard a gentle splash in the water not far off. "What's that?" I exclaimed. "A shoal of flying-fish," cried Mudge. "They are heading this way. Get out your oar, Rayner, and we will try and intercept them." By a desperate effort I did as he told me, while he pulled the oar on the opposite side. "That will do now," he cried. "Stand by, lads, and try to catch your breakfast as they come this way." The appeal was not in vain; even Tom showed that he had still some life in him. The next instant several flying-fish fell into the boat, while with the stretchers we knocked down others which came alongside. They were pursued by a couple of albacores; one of these would have supplied us with ample food for several days, but so rapid were their movements that we got but a single blow at one of them. It dashed by the boat, and was in an instant lost to sight. The shoal having passed by, we had no hope of catching more, so we immediately set to work eating those we had captured--more in the fashion of ravenous beasts than human beings. They had died directly they were out of the water, or we should scarcely have waited to give them a knock on the head as a quietus before we dug our teeth into them. When people are situated as we were, they do things at which under other circumstances they would be horrified. But eight fish had been caught; we had consumed five, and thus only three remained to be divided among us for our next meal. However, even the small amount of food we had taken somewhat restored our strength, and I felt that I could hold out another day if water could be obtained; but there was no prospect of rain--the only source from whence it could be derived. "If a bird would just tumble into the boat, it would give us meat and drink," observed Mudge. "We must hope for that, since no rain is likely to come." In vain, however, did we look around for sea-fowl; by their non-appearance we feared that we must still be far distant from land. Though we felt the gnawings of hunger, we suffered still more from thirst. When I at length dropped off to sleep, I dreamed of sparkling fountains; I saw bottles of champagne, and bitter beer, and all sorts of cooling beverages,--which, however, in some unaccountable way, I could not manage to carry to my lips. But I will not dwell longer on the sufferings my companions and I endured; the subject is a painful one. Mudge would not let us take the remainder of the fish that night, observing that it would last till the next morning, when we should want it for breakfast. We all acquiesced in his decision. He was constantly awake during the night, but the rest of us dozed for the greater part of it. At daylight, when I awoke, I saw that he had rigged one of the oars as a mast, to the upper end of which he had fastened a large handkerchief. "Rouse up, boys!" he said, "and take your breakfast; we shall obtain relief to-day, or I am much mistaken." "Why?" I groaned out--for I could scarcely speak. "Because there is a breeze coming. And look up there at those birds-- perhaps one of them will come down and pay us a visit; and if so, we mustn't stand on ceremony, but knock it inhospitably on the head." Mudge got out the fish, and cut each in two. "You must take a whole one," I said; "you require more food than we do, and our lives depend on your keeping up your strength." "No; I shall reserve it for luncheon," he answered; "even that little will be better than nothing, and it will be something to look forward to." So dry were our mouths, however, we could scarcely masticate the uncooked fish. We again sank down into our places. I felt that I could not hold out many hours longer; while the rest appeared still more exhausted. Not a word was uttered by any of us excepting Mudge, who in vain appealed to us to talk. "Say something, boys! say something!" he every now and then cried out; "this silence is bad for us all. I won't ask you to crack a joke, or tell a funny story; but talk, boys--talk!" A groan was the only answer any of us gave. A gentle breeze blew from the eastward; I had just consciousness enough to be aware of that--to see honest Mudge sitting near me, and constantly looking about him. What length of time had passed I know not, when I heard him shout, "A sail, boys! a sail! --we shall be saved!" His voice aroused me, and I saw him standing up, shading his eyes with his hand, while he leaned against the oar which formed the mast. "She's standing this way; do try, my lads, to hold out for an hour or so longer, and we shall have as much water to drink and food to eat as we want," he exclaimed. "Here, you shall have your luncheon;" and taking the half fish, he divided it into four equal portions. "No, no, I don't want any; I can hold out well enough," he answered, when I made signs to him to take some. The rest of the party stretched out their hands feebly for the portion he gave them, but could with difficulty carry the food to their lips, or swallow it when they had got it into their mouths. So exhausted were we, indeed, that though we knew that a vessel was approaching, we were unable to sit up and watch her. I too saw her, and as she got nearer Mudge sang out that she was a brig under English colours; yet I could not believe that she was a reality. I several times heard him speaking about her approach. Once he exclaimed, with a deep groan,--"She's hauled her wind, and is standing away from us!" then again,--"No, no; she sees us! --thank God, we're saved! we're saved!" Still, his words had no effect upon me or the rest of the party. Again I heard him hail; and a voice came from the brig in return. I was just conscious that we were alongside, and soon afterwards I felt myself lifted upon the deck; but my senses were confused; I could not understand anything that was going forward, and soon lost all consciousness. How long I thus lay I could not tell, when, on opening my eyes, I saw a face bending over me; it was that of my mother. I was sure that I was dreaming, and again closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, they fell on the sweet features of my young sister Edith. She stood by the side of the cot in which I lay. I gazed at her for some seconds. There she stood, watching me eagerly; yet I could not persuade myself that it was really her. I knew how very vividly I had often seen persons and objects in my dreams. I was in a neatly furnished cabin; just before me was a picture of our house at Clifton, and near it were hanging a girl's straw hat and mantle. Again I turned my eyes towards the figure at my side. "Edith," I murmured, not expecting to receive a reply. "Yes, yes, dear Godfrey, I am Edith! Oh, how thankful I am that you are getting better, and know me." The reply was very distinct, but so are often replies in dreams. Just then I heard a voice which came down the skylight, giving an order to the crew in an authoritative tone: it was that of my father, I was sure. "Why, Edith, how has it all happened?" I asked; "is it a reality, or am I still dreaming?" "It is all real, I assure you," answered Edith. "I must call mamma. Oh, how thankful she will be! We were afraid sometimes that you would not get better, and poor Pierce has been so unhappy, and so have I; but papa said he knew that you would recover, and we ought to have remembered that he is always right. And now you must get well as fast as you can." As she said this, I began to be convinced that I was awake, and that Edith really stood by my side. I did not detain her; and in another minute my mother was bending over me, and folding me in her arms, just as she had done the night before I came to sea. In a short time Pierce made his appearance, but was only allowed to remain a few seconds. Then my father came down, and said a few words expressive of his happiness; and then Edith, who had gone away, returned with a cup of broth, with which my mother fed me just as she had done when I was a baby. I wanted at once to know how it had all happened, and what had brought my family out into the Pacific. "It is a long story, and you are not strong enough to listen to it now," answered my mother; "we will tell you in good time. One thing I may say: we were providentially sent to rescue you and your companions." "Are they all right?" I asked. "Have Mudge, and Harry, and Tom, and Popo been saved?" "Mr Mudge has almost recovered; and the rest are, I trust, out of danger, though at first they appeared even weaker than you were," answered my mother. "Mr Mudge has told us Harry's interesting history. Your father knows Captain Hudson, who is an old shipmate, and he will do his best to restore the long-lost boy to his parents. However, we must not talk more at present. Go to sleep again. Our medical book says, that the more a person exhausted as you have been can sleep, the sooner he will get well." My mother having arranged a shawl over my shoulders, and bidding Edith sit down out of sight, glided out of the cabin. When I tried to talk, Edith only answered, "Hush!" and in a few minutes I was again asleep. I do not know how it would have fared with us had we fallen into less careful hands; but my companions and I, in spite of the heat, in a short time recovered. When I was strong enough to bear conversation, my mother told me how my father, finding his mercantile business in England was not likely to flourish, had resolved to emigrate to Australia, where, as an officer in the navy, he could obtain a grant of land. Following his nautical instincts, he had purchased a brig, on board of which he had shipped all the family; purposing to make a trading voyage before finally settling down, and hoping thus to realise a considerable sum, and pay the expenses of the vessel. He had hitherto been tolerably successful, though they had run no slight risk twice, if not oftener, of being cut off by the treacherous natives--"Treacherous because, I fear, they have been treated treacherously," observed my mother. "We have been mercifully preserved, and are now on our way to Sydney, where we shall sell the brig and commence our settlers' life. Your father, however, intends first visiting New Caledonia; and perhaps New Guinea, and some other islands." "Oh, then, I will leave the navy and settle with you!" I exclaimed. "And I am nearly certain that Mudge will also be ready to give up the navy and join us; as also, I am sure, will Harry, and Tom, and Popo." It was, indeed, most providential that the brig picked us up, for it was more than a fortnight after this that we made New Caledonia, along the northern shore of which we coasted; my father intending to bring up in some convenient harbour, where we could communicate with the natives, and purchase sandal-wood, or other productions of the country. The shore consisted of ranges of hills of some height, mostly covered with wood, with low plains and valleys intervening. We saw several double canoes under sail, such as I have before described. At last we found a harbour, the appearance of which from the sea tempted my father to enter it. The instant we dropped our anchor, the vessel was surrounded by canoes, which brought off vegetables and all sorts of provisions; but having heard of the way in which many vessels had been cut off by the natives, my father wisely resolved to allow no one to come on board. The crew were kept under arms while he and his mates trafficked with the natives; the articles he had to dispose of being lowered down into the canoes, while the provisions were hoisted up on deck. Had similar precautions been taken by the commanders of other vessels, numerous fearful tragedies might have been prevented. Some of the canoes I speak of had outriggers; but others, used apparently only for the smooth water of the harbour, consisted merely of four trunks of some light wood, partially hollowed out by fire, and lashed tightly together. Two men sat in them,--one in the bows and the other astern,--who used long pointed paddles like the heads of spears. They usually carried one passenger; in some instances this passenger was a woman, enveloped from head to foot in a cloak of matting. As the brig had her six guns pointed through her ports, and the crew were seen pacing the deck with cutlasses by their sides and muskets in their hands, the people showed every disposition to behave peaceably, and to traffic on fair terms. Finding that we wanted sandal-wood, they brought off an ample supply, for which my father gave them a price which thoroughly satisfied them. Had all traders behaved as he did, I am convinced that the natives, who have often been stigmatised as treacherous savages, would have gained a very different character. We again sailed, steering westward, as my father wished to inspect some of the northern portions of the eastern coast of Australia, at that time but little known. His intercourse with savages had led him to believe that, if properly treated, as he had always treated them, they could be easily managed; and he had therefore no fear of settling at a distance from other colonists. Indeed, he wished to be as far as possible from other stations; so that, by keeping the convict servants assigned to him away from the contaminating influence of their old companions, he might have a better opportunity of improving them, while he might at the same time win the confidence of the natives. I have as yet said nothing about the brig, or those on board. She was called the _Violet_, of nearly two hundred tons burthen. The first and second mates were respectively men selected by my father for their good character, but there was nothing remarkable about them. The boatswain, Ned Burton, took the place in my regard which I had bestowed on poor Dick Tillard, whom, strangely enough, he knew. "And a right honest fellow he was, Master Godfrey," said Ned; "and if ever I go to that island from which you have escaped, I'll pay a visit to his grave. He and I served His Majesty for many a year; and if the peace hadn't come, we should have been serving him still. When the war was over, and I was paid off, I had made up my mind to remain on shore; and so I should, had not your father, who made his first trip to sea with me, asked me to come out on board the _Violet_. He would have made me second mate; but then, you see, I don't understand navigation, and so I couldn't take the situation. Howsomdever, when he said he would make me a boatswain, I couldn't refuse him; and I'm thinking, when the ship is sold, and if I like the country, of settling down along with him, and sending for my old woman and our two daughters." I told Ned I thought he would act very wisely; and that in consequence of what Mr Mudge had said to me, and believing that I should have very little chance of promotion, I had made up my mind to quit the service, if Captain Bracewell would allow me. "Not much difficulty about that, Master Godfrey," answered Ned, laughing. "They don't set a high value on midshipmen, according to my experience; and as he has probably long before this given you and the rest up for lost, he won't be ferreting you out in Australia." "But I should not like to do anything dishonourable," I said; "and if the captain were to insist on my returning in the ship, I am bound to do so: besides which, I left my chest on board, and there is pay due to me." "I thought a midshipman's pay was always nothing, and find yourself, Master Godfrey," said Ned. "And as for your chest and its contents, they've been sold by auction on the capstan-head long ago, so that it would be a hard job to get them back again." I talked the matter over with Pierce, who earnestly advised me not to think of quitting our father, and said he was sure that he would give me the same advice, as he had often said how much he wished I could have been with him. I must not forget to mention my young sister's pet goat Nanny, which had long afforded her and my mother milk for breakfast and tea. Nanny was the most affectionate of animals; and the moment Edith appeared on deck in the morning would come bounding up to her, and seemed delighted at being fondled, though she would butt at any one else who touched her. She, however, made friends with Harry, and when Edith was below would come up to him and wait to be caressed; but no sooner did she see her mistress, than she would hasten to her--looking at Harry, as much as to say, "I like you very well, but I like her best." We were progressing favourably on our voyage, which would in a short time terminate. I have said little or nothing about the wonders of the ocean, for they have been so often described. I cannot, however, avoid mentioning a beautiful phenomenon which occurred one night as we were approaching the Australian coast. There was a light breeze, which just rippled the water into wavelets, amid which the brig glided onward. The sky was overcast sufficiently to hide the stars. Dark as it was overhead, the whole ocean was flashing with light,--at some places in streaks, at others in vast masses, the spouts of several whales appearing like jets of liquid fire; while numberless huge medusae floated about, appearing as if composed of molten silver. "I wonder the ship doesn't catch fire!" exclaimed Tommy, who had just come on deck. "It would be a bad job if it did, for how should we ever put it out again? What can light up the water in this fashion?" My father overheard him. "We call it the phosphorescence of the sea, because it resembles the glow emitted by phosphorus," he answered. "Those who have studied the subject say that it is caused by the presence of myriads of minute marine organisms, some soft and gelatinous, and others--such as the Crustacea--of a hard nature; but, in reality, under some conditions of the atmosphere all sorts of marine creatures, like those huge medusae, shine both in the water and out of it." This appearance continued many hours. I got up Edith, who had already retired to her cabin, to look at it. She was as delighted as we were, and wanted us to have a bucketful brought on deck. Greatly to our surprise, the water in the bucket shone almost as brilliantly as it did in the ocean. The next day the wind changed, and the weather became much worse than it had been since we had been taken on board. The wind was continually shifting, now coming from one quarter and now from another. I saw that my father was unusually anxious. He felt that the safety of the vessel, and the lives of all on board, depended on him. It was a long time since he had been at sea, and he had never been off this coast before. I believe that it would have been better for us had we at once stood off the land. It was too late to hope to do so, when the wind, coming round to the eastward, began to blow a perfect hurricane. My father then hoped to find shelter within the coral reefs which ran along the coast at a distance of from five to a dozen miles, on which Captain Cook's ship, the _Endeavour_, was nearly cast away, in his first voyage. Soon after daybreak, the hurricane came down with redoubled fury. The brig was hove-to under close-reefed fore-topsails. She behaved well; and we hoped, believing that we were still some thirty miles or more from the coast, that she would not near the reefs till the gale had abated. An anxious look-out, however, was kept all day to leeward. My father did not tell my mother and Edith the danger we were in, but merely begged them to remain in the cabin. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, when the first mate, who had been seated in the main-top looking out, came down on deck, and gave my father the alarming intelligence that he saw a line of breakers to leeward, extending north and south as far as the eye could reach. "Could you discover no opening in them?" asked my father. "I am not certain at this distance that there is none, though the line of surf appeared to me without a break for its whole length," was the answer. "It will take us some time to drift so far, at all events," observed my father; "and before then the wind may come down." The mate looked anxiously to the eastward. "I don't see any sign of that," he answered. "We must trust in Providence, then," said my father. "However, I will go aloft; and if we can discover an opening, we will endeavour to carry the ship through it." I followed my father to the main-top, and stood looking out with him for some minutes. At length it appeared to me that about half a mile to the southward there was a space where the ocean was much less agitated than in other parts. I pointed it out to my father. "You are right," he said, after a pause. "It may afford us the means of escape; for should the gale continue during the night, no human power can save us--long before it is over, we should be on the reef." Having accordingly taken the bearings of the opening, he descended the rigging. The operation of keeping away, when a ship has been hove-to, is at all times a dangerous one, and requires the most careful management, as the sea may otherwise strike her, and wash everything from her decks. The crew were ordered to their stations. The first mate, with a couple of trusty hands, went to the wheel. "Up with the helm!" cried my father, waiting till an enormous sea had passed by us. "Brace round the fore-yard!" It was done, and the brig's head fell off to the westward. The main-topsail, closely reefed, was set, and we had then as much canvas as she could stagger under. As it was, several seas swept over her deck, carrying away portions of her bulwarks, and doing other damage; but all hands clung on to the stanchions around the mast, and happily no one was washed overboard. As we flew on, we could see the breakers flying high up on our starboard bow; while ahead appeared the opening which we had before made out. The wind, it should be understood, was on our port, or larboard quarter, as it was then called. The topsail-yards bent with the pressure put upon them. Should they go, the brig, deprived of her after-sail, would be unable to weather the southern end of the reef. On and on we flew. A few minutes would decide our fate. Huge seas came rolling up astern, threatening to break aboard us; while, on either hand, the white breakers rose to the height of our tops,--those on the starboard side being so near us that it appeared even now that we should be overwhelmed. We flew through it, however; and I heard an expression of thankfulness escape my father as the white wall of foam appeared over our starboard quarter. For the present we were in comparative safety; but night was coming on, and the shore could not be far off. Once more we hauled up to the northward; then hove-to under the lee of the reef, hoping that the drift during the night would not carry us on shore. Still, our position was not free from danger. The water, even under the lee of the reef, was considerably agitated, although there was but little risk of the seas actually breaking on board as long as we remained afloat. The order was given to range the cable, and get ready for anchoring, should we approach the shore. No one turned in, for we could not tell at what moment all hands might be required. Towards the end of the first watch, the gale began to moderate, and our hopes of ultimately escaping rose considerably. My father waited till midnight, and then ordered the watch just relieved to turn in, to be ready to take their duty in the morning. It was my morning watch; so I followed his directions, and turned in to my berth, hoping at daylight to see the coast of Australia, which I had pictured in glowing colours. I was awakened by an ominous grating sound, and then by a blow which made the vessel quiver from stem to stern. She lifted for an instant, and then down she came again with a crash which seemed to be wrenching her timbers asunder. I knew too well what had happened. We were on shore; and in an instant I realised all the horrors of our situation. The cries and shouts which reached me from the deck left no doubt about the matter. Shipping on my clothes, I hurried into the cabin, where I found my mother and Edith. Entreating them to remain where they were till my father summoned them, I next went on deck to ascertain the worst. The brig had been carried over a sunken reef, and lay with her masts pointing towards the shore, which could be distinguished through the gloom not more than half a mile away. My father stood by the mainmast perfectly composed, issuing orders as if nothing had occurred. Hands were sent aloft to furl the foretopsail; and he then directed that the boats on the starboard side should be brought over, so as to be launched into the smoother water under our lee--where, on sounding, we found that there was sufficient depth to float them without risk of their striking the coral below. We had driven on to a small inner reef--a portion, probably, of what was once the fringing reef of the continent. It may seem strange that my father had not gone into the cabin, but his professional duty overcame all other considerations. His first thought was to take measures for preserving the lives of all on board. As soon as he heard my voice near him, he directed me to go back to the cabin, to assure my mother and Edith that, though the brig might be lost, he felt perfect confidence that we should all be conveyed safely on shore, and desired them to put together such things as they were most likely to require under the circumstances that we might be placed in. Although my mother was alarmed, her fears did not overcome her; and Edith, seeing her comparatively calm, did not give way to terror. "This is indeed a sad misfortune," said my mother; "but God's will be done. We must trust to him to protect us. Tell your father we will do what he desires, and shall be ready to leave the vessel as soon as he summons us." I went on deck, and found my father and the mates, aided by Mudge, labouring with the crew in getting two of the boats into the water. Our boat had unfortunately been stove in by the falling of the topmasts when the brig struck. "It is as well to be on the safe side, and to have the boats ready to shove off in case it should be necessary," I heard Mudge observe to my father. "But, if I mistake not, it was somewhere about here that Captain Cook, on his first voyage round the world, was nearly lost in the _Endeavour_; though I think he must have been further off-shore. His ship was in a worse condition than ours, I suspect, for she went on shore at high-water; and it was not till after two or three tides had fallen and risen, and a large quantity of her stores had been hove overboard, that she was got off. Even then she would have foundered, had not a fothered sail--the use of which was not so generally known then as at present--been got under her bottom, by which she was kept afloat till she was carried into Endeavour River. Never perhaps was a ship so nearly lost; and yet, bad as was her condition, she continued her voyage round the world, and arrived safely in England." "You hear what Mr Mudge says, my men," observed my father to the crew; "it ought to encourage us: but whether we get the ship off or not, I feel very confident that we shall reach the shore without difficulty." "Never fear for us, sir," cried Ned Burton--"we'll do our duty; and if the brig don't budge, it will not be our fault." In the meantime, while I was below, the sails were furled, and the carpenter, by my father's orders, had sounded the well. He now reported six feet of water in the hold; which showed that the water must be rushing in with fearful rapidity. The pumps were immediately manned, and all hands set to work to keep it under as much as possible. While the mates were labouring with the men at the pumps, my father and Mudge and I tried the depth of water round the ship. Although there was sufficient on the lee side to float the boats--we found six feet astern--there were not more than eight feet on the weather or starboard side. We thus knew that she must have beaten over the ledge into a sort of basin, from which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to extricate her. As the sea, however, did not beat against her with much force, we hoped, should the wind not again increase, that she would hold together till we could get such stores out of her as would be necessary for our support. We were, we knew, a long way from any of the settlements, and, though we might reach them in the boats, a voyage along that rocky and inhospitable coast would be a dangerous one. My father did not perhaps express what he thought to the crew, as he wished to keep up their spirits, and to make every possible effort to get off the brig before he abandoned the attempt as hopeless. Nothing effectual could be done till the return of high-water, however, and daylight would enable us to see our position more clearly than at present. As soon as "Spell O!" was cried, my father and Mudge and I took our turn at the pumps, and worked away as energetically as any one, though we well knew that all our efforts might be in vain. Again and again the carpenter sounded the well, and each time reported that, notwithstanding our exertions, the water was gaining on us. Still we laboured on, till at length the first streaks of morning appeared in the sky. It was very nearly high-water when we first drove on the reef; the tide had since been falling, and for the present it would be utterly impossible to move the ship. Our fear was that should we leave her she would fill, and the stores and cargo be damaged. My father now for the first time went below, and I accompanied him. We found my mother and Edith still employed in packing up the articles they considered would most be required on shore. "This is a sad event, my dear wife," he said; "but we must bear it patiently, and endeavour to do the best we can in the circumstances in which we are placed. I am anxious to land you and Edith without delay; and I propose to send you and the boys under the charge of Mr Mudge or one of the mates, with a tent and as many provisions as the boat will carry, so that should bad weather come on you will be out of danger." "I will do as you wish," answered my mother; "but I would far rather remain on board till you yourself think it necessary to leave the brig. I don't like the thought of landing on a strange shore without you; and I should be very anxious there while you are still on the wreck and exposed to danger." "I don't expect to incur any danger by remaining; and should it become necessary to leave the brig in a hurry, we shall be able to do so far more easily when you are already safe on shore," answered my father. "However, as you wish it, you can wait a little longer. In the meantime, the boat can be got ready; and you and those who are to accompany you can have breakfast." The composed way in which my father spoke considerably reassured my mother. Having given orders to the steward to get breakfast ready, with as much calmness as if we were still running on under easy sail in an open sea, my father went on deck. Mudge assisting us, we immediately set to work to get up such stores as could be most easily reached, with some sails and several spars for rigging a tent. While we were thus engaged, the mates got a hawser ranged ready to carry the stream-anchor out ahead, to be ready to try and haul the brig off at the top of high-water; the rest of the people still labouring at the pumps. My father now sent Pierce and Tommy Peck into the cabin, telling them to eat a good breakfast, that they might be able to make themselves useful. Harry, Mudge, and I followed; but we scarcely sat down a minute, tumbling the food into our mouths as fast as we could, and drinking our coffee while standing with the cups in our hands. Mudge was off again almost immediately, to allow my father to come down and take his breakfast. I was struck by the way in which my mother presided at the table, Edith helping her as if nothing unusual had occurred. Harry and I soon followed Mudge, whom we found engaged in stowing the boat. We were assisting him, when we were again summoned to the pumps; for they could not be allowed to rest for a moment, and the gang who had just been working at them were quite tired out, and required their breakfast. All this time the sea, though it did not break over the vessel, was striking her side, and every now and then made her give a lurch which I thought would send the masts out of her. The tide having turned, was now again rapidly rising; so the anchor was carried out ahead, and preparations made to heave her off! As the tide rose the seas began to beat with greater force against the side of the vessel, frequently flying over her deck. "Mudge," said my father, "I must no longer delay sending Mrs Rayner and the young people on shore; I confide her and them to your charge, feeling sure that you will act, according to the best of your judgment, for their good. I trust that you will meet with no natives; but if you do, and they appear to be hostile, you have arms with which to keep them at a distance." "Depend on me, sir," said Mudge; who now, with the men chosen to man the boat, hauled her alongside. My father went below, and returned conducting my mother and sister. They were then carefully lowered into the boat, in which Mudge and the crew were seated; Pierce went next; Harry, Tom, Popo, and I followed. "Oh, may we have Nanny with us?" cried Edith, not even then forgetting her favourite. "Where's Nanny? where's Nanny?" was cried along the deck; it was feared at first that she had been washed overboard. "Here she is, all right," cried the cook, who had looked into the caboose, where it was found that the goat had wisely taken shelter on finding herself neglected by her friends. Her usually sleek hair was somewhat blackened, but that did not matter. She was hauled out of her hiding-place and carried to the side of the vessel. On seeing Edith in the boat she would of her own accord have leaped in after her, but as in doing so she might have pitched upon some of our heads, she was lowered carefully down. "Thank you, thank you," cried Edith, as she patted the head of her favourite, who was exhibiting her satisfaction at being with her young mistress. As we shoved off, my mother looked anxiously at the brig, still evidently not liking to leave my father on board. He had told Mudge to ascertain if there were any natives in the neighbourhood; and should he be certain that there were none, to send the boat back, that she might either assist in getting the brig off, or take more stores and provisions on shore. As we pulled away the position of the brig appeared hopeless indeed, and I believe my father would have thought so had he been with us; but he could not bring himself to abandon her till he had tried every possible means of getting her off. She was heeling over on her side; and as the pumps were kept going, the water flowed out at the scuppers in a continuous stream. "Is there no hope, Mr Mudge, of getting the vessel off?" asked my mother. "The commander thinks that there is, or he would not have remained," he answered evasively, not giving his own opinion; but I saw by his countenance that he did not think there was any hope. Our attention was now turned towards the shore. As we approached we discovered what appeared to be the mouth of a river some way to the south of where the brig lay, and as Mudge considered we should obtain a better landing-place within it than was offered by the beach, all along which the surf broke with some force, he steered towards it. We found that it was directly opposite the passage through the reef by which we had entered. The ground on the south side rose to a considerable height, with a line of cliffs facing the sea-shore; while on the north the country was much lower, and covered sparsely with trees of a curious growth, such as I had never before seen, and with no underwood anywhere visible; but the mouth of the river on the lower side was lined with mangroves, which extended into the water. There was some sea on the bar, but not sufficient to make Mudge hesitate about entering. He waited, however, for a good opportunity. "Give way, my lads," he shouted. Just then a roller came foaming up astern, which made me dread that my mother and Edith would get a wetting, even if the consequences were not more serious; but we kept ahead of it, and in another minute were in smooth water. We soon discovered a rocky point on the north side, which offered a good landing-place, with green turf and a few trees growing on the upper side; and here we first set foot on the shores of Australia.	{ "id": "21493" }
7	SURVEY OUR CAMPING-PLACE--CLIMB TO THE TOP OF THE CLIFF--RETURN TO THE BRIG--FRUITLESS ATTEMPTS TO GET HER OFF--STORES LANDED--VISITED BY A NATIVE AND HIS FAMILY--PADDY MAKES PULLINGO'S ACQUAINTANCE--A RAFT BUILT--A STORM--BRIG GOES TO PIECES--DISAFFECTION OF THE CREW--I SAVE MUDGE FROM A SNAKE--CRUISE IN THE BOATS TO RECOVER CARGO--CASE OF SEEDS FOUND--HOUSE BUILT--THE MATES AND PART OF THE CREW SAIL FOR SYDNEY IN THE LONG-BOAT--DUTIES ON SHORE--EXPEDITION WITH EDITH IN THE JOLLY-BOAT--EDITH TAKEN ILL--A GALE--CROSS THE BAR--A MERCIFUL ESCAPE.	The spot on which we had landed was well chosen. There was ample level space on which to erect our tents; indeed, a whole village might have been built on it under such shade as the trees afforded; though that, owing to the way the leaves grew with their edges upwards and downwards, was but slight. It was joined to the mainland by a narrow neck, which could be easily defended, should there be any natives in the neighbourhood inclined to attack us; while a bend of the shore on the upper side of the neck afforded a secure harbour for the boats. The cliffs, which extended along the coast, and apparently ran some way up the river, rose but a short distance from the bank; and as the trees grew widely apart along the shore, no enemy, we supposed, could approach without being discovered. As soon as we had landed, my mother begged Mudge to ascertain, as far as he could, whether there were any natives in the neighbourhood; and if he was satisfied that there were none, to send the boat back to the brig-- which was not visible from where we were, being hidden by the mangroves on the point at the northern side of the entrance to the river. "The best way to ascertain that will be to climb to the top of the cliffs, as from thence I doubt not but I shall get a good view all over the country," answered Mudge. I begged to accompany him; and he giving directions to the men to land the stores and provisions, we set off. When we reached the foot of the cliffs we found that it would be no easy matter to mount them; indeed, just above the landing-place they were almost perpendicular. By going westward--that is to say, up the stream--we found that they were more broken; and at length we discovered a part where, by means of the shrubs which projected from the crevices, we had hopes of being able to climb up to the top. I don't know what landsmen might have done, but we, not to be deterred by difficulties or the fear of breaking our necks, commenced the ascent. Up we went, now scrambling over the rocks, now swinging ourselves up by means of the shrubs, till we got to a break in the ground--probably in long ages past a water-course, when the ocean was flowing off the ground; now presenting a surface of undulating downs. The sides sloping gradually, we easily made our way among the bushes growing on them, till we stood on the downs I have just spoken of, on the top of the cliff. By proceeding back to the sea we reached the highest part, just above the landing-place. Before leaving the vessel, Mudge had thoughtfully slung his telescope over his shoulder, and was thus able to take a wide survey of the country in every direction. We first looked towards the brig, which lay about a mile and a half to the north-east, in the position in which we had left her; the boat was alongside, and as far as we could make out, no effort was being made to get the vessel off. "I doubt if any power will move her; or, if she were to be hauled off the rocks, whether she will keep afloat long enough to bring her into the harbour," said Mudge, with a sigh. "It can't be helped; and we should be thankful to have reached the shore with our lives, and to have a prospect of making our way in time to the settlements." "I am afraid that my father will be dreadfully cut up at the loss of the brig and so much of his property, even although we may manage to land the stores and part of the cargo," I observed. "He would have been more cut up had your mother and sister and you boys lost your lives, or been compelled to make a long voyage in the boats,-- which might have been our fate had we not got so close inshore," answered Mudge. "Again I say, let us be thankful for the mercies shown us, and make the best of our position." Mudge, while he was speaking, was sweeping his glass round from the coast-line to the northward, towards the interior of the country. I meantime was looking down on the party below the cliff, who were all busily employed in carrying the things up from the boat, and placing them close to the spot Mudge had already selected for pitching the tent--in the centre of the little peninsula. Though they were, I concluded, within musket-shot, they were too far off for an arrow to reach them; so that, even should the natives possess such weapons, our encampment could not be assailed from the top of the cliff. This was satisfactory, as it made the position we had chosen a very secure one. The spot was about a quarter of a mile from the mouth of the river. The opposite shore was, as I have said, much lower than that on which we stood. Close to the sea it was flat and level, with a few sand-hills scattered over it. Farther on, the ground was undulating and thinly covered with trees. On our side, the high ground extended as far as the eye could reach along the bank of the river, as it did also along the shore southward. Altogether, it appeared to me a very fine country, such as we had reason to be thankful we had landed on. "I can see no huts or cottages, or signs of people, though it seems strange that so fertile a region should be uninhabited. All I can suppose is, that the people live either underground, or in the same sort of wretched hovels I have seen some of the South Sea Islanders dwelling in," said Mudge; "and if so, I might have been unable to distinguish them, even although at no great distance. Do you, Godfrey, take the glass, and tell me what you can make out." I did as he bade me, examining every hill-side and hollow from north to south of our position, without discovering anything like a hut. To the west and south-west I observed a range of blue mountains, but the country to the southward was either level or undulating, and covered with trees growing widely apart; so that should we decide on making our way overland to the settlements, we should for some distance at all events find no obstruction to our progress. Having finished our survey, we went along the top of the cliff to the westward, and by proceeding on a little farther we got down by a somewhat easier way than that by which we had climbed up. In consequence of the report Mudge gave my mother, she begged that he would go back to the brig. "That I may not do," he answered, "as I promised the captain to remain here to protect you: and though my belief is that there are no natives hereabouts, I cannot be certain; and I should never forgive myself, if they were to come and do you an injury while I had neglected orders and gone away." "Then let me go off," I said, "with three of the men,--they will be sufficient to pull the boat that short distance; and you, Paddy Doyle, and the boys, will be well able to keep any savages at bay till we come back." To this Mudge agreed, as my mother seemed to wish it; and everything having been landed from the boat, the men and I jumped into her, and, shoving off, pulled away for the brig. By the time we arrived alongside, the tide was as high as it was likely to rise. My father was glad to see me back, and to hear the satisfactory report which I gave him. We had no time for conversation, however, as the men had just manned the capstan to make another effort to heave the vessel off. But in vain they laboured; not an inch would she move. "I am afraid, sir, that our only chance of floating her will be, either to land the cargo, or to heave it overboard," observed the first mate. "I have arrived at the same conclusion," said my father; "but we will not lose the cargo if it can be helped. We will land what we can in the boats; and if the weather continues moderate, we will form a raft, and convey as much as it can carry,--by which we shall be enabled, I hope, to save the larger portion." "Let's have another heave first, sir," cried the men, who thus showed their regard for their commander, and the interest they felt in his welfare, as they all knew that he would be the chief sufferer by the loss of the brig. Again they hove, pressing against the capstan-bars as if nothing could resist them. "It's all of no use," exclaimed the carpenter, who had been below; "it's my belief that the coral rock has gone through the planking, and that unless we can get the cargo out of her, and every pig of ballast, no power will float her or get her off." My father, on hearing this, also went below; and on his return he directed the mate, with some of the crew, to load the boats, while he and others set to work to build a raft. As soon as the two boats were loaded, he ordered me to pilot the way in the jolly-boat; saying that he intended to remain on board, with the hands not required in the boats, to complete the raft. "But won't you leave the mates, father, to do that?" I asked. "No, Godfrey," he answered, somewhat sternly; "I intend to be the last man to quit the vessel. As soon as the boats are unloaded, they are to return, unless Mr Mudge thinks it necessary to detain the jolly-boat. Tell him what I say; and assure your mother that she need be under no apprehensions on my account." Of course, all I had to do was to obey my father; but I could not help feeling anxious about him, as I had no doubt my mother would be, notwithstanding the message I was to give her. Jumping into the jolly-boat, then, I told the men to give way, as I wished to reach the shore as soon as possible. The water was tolerably smooth; and though our boats were heavily laden, we crossed the bar without difficulty, it being now high-water, and soon reached the landing-place. As we approached it, we saw three strange figures standing at the farther end of the neck of land, apparently watching the proceedings of our friends. They were perfectly black, having on the smallest possible amount of clothing, with bushy heads of hair; and one of them had a thick beard, moustache, and whiskers. Two of them had long spears in their hands, but the other, whom as we got nearer we saw to be a woman, was unarmed. Mudge hailed us. "Take no notice of the natives," he sang out; "they've been there for the last half-hour, and are puzzled to make us out. The best way to manage them is to let them alone; and by-and-by, depend on it, they'll come and try to make friends with us." I at once gave Mudge my father's message. He replied that there was not the slightest necessity for our remaining, and desired me, as soon as the boats were unloaded, to pull back again to the brig. "Paddy Doyle and I can easily manage our black friends; and it is far more important that the boats should be employed in bringing the stores on shore," he observed. "The only advice I have to give is, that you should cross the bar with the raft while the tide is flowing, and pretty near high-water. It will be better to wait for high tide than to attempt it as yet; and I hope your father will secure the raft alongside, and come on shore in the last trip the boats make this evening." My mother sent a similar message, entreating my father not to remain. The crew quickly unloaded the boats, and piled up their cargoes, with the other things before landed, in the centre of the camp. I observed that Paddy Doyle, instead of working with us, was employed in watching the natives; though he pretended all the time not to be taking any notice of them, but to be amusing himself by playing a number of strange antics calculated to excite their curiosity. This, after a time, he succeeded in doing. The man, having directed his companions to retire to a distance,--for the purpose, as we supposed, of placing them out of danger,--advanced several paces nearer, and stood regarding us with fixed attention. Though he was no beauty according to our notions, he was, as he stood motionless as a statue, with his bundle of five lances, their sharp points polished and serrated, in his left hand, really a fine-looking savage. Stuck in his bushy hair, and fixed in his ear, he wore a heron's feather; and round his waist was a broad belt which served to keep up his very tight kilt, composed of opossum skins. In this belt was stuck a knife or dagger of bone or stone; while at his back was slung a small stone axe. His right hand was, however, kept in readiness at any moment to hurl one of his lances at us. His figure was tall; and his limbs, though covered with dirt, remarkably clean, as far as form was concerned--showing that he was capable of great activity. Paddy now pretended to have discovered him for the first time, and advancing a few paces, took off his hat and made him a profound bow. Though in all likelihood the savage had never before been so saluted, he seemed to understand that the white stranger wished to become better acquainted with him, and pointing to himself, he uttered the word "Pullingo." "The top of the morning to ye, Mr Pullingo! I'm after hoping you're pretty well. And how's Mistress Pullingo, and Master Pullingo, and any other pledges of mutual affection you happen to possess?" cried Paddy. The savage uttered some words in a not unmusical tone, but what they were intended to express it was impossible to say, nor could we be certain that he had mentioned his own name; but, as may be supposed, Paddy at once dubbed him Pullingo, which cognomen he was likely to retain ever afterwards. "Exactly so," said Paddy, as if he had understood every word that had been uttered. "And my name's Patrick Doyle, at your service; and it's myself and my friends there have come to spend a few weeks in your country, or maybe longer; and we hope by-and-by to have the pleasure of your better acquaintance." The tone of Paddy's voice, as well as his gestures, seemed to give confidence to the savage, and to assure him that we had no hostile intentions. But after Doyle and he had thus stood looking at each other for some minutes, he began slowly to retreat, always keeping his face towards us, till he had rejoined the woman and boy, when he sat down and held a conversation with them. They then all three rose and made their way up the bank of the river, till they were hidden from sight behind a rock. I was, however, but a short time on shore, for as soon as the boats were unloaded we pulled away to the brig. By the time we got back to her the raft was nearly completed. As, however, the tide was running out of the river, my father, following Mudge's advice, determined not to send it on shore, but to secure it alongside for the night. The boats were therefore again loaded; and as long as daylight lasted they were kept plying backwards and forwards. With great unwillingness my father consented to come on shore with the rest of the crew in the last trip. "I should have no fears about remaining," he observed, "as I feel confident that the brig will hold together, even though we may not succeed in getting her off." We had landed provisions sufficient to last us, with economy, for several months; all our arms and ammunition, most of our own clothing and that of the ship's company, as well as our bedding and a few articles of furniture for my mother's use; our cooking utensils and the cabin dinner and tea service; the carpenter's tool-chest; several spades and pick-axes, and other agricultural implements; and some bales of new canvas, as well as several of the ship's sails and a number of miscellaneous articles. Altogether, we had reason to be satisfied that we had saved so much. Several tents had been put up before dark to accommodate all the party. The most complete was that for the use of my mother and Edith; the others were formed simply by stretching a rope, over which a sail was thrown, between two trees, the edges of the sail being secured by pegs to the ground on either side. As soon as my father landed he summoned several of the men, and ordered them to cut down all the grass which grew on the isthmus, as well as that surrounding our tents. "I take a hint from Captain Cook," he observed; "for I remember the narrow escape he and his men had from destruction, when the savages, in a sudden fit of anger, set fire to the grass surrounding his encampment, from which his powder and more valuable articles had only just before been removed. The savages hereabouts may be disposed to be friendly with us; but it will not do to trust them, as we cannot tell from what cause they may take offence." We had hitherto been too busy to eat anything, with the exception of some biscuit and wine. The fire was now lighted, the tea-kettle put on, and a pot to boil some of the provisions we had brought with us. Nanny afforded some milk for tea, and with the herbage she would now obtain she would, it was hoped, give us an abundant supply. My father, not trusting to the natives, placed a sentry on the neck of land, as also two others to watch the shore in case they should pay us a visit by water during the night. We all then retired to our tents; and having been up during the previous night and hard at work all day, we very quickly fell asleep. How long a time had passed I knew not, when I was awakened by a rattling peal of thunder, which sounded directly above my head. Starting up and rushing out of the tent, I found my father and the officers, as well as most of the men, on foot; the rain was coming down in torrents, and the wind was blowing furiously, dashing the water against the bank, and making the tall trees bend before it. My fear at first was that they would be blown down upon us; but when I recollected the shape of their leaves and their scanty foliage, I saw that there was not much danger of that. How thankful I felt that my father had not remained on board the brig, for she, I could not help fearing, would go to pieces, and all her cargo be lost. My father's first object was to secure the boats, which lay in the bay I have already described, above our encampment. As soon as this was done, he in a calm voice advised those who had not to keep watch to turn in again. "We need not fear for our lives," he observed; "and as for the brig, we can do nothing till daylight. Should the weather then moderate, and she still hold together, we may get off to her; but if not, Heaven's will be done. We should be thankful that our lives have been preserved, and that we have secured so many necessaries." I was only half awake as it was; so, following my father's advice, I crept back into the tent, and in spite of the storm was quickly asleep. Day had broken for some time when I awoke; the rain had ceased, though the sky was still cloudy. I found the men trying to light a fire with the damp wood and leaves they had collected, but it was a somewhat difficult task. My father, accompanied by Mudge, had gone up to the top of the cliff to look out for the brig, but from the loud roar of the breakers on the bar and along the coast I had but little hope that they would see her. The storm, however, quickly passed away, the sun breaking out from amid the clouds which rolled off to the southward. I awoke my younger companions, who had slept through the whole of it, and were very much astonished to find the ground wet and the sea still roaring in a voice of thunder. My mother's tent having been securely put up, had withstood the wind, as had the others; indeed, constructed as they were, they could not be blown down or disturbed unless the pegs had been drawn out of the ground. I found my mother and Edith sitting just inside their tent, waiting for my father's return. "The utter destruction of the brig will be a sore trial to him," she observed; "and he has no hope that she can have escaped; so we must do our best to keep up his spirits, and to show him that we are contented with our lot. I feel such unbounded gratitude to Heaven for his having been induced to come on shore last night, that the destruction of the vessel appears to me a mere trifle; and I am sure that you and Pierce will do your best to induce the rest to obey his directions." "That we will, mother; and so, I am sure, will Harry," said Pierce, who was with me; "so will Tommy Peck and Dicky Popo: and if they don't, we'll make them." The men had succeeded in lighting a fire; and just as breakfast was ready my father and Mudge came in sight. They shook their heads as they drew near. "Not a vestige of the brig remains," said my father, with a sigh. "I trust that, if we can get to Sydney, we shall recover our insurance; but I had hoped till the last to save her and the cargo. We have happily secured a good store of provisions and ammunition; and I propose forming a settlement in this neighbourhood, and, having become acquainted with its inhabitants, the nature of the country, and the wild animals which may afford us food, ultimately to send an expedition overland to Sydney. When we have gained experience, we shall have but comparatively little difficulty in travelling to the British settlements in the south." My mother was perfectly ready to agree to my father's proposal; indeed, she saw the wisdom of remaining where we were until we had become acquainted with the country, and she dreaded the long overland journey almost as much as she did a voyage in the boats. All the party, however, I found, were not of this opinion, though they did not at first express themselves openly on the subject. The seamen, as is too often the case when a vessel has been wrecked, now that they had got on shore did not consider themselves any longer under naval discipline; and though they were not actually disrespectful to my father, they took but little pains to carry out his orders. He, having been brought up on board a man-of-war, was not accustomed to the ways of merchant-seamen, and considered that they were as much bound to obey him now as before. The mates, it was evident from their manner, sided with the men, so that Mudge was the only officer on whom my father could depend for support. They two on all occasions consulted together. The first point they had to decide was the position of the proposed settlement, supposing that the men would willingly assist in forming it. When my father spoke to the mates on the subject, however, they at once declared that they had no intention of remaining where they were. "You see, Captain Rayner, you have your wife and family with you; but with us it is very different," observed the first mate. "We want to get back to our families and to civilised life, and see no reason why we should remain here when we have got a stout boat in which we can easily make the passage to Sydney. If you'll give us the boat, we've made up our minds to go in her as soon as we've stretched our legs on shore a little." My father replied that he would consider the matter; on which the mate muttered something which did not reach our ears. I was shortly afterwards talking over the matter with Mudge. "It can't be helped, though, I fear," he observed. "If we can't persuade them to stay, they must go; for we certainly have no power to compel them to do what they don't wish, and we must therefore depend upon ourselves. I am very certain that Tommy Peck and Harry will remain faithful; and so, I hope, will the boatswain and Paddy Doyle, who seems much attached to us." "I can answer for Ned Burton," I said; "and, I think, two or three more of the men." "Then, whether or not any of the rest stay with us, we shall manage to do very well," he said in a cheerful tone. "Now, after the experience of last night, I am anxious at once to build a cottage for your mother and Edith, in which they will be more comfortable than in a tent. I told your father, who said he should be much obliged if I would do so; and to show the men that we are independent of them, I proposed that we should set about it at once. The timber about here is too large for the purpose, but I saw some near the mouth of the river which will serve well for uprights and rafters; and if we can get Doyle to accompany us, we will set off at once with our axes and begin to cut it. Tell the other boys; and they can bring the logs here which we cut down, when your father and Burton will set them up. Perhaps we shall shame some of the other men into offering their assistance." Harry and Tom were well-pleased to have something to do, and agreed that the two of them could easily carry a log the distance these had to come, unless it was unusually heavy. The men saw us setting off, but continued sitting round the fire smoking their pipes, without inquiring where we were going or what we were about to do. We soon reached the spot, where, a short distance from the beach below the cliffs, grew a number of small palm-trees with straight, clean stems, exactly suited for our purpose. We soon cut down two; with which the boys trotted off, one at each end, telling us to be ready with a couple more by the time they came back. The heat under the cliff was very great, and had there not been a sea-breeze we could not, I think, have endured it. Mudge threw off his jacket, and tucking up his shirt sleeves, set manfully to work. Doyle did the same; and each had cut down two trees before I had felled one. Doyle then went on towards some trees which he saw farther off, leaving me at work a little distance from Mudge. I was chopping away, when I heard Mudge give an extraordinary shriek; and looking towards him, what was my horror to see him on the ground encircled in the folds of a huge serpent, whose head was raised high in the air as if about to dart its fangs into him! His axe had fallen to the ground, so that he was unable to defend himself. I sprang towards him with my axe uplifted; and I must have attracted the serpent's attention, for instead of striking its prisoner it turned its head towards me. Should I miss, I might be bitten as well as my friend. There was not a moment even for thought; with all my might I aimed a blow at the serpent's head. My axe, providentially, had been lately sharpened, and with one stroke I cut off the creature's head, which fell, in the act of uttering a hiss, close to my friend's side. The body still held him fast, and I had to exert some force to unwind it; after which I helped him to get on his feet. Many a person would have fainted under such circumstances; Mudge merely shook himself to ascertain that no bones were broken; then, having picked up his axe, he said,--"Most heartily I thank you, Godfrey; you have, I verily believe, by your courage and presence of mind, saved my life, for in another instant that creature's fangs would have been into me. I only hope there are not many more in the neighbourhood, or we shall find it unpleasant." When Doyle and the boys came near, they would scarcely credit what had occurred, till they had seen the body of the serpent with its head cut off. Before again setting to work, we hunted about in all directions to ascertain that there were no more serpents of the same description near at hand. We could find no traces of any other; and I had afterwards reason to believe that the one I had killed was unusually large: indeed, I never saw one of the same size in the country,--although there are numerous snakes, many of them of an exceedingly venomous description, while there are others of large size perfectly harmless. Satisfied at length that we might continue our work on the spot without molestation, we once more began cutting down the trees, which our companions carried to the encampment as fast as we could fell them. We warned them not to tell my mother and Edith what had occurred, lest they should take alarm, under the belief that the country was infested with snakes. As we improved by experience as woodsmen, we gained upon the carriers, and by the evening had cut down a good many more trees than they were able to convey to the encampment. When we arrived there we found some of the seamen assisting my father and Burton, who were engaged in shaping and putting up the timbers; but the rest were taking it easy, and enjoying themselves, as they called it. Had my father allowed it, they would have got possession of the rum and wine, and would probably have been quickly drunk; but, knowing the evil consequences which would have ensued, he was very firm on the subject, and had told Edith to keep an eye on the stores, and to call him should any of the seamen come too near the casks and cases, which were piled up together. The wind was still blowing strongly from the sea, creating a considerable surf on the bar; and this had prevented the boats from going out to search for any part of the cargo which might have been thrown up on the coast. The seamen also saw that they could not commence their projected voyage to Sydney. Neither Pullingo nor any other natives had been seen; and we therefore concluded that the country was but thinly populated. Still, my father considered it wise to place sentries at night to guard against surprise. Some of the men grumbled at being ordered to keep watch, and my father and Mudge had to be awake all night to see that they did their duty. It was strange that men who had behaved so well during the voyage should have changed so much; but so it was. Probably they were disappointed at not getting to Sydney, where they had expected to enjoy themselves after their own coarse fashion. The better-educated men, we found, were the best-behaved. By the next morning the wind had gone down, the ocean sparkled brightly in the rays of the sun, and the bar was perfectly smooth. The mates now asked my father to allow them to take their departure in the long-boat, with such of the men as wished to go. They were respectful in their manner, but determined, it was evident, to carry out their purpose. My father pointed out to them the danger they would incur, ignorant as they were of the coast, should such a gale as had just ceased to blow overtake them; and he advised them to raise the gunwale of the boat, so as to make her more sea-worthy. This, however, would take time, they said, and they were anxious to be off at once. He then begged that they would make an excursion along the coast to the northward, to ascertain what had become of the wreck, and whether any of the cargo had been thrown up on the shore. To this the first mate consented, provided my father or Mudge would accompany them. "Let me go, Captain Rayner," said Mudge, "while you remain with Mrs Rayner on shore, and superintend the building of the house." I begged that I might accompany Mudge, who intended to take the jolly-boat; while the first mate, with six hands, went in the long-boat. We had three of the men; the remainder, who were in better humour since my father had promised to allow them to take the long-boat, agreed to stay behind and help him. We first pulled for the rock on which the brig had been cast, and soon got close up to it. Nothing was visible. We then saw through the clear water a few timbers rising up from the keel. We had no need to examine the spot more nearly; these told what had been the fate of the unfortunate _Violet_. "I am very glad that your father did not come," said Mudge; "it would have been a sore trial to him. And now we'll look along the shore; though I doubt much whether the cargo will have been carried thus far." We pulled in for the shore, and then along outside the surf--which still broke on it for a couple of miles or so to the northward--but for some time could discover only a few shattered fragments of wreck. The long-boat, however, got hold of some planks which were still washing about; and the mate seemed to think that they would be useful in raising the boat, as my father had advised. We were about to turn back, when I caught sight of a box floating lightly on the water. At first I thought it must be empty; but Mudge observing that it would at all events be worth having, we pulled towards it. It was a case of some size; and when we got it on board I observed the word "Seeds" painted on it. "They may be of the greatest value, if they are not spoiled by the salt water," observed Mudge. "Your father evidently brought them out to sow in his garden." This encouraged us to pull on still farther; and we picked up three other small cases of different descriptions, and a cask of beer. The mate also got hold of two casks and some cases. After pulling a mile on to the northward, however, and finding nothing, we agreed that it would be useless to go farther. Accordingly, the boats being put about, we returned to the river. Mudge made his report to my father. "I knew it too well," he remarked, with a sigh; "but I had some hopes that part of the cargo might have been washed on shore. However, we must be thankful for the things which we have recovered. The seeds are indeed valuable; and as they are soldered up in a tin case inside the wooden one, there is no fear of their being damaged." One of the cases contained preserved fruits, and another dried tongues, which were not much the worse for being wetted. Another was a chest of tea, also in a tin case; and this was a welcome addition to our stores. The beer was not to be despised, and would prove useful provided it was taken in moderation. The cases the mate had picked up also contained provisions. He had, however, got a small cask of rum. My father said that he was welcome to the provisions for his voyage; but warned him of the danger of taking the rum, in case the crew should insist on having more than a proper allowance. "I have no fear about that," answered the mate. "I shall be able to keep them in order when once we get away. It is only at present, while they are on shore, that they are a little insubordinate." "I hope that you may," said my father; "but I should warn you to be careful." The crew, when they found that my father not only did not wish to detain them, but was ready to assist them in every way in preparing the long-boat for sea, behaved very well. And as we had a supply of tools for the purpose, the carpenter and his mate were not long in adding an upper streak to the long-boat, and in decking her partly over forward: they also fitted her with a couple of masts, two lugs, and a jib. We discovered a fine spring of water issuing out of the rock, not far up the river; but the difficulty was to find casks to carry a sufficient supply for the voyage. My father gave up two breakers, and advised the mate to start the rum and fill up the cask with water. "No, thank you," he answered. "We can put in to any river we come to, and are sure to be able to replenish our stock; while the men will be more contented if I can serve them out their allowance of spirits." My father and Mudge took great pains to see that the boat was well fitted out, and supplied with everything necessary for the voyage. He also gave the mates his chart, a compass, a spy-glass, and a quadrant, in case they might be driven off the land, and required to ascertain their position. He also wrote a letter to the merchant to whom he had consigned the brig, requesting him, should the journey overland be deemed impracticable, to send a vessel within three months to bring him and his family to Sydney: saying that he would wait her arrival for that time; should she not then appear, he would consider that it was the opinion of those who knew the country that he might without danger undertake the journey by land. "You may depend on me, sir, that I will deliver the letter," said the first mate, when he received it; while the second mate promised to come back in the vessel. The two mates and ten men belonging to the brig embarked in the long-boat, leaving the boatswain and two others, one of whom was the carpenter's mate. We parted on friendly terms from our late shipmates, praying that they might have a prosperous voyage. As we watched them standing down the river with a light breeze from the northward, Mudge, from what he said, could not help regretting, I suspect, that he had not been able to accompany them; for it was certainly his duty, as it was mine and Tommy's, to try and get on board our ship again. But, on the other hand, he could not bring himself to desert my father; and, of course, it was still more my duty to remain with him. All this time we had been getting on with the house, which was now nearly completed; and Dick Joint, the carpenter's mate, was making a sash for the window of my mother's room, and had also undertaken to make various articles of furniture. We had brought on shore the cabin-table, with three folding-chairs; as also two cots, for my mother and Edith. I have, by-the-by, said nothing about them. They were always busily employed; but Edith suffered much from the heat, which was very considerable under the cliff, satisfactory as the situation was in other respects. My father sometimes spoke of moving on to the downs: but the objections to this were, that we should be at a distance from the water; that we should have a difficulty in carrying up our heavy goods; and that we should be more exposed in the event of our being attacked by hostile natives; while at times the heat was greater on the downs than close to the water. Edith thought that she should feel better if she could take a row on the river; so, of course, Harry and I, and Pierce and Tommy, offered to take her out whenever she wished to go. The boat being a light one, even two of us could manage it with perfect ease; and we thus daily, and sometimes twice a day, made a trip to the mouth of the river. To shelter her from the sun, we formed an awning over the stern of the boat; and carried a cushion on which she could recline. Nanny the goat, whenever she saw her mistress embarking, leaped on board; and seemed, indeed, to consider herself part of the crew. Tom declared that he thought she would soon learn to row with her horns; but to this, when he made the attempt to teach her, she decidedly objected, and preferred lying down quietly by the side of Edith. We had found a supply of fishing-hooks, and having fitted up some lines, were sometimes very successful in catching fish. We were, however, generally busy on shore; and our only idle time was when we were away on such expeditions. Not that it was altogether spent in idleness; for while engaged in fishing, Harry always took his books, that Edith might instruct him; and under her tuition he made more rapid progress than he had done on board the _Heroine_. One very calm, fine day, Harry, Tommy, and I started with Edith; Pierce, who was somewhat unwell, remaining in the house. Having reached the bar, we found the sea so smooth that we agreed to pull out some distance towards a reef, near which we had before caught some fine fish. Without considering the difficulty of getting it up again, we dropped our anchor in somewhat deep water; a hempen cable being secured to the end of two or three fathoms of iron chain, which was shackled to the stem of the boat. We had caught several fish; and Edith, who was helping to pull them up, seemed to enjoy the fun as much as we did, when she complained of faintness, and lay down on her cushion in the stern of the boat. "I shall soon be well again," she said; "so go on, and don't mind me." We all three accordingly let down our lines, and caught several more fish. Harry had just pulled up a peculiarly beautiful one, and was turning round to show it to Edith, when we heard him utter a cry. "Oh, Godfrey! see, see! --is she dead?" he exclaimed. "Oh, how pale she is!" I sprang to the after part of the boat, and taking her hand, bent over her. Her hand was warm, and she still breathed: thus I knew she had only fainted; but she looked dreadfully ill. "We must get back as soon as possible," I exclaimed. "Harry, do you fan her, while Tom and I get up the anchor." I jumped forward again, and Tommy and I began to haul away; but though exerting all our strength, the anchor did not yield. Harry, leaving Edith for a moment, came and helped us; but we tugged and tugged in vain. "We must cut it somehow or other," I exclaimed. Then recollecting that we had an axe in the boat, I seized it, and, while Harry went back to attend to Edith, began chopping away at the portion of the chain which went over the gunwale. "A breeze is springing up, and we shall not be long in getting in," observed Tommy. "It will be more than a breeze, I suspect," I answered, looking seaward, where a dark cloud had risen, gradually extending along the horizon; "we are going to have a thunderstorm. Perhaps that was the cause of Edith's fainting." Already the water was foaming and bubbling round the bows of the boat. In my eagerness I made a deep gash on the gunwale: this taught me to be more cautious in future. Fortunately the axe was a good one, or I should have broken it. I had made some impression on one of the links of the chain; my object was to strike again in the same place. "Is it nearly through?" asked Harry, looking round. "No; not far yet," I answered. "Then let me try," he said; "perhaps I can do it." I willingly yielded the axe to him, for I was too anxious to have the chain cut through to feel jealous should he show superior skill. He eyed the place which I had been cutting--I having made several jagged notches--and then brought down the axe with apparently less force than I had used. It was exactly in the centre of the cut. Each time he lifted the axe he struck the same place, and in less than a minute the chain was severed. We soon prised out the other half of the link. I then sprang aft to the helm; Tommy got out an oar, and pulled the boat's head round; while Harry hoisted the sail, bringing the sheet aft to me; and on we flew before the fast-rising wind. Scarcely were we away when it came with redoubled force; and had we remained at anchor many minutes longer, I believe the boat must have filled and gone down. I felt very thankful that we had cleared the chain; but we had still the bar to cross. Edith, too, remained in the same fainting state. I was in hope that the fresh breeze would revive her; but as we were running before it, she did not feel it much. I looked anxiously towards the bar; some rollers were coming in, but they were not very high, nor did they break much as they reached it. We might, therefore, venture to cross; indeed, we had no choice, for I knew how anxious our father would feel when he saw the wind rising. As we neared the bar Tommy exclaimed,--"O Godfrey! look at these rollers! Shall we be able to cross it, do you think?" "We must," I said; "get the oars out, to prevent her from broaching-to in case we should be becalmed." I now held the tiller firmly in my hand, and kept my eye fixed on a point of the cliff which would guide me directly up the centre of the channel. We rose to the top of a roller. "Give way! give way!" I shouted. Tom and Harry pulled with all their might. We sank into the watery valley, and began to ascend the next height. Another roller came hissing on. If it caught us, we should be swamped; but the sail kept full, and the two pulled right lustily. Just then I glanced down on Edith's face for an instant: her eyes were open; she was looking round with astonishment. "Thank Heaven, you are better," I said. "Keep quiet; we shall be all to rights directly." She heard me, and did not move. I held my breath, for we were on the worst part of the bar. Another roller came on, and I thought it would overwhelm us. It lifted the stern of the boat, and we were shot amidst a mass of foaming waves, till we glided down into the smooth water of the river. We now quickly ran up the river, and rounding to, shot up to the landing-place, where my father and mother stood ready to receive us. As my mother's eye fell on Edith's pale face she uttered a cry of alarm. "She is getting better now, mother," I said; "and under your care she'll soon be well again." As I spoke, Harry and I were preparing to lift Edith out of the boat. My father came to assist us, and carried her in his arms to the cottage. I was thankful to find that in a short time she was herself again. Possibly her sudden illness may have been the means of saving our lives. Scarcely had we landed when the storm burst with great fury, though it lasted but a short time; after which the sun again came out, and all was bright and beautiful as before.	{ "id": "21493" }
8	EXPEDITION TO OBTAIN VEGETABLES--CRESTED COCKATOOS--WE BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH PULLINGO AND HIS FAMILY--TOMMY TAKES MR. AND MRS. PULLINGO'S PORTRAITS--A SPORTING EXPEDITION--SEE AN EMU--KILL TWO KANGAROOS--MEET BUSHRANGERS--GO OUT FISHING--HURRIED RETURN--BUSHRANGERS HAVE VISITED THE VILLAGE--FIND THE MEN BOUND--PURSUE BUSHRANGERS--THEY ESCAPE--EDITH AND PIERCE MISSING--MY MOTHER'S ALARM--SEARCH IN THE BOAT ALONG THE COAST--DISCOVER THE BODY OF A BUSHRANGER UNDER THE CLIFF-- RETURN WITHOUT FINDING THE MISSING ONES.	A week had passed away since the boat left us, and we were all feeling ourselves, as it were, at home. As may be supposed, my mother begged that we would not take Edith again beyond the mouth of the river; indeed, she herself had no wish to go. Occasionally we pulled up the stream, for although we knew that there were natives in the neighbourhood, we did not fear that they would molest us, as we had not seen any of their canoes; and by keeping on the opposite side of the river to that on which they might appear, we knew that we could easily avoid them. When we went to the place where Mudge had been attacked by the snake, we looked around very carefully to ascertain that none of its companions were lurking in the neighbourhood; but we never saw another of the same size--or, indeed, of any description whatever. Paddy Doyle, to account for this, declared that the big fellow must have eaten up all the others before he got killed himself, and that was the reason why he had grown to such a size. We thus went up and down the river, and over the downs in various directions, without the slightest fear. Occasionally we crossed to the opposite bank in search of game, as also to look for fruit, and some vegetables which might be cooked for dinner. We greatly felt the want of them; indeed, my father was afraid that without green food we might be attacked by scurvy. We had dug a garden and put in seeds, but these, of course, would take some time to come up. One day Mudge, Harry, and I, accompanied by Paddy Doyle, with our guns, went across to the southern side. Harry had heard my father say how much he wished to have fresh greens of some sort; and as we were walking along we saw several trees of the palm species. "Stay," said Harry, "while I climb to the top of one of these trees; we shall there find just what the captain wants." Harry was the best climber among us, having been compelled, when living with the Indians, to swarm up the highest trees to cut cocoa-nuts for them. We all carried long sheath-knives in our belts, which were useful for a variety of purposes. Putting down his gun, Harry was quickly at the top of the tree, and, using his knife, threw down what resembled a large cabbage. Ascending tree after tree, he threw down from each a similar bunch of leaves, till we had as many as we could carry. Going on, we reached some sand-hills, where we found a kind of bean growing on a stalk which crept along the ground. Mudge thought these also would be good to eat; and as they were fit for picking, we filled our satchels with them. We were fortunate also in shooting several pigeons and a number of parrots. Indeed, we all returned fully laden to the boat; and I know that I was very glad to get rid of my burden, which literally made my shoulders ache. Just before shoving off, I saw, coming towards us through the air, a large flight of birds, their snowy plumage tinged with pink shining in the rays of the setting sun. Before long they pitched in a group of trees on the borders of the river, where they commenced an earnest conversation rather than a concert, all having apparently some interesting matter to communicate to one another. They were crested or pink cockatoos, the most beautiful birds we had yet seen. They did not appear to be at all alarmed at our presence, but remained on the boughs where they had settled, apparently intending to make these their resting-places for the night. We were thus able to examine them without difficulty. The general colour of the bird was white, with a slight pinkish flush; but the neck, breast, and hind part of the tail were deeply stained with crimson. Its most remarkable feature, however, was its beautiful crest, which it raised like a fan over its head, or depressed at the back of its neck. The feathers of the crest were long, and barred with crimson, gold, yellow, and white, which added greatly to its beauty. The bird was between thirteen and sixteen inches in length. We might have shot any number we liked, but having already a supply of food, we did not like to do so. I wished very much, however, to catch one alive, to carry to Edith; and Harry said he thought he could manage to trap one, though, unless we could get a young bird, it would be difficult to tame. "You are magnificent fellows," observed Mudge; "but notwithstanding that, we shall be under the necessity of plucking off your fine feathers and cooking you some day, if we are in want of game." As the evening was drawing on, we did not remain longer to admire the birds, but pushing off with our store of provisions, crossed the river. "You have indeed brought us a seasonable supply of green food," said my father when we landed. "While nature affords us such wholesome vegetables as those you have found, and while our powder lasts, we need have no fear of starving; and if such can be obtained all the way to the southward, we may set forth on our journey with the hope of being able to find ample food, on the way, to supply our wants." We had been constantly expecting another visit from our native acquaintance Pullingo; but as he did not make his appearance, we began to fancy that he had been merely travelling from one part of the country to another, and discovering us on his way, had been tempted by curiosity to approach our camp. Some days had gone by, when one morning, as Paddy Doyle was on the watch, he sang out, "Here comes my old friend with his wife and family. --The top of the morning to ye, Mr Pullingo! and the same to the misthress and the darling little ones; and, to be sure, one of them is a big sthrapping fellow, of whom ye may be proud, Mr Pullingo." On looking out, we saw the native who had before paid us a visit, accompanied by a youth the very picture of himself, and followed by a woman, or "gin," as the natives call their wives, with two children, a boy and a girl, trotting by her side. The lad might have been his son, certainly, but not that of the woman, who was apparently much too young to be the mother of so big a fellow. The woman and children stopped at some distance off, while the man and lad approached cautiously, holding a bundle of lances in their left hand. Paddy made signs to them to come on, and, to give them confidence, put down his musket on the ground. As he did so they laid down their lances and came much nearer. On this Paddy advanced towards them. The savages seemed to understand him, and put out their hands, which he took and shook heartily, apparently much to their astonishment. The Irishman and the elder native then talked away, each in his own language; Paddy every now and then bursting into a fit of laughter at the strange words uttered by the savage. Knowing that it was important to gain the good-will of the natives, I thought that it would be a good opportunity to make Pullingo a present. So I went into the cottage and asked my father, who had only just risen, for some beads and a looking-glass, and other trinkets, which he had brought to trade with the South Sea Islanders. I got things enough for each of the party, including the two children, and going up to the savage, I presented them to him, and tried to make him understand for whom they were each intended. Though he took them he looked at them with indifference, considering, as it seemed, that they were of no value to him; nor, indeed, were they so in reality. "Perhaps he would rather have some roast parrot," observed Doyle, who had just before placed several birds on spits before the fire to cook for breakfast. As we had many more than we absolutely required, we could easily spare them. Doyle and I therefore got each a couple, and carried them on the spits to the savage, whose eyes brightened when he saw them; and he and his son almost snatched them from our hands when we offered them, and, without any gesture of thankfulness, hurried off to where the woman and children were sitting. "Arrah, Mr Pullingo, do you call that good manners?" exclaimed Paddy. "However, it's the way of the country, I suppose; though I can't say it's a good way. Just give the little ones their share, though, and I'll not be after finding fault with you." As we watched the natives, we observed that they at once tore the birds to pieces, and before they themselves had eaten they gave each of the children a joint. "Come, I have hopes of you, since you look after the childher," cried Paddy, when he saw this. "We shall find that Mr Pullingo is a decent sort of fellow when he learns some more of our ways." It appeared that Pullingo was as pleased with us as Paddy was with him, for we saw him shortly afterwards employed, with his wife and son, in building a hut, at a spot some way up the river, under the cliff. It was not a very dignified structure: it consisted simply of a number of long thin sticks stuck in a circle in the ground, their tops being bent over and secured together by grass rope; the whole was then covered with sheets of rough bark, fastened on by the same sort of rope. The first hut was intended for Pullingo and his wife; they afterwards put up a smaller one for their big son and the younger children. These structures, rude as they were, were superior to those we afterwards met with built by the natives, and showed us that Pullingo was more advanced in civilisation than the generality of his countrymen. Whether or not the rest of his tribe were in the neighbourhood, we could not ascertain; at all events, it was satisfactory to have gained his friendship, as he would give a favourable report of us to other natives, and prevent them, we hoped, from molesting us. I forgot to say that Tommy Peck, though a harum-scarum fellow, possessed considerable artistic talent; superior, at all events, to any of the rest of us. He used to amuse Edith by making drawings and figures in her sketch-book--which had, with her small library, been brought on shore--she herself being only able to draw landscapes. "Shouldn't you like, Miss Edith, to have a portrait of Prince Pullingo and his beautiful bride?" he asked. "I don't think I can do it from memory, but perhaps I can get them to sit for their likeness." "By all means," answered Edith; "though I very much doubt that you will succeed in inducing them to sit quiet while you make your sketch." "Trust me for that," said Tom. "Lend me your book and pencil, and a piece of india-rubber, and I'd try;" and, armed with his apparatus, he walked slowly towards Pullingo's encampment. Harry and I followed at a distance, so that we might not interrupt him. On arrival, he made them a bow and announced his object, showing them his book, in which were the portraits of several of our party,--Harry and I, and Popo,--by no means flattering likenesses. I don't know whether Pullingo understood the meaning of the strokes he saw on the paper; but his wife did so, it seemed, and, turning to him, expressed her wish to have her likeness taken. Tommy at once made them stand up before him, and began sketching away. They stood watching him intently, so that he had plenty of time. He put on rather more clothing than they possessed, as he said, for decency's sake; it was also, he remarked, a gentle hint to them, by which he hoped they might profit when they came into civilised society. He finished the portraits then and there, put in all the requisite shades, and showed them to the lady and gentleman. The former was delighted, pointing now at her portrait, now at herself, then at her husband, and then at his portrait. He did not appear quite so well satisfied; fearing, perhaps, that it might be used for some magical purpose. The lady was somewhat disappointed when Tommy shut up his book and she found that she was not to possess it; he therefore tried to make her understand that he would make a copy and give it her; a promise he faithfully fulfilled--though Edith kept the original, which I stuck in my journal. The tents being found very hot at night, as soon as the first cottage was finished we put up two others for the accommodation of the rest of the party, and one in which to stow our goods; for though we hoped to get away in a couple of months, it was possible that we might be detained very much longer, and that our stores might run a risk of being damaged by remaining so long exposed to the weather. While we were at work, Pullingo and his son came and watched us with intense interest. All hands, however, were not employed in housebuilding, as it was necessary that some of the party should go in search of game, in order that we might not exhaust the provisions we had brought on shore. Mudge, Harry, Paddy Doyle, and I were the chief sportsmen; and when Pullingo saw us setting off he followed at a respectful distance. Whether he also intended to hunt or not, we could not tell; his only weapons were a bundle of lances, and a piece of hard wood shaped something like a scimitar--called, we found, a boomerang--which he carried in his belt. We had never failed to shoot as many birds as we required, but we were anxious to kill some of the curious animals which Captain Cook called kangaroos. They may be said to be the principal creatures of the country. Their heads are something like those of deer, and their coats are of the same colour. They are of all sizes, some being as high as a man. They do not run, like other animals, for their front legs, which they use as arms, are too short for the purpose; but they have very long hind legs, and powerful tails, which enable them to bound over the ground at an immense rate. It is wonderful what a succession of leaps they can take. We saw some animals like opossums, and flying squirrels, which we took to be bats; and we occasionally caught sight of wild dogs or dingos,-- hideous, savage-looking creatures, though they always ran away from us when we moved towards them or shouted. We could not tell whether Pullingo understood our object; had we been able to exchange ideas with him, he might have greatly assisted us by showing us where game was to be found. He had conceived, I fancy, a great respect for our firearms, and followed us for the sake of seeing their effect. We had gone farther into the interior than we had ever before been, in the hope of finding some kangaroos, and found ourselves in an open country free of trees, with low hills and rocks beyond. We were about to turn back, believing that, as there was no shelter, we should be unable to approach any game unperceived, when Doyle exclaimed,--"Arrah, see that big bird which has just started up on its legs! Quick, quick! or he'll be off. His meat would make a hundred parrot-pies, and some to spare besides." On turning round as Paddy spoke, I saw, about a hundred yards off, a bird of enormous size--so it appeared to me; a bird certainly, for it had two legs, was shaped like a bird, and was covered with feathers. It could scarcely have been less than seven feet in height; was of a lightish brown colour, with a long neck, a small head, and very long powerful legs; but was destitute of wings, so far as I could see. The creature looked at us with an inquisitive air, as if wondering what sort of curious animals we were; and then advanced a few paces, as if to view us more closely. It might have come nearer, had not Paddy, unable to resist the temptation of trying to kill it, fired. On hearing the report, it turned round and set off, running with the speed of a racehorse across the country, while we stood gazing after it, and, as Paddy observed, looking very foolish. The creature was an emu; of the same family as the African ostrich, the rhea of America, and the cassowary of the Indian archipelago. On our way back, soon afterwards, and while passing through a forest, the trees of which grew rather thicker than usual, we saw in an open glade beyond it three of the kangaroos so coveted by us. We crept forward, keeping as much as possible concealed by the trees, lest we should be discovered before we could get within shot of them. Mudge and I went first, Harry and Paddy followed, all having our guns ready to fire. At length Mudge took aim at one of them; I imitated his example. We waited to let Harry and Paddy come up, however, and then all fired at the same moment. One of the creatures fell dead, shot through the head by Mudge; another bounded away at a great rate, apparently uninjured; and a third, after making two or three springs, sank to the ground, unable to move. We rushed forward to seize it, forgetting in our eagerness to reload our pieces. While we were stopping to examine the creature Mudge had killed, Paddy ran towards the wounded animal, which at that moment sprang up and attempted to bound off again. "Arrah, stop, ye baste," cried Paddy, attempting to seize it; when at that instant it struck out with its hinder claws, one of which tore a large rent in the Irishman's trousers, giving him at the same time a severe scratch, which, had he not sprung back, might have been serious. In a moment his knife was in his hand, and before the kangaroo could repeat the blow he had plunged it into its heart. We had now an over-abundant supply of meat; the difficulty was to carry it. We agreed that we would take the best portions, and give Pullingo as much as he could carry; while we fastened the remainder up to the bough of a tree, out of the reach of the wild dogs. We were all thus busily engaged, when I fancied I heard the sound of horses' feet; and what was my astonishment, on looking up, to see two horsemen approaching us! They looked at us with as much astonishment as we looked at them. Their steeds were in tolerably good condition, but they themselves were thin and haggard, their clothes torn almost to tatters. Each of them had a gun slung over his shoulders, a huge pair of holsters with a brace of pistols in them, large saddle-bags and leathern cases strapped on at their cruppers. "Hallo, strangers, where do you come from?" exclaimed one of the men, with an oath. "I didn't think there were any whites hereabouts." "Nor did we expect to see any one at this distance from Sydney," said Mudge, eyeing the horsemen with a suspicious glance. "Where do you come from, my friends?" "As to that, I don't think it much concerns you," answered the man; "but, as I take it you are Englishmen, you'll give us a share of these kangaroos; for there's one thing I can tell you,--we're pretty sharp set." "So I should think, from your appearance," observed Mudge; "you must have had a rough and long journey up from Sydney." "I didn't say we were from Sydney,--though I'll allow we have been there," answered the man; "but it's a good many months since we left it, and we've been leading a pretty rough life since then. However, what we want just now is a slice of that kangaroo; and we'll talk about other matters when we've set it before the fire to roast." "You're welcome to as much of the meat as you want," answered Mudge, "though we haven't got a fire to roast it at." "We'll soon have one, master," answered the man. He and his companion then getting off their horses, tethered them, and speedily collecting some dry wood, of which there was an abundance scattered about, piled it up; and one of them producing a tinder-box, quickly lighted the heap-- first taking care, however, to cut the dry grass all around. They then helped themselves pretty freely to the flesh, which, cutting into thin slices, they held at the end of sticks before the fire. Before it was half done through, however, they began eagerly gnawing away at it, unable longer to restrain their appetite. The smell made us hungry; so cutting off some thin slices, we roasted them in the same manner, but far more thoroughly than the strangers had done. Pullingo, who had been watching us, now stole up, and by his gestures begged for a share,--which, of course, we gave him. The strangers eyed him narrowly; and though the desire to get the food had induced him to come up, he evidently regarded them with suspicion. After exchanging a few words with each other, one of them spoke to him in a jargon which he seemed to understand, though we could not. He replied with hesitation. For some time they continued asking him questions, and then talking to each other in a slang which was as incomprehensible to us as was the language they spoke to the native. "I say, master, there are a few little things we want, and would be obliged to you if you'd supply us with," said one of the men. "In the first place, we should be glad of some tobacco, and maybe you've got some about you; and we want some powder and shot, and a couple of knives; and a suit of clothes wouldn't come amiss." Mudge had a couple of cigars, and Paddy a small quantity of tobacco, which, without hesitation, they gave to the strangers. "As for powder, we can spare you but a small quantity," said Mudge; "and for the other things, you must come to our camp to obtain them. I suppose Captain Rayner will be willing to give you what you require for your necessities." "You'll not play us a scurvy trick, and detain us, if we come?" said one of the men. "We are not likely to do that," answered Mudge, somewhat surprised at the remark. "You can repay us by giving us a description of the country between Sydney and this." "Well, we'll come by-and-by, and you'll have the things ready for us," said the man, in a tone which still further surprised us. Having satisfied our hunger, we divided the kangaroo into portions, each forming such a load as we could carry. Mudge and Paddy took the heaviest, leaving Tommy and me somewhat lighter ones. The strangers, without making any apology, loaded their horses with the larger portion of the other animal Pullingo seemed highly delighted when we gave him the remainder. The strangers declined accompanying us, but said they would follow by-and-by. Just as we were setting off, they again begged that we would spare them a little powder and shot, acknowledging that their own was expended, and that they could neither obtain food nor defend themselves against the natives. They looked so miserable that we could not help feeling compassion for them, and each of us gave them a portion of powder from our flasks and some shot from our belts. As it was time to return, we set off, leaving them still seated at the fire cooking some of the kangaroo. Pullingo having obtained his share, immediately trotted off with it across the country, without offering to guide us. We had gone some distance when Mudge observed to me,--"I don't quite like the look of these fellows. I have heard that the worst class of convicts, who are worked in the road-gangs, often make their escape and live a wild life in the bush, taking by force from the settlers whatever they can get hold of. They go by the name of bushrangers; and I can't help thinking that those fellows we have left there are of that description." "I've little doubt about that same," observed Paddy; "and it's a pity we gave them the powther, though I wouldn't grudge them the mate and the 'baccy." "They would scarcely make use of the powder to injure us," I observed. "I wouldn't trust them for that, if they are the gentry I take them for," said Mudge. "However, we must keep a watch, and take care that they don't surprise us." We were pretty well tired by the time we reached our settlement, as we called it. As may be supposed, the supply of kangaroo which we brought was very welcome, and a portion was served out to the men for supper that evening. As a fire had been seen burning at Pullingo's camp long before our arrival, there could be little doubt that he had reached home much sooner than we did. The next morning one of the strangers made his appearance at the settlement on foot. He said that he had left his companion on the high ground to look after the horses, and that he had come to claim the articles we had promised. My father had agreed that Mudge was correct in his opinion of the strangers, but that it would be better to supply them with what they wanted to enable them to support their miserable existence, and to try to obtain from them the information about the country so important for us to gain. The man looked a little less starved-like than he did the previous day, but his ragged clothes and dirty appearance made us unwilling to ask him into the house. We got a table and chair out for him, however, in the shade; and gave him an ample meal and a glass of ale, which made him open his heart somewhat. He acknowledged that he and his companion were leading a terrible life in the bush, but that he saw no way out of it. He described somewhat minutely the country we should have to pass over: a large portion was open and easily traversed, but other parts were mountainous, rocky, and wild in the extreme, with no water to be found for miles. Whether or not he was giving us a true description, it was difficult to determine,--though, at all events, he must have come through the sort of country he described. Perhaps it might be avoided by keeping further into the interior or closer to the sea-coast. The man might have been a bushranger, but he did not appear to be at all afraid of us. As soon as he had satisfied his hunger he rose, and turning to Mudge, "Now, master, I'll thank you to fulfil your promise," he said. "We want as much powder as you can spare, for it's bread and meat to us; and I'll thank you for the knives and the clothes, and some needles and thread. Here, just get a pencil and put down what we want." "Suppose we refuse to give it?" said my father, astounded at the man's impudence. The stranger's countenance assumed a ferocious expression. "You would find you had made a bad bargain," he answered with the greatest effrontery. "When a gentleman makes a promise to me, I expect him to fulfil it. I came here as a friend, and a friend I wish to remain. Not that I want to trouble you with my society; I prefer living by myself. But if you do me a kindness, I can return it; if you venture to treat me ill, I'll have my revenge--you may depend on that." "But suppose we were to seize you, and keep you a prisoner till we could hand you over to the authorities at Sydney?" said my father. The man laughed long and loud. "You would find that a hard job," he said; "and I didn't come here without taking means to secure my safety. So you see, captain, we are quite equal. Now, let me have the things, and I'll be off." My father felt that as Mudge had promised the clothes and other articles, it was right that they should be given to the man. A bundle was therefore made up of all the articles he had asked for; and as soon as he had received it, with very slight thanks, he fixed it on his shoulders, and took his way up the cliff. We were in hopes that we had seen the last of him and his companion, being thoroughly convinced that they were bushrangers, and desperate ruffians. We observed that as the stranger approached our camp the black and his family made their escape from it, and hid behind a rock watching him till he had disappeared over the top of the cliff. Pullingo shortly afterwards came to our settlement, which he now frequently did, without hesitation, never being allowed to go away without some article or other which we thought would please him, or food for himself and his family. Nothing we had came amiss to him except beer or spirits, and when one day some was offered him he spat it out with evident disgust. We tried to make him understand that we wished to know his opinion of the strangers. After a considerable time he understood us, and making his countenance assume an expression of hatred and disgust, he shook his head, and then, as it appeared, advised us to shoot them on the first opportunity. As we were now convinced of his good feelings towards us, he was allowed to roam about our village at pleasure. One day he appeared, bringing a basket containing some of the many magnificent flowers which flourished in the forest, several fruits, and some emu's eggs. Supposing that he had brought them as a present to my mother or father, we did not interfere with him, but allowed him to take his own way of offering them. I watched him from a distance, when I saw him enter Mudge's room, the door of which was open. Wondering what he was about, I at length approached and looked in; when I saw him on his knees, with the contents of his basket spread out on the ground, bending low before Mudge's gun, which stood leaning against a table in the corner. He was uttering some strange gibberish, and addressing the gun, evidently supposing it to be a being possessed of supernatural powers. He had watched day after day its to him wonderful performances, and had made up his mind to endeavour to propitiate it. I did not like to interrupt him, or in any way to ridicule him; and I was very glad that neither Paddy Doyle nor Tommy saw him, for I was very sure that they would not have refrained from doing so. I therefore crept away without letting the poor savage know that I had seen him. He at length came out of the hut, and sauntered about the village as usual, spending some time watching the carpenter at work. When I told Harry, he said he thought that it was very natural, and that when he first came on board the _Heroine_ he was inclined to pay the same sort of respect to the compass, the quadrants, the spy-glasses, the big guns and muskets, and various other things, which Popo told him were the white men's fetishes. Pullingo had from the first looked upon Paddy Doyle as his chief friend, and they soon managed to understand each other in a wonderful way. Mudge suggested, indeed, that they were nearer akin than the rest of us. We got Paddy to ask him if he could tell what had become of the bushrangers, and Paddy understood him to say that they had gone away to a distance; so, concluding that this was the case, we ceased to think much about them. Believing ourselves secure from any attack on the part of the natives, we no longer took the precautions we had adopted on our arrival,--with the exception of keeping watch at night, which was more for the purpose of maintaining naval discipline than from any apprehensions we had of an attack. We used to wander about by the side of the river under the cliff without our arms, and sometimes for some distance over the open downs on the top. Even my mother and Edith lost all apprehension, and frequently took walks with only Pierce or Harry. Sometimes I went with them; but I was generally employed in shooting or fishing. In consequence of this, the younger ones fancied that they might go wherever they liked by themselves. One day my mother, being unwell, was confined to the house, and Harry came out fishing with Ned Burton and me in the boat. My father, Mudge, and Tommy, accompanied by Paddy Doyle and one of the other men, had gone on a shooting expedition, attended by Pullingo and his son, leaving only Dicky Popo in attendance on my mother, and two men to guard the camp. As we were not far off, a musket-shot would bring us quickly back if we were required. We pulled down to the mouth of the river. The fish soon began to bite, and we hauled up more than we had ever before caught. I observed that the tide was unusually low, as numerous rocks which I had never before seen were uncovered, and remained so for some time. At last the tide began to rise, and we caught the fish even faster than at first. We were so eagerly engaged that we did not remark how rapidly the time went by. We were well-pleased, because we should not only have fish for all hands, but be able to present our black friends with a welcome supply. We found, I may remark, that they prized us not so much for our knowledge of the arts and sciences, as in proportion to our power of obtaining such food as they valued. Burton suggested that we might salt some fish, and proposed looking for salt along the shore. I agreed with him that it would be important if we could succeed in doing so, as we might then carry some salted fish on our journey. As the fish continued to bite, we remained to catch them, and we were still eagerly hauling them in when the sound of a musket fired at the camp reached our ears. We at once hauled in our lines, got up our anchor, and pulled away as hard as we could up the river. "What can be the matter?" I asked. "I suppose they wish to remind us that it is supper-time, and so fired the shot to call us back," answered Burton. "I hope that no strange blacks have come to the camp, or that those bad men whom we met the other day have not returned," said Harry. "It may be; but we'll soon show them that we're not going to stand any of their tricks," observed Burton. This last suggestion of Harry made me feel very anxious, as I had often heard of the atrocities of which bushrangers had been guilty. As we neared the camp we could see no one. Just as we pulled up to the landing-place, however, we heard a voice cry out,--"Help! help! --bear a hand, or they'll be away." We eagerly leaped on shore, when the spectacle which met our eyes made us very anxious. One of our men lay on the ground, apparently dead; and not far off was the other, bound to the trunk of a tree so that he could move neither hands nor feet. "There! there!" he cried. "Stop them!" Too anxious about my mother and Edith and Pierce to attend to him, or to understand clearly what he said, I rushed to the door of our cottage. It was closed. I knocked loudly. "Mother! mother! --let me in; we've come to your assistance," I exclaimed. She did not reply; but I heard some one moving, and presently the door opened and Dicky Popo appeared. "O massa! so glad you come, or dey murder us all," he exclaimed. "But my mother--where is she?" I asked. "She in her room, I tink; but no speakee," answered Popo. "Mother! mother! --where are you?" I cried out. The door of her room was also closed; but rushing against it, with the aid of Dicky I burst it open. My mother lay on the ground. A horrible feeling came over me,--I thought she was shot. On bending down I could discover no wound, and I found that she still breathed, so I trusted that she had only fainted. I sprinkled her face with water, and she shortly after heaved a sigh and opened her eyes. On seeing me she revived, and with Popo's assistance I lifted her up and placed her in a chair. "Is it a hideous dream?" she asked; "or have the bushrangers really been here? And where are Edith and Pierce?" "There is nothing now to be alarmed about, mother," I answered. "The bushrangers have gone away, and Edith and Pierce are probably hiding somewhere." "Oh! go and look for them," she said, "and bring them here at once. I am afraid that those terrible men have carried them off." "Not at all likely, mother," I said. "I have no doubt, however, that Burton and Harry have already set off to follow the men." As she again urged me to go, assuring me that she was quite recovered, I took my gun, and telling Popo to remain and attend on her, hurried out. I found that Burton and Harry had released the man who had been bound to the tree, while the other, who had been only stunned, had recovered; and all four, with guns in their hands, were making their way towards the foot of the cliffs in pursuit of the bushrangers. I followed, shouting for Edith and Pierce; for I could not help thinking it possible that the bushrangers might have carried them off. As the robbers were heavily laden with their spoil, they had got only a part of the way up the cliff when we caught sight of them. With intense thankfulness I saw that they were alone, and that they had not carried off the children. "Stop, you villains!" cried Burton, when he got near enough to make them hear. They did not reply, but continued making their way up the cliff. Burton, who was leading, was about to pursue, when one of them turned round and levelled his rifle at his head. "If you advance another step I'll fire!" shouted the man. "Two can play at that game, friend," exclaimed Burton, lifting his musket and letting fly at the bushranger. We imitated his example; but when the smoke cleared off we found that the men were still making their upward way, springing with wonderful agility from rock to rock. We had to stop to reload; then, notwithstanding their threats, we again began to climb after them. They had, however, a long start of us, and had already gained the easier part of the ascent; still, laden as they were, one of them might slip and give us a chance of overtaking him, and we continued our ascent. They were now, however, hidden from sight by the trees and rocks above our heads. Burton still kept ahead of us, and was the first to gain the summit of the cliff. He lifted his musket and fired. Directly afterwards the rest of us joined him, when we saw the two bushrangers galloping away to the southward, at no great distance from the cliffs, where, the ground being level, they could make better play than more to the right, where it was undulating and somewhat soft in the bottom. They were already too far off for our bullets to reach them. "Missed again!" exclaimed Ned. "I believe the fellows must bear charmed lives; or my musket has taken to shooting crooked." As we could not hope to overtake the robbers, I told Burton how anxious I was to return and look for Edith and Pierce,--although I hoped that, frightened by the appearance of the bushrangers, they had hidden themselves. "I think not, sir," said Tom Nokes, one of our men. "Soon after you went off in the boat, I saw the young people starting away together along the shore; but thinking their mother had given them leave to go, I didn't look after them." This intelligence was so far satisfactory, that it made me believe they could not have been seen by the bushrangers--who, indeed, could scarcely have been such ruffians as to injure them. I therefore hurried back to my mother; but she, having been asleep all the morning, did not even know that the children had gone away. She expressed her anxiety on hearing what Nokes had said, as at all events they ought by this time to have returned. Not wishing to alarm her more, I expressed my belief that they would soon appear. On leaving her, however, I proposed to Burton and Harry to take the boat and pull along the shore, while Nokes volunteered to go on foot in the same direction. Having landed our fish, we at once pulled away; but no signs did we see of Edith or Pierce. The sun was setting as we rowed down the river. As the bar was smooth, we crossed it without hesitation, and continued our course along the shore, as close in as the coral reefs would allow us to get. Every now and then I stood up to examine the shore, but nowhere were the children to be seen. The tide had risen, too, and in several places washed the very base of the cliffs. This alarmed me much, for I dreaded lest the tide might have entrapped them as they were making their way back. "We needn't fear that, Master Godfrey; for they both have got sense, and will have managed, I hope, to reach some place of safety," observed Burton. Again we pulled on, when just under the highest part of the cliff I caught sight of an object in the water which attracted my attention. At first I thought it was a rock, covered with seaweed moved by the surging water. We paddled in as close as we could venture without running the risk of knocking the bottom of the boat against the coral, and then I made out a horse and a human figure lying together half in the water. The man was motionless, and apparently dead; but the horse was still faintly struggling, trying to keep its head above the surface. "That must be one of the bushrangers," I exclaimed. "No doubt about it," said Burton; "but how he came to fall over the cliff it is hard to say." "Can we not reach him and see if he is still alive?" I asked. "No man could have fallen from that height and kept the breath in his body," said Ned; "nor, indeed, escape breaking all his bones, unless he had come down on the top of his horse. Depend on it, he's dead; and so will the poor horse be in another moment--see! its head has already sunk under the water. If we hadn't to look for the children we might try to get at him; but it would lose much time, and we might chance also to injure the boat." "By all means then let us pull on, and continue our search for Edith and Pierce," I answered; and we again took to our oars. Evening was now drawing rapidly on. In vain we searched the coast as far as our eyes could reach. As we pulled under the cliffs I shouted my brother and sister's names, but only the echo of my voice came back faintly to our ears. I became more and more alarmed, and it seemed to me as if their doom was pronounced, when Burton declared that we must pull back, as it was not likely they could have got so far. Harry showed that he was as unhappy as I was, and joined his voice with mine in shouting out their names as we made our way towards the mouth of the river. There was scarcely sufficient daylight to enable us to distinguish the entrance. We got safely over the bar, however, and as fast as we could move our oars we pulled up to the encampment. My father and his party had just returned. He was, of course, very much alarmed at the disappearance of my brother and sister. Nokes had discovered no traces of them, still he affirmed that he had seen them go in that direction. One thing was certain,--that it would be useless to attempt continuing our search during the hours of darkness. That was indeed a miserable night. My father did his utmost to comfort my poor mother, but she could not fail to dread the worst. Our anxiety about them made us scarcely think of the visit of the bushrangers. On examining our stores, however, it was seen that they had carried off a considerable quantity of powder and shot, and numerous other articles which were likely to prove useful to them in their wandering life. They had not forgotten, either, to supply themselves with several bottles of spirits: perhaps the liquor, to which they had been so long unaccustomed, was the cause of the death of the unhappy wretch whose body we had seen beneath the cliff. However, that was only conjecture, and will probably for ever remain so. I had no inclination to go to bed, but my father insisted on my turning in, saying that he would sit up with my mother; and in spite of my grief and anxiety I at length fell fast asleep.	{ "id": "21493" }
9	PADDY SUGGESTS OBTAINING PULLINGO'S ASSISTANCE--WE SET OUT--DESCEND THE CLIFF BY A ROPE--FIND EDITH AND PIERCE IN A CAVE--THE BOAT ARRIVES--A TREMENDOUS STORM--THE WATER FLOWS OVER OUR SETTLEMENT--ESCAPE TO THE CLIFFS--TAKE REFUGE UNDER A ROCK--RETURN TO THE VILLAGE--IT HAS ESCAPED DAMAGE--A WHALE THROWN ON SHORE--IT ATTRACTS THE NATIVES--THEIR SAVAGE DANCE--THEY ENCAMP--UNPLEASANT ODOUR FROM THE WHALE--EXPLORE THE RIVER-- RETURN FOR OUR FRIENDS--QUIT OUR VILLAGE--OUR FIRST ENCAMPMENT.	My dreams were as miserable as my waking thoughts. I fancied that I saw the bush rangers carrying off Edith and Pierce, who in vain struggled to release themselves; then the wretches hurled the children over the cliff, and shouted as they saw them falling; then the sea rolled up and swept them away, as they held out their hands in vain for assistance. I awoke before daylight, and as I had no wish to go to sleep again I dressed and went out. The first person I met was Paddy Doyle. "I'm after thinking, Master Godfrey, that friend Pullingo will be able to help us in finding the dear young childher," he said. "I can soon make him understand that they are lost; and though he hasn't book-learning, he's got notions in his head which would puzzle some of us. The thought came across me in the night, when not a rap more sleep could I get; and I've been waiting till daylight to visit the blacks' camp." "By all means," I said. "I'll go with you, for I am sure my father will approve of your idea." As a ruddy glow was already appearing in the eastern sky, precursor of the sun, Paddy and I at once set off. As we drew near he shouted, "Pullingo, Pullingo." Directly afterwards we saw the black crawl out of his hut. "Our friend doesn't take much time to dress in the morning," observed Paddy, "seeing he hasn't a large amount of clothing to put on, and isn't over particular about the use of soap and water." The black quickly understood that we had some matter of importance to communicate, but it took much longer to make him comprehend what we wanted him for. Paddy, however, succeeded at length; and he set off with us for the village. On arriving, that there might be no mistake, I took Pullingo into the house and showed him the children's empty beds, and then pointed along the shore in the direction they were supposed to have taken. He thought for some minutes, and then looking about, found a piece of rope: he soon made us understand that it was much too short for what he wanted, and seemed highly pleased when we took him into the store-house, where he at once selected a long coil. He then touched Mudge, Burton, Doyle, and me on the shoulder, and signified that he wished us to accompany him. Before setting out, however, he made signs that he should like something to eat, and seemed highly pleased when we gave him some broiled fish,-- which he quickly swallowed, though he had had a quantity of kangaroo flesh on the previous evening. My father would have accompanied us, but was unwilling to leave my mother. "I entrust the search to you, Mudge," he said; "and I am sure that you will spare no effort to recover the children, should their lives have been mercifully preserved." Pullingo having inquired by signs whether we were ready, we set out. Instead, however, of taking the way along the shore, he turned up the river towards his own camp, and then ascended the cliff. "I wonder, after all, whether he really understands that we are in search of Edith and Pierce," I observed to Paddy Doyle. "No doubt about it, sir," was the answer; "you'll see when we get to the top that he'll go along the cliff. Maybe he knows some way down that we haven't discovered; or there is some place or other into which he thinks the children have tumbled and can't get out again." On reaching the top of the cliff, however, Pullingo, instead of keeping close to the edge, started off in a direction which would lead us, I saw, to a spot some way along the coast, beyond the point, I calculated, where the bushranger had fallen over. Had I not been so anxious about the fate of my brother and sister, I should have been amused at the air of importance with which the savage strutted on at the head of the party, evidently feeling himself infinitely superior to us. He held a lance in his left hand; a tall feather was stuck in his bushy hair; not an article of clothing had he on, with the exception of the very small kilt which he wore round his waist. I joined Mudge, and went on ahead with him, close behind our guide, the other men following, and carrying the coil of rope between them. "I can't fancy that the children could have got so far round the coast as the point we shall reach if we continue on as we are going," I observed to him. "As the tide was low and the sand smooth, they were probably tempted to go on without considering how far they had got," said Mudge. "I am surprised, however, that your sister Edith should have ventured, and not recollected that the tide would again rise, and that they would not be able to repass many of the places they had previously got over without difficulty. Still, I feel sure that they did go forward, and that the black knows where they are." His remarks somewhat cheered me. We went on and on; and it seemed to me that we must be near the part of the cliff over which the bushranger had fallen. We discussed the probable cause of his death. "At all events, horrible as was his death, it was better than dying of starvation, as is the fate, I fancy, of a large proportion of the convicts who take to the bush," observed Mudge; "though dreadful must be the fate of his companion, who is now doomed to wander alone through these wilds, without daring to hold any intercourse with white men for fear of being betrayed; and, probably, equally dreading the blacks, who, if he were to be found unprepared, would speedily put him to death." We went on for nearly two miles, when we reached a fissure in the cliffs, the ground sloping on either side towards it. The black advanced cautiously; and following him, we found ourselves on the edge of the cliff, which appeared to hang over the water. We descended the slope I have mentioned, till we reached a broad ledge, about a quarter of the way down. Signing to the men to uncoil the rope, the end of which he allowed to fall over till it apparently reached the bottom, he now by gestures inquired which of us was ready to descend. "We must first secure the upper end, my friend," observed Mudge; a matter the black did not appear to have considered. Each of us had fortunately brought a stout staff to serve us as a walking-stick; by forcing these together into the ground, we formed a post of sufficient strength round which to secure the rope, one man in addition holding on to it. "I wish to be the first to descend," said I. "No, no, Mr Godfrey; if there is danger, it is not you should run it, as it would be a sad thing if you were to be lost as well as your brother and sister," exclaimed Paddy Doyle. "If Mr Mudge will give me leave, I'll be the first to go; and if I get safe down I'll shout out, and you can follow." "Doyle is right," said Mudge; "let him go first." Without waiting a moment, Paddy threw himself over the cliff, holding on by the rope, and began to descend. It must have been somewhat trying even to his nerves, for the rope swung backwards and forwards, being at a considerable distance from the cliff. How the black came to conceive that we should venture down, it was difficult to say; as he himself certainly could never have climbed up or down such a rope, it must have been a perfectly original idea with him. He had seen the rope in our camp, and formed a just opinion of its strength; and he must have argued that as he could climb a thin and lofty tree without branches, so could we get up and down a stout rope. On hearing Doyle's voice I was going to follow, when, to my surprise, Pullingo approached the cliff, and seizing the rope, began to descend as fearlessly as Doyle had done. I waited till he had reached the bottom, and then, not without some feeling of anxiety, followed their example. I found that we had reached a narrow beach, which extended some way up in the hollow formed between the two sides of the cliff. I looked about, half expecting to see Edith and Pierce. Pullingo observed my disappointment, and beckoned Doyle and me to follow him. He turned back--that is to say, to the northward of the spot where we stood--and made his way along an exceedingly narrow ledge, a few feet only above the water, which beat with a hollow sound beneath our feet. Sometimes I had the greatest difficulty in making my way; and when at length we came to a broader place, Doyle stopped and pulled off his shoes, which he put into his pocket. I followed his example, and was then able to get on somewhat better. The cliff was too smooth to afford any hold to our hands; and a slip would have plunged us headlong into the sea. At length the black stopped at a somewhat broader place, which allowed us to join him; when, turning round, we looked down into a shallow cavern, in the centre of which we saw Edith and Pierce, kneeling down side by side, and gazing towards the sea. We had approached so noiselessly that they had not heard us. I easily leaped to the level on which they were kneeling, and uttered their names. They both sprang to their feet, and throwing their arms round me, burst into tears. "We were praying to God for help, but thought it would come from the sea," exclaimed Edith, as soon as she could find words to speak. "How did you know we were here? And poor mamma, how frightened she must have been at not seeing us! That made us more unhappy than anything else all the night long. We had brought some food, so we were not hungry; and see! there is a spring of water issuing from the cliff, and that gave us what we wanted to drink. But we have been very frightened, and know that we have been exceedingly naughty in coming so far by ourselves. We got as far as this, and were sitting down, very happy, when we began to think it was time to go home; but we had not got far before we found the water close up to the cliff, and we could not pass. It rose higher and higher, so we ran back and got into this cave just before the sea reached the part of the beach by which alone we could gain it. At first we thought that it would perhaps come right up into the cave and drown us. On and on it came, and we got farther and farther back; and oh, how thankful we were when at length we saw it stop and come no higher!" I did not scold Edith or Pierce; and I felt very thankful that the weather had been so calm, for had there been any wind the surf would have broken into the cave, and certainly have swept them away. We had now to consider how we were to return. I proposed to Doyle that we should wait till the tide had gone down, and then get along the beach by the way they had come. "But maybe the tide won't go down as low as it did yesterday; and if it doesn't, there are many places you will be unable to get across," said Doyle. "Then the best thing we can do is to send round for the boat," I observed. "If you will climb up to the top of the cliff, I will stay with my brother and sister." "To confess the truth, Mr Godfrey, it's just the thing I don't think is as aisy as it looks," said Doyle. "I'll try to do it, to please you; but I rather think our friend Pullingo, though not brought up to the sea, will do it more aisy." "But how is he to make them understand that we have found the children and want the boat?" I asked. "Haven't you got a pencil and paper!" exclaimed Edith. "Just write a note to Mr Mudge, and get him to take it up." "A bright idea," I observed; and taking out my pocket-book, I wrote a few words, explaining the plan we proposed. Pullingo at once understood that he was to carry up the bit of paper, and did not appear to hesitate about ascending the rope. I remained with Edith and Pierce, while Paddy went back with the black. He soon returned to the cave, when he told me that Pullingo had, without hesitation or the slightest appearance of fear, grasped the rope and begun the ascent, showing as much activity as a monkey, or, as he observed, as if he had been born and bred at sea. He watched him till he had climbed safely over the top of the cliff; when a shout from above told him that my note had been received. We now sat down, watching the tide, which was still flowing. "What if it should rise higher than it did yesterday?" I observed; "we should be somewhat cramped for space." "I don't think Pullingo would have left us here if he thought that was going to happen," said Doyle; "he knows all about it. He is a wonderful fellow; how he came to find out that the children were here, is more than I can tell." "We saw his son as we came along yesterday, and perhaps he guessed where we had gone," said Pierce, thus accounting for the black knowing where to find the children. Still, I did not feel altogether comfortable as I saw the tide rising higher and higher, and I began to consider that, after all, it might have been better to have tried to go up by the rope. Edith sat quite calmly. "I am very sure that it will not come higher than that," she said, placing a stone on the ground. "And why do you think so?" I asked. "Because God rules the waves. He can stop them just where he wills," she answered with perfect calmness. She was right; the water came only a little higher than the stone, and then began to recede. The children had brought an ample store for their picnic, and had thus enough food to prevent them suffering much from hunger. They wanted Paddy and me to take some, but of course we would not touch it, though I confess that by this time I was somewhat hungry. At length, greatly to my satisfaction, I caught sight of the boat pulling with four oars rapidly towards us. Feeling her way, she got within twenty yards of where we were. Burton, who was in her, tucking up his trousers waded on shore, and taking up Edith carried her on board; while Paddy got Pierce on his back, and soon placed him by her side. I followed, when the boat shoved off, and we made the best of our way to the river. I was thankful to hear from Mudge, who also had come, that my mother was much better. Our father received us at the landing-place, and not a word of reproach did he utter to Edith and Pierce--feeling that they had been sufficiently punished for their thoughtlessness; while our poor mother welcomed them back with tears of joy. "O mamma, mamma! how very sorry I am that we should have alarmed you so," exclaimed Edith, as she threw her arms round our mother's neck. "We fancied that we were doing something very heroic in exploring the country, and expected to find another river or beautiful harbour, little dreaming of the danger we were running." "We may thank God, my child, that you are preserved," answered our mother. "From what I hear, had a storm come on you would inevitably have been lost." She did not think at the moment how narrow an escape they had had. Scarcely had we landed when the general appearance of the sky to windward changed, clouds dark as ink rose above the horizon; and before an hour had passed, one of those fearful gales known as black hurricanes or black squalls, which occasionally blow on the Australian coast, began to rage. It was far more furious than the one which burst on us soon after we landed. The sea came rushing into the river and drove back the ebb with a power which rapidly made the water rise; and as we watched it getting higher and higher, we began to fear that the whole of our peninsula would be flooded. Huge boughs were torn off the trees, which bent before the gale, and every instant we expected some of them to fall. Night coming quickly on, increased the horrors of the scene. Several times my father went down to the edge of the water to ascertain how high it had risen, leaving Burton to watch, and report to him should it rise above a certain point. In a short time the flood would set in; if so, we might expect the water to rise very rapidly. Of course, no one thought of going to bed; my mother and Edith sat dressed for a journey, and every one was ordered to prepare to start at a moment's notice. We each had our guns and as much ammunition as we could carry, for on that our existence might depend should we be deprived of our stores. We had also a small quantity of provisions, a second pair of shoes apiece, and a few articles of clothing, packed up in readiness for a move. "I should have despatched a party with provisions and ammunition to a place of safety up the side of the cliff, had I not hoped that before the flood set in the gale would have abated," observed my father; "and I even now think that it might be the most prudent course. I will go down once more and ascertain if the waters are still rising; and if they are, it will be wise to start at once, though I regret that you and Edith should be exposed to the rain and wind." My father said this as we were collected in the sitting-room of our house. Mudge just then came in, the rain pouring off his hat. "I have secured the boat with a long warp," he said, "and loaded her with as many of our stores as I thought she could safely carry, so that when the waters subside I trust that these may at all events be preserved. I am afraid, sir, that we must make a start; the water has got to within a foot of the top of the bank, and if a heavy sea were to come rolling up from the mouth of the river it might sweep over the whole settlement." "We will no longer delay, then," said my father; "tell the men to get ready." We all of us accordingly, loading ourselves with the packages we had prepared--my mother, indeed, insisting on carrying a pretty heavy bundle--followed my father out of the house. Mudge summoned the men, who were ready to set out. Before proceeding, however, my father ordered them to secure all the doors and windows, so that should the buildings not be carried away by the flood, the articles within them might be preserved, though they would get damaged by the water. My father supported my mother; Mudge took charge of Edith; and I held Pierce by the hand. The rest of the party pushed on close behind--and from the remarks they made they evidently expected the whole peninsula to be overwhelmed in a few minutes. It was with difficulty we could see our way. "Let me go on ahead, yer honour," sang out Paddy; "I'm a fine pilot in the dark; and it's better that I should tumble into the river than that you and the misthress should come to harm." Paddy had supplied himself with a long stick, with which he felt the way before him. We managed, by keeping close together under his guidance, to get across the narrow neck of land, and then continued our course along the bank of the river. As it was somewhat higher than the peninsula, we had no great fear of the waters overtaking us till we could reach a place of safety. We were exposed, however, to another danger, from the masses of earth and rock which, loosened by the wind, came falling down on our left; while branches of various sizes, wrenched off the parent stems, were whirled through the air, and often fell close to us. Even Paddy had great difficulty in finding the part of the cliff which was accessible. Happily, a short distance up there was an overhanging rock. As there was no danger of the waters rising so high, and as it seemed perfectly secure, my father directed us all to take shelter beneath it. We were here, at all events, safe from the branches hurtling through the air, and from the pieces of rock which came bounding down the cliffs. My mother, Edith, and Pierce were placed in the most sheltered part, and the rest crept in on either side or in front of them. Here we all sat the livelong night, anxiously waiting for day, and wishing that the hurricane would cease. "Such furious gales as this seldom last many hours," observed my father. "I trust that it will prove the clearing storm, after which we may look for fine weather. And we must make up our minds to move in the upper downs should we remain in the neighbourhood; though, unless we hear from Sydney, I believe that we shall act wisely by commencing our journey to the southward. We are a sufficiently large party to resist any attack which the natives may venture to make on us; and as we have an abundance of ammunition, we shall be able to supply ourselves with food on the road." The subject my father spoke of was of interest to us all. When we were not talking, I dozed frequently off; and thus the night passed away with me more rapidly than I could have expected. Sometimes, when I awoke, I heard the storm still howling and raging, and the waves roaring on the shore; then there came a lull, and for some time I lost all consciousness. On starting up I saw that several of the party were on foot. The sky overhead was blue, and the first rays of the rising sun were glancing on the tree-tops sprinkled with moisture, which now no longer waved to and fro in the breeze. "Let us return to our village: and I trust that we may find that less damage has been committed than we expected," said my father. We all anxiously followed, looking towards the spot where we had left our houses standing, and wondering whether they would still be there. "I see their roofs," cried Pierce, who, with Tom, had darted on ahead; "hurrah! hurrah!" He was right, and in a short time we reached the isthmus. We expected to find the garden, at all events, destroyed and everything uprooted. The water had indeed washed over the greater part of the peninsula, and had filled a trench dug round the garden, but could scarcely have done more than just cover the ground. It had entered the cottages, which were a little lower down; but it had risen but a few inches, and everything was in its place. Even in the storeroom, the articles alone which were on the lower tier had got wet. The boat was also secure, with her cargo undamaged. We had, indeed, reason to be grateful to Providence, that the waters had been arrested at the moment when they might have destroyed everything in the settlement. We had to wait some time for breakfast--till the wood we could collect was dry enough to light a fire; and in the interval we employed ourselves in cleaning out the floors of the houses, which were covered with slime. Our narrow escape, however, made my father determine not to wait beyond the expiration of the four months, should a vessel from Sydney not appear to carry us off. By puffing and blowing Paddy at last succeeded in kindling a fire, when our tea-kettle was boiled and we had breakfast. Soon afterwards I was looking with a spy-glass towards the coast on the opposite side of the river, from which direction a gentle breeze blowing wafted a far from pleasant odour towards us, when I observed a large dark object lying on the beach. On looking at it with my naked eye, I had till then supposed that it was a rock--though I could not help fancying that no rock had formerly been there. I now discovered that it was a huge dead whale, which, partly decomposed, had been thrown up by the waves during the night. It was likely to prove anything but an agreeable neighbour, however, and would certainly become worse and worse. I pointed it out to Mudge and the rest. "We must hope that the wind will change before long, or even at the distance it is off it will drive us away from this," said Mudge. A number of sea-birds were already hovering over the carcass, showing that they had scented it from afar. Though the smell was unpleasant, still I was anxious to have a nearer view of the monster; so Mudge, Harry, Tommy, and I agreed to go over. Having taken the things out of the boat, we pulled across the river, which was still somewhat swollen, and had just landed when we caught sight of several natives rushing on with headlong speed towards the whale, having apparently come from the interior. We drew back, and concealed ourselves behind the trees; and they, evidently from having their eyes fixed on the whale, had not seen us. The country towards the west was open, and as I turned my glass in that direction I observed a still greater number running on as fast as their legs could carry them. The sound of their wild shouts and shrieks, as they clapped their hands and kicked up their legs with delight, reached our ears. On they came. We had no notion that anything like the number of natives we saw existed in the neighbourhood. How, indeed, they came to discover that the creature, to them so great a prize, had been cast on shore, it was difficult to say--unless, like the birds of prey, they had scented it from afar. Over the hills they came, some appearing at the entrance of a valley, others making their way along the shore. Already we saw that some had arrived; and through my glass I recognised our friend Pullingo as the principal figure by the feather at the top of his head, the bundle of lances in one hand, and an axe which we had given him in the other. Some of the natives carried huge drums, which they beat with might and main, forming the bass to their shrill shrieks. All seemed so eager to reach the scene of action, that even had we been much nearer we ran little risk of being discovered. On they came in troops, till nearly two hundred must have been collected; then joining hands, they formed a large circle round the whale, while Pullingo mounted along the tail to the top of it, where he stood flourishing his axe, and apparently making a speech to the assembled multitude. Its tenor we should not have understood, even had we heard his words distinctly; but it was replied to by the shouts and cries of the people below: then the drums set up a thundering rattle, and the blacks reiterating their shrieks and cries, men, women, and children began to dance round and round, throwing themselves into the wildest and most extravagant postures, all trying to vie one with the other who could leap, and kick, and twist their bodies and arms about in the most grotesque fashion. Whether it was simply to show their joy, or was some religious ceremony, we could not determine. The dance, if so it could be called, continued for some time, Pullingo still remaining the central figure on the top of the whale, when suddenly he dug his axe into the creature's back; on which, picking up their stone knives or other instruments, which they had placed on the ground, the savages rushed forward and began hacking away at the body of the whale in a most ferocious fashion. I was very glad that we were at a distance, for even as seen through a telescope the spectacle was one of the most disgusting I ever witnessed. As they cut out pieces of the flesh, they rammed them into their mouths, tearing them with their teeth like a pack of famishing wolves; some of them literally forcing their way into the carcass, out of which they emerged carrying huge pieces of dripping flesh, covering their bodies with blood. Even the women, some of them young, and, as seen from a distance, far from ill-looking, attacked the whale in the same fashion as the men, and appeared again dripping all over with blood. When I thought of the putrid state of the flesh, it made me almost sick to look at them, and disgusted at seeing human beings so degraded. Under ordinary circumstances they were not pleasant neighbours, but horrible must have been the effluvium arising from them after they had thus gorged themselves. Not having any wish to get nearer the scene, we returned to the boat; and in a short time afterwards we saw that they had lighted fires in the neighbourhood of the monster, intending apparently to cook the flesh, and to stay there till they had eaten it up. The presence of so large a number of natives in our vicinity, made my father consider seriously whether it would not be prudent to leave our present position without further delay, nearly four months having elapsed since the departure of the long-boat. He forthwith invited Mudge and Burton to hold a consultation on the subject, at which I also was present; and where Mudge remarked that two days only remained to complete the four months. "If no vessel appears in that time, I think we may conclude, either that the long-boat has unfortunately been lost, or that Mr Brown has been unable to succeed in obtaining a vessel to come to our relief," observed Mudge. "While the whale lasts, I don't think we need fear a visit from those unsavoury gentlemen; but when they have recovered from the effects of their banquet, and begin to feel the pangs of hunger, they are very likely to become troublesome; and though we should be able to hold our own against them, we might find it dangerous to go out hunting singly or in small parties. I therefore advise that at the end of two days we should proceed up the river as far as the boat will carry us, and either pitch our camp there, while we make further preparations for our journey, or push on southward at once. I prefer an inland route to one along the coast, because in the latter case we should have to follow its various sinuosities, and have to cross the rivers at their mouths, where they are probably the broadest; whereas by keeping inland we may steer a direct course, and are more likely to find game and obtain fresh water." "I am of Mr Mudge's opinion," observed Burton. "By keeping near the coast, if the natives are inclined to attack us we should only have one side to defend. But then, again, if we move quickly on they will see that we are merely travelling through the country, and not wishing to interfere with them, and so are not likely to annoy us. I, however, would advise that we should make all preparations before leaving this, and begin our overland journey directly we leave the boat." "I agree with all you have said," observed my father. "I will get you, Burton, to explain the plan we propose to the other men; and I hope that all will be satisfied that what we suggest is for the best. I should be glad, however, if, before starting, we could manage to communicate with Pullingo, as he would prove invaluable as a guide across the parts of the country with which he is acquainted; and I think, after the way we have treated him, that he may be trusted." "Paddy Doyle would be the best person to try and get hold of him," I observed. "It would be pretty trying to any one of us to go near the whale, but I suspect that the Irishman would not be very particular; and as Pullingo knows that we can always supply him with food, he might be more willing than the rest of his tribe to leave the horrible mass of flesh on which they are gorging themselves." "You must speak to Paddy, and see if he is willing to go," said my father. "In the meantime, we will make packages of the necessaries we are to take with us; and I should advise each person to manufacture for himself a pair of canvas leggings, and a broad-brimmed hat of the same material." Before separating they discussed other points, and made out a list of the different articles it would be advisable to take with us. As soon as I told Doyle, he immediately agreed to visit the blacks' camp. It was too late to set off that night; but next morning Burton and I, with one of the other men, took him across to the opposite shore. We watched him as he made his way towards the camp, which, in spite of the odour proceeding from the carcass of the whale, was pitched close to it. The only shelter the natives had provided for themselves consisted of some slabs of bark three or four feet in length, either stuck in the ground or leaning against a rail, with their fires in front. They were still, apparently, all fast asleep, overcome by their debauch of the previous day and night. Doyle, who wisely carried his musket and pistols, went on without hesitation. How he found out Pullingo's sleeping-place I do not know, as there was nothing to distinguish it from the rest. For some time he was lost to sight behind the carcass of the whale. We waited and waited, and began at length to wonder that he did not return. Before starting, he had said that he would fire off his pistol should he require assistance, though he had little fear on that score. "I hope that nothing has happened to poor Paddy," observed Burton. "I can't fancy it, unless he has been overcome by the odour of the whale," I answered; "it is bad enough even here, and sufficient to breed a fever among the blacks, even if it does not make us sick." "No fear of that," observed Burton; "they are accustomed to it. Hurrah! here comes Doyle, and our friend Pullingo with him, rubbing his stomach, as if he found walking a trouble." "I've got him," exclaimed Doyle as he approached; "but we must keep him well supplied with food, or he'll be off again to have another blow-out of whale's flesh. Faith, it's rather high flavoured; but it's to their taste, I suppose." Pullingo hesitated before stepping into the boat, and cast a wistful glance in the direction of the whale. "Don't think about that, old fellow," said Paddy, patting him on the shoulder; "we'll give you as much good grub as you can want. So come along with us;" and taking his arm, he induced him to step into the boat. I did not find him a very pleasant neighbour; but I held my nose, and endeavoured not to think about the matter. As soon as we got him on shore, we tried to make him understand what we wanted: that we purposed moving southward, and that we would reward him handsomely if he would act as our guide. We could not clearly make out whether or not he was willing to go; and as we could not start for a couple of days, Mudge offered to go up the river as far as it was navigable in the boat, with Doyle and Harry and me, and one of the other men, and to take him with us. We should thus be better able to judge whether he understood what we wished him to do. There was no risk, in the meantime, of the natives leaving their feast; and the wind fortunately now blowing from us towards the whale, we were no longer annoyed by the disagreeable odour. One thing was certain,-- that the boat could not carry us all, with our provisions and stores, and that we should, at all events, have to make two or three trips. My father, therefore, thought that the sooner we set off the better. We accordingly put on board the boat a supply of provisions, ammunition, and some other articles, which we intended storing near the landing-place at the head of the river. We also took with us such tools as we should require to build a hut. These arrangements being made, we wished our friends good-bye, and pulled away up the river. The scenery, as we advanced, became highly picturesque, and in some places the banks on either side were fringed with trees; in others, perpendicular cliffs rose sheer out of the water to a considerable height; while numerous points projected into the stream, some rocky, others covered with the richest vegetation. We had been curious to know how Pullingo and his family had crossed the river; but we had not got far when we caught sight of a very rough-looking canoe hauled up on the bank. We pulled in to examine it, and found that it consisted of a single large sheet of bark bent up, the ends roughly sewed together, lumps of clay being stuffed in to prevent the water from entering, while the centre part was kept open by several pieces of stick fixed across the upper edge. Such a canoe could not take many minutes to form; and we agreed that it would be well to copy the natives when we had rivers to cross, and to form similar canoes, as they would be more quickly constructed, and could be guided with less difficulty, than a raft. Pullingo made us understand that this was his canoe, but that he would leave it where it was for the use of his wife and family. As the tide had just begun to flow when we started, we made rapid progress. We saw numerous birds, ducks and geese, which skimmed over the surface, seeking for their prey, or flew off, startled by our approach. We pulled on till the shadows which spread over the stream showed us that night was coming on, and that we must ere long look out for a place to encamp. As, however, the sun's rays still tinged the topmost boughs of the more lofty trees, we continued our course, anxious to get as high as possible before bringing up. "Avast pulling," cried Mudge; "I think I hear the sound of a waterfall." We obeyed him. I could distinctly hear the rushing noise of a body of water coming from the upper part of the river. We again gave way, and saw before us a mass of foam produced by the water running over a ledge of rocks some six or eight feet in height, stretching directly across the river. This would effectually bar our further progress; and not to lose more time, we pulled in to the right or southern bank, towards a spot where the tall trees receding afforded an open space on which we might encamp. In other parts along the bank the vegetation was of an unusually dense character for Australia: numberless creepers hung from the branches of the lofty trees, bearing star-like flowers, some white, others of a yellow hue, shining like gold, contrasted with the dark green foliage; while the ground below and more open spaces were carpeted with a rich sward but seldom seen in that country, and produced, probably, by the spray from the waterfall cast over it when the wind blew down the river. Pullingo, by his gestures, leading us to suppose that he considered it a good place for encamping, we accordingly landed. We found the ground harder than we had expected, as the soil, which was only a few inches deep, rested on a bed of rock, which had prevented the trees from taking root. We quickly set about forming our camp; some of the party collecting sheets of bark, aided by Pullingo, while others picked up broken branches for our fire. While we were thus employed, a flight of the magnificent cockatoos I have before described settled on some of the branches close to the river. Pullingo, who had brought his boomerang, at once eyed them eagerly. Paddy and I, who were near him, ran for our guns; but he made a sign to us not to shoot, letting us understand that he had a far more effectual way of procuring our supper. We followed him cautiously, so as not to frighten the birds as he stole towards them. As they clustered thickly on the boughs, it was evident they intended to rest there for the night. They sat talking away to each other at a great rate for some minutes; then, having placed their sentinels and wished each other good-night, they put their heads under their wings and prepared for sleep. They little thought of the subtle foe in their neighbourhood. Having got close under the tree without being perceived, Pullingo drew his boomerang from his belt, and retired a few paces from his shelter; then running forward, to give power to his arm, till his feet touched the margin of the stream, and throwing his right hand, which held the boomerang, over his back, he cast it directly before him with all the force of his arm. These different movements had scarcely occupied three seconds. The sentinels, meanwhile, had given a warning sound, and the birds seemed to be aware that all was not right. When, however, they saw the weapon flying towards the surface of the water, they appeared satisfied that it had nothing to do with them. But instead of dropping into the stream, as might have been expected, it suddenly took a new direction; and flying up into the air with irresistible force, came turning round and round in the most extraordinary manner, with a whizzing sound, into the very midst of the cockatoos' roosting-place, continuing its course among them--killing one outright, breaking the wing of another, sending another squalling to the ground, cutting open their heads, and committing all sorts of damage among the feathered inhabitants of the trees. In vain the unfortunate cockatoos, overcome with astonishment, uttered their cries of despair; in vain they endeavoured to escape the awful blows of this apparently enchanted piece of wood; the boomerang continued its eccentric course, not ceasing its gyrations till it had knocked over nearly a dozen birds, and had fallen close to the spot where its owner stood ready to receive it. It was the first time I had ever seen the boomerang used, and I could not have believed it capable of such performances had I not witnessed them. Before the birds had recovered from their fright, the boomerang was again in their midst, whizzing round and round, as if endued with life, and committing almost as much damage as before. Pullingo was preparing to throw it a third time, when the survivors of the cockatoos, discovering that this was no secure resting-place for them, took to flight, uttering mournful cries for their lost companions--several of whom, having been roughly plucked, were speedily roasting on spits before the fire. "Much obliged to you for the good supper you've procured for us, Mr Pullingo," observed Paddy; "but it surprises me that you, who can get as many well-tasted birds as you like by throwing that bit of stick, can bring yourself to eat such horrible food as that putrid whale's flesh. However, we all have our tastes; though I can't say I admire yours." These remarks were made while we were seated round the fire, and Pullingo was gnawing away at the whole body of a cockatoo, which he had taken for his share. Though he could not understand a word the Irishman said, he seemed to have an idea that he was referring to his gastronomic powers, and he complacently stroked his stomach, to show that he was enjoying his food. Having finished our meal, we prepared ourselves for sleep, each of us having placed a piece of bark on the ground to serve as a mattress, under shelter of the upright pieces, according to the native fashion. Pullingo was quickly snoring, showing his confidence in us; but Mudge thought it would be wiser to keep watch, in case any strange natives might pay us a visit during the night. We knew that we had no danger to apprehend from savage animals, as even the dingo, the only carnivorous quadruped in the country, will not attack a human being able to offer the slightest resistance. We could not, however, tell what a pack of such brutes might do should they find us asleep. I kept my watch very faithfully; but I suspect some of the rest of the party followed Pullingo's example, and went to sleep. No serious consequences ensued, but the sun was up before any of us awoke. We immediately set to work to relight the fire and cook our breakfast. Mudge and Paddy Doyle then tried once more to ascertain whether Pullingo was willing to accompany us to the south; and after such conversation as they could carry on, they were satisfied that he would undertake to act as guide--as far, at all events, as he was acquainted with the country. What had become of his big son, his wife, and small children, we could not make out; but he apparently intended to leave them behind. "Now, lads," said Mudge, "we will store the goods we have brought up, and then make the best of our way down to the camp; but as it would not be safe, I suspect, to leave them without protection, are any of you willing to remain? If we carry our black friend back within scent of the whale, I am afraid that he will attempt to return to it. Do you think, Doyle, that you could manage to keep him here?" "I'll try, your honour; and I'm ready enough myself to remain, if anybody will stay with me," answered Paddy. "I will," said Harry, who observed that the other men did not answer readily. "So will I," I said, "if you wish it, Mudge." "No," he answered; "two are sufficient, and you may be wanted to bring up the boat. As we have the tide with us, we may reach the camp and be back here soon after nightfall; and we now know the river sufficiently well to pull up in the dark." Mudge desired Doyle to place the goods on a bed of bark slabs, and to build a hut over them of the same material, so that, should rain come on, they might be preserved from wet. Pullingo, on seeing that we left our goods behind us, was perfectly ready to remain; and wishing our friends good-bye, we pulled rapidly down the river. As we had a strong current with us we made good way, and in about six hours reached the encampment. "Has the vessel appeared?" I asked of Tommy Peck, who had come down to meet us, as I sprang on shore. "Not a sign of one," he answered. "The captain has gone up to the top of the cliff to have a better look-out; and if none appears, I think he will be for moving." My mother and Edith, on hearing from Popo that the boat had arrived, came out of the house and gave me the same report. They had been busily engaged for the last two days in preparing for our intended journey, as had also the men in the camp. On my father's return he expressed himself satisfied with what we had done, and accepted Mudge's offer to go back again at once with another cargo of goods; while he himself proposed to remain with Pierce, Tom, and one of the other men; and I was to bring back the boat, which in her last trip was to carry up my father and mother and Edith, and the remainder of the goods and chattels we intended to remove. We accordingly lost no time in again starting, as we did not wish to lose any of the daylight. For nearly two hours we had to pull on in the dark, and frequently it was so difficult to see our way that we had to advance cautiously. I sat in the bow, endeavouring to pierce the gloom, so as to catch sight of any danger ahead before we were upon it. Very thankful I was when I saw a bright glare cast over the water, and on the boughs and trunks of the surrounding trees, by Paddy Doyle's camp-fire, and he and Harry answered my hail. We soon made our way to the bank, when we found that they had been expecting us, and had prepared an ample supper of roast parrots and doves, with a pot of tea, and some cakes cooked in the ashes. They had also got ready our sleeping-places; so without loss of time we lay down to rest, intending to start again an hour before dawn, that we might, if possible, return before the close of the day. I was so anxious to be off in time that I awoke even sooner than was necessary. I found Pullingo sitting up--not keeping watch, but stowing away in his capacious inside the remains of our supper, which I had intended for breakfast. Several birds which had been killed the previous day were hanging up, so I plucked and spitted them. I then aroused those of my companions who were to form the crew. We hurried over our breakfast; and making our way to the boat, began our downward voyage. As before, we had to proceed cautiously till daylight returned; we then made such good play that we reached the camp even before my father expected us. He had just returned from a last trip to the downs. "No vessel anywhere in sight," he said. "I very much fear that Brown and his party are lost; they must have encountered the gales we felt so severely here. I warned them of the danger they would run, but they would not believe me. Nevertheless, I am heartily sorry to think that they have probably been lost." I found that during our absence my father had done his utmost to secure the property we were to leave behind from being plundered by the natives. He had barricaded the doors and windows, both of the huts and the store-house, with pieces of timber fixed firmly in the ground and horizontal bars nailed across them, which we had hopes that the natives would not venture to remove. The remainder of the articles we intended to carry with us were neatly done up in packages. We also took all our arms and ammunition, of which we had not more than would last us, we calculated, till we could hope to reach the settlements; indeed, it was the fear of this running short which made my father determine to commence our journey to the southward without further delay. While that lasted, we might amply supply ourselves with food, and with due precaution set the natives at defiance; but should that be exhausted, they, with their long spears and formidable boomerangs, would be superior to us in weapons of defence, while we should have no means of obtaining provisions. Had not the bushrangers carried off so much of our powder, we might have remained another month or two. The boat was loaded without delay. Our last act was to collect all the vegetables fit for use in the garden, that we might have a supply of green food--at all events, for the first few days of our journey. Not without regret did we bid farewell to the spot which had afforded us shelter for so many weeks. "Shove off," said my father, as he seated himself at the helm, with my mother and Edith by his side, while the faithful Nanny crouched at my sister's feet; and giving way, we commenced our voyage up the river. We took a look through an opening in the trees in the direction of the whale, round which the natives were still collected in vast numbers; and thankful were we to get away from them, for we had no doubt that as soon as they had eaten up the monster they would become troublesome. We should have been glad had we been able to penetrate farther to the west by water, as a glance at the map we had with us showed that we should still have a considerable amount of westing to make in our course to Sydney. My mother was cheerful, notwithstanding the arduous journey on foot which she was about to undertake. Edith laughed and talked as usual, not troubling herself about the matter; indeed, she thought that it would be very good fun to walk on all day through a new country with a constant change of scenery, and at the end of it the amusement of forming a camp for the night. She thought, indeed, it would be a succession of picnics, only with more excitement than ordinary picnics afford. We none of us said anything to damp her spirits, though I could not help fearing that she would get tired before long of this style of life. We had, however, every reason to hope that we should enjoy fine weather, as the rainy season was now over; and that would be much in our favour. We met with no adventure worth recording, and having pulled on all day without cessation, we reached the head of the navigation soon after sunset. Our friends, having a fire blazing up cheerfully and provisions cooking at it, were collected on the bank to welcome us. As soon as the boat was unloaded we dragged her up the bank some way from the water, where we intended, before starting the next morning, to house her carefully over, so that she might be protected from the sun and wet, and be ready for use should we be compelled from any cause to return. Our camp was formed at some distance from the water, on the side of a bank, where the ground was drier than the spot we first occupied near the river. It was truly a wild woodland scene: the trees of gigantic growth towering up to the starlit sky, their branches thickly interlaced with countless creepers, which hung down in festoons, bearing flowers of various hues, some of enormous size, others so minute as scarcely to be discernible except when massed in clusters. Those only, however, were visible, which, hanging low down, shone in the light of the blazing fire. Mudge had thoughtfully arranged a bark hut for my mother and Edith, while lean-tos served for the rest of the party. Considering our circumstances, we were very merry as we sat round the fire enjoying a good supper, for, having an abundance of provisions, there was no necessity to stint ourselves; indeed, we possessed more than we could carry, and should have to let some remain _en cache_, as the Canadians call it. Pullingo had, according to his own idea, become one of us; Mudge having dressed him up in a shirt and trousers, which made him far more presentable among civilised people than he had hitherto been. He had tried to get him into a canvas jacket; but he made signs that it was too hot, and that he should sink with the weight;--though one would not suppose that it could have made much difference. I observed that at night he took off his new clothes, and merely threw his skin-rug over him; probably he would otherwise have been unable to go to sleep. But I must now hurry on, and merely give the chief incidents of our journey.	{ "id": "21493" }
10	JOURNEY COMMENCED--OUR NIGHT ENCAMPMENT--WITNESS A CORROBORREE, OR SKELETON DANCE--NATIVES VISIT US--A MAGICIAN PLAYS OFF HIS TRICKS-- NATIVE SUPERSTITIONS--JOURNEY RESUMED--CURIOUS TREES--CAMP ALARMED BY A "LAUGHING JACKASS"--HALT FOR THE DAY--EXPEDITION--DISCOVER AN OLD WOMAN TRYING TO AROUSE THE NATIVES TO ATTACK US--PULLINGO APPEARS TO WARN US-- WE RETREAT--A HURRIED MARCH--A LITTER FORMED FOR EDITH--AGAIN ENCAMP--A FUGITIVE--SURPRISED BY THE NATIVES--PROVE TO BE FRIENDS OF PULLINGO--THE MARCH RESUMED.	Having housed in the boat, and hidden such provisions and goods as we could not take with us, we commenced our journey. We each of us carried a pack containing ammunition, a pair of shoes, a change of clothing, flour, biscuit, and preserved meat, salt and other necessaries. My father had, in addition, his money, which he had saved from the wreck, a compass, a sextant, a map, and a book or two. Mudge was similarly loaded. I had my journal; and my mother insisted on carrying her own clothing, as well as some provisions, and her Bible; while Edith was quite unhappy till she was allowed to have a small parcel made up for herself. Each package was suited to the strength of the person who had to carry it. It is a very different thing to lift a weight which may appear perfectly light for a few minutes, and to have to carry it day after day on one's shoulders, with the addition of a musket, a brace of pistols, and a stout stick. Pullingo went ahead with his spears in his hand and his boomerang stuck in his girdle, fully conscious of his dignity. Paddy Doyle went next to him, or marched at his side for the purpose of keeping him in good humour, while he endeavoured to learn his language and teach him English. Mudge marched next with Tommy Peck; my father and mother followed, and either Harry or I accompanied Edith and Pierce, who led the goat between them; while Burton and Popo, with the other men, brought up the rear. When I was not with Edith, I either walked alongside Burton or went ahead with Mudge. After we left the neighbourhood of the river we emerged into a more open country; that is to say, the trees grew at a sufficient distance apart to enable us to see a long way between them. We flattered ourselves that we were not likely to meet with any natives for some time, as we fancied that all those in the neighbourhood had collected to feed on the carcass of the whale, and we knew that Pullingo would not lead us through a country inhabited by any tribes hostile to his own. I should say that the aborigines of Australia are divided into numerous separate tribes or families, living entirely apart from each other, retaining their own hunting-grounds, and so seldom intermixing that in many instances they are unacquainted with each other's language. We were led to suppose that Pullingo's tribe was chiefly located in the region to the south of the river, and that he had come farther north than usual when he fell in with us; we could only thus account for the confidence with which he marched on ahead, as if thoroughly acquainted with the country. We calculated that we had made fifteen miles, when we encamped for the night on the border of a thick wood to which Pullingo conducted us. On looking at the map, however, it seemed as if, after all our walking, we had made no progress, though the ground over which we had passed had been perfectly easy; and we knew from the account the bushranger had given us that we should have a mountainous and rocky region to cross, when our difficulties would be greatly increased. "Come, come," said my father, when he heard the remarks some of us were making; "I must not let you look at the map in future. All we have to do is to push bravely onward while we are on the move, and to rest at such spots as will afford us water and an abundance of game." The next day, having made as good progress as on the first, we had altogether accomplished thirty miles by sunset. We had thus made half a degree, which, as Tommy remarked, sounded at all events like something; and each day we managed to shoot as many parrots or pigeons as we required for food. Occasionally, too, Pullingo brought some down with his boomerang. We had been travelling on for some days, when one evening we encamped near what was now a rivulet, but it had already fallen considerably, and we could see by the appearance of the banks that it would probably ere long be dry. My mother and Edith, though they had walked on without complaining, were evidently tired, and my father proposed that we should remain there to rest, or only take a short journey the next day. So our camp was formed as usual; and our provisions having been cooked, we sat round the camp-fire to take our supper. We all shared alike: the food requiring cooking was boiled in our largest pot, the game and vegetables being cut up into small pieces, and biscuit or flour being added to it, with pepper and mustard. This was a favourite dish both for dinner and supper, and very excellent it was. My father and mother and Edith, with Mudge and I and the other boys, took our seats on one side, while the men collected on the other. Pullingo generally squatted down by the side of Paddy, whom he looked upon as his chief friend. They already managed to understand each other pretty well, eking out the few words they knew of each other's language by signs which it would have puzzled the rest of us to comprehend. This evening, Pullingo, instead of coming to the front, had seated himself some way behind Doyle, who handed him his basin of soup; and we had nearly finished our meal when, on looking up, I found that the black had disappeared. I had fancied, during the pauses in the conversation, that I heard strange sounds coming out of a thick part of the forest behind us, but I took but little notice of them. The idea which passed through my mind was that they were produced by a flock of parrots or cockatoos retiring late to rest. Presently I saw Pullingo come back and touch Paddy on the shoulder, making a sign to him to follow. Paddy got up, taking his gun, which lay by his side. Being curious to see whatever the black wished to show him, I took up my gun also, and crept on close behind him. The black led us in the direction from whence I had heard the sounds proceed, and which was, I should have said, directly to the south of us, or in the path we were about to pursue next morning. After going some way, I observed the glare of a fire reflected on the boughs of the trees ahead of us. We got nearer and nearer to it, when the black stopped behind some thick, low bushes. I saw Paddy stretching himself on tiptoe, and looking over them; and imitating him, I beheld a spectacle which sent a thrill of horror through me. Paddy's teeth were chattering and his limbs shaking, yet he still looked on with a fixed gaze, as if he could not force himself away. Directly in front of us, but some distance off, in the dark portion of a forest glade, appeared some twenty or thirty skeleton forms, every limb in rapid motion, twisting and turning and leaping,--the legs and arms being thrown out sometimes alternately, like the toy figures worked by a string for the amusement of babies and small children. Now they went on one side, now on the other; now they cast themselves towards the ground, as if they were about to turn head over heels, in the fashion of boys making a "wheel" alongside carriages; now up they leaped all together, now one following the other; till, after a succession of more extravagant motions than before, they suddenly disappeared. I thought they had gone altogether, when in another instant they again burst into view and recommenced the same performances as before. For the first few seconds--until I had time for reflection--I could scarcely help fancying that they were skeletons animated by magic power; and poor Paddy, I saw, fully believed that such was the case. All the time, a band of native musicians, with their drums, were furiously beating away directly in front of us, apparently unconscious of our presence. This convinced me, if I had required other proof, that human beings had to do with the spectacle I saw; and presently my notion was fully confirmed by seeing the seeming skeletons advance close to the fire, when I discovered the substantial black bodies of a party of natives painted over with white lines to resemble the bones of skeletons. They continued their strange, weird dance, twisting and turning, some with their arms akimbo, others resting on their legs. The groan of relief given by poor Paddy nearly betrayed our presence, of which I concluded Pullingo had not made them aware. What their object was it was difficult to say, or what was Pullingo's in bringing us to see them: possibly, I thought, aware of our presence in the neighbourhood, they wanted to frighten us from proceeding; or perhaps they were only performing a corroborree or native dance for their own amusement. After we had watched them for some time, I pulled Paddy's arm, and got him, not unwillingly, to retire from the scene. "Arrah, Misther Godfrey," he said, "sure they're curious crathurs, them black nagurs; and I confess, your honour, when I first saw them, that I felt nigh ready to sink into the ground and turn into a skeleton myself! But why Pullingo brought us to see them, is more than I can make out." "It puzzles me also," I said. "Perhaps my father or Mr Mudge will be able to form a conjecture on the subject." These remarks were not made till we were well out of hearing of the natives. Before we had got far, Pullingo joined us, and inquired, Paddy said, what we thought of the performance. The information we brought to the camp--of the vicinity of so large a party of natives--was anything but satisfactory, and made my father resolve to continue the journey next morning, instead of resting a day, as he had proposed; and my mother declared that she was perfectly able to travel, provided we could make a shorter stage than on the previous days. The account we gave of the curious skeleton dance performed by the blacks made Mudge, Tom, and Harry determine to go and see it. Burton offered to accompany them; but the rest of the men, after listening to the description given by Paddy, seemed to think that there was something weird and supernatural in it, and showed no inclination to join them. As for Pullingo, he made no attempt to explain matters, and I could not help suspecting that he had got up the performance himself for some purpose of his own. We waited some time for the return of Mudge and the rest; but they at length came back, saying that they had not been discovered, and that the skeletons were still dancing away as furiously as ever. My father determined that a double watch should be kept during the night. To set the example, he took the first, with Burton and one of the men; and I relieved him after a couple of hours. During the whole time I heard the drums beating in the distance, and I had no doubt that the natives were keeping up their corroborree, which I suppose afforded them as much amusement as a ball in England does the young ladies and gentlemen who attend it. Mudge, who followed me, said that he also heard the sounds during the whole of his watch; indeed, the natives must have kept up their festivities, if so they could be called, till the "laughing jackass"--which performs the duty of a cock in Australia, by chattering vociferously just before sunrise--warned them to seek repose. As we were anxious to avoid the natives, we started at daybreak, and marched nearly four miles before we halted for breakfast, munching only a little biscuit to stay our appetites. Pullingo led the way as usual, making us suppose that he had no connection with those who had been engaged in the corroborree. My father, however, did not entirely trust him: taking out his compass, he examined it frequently, to ascertain that he was conducting us on a direct course. We might, indeed, have dispensed with his guidance, had he not been of so much service in showing us where springs of water were to be found, as also in pointing out the trees on which parrots, pigeons, and other birds perched at night. After breakfast we rested for a short time, and then again pushed forward, hoping to keep well ahead of our black neighbours of the previous night. As it was impossible for my mother and Edith to make so long a journey as on the previous day, we halted early in the afternoon, in a wooded region very similar to that in which we had encamped on former nights, on the southern side of a stream which we had just before passed. I call it a stream, because water ran through it; but it consisted merely of a numerous succession of holes more or less deep, connected by a tiny rivulet, over which we could step without the slightest difficulty. We could see that in the rainy season the water had risen many feet, when it must have assumed the character of a torrent, difficult and often very dangerous to cross. We lost no time in building a hut for my mother and Edith, and in arranging shelter for ourselves. Mudge, Doyle, Harry, and I then took our guns and went out to kill some game for supper, hoping to get as many birds as would serve also for our breakfast next day. On looking about for Pullingo, to get him to accompany us, we found that he had disappeared; but in what direction he had gone no one could tell. "We can do very well without him," observed Mudge; "only we must take care not to lose our way." My father offered to lend us his compass, charging us to be very careful. Our object had been to shoot cockatoos, parrots, or pigeons, or indeed any other birds likely to prove good for food. We troubled ourselves very little about their names or habits; we were, indeed, sportsmen simply for the pot. We kept our eyes about us, however, in search of a kangaroo or any other animal; and either Mudge or I had our fowling-piece loaded with bullets, in case one should cross our path. We had already shot several beautiful doves and parrots; but even now I could not help feeling what a pity it was to deprive creatures with so lovely a plumage of life. We were walking on when Harry exclaimed, "Look! look! what is that fearful creature?" "A small bear, I do believe, by its colour and the way it walks," exclaimed Mudge as he ran on. "I hope soon to be better acquainted with the gentleman." The animal, which was leisurely pursuing its course, waddling along something like a fat bear, across the bottom of a slight depression in the ground, did not perceive us; and Mudge, whose rifle was loaded with a bullet, soon got sufficiently near to fire. His shot must have penetrated to the animal's heart, for it rolled over and was dead in a moment. On examining the creature, which was three feet long, we found its fur warm, long, and somewhat harsh to the touch, of a grey colour, mottled with black and white. Its muzzle was very broad and thick. It was, indeed, very similar to a bear, but it possessed a pouch like the kangaroo, and its feet were black, and armed with strong claws. "He is a curious-looking creature," observed Paddy, who quickly came up with us. "One thing is very certain,--whether it's a bear or a pig of these parts, it will give all hands a dacent supply of meat for the next day or two." Paddy at once set to work to cut up the animal, after which we loaded ourselves with the portions, I should think it must have weighed fully forty pounds. It was, I afterwards found, a wombat, or Australian bear, an animal very common in all parts of the country. It burrows deeply into the earth; but we were fortunate enough to find this one on a journey, otherwise we should not have obtained it so easily. We returned at once with our booty to the camp, when Paddy lost no time in spitting the wombat, and placing it to roast before the fire. The spit he used was a long thin stick, which he rested on two forked uprights before the fire; one end extending like the tangent of a circle to a sufficient distance, so that a person could keep turning it round and round without having to sit too close to the fire. Soon after our arrival Pullingo appeared, accompanied by three blacks, one of whom he formally introduced to us as Naggernook. He was apparently, judging by his withered skin and white hair and beard, a very old man; but he had not lost the use of his tongue, for he chattered away with extraordinary volubility, as if wishing to impress some matter of importance upon us--though what it was, of course we could not understand. The sight of the wombat roasting before the fire excited his interest, and he inquired of Pullingo how we had obtained it. Pullingo, pointing to our guns, entered into a long account of the wonders they were capable of performing; indeed, he himself, though he had so often seen them fired, seemed still to regard them with superstitious awe, which it was important for our interests that he should continue to feel. As my father was anxious to conciliate the blacks, he waited till one of the joints of the wombat was sufficiently roasted, and then presented it to Naggernook; who had no sooner received the present than he began jumping, and hopping, and skipping about in the most extraordinary manner, hugging it with delight. Having thus exhibited his satisfaction, if not his gratitude, he sat himself down on the ground, and began to devour the meat--taking off huge pieces, which he stuffed into his mouth in a fashion more honoured in the breach than in the observance; occasionally throwing a piece, though not without reluctance, to his two younger companions, who sat by his side, submissively eating what was thus bestowed on them, much after the way a couple of dogs would have done while watching their master at dinner. We had no wish for the society of these unattractive specimens of humanity, but they, it appeared, had made up their minds to remain, for the purpose of obtaining whatever we were disposed to bestow on them,-- or perhaps of stealing, if they had the opportunity. However, on that point we may have wronged them. As soon as the two lads had scraped every particle of meat off the bone Naggernook had thrown them, they collected some sheets of bark and put up a lean-to close to our camp, showing that they had no intention of going away. Pullingo, when he sat before the fire at supper, gave us, in a low voice, as if afraid they would overhear him, a long account of his native acquaintances who had honoured us with a visit; but what it was we could not clearly make out. One thing was certain,--that a considerable number of blacks were encamped in our neighbourhood, though whether we should be troubled by them remained to be seen. Of course we kept watch as usual, Mudge and I undertaking the charge of the second watch. We agreed to walk together round and round the camp; or if one sat down, the other was to move backwards and forwards, and to speak to him at each turn. We had been walking up and down for nearly an hour, when, feeling very tired, I sat down, while Mudge continued pacing up and down. He had just got to the end of his beat, the light of the fire still enabling me to watch him, when I saw him bending forward with his hand above his eyes, as if to peer into the darkness. As I got up and moved towards him, he stopped. Just then I saw, in an opening of the forest some way off, what appeared to be a human figure, standing on the summit of a mound of earth slightly elevated above the surrounding ground. Human though the figure was, it had a most extraordinary appearance. From the shoulders floated out, moved by the breeze which blew through the opening, the ends of a long scarf, with which its body was enveloped, like the wings of some huge bird of night. A long beard hung from its chin; while its hair, divided into separate long locks, rose in numerous points above its head. Not a sound issued from this extraordinary-looking being, who stood like a statue--with the exception of its arms, which it continued slowly to wave up and down in a series of mysterious signs, as if it would bar our progress in that direction; indeed, if I may not be accused of impiety by saying so, it reminded me of the angel with the flaming sword, stationed at the entrance of Eden to prohibit the return of our first parents,--though I am very certain that the idea must have been original so far as the Australian necromancer--for such, we concluded, was the character assumed by the being we saw before us--was concerned. He must have been a bold fellow, to endeavour thus to practise on the supposed credulity of the white men, for a shot from one of our rifles might quickly have put an end to his performances; but, of course, we did not for a moment think of firing at him. "What can be the object of that extraordinary-looking character?" I asked, as I got close up to Mudge. "A trick of the natives, I conclude, to try and frighten us," he answered. "Perhaps, as they know that they cannot compete with our firearms, they are trying to awe us with an exhibition of their magic powers; and that old fellow there is evidently acting the part of a sorcerer. I should suspect him to be our friend Naggernook, had I not seen him fast asleep in his camping-place when I last passed round that way. Just you go and see whether he is still there, Godfrey, while I keep an eye on the fantastic-looking personage out there." Moving cautiously, I made my way towards the spot where our visitors had gone to rest; and there, to the best of my belief, they were all three still fast asleep. I returned to Mudge, who had not moved, he being curious to watch the proceedings of the sorcerer. "Rouse up Pullingo," he said, "and let us see what account he has to give when he sees yonder scarecrow." I found our black guide sleeping in his usual place near Paddy Doyle. While I was waking him, Paddy started up. "There is an extraordinary-looking character playing off some trick or other not far from this, and we want to see what the black thinks about him," I said; "try and make him understand that we are not in the slightest degree frightened, and only want to know what can be his object in placing himself there." "But suppose it is a real ghost? For the love of Heaven, don't be after offending him," said Paddy in a low whisper; "there are such things in the old country, and none but a haythen man would think of doubting it. So do, Masther Godfrey dear, take care what you are about." Paddy having thus delivered himself, tried to make Pullingo understand that we had seen something extraordinary near the camp; and not without some hesitation did he accompany Paddy and me to where I had left Mudge standing. The effect produced on him upon seeing the figure was far greater than I had expected: the moment his eyes fell on it he began trembling all over; and shouting out at the top of his voice, "Karakul! karakul!" he bolted off towards the camp. His cries aroused the other natives, who, starting to their feet, fled away through the forest, uttering the same mysterious word. The noise they made, of course, aroused every one in the camp; and my father and Burton quickly joined us, inquiring what was the matter. We had naturally looked to see what had become of the blacks, and when we turned our eyes again towards the mound the mysterious figure had disappeared. "We must try and find the fellow, and teach him not to play his tricks before us," exclaimed Mudge, dashing forward. I and most of the party followed. Harry, however, brave as he was on most occasions, seemed almost as much frightened as the blacks, and entreated us to let the ghosts alone. In vain we hunted round and round the mound; no one could we discover: indeed, in the darkness, a person well acquainted with the locality could easily have escaped, and might still be hiding not far off. "There's no use in looking further for the fellow," observed Mudge; "but we must let him see that we are not frightened by his tricks." Returning to the camp, we made up the fire, and then went in search of Pullingo and his friends. After some time we found them, crouching down together in the hollow of a tree some way on the other side of the camp. Either they were very much alarmed, or they pretended to be so: their teeth were chattering, their limbs shaking, as they all clung together, holding each other's hands, and looking out of their hole with staring eyeballs; even their hair appeared to have assumed an upright position, as if it was standing on end. If not really frightened, they certainly acted their parts very cleverly. Calling Paddy, who had now recovered, and seemed rather ashamed of himself, we got him to persuade Pullingo and his friends to come with us to the fire; round which they sat down in their usual fashion, as if nothing had happened. I observed, however, that they looked every now and then in the direction in which the figure had appeared, and occasionally cast suspicious glances behind them. But a couple of roast parrots which we divided among them contributed to restore their spirits. By dint of cross-questioning Pullingo, we learned from him that the karakul was, as we suspected, a sorcerer--a being with unlimited power over the lives of all who offend him. He produces the death of his victim in a very extraordinary fashion, by means of a small bone extracted from the body of a dead man, which by his magical power he can send into the heart of any one whom he wishes to destroy. He obtains this bone by his enchantments. On the death of a native, he goes to the grave the night after the funeral, and going through certain magical performances, he afterwards lies on the top of it. At the precise moment that a certain star appears in the heavens the dead man comes forth, summoned by these incantations, and introduces within the skin of the karakul, without causing him more pain or inconvenience than does the bite of an ant, a minute bone taken from his own skeleton. The bone thus obtained remains concealed under the enchanter's skin till the moment that he requires to use it. He then, by magical power, orders the mysterious bone to go out of his own body and plant itself in that of the person he intends to destroy: it immediately enters the heart of his unhappy victim, who quickly dies in great agony. The enchanter, however, pretends not only to kill people, but to cure them. When he cannot do so by his incantations, he tries rubbing and various passes, much in the fashion of a mesmeriser. When these fail, he burns the arms and legs of his patients, bleeds them behind the ear, or hangs them up by an arm to the branch of a tree; if they are wounded, he covers up their wounds with an ointment of mud. If after the application of these remedies the patient does not get better, the karakul declares that it is his own fault, and washes his hands of it. "We have good reason to stand in awe of these powerful enchanters," observed Pullingo; at all events, that was what we understood him to say, as far as we could comprehend his gestures and words. When I came to know more about the natives, I found that his account was perfectly correct. He told us a good many other curious things relating to the superstitions of his countrymen; but I do not remember all of them. He told us that the natives are firmly convinced no person ever dies from natural causes; and that if not killed by his fellow-creatures, or destroyed by the spells of magicians, he would live on for ever without growing old or exhausting his physical powers. "Come, we've had enough of this stuff," said Mudge at last. "Tell your friends to turn in again and go to sleep; and you do the same, Master Pullingo, or you will not be fit for your duty to-morrow." Burton and one of the men relieved Mudge and me; but though they kept a look-out for the karakul, the magician did not think fit to return to his post: possibly the gleam of the fire on their muskets as they walked round the camp may have shown him that the experiment would be dangerous. We talked over the matter the next morning, and came to the conclusion that, for some reason or other, the natives were anxious to prevent us continuing our journey. Of course, we settled to take no notice; and as soon as breakfast was over we packed up our traps and got ready to start, telling Pullingo to lead the way. He hesitated, and finally declared that he could not venture in the direction where the karakul had appeared. "You may go any way you like," observed Mudge; "but we shall go straight forward, and you may join us on the other side." Naggernook and his attendants had been watching our proceedings, and when they saw that we were advancing in the direction of the mound they bolted off, crying out, "Karakul! karakul!" We replied with shouts of laughter. Mudge fired a shot ahead to make them understand that that would clear the way of all foes. It was a hint which they were well capable of understanding, and, we hoped, would prevent their countrymen from molesting us. Our great object was to avoid coming into collision with them, for if blood was once shed we could not tell where it might end. It was important to show the natives our power, and that we did not entertain the slightest fear of them. We marched forward in our usual order, and soon left the "sorcerer's hillock," as we called it, far behind. Whether he and his associates were following us we could not tell; though, of course, knowing the country, they might be advancing in the same direction on either side of us, and still keeping carefully out of sight. I have not spoken much as yet of the appearance of the country, or the trees we met with. Near the river, and as far as we could see along the coast, were groups of magnificent pines known as the Norfolk Island Pine, a hundred feet in height, with perfectly straight stems, fit for masts to the largest ships. The most numerous trees were the eucalypti, or stringy-bark tree, of various species, some of the prodigious height of a hundred and fifty feet; others were of enormous girth, many from thirty to forty feet round; and several, hollowed by age, were large enough to admit the whole of our party. Except for size, they cannot be called handsome, as the colour of the leaf is harsh and unsightly, owing to its margin being presented towards the stem, both surfaces having thus the same relation to light. In the hollows we met with superb ferns growing on stems some twenty feet in height, and about the thickness of a boat-oar. It then throws out a number of leaves in every direction, four or five feet in length, very similar in appearance to the common fern. Another curious tree had a stem sixteen feet long; after which it branched out in long spiral leaves which hung down on all sides, resembling those of the larger kinds of grass. From the centre of the leaves sprang a foot-stalk twenty feet in length, exactly like the sugar-cane, and terminating in a spiral spike resembling an ear of wheat. It yielded a fragrant-scented yellow resin. Pullingo having lost two of his spears, with which he had attempted to kill a big forester kangaroo, and which made off with them sticking in its back, he climbed to the top of several of these trees and cut down this upper stem. He then hardened them in the fire. On comparing the new spears with his old ones, we found that they were all of the same material. We before had been puzzled to know how he had obtained such straight and slender rods. Though we believed that Pullingo was attached to us, we were still very doubtful of the temper of his countrymen, and therefore, when on the march we kept close together, to be ready to resist any sudden attack. When we halted at mid-day to rest, we took care not to range to any great distance in search of game unless we had him with us. We seldom went more than a couple of days without killing a kangaroo or a wombat, while we obtained an ample supply of birds,--either cockatoos or parrots and parakeets, several varieties of pigeons, as also of doves, and now and then a bustard, or native turkey, a large bird weighing sixteen or eighteen pounds. Frequently, as we were marching on, we were saluted by a sound so like the crack of a whip, that Tommy and Pierce declared that some black boy near at hand must be amusing himself with one; and it was some time before we discovered that the sound was produced by a small bird either over our heads or perched on a tree near at hand. We marched on about ten miles, and again encamped close to one of the huge eucalypti I have before mentioned. Near at hand was a forest, or bush, somewhat denser than usual with hilly ground, which confined our view on that side to narrow limits. A stream of water tempted us to stop here rather than push on a few miles farther. My mother and Edith performed the daily journey without feeling any unusual fatigue; but the great heats had not begun, and the air was pure and exhilarating. Mudge, Paddy, and I were very successful in a shooting expedition on which we started, as soon as we had encamped, with Pullingo; Mudge having killed a good-sized kangaroo, and Paddy and I two dozen gaily-feathered birds, while Pullingo had brought down nearly a dozen more with his boomerang. We had intended going in the direction of the hills, but when he saw us setting off he made signs to us that it would be of no use; and when we still persevered he placed himself in front of us, and by the most violent gestures endeavoured to stop our progress. At length, as we dodged him, he turned back towards the camp and sat himself down on the ground, as if determined not to accompany us. We therefore gave up the attempt, and took the way he pointed out, along the banks of the stream, near which we found most of the birds we killed. On our return the men set to work to pluck our feathered prizes, while Paddy scientifically cut up the kangaroo; after which there was a grand cooking of flesh and fowl, while some cakes made by my mother were baked under the ashes. As a rule, the farinaceous food we were able to carry was reserved for my mother, Edith, and Pierce. We found scarcely anything in the shape of fruit, but we obtained a sort of wild spinach, and occasionally heads of cabbage-palms, which served us for vegetables, and assisted to keep the whole party in health. Supper was over, and my mother and Edith had just retired to their hut. Except Mudge and Paddy, who had to keep the first watch, the rest of the party were about to lie down under the lean-tos, when on a sudden there burst forth, close to us, a wild, unearthly, and abrupt yell of mocking laughter, as if uttered by a party of natives who, creeping on us unawares, had surrounded the camp, and now to their delight found that we were in their power. We started to our feet and seized our arms, expecting the next moment to have a shower of spears hurled into our midst; but when we looked round to see in which direction the enemy would appear, no one was to be seen. "Where can that have come from?" exclaimed Mudge. "The fellows must have retreated, whoever they were. Keep steady, my lads," cried my father; "on no account leave the camp. Their object probably is to entice us away, when they hope to destroy us in detail." My mother had come out of her hut with Edith, who stood trembling by her side. "Don't be alarmed," said my father. "The savages, finding that we are prepared, are not likely to attack us." "But there is no shelter for them nearer than the neighbouring bush; and that cry came from a spot close at hand," observed Mudge. "With your leave, Captain Rayner, I will take two men with me and soon rout them out of their lurking-place." "Depend upon it, they are far away by this time," observed my father. Scarcely had he spoken, when again there came that fearful yell, sounding like what I could conceive to be the horrible laughter of a maniac. "Why, I do believe it comes from some fellow who has climbed into this very tree," cried Mudge; "and I'll take the liberty of shooting him if he doesn't come down of his own accord." I had observed all this time that Pullingo sat very quietly by the fire, watching what we were about, and merely uttering the word "Gogobera;" but whether that was the name of the leader of the savages surrounding us, or of some supposed malign spirit, we could not tell. I now saw, however, that he was quietly laughing, evidently highly diverted by the alarm these strange sounds had produced among us. "The black knows something about it," I sang out. "I shouldn't be surprised if, after all, it was one of those necromancers he was telling us about playing off his tricks. Paddy, do you try and get him to tell us who has been making those hideous noises." Pullingo quickly understood Paddy, and getting up, went towards the branch of the tree at which Mudge and several others were looking up. Taking out his boomerang, he stepped a few paces back; then away it flew till it took a course upwards and penetrated amid the boughs, and the next instant down came a large bird, with a black head and a peculiarly strong beak. "Dat make laughee," he observed composedly. We found that our nocturnal visitor was no other than that well-known member of the feathered tribe, the "laughing jackass;" more scientifically denominated the "giant kingfisher." When I saw the bird, I was very sorry that it had been killed; for, notwithstanding its discordant voice, it is a remarkably sociable and useful creature, as we afterwards discovered. It destroys snakes, which it catches by the tail, and then crushes their head with its powerful beak; it also renders an essential service to the settlers who want to get up early, by shouting out its strange notes to welcome the approach of dawn--from which peculiarity it is also called the "settler's clock." We soon discovered that _gogobera_ was the name given to it by the natives. They, at all events, have no superstitious feeling regarding it; for Pullingo, plucking the bird, soon had it roasting before the fire; and, to the best of my belief, he had devoured the whole of it before the morning. "I hope we shall have no other disturbance during the night, and so I advise all hands to turn in," said my father. We quickly followed his advice. Probably, had the black not killed the poor gogobera, we should have been aroused betimes in the morning; as it was, the man who was on watch at that time did not think it necessary to call us till the sun was above the horizon. My father, I found, after consulting with Mudge, determined to remain where we were for the day, as our camp was well situated near water, and there was evidently an abundance of game to be obtained in the neighbourhood. Pullingo, who had over-eaten himself during the night with the gogobera, on hearing this showed no inclination to get up, but rolled himself over and went to sleep again. Mudge and I had been curious to know what sort of country lay beyond the hills in the direction Pullingo had been so unwilling we should take on the previous day. We determined, therefore, to set off as soon as breakfast was over. We did so, taking Paddy Doyle and Popo with us to carry our provisions, and armed with our fowling-pieces and pistols. As Pullingo was still fast asleep, we settled not to interrupt him. We set off, therefore, without waiting for the black, and at once made our way to the westward, through the forest. Soon reaching the top of the hill, we descended into the valley, which was still more thickly wooded than the country we had left. On we went, without seeing any birds at which to fire, till, as we happened to be standing without speaking, I fancied I heard the sound of voices coming from a distance. I told Mudge, who, on listening, was convinced that I was right. "Still, we will go on," he said. "If the voices are those of natives, we can but retire; and the very fact of our doing so will show them, should they discover us, that we have no ill-feeling or hostile intentions towards them." We went on and on through the thick forest, which afforded us ample shelter. The voices we had heard grew louder and louder, and we saw that we were approaching an opening, when just at the edge of it we found a thick belt of bushes, which completely concealed us from any one beyond, though we managed to look through it. The scene which presented itself induced us to remain instead of retiring. In the centre, on the top of a mound, stood a tall, gaunt old woman, her long white hair streaming behind her back in the wind. In her left hand she held a long stick, which she flourished above her head, while with the other she was making the most vehement gestures. Around the woman, and densely packed together, were collected a number of men of all ages, and a few women-- as we supposed, from seeing several sturdy infants rolling about on the grass by their sides. The eager faces of her audience were intently fixed upon her as she poured forth a torrent of words, the meaning of which was beyond our comprehension. So intently were they listening, that we ran but little chance of being discovered, unless she should happen to turn her eyes in the direction of the spot where we lay hidden. For several minutes she went on, eloquently addressing the assembly and wildly gesticulating, apparently in the endeavour to arouse them to some mode of action which she was advocating. From some of the words which reached our ears, we at length could not help suspecting that she was speaking about us, and advising the warriors of her tribe to put a stop to our progress through the country. The longer she went on the more convinced we became of this, and we could not help dreading that they would suddenly start up to rush towards our camp, and discover us. Mudge touched me on the shoulder, and made a sign to me to retreat while there was time. I passed it on to Paddy and Popo, who were on the other side. Just at that moment, on looking round, I saw the countenance of a black close behind me. Had our enemies surrounded us? If so, we should have to fight hard for our lives. Great was my satisfaction, when a second glance showed me that the new-comer was no other than Pullingo, who had crept cautiously up to us. He did not speak, but his gestures proved that he wished us to retreat as silently as he had approached. As this was undoubtedly the wisest thing we could do, we moved noiselessly away from the bush, stooping down as he was doing, so that we might escape being seen by the old witch on the top of the mound. Happily at that time her head was turned away from us, while she was addressing those on the further side of the circle. Pullingo led on without stopping for a moment, or venturing even to look back, probably fearing that he might be discovered, and bring down the vengeance of his countrymen upon himself. At all events, the fact of his having followed us, knowing the danger in which we might place ourselves, was a convincing proof of his fidelity. With unerring sagacity he led the way through the forest, and not till we had passed over the first range of hills did he stop to allow us to take breath. "Bad! --mighty bad, Paddy!" he said, turning round to his friend, and speaking with the accent he had learned from the Irishman. "If get killed, others say Pullingo did it. Bad! --mighty bad, Paddy!" he continued repeating, his limited stock of words not allowing him to express his opinion of our proceeding in any other way. "But if we had not gone, we should not have found out that the blacks were thinking of attacking us," answered Doyle. "They might have been down upon us during the night, and killed every mother's son among us before we were awake in the morning; so you see, Mr Pullingo, our journey has been of more use than you're inclined to suppose. And pray how comes it, if you knew they were there, that you didn't tell us?" "I tell by-and-by if dey come," answered Pullingo. "Now, on again;" and once more moving forward, he led the way to the camp. He either took a shorter route, or we got over the ground very much faster than when we were going, as we arrived considerably sooner than I expected. The account we gave my father made him hesitate about remaining where we were. We had still four hours of daylight, and by pushing on we might put a distance of ten miles or so between ourselves and the blacks. From what we had seen, and the few words we had understood, we gathered that the old hag, for some cause or other, was instigating her tribe to attack us. Pullingo was consulted on the subject; and when he understood that we proposed moving away, he advised that we should do so without delay. My father had been anxious to allow my mother and Edith time to rest: the strength of my little sister, indeed, was severely tried with the long walk she had taken every day since we had commenced our journey. "But, sure, we can carry the young lady," exclaimed Paddy. "I, for one, will willingly lend my shoulder. Sure, she's as light as a feather!" "And so will I," said Mudge. "I only wish we had thought of it before." Burton also, and one of the other men, volunteered to carry her. My mother thanked them, and declared that, so far as she herself was concerned, she was ready to proceed any distance which might be thought necessary. We accordingly at once set to work to construct a sort of palanquin. Several of the trees I have described, which have long foot-stalks above their leaves, from which the natives make their spears, were growing near, and from these two long poles were speedily cut. They were tough and light, and sufficiently strong to bear my sister's weight. Some cross-pieces were secured to them, and the intervals filled up with the long spiral leaves from the same tree. On the top of this network a piece of bark was fastened; thus, in less than five minutes a very suitable litter was constructed. Having quickly packed up our traps, we placed Edith on it and set out; Paddy declaring, with true Irish politeness, that his own pack felt all the lighter for having the young lady to balance it. Pullingo was evidently astonished at seeing the pains we took with the little girl, as his own wife and daughters would have had to carry any property they possessed, while he trudged ahead, laden only with his spears and boomerang,--not, by the way, that the Australian natives ever are the possessors of many weighty articles, dispensing, as they do when travelling, with houses or clothing or cooking utensils, or indeed any of the requirements of civilised beings. While acting as our guide, however, he seemed anxious to imitate us in all respects, and now marched ahead wearing the trousers and shirt which had been given him; looking upon them, however, more as an honourable distinction than as articles of necessity. The appearance of the country varied but little from that we had passed over. It was sufficiently level to allow of Edith being carried without difficulty, though in some places undulating, and covered pretty thickly with trees; generally, however, the country was thoroughly park-like, and I could not help expecting to see a herd of deer start up and go bounding away before us. In lieu of them, we occasionally caught sight of three or four kangaroos, and sometimes of solitary individuals,-- which, however, made their escape before we could get a shot at them. They are wary animals; and it is difficult to approach them unless where the cover is thick, and the sportsman is on the alert. But even when feeding they keep a watchful eye round on every side, to give notice of their two enemies, the natives or the dingos, as they approach. "Well, after all, this is a very jolly life," observed Tommy to me, as he and Harry and I brought up the rear, having been ordered to keep a look-out on every side, as well as behind us, lest any natives should be following our trail. "I only wish those black fellows would take themselves off and not interfere with us." "Perhaps they may be saying the same thing of us," I observed. "We must remember that we are the trespassers; and they, by right of previous occupation, consider the country their own, and are naturally not pleased at seeing us killing the animals on which they subsist." "But there must be enough for both of us," said Tommy, "judging from the number of birds we see overhead. And it is very foolish in them to attempt to interfere with the white men: the weakest must always go to the wall." "That may be," I observed: "but they have to learn that lesson; and in the meantime they fancy that they can drive us out of the country. We have, of course, a perfect right to come here; but we are bound to treat them with humanity, and to take every pains not to injure them or deprive them of their means of subsistence." "That, I am sure, is very right," observed Harry. "It is not their fault that they are ignorant savages; and we must think of what we should have been ourselves if we had not been instructed. I never can forget what I might have become had I been left with those dreadful people from whom you rescued me. I should have known nothing of God or of his love for man, or of his desire that man should be reconciled to him through his own appointed way, and come to live with him in the glorious heaven he has prepared, for ever and ever." "Then why is it that thousands and tens of thousands of savages, in all parts of the world, are allowed to live and die without ever hearing of him?" asked Tommy. "That is one of the many mysteries which man has failed to solve," I observed. "We cannot understand His plans; with regard to them, all we know is how He deals with us: for that we know through the Bible, where all seems to me perfectly clear." "I am sure it is," observed Harry; "I have been certain of that since your mother and Edith have read the book to me, and have taught me to read it for myself. It seems to me that people are ignorant because they will not read the book, or seek for grace to understand it." I was very glad to hear Harry say this, for it showed that my mother's instruction had not been thrown away on him. Indeed, besides being thoroughly guileless and honest, he possessed as much natural intelligence as anybody I ever met. We talked about many other things, and Harry was always ready to listen for the sake of gaining information. He delighted especially to hear about England, as well as other countries, and the numberless wonders of which he formerly had no conception. That day's march--to us, who had been out all the morning--was a very fatiguing one. We had, too, as I have said, to be constantly on the watch, especially when passing near thickets--so I will call them--of ferns or other closely-growing trees, which might afford concealment to the blacks. We knew that, cunning as they were, they were just as likely to appear ahead or on one side of us as behind. My father had given directions that, should we be attacked. Edith was to be placed on the ground, when we were to gather round her, forming a hollow square, in the same way that infantry are arranged to receive cavalry; but that no one was to fire until he gave the word. He always entertained a hope that the blacks, on seeing us well-prepared, would not venture to attack us. I was very thankful when at length, just as the sun was setting, Pullingo called a halt by the side of a wood. It was somewhat in a hollow, for the sake of a water-hole which existed at the bottom. Our camp, however, was pitched on a slope where the ground was dry. Around the spot grew some enormous ferns, as large as ordinary trees in the northern parts of the world. We lost no time in making preparations for passing the night: our huts were quickly put up and a fire kindled--the grass surrounding the place being first carefully cut down, so as to prevent any risk of it blazing up and setting the trees in flames. This, in dry weather, is the chief danger to be guarded against when travelling in Australia. Edith thanked her carriers for having saved her so much fatigue. "Sure, it's the pleasantest thing I've done for many a day, Miss Edith," answered Paddy, with a flourish of his straw hat; "and of course I just speak the sentiments of all the rest." Mudge, who was not in the habit of paying compliments, smiled; but he told Edith he was very glad to have been able to carry her, and that he should propose making a litter for Mrs Rayner, and letting Harry, and Tom, and Popo, and me act as her bearers for another day. Scarcely had we sat down to supper when we were saluted with the same discordant, laughing cry which had startled us on the previous evening; but this time, knowing from whence it proceeded, we felt no alarm; though I believe that, had not Pullingo killed the gogobera, we should not have been convinced that a bird could have produced such sounds. Of course, we kept a watch; but the night passed away without any event to disturb our rest. Even before the sun was up, our friend the "laughing jackass" woke us with his strange cries. Pullingo would have killed him with his boomerang, had we not begged his life; and soon after the sun was up, I observed him flying away to a place of safety, disturbed by seeing so many people moving about. As our rest had been cut short at the last place, my father settled to remain here till past noon, and to make only half a day's journey, so that we might start at dawn the next day and make some progress during the cool hours of the morning. We therefore sat quiet after breakfast, enjoying the rest we all more or less needed. Though I have not before mentioned it, my father, I should have said, invariably called all the party together for prayers, both morning and evening, and either he or my mother read a portion of the Bible to us. After this had been done, Mudge and I took our guns, in the hope of shooting some birds for dinner, which we intended to take before starting. We killed as many as we required; and finding it very hot, we agreed to rest under the shade of a huge fern, while we sent the game back by Popo, who had accompanied us, to be got ready for cooking. Mudge leaned back against a tree and lighted his pipe, while I sat close to him, enjoying the comparative coolness which the shade afforded. We had not been resting many minutes when we heard a rustling sound in the bushes; and supposing that it was caused by a kangaroo, I lifted my gun, ready to fire. At that instant a native burst from the cover; but on seeing us, with a look of astonishment and terror he sprang on one side, and continued his course at headlong speed, passing some thirty yards from us, and being quickly lost to sight. I was thankful that I had not fired, as I was nearly doing, before I discovered that it was a human being, rushing through the forest, and apparently, from some cause or other, flying from his foes. Had he merely been hunting, he would have retreated, as he would have known that the animal of which he was in chase was not likely to have passed us. "It proves, at all events, that the natives are timid beings, and that we have very little cause to fear them, or that fellow would not have been so frightened at seeing us," observed Mudge. Some time passed by, when Mudge looked at his watch. "I should think that the parrots must now be properly done; and we may as well return to the camp," he observed. "But, really, I feel very little inclination to get up." Just as he spoke I saw Pullingo close to us. He had approached so noiselessly, that, had he been an enemy, he might easily have surprised us. "Not good here; too far from camp," he said in a low voice. Scarcely had he said this when I heard a rustling in the direction from whence the native had appeared, and immediately afterwards seven dark forms--some with spears, others with axes or clubs, in their hands--came rushing forth into the sunlight, looking about in every direction, as if in eager search of some one or something. Concealed as we were by the high grass and the trunks of the trees, they did not at first perceive us, and earnestly I hoped that they might pass by without doing so. Pullingo crouched down, eagerly watching them, but without uttering a word. Mudge's hand moved towards his pistols; and I kept my finger on the trigger of my gun, ready to fire should they appear to have any intention of attacking us. They were more savage-looking fellows than any we had before seen--their countenances distorted with rage, and every action exhibiting the fury which animated them. Eagerly they looked about on every side; but not discovering the object of their search, were about to rush onward, when one of them caught sight of us. On finding that we were discovered, we both sprang to our feet with our guns ready to fire, determined to sell our lives dearly should they attack us, as we had no doubt they would; while with terrific shrieks they came bounding towards us, some with their spears ready to dart, others flourishing their axes and clubs. "I'll pick off the leading fellow, and you fire at the next," cried Mudge; and I was on the point of obeying him, when Pullingo started up and uttered some words in his own language, the meaning of which we could not understand. The natives stopped, and Pullingo cried out to us, "Don't shoot! don't shoot!" He was but just in time. "Dey not enemy," he said. He now advanced and exchanged a few hurried words with the natives, who, I had very little doubt, were in pursuit of the black we had previously seen; but, of course, we did not let them know that he had passed us. Having exchanged a few more words with Pullingo, they continued their course in the direction the fugitive had taken, while we returned with Pullingo to the camp. On the way he told us that the fugitive had committed a murder or some other crime, and that the avengers were following him to take his life. Alas! for him, poor wretch! there was no city of refuge in the land; and unless he could exhibit more cunning and endurance than his seven pursuers, his fate was sealed, and probably ere the sun had set he would be numbered with the dead. We were thankful for our escape, for had we killed one of them in our ignorance of their intentions, the others would have set upon us; and we should either have been compelled to shoot the whole of them, or have been pierced through and through with their lances. It was, at all events, fortunate that Pullingo had come up just at the right moment. Before we reached the camp he resumed his shirt and trousers, which, for some reason or other which he did not explain, he had hidden away in the bush. I could not help fancying that he knew his countrymen might pass by that way; and having found out where we were, he had come to warn us of our danger. We narrated the adventure to my father and the rest of the party; and after the description we gave of the blacks, they expressed a hope that we should not fall in with them. Our game, as we had expected, was ready for taking off the spits; and as soon as we had discussed it, we prepared for our departure.	{ "id": "21493" }
11	VISITED BY MORE BLACKS ON OUR MARCH--WONDER AT OUR THUNDER-MAKERS--A PERMANENT CAMP FORMED--MUDGE AND I SET OFF TO EXPLORE THE WAY--PULLINGO DISPOSES OF HIS GARMENTS--CROSS A RIVER--REACH THE FOOT OF THE RANGE-- PULLINGO MEETS HIS SON QUAQUAGMAGU--HIS DETERMINATION TO LEAVE US--THE CAVERN OF THE MOON--A NATIVE LEGEND--OBSERVE THE NATIVES WORSHIPPING BEFORE THE CAVERN--DESERTED BY PULLINGO--WE PROCEED WITHOUT HIM--ENTER A RUGGED REGION--SKELETON OF THE BUSHRANGER--CAMP UNDER A ROCK--OUR WATER EXHAUSTED.	We travelled on for several days, happily escaping any molestation from the natives. A few came near us, to whom Pullingo explained that we were merely passing through the country, and that we wished to be on friendly terms with the black men,--but at the same time that we possessed the power, with our wonderful thunder-makers, of destroying all our enemies. Now and then an individual bolder than his companions would come up to us while we were on the march, or when we were encamped, for the purpose of examining the said thunder-makers, as they called our firearms, more closely; but when they did so they gazed at them with the utmost astonishment and awe in their countenances, and quickly took their departure, evidently thinking it not safe to remain in the neighbourhood of such formidable beings. All this time even Pullingo himself had never ventured to touch a firearm, so that he had no idea how the explosion was produced. The greater number of the blacks we saw, however, scampered off as soon as they caught sight of us. The country over which we passed was very similar to that I have before described. One evening, as we were passing over a higher hill than usual, we caught sight in the far distance of a blue range of mountains, which it was very clear we must cross to get to the southward. How high it really was we could not decide, but it appeared of considerable elevation, and, we feared, would prove rugged and barren. When we were encamped that evening, after my mother and Edith had retired to their hut, my father expressed his fears to Mudge and me that they might suffer much inconvenience and hardship, if not danger, in passing over it. "I wish that I had shown more resolution in preventing my poor mates from going away in the long-boat," he observed; "had I induced them to wait till the stormy season was over, they might have accomplished the voyage in safety, and we should by this time probably have been succoured by a vessel from Sydney, and saved the fatigue of this long journey." "You acted for the best, sir," observed Mudge; "and perhaps the difficulties we have to go through may not be so great as you anticipate. However, I have been thinking over the matter, and if you will allow me and one other person to set out, with Pullingo as a guide, supposing we can induce him to accompany us, we will explore the route, while you remain encamped in some eligible position near water with the rest of the party, where you can obtain abundance of game. Doyle is a capital shot, and sure amply to supply your larder. We, having ascertained the best road to take, will return for you; and perhaps on the other side of the range we may fall in with settlers, from whom we may obtain horses on which Mrs Rayner and your daughter could perform the rest of the journey. Two or three men can often make their way easily in a region through which a larger party would find it difficult if not impossible to proceed." "I am indeed most grateful to you for your offer," said my father; "but whom do you propose taking with you? I confess that, for the sake of my wife and daughter, I am unwilling to weaken our party, in case the natives should visit our camp, and, seeing only a few men, might be tempted to molest us." As soon as I had heard Mudge's proposal, I determined if I could to accompany him. "Let me go," I exclaimed. "I can endure as much fatigue as any one; and though I can use my rifle to some effect, the blacks, looking upon me only as a boy, would not consider that I added to the strength of the party: and thus you will retain five men besides yourself, while I think I shall be of as much assistance to Mudge as any one else." "I shall be very happy to have you, Godfrey," said Mudge, "if your father approves of your going; indeed, I had thought of proposing that you should accompany me. What do you say, Captain Rayner? I will defend him with my life, should he be exposed to danger--not that I think we shall have to encounter any. And we may depend, I think, on our guns for supplying ourselves with food." My father considered the matter, and, greatly to my satisfaction, finally agreed to let me accompany Mudge. He explained the plan to my mother the next morning, observing: "We allowed Godfrey to go to sea, and surely he will have to encounter no greater danger by accompanying so sensible and determined a fellow as Mudge, than he would have had to run constantly while performing the duties of his profession." The matter being settled, we lost no time in making our preparations. We had some alterations to make in the contents of our packs, that we might each carry a sufficient store of the articles we were most likely to require. We took an ample supply of powder and shot, a tinder-box apiece, the most portable food we possessed, and bottles to contain water, with a pocket-compass and a spy-glass, and an additional pair of shoes. We had also a kettle to boil water for making our tea, and a tin cup apiece to drink it out of, with a spoon, a plate apiece, and a couple of knives and forks. Our camp equipage, though not elaborate, was as complete as we desired. Our legs were encased in strong gaiters. We left our party encamped on the summit of a mound, from which they could obtain a view on every side; while the trees, with the addition of some stockades placed between them, would enable them effectually to defend themselves against any attack of the natives. At the foot of the mound ran a stream with several deep water-holes in its course, which were not likely ever to become dry; while the trees along its margin were frequented by various descriptions of birds. Thus an abundant supply of food could always be obtained. Between it and the range was a more thickly wooded country than we had hitherto passed through, and of some extent, which prevented us from seeing the character of the ground beyond. Through this we should have to make our way. We should, however, have some distance to go before we could reach the actual base of the hills. Pullingo, as far as we could ascertain, had no objection to accompanying us; and besides our guns, we each had a brace of pistols, an axe, and a long knife. At early dawn, after a hearty breakfast, all the party having got up to wish us good-bye, we set out. The clearness of the atmosphere deceived us, and it took us some time before we entered the forest. The rays of the sun, as they gleamed through the trees, showed us the direction we were to take. Mudge went first, and I followed, for there was often not room between the numberless creepers which hung down from the boughs to make our way two abreast. Pullingo had, I observed, for some days past been giving signs that he was becoming tired of the routine of our life, so different from that which natives are accustomed to lead. He now, instead of going ahead, lagged behind, merely pointing in the direction we were to take, and which we knew perfectly well without his assistance. Directly we entered the forest I saw him making all sorts of extraordinary gestures, and after going on a little way I observed that he had taken off his shirt. A minute afterwards, what was my surprise on turning round to see him holding his trousers in his hand; then, flourishing them for an instant in the air, he pitched them on to the bough of a tree, where they hung fluttering in the breeze, while he bounded forward, as if delighted at finding himself free of the garments which had so long proved irksome to him. I hailed Mudge, and asked him whether he ought not to be told to go back and get his clothes. "Let him alone," was the answer; "he is only following the bent of his nature; he is perfectly welcome to run naked if he likes, though I suspect that when we come to cross the tops of the hills he will be sorry that he got rid of them." So strange, however, were the black's antics, that I began to fear he had lost his senses. He shouted and laughed, and tumbled head over heels, and skipped, and jumped about in the most extraordinary manner, as if rejoicing in his regained freedom. "I suppose he fancies that his clothes will hang there till he comes back, when he intends to appear decently, I hope, at the camp," I remarked. "I don't think he troubles himself about the future," answered Mudge; "he just now feels as much satisfaction at being without his clothes, as you or I would in getting a warm bath and putting on a clean shirt and trousers." We were some time in making our way through the forest, Pullingo not taking any special trouble to pick out the best path. We had expected almost immediately to commence our ascent of the mountain, but on emerging from the forest we saw before us a valley, with a broad stream flowing through it. By the rapidity of the current we judged that it made a direct course to the sea; and it was evidently far too deep to allow us to hope that we could wade across it. We pointed it out to Pullingo, who had now become a little more quiet, and asked him how he proposed to cross the river. He at once turned back, and going towards a huge old stringy-bark tree which stood out some way from the rest, stripped off two large pieces of bark, which he invited us to assist in carrying down to the water's edge. He then, looking about, got some long grass of a peculiar nature, with which he quickly manufactured some strong twine; then bending up the ends of the bark, which yielded easily to the pressure he bestowed on it, and using a pointed stick as an awl, he soon sewed them together. Both pieces were treated in the same way. He then got some clay from the bank of the river and stuffed it into the ends; and thus in a wonderfully short time had manufactured two canoes. From some small pieces of bark and a pole, which he cut with my axe, he also speedily formed a couple of paddles. We had all along intended, it will be remembered, should we meet with rivers, to make some canoes for crossing them; but he, in less than a quarter of the time that we should have employed in making one, had formed two which would answer the purpose--though I should not, I own, have liked to undertake a long trip in one of them. He signed to Mudge to get into one, while he seated himself in the other, beckoning me to follow, which I did without hesitation, though the water reached almost up to the gunwale. We were quickly across; then he drew the canoes carefully up the bank, and placed them side by side, showing how he recollected that we might require them on our return. We had been much deceived as to the distance; and we found that we had still some way to go before we got actually among the ranges we had to traverse. How wide they might be we could not tell; it might take us a day or two, or several days, to cross them. The evening found us making our way over a tolerably level country, the hills which we thought so near in the morning being still at some distance. Here and there vast eucalypti of enormous growth were scattered about, towering to the sky; some decayed and hollow, with their limbs scathed by lightning, and their bark hanging down in long strips, like ragged giants, others still covered by sombre foliage. We were struck by Pullingo's manner; he kept looking about him, not as if the region were strange to him, but as if he were searching for something. The shadows of the tall trees continued increasing in length; at last Mudge proposed that we should forthwith encamp, and accordingly made Pullingo understand that we intended doing so. He nodded his consent to our proposal, and at once began to collect bark for a lean-to and wood for a fire. Relieving ourselves of our packs, we assisted him, and had soon erected our shelter for the night, close to the trunk of one of the enormous trees I have described. These arrangements being made, we took our guns, and in the course of a few minutes had shot as many birds as we required for our supper and breakfast. On returning to our camp we saw, to our surprise, Pullingo seated on the ground opposite another black, on whose knees his hands rested, while they gazed into each other's faces. They were talking earnestly together, as if they had matters of the greatest importance to communicate. As we drew near enough to distinguish the features of the stranger black, we recognised our old acquaintance, Pullingo's son, Quaquagmagu. So deeply were they engaged, they did not even perceive our approach; and as we had no wish to disturb them, we retired to a distance to wait till they had finished their conversation. Finding, however, that we might wait till midnight, and as we wished to get our pigeons plucked and roasted, we once more drew near. At length perceiving us, they sprang to their feet; when Pullingo exclaimed, "Son--Quaquagmagu--me, me!" "Of course we recollect him," said Mudge, shaking him by the hand. I did the same, apparently much to the young man's satisfaction. "And what brought your son here?" inquired Mudge, as if he knew that it would be useless to put the question to Quaquagmagu. "All, all," answered Pullingo, shaking his head; and he poured forth a torrent of words which we could not understand. At length, however, we made out, chiefly by signs, that something was wrong at home--either that his children were ill, or that his wife had run away; at all events, that he wished to return northward. This was to us a serious announcement, as we had greatly depended on his assistance for traversing the country. It had, however, been tolerably evident that he had got tired of acting as our guide; indeed, few of the wild natives can ever be depended upon for associating with the whites for any length of time. Only the younger men, who get gradually habituated to civilised customs, will ever remain faithful to the duties they undertake. Pullingo was no exception to the rule. "Will it be necessary for us to turn back?" I asked. "Certainly not," answered Mudge; "we can make our way very well without him, and as it is important for the sake of your mother and sister that we should undertake the journey, I say, by all means let us push on." "I am perfectly ready to do so," I answered; "indeed, I very much doubt whether Pullingo knows anything about the mountains, and I suspect that from the first he had no intention of conducting us over them. I suppose, however, that he does not intend to leave us at once?" "Little fear of that while we have the pigeons roasting at the fire," observed Mudge. "Perhaps during the evening we shall be able to learn more about the matter; however, in the meantime we must make him and his son assist us in plucking the birds, for I am getting pretty sharp set." Pullingo and Quaquagmagu very willingly obeyed our directions, especially as they were to benefit by the task, and we quickly had a dozen pigeons and parrots roasting on as many spits. "And so, Pullingo, you intend to leave us to make our way over the hills by ourselves! That is not treating us properly," observed Mudge. The black hung down his head, as if he had understood every word that was said, and then with a sigh pointed northward. "But why couldn't you have told us this before?" asked Mudge. Pullingo pointed to his son, to intimate that he had brought him intelligence which made him wish to return. "And has he come all this way by himself?" asked Mudge, making signs at the same time to explain his meaning. The black intimated that he had not come alone, but that several of his tribe had accompanied him, for some object or other which we could not make out. We were puzzled also to discover how Quaquagmagu had known where to find his father. It showed us that the blacks had some secret means of communicating with each other of which we were ignorant. We sat by our camp-fire endeavouring to hold a conversation with Pullingo. His stock of words was but small; though, considering the time he had been with us, it was wonderful that he had gained the meaning of so many. We both eked them out by signs, in making use of which the black was singularly clever. Our aim was to ascertain the object for which Quaquagmagu and his companions had come into that part of the country, but we were for a long time excessively puzzled to understand the meaning of Pullingo's words and gestures. It had something to do with the moon, and also with a large cavern; but whether they had come to worship the moon, or some object in the cavern, we could not clearly make out. It was not till long afterwards that I understood what he wished to tell us. In the early days of the world, the moon, who was then a very beautiful young woman, lived happily in the midst of the forests through which we had lately passed. It was her custom to take up her abode in a large cave in the side of the mountain we were approaching. Here she would have remained till the present day, had she not, by the envy of some evil spirits, been driven from earth, and condemned to exist only in the night up in the sky. The stars, the blacks believe, are the tears of regret which the moon sheds when weary of her banished condition. When she gains a certain position in the sky, however, she is able to look down upon her former well-beloved abode, on which she is wont to shed a brilliant light; unless her enemies, by means of clouds which they send across the heavens, deprive her of the only pleasure she enjoys in her solitary existence. Those of her mortal relatives who still regard her with affection, make a point of paying an annual visit to the place she loved so well when on earth; and it appeared that a large party had been made up by Pullingo's tribe with this object in view. The ceremony, if so it could be called, was, we understood, to take place the following night. Anxious as we were to push forward, we would not have allowed ourselves to be stopped by such an object; but as the cavern existed some way up the mountain, we thought that we should probably not be able to get much beyond the spot. Our curiosity, indeed, had been excited by what Pullingo had told us, and we were glad of an opportunity of witnessing anything like a religious ceremony performed by the blacks; for, from what we had heard of them, we supposed that they were utterly destitute of anything approaching to religion. At length Mudge told Pullingo that it was time to turn in. We retired to our hut, leaving him and his son to creep under a lean-to they had put up. Though we believed that we could thoroughly trust his honesty, and that our lives also would be safe while he was near us, we agreed that it would be prudent not to let him suppose that we should both be asleep at once. Accordingly, after Mudge lay down I walked about with a gun in my hand, to show that we were on the watch; and when I did go to sleep, I made a pillow of my knapsack, and held a pistol in my hand. We were awakened in the morning by the loud cry of our friend the "laughing jackass." As Pullingo and Quaquagmagu had eaten up the remainder of the birds we had shot, we immediately started to obtain a fresh supply. This was not difficult to do, and we soon killed enough to feed all hands and to enable us to carry some with us for the next day's journey. Then shouldering our muskets, we set out with our faces to the hill, the two blacks accompanying us. "Perhaps Pullingo is, after all, sorry for having intended to desert us, and will still continue our guide," I observed. "Not much chance of that," answered Mudge. "Depend on it, he'll take French leave whenever it suits his convenience." Still, I was inclined to believe that the native would prove faithful. Neither he nor his son, however, offered to carry our packs; though Pullingo chatted as usual, and seemed in a particularly merry mood. In the afternoon, after having stopped for dinner,--when we fed our attendants with the produce of our guns,--we were already among the spurs of the mountains, amid which the trees were of even more gigantic growth than lower down. Instead of ascending abruptly, we found ourselves in a valley with a gentle slope, penetrating far into the range. As the sun was now setting, we agreed to camp under a tall tree by the side of a stream flowing down the valley, which would supply us with water. We had shot some birds on our way, so we at once set to work to collect bark for our hut and wood for our fire. Pullingo and his son assisted us; but we observed that they did not put up a lean-to for themselves. We were busily engaged in preparing our birds for supper, when, after we had spitted them, on looking round we found that our black companions had disappeared. "I suppose they will come back for their share," observed Mudge. Even when the birds were roasted they did not return, so we ate our supper and prepared to take our rest. The moon, by this time, had risen high in the sky, and was shedding her beams on the precipitous side of the valley a little way below us. I was on the point of dropping off to sleep, Mudge having agreed to keep watch, when I was aroused by a chorus of strange, unearthly cries. "Depend upon it, these must proceed from our black friends, who are paying their respects to the cavern of the moon," observed Mudge. "I thought just now I caught sight of some figures moving over the ground. Probably Pullingo and his son are among them. Let us go and see what they are about." I willingly agreed. Strapping on our packs, which we were too wise to leave behind, we proceeded in the direction from which the sounds came, knowing that the light of the fire would enable us to find our way back to the camp without difficulty. In a short time we caught sight of a number of dark figures forming a semicircle in front of a cavern, the entrance to which was surrounded by trees and numberless creepers clinging to the rock. The men were dancing in their usual strange fashion, leaping and springing, and twisting their bodies into all sorts of curious attitudes; singing at the same time at the top of their voices. Suddenly, at a signal from their fugleman, they all dropped down on their knees and began to creep towards the cavern, rubbing their noses every now and then on the ground. Thus they continued moving about in front of the cavern, no one apparently daring to approach too near the entrance. As we were unwilling to be discovered, which we thought would be the case should they on rising face about in our direction, we slowly retreated towards our camp. On looking back, we saw that they were still crawling about on hands and knees; and as the spectacle was rather humiliating than interesting, we did not feel inclined to watch their further proceedings. After lying down I was very soon asleep. When Mudge called me, he told me that the shouting and singing had been going on ever since, and that neither Pullingo nor his son had returned. "They'll come back, however, before morning," I observed. I was wrong, for when I awoke they were not visible; nor, as far as our telescope could enable us to distinguish objects, was a black to be seen. We had several birds remaining, and we cooked them; still fully expecting that Pullingo and his son would return for breakfast. We ate our portion, keeping the remainder for them; but after waiting for some time, they did not make their appearance. "It would be useless to lose more time," observed Mudge at length. "It is very evident that Pullingo and Quaquagmagu have taken French leave, and gone off with their companions. The chances are that we shall see no more of them. If the old fellow changes his mind, which perhaps he may do when he recollects the pleasant roasts with which we supplied him, he can easily track us along the valley." "I can scarcely fancy that he would have gone off without wishing us good-bye," I observed. "We'll give him another chance: I'll fire off my gun, which I suppose he will understand as a signal that we are on the march." "Don't throw away a shot for so uncertain an object," answered Mudge. "Let us look out for the birds; we may as well carry as much food as we can into the mountains, in case we should find none there." I followed Mudge's advice; and looking about, soon caught sight of a magnificent cockatoo, at which I let fly and brought it to the ground, the echoes of the report reverberating down the valley. "If our black friend is in the neighbourhood he must have heard that shot," I observed. Returning with my prize, we packed up our traps, stuffing the roast pigeons into our kettle, which Mudge carried, while I hung the unplucked bird outside my pack. "Forward!" cried Mudge, and we turned our faces up the mountain. We soon got into a region very different from any we had as yet met with. Wild, rugged, and barren rocks rose around us, and a stunted vegetation alone appeared in the gorges along which we made our way. Still we pushed on, steering by our compass, which told us that we were keeping a pretty direct course to the southward. Fortunate it was that we had brought food with us, for not a bird appeared, nor did we see an animal at which we could get a shot. We, of course, carefully noted the way, not only that we might know it again, but to judge whether it could be easily traversed by animals. As yet we agreed that a sure-footed horse could easily get along, rugged as the way was, and steep in some places. At length we came to the steep side of a mountain, over which we ourselves, laden as we were, might be able to make our way, though it was very certain that no horse could either ascend or descend it with safety. I proposed, notwithstanding, that we should climb it. "We'll not do that if it can be avoided," answered Mudge. "It may take us less time to get over it, but it will be more advantageous to our friends if we can make our way either to the right or left." We looked about and soon found a route to the right, which appeared practicable, as far as we could see; but where it would lead us to, we could not tell. "There's nothing like trying," observed Mudge; "and a perpendicular precipice alone should stop us." He was right; and after proceeding about a mile to the eastward, we descended again into a valley which led in the direction we wished to take. A cascade which came tumbling down the rock tempted us to stop, although no trees from the bark of which we could form a hut were to be seen. The shrubs, however, which grew in the neighbourhood of the fall afforded us a supply of firewood. As we could find no cave or hollow for a sleeping-place, we cut down a quantity of boughs, and arranged them so as to screen ourselves from the cool breeze which blew along the valley; but, from the dry appearance of the grass, and our own previous sensations, we judged that the place was hot enough during the day, when the sun beat down into it. We soon had our kettle boiling; and having eaten some of our cold pigeons--which, by the way, were rather high by this time--we drank our tea, and lay down to sleep, with our firearms by our sides. There was not much chance of our being interfered with by natives, and we also concluded that no dingos were likely to find their way into a region destitute of all other animals. There is no country in the world, indeed, in which a traveller can rest so securely at night, provided no natives attack him, as in Australia. Perhaps I might except the risk from snakes; but these are only to be met with in the hotter spots, and even the venomous ones seldom bite unless attacked. Dreary as was the aspect of the region in which we were encamped, compared with the scenery to which we had been accustomed, we slept, however, without fear; and the next morning, having taken a shower-bath in the waterfall, we breakfasted, and set off in good spirits. "No signs of Master Pullingo," observed Mudge. "He might have found it difficult to track us over the rocky ground, even had he wished it; but I suspect that he has gone away north with his friends, and that we shall not again set eyes on him." We trudged on along the bottom of the gorge, the heat as the sun rose and beat down into it becoming greater and greater till it was almost insupportable. The scenery became still wilder as we advanced, and much more arid; often bare rocks alone were to be seen on either hand, with only the most stunted vegetation, and no signs of water. We travelled on till noon, when we stopped under the shade of a rock to eat our frugal meal. We had, of course, filled our bottles in the morning, and therefore did not suffer from thirst, though we had been compelled to exhaust a large portion of their contents. Hitherto the route we had fortunately hit upon was practicable for horses, though in many places the riders would have to dismount in order to proceed with safety. The day was well advanced when, as we were making our way through a narrow gorge, we came upon the bones of a large animal; which, upon examination, proved to be those of a horse--picked completely clean, however, by birds or insects. "This shows that some traveller has been trying to make his way through this defile; and if he came from the southward, it should encourage us to hope that the route is practicable for four-footed beasts," observed Mudge. "Yes," I remarked; "but also, I fear, it makes it probable that there is but little water or herbage, and that the poor animal must have died from hunger and thirst. And look there! see, here are the bit and stirrups, and the ironwork of the saddle. The rider must have found it necessary to desert his steed without attempting to preserve them. Look there! under the cliff are also part of a knapsack and other things." We hurried on to the spot at which I pointed. There lay a gun, a brace of pistols, a tinder-box, a clasp-knife, powder-horn, the brass of a shot-belt, and many other articles. The knife attracted my attention-- it was exactly like one I had lost; and taking it up, what was my surprise to see my own initials on the small plate in the handle, which I had myself cut. "That powder-horn is one I have used," observed Mudge; "I left it in the store, intending to fill it. Let me see,--it was the very day before the bushrangers paid us a visit. I have no doubt that the horse was one ridden by the fellow who escaped, and that he must have been making his way across the mountains when the animal fell down and died." "If so, he must have been very hard pressed, or he would not have left his gun and ammunition, on which he depended for subsistence, behind him," I observed. "You are right, Godfrey; and I have no doubt he must have been overtaken by sickness, or been starved to death." Immediately after, Mudge exclaimed,--"See! there is a piece of cloth hanging in that bush above our heads; perhaps it was intended as a signal to any passer-by, or has been blown there by the wind. I'll take off my knapsack and climb to the top; there appears to be a broad ledge, from which I may get a view down the gorge, and perhaps discover the most practicable path for us to follow." Mudge did as he proposed; when, getting his head above the level of the ledge, he turned round and exclaimed,--"It is as I expected. There lies the skeleton of the unhappy wretch, picked as clean as the bones of his horse. He must have climbed up here for the purpose of looking about him, and sunk down and died. Not an article of clothing remains; the ants and birds must have carried that off." "Heaven grant that his fate may not be ours!" I could not help mentally exclaiming. Mudge having looked round the ledge, and taken a glance along the valley, now rejoined me. We had no time to lose, and were glad to get away from the remains of the unhappy man and his steed. The powder-horn was empty; and as we did not wish to add to the weight of our knapsacks, we left that and the other articles, with the exception of my knife, which I put in my pocket. We were very doubtful at times whether any horse could get over the rough ground along which we made our way. At last, night approaching, we were obliged to encamp in a wild and desolate spot, the least satisfactory we had as yet stopped at. The only shelter we could find was under an overhanging rock; such bushes as we could see not affording us the means of building a hut or putting up any protection against the night wind, which blew keenly across the heights. We managed, however, to cut a sufficient quantity of dry wood to light a fire, at which to boil the tea-kettle and cook our last remaining bird. It was somewhat high, but we ate a portion notwithstanding, reserving some for breakfast next morning. We had now only a few mouthfuls of water at the bottom of our bottles, and, as far as we could judge from the appearance of the country to the southward, which presented a succession of rocky heights, it might be long before we could replenish our store. We had still, however, some preserved meat and flour and a small quantity of biscuit, which we had hitherto carefully husbanded; and we hoped before that was exhausted to get into a region where game and fruits of some sort could be found. We did not, therefore, allow our spirits to be depressed. It was a great thing to be conscious that we were performing an important duty; and I especially felt very thankful that my mother and Edith had not been induced to attempt crossing the mountains on foot before we had explored the way. The place we had chosen was, at all events, dry enough, and we hoped, by creeping close under the rock, not to suffer much from the cold. Having said our prayers,--which, I may here observe, we always did both morning and evening,--we recommended ourselves to the care of our heavenly Father, and fearlessly lay down to rest.	{ "id": "21493" }
12	JOURNEY ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN-RANGE--WE MOUNT HIGHER AND HIGHER--I NEARLY GIVE IN--REACH THE HIGHEST RIDGE--DESCEND BY A RUGGED VALLEY-- BENIGHTED--TAKE SHELTER IN A CAVERN--VISIT FROM DINGOS--DISCOVER A PITCHER-PLANT--KILL A ROCK KANGAROO--JOURNEY CONTINUED FOR A MONTH-- POWDER AND SHOT EXPENDED--MUDGE SINGS TO KEEP UP OUR SPIRITS--FOUND BY A SHEPHERD'S HUT-KEEPER--NIGHT AT THE HUT--ARRIVE AT CAPTAIN HUDSON'S STATION--WELCOMED--HIS FATHER'S JOY AT HEARING THAT HARRY IS ALIVE--I BECOME ILL--LILY'S FATHER--EXPEDITION UNDER HIM TO ASSIST OUR PARTY-- NURSED BY LILY--I RECOVER--ARRIVAL OF OUR PARTY--MY FATHER SETTLES NEAR	CAPTAIN HUDSON--MUDGE AND I LEAVE THE NAVY--WE BECOME PROSPEROUS SETTLERS--CONCLUSION. We had not as yet undergone any intolerable physical sufferings from want of food or water since we landed in Australia; we had always found sufficient water to drink, and an abundance of game. But as we trudged on during the next day, we began to fear that our endurance might be put to a severe trial. Our bottles were empty, our fresh animal food exhausted; and we were afraid to eat the salt pemmican, for fear of still further increasing the thirst from which we were suffering. Wild, rocky ridges alone appeared before us, rising higher and higher. Still we went on, cheered with the hope that we should soon reach the highest ridge, and that then we might descend to a more fertile region. Sometimes we had to make our way along the summit of precipices; sometimes to descend into rocky valleys; and then, again, to mount up rugged heights. Still, it was our belief that for the whole of the distance a sure-footed steed would be able to make its way. We ourselves might possibly have taken a shorter route; but even though sore pressed we kept our main object steadily in view. We looked about on every side for patches of verdure, a sure sign of the neighbourhood of water; but we could see none to tempt us to swerve from our course. "I suppose that the bushranger must have been making his way to the northward, and had already passed over this barren region, when he perished," observed Mudge. "Were it of any great extent, he would not have attempted it; and I hope that before long we shall meet with water, and some four-footed beasts or feathered fowl to afford us food." "But how do you account for his powder-flask being empty?" I asked. "He probably had gone to the south," answered Mudge; "and having made an unsuccessful raid on some of the out-settlers, had been pursued and hard pressed, and had taken to the mountains, in the hope of making his escape, before he had been able to replenish his stock of ammunition. Perhaps he intended to pay us another visit. However, conjectures on the subject must be fruitless; only, it shows us that if he could get as far as the place where he died, we, in good health and strength, may hope to make our way over the ground, rough as it may be, till we can find water and food." We thus kept up our spirits with the anticipation of soon getting out of our difficulty. Still, in the aspect of the country there was nothing to encourage us. Except when we were traversing a gorge or narrow valley, the air was pure and exhilarating, and gave strength to our muscles; but they were pretty well tried, I must confess. I was gratified by the remarks Mudge made to me. "You get on capitally, Godfrey," he said. "I haven't heard a grumble come out of your mouth, and you look cheerfully at the bright side of things. It is the best plan for making your way through the world; of that I am convinced, though I haven't always followed it. But stick you to it, lad. You will, I hope, be actuated by a higher motive; that is, to put your trust in God's love and mercy. Whatever occurs, he has promised to look after those who honestly trust him. I say honestly, for he won't have any half-and-half trust. I don't think we should expect that he will attend to the cries of those who forget him when they think themselves safe and prosperous, and only pray for help when they are in trouble. I have often thought on that subject, and have tried to say my prayers all the more heartily when things have been going smoothly and pleasantly with me." I agreed with Mudge, and told him that I would try to remember his advice. We talked on this and on many other subjects when the ground would allow of our walking abreast; but sometimes I had to walk behind him, while he pioneered the way, and more frequently we could only think of the road and the means of getting along it. There was, indeed, as may be supposed, very little plain sailing; but then we had time enough to talk when we were encamped. We had seen a ridge before us which we hoped would prove the highest we should have to cross, and that afterwards we should find ourselves descending gradually into the plains to the southward. Our great aim was to get over it some time before dark, so that we might gain a lower level for camping; and, as we hoped, find water, even though we might not succeed in killing any bird or beast for supper. We had both become very silent; in truth, I found my tongue clinging to the roof of my mouth, and a dry, painful sensation in the throat. I observed a peculiar hollowness in Mudge's voice, too, and I was conscious that my own also sounded unusual. Still it would not do to give in, and we were not so far gone yet as to think of doing that. On, therefore, we went, though not without suffering. My knees felt weak, and I breathed with difficulty; but I would not tell Mudge this, lest it should discourage him. At length, however, I could hold out no longer. Suddenly, when twenty yards or so behind Mudge--for I had lately lagged somewhat--I found myself sinking to the ground, not far from the summit of a ridge at which we had been aiming. He went on, not knowing what had happened; I followed him with my eyes, though I could neither cry out nor move. He reached the top, and looked eagerly out to the southward; then he took off his hat and waved it, shouting out, "I see a fine open country ahead." His voice revived me, and getting on my feet, I tottered forward to join him. He saw my weakness, and came to help me up to the top of the ridge. I felt greatly revived at the knowledge that our chief difficulty had been surmounted. Mudge stopped a little to consider the path it would be most advisable to take down the mountain, and then proposed proceeding. Looking at me, however, he saw that I was not able to exert myself as usual. "Let me carry your pack, Godfrey," he said; "it won't make much difference to me, as most of the way will be down-hill, and it will relieve you. I advise you also to munch a little biscuit and pemmican; you'll get it down in time, though at first you may find it difficult to swallow." I declined; but he insisted that I should try, and taking out some of the food, made me put it into my mouth. "Perhaps our bottles may contain a little water, and that will help you," he observed. I shook my head, for I knew mine was empty. He looked at his, and found half a cupful I believe that he had saved it for such an emergency. It and the fresh air, and the knowledge that we might hope soon to be better off than at present, had a magical effect, and I felt able to continue the journey. We went on and on, rapidly descending, till we reached the edge of a precipice. "This won't do," observed Mudge; "but we will keep along to the left, where the ground slopes more than it does here, and perhaps we shall reach a practicable valley." He was not mistaken; and we soon found ourselves in a valley, which, though stem and wild as those on the other side of the mountain, would lead us, we hoped, into a more fertile region. Night rapidly approached, however, while we were still surrounded by barren rocks, so during the little time daylight remained we looked about to find a sleeping-place. We were expecting to be compelled to rest without any shelter, when Mudge, who was a little way on up the side of the mountain, cried out,--"Here is a cavern; it will shelter us, at all events, from the cold wind and dew; though I am afraid we must go without a fire--or our tea, seeing that we have no water to boil even if we could make one." I followed him, and groping our way we found ourselves in a large arched cavern in the slope of the mountain. It was apparently of no great depth, but would afford us, at all events, ample accommodation; and we accordingly crept in. We ate a little more pemmican and biscuit, though I had the greatest difficulty in swallowing my share. We then, groping about, discovered two soft places, beds of sand, a short distance apart. Mudge chose one, and I lay down on the other. "Go to sleep quickly, Godfrey," said Mudge; "it is the best thing you can do; you'll find yourself stronger in the morning. We'll start at daylight, and enjoy a capital breakfast--when we find it." I did my best to follow his advice, and succeeded better than I could have expected. I must have slept for a considerable time, when I awoke with a start, and saw by the light of the moon, which streamed into the cavern, Mudge sitting up with his pistols in his hands, and staring, as I fancied, wildly before him. "What's the matter?" I exclaimed, under the idea that he was still asleep and fancied that he saw something terrible. "Look there! look there!" he answered. "Can those be wolves, or jackals, or hyenas? or what other prowling creatures of night are they, with staring eyeballs, at the entrance of the cavern? Be prepared, Godfrey; for I verily believe they are about to rush in and attack us." I now distinguished in the gloom a dozen or more animals with fiery eyes, as it seemed to me, staring fiercely at us. I say animals, though I could only make out the heads of most of them; but one elevated on a slight mound above the rest showed me what they were. "I am very sure there are none of the animals you mention in this country," I answered, more awake than Mudge. "I believe they are only cowardly dingos; and a shout, or, at all events, a shot, would send them to the right-about. Fire, and you'll see I am not mistaken," I shouted at the top of my voice. He discharged his pistol, the report of which echoed loudly through the cavern; and, as I expected, the dingos--for such they were--instantly turned tail and scampered away, uttering cur-like yelps, which left no doubt as to their character. "I believe I was half asleep," said Mudge, "or I should have known what these yelping brutes were. They might have proved somewhat annoying had they attacked us unawares; but I don't think they'll come back. In case they should, I'll keep one eye open; but do you go to sleep again, Godfrey--I am sorry you should have been disturbed." I did not trouble myself much about the dingos, as I felt pretty sure they would not attack human beings, and I very soon followed Mudge's advice. I cannot say, when I awoke in the morning, that I felt as rested as I could have wished. My mouth was as dry as a dust-hole, and the sensations in my throat were very distressing. However, I managed to get on my feet; and the moment there was sufficient daylight to enable us to see our way, we recommenced our descent. As I walked on,--or I may say, stumbled on,--Mudge still insisting on carrying my knapsack, we eagerly looked about for water; but though we saw shrubs and even trees, not the most tiny streamlet could we discover. I felt sure that I could not put anything into my mouth until I had taken some liquid to moisten my parched throat; and Mudge confessed that he felt much as I did, though his strength was less impaired than mine. We had passed a number of trees, which we examined eagerly in the hope of finding some juicy fruit, but in vain. "What would I not give for a handful of strawberries or figs!" I could not help exclaiming. "I shouldn't object to a dozen ripe pears or apples," said Mudge; "but none of these trees are likely to afford us what we want." We were thus trying to keep up our spirits, for it was a hard matter to do so, when my eye fell on a curiously-shaped tree. Growing on it was what at first I thought was fruit, though of a remarkable form. Making our way towards it, we discovered that what we took to be fruit were in reality leaf-formed cups, some with lids, others open; and our joy can be imagined when, on taking hold of one of them, some clear liquid ran over the rim. I did not stop to consider whether it was real water; but immediately putting the cup to my lips, I drained it to the bottom. How deliciously cool and refreshing it tasted! --no water from the fountain-head of the purest stream could have been more so--though it had a somewhat sweetish taste. Mudge followed my example; and between us we had drunk the contents of several of these small cups, when he whispered, half to himself, "I wonder whether it is really water, or something poisonous!" "I am very sure that it is wholesome," I could not help answering; "it would be ungrateful in us to doubt it. Providence has placed a tree in this dry spot for the purpose of supplying man, and perhaps some of his other creatures, with the chief necessary of life." "Or perhaps it may be to nourish the tree," observed Mudge. "That may be true; and both objects, as is often God's intention, are thus answered," I remarked. "Then let us sit down under it and be thankful; and now we'll eat some pemmican and biscuit," exclaimed my companion, "and get a little strength into our bodies." We did so, and felt greatly refreshed; and before we again started we drank some more cupfuls of the liquid. Near at hand we met with several trees of the same description, to which we again applied. Indeed, I felt that I could go on drinking all day without being satisfied. Thoroughly recovered, we now looked about for birds, that we might have a substantial supper at night. Suddenly we caught sight of a creature which, startled by our approach, bounded out from behind a bush where it was feeding. It was a kangaroo of tolerable size; but, unlike the large kangaroos we had before seen, it went leaping away up the hill with as much ease as they make their way along the plain. The appearance of the animal at this spot showed that we were likely to see others, so, though that one had escaped, we were not without hopes of having some meat for dinner. We kept our eyes about us more vigilantly than ever. We saw also a few birds, but they kept at a distance from us. Of course, had we not been anxious to push on, we might have been able to get at them, and might possibly also have got up with the kangaroo we first saw. Trees of various descriptions now began to appear, and shrubs of large size; among others were several nettle-trees, twenty feet in height at least. There was no mistaking their leaves. Once before, though I had forgotten to mention it, I had had my hands severely blistered by merely touching them. Their power of injury, indeed, is proportionate to their size. We kept along the side of the hill, on the probability of starting another kangaroo; resolved to chase it either up or down the slope, should we fail to kill it at the first shot. We accordingly kept our guns ready to fire; looking, as we walked along, for more pitcher-plants, in case we should fail to find water. We had gone on for some distance, and I was again beginning to feel excessively thirsty, when we saw before us a valley, by following which we hoped that we might reach the foot of the mountain-range. We were making our way into it, when, just before us, another kangaroo started up from the sunny spot where it had been basking, and looked round at us, doubtful, apparently, which direction to take. We thought that it would go up the hill; but instead of doing so, it came bounding towards us. I felt sure that I should hit it, when suddenly it took a leap over a precipice on our right. I immediately fired, and so did Mudge, but not before the animal had taken its spring. In consequence, over the precipice it went, and rolled down the steep slope towards the bottom of the valley. Uncertain at first whether either of us had really hit it, I handed my gun to Mudge, and looked out for a place where I could make my descent. Scrambling down, I was not long in reaching the kangaroo. The poor creature was still living, and tried to raise itself, as if about to fight in its defence; but my knife soon put it out of pain. Wishing to carry our prize to the spot on which we had been standing when we shot it, as the place was convenient for camping, I dragged it to the foot of the precipice, and fastened round it a long vine which I found growing close at hand; with this, having climbed to the top of the rock, I without difficulty hauled it up--just as Mudge, who had gone round to assist me, came back. The animal we had so fortunately killed was about four feet long, including the tail; which was, however, very nearly half that length. Its fur was of a purplish hue, warming into a rich rusty red towards the tail. It had strong, powerful claws on its hinder feet, almost concealed by the thick hair around them. We did not, however, stop long to examine it, but, taking out our knives, quickly skinned and cut it up. This done, we lost no time in collecting wood, lighting a fire, and setting a joint to roast; while we toasted some thin slices to satisfy the immediate cravings of our hunger. As soon as we had done so, Mudge started to look for water, leaving me to attend to the roast, and to watch that no hungry dingo carried off our store of meat. "Depend upon it, that animal can't have lived without water; and if its home is near here, water is not likely to be far off," he observed. So, though it still wanted a couple of hours or more to sunset, we were so weary that we agreed it would be wise to stop where we were. After I had seen that the meat was roasted, I employed myself, while waiting for Mudge's return, in cutting some poles and collecting bark to form our hut; keeping my eye, however, on the fire. It was fortunate that I did so, for while I was cutting down a small tree, partly hid by a bush, I caught sight of one of our canine visitors of the previous night--or, at all events, an animal of the same species, the abominable dingo--stealing cautiously towards the carcass of the kangaroo. I sprang out, axe in hand, hoping that the intruder would await my coming. He did so for an instant, unwilling to lose the feast he had expected to enjoy; but just before I reached him he turned round and ran off yelping, disappointed of his prey. The animal was shaped like a common dog; was of a reddish-brown colour, with a sharp muzzle, and ears short and erect, its tail pendent and bushy, and its eyes small and cunning. We afterwards had a great deal of trouble with these dingos, which are clever creatures, hunting in packs, and committing fearful depredations on the flocks of the settlers. To preserve our meat, I hung it up on the bough of a small tree, at a height no dingo could reach; feeling very sure that otherwise it would be carried off during the night. I had begun to be somewhat anxious at Mudge's long absence, when at length I heard his voice, singing as he came along; and presently he climbed up to the plateau with both our bottles and the kettle he had taken with him full of water. "We may consider the difficult part of our journey over, and be thankful," he said, as he got up to me. "A stream flows down the side of the mountain, and instead of running towards the ocean, it takes, as far as I could see, a due southerly course; so that we may travel along its banks, and be sure not only of water, but of plenty of birds, which are certain to frequent the locality during the morning and evening." This was good news; and the ample supply of meat we enjoyed restored our strength and raised our spirits. We washed it down with I don't know how many cups of tea; which, though we had no milk, was not the less enjoyable. To prevent any dingos from unpleasantly smelling at us during the night, we fixed a number of sticks into the ground around our sleeping-place, and before turning in made up as large a fire as we could find fuel for. Its warmth, at that altitude, was pleasant, if not absolutely necessary. We had a capital breakfast the next morning off some more of the rock kangaroo, and then packed up the more delicate portions to carry with us. "Forward!" cried Mudge; and setting our faces down the valley, we continued our course. We had still some hundred feet to descend, and even then we were not on a level plain, as, when looking from the mountain, we had supposed the country below us to be. The river on our left went rushing and foaming onwards, showing that the descent it was about to make was still considerable. We were not disappointed in our expectations of finding abundance of game as we travelled on by the side of the river, for three days or more; after which it turned towards the eastward on its course to the ocean. After this we proceeded southward, crossing several rivers and numerous streams. Most of the latter were fordable. We passed over the rivers in canoes, such as I have before described. For a considerable distance we had a lofty range of mountains on our right; and we had to make our way over some of the smaller ranges, but with much less difficulty than over the first we had crossed. Perseveringly we trudged onwards, over table-lands and wide-extending plains and across valleys. All these rivers, streams, mountains, hills, plains, table-lands, and valleys have long since been named and thoroughly explored; while towns and villages have sprung up on the banks of the rivers, numerous flocks and herds are pastured on the plains and downs, and thousands of industrious settlers people the country. But in those days the black man, the kangaroo, the emu, and the dingo ranged in unrestrained freedom over the land. If names there were, they were such only as were given by the aboriginal inhabitants to the regions they claimed as their own. We frequently met with natives; but as we were always on our guard, and avoided giving them offence, we were never annoyed by them. We fell in with most of them while we were on the march, so that we proceeded onwards and saw them no more; while the few who on rare occasions visited us at our camp in the evening, were always friendly. When we killed a kangaroo or emu, we gave as much of the meat as we could spare to any of the black men who were near; and we always found that food was the most acceptable gift we could bestow. We had been nearly a month on our journey from the time we had left my father's camp. That space of time may appear short to those who are reading our adventures; but to us it seemed a long period, especially as we felt deeply anxious to send relief to our friends, whose stock of powder and shot might, we feared, be exhausted before we could return. Mudge observed that my father would probably send back to obtain supplies from the store we had left behind; but I reminded him that the men who went could only carry enough for themselves, and that without beasts of burden it would be impossible to relieve their wants in that way, while it was very certain that the natives could not be induced to act as carriers. As yet we had met with no signs of civilised life; and as we had brought no quadrant, we were unable to calculate, with anything like accuracy, the number of miles we had performed each day. We could only guess, therefore, how far off we were from the most northern settlements. Our powder and shot, on which our very existence depended, was rapidly diminishing; and should that become exhausted, we should be at the mercy of the natives, and have to trust to them for supplying us with food, as we had great doubts whether we could trap any birds or beasts. Though we had occasionally picked a few wild fruits, the supply was very uncertain, and we often had to go a considerable distance without finding any. The most nourishing was a fruit larger than a Spanish chestnut, and with a similar taste. It grew on a tree with beautiful green and pinnated foliage, contrasting strikingly with the dark leaves which give so sombre a hue to the Australian forests. We found three to five seeds in pods of considerable size, growing solitary and pendent. Had we been able to obtain a sufficient supply of these nuts, we might, with the aid of the cabbage-palms, and the leaves of a species of sorrel and other plants we met with, have been able to support existence on a vegetable diet. On examining our stores one evening, as we sat in our camp, we found that we had between us not more than half-a-dozen charges of powder and shot. We had still some pemmican, but our biscuit had long been exhausted; and we had but a few pinches of tea, although we had for some time been enjoying that refreshing beverage in a very diluted state. "We must not despair," said Mudge,--"we have been preserved hitherto; and we must trust to Him who has all along taken care of us, to enable us to reach our journey's end in safety. We must husband our powder and shot; we must live on pemmican and sorrel on alternate days, unless we can make sure of hitting the game we meet with; and I trust that we shall thus run no risk of starving, for a week to come." The cheerful way in which Mudge spoke revived my spirits; and the next morning we trudged courageously on, determined not to be daunted by anticipated difficulties. Still, we were sorely tried when we missed two kangaroos which we made sure of hitting. At length, having expended several charges of powder and shot on as many small birds, we found, one evening, that our ammunition had come to an end. "Cheer up, Godfrey!" exclaimed Mudge, after I had been silent for some time; "I'll sing you a song, to show you that I am still in good heart, as you ought to be;" and he began trolling forth a sea-ditty which he had often sung on festive occasions on board the _Heroine_. He had got through three or four verses, when we were somewhat startled by hearing an English hail. Soon after we had replied to it, having sprung to our feet, a voice exclaimed, "Hallo, mates! where have you dropped from?" and we saw emerging from the gloom the figure of a white man, in the rough dress of a shepherd, with a gun in his hand and a brace of pistols in his belt. As I caught sight of him, the thought crossed my mind that he was a bushranger; but we rushed forward, notwithstanding, without asking who or what he was, and grasped him by the hand, when a few words sufficed to tell him what he wanted to know. "And have we really got near the settlements?" asked Mudge eagerly. "The nearest, I suppose, you would call a settlement, is not more than about five miles away to the southward," answered the man; "but mine and my mate's hut is less than a quarter of a mile off, and you will be welcome there if you like to strike camp and come along with me. Our tea-kettle is boiling, and the damper will be cooked by the time we get there. I am the hut-keeper; and my mate, the shepherd, had just penned the sheep and made all snug for the night, when I caught sight of the glare of your fire. Says I to my mate, `It's some of them natives, and they'll be trying to steal a sheep, or do some other mischief; at all events, I'll go and see what they're about.' When I heard that jolly song of yours, sir, I soon knew all was right, though I did wonder how you came to be out here." Mudge, who was perfectly satisfied that the man was what he represented himself to be, at once accepted his invitation; and emptying our kettle, we quickly slung that and our other traps on our backs, and prepared to accompany the shepherd. "Stay, mates, we'll put out the fire first," he said; "we don't know where the sparks may be carried to if left alone: they might soon set the whole country in a blaze." Having taken this precaution, we walked briskly along with our new friend. We soon reached a low shingle-roofed slab hut, from which a couple of dogs issued, barking furiously on hearing the footsteps of strangers. The hut-keeper's voice quickly silenced them, when they came fawning up to him, licking even our hands when they discovered that we were whites. Our companion ushered us into his hut, which consisted of one smoke-begrimed room, containing a clay fireplace, two rough bunks in the corner, and a table and couple of stools in the centre. The kettle on the wood fire was bubbling and hissing merrily. Our guide's "chum," as he called him, presently came in from the sheepfold, and gave us a hearty welcome. He was as rough-looking as his companion, but scarcely rougher than Mudge, with his unshaven beard, his moustache, and long hair; and I, though I had not a beard and moustache to boast of, must have looked pretty rough too. Our hosts gave us the best they had: fresh damper, broiled mutton, and tea. The captain, as they called their master, allowed no spirits, but, they acknowledged, took good care that they were well supplied with necessaries; and if we would stop another day they would give us plum-pudding for dinner. We, of course, said that we were anxious to go on to the station as soon as possible, that we might obtain horses to return to our friends. The captain, they said, would give us every assistance in his power. He had a herd of cattle, as well as sheep, with several horses, though whether he would be able to spare the horses they could not tell; but he would probably try and obtain them for us from the next station, a dozen miles or so farther off. We were still, we found, a hundred and fifty miles, at least, from Sydney; so that, had not the settlers established stations to the northward, we should have had a long journey to perform before we could obtain assistance. They were more ready to hear the accounts we had to give than to say anything about themselves; indeed, when once or twice Mudge inquired how long they had been in the colony, and why they came out, they made evasive answers, and turned the subject. They were, in reality, convicts; assigned servants, who received no wages, but were allowed thus much of liberty as long as they behaved themselves well. As soon as supper was over, they advised us to turn in, observing that they should have to be up before daybreak to breakfast, that the shepherd might take his sheep at early dawn to their pasture, at some distance from the hut. They offered us their bunks, but we declined; for two reasons: one was, that they looked excessively black and dirty; and the other, that, being long accustomed to sleep on the bare ground, we would not turn them out of their beds. We accordingly lay down on the floor, with our knapsacks as pillows, with a feeling of security which we had not for long enjoyed; and knowing that one of the faithful dogs was watching at the door, we were soon fast asleep. When I awoke, I saw the hut-keeper kneading a damper, which he put under the ashes of the already kindled fire. I need not say that I would rather not have witnessed the operation. I did not open my eyes again till he summoned us to breakfast, when we were joined by the shepherd, who had gone out to see that his sheep were safe. Our meal being quickly despatched, he bade us farewell and again sallied forth, to let his sheep out of their pen; when the hut-keeper asked us if we were inclined to stop a while, or go on to the captain's. We, of course, expressed a wish to set off at once, and begged him to show us the way. "I can't go with you, as I have to help my chum to attend to some sick sheep," he said, "and to look after the hut; but you can't mistake it if you keep due south, over yonder rise with the three big trees at the top of it, and then make for a stream you will see shining in the distance. There's a bridge over it, which leads to the station." The directions being sufficiently explicit, we set off without fear of losing our way. A walk of rather more than an hour's duration brought us in sight of the stream, with a plank-bridge thrown over it; on which, as we got nearer, we saw two black men. They were not, however, such as we had been accustomed to meet with, but were decently clothed. Saluting us civilly in English with "Good morning, friends," they told us that this was the station of which we were in search, and that if we went on a little farther we should find the master, who would be glad to see us. Passing some huts, we soon saw before us a low, bungalow-looking building, with a broad verandah. Directly afterwards there issued forth a middle-aged gentleman, who advanced towards us. "Glad to see you, my friends, wherever you come from," he said, putting out his hand. "You look as if you had had a long tramp of it. I take it you are ready for breakfast. Come in at once. We were just upon the point of sitting down when I caught sight of you from the window." "Thank you, sir," answered Mudge. "Your shepherds, at whose hut we slept, gave us some breakfast; but we accept your hospitality, as, for my part, I should be ready for a little more; and so, I dare say, will my friend Rayner,--at all events, midshipmen have the credit of being able to stow away two or three meals in succession without inconvenience, and we have been on short allowance for some days past." "What, are you naval officers?" exclaimed the captain, eyeing us attentively. "I thought so from the way you spoke. However, come in. You can tell me all about yourselves afterwards; it doesn't come up to my notions of hospitality to bother strangers with questions before they have eaten, and drunken, and rested themselves after their journey." Saying this, our host led the way into a neat parlour, where two ladies were seated at table; one evidently his wife, the other very young. I looked from her to the elder lady, then, springing forward, I put out my hand and exclaimed, "Mrs Hudson!" She shook it with a look of surprise; then, turning round, I added, "Captain Hudson, I am sure it is you, sir;" and looking at the young lady, I said, "I don't know your name, but I remember you very well indeed, and have never forgotten you since I was on board the _Hopewell_, off the coast of Patagonia, two years ago." After I had shaken Captain Hudson by the hand, the young lady, who had risen from her chair, came forward to greet me, saying, "I remember the midshipman who paid us a visit, but I should not have recognised you; yes, yes--I remember your eyes and your features now;" and she smiled very sweetly. "I thought I had seen your face before," I heard Mudge saying, as Captain Hudson was shaking him warmly by the hand. Our host and hostess now pressed us to sit down to breakfast, but I could scarcely eat anything for thinking of the information we had to give them. A word whispered in my ear from Mudge--"Don't say anything yet"--made me cautious, for he was too wise not to think that it would be dangerous to communicate such joyful intelligence too suddenly, and that it was important to break it to the captain first. We had a great deal to tell about our adventures, however. Captain Hudson then informed us that soon after we fell in with him the ship had come across to Sydney, where, on account of Mrs Hudson's health, he had given up the command, and determined to settle on shore. Finding an acquaintance who happened to be in Sydney, and who wished to give up this station, he came on here. "For though so far in advance of the other settlers," continued Captain Hudson, "I was sure that, by the proper management of my assigned servants, and by treating the blacks judiciously, we should be as safe here as near other stations. I have not been mistaken; and we have already succeeded in partly civilising several young natives, who seem perfectly happy and contented, and are ready to perform any light labour to which I put them." When we told Captain Hudson that the object of our journey was to carry assistance to our friends, he at once volunteered to do all in his power to obtain horses, provisions, and trusty men to accompany us back. "Though I cannot go myself," he said, "I have a friend in the neighbourhood who will, I am sure, take great pleasure in accompanying you, and in whom you may thoroughly rely, as few men have travelled more in the wilds than he has, or are so well able to manage the natives." I saw the young lady look up at Captain Hudson as he spoke, but what that look betokened I could not then understand. All this time we were, of course, burning to tell him that his son was alive; though, had he known it, he could scarcely have been more anxious to send assistance to our friends than he was already. It occurred to me, indeed, that, to save him and Mrs Hudson the anxiety of waiting for Harry's arrival, it might be better to say nothing about him. How dreadful it would be should any accident have happened to him in the meantime, or should all our party have perished! Not that we dared contemplate such a contingency for two moments together. It did, however, when I felt at all depressed, flash across my mind; but I put it from me as too horrible to dwell on; besides which, it seemed like ingratitude to God, who had so far protected us. As soon as breakfast was over, I mentioned my idea to Mudge; but he considered that we ought to tell the captain that we had found a white boy among the savages, apparently of the age of his son--that he had been long with us, and had become perfectly civilised, and, from his amiable qualities, a great favourite. Captain Hudson might thus draw his own conclusions. The captain soon afterwards joined us, when Mudge cautiously introduced the subject; notwithstanding which he was almost overcome with agitation. "We ought not to raise your hopes too high, sir," said Mudge; "but still, neither Captain Bracewell nor any one on board the ship had any doubts on the subject." "How can I thank my merciful Father in heaven for his boundless kindness to me!" exclaimed the captain. "I will carefully prepare my dear wife, but in her delicate state of health it will require great caution; and I must beg you, therefore, not to utter a word to any one else." This, of course, we promised to do; and we were surprised at the self-command which the captain afterwards exhibited in presence of Mrs Hudson. We had made inquiries about our ship, but she had not visited Sydney before Captain Hudson had been last there, and he had heard nothing of her. This satisfied Mudge that he was not in duty bound to go there to look for her. Captain Hudson, notwithstanding the agitation of his mind, observed our tattered condition, and insisted on rigging us both out in new, strong clothes suited for our object. These were put on after a thorough bath in the stream hard by. Mudge also had got shaved by the captain's black cook, an African who had accompanied him on shore, and who was barber, sheep-shearer, tailor, carpenter, and I don't know how many other trades besides. Captain Hudson, in the meantime, had sent off to the friend he spoke of, who soon afterwards arrived on horseback. He was a handsome, middle-aged man, of a peculiarly grave and melancholy countenance, but with a keen eye, and who appeared, by his bearing and manners, to have been an officer. He at once, on hearing our account, agreed to accompany us, and to organise an expedition to carry such provisions as he thought would be necessary, with horses for the conveyance of my mother and sister, as well as my father, and any of the rest of the party who might be unable to walk. I felt in high spirits, and perfectly ready to set off on the following morning. Towards evening, however, I suddenly became very ill, when Mrs Hudson insisted on my going to bed; and next morning I was utterly unable to rise. But, of course, the expedition could not be delayed on my account. I was unconscious, so I was afterwards told, for some time; and when I regained my senses I found that the party had long since started. My fear was that while I had been in delirium I might have talked of Harry Hudson, and I was thankful to find that such had not been the case. Mrs Hudson watched over me with as much care as my own mother could have done, and I often saw tears dropping from her eyes--when I knew that she was thinking of her own boy, whom she supposed to have been lost. As I got better, Lily, for such was the name of the young lady--she was, as I could not help telling her, a sweet white English Lily; not like one of the Australian lilies, with grand blossoms of rich crimson, six inches in diameter, growing on stalks twenty feet high--Lily was my constant companion. Every day that I was in her company I admired her more and more--but I must not talk about that just now. She was, I suspected, the daughter of the leader of the expedition, who, for some reason--not a dishonourable one--was compelled to live a secluded life in Australia. Two more months passed away, when one afternoon a man on horseback appeared, bringing the joyful intelligence that our party were close at hand, and all well. I saw that Mrs Hudson was greatly agitated, and I now knew that the captain had been gradually preparing her for the appearance of their son. It is beyond my power to describe the meeting; I know a great many of us cried with joy, and I am not ashamed to say that I did so. My dear mother and Edith had borne the journey well, though they had been hard pressed for some weeks, and had become very anxious before the appearance of the expedition sent to succour them. Captain Hudson received our party with unbounded hospitality, having prepared a residence for those who could not be received into his own house. I was delighted to find that my father had arranged to take a station within a few miles of that of Captain Hudson, who promised to afford him that assistance which, as a new-comer, he of course greatly required. Mudge, who, as soon as he could communicate with England, made arrangements for quitting the service, got a grant of land, and settled near us. Being only a midshipman, I had simply to discharge myself, without any other formality; as did Tommy Peck. The rest of the crew were so enamoured of the country that they remained with us, and turned stockmen; most of them becoming at length successful settlers. Harry, of course, married Edith; and Lily became my wife. This event happened a long time ago, and it might not increase the interest of my readers if I were to say that it is long since our wives became grandmothers. We all flourished, as I am firmly convinced people will do who, seeking guidance from above, act with due judgment and discretion, taking advantage of the experience, as well as warning from the failure, of others. We, of course, had those ups and downs which all settlers in Australia must meet: dingos carried off our sheep, and the rot visited them; the blacks were troublesome, and droughts and blights occurred; bush-fires occasionally took place, and our wool brought lower prices than we had hoped for. But, notwithstanding, in the long run we were blessed with prosperity, and had ample reason to be thankful that we had been preserved from the numerous dangers we had encountered, and that we had been guided to the shores of Australia. THE END.	{ "id": "21493" }
1	CUTTER THE FIRST.	Reader, have you ever been at Plymouth? If you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe: if you have not been at Plymouth, the sooner that you go there the better. At Mount Edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the shingle on the beach. And from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. You will see--I hardly know what you will not see--you will see Ram Head, and Cawsand Bay; and then you will see the Breakwater, and Drake's Island, and the Devil's Bridge below you; and the town of Plymouth and its fortifications, and the Hoe; and then you will come to the Devil's Point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the New Victualling Office,--about which Sir James Gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff; and then you will see Mount Wise and Mutton Cove; the town of Devonport; with its magnificent dockyard and arsenals, North Corner, and the way which leads to Saltash. And you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the guard-ship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, men-of-war's boats, dockyard-boats, bum-boats, and shore-boats. In short, there is a great deal to see at Plymouth besides the sea itself: but what I particularly wish now is, that you will stand at the battery of Mount Edgcumbe and look into Barn Pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht. Of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national, as yacht-sailing. It is peculiar to England, not only for our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. It has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. It is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country, as it has much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. But if I were to say all that I could say in praise of yachts, I should never advance with my narrative. I shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of Admiral Lord Yarborough and the Yacht Club, and proceed. You observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. She is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast her--in a few minutes she will be under way. You see that there are ladies sitting at the taffrail; and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. Of all amusements, give me yachting. But we must go on board. The deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany: she is painted with taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. There is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! Let us go below. There is the ladies' cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? Is it not luxurious? And, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? This is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. What can be more complete or _recherche_? And just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. Here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. Now, let us go forwards: here are, the men's berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. No! Luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even at the fore-peak. This is the kitchen; is it not admirably arranged? What a _multum in parvo_! And how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! At sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. Now that I have shown you round the vessel, I must introduce the parties on board. You observe that florid, handsome man, in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. That is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the Yacht Club. It is Lord B---: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet I have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the House of Lords. The one near to him is Mr Stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. He holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. He is a _protege_ of Lord B---, and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht. That handsome, well-built man, who is standing by the binnacle, is a Mr Hautaine. He served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. He then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. He then married, and in a much shorter probation found that he did not like that. But he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives, if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome. That young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a Mr Vaughan. He is to be seen at Almack's, at Crockford's, and everywhere else. Everybody knows him, and he knows everybody. He is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient. The one who sits by the lady is a relation of Lord B---; you see at once what he is. He apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. He has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. He talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. He has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. His name is Ossulton. The last of the gentlemen on board whom I have to introduce is Mr Seagrove. He is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. He has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application. He has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. He is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht. I have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps I should have commenced with them--I must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. All puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show? We will describe them according to seniority. That tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to Lord B---. She has been persuaded, very much against her will, to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of only her father. She is frightened at everything: if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, "Oh!" if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. She fidgets herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. She is the Hon. Miss Ossulton. The lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow of the name of Lascelles. She married an old man to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part. She was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune. Having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry. That young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the Hon. Miss Cecilia Ossulton. She is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen--and nobody knows what she really is--she does not know herself. These are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. The crew consist of ten fine seamen, the steward and the cook. There is also Lord B---'s valet, Mr Ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's-maid of Miss Ossulton. There not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore. The yacht is now under way, and her sails are all set. She is running between Drake's Island and the main. Dinner has been announced. As the reader has learnt something about the preparations, I leave him to judge whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. The air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was removed that the conversation became general. "Mr Seagrove," said his lordship, "you very nearly lost your passage; I expected you last Thursday." "I am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to your lordship's kind summons." "Come, Seagrove, don't be nonsensical," said Hautaine; "you told me yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never had a brief in your life." "And a very fortunate circumstance," replied Seagrove; "for if I had had a brief I should not have known what to have done with it. It is not my fault; I am fit for nothing but a commissioner. But still I had business, and very important business, too. I was summoned by Ponsonby to go with him to Tattersall's, to give my opinion about a horse he wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to Forest Wild to plead his cause with his uncle." "It appears, then, that you were retained," replied Lord B---; "may I ask you whether your friend gained his cause?" "No, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit." "Expound your riddle, sir," said Cecilia Ossulton. "The fact is, that old Ponsonby is very anxious that William should marry Miss Percival, whose estates join on to Forest Wild. Now, my friend William is about as fond of marriage as I am of law, and thereby issue was joined." "But why were you to be called in?" inquired Mrs Lascelles. "Because, madam, as Ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me--" "I cannot see the analogy, sir," observed Miss Ossulton, senior, bridling up. "Pardon me, madam: the fact is," continued Seagrove, "that, as I always have to back Ponsonby's horses, he thought it right that, in this instance, I should back him; he required special pleading, but his uncle tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. As soon as we arrived, and I had bowed myself into the room, Mr Ponsonby bowed me out again--which would have been infinitely more jarring to my feelings, had not the door been left a-jar." "Do anything but pun, Seagrove," interrupted Hautaine. "Well, then, I will take a glass of wine." "Do so," said his lordship; "but recollect the whole company are impatient for your story." "I can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy." Now be it observed that Mr Seagrove had a great deal of comic talent; he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he pleased. It was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people, and he performed it remarkably well. Whenever he said that anything he was going to narrate was "as good as a comedy," it was generally understood by those who were acquainted with him that he was to be asked so to do. Cecilia Ossulton therefore immediately said, "Pray act it, Mr Seagrove." Upon which, Mr Seagrove--premising that he had not only heard, but also seen all that passed--changing his voice, and suiting the action to the word, commenced. "It may," said he, "be called:-- "FIVE THOUSAND ACRES IN A RING-FENCE." We shall not describe Mr Seagrove's motions; they must be inferred from his words. " `It will, then, William,' observed Mr Ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, `I may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the country--five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' " `I dare say it will, uncle,' replied William, tapping his foot as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; `and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that I should also be enclosed in a ring-fence.' " `And a beautiful property it will be,' replied Mr Ponsonby. " `Which, uncle? The estate or the wife?' " `Both, nephew, both; and I expect your consent.' " `Uncle, I am not avaricious. Your present property is sufficient for me. With your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, I will remain your sole heir, and single.' " `Observe, William, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. We shall restore Forest Wild to its ancient boundaries. You know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. We now have a glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by Henry the Eighth, at the period of the Reformation. This house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. Then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.' " `Without encumbrance, uncle! You forget that, there will be a wife.' " `And you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' " `Indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that I should forget it. But, much as I should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, I do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of Miss Percival; and the more so, as I have never seen the property.' " `We will ride over it to-morrow, William.' " `Ride over Miss Percival, uncle! That will not be very gallant. I will, however, one of these days ride over the property with you, which, as well as Miss Percival, I have not as yet seen.' " `Then I can tell you she is a very pretty property.' " `If she were not in a ring-fence.' " `In good heart, William. That is, I mean an excellent disposition.' " `Valuable in matrimony.' " `And well tilled--I should say well educated--by her three maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.' " `Does any one follow the fashion?' " `In a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system--what is it?' " `A four-course shift, I presume,' replied William, laughing; `that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing.' " `And only seventeen! Capital soil, promising good crops. What would you have more?' " `A very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. I am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but I must decline taking a lease of it for life.' " `Then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only a tenant-at-will. I consider it a duty that I owe to the family that the estate should be re-united. That can only be done by one of our family marrying Miss Percival; and as you will not, I shall now write to your cousin James, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir. Probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "And Mr Ponsonby directed his steps towards the door. " `Stop, my dear uncle,' cried William, rising up from his easy-chair; `we do not quite understand one another. It is very true that I would prefer half the property and remaining single, to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but at the same time I did not tell you that I would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. I know you to be a man of your word. I accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin James to the expense of postage.' " `Very good, William; I require no more: and as I know you to be a man of your word, I shall consider this match as settled. It was on this account only that I sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. I will let you know when all is ready.' " `I must be at Tattersall's on Monday, uncle; there is a horse I must have for next season. Pray, uncle, may I ask when you are likely to want me?' " `Let me see--this is May--about July, I should think.' " `July, uncle! Spare me--I cannot marry in the dog-days. No, hang it! Not July.' " `Well, William, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property--Miss Percival, I should say--it may be too soon--suppose we put it off till October.' " `October--I shall be down at Melton.' " `Pray, sir, may I then inquire what portion of the year is not, with you, _dog_-days?' " `Why, uncle, next April, now--I think that would do.' " `Next April! Eleven months, and a winter between. Suppose Miss Percival was to take a cold and die.' " `I should be excessively obliged to her,' thought William. " `No! No!' continued Mr Ponsonby: `there is nothing certain in this world, William.' " `Well, then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first _hard frost_.' " `We have had no hard frosts, lately, William. We may wait for years. The sooner it is over the better. Go back to town, buy your horse, and then come down here, my dear William, to oblige your uncle--never mind the dog-days.' " `Well, sir, if I am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by halves; out of respect for you I will even marry in July, without any regard to the thermometer.' " `You are a good boy, William. Do you want a cheque?' " `I have had one to-day,' thought William, and was almost at fault. `I shall be most thankful, sir--they sell horse-flesh by the ounce now-a-days.' " `And you pay in pounds. There, William.' " `Thank you, sir, I'm all obedience; and I'll keep my word, even if there should be a comet. I'll go and buy the horse, and then I shall be ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please.' " `Yes, and you'll get over it cleverly, I've no doubt. Five thousand acres, William, and--a pretty wife!' " `Have you any further commands, uncle?' said William, depositing the cheque in his pocket-book. " `None, my dear boy: are you going?' " `Yes, sir; I dine at the Clarendon.' " `Well, then, good-bye. Make my compliments and excuses to your friend Seagrove. You will come on Tuesday or Wednesday.' "Thus was concluded the marriage between William Ponsonby and Emily Percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the great desideratum--_five thousand acres in a ring-fence_." Mr Seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation. "Very good, indeed, Seagrove," said his lordship; "you must take a glass of wine after that." "I would not give much for Miss Percival's chance of happiness," observed the elder Miss Ossulton. "Of two evils choose the least, they say," observed Mr Hautaine. "Poor Ponsonby could not help himself." "That's a very polite observation of yours, Mr Hautaine--I thank you in the name of the sex," replied Cecilia Ossulton. "Nay, Miss Ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never saw?" "Most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, Mr Hautaine, I appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?" "I must confess it, Miss Ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my honour to get me into a scrape." "I only wish that the offer had been made to me," observed Vaughan; "I should not have hesitated as Ponsonby did." "Then I beg you will not think of proposing for me," said Mrs Lascelles, laughing; for Mr Vaughan had been excessively attentive. "It appears to me, Vaughan," observed Seagrove, "that you have slightly committed yourself by that remark." Vaughan, who thought so too, replied: "Mrs Lascelles must be aware that I was only joking." "Fie! Mr Vaughan," cried Cecilia Ossulton; "you know it came from your heart." "My dear Cecilia," said the elder Miss Ossulton, "you forget yourself-- what can you possibly know about gentlemen's hearts?" "The Bible says that they are `deceitful and desperately wicked,' aunt." "And cannot we also quote the Bible against your sex, Miss Ossulton?" replied Seagrove. "Yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it," replied Miss Ossulton, carelessly. "Upon my word, Cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the gentlemen," observed Lord B---; "but I shall throw my warder down, and not permit this combat _a l'outrance_. --I perceive you drink no more wine, gentlemen, we will take our coffee on deck." "We were just about to retire, my lord," observed the elder Miss Ossulton, with great asperity: "I have been trying to catch the eye of Mrs Lascelles for some time, but--" "I was looking another way, I presume," interrupted Mrs Lascelles, smiling. "I am afraid that I am the unfortunate culprit," said Mr Seagrove. "I was telling a little anecdote to Mrs Lascelles--" "Which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not proper for all the company to hear," replied the elder Miss Ossulton; "but if Mrs Lascelles is now ready," continued she, bridling up, as she rose from her chair. "At all events, I can hear the remainder of it on deck," replied Mrs Lascelles. The ladies rose and went into the cabin, Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles exchanging very significant smiles as they followed the precise spinster, who did not choose that Mrs Lascelles should take the lead merely because she had once happened to have been married. The gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck. "We have a nice breeze now, my lord," observed Mr Stewart, who had remained on deck, "and we lie right up Channel." "So much the better," replied his lordship; "we ought to have been anchored at Cowes a week ago. They will all be there before us." "Tell Mr Simpson to bring me a light for my cigar," said Mr Ossulton to one of the men. Mr Stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on deck: the breeze was fine, the weather (it was April) almost warm; and the yacht, whose name was the _Arrow_, assisted by the tide, soon left the Mewstone far astern.	{ "id": "21559" }
2	CUTTER THE SECOND.	Reader, have you ever been at Portsmouth? If you have, you must have been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and if you have not you had better go there as soon as you can. From the saluting battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what I have described at Plymouth; the scenery is different, but similar arsenals and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy are to be found there; and you will see Gosport on the other side of the harbour, and Sallyport close to you; besides a great many other places, which, from the saluting battery, you cannot see. And then there is Southsea Beach to your left. Before you, Spithead, with the men-of-war, and the Motherbank crowded with merchant vessels; and there is the buoy where the _Royal George_ was wrecked and where she still lies, the fish swimming in and out of her cabin windows but that is not all; you can also see the Isle of Wight,--Ryde with its long wooden pier, and Cowes, where the yachts lie. In fact there is a great deal to be seen at Portsmouth as well as at Plymouth; but what I wish you particularly to see just now is a vessel holding fast to the buoy just off the saluting battery. She is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the Preventive Service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has hoisted up all round her. She looks like a vessel that was about to sail with a cargo of boats; two on deck, one astern, one on each side of her. You observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. She is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more lumbered up. She has no haunches of venison hanging over the stern! But I think there is a leg of mutton and some cabbages hanging by their stalks. But revenue-cutters are not yachts. You will find no turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome. Let us go on board. You observe the guns are iron, and painted black, and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour, but then it lasts a long while, and the dockyard is not very generous on the score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare cash. She has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red flannel shirts and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. But we will at once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. They have each their tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar-- capital gin, too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker standing under the table. It was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made their last seizure. We must introduce them. The elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the nose red, and this old officer is very often "in the wind," of course, from the very nature of his profession), is a Lieutenant Appleboy. He has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of first-lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be rewarded with his rank as commander. It is a pity that what he takes inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night. He is just filling his fourteenth glass; he always keeps a regular account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen; then he is exactly down to his bearings. The master's mate's name is Tomkins; he has served his six years three times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for him, as his chances of promotion are small. He prefers a small vessel to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his dress--and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another charity promotion. He is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy or the liquor now before him. Mr Smith is the name of that young gentleman whose jacket is so out at the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months; but is too lazy to go to his chest for another. He has been turned out of half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so--and therefore it is not his fault. A revenue-cutter suits him, she is half her time hove to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. Creeping for tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. He is fond of grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. He says little because he is too lazy to speak. He has served more than _eight years_; but as for passing--it has never come into his head. Such are the three persons who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue-cutter, drinking hot gin-toddy. "Let me see, it was, I think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. Before you were in the service, Tomkins--" "Maybe, sir; it's so long ago since I entered, that I can't recollect dates--but this I know, that my aunt died three days before." "Then the question is, when did your aunt die?" "Oh! She died about a year after my uncle." "And when did your uncle die?" "I'll be hanged if I know!" "Then, d'ye see, you've no departure to work from. However, I think you cannot have been in the service at that time. We were not quite so particular about uniform as we are now." "Then I think the service was all the better for it. Now-a-days, in your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones, he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come out of a band-box." "Well, there's plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. However, as you say, perhaps a little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which I was first-lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if I was their dry-nurse. I wonder what Captain Prigg would have said if he had seen such a turn-out as you, Mr Smith, on his quarter-deck." "I should have had one turn-out more," drawled Smith. "With your out-at-elbows jacket, there, eh!" continued Mr Appleboy. Smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other; after so fatiguing an operation, he was silent. "Well, where was I? Oh! It was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I said that it happened--Tomkins, fill your glass and hand me the sugar-- how do I get on? This is Number 15," said Appleboy, counting some white lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one more line on his tally. "I don't think this is so good a tub as the last, Tomkins, there's a twang about it--a want of juniper; however, I hope, we shall have better luck this time. Of course you know we sail to-morrow?" "I presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board." "True--true; I'm regular--as clock-work. After being twenty years a first-lieutenant one gets a little method. I like regularity. Now the admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time I have come into harbour, except this time. I was so certain of it, that I never expected to sail; and I have but two shirts clean in consequence." "That's odd, isn't it? --and the more so, because he has had such great people down here, and has been giving large parties every day." "And yet I made three seizures, besides sweeping up those thirty-seven tubs." "I swept them up," observed Smith. "That's all the same thing, _younker_. When you've been a little longer in the service, you'll find out that the commanding officer has the merit of all that is done; but you're _green_ yet. Let me see, where was I? Oh! --It was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as I said. At that time I was in the Channel fleet--Tomkins, I'll trouble you for the hot water; this water's cold. Mr Smith, do me the favour to ring the bell. --Jem, some more hot water." "Please, sir," said Jem, who was bare-footed as well as bare-headed, touching his lock of hair on his forehead, "the cook had capsized the kettle--but he has put more on." "Capsized the kettle! Hah! --very well--we'll talk about that to-morrow. Mr Tomkins, do me the favour to put him in the report: I may forget it. And pray, sir, how long is it since he has put more on?" "Just this moment, sir, as I came aft." "Very well, we'll see to that to-morrow. You bring the kettle aft as soon as it is ready. I say, Mr Jem, is that fellow sober?" "Yees, sir, he be sober as you be." "It's quite astonishing what a propensity the common sailors have to liquor. Forty odd years have I been in the service, and I've never found any difference. I only wish I had a guinea for every time that I have given a fellow seven-water grog during my servitude as first-lieutenant, I wouldn't call the king my cousin. Well, if there's no hot water, we must take lukewarm; it won't do to heave-to. By the Lord Harry! Who would have thought it? --I'm at number sixteen! Let me count, yes! --surely I must have made a mistake. A fact, by Heaven!" continued Mr Appleboy, throwing the chalk down on the table. "Only one more glass, after this; that is, if I have counted right--I may have seen double." "Yes," drawled Smith. "Well, never mind. Let's go on with my story. It was either in the year ninety-three or ninety-four that I was in the Channel fleet: we were then abreast of Torbay--" "Here be the hot water, sir," cried Jem, putting the kettle down on the deck. "Very well, boy. By-the-bye, has the jar of butter come on board?" "Yes, but it broke all down the middle. I tied him up with a ropeyarn." "Who broke it, sir?" "Coxswain says as how he didn't." "But who did, sir." "Coxswain handed it up to Bill Jones, and he says as how he didn't." "But who did, sir." "Bill Jones gave it to me, and I'm sure as how I didn't." "Then who did, sir, I ask you." "I think it be Bill Jones, sir, 'cause he's fond of butter, I know, and there be very little left in the jar." "Very well, we'll see to that to-morrow morning. Mr Tomkins, you'll oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it should slip my memory. Bill Jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Never mind. Well, it was, as I said before--it was in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when I was in the Channel fleet; we were then off Torbay, and had just taken two reefs in the top-sails. Stop--before I go on with my story, I'll take my last glass; I think it's the last--let me count. Yes, by heavens! I make out sixteen, all told. Never mind, it shall be a stiff one. Boy, bring the kettle, and mind you don't pour the hot water into my shoes, as you did the other night. There, that will do. Now, Tomkins, fill up yours; and you, Mr Smith. Let us all start fair, and then you shall have my story--and a very curious one it is, I can tell you, I wouldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't seen it. Hilloa! What's this? Confound it! What's the matter with the toddy? Heh, Mr Tomkins?" Mr Tomkins tasted; but, like the lieutenant, he had made it very stiff; and, as he had also taken largely before, he was, like him, not quite so clear in his discrimination. "It has a queer _twang_, sir: Smith, what is it?" Smith took up his glass, tasted the contents. " _Salt-water_," drawled the midshipman. "Salt-water! So it is by heavens!" cried Mr Appleboy. "Salt as Lot's wife! By all that's infamous!" cried the master's mate. "Salt-water, sir!" cried Jem in a fright, expecting a _salt_ eel for supper. "Yes, sir," replied Mr Appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face, "salt-water. Very well, sir,--very well!" "It warn't me, sir," replied the boy, making up a piteous look. "No, sir, but you said the cook was sober." "He was not so _very_ much disguised, sir," replied Jem. "Oh! Very well--never mind. Mr Tomkins, in case I should forget it, do me the favour to put the kettle of salt-water down in the report. The scoundrel! I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but there's no means of having any more gin-toddy. But never mind, we'll see to this to-morrow. Two can play at this; and if I don't salt-water their grog, and make them drink it too, I have been twenty years a first-lieutenant for nothing, that's all. Good night, gentlemen; and," continued the lieutenant, in a severe tone, "you'll keep a sharp look-out, Mr Smith-- do you hear, sir?" "Yes," drawled Smith, "but it's not my watch: it was my first watch: and, just now, it struck one bell." "You'll keep the middle watch, then, Mr Smith," said Mr Appleboy, who was not a little put out; "and, Mr Tomkins, let me know as soon as it's daylight. Boy, get my bed made. Salt-water, by all that's blue! However, we'll see to that to-morrow morning." Mr Appleboy then turned in; so did Mr Tomkins; and so did Mr Smith, who had no idea of keeping the middle watch because the cook was drunk and had filled up the kettle with salt-water. As for what happened in ninety-three or ninety-four, I really would inform the reader if I knew; but I am afraid that that most curious story is never to be handed down to posterity. The next morning Mr Tomkins, as usual, forgot to report the cook, the jar of butter and the kettle of salt-water; and Mr Appleboy's wrath had long been appeased before he remembered them. At daylight, the lieutenant came on deck, having only slept away half of the sixteen, and a taste of the seventeenth salt-water glass of gin-toddy. He rubbed his grey eyes, that he might peer through the grey of the morning; the fresh breeze blew about his grizzly locks, and cooled his rubicund nose. The revenue-cutter, whose name was the _Active_, cast off from the buoy, and, with a fresh breeze, steered her course for the Needles' passage.	{ "id": "21559" }
3	CUTTER THE THIRD.	Reader! Have you been to Saint Malo? If you have, you were glad enough to leave the hole; and if you have not, take my advice, and do not give yourself the trouble to go and see that or any other French port in the Channel. There is not one worth looking at. They have made one or two artificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out or getting in. In fact, they have no harbours in the Channel, while we have the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of Providence, because it knew that we should want them, and France would not. In France, what are called ports are all alike,--nasty, narrow holes, only to be entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of basins and backwaters, custom-houses, and cabarets; just fit for smugglers to run into, and nothing more; and, therefore they are used for very little else. Now, in the dog-hole called Saint Malo there is some pretty land, although a great deficiency of marine scenery. But never mind that. Stay at home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call it Bordeaux, and eat villainous trash, so disguised by cooking that you cannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of the field, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. "If all is right, there is no occasion for disguise," is an old saying; so depend upon it that there is something wrong, and that you are eating offal, under a grand French name. They eat everything in France, and would serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as _singe a la petite verole_--that is, if you did not understand French; if you did, they would call it, _tete d'amour a l'Ethiopique_, and then you would be even more puzzled. As for their wine, there is no disguise in that; it's half vinegar. No, no! Stay at home; you can live just as cheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, good vegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog; and, what is of more importance, you will be in good company. Live with your friends, and don't make a fool of yourself. I would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it not been that I wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along the pier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunwale. It is low water, and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that it is a work of danger to go either in or out of her. You observe that there is nothing very remarkable in her. She is a cutter, and a good sea-boat, and sails well before the wind. She is short for her breadth of beam, and is not armed. Smugglers do not arm now--the service is too dangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force. Nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. This vessel has not a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. She has some thousand yards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, and about forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat. All they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust to themselves for success. There is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at the cabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for they smuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. There they are all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at that long table. They are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to sail to-night. The captain of the vessel (whose name, by-the-bye, is the _Happy-go-lucky_,--the captain christened her himself) is that fine-looking young man, with dark whiskers meeting under his throat. His name is Jack Pickersgill. You perceive at once that he is much above a common sailor in appearance. His manners are good, he is remarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress. Observe how very politely he takes off his hat to that Frenchman, with whom he had just settled accounts; he beats Johnny Crapeau at his own weapons. And then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscious superiority, about Jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut en bas_, at the same time that he is very civil. The fact is, that Jack is of a very good, old family, and received a very excellent education; but he was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little for him: he went out to India as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schooner which smuggled opium into China, and then came home. He took a liking to the employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not that he intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a vessel for himself, he intends to start again for India, and with two cargoes of opium he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and re-assume his family name. Such are Jack's intentions; and, as he eventually means to reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his gentlemanly habits: he neither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. He keeps his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, Jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. He is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. Jack has a very heavy venture this time--all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. A certain fashionable shop in London has already agreed to take the whole off his hands. That short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the companion of the captain. He is clever, and always has a remedy to propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second in command. His name is Corbett. He is always merry--half-sailor, half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to London, and does business as well as a chapman--lives for the day and laughs at to-morrow. That little punchy old man, with long grey hair and fat face, with a nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance. He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore in France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs; as for the revenue-vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. He knows every creek, and hole, and corner of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His name is Morrison. You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters in Corbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and obedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularly introduce them. "Now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that, must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall we have dirt?" "I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever, if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards." "That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?" "Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the affair." "What did you let him off?" "Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing. "And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill. "Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide if he had to pay a bill without a deduction." "Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay of 1811, and three glasses." Jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the _Happy-go-lucky_. "You sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him. Pickersgill nodded his head. "I had a strange dream," said Jeannette; "I thought you were all taken by a revenue-cutter, and put in a _cachot_. I went to see you, and I did not know one of you again--you were all changed." "Very likely, Jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in your dream." " _Mais, mon Dieu! Je ne suis pas comme ca, moi_." "No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days I'll marry you," said Corbett. " _Doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied Jeannette, laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in these last three years." "Well, that proves I keep to my promise, anyhow." "Yes; but you never go any further." "I can't spare him, Jeannette, that is the real truth," said the captain: "but wait a little,--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your _petite fortune_." " _Merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage_!" Jeannette held her finger up to Corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant_!" and then quitted the room. "Come, Morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board." "I wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said Morrison, taking his seat; "I don't like it. When she said that we should be taken by a revenue-cutter, I was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and I said to myself, Now, if that be a warning, I will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, I shall be in jail in a week; if the _white_, I shall be back here." "Well?" said Pickersgill, laughing. "It wasn't well," answered Morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away immediately." "Why, Morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon!" said Corbett, laughing and looking out of the window; "at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one." "It's the first time that ever I was called chicken-hearted," replied Morrison, in wrath. "Nor do you deserve it, Morrison," replied Pickersgill; "but Corbett is only joking." "Well, at all events, I'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether I am to be in jail: I shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did." The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain Corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. The blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. "Bravo, white pigeon!" said Corbett; "I shall be here again in a week." The whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and Morrison's countenance brightened up. As he took the glass of wine poured out by Pickersgill, he said, "Here's your health, Corbett; it was all nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, I can't be put in jail, without you are. We all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success to our trip." "We will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board," said the captain; "here's success to our trip." The captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the _Happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of Saint Malo.	{ "id": "21559" }
4	PORTLAND BILL.	The _Happy-go-lucky_ sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from Saint Malo, the evening before the _Arrow_ sailed from Barn Pool. The _Active_ sailed from Portsmouth the morning after. The yacht, as we before observed, was bound to Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. The _Active_ had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral's station; and she ran for West Bay, on the other side of the Bill of Portland. The _Happy-go-lucky_ was also bound for that bay to land her cargo. The wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the _Happy-go-lucky_, at ten o'clock on the Tuesday night, made the Portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove to. At eleven o'clock the Portland lights were made by the revenue-cutter _Active_. Mr Appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. At twelve o'clock, the yacht _Arrow_ made the Portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide. Day broke, and the horizon was clear. The first on the look-out were, of course, the smugglers; they, and those on board the revenue-cutter, were the only two interested parties--the yacht was neuter. "There are two cutters in sight, sir," said Corbett, who had the watch; for Pickersgill, having been up the whole night, had thrown himself down on the bed with his clothes on. "What do they look like?" said Pickersgill, who was up in a moment. "One is a yacht, and the other may be; but I rather think, as far as I can judge in the grey, that it is our old friend off here." "What! Old Appleboy?" "Yes, it looks like him; but the day has scarcely broke yet." "Well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels: but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said Pickersgill, coming on deck. "Yes; the king is more careful of his canvas." "You're right," said Pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess--that is the stupid old _Active_ which creeps about creeping for tubs. Well, I see nothing to alarm us at present, provided it don't fall a dead calm, and then we must take to our boats as soon as he takes to his; we are four miles from him at least. Watch his motions, Corbett, and see if he lowers a boat. What does she go now? Four knots? --that will soon tire their men." The positions of the three cutters were as follows:-- The _Happy-go-lucky_ was about four miles off Portland Head, and well into West Bay. The revenue-cutter was close to the Head. The yacht was outside of the smuggler, about two miles to the westward, and about five or six miles from the revenue-cutter. "Two vessels in sight, sir," said Mr Smith, coming down into the cabin to Mr Appleboy. "Very well," replied the lieutenant, who was _lying_ down in his _standing_ bed-place. "The people say one is the _Happy-go-lucky_, sir," drawled Smith. "Heh? What! _Happy-go-lucky_? Yes, I recollect; I've boarded her twenty times--always empty. How's she standing?" "She stands to the westward now, sir; but she was hove to, they say, when they first saw her." "Then she has a cargo in her," and Mr Appleboy shaved himself, dressed, and went on deck. "Yes," said the lieutenant, rubbing his eyes again and again, and then looking through the glass, "it is her, sure enough. Let draw the foresheet-hands make sail. What vessel's the other?" "Don't know, sir,--she's a cutter." "A cutter? Yes, may be a yacht, or may be the new cutter ordered on the station. Make all sail, Mr Tomkins: hoist our pendant, and fire a gun--they will understand what we mean then; they don't know the _Happy-go-lucky_ as well as we do." In a few minutes the _Active_ was under a press of sail; she hoisted her pendant, and fired a gun. The smuggler perceived that the _Active_ had recognised her, and she also threw out more canvas, and ran off more to the westward. "There's a gun, sir," reported one of the men to Mr Stewart, on board of the yacht. "Yes; give me the glass--a revenue-cutter; then this vessel in shore running towards us must be a smuggler." "She has just now made all sail, sir." "Yes, there's no doubt of it. I will go down to his lordship; keep her as she goes." Mr Stewart then went down to inform Lord B--- of the circumstance. Not only Lord B--- but most of the gentlemen came on deck; as did soon afterwards the ladies, who had received the intelligence from Lord B---, who spoke to them through the door of the cabin. But the smuggler had more wind than the revenue-cutter, and increased her distance. "If we were to wear round, my lord," observed Mr Stewart, "she is just abreast of us and in shore, we could prevent her escape." "Round with her, Mr Stewart," said Lord B---; "we must do our duty and protect the laws." "That will not be fair, papa," said Cecilia Ossulton; "we have no quarrel with the smuggler: I'm sure the ladies have not, for they bring us beautiful things." "Miss Ossulton," observed her aunt, "it is not proper for you to offer an opinion." The yacht wore round, and, sailing so fast, the smuggler had little chance of escaping her; but to chase is one thing--to capture, another. "Let us give her a gun," said Lord B---, "that will frighten her; and he dare not cross our hawse." The gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way. The gentlemen, as well as Lord B---, were equally excited by the ardour of pursuit; but the wind died away, and at last it was nearly calm. The revenue-cutter's boats were out, and coming up fast. "Let us get our boat out, Stewart," said his lordship, "and help them; it is quite calm now." The boat was soon out: it was a very large one, usually stowed on, and occupying a large portion of, the deck. It pulled six oars; and when it was manned, Mr Stewart jumped in, and Lord B--- followed him. "But you have no arms," said Mr Hautaine. "The smugglers never resist now," observed Stewart. "Then you are going on a very gallant expedition, indeed," observed Cecilia Ossulton; "I wish you joy." But Lord B--- was too much excited to pay attention. They shoved off, and pulled towards the smuggler. At this time the revenue boats were about five miles astern of the _Happy-go-lucky_, and the yacht about three-quarters of a mile from her in the offing. Pickersgill had, of course, observed the motions of the yacht; had seen her wear on chase, hoist her ensign and pendant, and fire her gun. "Well," said he, "this is the blackest ingratitude! To be attacked by the very people whom we smuggle for! I only wish she may come up with us; and, let her attempt to interfere, she shall rue the day: I don't much like this, though." As we before observed, it fell nearly calm, and the revenue boats were in chase. Pickersgill watched them as they came up. "What shall we do?" said Corbett,--"get the boat out?" "Yes," replied Pickersgill, "we will get the boat out, and have the goods in her all ready; but we can pull faster than they do, in the first place; and, in the next, they will be pretty well tired before they come up to us. We are fresh, and shall soon walk away from them; so I shall not leave the vessel till they are within half a mile. We must sink the ankers, that they may not seize the vessel, for it is not worth while taking them with us. Pass them along, ready to run them over the bows, that they may not see us and swear to it. But we have a good half hour, and more." "Ay, and you may hold all fast if you choose," said Morrison, "although it's better to be on the right side and get ready; otherwise, before half an hour, I'll swear that we are out of their sight. Look there," said he, pointing to the eastward at a heavy bank, "it's coming right down upon us, as I said it would." "True enough; but still there is no saying which will come first, Morrison, the boats or the fog; so we must be prepared." "Hilloa! What's this? Why, there's a boat coming from the yacht!" Pickersgill took out his glass. "Yes, and the yacht's own boat with the name painted on her bows. Well, let them come--we will have no ceremony in resisting them; they are not in the Act of Parliament, and must take the consequences. We have nought to fear. Get stretchers, my lads, and hand-spikes; they row six oars, and are three in the stern-sheets: they must be good men if they take us." In a few minutes Lord B--- was close to the smuggler. "Boat ahoy! What do you want?" "Surrender in the king's name." "To what, and to whom, and what are we to surrender? We are an English vessel coasting along shore." "Pull on board, my lads," cried Stewart; "I am a king's officer: we know her." The boat darted alongside, and Stewart and Lord B---, followed by the men, jumped on the deck. "Well, gentlemen, what do you want?" said Pickersgill. "We seize you! You are a smuggler,--there's no denying it: look at the casks of spirits stretched along the deck." "We never said that we were not smugglers," replied Pickersgill; "but what is that to you? You are not a king's ship, or employed by the revenue." "No; but we carry a pendant, and it is our duty to protect the laws." "And who are you?" said Pickersgill. "I am Lord B---." "Then, my lord, allow me to say that you would do much better to attend to the framing of laws, and leave people of less consequence, like those astern of me, to execute them. `Mind your own business,' is an old adage. We shall not hurt you, my lord, as you have only employed words, but we shall put it out of your power to hurt us. Come aft, my lads. Now, my lord, resistance is useless; we are double your numbers, and you have caught a Tartar." Lord B--- and Mr Stewart perceived that they were in an awkward predicament. "You may do what you please," observed Mr Stewart, "but the revenue boats are coming up, recollect." "Look you, sir, do you see the revenue-cutter?" said Pickersgill. Stewart looked in that direction and saw that she was hidden in the fog. "In five minutes, sir, the boats will be out of sight also, and so will your vessel; we have nothing to fear from them." "Indeed, my lord, we had better return," said Mr Stewart, who perceived that Pickersgill was right. "I beg your pardon, you will not go on board your yacht so soon as you expect. Take the oars out of the boat; my lads, two or three of you, and throw in a couple of our paddles for them to reach the shore with. The rest of you knock down the first man who offers to resist. You are not aware, perhaps, my lord, that you have attempted _piracy_ on the high seas?" Stewart looked at Lord B---. It was true enough. The men of the yacht could offer no resistance; the oars were taken out of the boat and the men put in again. "My lord," said Pickersgill, "your boat is manned, do me the favour to step into it; and you, sir, do the same. I should be sorry to lay my hands upon a peer of the realm, or a king's officer even on half pay." Remonstrance was vain; his lordship was led to the boat by two of the smugglers, and Stewart followed. "I will leave your oars, my lord, at the Weymouth Custom-house, and I trust this will be a lesson to you in future to `mind your own business.'" The boat was shoved off from the sloop by the smugglers, and was soon lost sight of in the fog, which had now covered the revenue boats as well as the yacht, at the same time it brought down a breeze from the eastward. "Haul to the wind, Morrison," said Pickersgill, "we will stand out to get rid of the boats; if they pull on they will take it for granted that we shall run into the bay, as will the revenue-cutter." Pickersgill and Corbett were in conversation abaft for a short time, when the former desired the course to be altered two points. "Keep silence all of you, my lads, and let me know if you hear a gun or a bell from the yacht," said Pickersgill. "There is a gun, sir, close to us," said one of the men; "the sound was right ahead." "That will do, keep her as she goes. Aft here, my lads; we cannot run our cargo in the bay, for the cutter has been seen to chase us, and they will all be on the look-out at the preventive stations for us on shore. Now, my lads, I have made up my mind that, as these yacht gentlemen have thought proper to interfere, that I will take possession of the yacht for a few days. We shall then outsail everything, go where we like unsuspected, and land our cargo with ease. I shall run alongside of her--she can have but few hands on board; and mind, do not hurt anybody, but be civil and obey my orders. Morrison, you and your four men and the boy will remain on board as before, and take the vessel to Cherbourg, where we will join you." In a short time another gun was fired from the yacht. Those on board, particularly the ladies, were alarmed; the fog was very thick, and they could not distinguish the length of the vessel. They had seen the boat board, but had not seen her turned adrift without oars, as the fog came on just at that time. The yacht was left with only three seamen on board, and should it come on bad weather, they were in an awkward predicament. Mr Hautaine had taken the command, and ordered the guns to be fired that the boat might be enabled to find them. The fourth gun was loading, when they perceived the smuggler's cutter close to them looming through the fog. "Here they are," cried the seamen; "and they have brought the prize along with them! Three cheers for the _Arrow_!" "Hilloa! You'll be on board of us?" cried Hautaine. "That's exactly what I intend to be, sir," replied Pickersgill, jumping on the quarter-deck, followed by his men. "Who the devil are you?" "That's exactly the same question that I asked Lord B--- when he boarded us," replied Pickersgill, taking off his hat to the ladies. "Well, but what business have you here?" "Exactly the same question which I put to Lord B---," replied Pickersgill. "Where is Lord B---, sir?" said Cecilia Ossulton, going up to the smuggler; "is he safe?" "Yes, madam, he is safe; at least he is in his boat with all his men, and unhurt: but you must excuse me if I request you and the other ladies to go down below while I speak to these gentlemen. Be under no alarm, miss, you will receive neither insult nor ill-treatment--I have only taken possession of this vessel for the present." "Take possession," cried Hautaine, "of a yacht." "Yes, sir, since the owner of the yacht thought proper to attempt to take possession of me. I always thought that yachts were pleasure-vessels, sailing about for amusement, respected themselves, and not interfering with others; but it appears that such is not the case. The owner of this yacht has thought proper to break through the neutrality and commence aggression, and under such circumstances I have now, in retaliation, taken possession of her." "And, pray, what do you mean to do, sir?" "Simply for a few days to make an exchange. I shall send you on board of my vessel as smugglers, while I remain here with the ladies and amuse myself with yachting." "Why, sir, you cannot mean--" "I have said, gentlemen, and that is enough; I should be sorry to resort to violence, but I must be obeyed. You have, I perceive, three seamen only left: they are not sufficient to take charge of the vessel, and Lord B--- and the others you will not meet for several days. My regard for the ladies, even common humanity, points out to me that I cannot leave the vessel in this crippled condition. At the same time, I must have hands on board of my own, you will oblige me by going on board and taking her safely into port. It is the least return you can make for my kindness. In those dresses, gentlemen, you will not be able to do your duty: oblige me by shifting and putting on these." Corbett handed a flannel shirt, a rough jacket and trousers, to Messrs. Hautaine, Ossulton, Vaughan, and Seagrove. After some useless resistance they were stripped, and having put on the smugglers' attire, they were handed on board of the _Happy-go-lucky_. The three English seamen were also sent on board and confined below, as well as Ossulton's servant, who was also equipped like his master, and confined below with the seamen. Corbett and the men then handed up all the smuggled goods into the yacht, dropped the boat, and made it fast astern, and Morrison having received his directions, the vessels separated, Morrison running for Cherbourg, and Pickersgill steering the yacht along shore to the westward. About an hour after this exchange had been effected the fog cleared up, and showed the revenue-cutter hove to for her boats, which had pulled back and were close on board of her, and the _Happy-go-lucky_ about three miles in the offing; Lord B--- and his boat's crew were about four miles in shore, paddling and drifting with the tide towards Portland. As soon as the boats were on board, the revenue-cutter made all sail after the smuggler, paying no attention to the yacht, and either not seeing or not caring about the boat which was drifting about in West Bay.	{ "id": "21559" }
5	THE TRAVESTY.	"Here we are, Corbett, and now I only wish my venture had been double," observed Pickersgill; "but I shall not allow business to absorb me wholly--we must add a little amusement. It appears to me, Corbett, that the gentleman's clothes which lie there will fit you, and those of the good-looking fellow who was spokesman will, I am sure, suit me well. Now let us dress ourselves, and then for breakfast." Pickersgill then exchanged his clothes for those of Mr Hautaine, and Corbett fitted on those of Mr Ossulton. The steward was summoned up, and he dared not disobey; he appeared on deck, trembling. "Steward--you will take these clothes below," said Pickersgill, "and, observe, that I now command this yacht; and during the time that I am on board you will pay me the same respect as you did Lord B---: nay, more, you will always address me as Lord B---. You will prepare dinner and breakfast, and do your duty just as if his lordship was on board, and take care that you feed us well, for I will not allow the ladies to be entertained in a less sumptuous manner than before. You will tell the cook what I say; and now that you have heard me, take care that you obey; if not, recollect that I have my own men here, and if I but point with my finger, _overboard you go_. Do you perfectly comprehend me?" "Yes,--sir," stammered the steward. "Yes, _sir_! --what did I tell you, sirrah? --Yes, my lord. Do you understand me?" "Yes--my lord." "Pray, steward, whose clothes has this gentleman put on?" "Mr--Mr Ossulton's, I think--sir--my lord, I mean." "Very well, steward; then recollect, in future you always address that gentleman as _Mr Ossulton_." "Yes, my lord," and the steward went down below, and was obliged to take a couple of glasses of brandy to keep himself from fainting. "Who are they, and what are they, Mr Maddox?" cried the lady's-maid, who had been weeping. "Pirates! --_bloody murderous, stick-at-nothing_ pirates!" replied the steward. "Oh!" screamed the lady's-maid, "what will become of us, poor unprotected females?" And she hastened into the cabin, to impart this dreadful intelligence. The ladies in the cabin were not in a very enviable situation. As for the elder Miss Ossulton (but perhaps, it will be better in future to distinguish the two ladies, by calling the elder simply Miss Ossulton, and her niece, Cecilia), she was sitting with her salts to her nose, agonised with a mixture of trepidation and wounded pride. Mrs Lascelles was weeping, but weeping gently. Cecilia was sad, and her heart was beating with anxiety and suspense--when the maid rushed in. "O madam! O miss! O Mrs Lascelles! I have found it all out! --they are murderous, bloody, do-everything pirates!" "Mercy on us!" exclaimed Miss Ossulton; "surely they will never dare--?" "Oh, ma'am, they dare anything! --they just now were for throwing the steward overboard; and they have rummaged for all the portmanteaus, and dressed themselves in the gentlemen's best clothes. The captain of them told the steward that he was Lord B---, and that if he dared to call him anything else, he would cut his throat from ear to ear; and if the cook don't give them a good dinner, they swear that they'll chop his right hand off, and make him eat it without pepper or salt!" Miss Ossulton screamed, and went off into hysterics. Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia went to her assistance; but the latter had not forgotten the very different behaviour of Jack Pickersgill, and his polite manners, when he boarded the vessel. She did not therefore believe what the maid had reported, but still her anxiety and suspense were great, especially about her father. After having restored her aunt she put on her bonnet, which was lying on the sofa. "Where are you going, dear?" said Mrs Lascelles. "On deck," replied Cecilia. "I must and will speak to these men." "Gracious heaven, Miss Ossulton! Going on deck! Have you heard what Phoebe says?" "Yes, aunt, I have; but I can wait here no longer." "Stop her! Stop her! --she will be murdered! --she will be--she is mad!" screamed Miss Ossulton; but no one attempted to stop Cecilia, and on deck she went. On her arrival she found Jack Pickersgill and Corbett walking the deck, one of the smugglers at the helm, and the rest forward, and as quiet as the crew of the yacht. As soon as she made her appearance Jack took off his hat, and made her a bow. "I do not know whom I have the honour of addressing, young lady; but I am flattered with this mark of confidence. You feel, and I assure you, you feel correctly, that you are not exactly in lawless hands." Cecilia looked with more surprise than fear at Pickersgill. Mr Hautaine's dress became him; he was a handsome, fine-looking man, and had nothing of the ruffian in his appearance; unless, like Byron's Corsair, he was _half savage, half soft_. She could not help thinking that she had met many with less pretensions, as far as appearance went, to the claims of a gentleman, at Almack's and other fashionable circles. "I have ventured on deck, sir," said Cecilia, with a little tremulousness in her voice, "to request, as a favour, that you will inform me what your intentions may be with regard to the vessel and with regard to the ladies!" "And I feel much obliged to you for so doing, and I assure you I will, as far as I have made up my own mind, answer you candidly: but you tremble--allow me to conduct you to a seat. In few words, then, to remove your present alarm, I intend that the vessel shall be returned to its owner, with every article in it as religiously respected as if they were church property. With respect to you, and the other ladies on board, I pledge you my honour that you have nothing to fear; that you shall be treated with every respect; your privacy never invaded; and that, in a few days, you will be restored to your friends. Young lady, I pledge my hopes of future salvation to the truth of this; but, at the same time, I must make a few conditions, which, however, will not be very severe." "But, sir," replied Cecilia, much relieved, for Pickersgill had stood by her in the most respectful manner, "you are, I presume, the captain of the smuggler? Pray answer me one question more--What became of the boat with Lord B---? He is my father." "I left him in his boat, without a hair of his head touched, young lady; but I took away the oars." "Then he will perish!" cried Cecilia, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "No, young lady; he is on shore, probably, by this time. Although I took away his means of assisting to capture us, I left him the means of gaining the land. It is not every one who would have done that, after his conduct to us." "I begged him not to go," said Cecilia; "I told him that it was not fair, and that he had no quarrel with the smugglers." "I thank you even for that," replied Pickersgill. "And now, miss--I have not the pleasure of recollecting his lordship's family name--" "Ossulton, sir," cried Cecilia, looking at Pickersgill with surprise. "Then with your permission, Miss Ossulton, I will now make you my confidant: excuse my using so free a term, but it is because I wish to relieve your fears. At the same time, I cannot permit you to divulge all my intentions to the whole party on board. I feel that I may trust you, for you have courage, and where there is courage there generally is truth; but you must first tell me whether you will condescend to accept these terms?" Cecilia demurred a moment; the idea of being the confidant of a smuggler rather startled her: but still, her knowledge of what his intentions were, if she might not reveal them, might be important; as, perhaps, she might dissuade him. She could be in no worse position than she was now, and she might be in a much better. The conduct of Pickersgill had been such, up to the present, as to inspire confidence; and, although he defied the laws, he appeared to regard the courtesies of life. Cecilia was a courageous girl, and at length she replied:-- "Provided what you desire me to keep secret will not be injurious to any one, or compromise me in my peculiar situation, I consent." "I would not hurt a fly, Miss Ossulton, but in self-defence; and I have too much respect for you, from your conduct during our short meeting, to compromise you. Allow me now to be very candid; and then, perhaps, you will acknowledge that in my situation others would do the same, and, perhaps, not show half so much forbearance. Your father, without any right whatever, interferes with me and my calling: he attempts to make me a prisoner, to have me thrown into jail, heavily fined, and, perhaps, sent out of the country. I will not enter into any defence of smuggling; it is sufficient to say that there are pains and penalties attached to the infraction of certain laws, and that I choose to risk them. But Lord B--- was not empowered by Government to attack me; it was a gratuitous act; and had I thrown him and all his crew into the sea, I should have been justified; for it was, in short, an act of piracy on their part. Now, as your father has thought to turn a yacht into a revenue-cutter, you cannot be surprised at my retaliating, in turning her into a smuggler; and as he has mixed up looking after the revenue with yachting, he cannot be surprised if I retaliate, by mixing up a little yachting with smuggling. I have dressed your male companions as smugglers, and have sent them in the smuggling vessel to Cherbourg, where they will be safely landed; and I have dressed myself, and the only person whom I could join with me in this frolic, as gentlemen in their places. My object is twofold; one is to land my cargo, which I have now on board, and which is very valuable; the other is, to retaliate upon your father and his companions for their attempt upon me, by stepping into their shoes, and enjoying, for a day or two, their luxuries. It is my intention to make free with nothing but his lordship's wines and eatables--that you may be assured of; but I shall have no pleasure if the ladies do not sit down to the dinner-table with us, as they did before with your father and his friends." "You can hardly expect that, sir," said Cecilia. "Yes, I do; and that will be not only the price of the early release of the yacht and themselves, but it will also be the only means by which they will obtain anything to eat. You observe, Miss Ossulton, the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I have now told you what I mean to do and what I wish. I leave you to think of it, and decide whether it will not be the best for all parties to consent. You have my permission to tell the other ladies that, whatever may be their conduct, they are as secure from ill-treatment or rudeness as if they were in Grosvenor-Square; but I cannot answer that they will not be hungry, if, after such forbearance in every point, they show so little gratitude as not to honour me with their company." "Then I am to understand that we are to be starved into submission?" "No, not starved, Miss Ossulton; but recollect that you will be on bread and water, and detained until you do consent, and your detention will increase the anxiety of your father." "You know how to persuade, sir," said Cecilia. "As far as I am concerned, I trust I shall ever be ready to sacrifice any feelings of pride to spare my father so much uneasiness. With your permission, I will now go down into the cabin and relieve my companions from the worst of their fears. As for obtaining what you wish, I can only say that, as a young person, I am not likely to have much influence with those older than myself, and must inevitably be overruled, as I have not permission to point out to them reasons which might avail. Would you so far allow me to be relieved from my promise, as to communicate all you have said to me to the only married woman on board? I think I might then obtain your wishes, which, I must candidly tell you, I shall attempt to effect _only_ because I am most anxious to rejoin my friends." "And be relieved of my company," replied Pickersgill, smiling ironically,--"of course you are; but I must and will have my pretty revenge: and although you may, and probably will, detest me, at all events you shall not have any very formidable charge to make against me. Before you go below, Miss Ossulton, I give you my permission to add the married lady to the number of my confidants; and you must permit me to introduce my friend, Mr Ossulton;" and Pickersgill waved his hand in the direction of Corbett, who took off his hat and made a low obeisance. It was impossible for Cecilia Ossulton to help smiling. "And," continued Pickersgill, "having taken the command of this yacht instead of his lordship, it is absolutely necessary that I also take his lordship's name. While on board I am Lord B---; and allow me to introduce myself under that name; I cannot be addressed otherwise. Depend upon it, Miss Ossulton, that I shall have a most paternal solicitude to make you happy and comfortable." Had Cecilia Ossulton dared to have given vent to her real feelings at that time, she would have burst into a fit of laughter; it was too ludicrous. At the same time, the very burlesque reassured her still more. She went into the cabin with a heavy weight removed from her heart. In the meantime, Miss Ossulton and Mrs Lascelles remained below, in the greatest anxiety at Cecilia's prolonged stay; they knew not what to think, and dared not go on deck. Mrs Lascelles had once determined at all risks to go up; but Miss Ossulton and Phoebe had screamed and implored her so fervently not to leave them that she unwillingly consented to remain. Cecilia's countenance when she entered the cabin, reassured Mrs Lascelles, but not her aunt, who ran to her crying and sobbing and clinging to her, saying, "What have they done to you, my poor, poor Cecilia?" "Nothing at all, aunt," replied Cecilia, "the captain speaks very fairly, and says he shall respect us in every possible way, provided that we obey his orders; but if not--" "If not--what, Cecilia?" said Miss Ossulton, grasping her niece's arm. "He will starve us, and not let us go!" "God have mercy on us!" cried Miss Ossulton, renewing her sobs. Cecilia then went to Mrs Lascelles, and communicated to her apart, all that had passed. Mrs Lascelles agreed with Cecilia that they were in no danger of insult; and as they talked over the matter they at last began to laugh; there was a novelty in it, and there was something so ridiculous in all the gentlemen being turned into smugglers. Cecilia was glad that she could not tell her aunt, as she wished her to be so frightened as never to have her company on board the yacht again; and Mrs Lascelles was too glad to annoy her for many and various insults received. The matter was therefore canvassed over very satisfactorily, and Mrs Lascelles felt a natural curiosity to see this new Lord B--- and the second Mr Ossulton. But they had had no breakfast, and were feeling very hungry now that their alarm was over. They desired Phoebe to ask the steward for some tea or coffee. The reply was, that "Breakfast was laid in the cabin, and Lord B--- trusted that the ladies would come to partake of it." "No, no," replied Mrs Lascelles, "I never can, without being introduced to them first." "Nor will I go," replied Cecilia, "but I will write a note, and we will have our breakfast here." Cecilia wrote a note in pencil as follows: "Miss Ossulton's compliments to Lord B---, and, as the ladies feel rather indisposed after the alarm of this morning, they trust that his lordship will excuse their coming to breakfast; but hope to meet his lordship at dinner, if not before that time on deck." The answer was propitious, and the steward soon appeared with the breakfast in the ladies' cabin. "Well, Maddox," said Cecilia, "how do you get on with your new master?" The steward looked at the door, to see if it was closed, shook his head, and then said, with a look of despair, "He has ordered a haunch of venison for dinner, miss, and he has twice threatened to toss me overboard." "You must obey him, Maddox, or he certainly will. These pirates are dreadful fellows. Be attentive, and serve him just as if he was my father." "Yes, yes, ma'am, I will; but our time may come. It's _burglary_ on the high seas, and I'll go fifty miles to see him hanged." "Steward!" cried Pickersgill, from the cabin. "O Lord! He can't have heard me--d'ye think he did, miss?" "The partitions are very thin, and you spoke very loud," said Mrs Lascelles: "at all events, go to him quickly." "Good bye, miss; good bye, ma'am; if I shouldn't see you any more," said Maddox, trembling with fear, as he obeyed the awful summons--which was to demand a tooth-pick. Miss Ossulton would not touch the breakfast; not so Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia, who ate very heartily. "It's very dull to be shut up in this cabin," said Mrs Lascelles; "come, Cecilia, let's go on deck." "And leave me!" cried Miss Ossulton. "There is Phoebe here, aunt; we are going up to persuade the pirates to put us all on shore." Mrs Lascelles and Cecilia put on their bonnets and went up. Lord B--- took off his hat, and begged the honour of being introduced to the pretty widow. He handed the ladies to a seat, and then commenced conversing upon various subjects, which at the same time possessed great novelty. His lordship talked about France, and described its ports; told now and then a good anecdote; pointed out the different headlands, bays, towns, and villages, which they were passing rapidly, and always had some little story connected with each. Before the ladies had been two hours on deck they found themselves, to their infinite surprise, not only interested, but in conversation with the captain of the smuggler, and more than once they laughed outright. But the _soi-disant_ Lord B--- had inspired them with confidence; they fully believed that what he had told them was true, and that he had taken possession of the yacht to smuggle his goods, to be revenged, and to have a laugh. Now none of these three offences are capital in the eyes of the fair sex, and Jack was a handsome, fine-looking fellow, of excellent manners and very agreeable conversation; at the same time, neither he nor his friend were in their general deportment and behaviour otherwise than most respectful. "Ladies, as you are not afraid of me, which is a greater happiness than I had reason to expect, I think you may be amused to witness the fear of those who accuse your sex of cowardice. With your permission, I will send for the cook and steward, and inquire about the dinner." "I should like to know what there is for dinner," observed Mrs Lascelles demurely; "wouldn't you, Cecilia?" Cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth. "Tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately," cried Pickersgill. In a few seconds they both made their appearance. "Steward!" cried Pickersgill, with a loud voice. "Yes, my lord," replied Maddox, with his hat in his hand. "What wines have you put out for dinner?" "Champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and Madeira and sherry, my lord." "No Burgundy, sir?" "No, my lord; there is no Burgundy on board." "No Burgundy, sir! Do you dare to tell me that?" "Upon my soul, my lord," cried Maddox, dropping on his knees, "there is no Burgundy on board--ask the ladies." "Very well, sir, you may go." "Cook, what have you got for dinner?" "Sir, a haunch of mut--of venison, my lord," replied the cook, with his white night-cap in his hand. "What else, sirrah?" "A boiled calf's head, my lord." "A boiled calf's head! Let it be roasted, or I'll roast you, sir!" cried Pickersgill, in an angry tone. "Yes, my lord; I'll roast it." "And what else, sir?" "Maintenon cutlets, my lord." "Maintenon cutlets! I hate them--I won't have them, sir. Let them be dressed _a l'ombre Chinoise_." "I don't know what that is, my lord." "I don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time, you're food for fishes--that all; you may go." The cook walked off wringing his hands and his night-cap as well--for he still held it in his right hand--and disappeared down the fore-hatchway. "I have done this to pay you a deserved compliment, ladies; you have more courage than the other sex." "Recollect that we have had confidence given to us in consequence of your pledging your word, my lord." "You do me, then, the honour of believing me?" "I did not until I saw you," replied Mrs Lascelles, "but now I am convinced that you will perform your promise." "You do, indeed, encourage me, madam, to pursue what is right," said Pickersgill, bowing; "for your approbation I should be most sorry to lose, still more sorry to prove myself unworthy of it." As the reader will observe, everything was going on remarkably well.	{ "id": "21559" }
6	THE SMUGGLING YACHT.	Cecilia returned to the cabin, to ascertain whether her aunt was more composed; but Mrs Lascelles remained on deck. She was much pleased with Pickersgill; and they continued their conversation. Pickersgill entered into a defence of his conduct to Lord B---; and Mrs Lascelles could not but admit the provocation. After a long conversation she hinted at his profession, and how superior he appeared to be to such a lawless life. "You may be incredulous, madam," replied Pickersgill, "if I tell you that I have as good a right to quarter my arms as Lord B--- himself; and that I am not under my real name. Smuggling is, at all events, no crime; and I infinitely prefer the wild life I lead at the head of my men to being spurned by society because I am poor. The greatest crime in this country is poverty. I may, if I am fortunate, some day resume my name. You may, perhaps, meet me, and if you please, you may expose me." "That I should not be likely to do," replied the widow; "but still I regret to see a person, evidently intended for better things, employed in so disreputable a profession." "I hardly know, madam, what is and what is not disreputable in this conventional world. It is not considered disreputable to cringe to the vices of a court, or to accept a pension wrung from the industry of the nation, in return for base servility. It is not considered disreputable to take tithes, intended for the service of God, and lavish them away at watering-places or elsewhere, seeking pleasure instead of doing God service. It is not considered disreputable to take fee after fee to uphold injustice, to plead against innocence, to pervert truth, and to aid the devil. It is not considered disreputable to gamble on the Stock Exchange, or to corrupt the honesty of electors by bribes, for doing which the penalty attached is equal to that decreed to the offence of which I am guilty. All these, and much more, are not considered disreputable; yet by all these are the moral bonds of society loosened, while in mine we cause no guilt in others--" "But still it is a crime." "A violation of the revenue laws, and no more. Observe, madam, the English Government encourage the smuggling of our manufactures to the Continent, at the same time that they take every step to prevent articles being smuggled into this country. Now, madam, can that be a _crime_ when the head of the vessel is turned north, which becomes _no crime_ when she steers the opposite way?" "There is a stigma attached to it, you must allow." "That I grant you, madam; and as soon as I can quit the profession I shall. No captive ever sighed more to be released from his chains; but I will not leave it, till I find I am in a situation not to be spurned and neglected by those with whom I have a right to associate." At this moment the steward was seen forward making signs to Mrs Lascelles, who excused herself, and went to him. "For the love of God, madam," said Maddox, "as he appears to be friendly with you, do pray find out how these cutlets are to be dressed; the cook is tearing his hair, and we shall never have any dinner; and then it will all fall upon me, and I--shall be tossed overboard." Mrs Lascelles desired poor Maddox to wait there while she obtained the desired information. In a few minutes she returned to him. "I have found it out. They are first to be boiled in vinegar, then fried in batter, and served up with a sauce of anchovy and Malaga raisins!" "First fried in vinegar, then boiled in batter, and served up with almonds and raisins." "No--no!" Mrs Lascelles repeated the injunction to the frightened steward, and then returned aft, and re-entered into a conversation with Pickersgill, in which for the first time, Corbett now joined. Corbett had sense enough to feel, that the less he came forward until his superior had established himself in the good graces of the ladies, the more favourable would be the result. In the meantime Cecilia had gone down to her aunt, who still continued to wail and lament. The young lady tried all she could to console her, and to persuade her that if they were civil and obedient they had nothing to fear. "Civil and obedient, indeed!" cried Miss Ossulton, "to a fellow who is a smuggler and a pirate! I, the sister of Lord B---! Never! The presumption of the wretch!" "That is all very well, aunt; but recollect, we must submit to circumstances. These men insist upon our dining with them; and we must go, or we shall have no dinner." "I, sit down with a pirate! Never! I'll have no dinner--I'll starve-- I'll die!" "But, my dear aunt, it's the only chance we have of obtaining our release; and if you do not do it Mrs Lascelles will think that you wish to remain with them." "Mrs Lascelles judges of other people by herself." "The captain is certainly a very well-behaved, handsome man. He looks like a nobleman in disguise. What an odd thing it would be, aunt, if this should be all a hoax!" "A hoax, child?" replied Miss Ossulton, sitting up on the sofa. Cecilia found that she had hit the right nail, as the saying is; and she brought forward so many arguments to prove that she thought it was a hoax to frighten them, and that the gentleman above was a man of consequence, that her aunt began to listen to reason, and at last consented to join the dinner-party. Mrs Lascelles now came down below; and when dinner was announced they repaired to the large cabin, where they found Pickersgill and Corbett waiting for them. Miss Ossulton did not venture to look up, until she heard Pickersgill say to Mrs Lascelles, "Perhaps, madam, you will do me the favour to introduce me to that lady, whom I have not had the honour of seeing before?" "Certainly, my lord," replied Mrs Lascelles. "Miss Ossulton, the aunt of this young lady." Mrs Lascelles purposely did not introduce _his lordship_ in return, that she might mystify the old spinster. "I feel highly honoured in finding, myself in the company of Miss Ossulton," said Pickersgill. "Ladies, we wait but for you to sit down. Ossulton, take the head of the table and serve the soup." Miss Ossulton was astonished; she looked at the smugglers, and perceived two well-dressed gentlemanly men, one of whom was apparently a lord and the other having the same family name. "It must be all a hoax," thought she, and she very quietly took to her soup. The dinner passed off very pleasantly; Pickersgill was agreeable, Corbett funny, and Miss Ossulton so far recovered herself as to drink wine with his lordship, and to ask Corbett what branch of their family he belonged to. "I presume it's the Irish branch?" said Mrs Lascelles, prompting him. "Exactly, madam," replied Corbett. "Have you ever been to Torquay, ladies?" inquired Pickersgill. "No, my lord," answered Mrs Lascelles. "We shall anchor there in the course of an hour, and probably remain there till to-morrow. Steward, bring coffee. Tell the cook these cutlets were remarkably well-dressed." The ladies retired to their cabin. Miss Ossulton was now convinced that it was all a hoax; "but," said she, "I shall tell Lord B--- my opinion of their practical jokes when he returns. What is his lordship's name who is on board?" "He won't tell us," replied Mrs Lascelles; "but I think I know; it is Lord Blarney." "Lord Blaney you mean, I presume," said Miss Ossulton; "however the thing is carried too far. Cecilia, we will go on shore at Torquay, and wait till the yacht returns with Lord B---. I don't like these jokes; they may do very well for widows, and people of no rank." Now Mrs Lascelles was sorry to find Miss Ossulton so much at her ease. She owed her no little spite, and wished for revenge. Ladies will go very far to obtain this. How far Mrs Lascelles would have gone, I will not pretend to say; but this is certain, that the last innuendo of Miss Ossulton very much added to her determination. She took her bonnet and went on deck, at once told Pickersgill that he could not please her or Cecilia more than by frightening Miss Ossulton, who, under the idea that it was all a hoax, had quite recovered her spirits; talked of her pride and ill-nature, and wished her to receive a useful lesson. Thus, to follow up her revenge, did Mrs Lascelles commit herself so far, as to be confidential with the smuggler in return. "Mrs Lascelles, I shall be able to obey you, and, at the same time, to combine business with pleasure." After a short conversation, the yacht dropped her anchor at Torquay. It was then about two hours before sunset. As soon as the sails were furled, one or two gentlemen, who resided there, came on board to pay their respects to Lord B---; and, as Pickersgill had found out from Cecilia that her father was acquainted with no one there, he received them in person; asked them down in the cabin--called for wine--and desired them to send their boats away, as his own was going on shore. The smugglers took great care that the steward, cook, and lady's-maid, should have no communication with the guests; one of them, by Corbett's direction, being a sentinel over each individual. The gentlemen remained about half-an-hour on board, during which Corbett and the smugglers had filled the portmanteaus found in the cabin with the lace, and they were put in the boat; Corbett then landed the gentlemen in the same boat, and went up to the hotel, the smugglers following him with the portmanteaus, without any suspicion or interruption. As soon as he was there, he ordered post-horses, and set off for a town close by, where he had correspondents; and thus the major part of the cargo was secured. Corbett then returned in the night, bringing with him people to receive the goods; and the smugglers landed the silks, teas, etcetera, with the same good fortune. Everything was out of the yacht except a portion of the lace, which the portmanteaus would not hold. Pickersgill might easily have sent this on shore; but, to please Mrs Lascelles, he arranged otherwise. The next morning, about an hour after breakfast was finished, Mrs Lascelles entered the cabin pretending to be in the greatest consternation, and fell on the sofa as if she were going to faint. "Good heavens! What is the matter?" exclaimed Cecilia, who knew very well what was coming. "Oh, the wretch! He has made such proposals!" "Proposals! What proposals? What! Lord Blaney?" cried Miss Ossulton. "Oh, he's no lord! He's a villain and a smuggler! And he insists that we shall both fill our pockets full of lace, and go on shore with him." "Mercy on me! Then it is no hoax after all; and I've been sitting down to dinner with a smuggler!" "Sitting down, madam! --if it were to be no more than that--but we are to take his arm up to the hotel. Oh dear! Cecilia, I am ordered on deck; pray, come with me!" Miss Ossulton rolled on the sofa, and rang for Phoebe; she was in a state of great alarm. A knock at the door. "Come in," said Miss Ossulton, thinking it was Phoebe; when Pickersgill made his appearance. "What do you want, sir? Go out, sir! Go out directly, of I'll scream!" "It is no use screaming, madam; recollect, that all on board are at my service. You, will oblige me by listening to me, Miss Ossulton. I am, as you know, a smuggler; and I must send this lace on shore. You will oblige me by putting, it into your pockets, or about your person, and prepare to go on shore with me. As soon as we arrive at the hotel, you will deliver it to me, and I then shall re-conduct you on board of the yacht. You are not the first lady who has gone on shore with contraband articles about her person." "Me, sir! Go on shore in that way? No, sir--never! What will the world say? --the Hon. Miss Ossulton walking with a smuggler! No, sir-- never!" "Yes, madam; walking arm-in-arm with a smuggler: I shall have you on one arm, and Mrs Lascelles on the other; and I would advise you to take it very quietly; for, in the first place, it will be you who smuggle, as the goods will be found on your person, and you will certainly be put in prison: for at the least appearance of insubordination, we run and inform against you; and further, your niece will remain on board as a hostage for your good behaviour--and if you have any regard for her liberty, you will consent immediately." Pickersgill left the cabin, and shortly afterwards Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles entered, apparently much distressed. They had been informed of all, and Mrs Lascelles declared, that for her part, sooner than leave her poor Cecilia to the mercy of such people, she had made up her mind to submit to the smuggler's demands. Cecilia also begged so earnestly, that Miss Ossulton, who had no idea that it was a trick, with much sobbing and blubbering, consented. When all was ready, Cecilia left the cabin; Pickersgill came down, handed up the two ladies, who had not exchanged a word with each other during Cecilia's absence; the boat was ready alongside--they went in, and pulled on shore. Everything succeeded to the smuggler's satisfaction. Miss Ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with Mrs Lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel, followed by four of his boat's crew. As soon as they were shown into a room, Corbett, who was already on shore, asked for Lord B---, and joined them. The ladies retired to another apartment, divested themselves of their contraband goods, and, after calling for some sandwiches and wine, Pickersgill waited an hour, and then returned on board. Mrs Lascelles was triumphant; and she rewarded her new ally--the smuggler--with one of her sweetest smiles. Community of interest will sometimes make strange friendships.	{ "id": "21559" }
7	CONCLUSION.	We must now return to the other parties who have assisted in the acts of this little drama. Lord B---, after paddling and paddling, the men relieving each other, in order to make head against the wind, which was off shore, arrived about midnight at a small town in West Bay, from whence he took a chaise on to Portsmouth, taking it for granted that his yacht would arrive as soon as, if not before himself, little imagining that it was in possession of the smugglers. There he remained three or four days, when, becoming impatient, he applied to one of his friends who had a yacht at Cowes, and sailed with him to look after his own. We left the _Happy-go-lucky_ chased by the revenue-cutter. At first the smuggler had the advantage before the wind; but, by degrees, the wind went round with the sun, and brought the revenue-cutter leeward: it was then a chase on a wind, and the revenue-cutter came fast up with her. Morrison, perceiving that he had no chance of escape, let run the ankers of brandy that he might not be condemned; but still he was in an awkward situation, as he had more men on board than allowed by Act of Parliament. He therefore stood on, notwithstanding the shot of the cutter went over and over him hoping, that a fog or night might enable him to escape; but he had no such good fortune; one of the shot carried away the head of his mast, and the _Happy-go-lucky's_ luck was all over. He was boarded and taken possession of; he asserted that the extra men were only passengers; but, in the first place, they were dressed in seamen's clothes; and, in the second, as soon as the boat was aboard of her, Appleboy had gone down to his gin-toddy, and was not to be disturbed. The gentlemen smugglers therefore passed an uncomfortable night; and the cutter going Portland by daylight, before Appleboy was out of bed, they were taken on shore to the magistrate. Hautaine explained the whole affair, and they were immediately released and treated with respect; but they were not permitted to depart until they were bound over to appear against the smugglers, and prove the brandy having been on board. They then set off for Portsmouth in the seamen's clothes, having had quite enough of yachting for that season, Mr Ossulton declaring that he only wanted to get his luggage, and then he would take care how he put himself again in the way of the shot of a revenue cruiser, or of sleeping a night on her decks. In the mean time Morrison and his men were locked up in the gaol, the old man, as the key was turned on him, exclaiming, as he raised his foot in vexation, "That cursed blue pigeon!" We will now return to the yacht. About an hour after Pickersgill had come on board, Corbett had made all his arrangements and followed him. It was not advisable to remain at Torquay any longer, through fear of discovery; he therefore weighed anchor before dinner, and made sail. "What do you intend to do now, my lord?" said Mrs Lascelles. "I intend to run down to Cowes, anchor the yacht in the night, and an hour before daylight have you in my boat with all my men. I will take care that you are in perfect safety, depend upon it, even if I run a risk. I should, indeed, be miserable, if, through my wild freaks, any accident should happen to Mrs Lascelles or Miss Ossulton." "I am very anxious about my father," observed Cecilia. "I trust that you will keep your promise." "I always have hitherto, Miss Ossulton; have I not?" "Ours is but a short and strange acquaintance." "I grant it; but it will serve for you to talk about long after. I shall disappear as suddenly as I have come--you will neither of you, in all probability, ever see me again." The dinner was announced, and they sat down to table as before; but the elderly spinster refused to make her appearance, and Mr Lascelles and Cecilia, who thought she had been frightened enough, did not attempt to force her. Pickersgill immediately yielded to these remonstrances, and from that time she remained undisturbed in the ladies' cabin, meditating over the indignity of having sat down to table, having drank wine, and been obliged to walk on shore, taking the arm of a smuggler, and appear in such a humiliating situation. The wind was light, and they made but little progress, and were not abreast of Portland till the second day, when another yacht appeared in sight, and the two vessels slowly neared, until in the afternoon they were within four miles of each other. It then fell a dead calm: signals were thrown out by the other yacht, but could not be distinguished, and, for the last time, they sat down to dinner. Three days' companionship on board of a vessel, cooped up together, and having no one else to converse with, will produce intimacy; and Pickersgill was a young man of so much originality and information, that he was listened to with pleasure. He never attempted to advance beyond the line of strict decorum and politeness; and his companion was equally unpresuming. Situated as they were, and feeling what must have been the case had they fallen into other hands, both Cecilia and Mrs Lascelles felt some degree of gratitude towards him; and although anxious to be relieved from so strange a position, they had gradually acquired a perfect confidence in him; and this had produced a degree of familiarity on their parts, although never ventured upon by the smuggler. As Corbett was at the table, one of the men came down and made a sign. Corbett, shortly after quitted the table and went on deck. "I wish, my lord, you would come up a moment, and see if you can make this flag out," said Corbett, giving a significant nod to Pickersgill. "Excuse me, ladies, one moment," said Pickersgill, who went on deck. "It is the boat of the yacht coming on board," said Corbett; "and Lord B--- is in the stern-sheets with the gentleman who was with him." "And how many men in the boat? --let me see--only four. Well, let his lordship and his friend come: when they are on the deck, have the men ready in case of accident; but if you can manage to tell the boat's crew that they are to go on board again, and get rid of them that way, so much the better. Arrange this with Adams, and then come down again--his lordship must see us all at dinner." Pickersgill then descended, and Corbett had hardly time to give his directions and to resume his seat, before his lordship and Mr Stewart pulled up alongside and jumped on deck. There was no one to receive them but the seamen, and those whom they did not know. They looked round in amazement; at last his lordship said to Adams, who stood forward--"What men are you?" "Belong to the yacht, ye'r honour." Lord B--- heard laughing in the cabin; he would not wait to interrogate the men; he walked aft, followed by Mr Stewart, looked down the skylight, and perceived his daughter and Mrs Lascelles, with, as he supposed, Hautaine and Ossulton. Pickersgill had heard the boat rub the side, and the sound of the feet on deck, and he talked the more loudly, that the ladies might be caught by Lord B--- as they were. He heard their feet at the skylight, and knew that they could hear what passed; and at that moment he proposed to the ladies that as this was their last meeting at table they should all take a glass of champagne to drink to "their happy meeting with Lord B---." This was a toast which they did not refuse. Maddox poured out the wine, and they were all bowing to each other, when his lordship, who had come down the ladder, walked into the cabin, followed by Mr Stewart. Cecilia perceived her father; the champagne-glass dropped from her hand--she flew into his arms, and burst into tears. "Who would not be a father, Mrs Lascelles?" said Pickersgill, quietly seating himself, after having first risen to receive Lord B---. "And pray, whom may I have the honour of finding established here?" said Lord B---, in an angry tone, speaking over his daughter's head, who still lay in his arms. "By heavens, yes! --Stewart, it is the smuggling captain dressed out." "Even so, my lord," replied Pickersgill. "You abandoned your yacht to capture me; you left these ladies in a vessel crippled for want of men; they might have been lost. I have returned good for evil by coming on board with my own people, and taking charge of them. This night I expected to have anchored your vessel in Cowes, and have left them in safety." "By the--" cried Stewart. "Stop, sir, if you please!" cried Pickersgill; "recollect you have once already attacked one who never offended. Oblige me by refraining from intemperate language; for I tell you I will not put up with it. Recollect, sir, that I have refrained from that, and also from taking advantage of you when you were in my power. Recollect, sir, also, that the yacht is still in possession of the smugglers, and that you are in no condition to insult with impunity. My lord, allow me to observe, that we men are too hot of temperament to argue or listen coolly. With your permission, your friend, and my friend, and I, will repair on deck, leaving you to hear from your daughter and that lady all that has passed. After that, my lord, I shall be most happy to hear anything which your lordship may please to say." "Upon my word--" commenced Mr Stewart. "Mr Stewart," interrupted Cecilia Ossulton, "I request your silence; nay, more, if ever we are again to sail in the same vessel together, I _insist_ upon it." "Your lordship will oblige me by enforcing Miss Ossulton's request," said Mrs Lascelles. Mr Stewart was dumbfounded--no wonder--to find the ladies siding with the smuggler. "I am obliged to you, ladies, for your interference," said Pickersgill; "for, although I have the means of enforcing conditions, I should be sorry to avail myself of them. I wait for his lordship's reply." Lord B--- was very much surprised. He wished for an explanation; he bowed with _hauteur_. Everybody appeared to be in a false position; even he, Lord B---, somehow or another had bowed to a smuggler. Pickersgill and Stewart went on deck, walking up and down, crossing each other without speaking, but reminding you of two dogs who are both anxious to fight, but have been restrained by the voice of their masters. Corbett followed, and talked in a low tone to Pickersgill; Stewart went over to leeward to see if the boat was still alongside, but it had long before returned to the yacht. Miss Ossulton had heard her brother's voice, but did not come out of the after-cabin; she wished to be magnificent, and at the same time she was not sure whether all was right, Phoebe having informed her that there was nobody with her brother and Mr Stewart, and that the smugglers still had the command of the vessel. After a while, Pickersgill and Corbett went down forward, and returned dressed in the smugglers' clothes, when they resumed their walk on deck. In the mean time it was dark; the cutter flew along the coast, and the Needles' lights were on the larboard bow. The conversation between Cecilia, Mrs Lascelles, and her father, was long. When all had been detailed, and the conduct of Pickersgill duly represented, Lord B--- acknowledged that, by attacking the smuggler, he had laid himself open to retaliation; that Pickersgill had shown a great deal of forbearance in every instance; and after all, had he not gone on board the yacht, she might have been lost, with only three seamen on board. He was amused with the smuggling and the fright of his sister, still more with the gentlemen being sent to Cherbourg, and much consoled that he was not the only one to be laughed at. He was also much pleased with Pickersgill's intention of leaving the yacht safe in Cowes harbour, his respect for the property on board, and his conduct to the ladies. On the whole, he felt grateful to Pickersgill, and where there is gratitude there is always good will. "But who can he be?" said Mrs Lascelles; "his name he acknowledges not to be Pickersgill, and he told me confidentially that he was of good family." "Confidentially, my dear Mrs Lascelles!" said Lord B---. "Oh, yes! We are both his confidants. Are we not, Cecilia?" "Upon my honour, Mrs Lascelles, this smuggler appears to have made an impression which many have attempted in vain." Mrs Lascelles did not reply to the remark, but said, "Now, my lord, you must decide--and I trust you will, to oblige us; treat him as he has treated us, with the greatest respect and kindness." "Why should you suppose otherwise?" replied Lord B---; "it is not only my wish but my interest so to do. He may take us over to France to-night, or anywhere else. Has he not possession of the vessel?" "Yes," replied Cecilia; "but we flatter ourselves that we have _the command_. Shall we call him down, papa?" "Ring for Maddox. Maddox, tell Mr Pickersgill, who is on deck, that I wish to speak with him, and shall be obliged by his stepping down into the cabin." "Who, my lord? What? _Him_?" "Yes; _him_," replied Cecilia, laughing. "Must I call him my lord, now, miss?" "You may do as you please, Maddox; but recollect he is still in possession of the vessel," replied Cecilia. "Then, with your lordship's permission, I will; it's the safest way." The smuggler entered the cabin, the ladies started as he appeared in his rough costume. With his throat open, and his loose black handkerchief, he was the _beau ideal_ of a handsome sailor. "Your lordship wishes to communicate with me?" "Mr Pickersgill, I feel that you have had cause of enmity against me, and that you have behaved with forbearance. I thank you for your considerate treatment of the ladies; and I assure you, that I feel no resentment for what has passed." "My lord, I am quite satisfied with what you have said; and I only hope that, in future, you will not interfere with a poor smuggler, who may be striving, by a life of danger and privation, to procure subsistence for himself, and, perhaps, his family. I stated to these ladies my intention of anchoring the yacht this night at Cowes, and leaving her as soon as she was in safety. Your unexpected presence will only make this difference, which is, that I must previously obtain your lordship's assurance that those with you will allow me and my men to quit her without molestation, after we have performed this service." "I pledge you my word, Mr Pickersgill, and thank you into the bargain. I trust you will allow me to offer some remuneration." "Most certainly not, my lord." "At all events, Mr Pickersgill, if, at any other time, I can be of service, you may command me." Pickersgill made no reply. "Surely, Mr Pickersgill--" "Pickersgill! How I hate that name!" said the smuggler, musing. "I beg your lordship's pardon--If I may require your assistance for any of my unfortunate companions--" "Not for yourself, Mr Pickersgill?" said Mrs Lascelles. "Madam, I smuggle no more." "For the pleasure I feel in hearing that resolution, Mr Pickersgill," said Cecilia, "take my hand and thanks." "And mine," said Mrs Lascelles, half crying. "And mine, too," said Lord B---, rising up. Pickersgill passed the back of his hand across his eyes, turned round, and left the cabin. "I'm so happy!" said Mrs Lascelles, bursting into tears. "He's a magnificent fellow," observed Lord B---. "Come, let us all go on deck." "You have not seen my aunt, papa." "True; I'll go in to her, and then follow you." The ladies went upon deck. Cecilia entered into conversation with Mr Stewart, giving him a narrative of what had happened. Mrs Lascelles sat abaft at the taffrail, with her pretty hand supporting her cheek, looking very much _a la Juliette_. "Mrs Lascelles," said Pickersgill, "before we part, allow me to observe, that it is _you_ who have induced me to give up my profession--" "Why me, Mr Pickersgill?" "You said that you did not like it." Mrs Lascelles felt the force of the compliment. "You said just now that you hated the name of Pickersgill: why do you call yourself so?" "It was my smuggling name, Mrs Lascelles." "And now that you have left off smuggling, pray what may be the name we are to call you by?" "I cannot resume it till I have not only left this vessel, but shaken hands with, and bid farewell to my companions; and by that time, Mrs Lascelles, I shall be away from you." "But I've a great curiosity to know it; and a lady's curiosity must be gratified. You must call upon me some day, and tell it me. Here is my address." Pickersgill received the card with a low bow: and Lord B--- coming on deck, Mrs Lascelles hastened to meet him. The vessel was now passing the Bridge at the Needles, and the smuggler piloted her on. As soon as they were clear and well inside, the whole party went down into the cabin, Lord B--- requesting Pickersgill and Corbett to join him in a parting glass. Mr Stewart, who had received the account of what had passed from Cecilia, was very attentive to Pickersgill and took an opportunity of saying that he was sorry that he had said or done anything to annoy him. Every one recovered his spirits: and all was good humour and mirth, because Miss Ossulton adhered her resolution of not quitting the cabin till she could quit the yacht. At ten o'clock the yacht was anchored. Pickersgill took his leave of the honourable company and went in his boat with his men; and Lord B--- was again in possession of his vessel, although he had not ship's company. Maddox recovered his usual tone; and the cook flourished his knife, swearing that he should like to see the smuggler who would again order him to dress cutlets _a l'ombre Chinoise_. The yacht had remained three days at Cowes, when Lord B--- received a letter from Pickersgill, stating that the men of his vessel had been captured, and would be condemned, in consequence of their having the gentlemen on board, who were bound to appear against them, to prove that they had sunk the brandy. Lord B--- paid all the recognisances, and the men were liberated for want of evidence. It was about two years after this that Cecilia Ossulton, who was sitting at her work-table in deep mourning for her aunt, was presented with a letter by the butler. It was from her friend Mrs Lascelles, informing her that she was married again to a Mr Davenant, and intended to pay her, a short visit on her way to the Continent. Mr and Mrs Davenant arrived the next day; and when the latter introduced her husband, she said to Miss Ossulton, "Look, Cecilia, dear, and tell me if you have ever seen Davenant before." Cecilia looked earnestly: "I have, indeed," cried she at last, extending her hand with warmth; "and happy am I to meet with him again." For in Mr Davenant she recognised her old acquaintance the captain of the _Happy-go-lucky_, Jack Pickersgill the smuggler. THE END.	{ "id": "21559" }
1	THE BAY OF BISCAY.	It was in the latter part of the month of June, of the year seventeen hundred and ninety something, that the angry waves of the Bay of Biscay were gradually subsiding, after a gale of wind as violent as it was unusual during that period of the year. Still they rolled heavily; and, at times, the wind blew up in fitful, angry gusts, as if it would fain renew the elemental combat; but each effort was more feeble, and the dark clouds which had been summoned to the storm, now fled in every quarter before the powerful rays of the sun, who burst their masses asunder with a glorious flood of light and heat; and, as he poured down his resplendent beams, piercing deep into the waters of that portion of the Atlantic to which we now refer, with the exception of one object, hardly visible, as at creation, there was a vast circumference of water, bounded by the fancied canopy of heaven. We have said, with the exception of one object; for in the centre of this picture, so simple, yet so sublime, composed of the three great elements, there was a remnant of the fourth. We say a remnant, for it was but the hull of a vessel, dismasted, water-logged, its upper works only floating occasionally above the waves, when a transient repose from their still violent undulation permitted it to reassume its buoyancy. But this was seldom; one moment it was deluged by the seas, which broke as they poured over its gunwale; and the next, it rose from its submersion, as the water escaped from the portholes at its sides. How many thousands of vessels--how many millions of property--have been abandoned, and eventually consigned to the all-receiving depths of the ocean, through ignorance or through fear! What a mine of wealth must lie buried in its sands! what riches lie entangled amongst its rocks, or remain suspended in its unfathomable gulf, where the compressed fluid is equal in gravity to that which it encircles, there to remain secured in its embedment from corruption and decay, until the destruction of the universe and the return of chaos! --Yet, immense as the accumulated loss may be, the major part of it has been occasioned from an ignorance of one of the first laws of nature, that of specific gravity. The vessel to which we have referred was, to all appearance, in a situation of as extreme hazard as that of a drowning man clinging to a single rope-yarn; yet, in reality, she was more secure from descending to the abyss below than many gallantly careering on the waters, their occupants dismissing all fear, and only calculating upon a quick arrival into port. The _Circassian_ had sailed from New Orleans, a gallant and well-appointed ship, with a cargo, the major part of which consisted of cotton. The captain was, in the usual acceptation of the term, a good sailor; the crew were hardy and able seamen. As they crossed the Atlantic, they had encountered the gale to which we have referred, were driven down into the Bay of Biscay, where, as we shall hereafter explain, the vessel was dismasted, and sprang a leak, which baffled all their exertions to keep under. It was now five days since the frightened crew had quitted the vessel in two of her boats, one of which had swamped, and every soul that occupied it had perished; the fate of the other was uncertain. We said that the crew had deserted the vessel, but we did not assert that every existing being had been removed out of her. Had such been the case, we should not have taken up the reader's time in describing inanimate matter. It is life that we portray, and life there still was in the shattered hull thus abandoned to the mockery of the ocean. In the _caboose_ of the _Circassian_, that is, in the cooking-house secured on deck, and which fortunately had been so well fixed as to resist the force of the breaking waves, remained three beings--a man, a woman, and a child. The two first mentioned were of that inferior race which have, for so long a period, been procured from the sultry Afric coast, to toil, but reap not for themselves; the child which lay at the breast of the female was of European blood, now, indeed, deadly pale, as it attempted in vain to draw sustenance from its exhausted nurse, down whose sable cheeks the tears coursed, as she occasionally pressed the infant to her breast, and turned it round to leeward to screen it from the spray which dashed over them at each returning swell. Indifferent to all else, save her little charge, she spoke not, although she shuddered with the cold as the water washed her knees each time that the hull was careened into the wave. Cold and terror had produced a change in her complexion, which now wore a yellow, or sort of copper hue. The male, who was her companion, sat opposite to her upon the iron range which once had been the receptacle of light and heat, but was now but a weary seat to a drenched and worn-out wretch. He, too, had not spoken for many hours; with the muscles of his face relaxed, his thick lips pouting far in advance of his collapsed cheeks, his high cheekbones prominent as budding horns, his eyes displaying little but their whites, he appeared to be an object of greater misery than the female, whose thoughts were directed to the infant and not unto herself. Yet his feelings were still acute, although his faculties appeared to be deadened by excess of suffering. "Eh, me!" cried the negro woman faintly, after a long silence, her head falling back with extreme exhaustion. Her companion made no reply, but, roused at the sound of her voice, bent forward, slided open the door a little, and looked out to windward. The heavy spray dashed into his glassy eyes, and obscured his vision; he groaned, and fell back into his former position. "What you tink, Coco?" inquired the negress, covering up more carefully the child, as she bent her head down upon it. A look of despair, and a shudder from cold and hunger, were the only reply. It was then about eight o'clock in the morning, and the swell of the ocean was fast subsiding. At noon the warmth of the sun was communicated to them through the planks of the _caboose_, while its rays poured a small stream of vivid light through the chinks of the closed panels. The negro appeared gradually to revive; at last he rose, and with some difficulty contrived again to slide open the door. The sea had gradually decreased its violence, and but occasionally broke over the vessel; carefully holding on by the door-jambs, Coco gained the outside, that he might survey the horizon. "What you see, Coco?" said the female, observing from the _caboose_ that his eyes were fixed upon a certain quarter. "So help me God, me tink me see something; but ab so much salt water in um eye, me no see clear," replied Coco, rubbing away the salt which had crystallised on his face during the morning. "What you tink um like, Coco?" "Only one bit cloud," replied he, entering the _caboose_, and resuming his seat upon the grate with a heavy sigh. "Eh, me!" cried the negress, who had uncovered the child to look at it, and whose powers were sinking fast. "Poor lilly Massa Eddard, him look very bad indeed--him die very soon, me fear. Look, Coco, no ab breath." The child's head fell back upon the breast of its nurse, and life appeared to be extinct. "Judy, you no ab milk for piccaninny; suppose um ab no milk, how can live? Eh! stop, Judy, me put lilly fingers in um mouth; suppose Massa Eddard no dead, him pull." Coco inserted his finger into the child's mouth, and felt a slight drawing pressure. "Judy," cried Coco, "Massa Eddard no dead yet. Try now, suppose you ab lilly drop oder side." Poor Judy shook her head mournfully, and a tear rolled down her cheek; she was aware that nature was exhausted. "Coco," said she, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, "me give me heart blood for Massa Eddard; but no ab milk--all gone." This forcible expression of love for the child, which was used by Judy, gave an idea to Coco. He drew his knife out of his pocket, and very coolly sawed to the bone of his fore-finger. The blood flowed and trickled down to the extremity, which he applied to the mouth of the infant. "See, Judy, Massa Eddard suck--him not dead," cried Coco, chuckling at the fortunate result of the experiment, and forgetting at the moment their almost hopeless situation. The child, revived by the strange sustenance, gradually recovered its powers, and in a few minutes it pulled at the finger with a certain degree of vigour. "Look Judy, how Massa Eddard take it," continued Coco. "Pull away, Massa Eddard, pull away. Coco ab ten finger, and take long while suck em all dry." But the child was soon satisfied, and fell asleep in the arms of Judy. "Coco, suppose you go see again," observed Judy. The negro again crawled out, and again he scanned the horizon. "So help me God, dis time me tink, Judy--yes, so help me God, me see a ship!" cried Coco, joyfully. "Eh!" screamed Judy, faintly, with delight: "den Massa Eddard no die." "Yes, so help me God--he come dis way!" and Coco, who appeared to have recovered a portion of his former strength and activity, clambered on the top of the _caboose_, where he sat, cross-legged, waving his yellow handkerchief, with the hope of attracting the attention of those on board; for he knew that it was very possible that an object floating little more than level with the water's surface might escape notice. As it fortunately happened, the frigate, for such she was, continued her course precisely for the wreck, although it had not been perceived by the look-out men at the mast-heads, whose eyes had been directed to the line of the horizon. In less than an hour our little party were threatened with a new danger, that of being run over by the frigate, which was now within a cable's length of them, driving the seas before her in one widely extended foam, as she pursued her rapid and impetuous course. Coco shouted to his utmost, and fortunately attracted the notice of the men who were on the bowsprit, stowing away the foretopmast-staysail, which had been hoisted up to dry after the gale. "Starboard, hard!" was roared out. "Starboard it is," was the reply from the quarterdeck, and the helm was shifted without inquiry, as it always is on board of a man-of-war, although, at the same time, it behoves people to be rather careful how they pass such an order, without being prepared with a subsequent and most satisfactory explanation. The topmast studding-sail flapped and fluttered, the foresail shivered, and the jib filled as the frigate rounded to, narrowly missing the wreck, which was now under the bows, rocking so violently in the white foam of the agitated waters, that it was with difficulty that Coco could, by clinging to the stump of the mainmast, retain his elevated position. The frigate shortened sail, hove to, and lowered down a quarter-boat, and in less than five minutes Coco, Judy, and the infant, were rescued from their awful situation. Poor Judy, who had borne up against all for the sake of the child, placed it in the arms of the officer who relieved them, and then fell back in a state of insensibility, in which condition she was carried on board. Coco, as he took his place in the stern-sheets of the boat, gazed wildly round him, and then broke out into peals of extravagant laughter, which continued without intermission, and were the only replies which he could give to the interrogatories of the quarter-deck, until he fell down in a swoon, and was entrusted to the care of the surgeon.	{ "id": "21580" }
2	THE BACHELOR.	On the evening of the same day on which the child and the two negroes had been saved from the wreck by the fortunate appearance of the frigate, Mr Witherington, of Finsbury Square, was sitting alone in his dining-room wondering what could have become of the _Circassian_, and why he had not received intelligence of her arrival. Mr Witherington, as we said before, was alone; he had his port and his sherry before him; and although the weather was rather warm, there was a small fire in the grate, because, as Mr Witherington asserted, it looked comfortable. Mr Witherington having watched the ceiling of the room for some time, although there was certainly nothing new to be discovered, filled another glass of wine, and then proceeded to make himself more comfortable by unbuttoning three more buttons of his waistcoat, pushing his wig further off his head, and casting loose all the buttons at the knees of his breeches; he completed his arrangements by dragging towards him two chairs within his reach, putting his legs on one, while he rested his arm on the other. And why was not Mr Witherington to make himself comfortable? He had good health, a good conscience, and eight thousand a-year. Satisfied with all his little arrangements, Mr Witherington sipped his port wine, and putting down his glass again, fell back in his chair, placed his hands on his breast, interwove his fingers; and in this most comfortable position recommenced his speculations as to the non-arrival of the _Circassian_. We will leave him to his cogitations while we introduce him more particularly to our readers. The father of Mr Witherington was a younger son of one of the oldest and proudest families in the West Riding of Yorkshire: he had his choice of the four professions allotted to younger sons whose veins are filled with patrician blood--the army, the navy, the law, and the church. The army did not suit him, he said, as marching and counter-marching were not comfortable; the navy did not suit him, as there was little comfort in gales of wind and mouldy biscuit: the law did not suit him, as he was not sure that he would be at ease with his conscience, which would not be comfortable; the church was also rejected, as it was, with him, connected with the idea of a small stipend, hard duty, a wife and eleven children, which were anything but comfortable. Much to the horror of his family he eschewed all the liberal professions, and embraced the offer of an old backslider of an uncle, who proposed to him a situation in his banking-house, and a partnership as soon as he deserved it; the consequence was, that his relations bade him an indignant farewell, and then made no further inquiries about him: he was as decidedly cut as one of the female branches of the family would have been had she committed a _faux pas_. Nevertheless, Mr Witherington senior stuck diligently to his business, in a few years was partner, and, at the death of the old gentleman, his uncle, found himself in possession of a good property, and every year coining money at his bank. Mr Witherington senior then purchased a house in Finsbury Square, and thought it advisable to look out for a wife. Having still much of the family pride in his composition, he resolved not to muddle the blood of the Witheringtons by any cross from Cateaton Street or Mincing Lane; and, after a proper degree of research, he selected the daughter of a Scotch earl, who went to London with a bevy of nine in a Leith smack to barter blood for wealth. Mr Witherington being so unfortunate as to be the first comer, had the pick of the nine ladies by courtesy; his choice was light-haired, blue-eyed, a little freckled, and very tall, by no means bad-looking, and standing on the list in the family Bible, Number Four. From this union Mr Witherington had issue; first, a daughter, christened Moggy, whom we shall soon have to introduce to our readers as a spinster of forty-seven; and second, Antony Alexander Witherington Esquire, whom we just now have left in a very comfortable position, and in a very brown study. Mr Witherington senior persuaded his son to enter the banking-house, and, as a dutiful son, he entered it every day; but he did nothing more, having made the fortunate discovery that "his father was born before him;" or, in other words, that his father had plenty of money, and would be necessitated to leave it behind him. As Mr Witherington senior had always studied comfort, his son had early imbibed the same idea, and carried his feelings, in that respect, to a much greater excess; he divided things into comfortable and uncomfortable. One fine day, Lady Mary Witherington, after paying all the household bills, paid the debt of Nature; that is, she died: her husband paid the undertaker's bill, so it is to be presumed that she was buried. Mr Witherington senior shortly afterwards had a stroke of apoplexy, which knocked him down. Death, who has no feelings of honour, struck him when down. And Mr Witherington, after having laid a few days in bed, was by a second stroke laid in the same vault as Lady Mary Witherington: and Mr Witherington junior (our Mr Witherington) after deducting 40,000 pounds for his sister's fortune, found himself in possession of a clear 8,000 pounds per annum, and an excellent house in Finsbury Square. Mr Witherington considered this a comfortable income, and he therefore retired altogether from business. During the lifetime of his parents he had been witness to one or two matrimonial scenes, which had induced him to put down matrimony as one of the things not comfortable: therefore he remained a bachelor. His sister Moggy also remained unmarried; but whether it was from a very unprepossessing squint which deterred suitors, or from the same dislike to matrimony as her brother had imbibed, it is not in our power to say. Mr Witherington was three years younger than his sister; and although he had for some time worn a wig, it was only because he considered it more comfortable. Mr Witherington's whole character might be summed up in two words--eccentricity and benevolence: eccentric he certainly was, as most bachelors usually are. Man is but a rough pebble without the attrition received from contact with the gentler sex: it is wonderful how the ladies pumice a man down to a smoothness which occasions him to roll over and over with the rest of his species, jostling but not wounding his neighbours, as the waves of circumstances bring him into collision with them. Mr Witherington roused himself from his deep reverie, and felt for the string connected with the bell-pull, which it was the butler's duty invariably to attach to the arm of his master's chair previous to his last exit from the dining-room; for, as Mr Witherington very truly observed, it was very uncomfortable to be obliged to get up and ring the bell: indeed, more than once Mr Witherington had calculated the advantages and disadvantages of having a daughter about eight years old who could ring bells, air the newspapers, and cut the leaves of a new novel. When, however, he called to mind that she could not always remain at that precise age, he decided that the balance of comfort was against it. Mr Witherington, having pulled the bell again, fell into a brown study. Mr Jonathan, the butler, made his appearance; but observing that his master was occupied, he immediately stopped at the door, erect, motionless, and with a face as melancholy as if he was performing mute at the porch of some departed peer of the realm; for it is an understood thing, that the greater the rank of the defunct the longer must be the face, and, of course, the better must be the pay. Now, as Mr Witherington is still in profound thought, and Mr Jonathan will stand as long as a hackney-coach horse, we will just leave them as they are, while we introduce the brief history of the latter to our readers. Jonathan Trapp has served as foot_boy_, which term, we believe, is derived from those who are in that humble capacity receiving a _quantum suff. _ of the application of the feet of those above them to increase the energy of their service; then as foot_man_; which implies that they have been promoted to the more agreeable right of administering instead of receiving the above dishonourable applications; and lastly, for promotion could go no higher in the family, he had been raised to the dignity of butler in the service of Mr Witherington senior. Jonathan then fell in love, for butlers are guilty of indiscretions as well as their masters: neither he nor his fair flame, who was a lady's maid in another family, notwithstanding that they had witnessed the consequences of this error in others, would take warning; they gave warning, and they married. Like most butlers and ladies' maids who pair off, they set up a public-house; and it is but justice to the lady's maid to say, that she would have preferred an eating-house, but was overruled by Jonathan, who argued, that although people would drink when they were not dry, they never would eat unless they were hungry. Now, although there was truth in the observation, this is certain, that business did not prosper: it has been surmised that Jonathan's tall, lank, lean figure injured his custom, as people are but too much inclined to judge of the goodness of the ale by the rubicund face and rotundity of the landlord; and therefore inferred that there could be no good beer where mine host was the picture of famine. There certainly is much in appearances in this world; and it appears that, in consequence of Jonathan's cadaverous appearance, he very soon appeared in the _Gazette_; but what ruined Jonathan in one profession procured him immediate employment in another. An appraiser, upholsterer, and undertaker, who was called in to value the fixtures, fixed his eye upon Jonathan, and knowing the value of his peculiarly lugubrious appearance, and having a half-brother of equal height, offered him immediate employment as a mute. Jonathan soon forgot to mourn his own loss of a few hundreds in his new occupation of mourning the loss of thousands; and his erect, stiff, statue-like carriage, and long melancholy face, as he stood at the portals of those who had entered the portals of the next world, were but too often a sarcasm upon the grief of the inheritors. Even grief is worth nothing in this trafficking world unless it be paid for. Jonathan buried many, and at last buried his wife. So far all was well; but at last he buried his master, the undertaker, which was not quite so desirable. Although Jonathan wept not, yet did he express mute sorrow as he marshalled him to his long home, and drank to his memory in a pot of porter as he returned from the funeral, perched, with many others, like carrion crows on the top of the hearse. And now Jonathan was thrown out of employment from a reason which most people would have thought the highest recommendation. Every undertaker refused to take him, because they could not match him. In this unfortunate dilemma, Jonathan thought of Mr Witherington junior; he had served and he had buried Mr Witherington his father, and Lady Mary his mother; he felt that he had strong claims for such variety of services, and he applied to the bachelor. Fortunately for Jonathan, Mr Witherington's butler-incumbent was just about to commit the same folly as Jonathan had done before, and Jonathan was again installed, resolving in his own mind to lead his former life, and have nothing more to do with ladies' maids. But from habit Jonathan still carried himself as a mute on all ordinary occasions--never indulging in an approximation to mirth, except when he perceived that his master was in high spirits, and then rather from a sense of duty than from any real hilarity of heart. Jonathan was no mean scholar for his station in life, and during his service with the undertaker, he had acquired the English of all the Latin mottoes which are placed upon the hatchments; and these mottoes, when he considered them as apt, he was very apt to quote. We left Jonathan standing at the door; he had closed it, and the handle still remained in his hand. "Jonathan," said Mr Witherington, after a long pause--"I wish to look at the last letter from New York, you will find it on my dressing-table." Jonathan quitted the room without reply, and made his reappearance with the letter. "It is a long time that I have been expecting this vessel, Jonathan," observed Mr Witherington, unfolding the letter. "Yes, sir, a long while; _tempus fugit_," replied the butler in a low tone, half shutting his eyes. "I hope to God no accident has happened," continued Mr Witherington: "my poor little cousin and her twins e'en now that I speak, they may be all at the bottom of the sea." "Yes, sir," replied the butler; "the sea defrauds many an honest undertaker of his profits." "By the blood of the Witheringtons! I may be left without an heir, and shall be obliged to marry, which would be very uncomfortable." "Very little comfort," echoed Jonathan--"my wife is dead. In caelo quies." "Well, we must hope for the best; but this suspense is anything but comfortable," observed Mr Witherington, after looking over the contents of the letter for at least the twentieth time. "That will do, Jonathan; I'll ring for coffee presently;" and Mr Witherington was again alone and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. A cousin of Mr Witherington, and a very great favourite (for Mr Witherington, having a large fortune, and not having anything to do with business, was courted by his relations), had, to a certain degree, committed herself; that is to say, that, notwithstanding the injunctions of her parents, she had fallen in love with a young lieutenant in a marching regiment, whose pedigree was but respectable, and whose fortune was anything but respectable, consisting merely of a subaltern's pay. Poor men, unfortunately, always make love better than those who are rich, because, having less to care about, and not being puffed up with their own consequence, they are not so selfish and think much more of the lady than of themselves. Young ladies, also, who fall in love, never consider whether there is sufficient "to make the pot boil"-- probably because young ladies in love lose their appetites, and, not feeling inclined to eat at that time, they imagine that love will always supply the want of food. Now, we will appeal to the married ladies whether we are not right in asserting that, although the collation spread for them and their friends on the day of the marriage is looked upon with almost loathing, they do not find their appetites return with interest soon afterwards. This was precisely the case with Cecilia, or rather, Cecilia Templemore, for she had changed her name the day before. It was also the case with her husband, who always had a good appetite, even during his days of courtship; and the consequence was, that the messman's account, for they lived in barracks, was, in a few weeks, rather alarming. Cecilia applied to her family, who very kindly sent her word that she might starve; but, the advice neither suiting her nor her husband, she then wrote to her cousin Antony, who sent her word that he would be most happy to receive them at his table, and that they should take up their abode in Finsbury Square. This was exactly what they wished; but still there was a certain difficulty; Lieutenant Templemore's regiment was quartered in a town in Yorkshire, which was some trifling distance from Finsbury Square; and to be at Mr Witherington's dinner-table at six p.m., with the necessity of appearing at parade every morning at nine a.m., was a dilemma not to be got out of. Several letters were interchanged upon this knotty subject: and at last it was agreed that Mr Templemore should sell out, and come up to Mr Witherington with his pretty wife: he did so, and found that it was much more comfortable to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning to a good breakfast than to a martial parade. But Mr Templemore had an honest pride and independence of character which would not permit him to eat the bread of idleness, and after a sojourn of two months in most comfortable quarters, without a messman's bill, he frankly stated his feelings to Mr Witherington, and requested his assistance to procure for himself an honourable livelihood. Mr Witherington, who had become attached to them both, would have remonstrated, observing that Cecilia was his own cousin, and that he was a confirmed bachelor; but, in this instance, Mr Templemore was firm, and Mr Witherington very unwillingly consented. A mercantile house of the highest respectability required a partner who could superintend their consignments to America. Mr Witherington advanced the sum required; and, in a few weeks, Mr and Mrs Templemore sailed for New York. Mr Templemore was active and intelligent; their affairs prospered; and, in a few years, they anticipated a return to their native soil with a competence. But the autumn of the second year after their arrival proved very sickly; the yellow fever raged; and among the thousands who were carried off, Mr Templemore was a victim, about three weeks after his wife had been brought to bed of twins. Mrs Templemore rose from her couch a widow and the mother of two fine boys. The loss of Mr Templemore was replaced by the establishment with which he was connected, and Mr Witherington offered to his cousin that asylum which, in her mournful and unexpected bereavement, she so much required. In three months her affairs were arranged; and with her little boys hanging at the breasts of two negro nurses,--for no others could be procured who would undertake the voyage,--Mrs Templemore, with Coco as male servant, embarked on board of the good ship _Circassian_, A1, bound to Liverpool.	{ "id": "21580" }
3	THE GALE.	Those who, standing on the pier, had witnessed the proud bearing of the _Circassian_ as she gave her canvas to the winds, little contemplated her fate: still less did those on board; for confidence is the characteristic of seamen, and they have the happy talent of imparting their confidence to whomsoever may be in their company. We shall pass over the voyage, confining ourselves to a description of the catastrophe. It was during a gale from the north-west, which had continued for three days, and by which the _Circassian_ had been driven into the Bay of Biscay, that at about twelve o'clock at night, a slight lull was perceptible. The captain, who had remained on deck, sent down for the chief mate. "Oswald," said Captain Ingram, "the gale is breaking, and I think before morning we shall have had the worst of it. I shall lie down for an hour or two; call me if there be any change." Oswald Bareth, a tall, sinewy-built, and handsome specimen of transatlantic growth, examined the whole circumference of the horizon before he replied. At last his eyes were steadily fixed to leeward: "I've a notion not, sir," said he; "I see no signs of clearing off to leeward: only a lull for relief, and a fresh hand at the bellows, depend upon it." "We have now had it three days," replied Captain Ingram, "and that's the life of a summer gale." "Yes," rejoined the mate; "but always provided that it don't blow back again. I don't like the look of it, sir; and have it back we shall, as sure as there's snakes in Virginny." "Well, so be if so be," was the safe reply of the captain. "You must keep a sharp look out, Bareth, and don't leave the deck to call me; send a hand down." The captain descended to his cabin. Oswald looked at the compass in the binnacle--spoke a few words to the man at the helm--gave one or two terrible kicks in the ribs to some of the men who were caulking--sounded the pump-well--put a fresh quid of tobacco into his cheek, and then proceeded to examine the heavens above. A cloud, much darker and more descending than the others, which obscured the firmament, spread over the zenith, and based itself upon the horizon to leeward. Oswald's eye had been fixed upon it but a few seconds, when he beheld a small lambent gleam of lightning pierce through the most opaque part; then another, and more vivid. Of a sudden the wind lulled, and the _Circassian_ righted from her careen. Again the wind howled, and again the vessel was pressed down to her bearings by its force: again another flash of lightning, which was followed by a distant peal of thunder. "Had the worst of it, did you say, captain? I've a notion that the worst is yet to come," muttered Oswald, still watching the heavens. "How does she carry her helm, Matthew?" inquired Oswald, walking aft. "Spoke a-weather." "I'll have the trysail off her, at any rate," continued the mate. "Aft, there my lads! and lower down the trysail. Keep the sheet fast till it's down, or the flogging will frighten the lady-passenger out of her wits. Well, if ever I own a craft, I'll have no women on board. Dollars shan't tempt me." The lightning now played in rapid forks; and the loud thunder, which instantaneously followed each flash, proved its near approach. A deluge of slanting rain descended--the wind lulled--roared again--then lulled-- shifted a point or two, and the drenched and heavy sails flapped. "Up with the helm, Mat!" cried Oswald, as a near flash of lightning for a moment blinded, and the accompanying peal of thunder deafened, those on deck. Again the wind blew strong--it ceased, and it was a dead calm. The sails hung down from the yards, and the rain descended in perpendicular torrents, while the ship rocked to and fro in the trough of the sea, and the darkness became suddenly intense. "Down there, one of you! and call the captain," said Oswald. "By the Lord! we shall have it. Main braces there, men, and square the yards. Be smart! That topsail should have been in," muttered the mate; "but I'm not captain. Square away the yards, my lads!" continued he; "quick, quick! --there's no child's play here!" Owing to the difficulty of finding and passing the ropes to each other, from the intensity of the darkness, and the deluge of rain which blinded them, the men were not able to execute the order of the mate so soon as it was necessary; and before they could accomplish their task, or Captain Ingram could gain the deck, the wind suddenly burst upon the devoted vessel from the quarter directly opposite to that from which the gale had blown, taking her all a-back, and throwing her on her beam-ends. The man at the helm was hurled over the wheel; while the rest, who were with Oswald at the main-bits, with the coils of ropes, and every other article on deck not secured, were rolled into the scuppers, struggling to extricate themselves from the mass of confusion and the water in which they floundered. The sudden revulsion awoke all the men below, who imagined that the ship was foundering; and, from the only hatchway not secured, they poured up in their shirts with their other garments in their hands, to put them on--if fate permitted. Oswald Bareth was the first who clambered up from to leeward. He gained the helm, which he put hard up. Captain Ingram and some of the seamen also gained the helm. It is the rendezvous of all good seamen in emergencies of this description: but the howling of the gale--the blinding of the rain and salt spray--the seas checked in their running by the shift of wind, and breaking over the ship in vast masses of water--the tremendous peals of thunder--and the intense darkness which accompanied these horrors, added to the inclined position of the vessel, which obliged them to climb from one part of the deck to another, for some time checked all profitable communication. Their only friend, in this conflict of the elements, was the lightning (unhappy, indeed, the situation in which lightning can be welcomed as a friend); but its vivid and forked flames, darting down upon every quarter of the horizon, enabled them to perceive their situation; and, awful as it was, when momentarily presented to their sight, it was not so awful as darkness and uncertainty. To those who have been accustomed to the difficulties and dangers of a sea-faring life, there are no lines which speak more forcibly to the imagination, or prove the beauty and power of the Greek poet, than those in the noble prayer of Ajax: "Lord of earth and air, O king! O father! hear my humble prayer. Dispel this cloud, that light of heaven restore; Give me to see--and Ajax asks no more, If Greece must perish--we Thy will obey; But _let us perish in the face of day_!" Oswald gave the helm to two of the seamen, and with his knife cut adrift the axes, which were lashed round the mizen-mast in painted canvas covers. One he retained for himself,--the others he put into the hands of the boatswain and the second mate. To speak so as to be heard was almost impossible, from the tremendous roaring of the wind; but the lamp still burned in the binnacle, and by its feeble light Captain Ingram could distinguish the signs made by the mate, and could give his consent. It was necessary that the ship should be put before the wind; and the helm had no power over her. In a short time the lanyards of the mizen rigging were severed, and the mizen-mast went over the side, almost unperceived by the crew on the other parts of the deck, or even those near, had it not been from blows received by those who were too close to it, from the falling of the topsail-sheets and the rigging about the mast. Oswald, with his companions, regained the binnacle, and for a little while watched the compass. The ship did not pay off, and appeared to settle down more into the water. Again Oswald made his signs, and again the captain gave his assent. Forward sprang the undaunted mate, clinging to the bulwark and belaying-pins, and followed by his hardy companions, until they had all three gained the main channels. Here, their exposure to the force of the breaking waves, and the stoutness of the ropes yielding but slowly to the blows of the axes, which were used almost under water, rendered the service one of extreme difficulty and danger. The boatswain was washed over the bulwark and dashed to leeward, where the lee-rigging only saved him from a watery grave. Unsubdued, he again climbed up to windward, rejoined and assisted his companions. The last blow was given by Oswald--the lanyards flew through the dead-eyes--and the tall mast disappeared in the foaming seas. Oswald and his companions hastened from their dangerous position, and rejoined the captain, who, with many of the crew, still remained near the wheel. The ship now slowly paid off and righted. In a few minutes she was flying before the gale, rolling heavily, and occasionally striking upon the wrecks of the masts, which she towed with her by the lee-rigging. Although the wind blew with as much violence as before, still it was not with the same noise, now that the ship was before the wind with her after-masts gone. The next service was to clear the ship of the wrecks of the masts; but, although all now assisted, but little could be effected until the day had dawned, and even then it was a service of danger, as the ship rolled gunwale under. Those who performed the duty were slung in ropes, that they might not be washed away; and hardly was it completed, when a heavy roll, assisted by a jerking heave from a sea which struck her on the chess-tree, sent the foremast over the starboard cathead. Thus was the _Circassian_ dismasted in the gale.	{ "id": "21580" }
4	THE LEAK.	The wreck of the foremast was cleared from the ship; the gale continued, but the sun shone brightly and warmly. The _Circassian_ was again brought to the wind. All danger was now considered to be over, and the seamen joked and laughed as they were busied in preparing jury-masts to enable them to reach their destined port. "I wouldn't have cared so much about this spree," said the boatswain, "if it warn't for the mainmast; it was such a beauty. There's not another stick to be found equal to it in the whole length of the Mississippi." "Bah! man," replied Oswald; "there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, and as good sticks growing as ever were felled; but I guess we'll pay pretty dear for our spars when we get to Liverpool,--but that concerns the owners." The wind, which, at the time of its sudden change to the southward and eastward, had blown with the force of a hurricane, now settled into a regular strong gale, such as sailors are prepared to meet and laugh at. The sky was also bright and clear, and they had not the danger of a lee shore. It was a delightful change after a night of darkness, danger, and confusion and the men worked that they might get sufficient sail on the ship to steady her, and enable them to shape a course. "I suppose now that we have the trysail on her forward, the captain will be for running for it," observed one who was busy turning in a dead-eye. "Yes," replied the boatswain; "and with this wind on our quarter we shan't want much sail, I've a notion." "Well, then, one advantage in losing your mast--you haven't much trouble about the rigging." "Trouble enough, though, Bill, when we get in," replied another, gruffly; "new lower rigging to parcel and sarve, and every block to turn in afresh." "Never mind, longer in port--I'll get spliced." "Why, how often do you mean to get spliced, Bill? You've a wife in every State, to my sartin knowledge." "I ain't got one at Liverpool, Jack." "Well, you may take one there, Bill; for you've been sweet upon that nigger girl for these last three weeks." "Any port in a storm, but she won't do for harbour duty. But the fact is, you're all wrong there, Jack, its the babbies I likes--I likes to see them both together, hanging at the niggers' breasts, I always think of two spider-monkeys nursing two kittens." "I knows the women, but I never knows the children. It's just six of one and half-a-dozen of the other; ain't it, Bill?" "Yes; like two bright bullets out of the same mould. I say, Bill, did any of your wives ever have twins?" "No; nor I don't intend, until the owners give us double pay." "By-the-bye," interrupted Oswald, who had been standing under the weather bulk-head, listening to the conversation, and watching the work in progress, "we may just as well see if she has made any water with all this straining and buffeting. By the Lord I never thought of that. Carpenter, lay down your adze and sound the well." The carpenter, who, notwithstanding the uneasiness of the dismasted vessel, was performing his important share of the work, immediately complied with the order. He drew up the rope-yarn, to which an iron rule had been suspended, and lowered down into the pump-well, and perceived that the water was dripping from it. Imagining that it must have been wet from the quantity of water shipped over all, the carpenter disengaged the rope-yarn from the rule, drew another from the junk lying on the deck, which the seamen were working up, and then carefully proceeded to plumb the well. He hauled it up, and, looking at it for some moments aghast, exclaimed, "_Seven feet_ of water in the hold, by God." If the crew of the _Circassian_, the whole of which were on deck, had been struck with an electric shock, the sudden change of their countenances could not have been greater than was produced by this appalling intelligence. Heap upon sailors every disaster, every danger which can be accumulated from the waves, the wind, the elements, or the enemy, and they will bear up against them with a courage amounting to heroism. All that they demand is, that the one plank "between them and death" is sound, and they will trust to their own energies, and will be confident in their own skill: but _spring a leak_ and they are half paralysed; and if it gain upon them they are subdued; for when they find that their exertions are futile, they are little better than children. Oswald sprang to the pumps when he heard the carpenter's report. "Try again, Abel--it cannot be: cut away that line; hand us here a dry rope-yarn." Once more the well was sounded by Oswald, and the result was the same. "We must rig the pumps, my lads," said the mate, endeavouring to conceal his own fears; "half this water must have found its way in when she was on her beam-ends." This idea, so judiciously thrown out, was caught at by the seamen, who hastened to obey the order, while Oswald went down to acquaint the captain, who, worn out with watching and fatigue, had, now that danger was considered to be over, thrown himself into his cot to obtain a few hours' repose. "Do you think, Bareth, that we have sprung a leak?" said the captain, earnestly, "She never could have taken in that quantity of water." "Never, sir," replied the mate; "but she has been so strained, that she may have opened her top-sides. I trust it is no worse." "What is your opinion, then?" "I am afraid that the wrecks of the masts have injured her: you may recollect how often we struck against them before we could clear ourselves of them; once, particularly, the mainmast appeared to be right under her bottom, I recollect, and she struck very heavy on it." "Well, it is God's will: let us get on deck as fast as we can." When they arrived on deck, the carpenter walked up to the captain, and quietly said to him, "_Seven feet three, sir_." The pumps were then in full action; the men had divided, by the direction of the boatswain, and, stripped naked to the waist, relieved each other every two minutes. For half an hour they laboured incessantly. This was the half-hour of suspense: the great point to be ascertained was, whether she leaked through the top-sides, and had taken in the water during the second gale; if so, there was every hope of keeping it under. Captain Ingram and the mate remained in silence near the capstan, the former with his watch in his hand, during the time that the sailors exerted themselves to the utmost. It was ten minutes past seven when the half hour had expired; the well was sounded and the line carefully measured--_Seven feet six inches_! So that the water had gained upon them, notwithstanding that they had plied the pumps to the utmost of their strength. A mute look of despair was exchanged among the crew, but it was followed up by curses and execrations. Captain Ingram remained silent, with his lips compressed. "It's all over with us!" exclaimed one of the men. "Not yet, my lads; we have one more chance," said Oswald. "I've a notion that the ship's sides have been opened by the infernal straining of last night, and that she is now taking it in at the top-sides generally: if so, we have only to put her before the wind again, and have another good spell at the pumps. When no longer strained, as she is now with her broadside to the sea, she will close all up again." "I shouldn't wonder if Mr Bareth is not right," replied the carpenter; "however, that's my notion, too." "And mine," added Captain Ingram. "Come, my men! never say die while there's a shot in the locker. Let's try her again." And, to encourage the men, Captain Ingram threw off his coat and assisted at the first spell, while Oswald went to the helm and put the ship before the wind. As the _Circassian_ rolled before the gale, the lazy manner in which she righted proved how much water there was in the hold. The seamen exerted themselves for a whole hour without intermission, and the well was again sounded--_eight feet_! The men did not assert that they would pump no longer; but they too plainly showed their intentions by each resuming in silence his shirt and jacket, which had been taken off at the commencement of his exertions. "What's to be done, Oswald?" said Captain Ingram, as they walked aft. "You see the men will pump no longer: nor, indeed, would it be of any use. We are doomed." "The _Circassian_ is, sir, I am afraid," replied the mate: "pumping is of no avail; they could not keep her afloat till day-break. We must therefore, trust to our boats, which I believe to be all sound, and quit her before night." "Crowded boats in such a sea as this!" replied Captain Ingram, shaking his head mournfully. "Are bad enough, I grant; but better than the sea itself. All we can do now is to try and keep the men sober, and if we can do so it will be better than to fatigue them uselessly; they'll want all their strength before they put foot again upon dry land--if ever they are so fortunate. Shall I speak to them?" "Do, Oswald," replied the captain; "for myself I care little, God knows; but my wife--my children!" "My lads," said Oswald, going forward to the men, who had waited in moody silence the result of the conference--"as for pumping any longer it would be only wearing out your strength for no good. We must now look to our boats; and a good boat is better than a bad ship. Still this gale and cross-running sea are rather too much for boats at present; we had therefore better stick to the ship as long as we can. Let us set to with a will and get the boats ready, with provisions, water, and what may be needful, and then we must trust to God's mercy and our own endeavours." "No boat can stand this sea," observed one of the men. "I'm of opinion, as it's to be a short life, it may as well be a merry one. What d'ye say, my lads?" continued he, appealing to the men. Several of the crew were of the same opinion: but Oswald, stepping forward, seized one of the axes which lay at the main-bits, and going up to the seaman who had spoken, looked him steadfastly in the face:-- "Williams," said the mate, "a short life it may be to all of us, but not a merry one; the meaning of which I understand very well. Sorry I shall be to have your blood, or that of others, on my hands; but as sure as there's a heaven, I'll cleave to the shoulder the first man who attempts to break into the spirit-room. You know I never joke. Shame upon you! Do you call yourselves men, when, for the sake of a little liquor now, you would lose your only chance of getting drunk every day as soon as we get on shore again? There's a time for all things; and I've a notion this is a time to be sober." As most of the crew sided with Oswald, the weaker party were obliged to submit, and the preparations were commenced. The two boats on the booms were found to be in good condition. One party was employed cutting away the bulwarks, that the boats might be launched over the side, as there were no means of hoisting them out. The well was again sounded. Nine feet of water in the hold, and the ship evidently settling fast. Two hours had now passed, and the gale was not so violent; the sea, also, which at the change of wind had been cross, appeared to have recovered its regular run. All was ready; the sailors, once at work again, had, in some measure, recovered their spirits, and were buoyed up with fresh hopes at the slight change in their favour from the decrease of the wind. The two boats were quite large enough to contain the whole of the crew and passengers; but, as the sailors said among themselves (proving the kindness of their hearts), "What was to become of those two poor babbies, in an open boat for days and nights, perhaps?" Captain Ingram had gone down to Mrs Templemore, to impart to her their melancholy prospects; and the mother's heart, as well as the mother's voice, echoed the words of the seamen, "What will become of my poor babes?" It was not till nearly six o'clock in the evening that all was ready: the ship was slowly brought to the wind again, and the boats launched over the side. By this time the gale was much abated; but the vessel was full of water, and was expected soon to go down. There is no time in which coolness and determination are more required than in a situation like the one which we have attempted to describe. It is impossible to know the precise moment at which a water-logged vessel, in a heavy sea, may go down: and its occupants are in a state of mental fever, with the idea of their remaining in her so late that she will suddenly submerge, and leave them to struggle in the waves. This feeling actuated many of the crew of the _Circassian_, and they had already retreated to the boats. All was arranged; Oswald had charge of one boat, and it was agreed that the larger should receive Mrs Templemore and her children, under the protection of Captain Ingram. The number appointed to Oswald's boat being completed, he shoved off, to make room for the other, and laid-to to leeward, waiting to keep company. Mrs Templemore came up with Captain Ingram, and was assisted by him into the boat. The nurse, with one child, was at last placed by her side; Coco was leading Judy, the other nurse, with the remaining infant in her arms, and Captain Ingram, who had been obliged to go into the boat with the first child, was about to return to assist Judy with the other, when the ship gave a heavy pitch, and her forecastle was buried in the wave: at the same time the gunwale of the boat was stove by coming in contact with the side of the vessel. "She's down, by God!" exclaimed the alarmed seamen in the boat; shoving off to escape from the vortex. Captain Ingram, who was standing on the boat's thwarts to assist Judy, was thrown back into the bottom of the boat; and, before he could extricate himself, the boat was separated from the ship, and had drifted to leeward. "My child!" screamed the mother: "my child!" "Pull to again, my lads!" cried Captain Ingram, seizing the tiller. The men, who had been alarmed at the idea that the ship was going down, now that they saw that she was still afloat, got out the oars and attempted to regain her, but in vain--they could not make head against the sea and wind. Further and further did they drift to leeward, notwithstanding their exertions; while the frantic mother extended her arms, imploring and entreating. Captain Ingram, who had stimulated the sailors to the utmost, perceived that further attempts were useless. "My child! my child!" screamed Mrs Templemore, standing up, and holding out her arms towards the vessel. At a sign from the captain, the head of the boat was veered round. The bereaved mother knew that all hope was gone, and she fell down in a state of insensibility.	{ "id": "21580" }
5	THE OLD MAID.	One morning, shortly after the disasters which we have described, Mr Witherington descended to his breakfast-room somewhat earlier than usual, and found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by no less a personage than William the footman, who, with his feet on the fender, was so attentively reading the newspaper that he did not hear his master's entrance. "By my ancestor, who fought on his stumps! but I hope you are quite comfortable, Mr William; nay, I beg I may not disturb you, sir." William, although as impudent as most of his fraternity, was a little taken aback. "I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr Jonathan had not time to look over the paper." "Nor is it required that he should, that I know of, sir." "Mr Jonathan says, sir, that it is always right to look over the _deaths_, that news of that kind may not shock you." "Very considerate, indeed." "And there is a story there, sir, about a shipwreck." "A shipwreck! where, William? God bless me! where is it?" "I am afraid it is the same ship you are so anxious about, sir,--the--I forget the name, sir." Mr Witherington took the newspaper, and his eye soon caught the paragraph in which the rescue of the two negroes and child from the wreck of the _Circassian_ was fully detailed. "It is indeed!" exclaimed Mr Witherington. "My poor Cecilia in an open boat! one of the boats was seen to go down,--perhaps she's dead-- merciful God! one boy saved. Mercy on me! where's Jonathan?" "Here, sir," replied Jonathan, very solemnly, who had just brought in the eggs, and now stood erect as a mute behind his master's chair, for it was a case of danger, if not of death. "I must go to Portsmouth immediately after breakfast--shan't eat though--appetite all gone." "People seldom do, sir, on these melancholy occasions," replied Jonathan. "Will you take your own carriage, sir, or a mourning coach?" "A mourning coach at fourteen miles an hour, with two pair of horses! Jonathan, you're crazy." "Will you please to have black silk hatbands and gloves for the coachman and servants who attend you, sir?" "Confound your shop! no; this is a resurrection, not a death; it appears that the negro thinks only one of the boats went down." " _Mors omnia vincit_," quoth Jonathan, casting up his eyes. "Never you mind that; mind your own business. That's the postman's knock--see if there are any letters." There were several; and amongst the others there was one from Captain Maxwell, of the _Eurydice_, detailing the circumstances already known, and informing Mr Witherington that he had despatched the two negroes and the child to his address by that day's coach, and that one of the officers, who was going to town by the same conveyance, would see them safe to his house. Captain Maxwell was an old acquaintance of Mr Witherington--had dined at his house in company with the Templemores, and therefore had extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to direct them. "By the blood of my ancestors! they'll be here to night," cried Mr Witherington; "and I have saved my journey. What is to be done? better tell Mary to get rooms ready: d'ye hear, William? beds for one little boy and two niggers." "Yes, sir," replied William; "but where are the black people to be put?" "Put! I don't care; one may sleep with cook, the other with Mary." "Very well, sir, I'll tell them," replied William, hastening away, delighted at the row which he anticipated in the kitchen. "If you please, sir," observed Jonathan, "one of the negroes is, I believe, a man." "Well, what then?" "Only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him." "By all the plagues of the Witheringtons! this is true; well, you may take him, Jonathan--you like that colour." "Not in the dark, sir," replied Jonathan with a bow. "Well, then, let them sleep together: so that affair is settled." "Are they man and wife, sir?" said the butler. "The devil take them both! how should I know? Let me have my breakfast, and we'll talk over the matter by-and-by." Mr Witherington applied to his eggs, and muffin, eating his breakfast as fast as he could, without knowing why; but the reason was that he was puzzled and perplexed with the anticipated arrival, and longed to think quietly over the dilemma, for it was a dilemma to an old bachelor. As soon as he had swallowed his second cup of tea he put himself into his easy-chair, in an easy attitude, and was very soon soliloquising as follows:-- "By the blood of the Witheringtons! what am I, an old bachelor, to do with a baby, and a wet-nurse as black as the ace of spades, and another black fellow in the bargain. Send him back again? yes, that's best: but the child--woke every morning at five o'clock with its squalling-- obliged to kiss it three times a-day--pleasant! --and then that nigger of a nurse--thick lips--kissing child all day, and then holding it out to me--ignorant as a cow--if child has the stomach-ache she'll cram a pepper-pod down its throat--West India fashion--children never without the stomach-ache! --my poor, poor cousin! --what has become of her and the other child, too? --wish they may pick her up, poor dear! and then she will come and take care of her own children--don't know what to do-- great mind to send for sister Moggy--but she's so fussy--won't be in a hurry. Think again." Here Mr Witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door. "Come in," said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the usual clean apron. "If you please, sir," said she, curtseying, "I will thank you to suit yourself with another cook." "Oh, very well," replied Mr Witherington, angry at the interruption. "And if you please, sir, I should like to go this very day--indeed, sir, I shall not stay." "Go to the devil! if you please," replied Mr Witherington, angrily; "but first go out and shut the door after you." The cook retired, and Mr Witherington was again alone. "Confound the old woman--what a huff she is in! won't cook for black people, I suppose--yes, that's it." Here Mr Witherington was again interrupted by a second double tap at the door. "Oh! thought better of it, I suppose. Come in." It was not the cook, but Mary, the housemaid, that entered. "If you please, sir," said she, whimpering, "I should wish to leave my situation." "A conspiracy, by heavens! Well, you may go." "To-night, sir, if you please," answered the woman. "This moment, for all I care!" exclaimed Mr Witherington in his wrath. The housemaid retired; and Mr Witherington took some time to compose himself. "Servants all going to the devil in this country," said he at last; "proud fools--won't clean rooms after black people, I suppose--yes, that's it, confound them all, black and white! here's my whole establishment upset by the arrival of a baby. Well, it is very uncomfortable--what shall I do? --send for sister Moggy? --no, I'll send for Jonathan." Mr Witherington rang the bell, and Jonathan made his appearance. "What is all this, Jonathan?" said he; "cook angry--Mary crying--both going away--what's it all about?" "Why, sir, they were told by William that it was your positive order that the two black people were to sleep with them; and I believe he told Mary that the man was to sleep with her." "Confound that fellow! he's always at mischief; you know, Jonathan, I never meant that." "I thought not, sir, as it is quite contrary to custom," replied Jonathan. "Well, then, tell them so, and let's hear no more about it." Mr Witherington then entered into a consultation with his butler, and acceded to the arrangements proposed by him. The parties arrived in due time, and were properly accommodated. Master Edward was not troubled with the stomach-ache, neither did he wake Mr Witherington at five o'clock in the morning; and, after all, it was not very uncomfortable. But, although things were not quite so uncomfortable as Mr Witherington had anticipated, still they were not comfortable; and Mr Witherington was so annoyed by continual skirmishes with his servants, complaints from Judy, in bad English, of the cook, who, it must be owned, had taken a prejudice against her and Coco, occasional illness of the child, et cetera, that he found his house no longer quiet and peaceable. Three months had now nearly passed, and no tidings of the boats had been received; and Captain Maxwell, who came up to see Mr Witherington, gave it as his decided opinion that they must have foundered in the gale. As, therefore, there appeared to be no chance of Mrs Templemore coming to take care of her child, Mr Witherington at last resolved to write to Bath, where his sister resided, and acquaint her with the whole story, requesting her to come and superintend his domestic concerns. A few days afterwards he received the following reply:-- "_Bath, August_. "My dear Brother Antony, "Your letter arrived safe to hand on Wednesday last, and I must say that I was not a little surprised at its contents; indeed, I thought so much about it that I revoked at Lady Betty Blabkin's whist-party, and lost four shillings and sixpence. You say that you have a child at your house belonging to your cousin, who married in so indecorous a manner. I hope what you say is true; but, at the same time, I know what bachelors are guilty of; although, as Lady Betty says, it is better never to talk or even to hint about these improper things. I cannot imagine why men should consider themselves, in an unmarried state, as absolved from that purity which maidens are so careful to preserve; and so says Lady Betty, with whom I had a little conversation on the subject. As, however, the thing is done, she agrees with me that it is better to hush it up as well as we can. "I presume that you do not intend to make the child your heir, which I should consider as highly improper; and, indeed, Lady Betty tells me that the legacy-duty is ten per cent, and that it cannot be avoided. However, I make it a rule never to talk about these sort of things. As for your request that I will come up and superintend your establishment, I have advised with Lady Betty on the subject, and she agrees with me that, for the honour of the family, it is better that I should come, as it will save appearances. You are in a peck of troubles, as most men are who are free-livers and are led astray by artful and alluring females. However, as Lady Betty says, `the least said, the soonest mended.' "I will, therefore, make the necessary arrangements for letting my house, and hope to join you in about ten days; sooner, I cannot, as I find that my engagements extend to that period. Many questions have already been put to me on this unpleasant subject; but I always give but one answer, which is, that bachelors will be bachelors; and that, at all events, it is not so bad as if you were a married man: for I make it a rule never to talk about, or even to hint about, these sort of things, for, as Lady Betty says, `Men will get into scrapes, and the sooner things are hushed up the better.' So no more at present from your affectionate sister, "Margaret Witherington. "PS. Lady Betty and I both agree that you are very right in hiring two black people to bring the child into your house, as it makes the thing look _foreign_ to the neighbours, and we can keep our own secrets. "M.W." "Now, by all the sins of the Witheringtons, if this is not enough to drive a man out of his senses! --Confound the suspicious old maid! I'll not let her come into this house. Confound Lady Betty, and all scandal-loving old tabbies like her! Bless me!" continued Mr Witherington, throwing the letter on the table with a deep sigh, "this is anything but comfortable." But if Mr Witherington found it anything but comfortable at the commencement, he found it unbearable in the sequel. His sister Moggy arrived, and installed herself in the house with all the pomp and protecting air of one who was the saviour of her brother's reputation and character. When the child was first brought down to her, instead of perceiving at once its likeness to Mr Templemore, which was very strong, she looked at it and at her brother's face with her only eye, and shaking her finger, exclaimed-- "Oh, Antony! Antony! and did you expect to deceive me? --the nose--the mouth exact--Antony, for shame! fie, for shame!" But we must hurry over the misery that Mr Witherington's kindness and benevolence brought upon him. Not a day passed--scarcely an hour, without his ears being galled with his sister's insinuations. Judy and Coco were sent back to America; the servants, who had remained so long in his service, gave warning one by one, and afterwards, were changed as often almost as there was a change in the moon. She ruled the house and her brother despotically; and all poor Mr Witherington's comfort was gone until the time arrived when Master Edward was to be sent to school. Mr Witherington then plucked up courage, and after a few stormy months drove his sister back to Bath, and once more found himself comfortable. Edward came home during the holidays, and was a great favourite; but the idea had become current that he was the son of the old gentleman, and the remarks made were so unpleasant and grating to him, that he was not sorry, much as he was attached to the boy, when he declared his intention to choose the profession of a sailor. Captain Maxwell introduced him into the service; and afterwards, when, in consequence of ill health and exhaustion, he was himself obliged to leave it for a time, he procured for his _protege_ other ships. We must, therefore, allow some years to pass away, during which time Edward Templemore pursues his career, Mr Witherington grows older and more particular, and his sister Moggy amuses herself with Lady Betty's remarks and her darling game of whist. During all this period no tidings of the boats, or of Mrs Templemore and her infant, had been heard; it was therefore naturally conjectured that they had all perished, and they were remembered but as things that had been.	{ "id": "21580" }
6	THE MIDSHIPMAN.	The weather side of the quarter-deck of H.M. frigate _Unicorn_ was occupied by two very great personages: Captain Plumbton, commanding the ship, who was very great in width if not in height, taking much more than his allowance of the deck, if it were not that he was the proprietor thereof, and entitled to the lion's share. Captain P was not more than four feet ten inches in height; but then he was equal to that in girth: there was quite enough of him, if he had only been _rolled out_. He walked with his coat flying open, his thumbs stuck into the arm holes of his waistcoat, so as to throw his shoulders back and increase his horizontal dimensions. He also held his head well aft, which threw his chest and stomach well forward. He was the prototype of pomposity and good nature, and he strutted like an actor in a procession. The other personage was the first lieutenant, whom Nature had pleased to fashion in another mould. He was as tall as the captain was short--as thin as his superior was corpulent. His long, lanky legs were nearly up to the captain's shoulders; and he bowed down over the head of his superior, as if he were the crane to hoist up, and the captain the bale of goods to be hoisted. He carried his hands behind his back, with two fingers twisted together; and his chief difficulty appeared to be to reduce his own stride to the parrot march of the captain. His features were sharp and lean as was his body, and wore every appearance of a cross-grained temper. He had been making divers complaints of divers persons, and the captain had hitherto appeared imperturbable. Captain Plumbton was an even-tempered man, who was satisfied with a good dinner. Lieutenant Markitall was an odd-tempered man, who would quarrel with his bread and butter. "Quite impossible, sir," continued the first-lieutenant, "to carry on the duty without support." This oracular observation, which, from the relative forms of the two parties, descended as it were from above, was replied to by the captain with a "Very true." "Then, sir, I presume you will not object to my putting that man in the report for punishment?" "I'll think about it, Mr Markitall." This, with Captain Plumbton, was as much as to say, No. "The young gentlemen, sir, I am sorry to say, are very troublesome." "Boys always are," replied the captain. "Yes sir: but the duty must be carried on, and I cannot do without them." "Very true--midshipmen are very useful." "But I am sorry to say, sir, that they are not. Now sir, there's Mr Templemore; I can do nothing with him--he does nothing but laugh." "Laugh! --Mr Markitall, does he laugh at you?" "Not exactly, sir; but he laughs at everything. If I send him to the mast-head, he goes up laughing; if I call him down, he comes down laughing; if I find fault with him, he laughs the next minute: in fact, sir, he does nothing but laugh. I should particularly wish, sir, that you would speak to him, and see if any interference on your part--" "Would make him cry--eh? better to laugh than cry in this world. Does he never cry, Mr Markitall?" "Yes, sir, and very unseasonably. The other day, you may recollect, when you punished Wilson the marine, whom I appointed to take care of his chest and hammock, he was crying the whole time; almost tantamount-- at least an indirect species of mutiny on his part, as it implied--" "That the boy was sorry that his servant was punished; I never flog a man but I'm sorry myself, Mr Markitall." "Well, I do not press the question of his crying--that I might look over; but his laughing, sir, I must beg that you will take notice of that. Here he is, sir, coming up the hatchway. Mr Templemore, the captain wishes to speak to you." Now the captain did not wish to speak to him, but, forced upon him as it was by the first-lieutenant, he could do no less. So Mr Templemore touched his hat, and stood before the captain, we regret to say, with such a good-humoured, sly, confiding smirk on his countenance, as at once established the proof of the accusation, and the enormity of the offence. "So, sir," said Captain Plumbton, stopping in his perambulation, and squaring his shoulders still more, "I find that you laugh at the first-lieutenant." "I, sir?" replied the boy, the smirk expanding into a broad grin. "Yes; you, sir," said the first-lieutenant, now drawing up to his full height; "why you're laughing now, sir." "I can't help it, sir--it's not my fault; and I'm sure it's not yours, sir," added the boy, demurely. "Are you aware, Edward--Mr Templemore, I mean--of the impropriety of disrespect to your superior officer?" "I never laughed at Mr Markitall but once, sir, that I can recollect, and that was when he tumbled over the messenger." "And why did you laugh at him then, sir?" "I always do laugh when any one tumbles down," replied the lad; "I can't help it, sir." "Then, sir, I suppose you would laugh if you saw me rolling in the lee-scuppers?" said the captain. "Oh!" replied the boy, no longer able to contain himself, "I'm sure I should burst myself with laughing--I think I see you now, sir." "Do you, indeed! I'm very glad that you do not; though I'm afraid, young gentleman, you stand convicted by your own confession." "Yes, sir, for laughing, if that is any crime; but it's not in the Articles of War." "No, sir; but disrespect is. You laugh when you go to the mast-head." "But I obey the order, sir, immediately--Do I not, Mr Markitall?" "Yes, sir, you obey the order; but, at the same time, your laughing proves that you do not mind the punishment." "No more I do, sir. I spend half my time at the mast-head, and I'm used to it now." "But, Mr Templemore, ought you not to feel the disgrace of the punishment?" inquired the captain, severely. "Yes, sir, if I felt I deserved it I should. I should not laugh, sir, if _you_ sent me to the mast-head," replied the boy, assuming a serious countenance. "You see, Mr Markitall, that he can be grave," observed the captain. "I've tried all I can to make him so, sir," replied the first-lieutenant; "but I wish to ask Mr Templemore what he means to imply by saying, `when he deserves it.' Does he mean to say that I have ever punished him unjustly?" "Yes, sir," replied the boy, boldly; "five times out of six, I am mast-headed for nothing--and that's the reason why I do not mind it." "For nothing, sir! Do you call laughing nothing?" "I pay every attention that I can to my duty, sir; I always obey your orders; I try all I can to make you pleased with me--but you are always punishing me." "Yes, sir, for laughing, and, what is worse, making the ship's company laugh." "They `haul and hold' just the same, sir--I think they work all the better for being merry." "And pray, sir, what business have you to think?" replied the first-lieutenant, now very angry. "Captain Plumbton, as this young gentleman thinks proper to interfere with me and the discipline of the ship, I beg you will see what effect your punishing may have upon him." "Mr Templemore," said the captain, "you are, in the first place, too free in your speech, and, in the next place, too fond of laughing. There is, Mr Templemore, a time for all things--a time to be merry, and a time to be serious. The quarter-deck is not a fit place for mirth." "I'm sure the gangway is not," shrewdly interrupted the boy. "No--you are right, nor the gangway; but you may laugh on the forecastle, and when below with your messmates." "No, sir, we may not; Mr Markitall always sends out if he hears us laughing." "Because, Mr Templemore, you're always laughing." "I believe I am, sir; and if it's wrong I'm sorry to displease you, but I mean no disrespect. I laugh in my sleep--I laugh when I awake--I laugh when the sun shines--I always feel so happy; but though you do mast-head me, Mr Markitall, I should not laugh, but be very sorry, if any misfortune happened to you." "I believe you would, boy--I do indeed, Mr Markitall," said the captain. "Well, sir," replied the first-lieutenant, "as Mr Templemore appears to be aware of his error, I do not wish to press my complaint--I have only to request that he will never laugh again." "You hear, boy, what the first-lieutenant says; it's very reasonable, and I beg I may hear no more complaints. Mr Markitall, let me know when the foot of that foretopsail will be repaired--I should like to shift it to-night." Mr Markitall went down under the half-deck to make the inquiry. "And, Edward," said Captain Plumbton, as soon as the lieutenant was out of ear-shot, "I have a good deal more to say to you upon this subject, but I have no time now. So come and dine with me--at my table, you know, I allow laughing in moderation." The boy touched his hat, and with a grateful, happy countenance, walked away. We have introduced this little scene, that the reader may form some idea of the character of Edward Templemore. He was indeed the soul of mirth, good-humour, and kindly feelings towards others; he even felt kindly towards the first-lieutenant, who persecuted him for his risible propensities. We do not say that the boy was right in laughing at all times, or that the first-lieutenant was wrong in attempting to check it. As the captain said, there is a time for all things, and Edward's laugh was not always seasonable; but it was his nature, and he could not help it. He was joyous as the May morning; and thus he continued for years, laughing at everything--pleased with everybody--almost universally liked--and his bold, free, and happy spirit unchecked by vicissitude or hardship. He served his time--was nearly turned back when he was passing his examination for laughing, and then went laughing to sea again--was in command of a boat at the cutting-out of a French corvette, and when on board was so much amused by the little French captain skipping about with his rapier, which proved fatal to many, that at last he received a pink from the little gentleman himself, which laid him on deck. For this affair, and in consideration of his wound, he obtained his promotion to the rank of lieutenant--was appointed to a line-of-battle ship in the West Indies--laughed at the yellow-fever--was appointed to the tender of that ship, a fine schooner, and was sent to cruise for prize-money for the admiral, and promotion for himself, if he could, by any fortunate encounter, be so lucky as to obtain it.	{ "id": "21580" }
7	SLEEPER'S BAY.	On the western coast of Africa, there is a small bay, which has received more than one name from its occasional visitors. That by which it was designated by the adventurous Portuguese, who first dared to cleave the waves of the Southern Atlantic, has been forgotten with their lost maritime pre-eminence; the name allotted to it by the woolly-headed natives of the coast has never, perhaps, been ascertained; it is, however, marked down in some of the old English charts as Sleeper's Bay. The mainland which, by its curvature, has formed this little dent on a coast possessing, and certainly at present requiring few harbours, displays, perhaps, the least inviting of all prospects; offering to the view nothing but a shelving beach of dazzling white sand, backed with a few small hummocks beat up by the occasional fury of the Atlantic gales--arid, bare, and without the slightest appearance of vegetable life. The inland prospect is shrouded over by a dense mirage, through which here and there are to be discovered the stems of a few distant palm-trees, so broken and disjoined by refraction that they present to the imagination anything but the idea of foliage or shade. The water in the bay is calm and smooth as the polished mirror; not the smallest ripple is to be heard on the beach, to break through the silence of nature; not a breath of air sweeps over its glassy surface, which is heated with the intense rays of a vertical noonday sun, pouring down a withering flood of light and heat: not a sea-bird is to be discovered wheeling on its flight, or balancing on its wings as it pierces the deep with its searching eye, ready to dart upon its prey. All is silence, solitude, and desolation, save that occasionally may be seen the fin of some huge shark, either sluggishly moving through the heated element, or stationary in the torpor of the mid-day heat. A site so sterile, so stagnant, so little adapted to human life, cannot well be conceived, unless, by flying to extremes, we were to portray the chilling blast, the transfixing cold, and "close-ribbed ice," at the frozen poles. At the entrance of this bay, in about three fathoms water, heedless of the spring cable which hung down as a rope which had fallen overboard, there floated, motionless as death, a vessel whose proportions would have challenged the unanimous admiration of those who could appreciate the merits of her build, had she been anchored in the most frequented and busy harbour of the universe. So beautiful were her lines, that you might almost have imagined her a created being that the ocean had been ordered to receive, as if fashioned by the Divine Architect, to add to the beauty and variety of His works; for, from the huge leviathan to the smallest of the finny tribe--from the towering albatross to the boding petrel of the storm--where could be found, among the winged or finned frequenters of the ocean, a form more appropriate, more fitting, than this specimen of human skill, whose beautiful model and elegant tapering spars were now all that could be discovered to break the meeting lines of the firmament and horizon of the offing. Alas! she was fashioned, at the will of avarice, for the aid of cruelty and injustice, and now was even more nefariously employed. She had been a slaver--she was now the far-famed, still more dreaded, pirate-schooner, the _Avenger_. Not a man-of-war which scoured the deep but had her instructions relative to this vessel, which had been so successful in her career of crime--not a trader in any portion of the navigable globe but whose crew shuddered at the mention of her name, and the remembrance of the atrocities which had been practised by her reckless crew. She had been everywhere--in the east, the west, the north, and the south, leaving a track behind her of rapine and of murder. There she lay in motionless beauty; her low sides were painted black, with one small, narrow riband of red--her raking masts were clean scraped--her topmasts, her cross-trees, caps, and even running-blocks, were painted in pure white. Awnings were spread fore and aft to protect the crew from the powerful rays of the sun; her ropes were hauled taut; and in every point she wore the appearance of being under the control of seamanship and strict discipline. Through the clear smooth water her copper shone brightly; and as you looked over her taffrail down into the calm blue sea, you could plainly discover the sandy bottom beneath her and the anchor which then lay under her counter. A small boat floated astern, the weight of the rope which attached her appearing, in the perfect calm, to draw her towards the schooner. We must now go on board, and our first cause of surprise will be the deception relative to the tonnage of the schooner, when viewed from a distance. Instead of a small vessel of about ninety tons, we discover that she is upwards of two hundred; that her breadth of beam is enormous; and that those spars, which appeared so light and elegant, are of unexpected dimensions. Her decks are of narrow fir planks, without the least spring or rise; her ropes are of Manilla hemp, neatly secured to copper belaying-pins, and coiled down on the deck, whose whiteness is well contrasted with the bright green paint of her bulwarks; her capstern and binnacles are cased in fluted mahogany, and ornamented with brass; metal stanchions protect the skylights, and the bright muskets are arranged in front of the mainmast, while the boarding-pikes are lashed round the mainboom. In the centre of the vessel, between the fore and main masts, there is a long brass 32-pounder fixed upon a carriage revolving in a circle, and so arranged that in bad weather it can be lowered down and _housed_; while on each side of her decks are mounted eight brass guns of smaller calibre and of exquisite workmanship. Her build proves the skill of the architect; her fitting-out, a judgment in which nought has been sacrificed to, although everything has been directed by, taste; and her neatness and arrangement, that, in the person of her commander, to the strictest discipline there is united the practical knowledge of a thorough seaman. How, indeed, otherwise could she have so long continued her lawless yet successful career? How could it have been possible to unite a crew of miscreants, who feared not God nor man, most of whom had perpetrated foul murders, or had been guilty of even blacker iniquities? It was because he who commanded the vessel was so superior as to find in her no rivalry. Superior in talent, in knowledge of his profession, in courage, and, moreover, in physical strength--which in him was almost Herculean--unfortunately he was also superior to all in villainy, in cruelty, and contempt of all injunctions, moral and Divine. What had been the early life of this person was but imperfectly known. It was undoubted that he had received an excellent education, and it was said that he was of an ancient border family on the banks of the Tweed: by what chances he had become a pirate--by what errors he had fallen from his station in society, until he became an outcast, had never been revealed; it was only known that he had been some years employed in the slave-trade previous to his seizing this vessel and commencing his reckless career. The name by which he was known to the crew of the pirate-vessel was "Cain," and well had he chosen this appellation; for, had not his hand for more than three years been against every man's, and every man's hand against his? In person he was about six feet high, with a breadth of shoulders and of chest denoting the utmost of physical force which, perhaps, has ever been allotted to man. His features would have been handsome had they not been scarred with wounds; and, strange to say, his eye was mild and of a soft blue. His mouth was well formed, and his teeth of a pearly white: the hair of his head was crisped and wavy, and his beard, which he wore, as did every person composing the crew of the pirate, covered the lower part of his face in strong, waving, and continued curls. The proportions of his body were perfect; but from their vastness they became almost terrific. His costume was elegant, and well adapted to his form: linen trousers, and untanned yellow leather boots, such as are made at the Western Isles; a broad-striped cotton shirt; a red Cashmere shawl round his waist as a sash; a vest embroidered in gold tissue, with a jacket of dark velvet, and pendant gold buttons, hanging over his left shoulder, after the fashion of the Mediterranean seamen; a round Turkish skull-cap, handsomely embroidered; a pair of pistols, and a long knife in his sash, completed his attire. The crew consisted in all of 165 men, of almost every nation; but it was to be remarked that all those in authority were either Englishmen or from the northern countries; the others were chiefly Spaniards and Maltese. Still there were Portuguese, Brazilians, negroes, and others, who made up the complement, which at the time we now speak of was increased by twenty-five additional hands. These were Kroumen, a race of blacks well known at present, who inhabit the coast near Cape Palmas, and are often employed by our men-of-war stationed on the coast to relieve the English seamen from duties which would be too severe to those who were not inured to the climate. They are powerful, athletic men, good sailors, of a happy, merry disposition, and, unlike other Africans, will work hard. Fond of the English, they generally speak the language sufficiently to be understood, and are very glad to receive a baptism when they come on board. The name first given them they usually adhere to as long as they live; and you will now on the coast meet with a Blucher, a Wellington, a Nelson, etcetera, who will wring swabs, or do any other of the meanest description of work, without feeling that it is discreditable to sponsorials so grand. It is not to be supposed that these men had voluntarily come on board of the pirate; they had been employed in some British vessels trading on the coast, and had been taken out of them when the vessels were burnt, and the Europeans of the crews murdered. They had received a promise of reward, if they did their duty; but, not expecting it, they waited for the earliest opportunity to make their escape. The captain of the schooner is abaft with his glass in his hand, occasionally sweeping the offing in expectation of a vessel heaving in sight: the officers and crew are lying down, or lounging listlessly, about the decks, panting with the extreme heat, and impatiently waiting for the sea-breeze to fan their parched foreheads. With their rough beards and exposed chests, and their weather-beaten fierce countenances, they form a group which is terrible even in repose. We must now descend into the cabin of the schooner. The fittings-up of this apartment are simple: on each side is a standing bed-place; against the after bulkhead is a large buffet, originally intended for glass and china, but now loaded with silver and gold vessels of every size and description, collected by the pirate from the different ships which he had plundered; the lamps are also of silver, and evidently had been intended to ornament the shrine of some Catholic saint. In this cabin there are two individuals, to whom we shall now direct the reader's attention. The one is a pleasant-countenanced, good-humoured Krouman, who had been christened "Pompey the Great;" most probably on account of his large proportions. He wears a pair of duck trousers; the rest of his body is naked, and presents a sleek, glossy skin, covering muscle, which an anatomist or a sculptor would have viewed with admiration. The other is a youth of eighteen, or thereabouts, with an intelligent, handsome countenance, evidently of European blood. There is, however, an habitually mournful cast upon his features: he is dressed much in the same way as we have described the captain, but the costume hangs more gracefully upon his slender, yet well-formed limbs. He is seated on a sofa, fixed in the fore part of the cabin, with a book in his hand, which occasionally he refers to, and then lifts his eyes from, to watch the motions of the Krouman, who is busy in the office of steward, arranging and cleaning the costly articles in the buffet. "Massa Francisco, dis really fine ting," said Pompey, holding up a splendidly embossed tankard, which he had been rubbing. "Yes," replied Francisco, gravely; "it is, indeed, Pompey." "How Captain Cain came by dis?" Francisco shook his head, and Pompey put his finger up to his mouth, his eyes, full of meaning, fixed upon Francisco. At this moment the personage referred to was heard descending the companion-ladder. Pompey recommenced rubbing the silver, and Francisco dropped his eyes upon the book. What was the tie which appeared to bind the captain to this lad was not known; but, as the latter had always accompanied, and lived together with him, it was generally supposed that he was the captain's son; and he was as often designated by the crew as young Cain as he was by his Christian name of Francisco. Still it was observed that latterly they had frequently been heard in altercation, and that the captain was very suspicious of Francisco's movements. "I beg I may not interrupt your conversation," said Cain, on entering the cabin; "the information you may obtain from a Krouman must be very important." Francisco made no reply, but appeared to be reading his book. Cain's eyes passed from one to the other, as if to read their thoughts. "Pray what were you saying, Mr Pompey?" "Me say, Massa Captain? me only tell young Massa dis very fine ting; ask where you get him--Massa Francisco no tell." "And what might it be to you, you black scoundrel?" cried the captain, seizing the goblet, and striking the man with it a blow on the head which flattened the vessel, and at the same time felled the Krouman, powerful as he was, to the deck. The blood streamed, as the man slowly rose, stupefied and trembling from the violent concussion. Without saying a word, he staggered out of the cabin, and Cain threw himself on one of the lockers in front of the standing bed-place, saying, with a bitter smile, "So much for your intimates, Francisco!" "Rather, so much for your cruelty and injustice towards an unoffending man," replied Francisco, laying his book on the table. "His question was an innocent one,--for he knew not the particulars connected with the obtaining of that flagon." "And you, I presume, do not forget them? Well, be it so, young man; but I warn you again--as I have warned you often--nothing but the remembrance of your mother has prevented me, long before this, from throwing your body to the sharks." "What influence my mother's memory may have over you, I know not; I only regret that, in any way, she had the misfortune to be connected with you." "She had the influence," replied Cain, "which a woman must have over a man when they have for years swung in the same cot; but that is wearing off fast. I tell you so candidly; I will not [even] allow even her memory to check me, if I find you continue your late course. You have shown disaffection before the crew--you have disputed my orders--and I have every reason to believe that you are now plotting against me." "Can I do otherwise than show my abhorrence," replied Francisco, "when I witness such acts of horror, of cruelty--cold-blooded cruelty, as lately have been perpetrated? Why do you bring me here? and why do you now detain me? All I ask is, that you will allow me to leave the vessel. You are not my father; you have told me so." "No, I am not your father; but--you are your mother's son." "That gives you no right to have power over me, even if you had been married to my mother; which--" "I was not." "I thank God; for marriage with you would have been even greater disgrace." "What!" cried Cain, starting up, seizing the young man by the neck, and lifting him off his seat as if he had been a puppet; "but no--I cannot forget your mother." Cain released Francisco, and resumed his seat on the locker. "As you please," said Francisco, as soon as he had recovered himself; "it matters little whether I am brained by your own hand, or launched overboard as a meal for the sharks; it will be but one more murder." "Mad fool! why do you tempt me thus?" replied Cain, again starting up, and hastily quitting the cabin. The altercation which we have just described was not unheard on deck, as the doors of the cabin were open, and the skylight removed to admit the air. The face of Cain was flushed as he ascended the ladder. He perceived his chief mate standing by the hatchway, and many of the men, who had been slumbering abaft, with their heads raised on their elbows, as if they had been listening to the conversation below. "It will never do, sir," said Hawkhurst, the mate, shaking his head. "No," replied the captain; "not if he were my own son. But what is to be done? --he knows no fear." Hawkhurst pointed to the entering port. "When I ask your advice, you may give it," said the captain, turning gloomily away. In the meantime, Francisco paced the cabin in deep thought. Young as he was, he was indifferent to death; for he had no tie to render life precious. He remembered his mother, but not her demise; that had been concealed from him. At the age of seven he had sailed with Cain in a slaver, and had ever since continued with him. Until lately, he had been led to suppose that the captain was his father. During the years that he had been in the slave-trade, Cain had devoted much time to his education; it so happened that the only book which could be found on board of the vessel, when Cain first commenced teaching, was a Bible belonging to Francisco's mother. Out of this book he learned to read; and, as his education advanced, other books were procured. It may appear strange that the very traffic in which his reputed father was engaged did not corrupt the boy's mind, but, accustomed to it from his infancy, he had considered these negroes as another species,--an idea fully warranted by the cruelty of the Europeans towards them. There are some dispositions so naturally kind and ingenuous that even example and evil contact cannot debase them: such was the disposition of Francisco. As he gained in years and knowledge, he thought more and more for himself, and had already become disgusted with the cruelties practised upon the unfortunate negroes, when the slave-vessel was seized upon by Cain and converted into a pirate. At first, the enormities committed had not been so great; vessels had been seized and plundered, but life had been spared. In the course of crime, however, the descent is rapid: and as, from information given by those who had been released, the schooner was more than once in danger of being captured, latterly no lives had been spared; and but too often the murders had been attended with deeds even more atrocious. Francisco had witnessed scenes of horror until his young blood curdled: he had expostulated to save, but in vain. Disgusted with the captain and the crew, and their deeds of cruelty, he had latterly expressed his opinions fearlessly, and defied the captain; for, in the heat of an altercation, Cain had acknowledged that Francisco was not his son. Had any of the crew or officers expressed but a tithe of what had fallen from the bold lips of Francisco, they would have long before paid the forfeit of their temerity; but there was a feeling towards Francisco which could not be stifled in the breast of Cain--it was the feeling of association and habit. The boy had been his companion for years: and from assuetude had become, as it were, a part of himself. There is a principle in our nature which, even when that nature is most debased, will never leave us--that of requiring something to love, something to protect and watch over: it is shown towards a dog, or any other animal, if it cannot be lavished upon one of our own species. Such was the feeling which so forcibly held Cain towards Francisco; such was the feeling which had hitherto saved his life. After having paced up and down for some time, the youth took his seat on the locker which the captain had quitted: his eye soon caught the head of Pompey, who looked into the cabin and beckoned with his finger. Francisco rose, and, taking up a flagon from the buffet which contained some spirits, walked to the door, and, without saying a word, handed it to the Krouman. "Massa Francisco," whispered Pompey, "Pompey say--all Kroumen say-- suppose they run away, you go too? Pompey say--all Kroumen say--suppose they try to kill you? Nebber kill you while one Krouman alive." The negro then gently pushed Francisco back with his hand, as if not wishing to hear his answer, and hastened forward on the berth deck.	{ "id": "21580" }
8	THE ATTACK.	In the meantime, the sea-breeze had risen in the offing, and was sweeping along the surface to where the schooner was at anchor. The captain ordered a man to the cross-trees, directing him to keep a good look-out, while he walked the deck in company with his first mate. "She may not have sailed until a day or two later," said the captain, continuing the conversation; "I have made allowance for that, and, depend upon it, as she makes the eastern passage, we must soon fall in with her; if she does not heave in sight this evening, by daylight I shall stretch out in the offing; I know the Portuguese well. The sea-breeze has caught our craft: let them run up the inner jib, and see that she does not foul her anchor." It was now late in the afternoon, and dinner had been sent into the cabin; the captain descended, and took his seat at the table with Francisco, who ate in silence. Once or twice the captain, whose wrath had subsided, and whose kindly feelings towards Francisco, checked for a time, had returned with greater force, tried, but in vain, to rally him to conversation, when "_Sail ho_!" was shouted from the mast-head. "There she is, by God!" cried the captain, jumping from, and then, as if checking himself, immediately resuming, his seat. Francisco put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes as his elbow leant upon the table. "A large ship, sir; we can see down to the second reef of her topsails," said Hawkhurst, looking down the skylight. The captain hastily swallowed some wine from a flagon, cast a look of scorn and anger upon Francisco, and rushed on deck. "Be smart, lads!" cried the captain, after a few seconds' survey of the vessel through his glass; "that's her: furl the awnings, and run the anchor up to the bows: there's more silver in that vessel, my lads, than your chests will hold: and the good saints of the churches at Goa will have to wait a little longer for their gold candlesticks." The crew were immediately on the alert; the awnings were furled, and all the men, stretching aft the spring cable, walked the anchor up to the bows. In two minutes more the _Avenger_ was standing out on the starboard tack, shaping her course so as to cut off the ill-fated vessel. The breeze freshened, and the schooner darted through the smooth water with the impetuosity of a dolphin after its prey. In an hour the hull of the ship was plainly to be distinguished; but the sun was near to the horizon, and before they could ascertain what their force might be, daylight had disappeared. Whether the schooner had been perceived or not, it was impossible to say; at all events, the course of the ship had not been altered, and if she had seen the schooner, she evidently treated her with contempt. On board the _Avenger_, they were not idle; the long gun in the centre had been cleared from the incumbrances which surrounded it, the other guns had been cast loose, shot handed up, and everything prepared for action, with all the energy and discipline of a man-of-war. The chase had not been lost sight of, the eyes of the pirate-captain were fixed upon her through a night-glass. In about an hour more the schooner was within a mile of the ship, and now altered her course so as to range up within a cable's length of her to leeward. Cain stood upon the gunwale and hailed. The answer was in Portuguese. "Heave to, or I'll sink you!" replied he in the same language. A general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets from the Portuguese, was the decided answer. The broadside, too much elevated to hit the low hull of the schooner, was still not without effect--the foretopmast fell, the jaws of the main-gaff were severed, and a large proportion of the standing as well as the running rigging came rattling down on her decks. The volley of musketry was more fatal: thirteen of the pirates were wounded, some of them severely. "Well done! John Portuguese," cried Hawkhurst: "by the holy poker! I never gave you credit for so much pluck." "Which they shall dearly pay for," was the cool reply of Cain, as he still remained in his exposed situation. "Blood for blood! if I drink it," observed the second mate, as he looked at the crimson rivulet trickling down the fingers of his left hand from a wound in his arm--"just tie my handkerchief round this, Bill." In the interim, Cain had desired his crew to elevate their guns, and the broadside was returned. "That will do, my lads: starboard; ease off the boom-sheet; let her go right round, Hawkhurst,--we cannot afford to lose our men." The schooner wore round, and ran astern of her opponent. The Portuguese on board the ship, imagining that the schooner, finding she had met with unexpected resistance, had sheered off, gave a loud cheer. "The last you will ever give, my fine fellows!" observed Cain, with a sneer. In a few moments the schooner had run a mile astern of the ship. "Now then, Hawkhurst, let her come too and about; man the long gun, and see that every shot is pitched into her, while the rest of them get up a new foretopmast, and knot and splice the rigging." The schooner's head was again turned towards the ship; her position was right astern, about a mile distant or rather more; the long 82-pounder gun amidships was now regularly served, every shot passing through the cabin-windows, or some other part of the ship's stern, raking her fore and aft. In vain did the ship alter her course, and present her broadside to the schooner; the latter was immediately checked in her speed, so as to keep the prescribed distance at which the carronades of the ship were useless, and the execution from the long gun decisive. The ship was at the mercy of the pirate; and, as may be expected, no mercy was shown. For three hours did this murderous attack continue, when the gun, which, as before observed, was of brass, became so heated that the pirate-captain desired his men to discontinue. Whether the ship had surrendered or not it was impossible to say, as it was too dark to distinguish: while the long gun was served, the foretop-mast and main-gaff had been shifted, and all the standing and running rigging made good; the schooner keeping her distance, and following in the wake of the ship until daylight. We must now repair on board of the ship; she was an Indiaman; one of the very few that occasionally are sent out by the Portuguese government to a country which once owned their undivided sway, but in which, at present, they hold but a few miles of territory. She was bound to Goa, and had on board a small detachment of troops, a new governor and his two sons, a bishop and his niece, with her attendant. The sailing of a vessel with such a freight was a circumstance of rare occurrence, and was, of course, generally bruited about long before her departure. Cain had, for some months, received all the necessary intelligence relative to her cargo and destination; but, as usual with the Portuguese of the present day, delay upon delay had followed, and it was not until about three weeks previous that he had been assured of her immediate departure. He then ran down the coast to the bay we have mentioned, that he might intercept her; and, as the event had proved, showed his usual judgment and decision. The fire of the schooner had been most destructive; many of the Indiaman's crew, as well as of the troops, had been mowed down one after another; until at last, finding that all their efforts to defend themselves were useless, most of those who were still unhurt had consulted their safety, and hastened down to the lowest recesses of the hold to avoid the raking and destructive shot. At the time that the schooner had discontinued her fire to allow the gun to cool, there was no one on deck but the Portuguese captain and one old weatherbeaten seaman who stood at the helm. Below, in the orlop-deck, the remainder of the crew and the passengers were huddled together in a small space: some were attending to the wounded, who were numerous; others were invoking the saints to their assistance; the bishop, a tall, dignified person, apparently nearly sixty years of age, was kneeling in the centre of the group, which was dimly lighted by two or three lanterns, at one time in fervent prayer, at another, interrupted, that he might give absolution to those wounded men whose spirits were departing, and who were brought down and laid before him by their comrades. On one side of him knelt his orphan niece, a young girl of about seventeen years of age, watching his countenance as he prayed, or bending down with a look of pity and tearful eyes on her expiring countrymen, whose last moments were gladdened by his holy offices. On the other side of the bishop, stood the governor, Don Philip de Ribiera, and his two sons, youths in their prime, and holding commissions in the king's service. There was melancholy on the brow of Don Ribiera; he was prepared for, and he anticipated, the worst. The eldest son had his eyes fixed upon the sweet countenance of Teresa de Silva--that very evening, as they walked together on the deck, had they exchanged their vows--that very evening they had luxuriated in the present, and had dwelt with delightful anticipation on the future. But we must leave them and return on deck. The captain of the Portuguese ship had walked aft, and now went up to Antonio, the old seaman, who was standing at the wheel. "I still see her with the glass, Antonio, and yet she has not fired for nearly two hours; do you think any accident has happened to her long gun? if so, we may have some chance." Antonio shook his head. "We have but little chance, I am afraid, my captain; I knew by the ring of the gun, when she fired it, that it was brass; indeed, no schooner could carry a long iron gun of that calibre. Depend upon it, she only waits for the metal to cool and daylight to return: a long gun or two might have saved us; but now, as she has the advantage of us in heels, we are at her mercy." "What can she be--a French privateer?" "I trust it may be so; and I have promised a silver candlestick to St. Antonio that it may prove no worse: we then may have some chance of seeing our homes again; but I fear not." "What, then, do you imagine her to be, Antonio?" "The pirate which we have heard so much of." "Jesu protect us! we must then sell our lives as dearly as we can." "So I intend to do, my captain," replied Antonio, shifting the helm a spoke. The day broke, and showed the schooner continuing her pursuit at the same distance astern, without any apparent movement on board. It was not until the sun was some degrees above the horizon that the smoke was again seen to envelop her bows, and the shot crashed through the timbers of the Portuguese ship. The reason for this delay was, that the pirate waited till the sun was up to ascertain if there were any other vessels to be seen, previous to his pouncing on his quarry. The Portuguese captain went aft and hoisted his ensign, but no flag was shown by the schooner. Again whistled the ball, and again did it tear up the decks of the unfortunate ship: many of those who had re-ascended to ascertain what was going on, now hastily sought their former retreat. "Mind the helm, Antonio," said the Portuguese captain; "I must go down and consult with the governor." "Never fear, my captain; as long as these limbs hold together, I will do my duty," replied the old man, exhausted as he was by long watching and fatigue. The captain descended to the orlop-deck, where he found the major part of the crew and passengers assembled. "My lords," said he, addressing the governor and the bishop, "the schooner has not shown any colours, although our own are hoisted. I am come down to know your pleasure. Defence we can make none; and I fear that we are at the mercy of a pirate." "A pirate!" ejaculated several, beating their breasts, and calling upon their saints. "Silence, my good people, silence," quietly observed the bishop; "as to what it may be best to do," continued he, turning to the captain, "I cannot advise; I am a man of peace, and unfit to hold a place in a council of war. Don Ribiera, I must refer the point to you and your sons. Tremble not, my dear Teresa; are we not under the protection of the Almighty?" "Holy Virgin, pity us!" "Come, my sons," said Don Ribiera, "we will go on deck and consult: let not any of the men follow us; it is useless risking lives which may yet be valuable." Don Ribiera and his sons followed the captain to the quarter deck, and with him and Antonio they held a consultation. "We have but one chance," observed the old man, after a time: "let us haul down our colours as if in submission; they will then range up alongside, and either board us from the schooner, or from their boats; at all events, we shall find out what she is, and, if a pirate, we must sell our lives as dearly as we can. If, when we haul down the colours, she ranges up alongside, as I expect she will, let all the men be prepared for a desperate struggle." "You are right, Antonio," replied the governor; "go aft captain, and haul down the colours! --let us see what she does now. Down, my boys! and prepare the men to do their duty." As Antonio had predicted, so soon as the colours were hauled down, the schooner ceased firing and made sail. She ranged up on the quarter of the ship, and up to her main peak soared the terrific black flag; her broadside was poured into the Indiaman, and before the smoke had cleared away there was a concussion from the meeting sides, and the bearded pirates poured upon her decks. The crew of the Portuguese, with the detachment of troops, still formed a considerable body of men. The sight of the black flag had struck ice into every heart, but the feeling was resolved into one of desperation. "Knives, men, knives!" roared Antonio, rushing on to the attack, followed by the most brave. "Blood for blood!" cried the second mate, aiming a blow at the old man. "You have it," replied Antonio, as his knife entered the pirate's heart, while, at the same moment, he fell and was himself a corpse. The struggle was deadly, but the numbers and ferocity of the pirates prevailed. Cain rushed forward followed by Hawkhurst, bearing down all who opposed them. With one blow from the pirate-captain, the head of Don Ribiera was severed to the shoulder; a second struck down the eldest son, while the sword of Hawkhurst passed through the body of the other. The Portuguese captain had already fallen, and the men no longer stood their ground. A general massacre ensued, and the bodies were thrown overboard as fast as the men were slaughtered. In less than five minutes there was not a living Portuguese on the bloody decks of the ill-fated ship.	{ "id": "21580" }
9	THE CAPTURE.	"Pass the word for not a man to go below, Hawkhurst," said the pirate-captain. "I have, sir; and sentries are stationed at the hatchways. Shall we haul the schooner off?" "No, let her remain; the breeze is faint already: we shall have a calm in half an hour. Have we lost many men?" "Only seven, that I can reckon; but we have lost Wallace," (the second mate). "A little promotion will do no harm," replied Cain; "take a dozen of our best men and search the ship, there are others alive yet. By-the-by, send a watch on board of the schooner; she is left to the mercy of the Kroumen, and--" "One who is better out of her," replied Hawkhurst. "And those we find below--" continued the mate. "Alive!" "True; we may else be puzzled where to find that portion of her cargo which suits us," said Hawkhurst, going down the hatchway to collect the men who were plundering on the main deck and in the captain's cabin. "Here, you Maltese! up, there! and look well round if there is anything in sight," said the captain, walking aft. Before Hawkhurst had collected the men and ordered them on board of the schooner, as usual in those latitudes, it had fallen a perfect calm. Where was Francisco during this scene of blood? He had remained in the cabin of the schooner. Cain had more than once gone down to him, to persuade him to come on deck and assist at the boarding of the Portuguese, but in vain--his sole reply to the threats and solicitations of the pirate was-- "Do with me as you please--I have made up my mind--you know I do not fear death--as long as I remain on board of this vessel, I will take no part in your atrocities. If you do respect my mother's memory, suffer her son to seek an honest and honourable livelihood." The words of Francisco were ringing in the ears of Cain as he walked up and down on the quarter-deck of the Portuguese vessel, and, debased as he was, he could not help thinking that the youth was his equal in animal, and his superior in mental, courage--he was arguing in his own mind upon the course he should pursue with respect to Francisco, when Hawkhurst made his appearance on deck, followed by his men, who dragged up six individuals who had escaped the massacre. These were the bishop; his niece, a Portuguese girl; her attendant; the supercargo of the vessel; a sacristan; and a servant of the ecclesiastic; they were hauled along the deck and placed in a row before the captain, who cast his eye upon them in severe scrutiny. The bishop and his niece looked round, the one proudly meeting the eye of Cain, although he felt that his hour was come; the other carefully avoiding his gaze, and glancing round to ascertain whether there were any other prisoners, and if so, if her betrothed was amongst them; but her eye discovered not what she sought-- it was met only by the bearded faces of the pirate-crew, and the blood which bespattered the deck. She covered her face with her hands. "Bring that man forward," said Cain, pointing to the servant. "Who are you." "A servant of my lord the bishop." "And you?" continued the captain. "A poor sacristan attending upon my lord the bishop." "And you?" cried he to a third. "The supercargo of this vessel." "Put him aside, Hawkhurst!" "Do you want the others?" inquired Hawkhurst significantly. "No." Hawkhurst gave a signal to some of the pirates, who led away the sacristan and the servant. A stifled shriek and a heavy plunge in the water were heard a few seconds after. During this time the pirate had been questioning the supercargo as to the contents of the vessel, and her stowage, when he was suddenly interrupted by one of the pirates, who in a hurried voice, stated that the ship had received several shot between wind and water, and was sinking fast. Cain, who was standing on the side of the carronade with his sword in his hand, raised his arm and struck the pirate a blow on the head with the hilt, which, whether intended or not, fractured his skull, and the man fell upon the deck. "Take that, babbler! for your intelligence; if these men are obstinate, we may have worked for nothing." The crew, who felt the truth of their captain's remark, did not appear to object to the punishment inflicted, and the body of the man was dragged away. "What mercy can we expect from those who show no mercy even to each other?" observed the bishop, lifting his eyes to heaven. "Silence!" cried Cain, who now interrogated the supercargo as to the contents of the hold--the poor man answered as well as he could--"the plate! the money for the troops--where are they?" "The money for the troops is in the spirit-room, but of the plate I know nothing; it is in some of the cases belonging to my lord the bishop." "Hawkhurst! down at once into the spirit-room, and see to the money; in the mean time I will ask a few questions of this reverend father." "And the supercargo--do you want him any more?" "No; he may go." The poor man fell down on his knees in thankfulness at what he considered his escape: he was dragged away by the pirates, and, it is scarcely necessary to add that in a minute his body was torn to pieces by the sharks, who, scenting their prey from a distance, were now playing in shoals around the two vessels. The party on the quarter-deck were now (unperceived by the captain) joined by Francisco, who, hearing from the Krouman, Pompey, that there were prisoners still on board, and amongst them two females, had come over to plead the cause of mercy. "Most reverend father," observed Cain, after a short pause, "you have many articles of value in this vessel?" "None," replied the bishop, "except this poor girl; she is, indeed, beyond price, and will, I trust, soon be an angel in heaven." "Yet is this world, if what you preach be true, a purgatory which must be passed through previous to arriving there, and that girl may think death a blessing compared to what she may expect if you refuse to tell me what I would know. You have good store of gold and silver ornaments for your churches--where are they?" "They are among the packages intrusted to my care." "How many may you have in all?" "A hundred, if not more." "Will you deign to inform me where I may find what I require?" "The gold and silver are not mine, but are the property of that God to whom they have been dedicated," replied the bishop. "Answer quickly; no more subterfuge, good sir. Where is it to be found?" "I will not tell, thou blood-stained man; at least; in this instance, there shall be disappointment, and the sea shall swallow up those earthly treasures to obtain which thou hast so deeply imbrued thy hands. Pirate! I repeat it, I will not tell." "Seize that girl, my lads!" cried Cain; "she is yours, do with her as you please." "Save me! oh, save me!" shrieked Teresa, clinging to the bishop's robe. The pirates advanced and laid hold of Teresa. Francisco bounded from where he stood behind the captain, and dashed away the foremost. "Are you men?" cried he, as the pirates retreated. "Holy sir, I honour you. Alas! I cannot save you," continued Francisco, mournfully. "Yet will I try. On my knees--by the love you bore my mother--by the affection you once bore me--do not commit this horrid deed. My lads!" continued Francisco, appealing to the pirates, "join with me and entreat your captain; ye are too brave, too manly, to injure the helpless and the innocent--above all, to shed the blood of a holy man, and of this poor trembling maiden." There was a pause--even the pirates appeared to side with Francisco, though none of them dared to speak. The muscles of the captain's face quivered with emotion, but from what source could not be ascertained. At this moment the interest of the scene was heightened. The girl who attended upon Teresa, crouched on her knees with terror, had been casting her fearful eyes upon the men who composed the pirate-crew; suddenly she uttered a scream of delight as she discovered among them one that she well knew. He was a young man, about twenty-five years of age, with little or no beard. He had been her lover in his more innocent days; and she, for more than a year, had mourned him as dead, for the vessel in which he sailed had never been heard of. It had been taken by the pirate, and, to save his life, he had joined the crew. "Filippo! Filippo!" screamed the girl, rushing into his arms. "Mistress! it is Filippo; and we are safe." Filippo instantly recognised her: the sight of her brought back to his memory his days of happiness and of innocence; and the lovers were clasped in each other's arms. "Save them! spare them! --by the spirit of my mother! I charge you," repeated Francisco, again appealing to the captain. "May God bless thee, thou good young man!" said the bishop, advancing and placing his hand upon Francisco's head. Cain answered not; but his broad expanded chest heaved with emotion-- when Hawkhurst burst into the group. "We are too late for the money, captain: the water is already six feet above it. We must now try for the treasure." This intelligence appeared to check the current of the captain's feelings. "Now, in one word, sir," said he to the bishop, "where is the treasure? Trifle not, or, by Heaven--!" "Name not Heaven," replied the bishop; "you have had my answer." The captain turned away, and gave some directions to Hawkhurst, who hastened below. "Remove that boy," said Cain to the pirates, pointing to Francisco, "Separate those two fools," continued he, looking towards Filippo and the girl, who were sobbing in each other's arms. "Never!" cried Filippo. "Throw the girl to the sharks! Do you hear? Am I to be obeyed?" cried Cain, raising his cutlass. Filippo started up, disengaged himself from the girl, and, drawing his knife, rushed towards the captain to plunge it in his bosom. With the quickness of lightning the captain caught his uplifted hand, and, breaking his wrist, hurled him to the deck. "Indeed!" cried he, with a sneer. "You shall not separate us," said Filippo, attempting to rise. "I do not intend it, my good lad," replied Cain. "Lash them both together and launch them overboard." This order was obeyed: for the pirates not only quailed before the captain's cool courage, but were indignant that his life had been attempted. There was little occasion to tie the unhappy pair together; they were locked so fast in each other's arms that it would have been impossible almost to separate them. In this state they were carried to the entering-port, and cast into the sea. "Monster!" cried the bishop, as he heard the splash, "thou wilt have a heavy reckoning for this." "Now bring these forward," said Cain, with a savage voice. The bishop and his niece were led to the gangway. "What dost thou see, good bishop?" said Cain pointing to the discoloured water, and the rapid motion of the fins of the sharks, eager in the anticipation of a further supply. "I see ravenous creatures after their kind," replied the bishop, "who will, in all probability, soon tear asunder those poor limbs; but I see no monster like thyself. Teresa, dearest, fear not; there is a God, an avenging God; as well as a rewarding one." But Teresa's eyes were closed--she could not look upon the scene. "You have your choice; first torture, and then your body to those sharks for your own portion: and as for the girl, this moment I hand her over to my crew." "Never!" shrieked Teresa, springing from the deck and plunging into the wave. There was a splash of contention, the lashing of tails, until the water was in a foam, and then the dark colour gradually cleared away, and nought was to be seen, but the pure blue wave and the still unsatisfied monsters of the deep. "The screws--the screws! quick! we'll have the secret from him," cried the pirate-captain, turning to his crew, who, villains as they were, had been shocked at this last catastrophe. "Seize him!" "Touch him not!" cried Francisco, standing on the hammock-netting; "touch him not! if you are men." Boiling with rage, Cain let go the arm of the bishop, drew his pistol, and levelled it at Francisco. The bishop threw up the arm of Cain as he fired; saw that he had missed his aim, and clasping his hands, raised his eyes to heaven in thankfulness at Francisco's escape. In this position he was collared by Hawkhurst, whose anger overcame his discretion, and who hurled him through the entering-port into the sea. "Officious fool!" muttered Cain, when he perceived what the mate had done. Then, recollecting himself, he cried,--"Seize that boy and bring him here." One or two of the crew advanced to obey his orders; but Pompey and the Kroumen, who had been attentive to what was going on, had collected round Francisco, and a scuffle ensued. The pirates, not being very determined, nor very anxious to take Francisco, allowed him to be hurried away in the centre of the Kroumen, who bore him safely to the schooner. In the meantime Hawkhurst, and the major part of the men on board of the ship, had been tearing up the hold to obtain the valuables, but without success. The water had now reached above the orlop-deck, and all further attempts were unavailing. The ship was settling fast, and it became necessary to quit her, and haul off the schooner; that she might not be endangered by the vortex of the sinking vessel. Cain and Hawkhurst, with their disappointed crew, returned on board the schooner, and before they had succeeded in detaching the two vessels a cable's length the ship went down with all the treasure so coveted. The indignation and rage which were expressed by the captain as he rapidly walked the deck in company with his first mate--his violent gesticulation--proved to the crew that there was mischief brewing. Francisco did not return to the cabin; he remained forward with the Kroumen, who, although but a small portion of the ship's company, were known to be resolute and not to be despised. It was also observed that all of them had supplied themselves with arms, and were collected forward, huddled together, watching every motion and manoeuvre, and talking rapidly in their own language. The schooner was now steered to the north-westward under all press of sail. The sun again disappeared, but Francisco returned not to the cabin--he went below, surrounded by the Kroumen, who appeared to have devoted themselves to his protection. Once during the night Hawkhurst summoned them on deck, but they obeyed not the order; and to the expostulation of the boatswain's mate, who came down, they made no reply. But there were many of the pirates in the schooner who appeared to coincide with the Kroumen in their regard for Francisco. There are shades of villainy in the most profligate of societies; and among the pirate's crew some were not yet wholly debased. The foul murder of a holy man--the cruel fate of the beautiful Teresa-- and the barbarous conduct of the captain towards Filippo and his mistress, were deeds of an atrocity to which even the most hardened were unaccustomed. Francisco's pleadings in behalf of mercy were at least no crime; and yet they considered that Francisco was doomed. He was a general favourite; the worst-disposed of the pirates, with the exception of Hawkhurst, if they did not love him, could not forbear respecting him; although at the same time they felt that if Francisco remained on board the power even of Cain himself would soon be destroyed. For many months Hawkhurst, who detested the youth, had been most earnest that he should be sent out of the schooner. Now he pressed the captain for his removal in any way, as necessary for their mutual safety, pointing out to Cain the conduct of the Kroumen, and his fears that a large proportion of the ship's company were equally disaffected. Cain felt the truth of Hawkhurst's representation, and he went down to his cabin to consider upon what should be done. It was past midnight, when Cain, worn out with the conflicting passions of the day, fell into an uneasy slumber. His dreams were of Francisco's mother--she appeared to him pleading for her son, and Cain "babbled in his sleep." At this time Francisco, with Pompey, had softly crawled aft, that they might obtain, if they found the captain asleep, the pistols of Francisco, with some ammunition. Pompey slipped in first, and started back when he heard the captain's voice. They remained at the cabin-door listening. "No, no," murmured Cain, "he must die-- useless--plead not, woman! --I know I murdered thee--plead not, he dies!" In one of the sockets of the silver lamp there was a lighted wick, the rays of which were sufficient to afford a dim view of the cabin. Francisco, overhearing the words of Cain, stepped in, and walked up to the side of the bed. "Boy! plead not," continued Cain, lying on his back and breathing heavily--"plead not--woman! --to-morrow he dies." A pause ensued, as if the sleeping man was listening to a reply. "Yes, as I murdered thee, so will I murder him." "Wretch!" said Francisco, in a low, solemn voice, "didst thou kill my mother?" "I did--I did!" responded Cain, still sleeping. "And why?" continued Francisco, who at this acknowledgment on the part of the sleeping captain was careless of discovery. "In my mood she vexed me," answered Cain. "Fiend; thou hast then confessed it!" cried Francisco in a loud voice, which awoke the captain, who started up; but before his senses were well recovered, or his eyes open so as to distinguish their forms, Pompey struck out the light, and all was darkness; he then put his hand to Francisco's mouth, and led him out of the cabin. "Who's there? --who's there?" cried Cain. The officer in charge of the deck hastened down. "Did you call, sir?" "Call!" repeated the captain. "I thought there was some one in the cabin. I want a light--that's all," continued he, recovering himself, as he wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead. In the meantime Francisco, with Pompey, had gained his former place of refuge with the Kroumen. The feelings of the young man changed from agony to revenge; his object in returning to the cabin to recover his weapons had been frustrated, but his determination now was to take the life of the captain if he possibly could. The following morning the Kroumen again refused to work or go on deck; and the state of affairs was reported by Hawkhurst to his chief. The mate now assumed another tone: for he had sounded not the majority but the most steady and influential men on board, who, like himself, were veterans in crime. "It must be, sir; or you will no longer command this vessel. I am desired to say so." "Indeed!" replied Cain, with a sneer. "Perhaps you have already chosen my successor?" Hawkhurst perceived that he had lost ground, and he changed his manner. "I speak but for yourself: if you do not command this vessel I shall not remain in her: if you quit her, I quit also; and we must find another." Cain was pacified, and the subject was not renewed. "Turn the hands up," at last said the captain. The pirate-crew assembled aft. "My lads, I am sorry that our laws oblige me to make an example; but mutiny and disaffection must be punished. I am equally bound as yourselves by the laws which we have laid down for our guidance while we sail together; and you may believe that in doing my duty in this instance I am guided by a sense of justice, and wish to prove to you that I am worthy to command. Francisco has been with me since he was a child; he has lived with me, and it is painful to part with him: but I am here to see that our laws are put in force. He has been guilty of repeated mutiny and contempt, and--he must die." "Death! death!" cried several of the pirates in advance: "death and justice!" "No more murder!" said several voices from behind. "Who's that that speaks?" "Too much murder yesterday--no more murder!" shouted several voices at once. "Let the men come forward who speak," cried Cain with a withering look. No one obeyed this order. "Down, then, my men! and bring up Francisco." The whole of the pirate-crew hastened below, but with different intentions. Some were determined to seize Francisco, and hand him over to death--others to protect him. A confused noise was heard--the shouts of "_Down and seize him_!" opposed to those of "_No murder! No murder_!" Both parties had snatched up their arms; those who sided with Francisco joined the Kroumen, whilst the others also hastened below to bring him on deck. A slight scuffle ensued before they separated, and ascertained by the separation the strength of the contending parties. Francisco, perceiving that he was joined by a large body, desired his men to follow him, went up the fore-ladder, and took possession of the forecastle. The pirates on his side supplied him with arms, and Francisco stood forward in advance. Hawkhurst, and those of the crew who sided with him, had retreated to the quarter-deck, and rallied round the captain, who leaned against the capstern. They were then able to estimate their comparative strength. The number, on the whole, preponderated in favour of Francisco; but on the captain's side were the older and more athletic of the crew, and, we may add, the more determined. Still, the captain and Hawkhurst perceived the danger of their situation, and it was thought advisable to parley for the present, and wreak their vengeance hereafter. For a few minutes there was a low consultation between both parties; at last Cain advanced. "My lads," said he, addressing those who had rallied round Francisco, "I little thought that a fire-brand would have been cast in this vessel to set us all at variance. It was my duty, as your captain, to propose that our laws should be enforced. Tell me now what is it that you wish. I am only here as your captain, and to take the sense of the whole crew. I have no animosity against that lad: I have loved him--I have cherished him; but like a viper, he has stung me in return. Instead of being in arms against each other, ought we not to be united? I have, therefore, one proposal to make to you, which is this: let the sentence go by vote, or ballot, if you please; and whatever the sentence may be, I shall be guided by it. Can I say more?" "My lads," replied Francisco, when the captain had done speaking, "I think it better that you should accept this proposal rather than that blood should be shed. My life is of little consequence; say, then, will you agree to the vote, and submit to those laws, which, as the captain says, have been laid down to regulate the discipline of the vessel?" The pirates on Francisco's side looked round among their party, and, perceiving that they were the most numerous, consented to the proposal; but Hawkhurst stepped forward and observed: "Of course the Kroumen can have no votes, as they do not belong to the vessel." This objection was important, as they amounted to twenty-five, and, after that number was deducted, in all probability, Francisco's adherents would have been in the minority. The pirates, with Francisco, objected, and again assumed the attitude of defence. "One moment," said Francisco, stepping in advance; "before this point is settled, I wish to take the sense of all of you as to another of your laws. I ask you, Hawkhurst, and all who are now opposed to me, whether you have not one law, which is _Blood for blood_?" "Yes--yes," shouted all the pirates. "Then let your captain stand forward, and answer to my charge, if he dares." Cain curled his lip in derision, and walked within two yards of Francisco. "Well, boy, I'm here; and what is your charge?" "First--I ask you, Captain Cain, who are so anxious that the laws should be enforced, whether you acknowledge that `Blood for blood' is a just law?" "Most just: and, when shed, the party who revenges is not amenable." " 'Tis well: then villain that thou art, answer--Didst thou not murder my mother?" Cain, at this accusation, started. "Answer the truth, or lie like a recreant!" repeated Francisco. "Did you not murder my mother?" The captain's lips and the muscles of his face quivered, but he did not reply. " _Blood for blood_!" cried Francisco, as he fired his pistol at Cain, who staggered, and fell on the deck. Hawkhurst and several of the pirates hastened to the captain, and raised him. "She must have told him last night," said Cain, speaking with difficulty, as the blood flowed from the wound. "He told me so himself," said Francisco, turning round to those who stood by him. Cain was taken down into the cabin. On examination, his wound was not mortal, although his loss of blood had been rapid and very great. In a few minutes Hawkhurst joined the party on the quarter deck. He found that the tide had turned more in Francisco's favour than he had expected; the law of "Blood for blood" was held most sacred: indeed, it was but the knowledge that it was solemnly recognised, and that, if one pirate wounded another, the other was at liberty to take his life, without punishment, which prevented constant affrays between parties, whose knives would otherwise have been the answer to every affront. It was a more debased law of duelling, which kept such profligate associates on good terms. Finding, therefore, that this feeling predominated, even among those who were opposed to Francisco on the other question, Hawkhurst thought it advisable to parley. "Hawkhurst," said Francisco, "I have but one request to make, which, if complied with, will put an end to this contention; it is, that you will put me on shore at the first land that we make. If you and your party engage to do this, I will desire those who support me to return to their obedience." "I grant it," replied Hawkhurst; "and so will the others. Will you not, my men?" "Agreed--agreed upon all sides," cried the pirates, throwing away their weapons, and mingling with each other, as if they had never been opposed. There is an old saying, that there is honour amongst thieves; and so it often proves. Every man in the vessel knew that this agreement would be strictly adhered to; and Francisco now walked the deck with as much composure as if nothing had occurred. Hawkhurst, who was aware that he must fulfil his promise, carefully examined the charts when he went down below, came up and altered the course of the schooner two points more to the northward. The next morning he was up at the mast-head nearly half an hour, when he descended, and again altered the course. By nine o'clock a low sandy island appeared on the lee bow; when within half a mile of it, he ordered the schooner to be hove to, and lowered down the small boat from the stern. He then turned the hands up. "My lads, we must keep our promise, to put Francisco on shore at the first land which we made. There it is!" And a malicious smile played on the miscreant's features as he pointed out to them the barren sand-bank, which promised nothing but starvation and a lingering death. Several of the crew murmured; but Hawkhurst was supported by his own party, and had, moreover, taken the precaution quietly to remove all the arms, with the exception of those with which his adherents were provided. "An agreement is an agreement; it is what he requested himself, and we promised to perform. Send for Francisco." "I am here, Hawkhurst; and I tell you candidly, that, desolate as is that barren spot, I prefer it to remaining in your company. I will bring my chest up immediately." "No--no; that was not a part of the agreement," cried Hawkhurst. "Every man here has a right to his own property: I appeal to the whole of the crew." "True--true," replied the pirates; and Hawkhurst found himself again in the minority. "Be it so." The chest of Francisco was handed into the boat. "Is that all?" cried Hawkhurst. "My lads, am I to have no provisions or water?" inquired Francisco. "No," replied Hawkhurst. "Yes--yes," cried most of the pirates. Hawkhurst did not dare put it to the vote; he turned sulkily away. The Kroumen brought up two breakers of water, and some pieces of pork. "Here, massa," said Pompey, putting into Francisco's hand a fishing-line with hooks. "Thank you, Pompey; but I had forgot--that book in the cabin--you know which I mean." Pompey nodded his head, and went below; but it was some time before he returned, during which Hawkhurst became impatient. It was a very small boat which had been lowered down; it had a lug-sail and two pair of sculls in it, and was quite full when Francisco's chest and the other articles had been put in. "Come! I have no time to wait," said Hawkhurst; "in the boat!" Francisco shook hands with many of the crew, and wished all of them farewell. Indeed, now that they beheld the poor lad about to be cast on the desolate island, even those most opposed to him felt some emotions of pity. Although they acknowledged that his absence was necessary, yet they knew his determined courage; and with them that quality was always a strong appeal. "Who will row this lad ashore, and bring the boat off?" "Not I," replied one; "it would haunt me ever afterwards." So they all appeared to think, for no one volunteered. Francisco jumped into the boat. "There is no room for any one but me; and I will row myself on shore," cried he. "Farewell, my lads! farewell!" "Stop? not so; he must not have the boat--he may escape from the island," cried Hawkhurst. "And why shouldn't he, poor fellow?" replied the men. "Let him have the boat." "Yes--yes, let him have the boat;" and Hawkhurst was again overruled. "Here, Massa Francisco--here de book." "What's that, sir?" cried Hawkhurst, snatching the book out of Pompey's hand. "Him, massa, Bible." Francisco waited for the book. "Shove off!" cried Hawkhurst. "Give me my book, Mr Hawkhurst!" "No!" replied the malignant rascal, tossing the Bible over the taffrail; "he shall not have that. I've heard say that _there is consolation in it for the afflicted_." Francisco shoved off his boat, and seizing his sculls, pushed astern, picked up the book, which still floated, and laid it to dry on the after-thwart of the boat. He then pulled in for the shore. In the meantime the schooner had let draw her fore-sheet, and had already left him a quarter of a mile astern. Before Francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward.	{ "id": "21580" }
10	THE SAND-BANK.	The first half hour that Francisco was on this desolate spot he watched the receding schooner: his thoughts were unconnected and vague. Wandering through the various scenes which had passed on the decks of that vessel, and recalling to his memory the different characters of those on board of her, much as he had longed to quit her--disgusted as he had been with those with whom he had been forced to associate--still, as her sails grew fainter and fainter to his view, as she increased her distance, he more than once felt that even remaining on board of her would have been preferable to his present deserted lot. "No, no!" exclaimed he, after a little further reflection, "I had rather perish here, than continue to witness the scenes which I have been forced to behold." He once more fixed his eyes upon her white sails, and then sat down on the loose sand, and remained in deep and melancholy reverie until the scorching heat reminded him of his situation; he afterwards rose and turned his thoughts upon his present situation, and to what would be the measures most advisable to take. He hauled his little boat still farther on the beach, and attached the painter to one of the oars, which he fixed deep in the sand; he then proceeded to survey the bank, and found that but a small portion was uncovered at high water; for trifling as was the rise of the tide, the bank was so low that the water flowed almost over it. The most elevated part was not more than fifteen feet above high-water mark, and that was a small knoll of about fifty feet in circumference. To this part he resolved to remove his effects: he returned to the boat, and having lifted out his chest, the water, the provisions, with the other articles which he had obtained, he dragged them up, one by one, until they were all collected at the spot he had chosen. He then took out of the boat the oars and little sail, which, fortunately, had remained in her. His last object, to haul the little boat up to the same spot, was one which demanded all his exertion; but, after considerable fatigue, he contrived, by first lifting round her bow, and then her stern, to effect his object. Tired and exhausted, he then repaired to one of the breakers of water and refreshed himself. The heat, as the day advanced, had become intolerable; but it stimulated him to fresh exertion. He turned over the boat, and contrived that the bow and stern should rest upon two little hillocks, so as to raise it above the level of the sand beneath it two or three feet; he spread out the sail from the keel above, with the thole-pins as pegs, so as to keep off the rays of the sun. Dragging the breakers of water and the provisions underneath the boat, he left his chest outside; and having thus formed for himself a sort of covering which would protect him from the heat of the day and the damp of the night, he crept in, to shelter himself until the evening. Although Francisco had not been on deck, he knew pretty well whereabouts he then was. Taking out a chart from his chest, he examined the coast to ascertain the probable distance which he might be from any prospect of succour. He calculated that he was on one of a patch of sand-banks off the coast of Loango, and about seven hundred miles from the Isle of St. Thomas--the nearest place where he might expect to fall in with a European face. From the coast he felt certain that he could not be more than forty or fifty miles at the most; but could he trust himself among the savage natives who inhabited it? He knew how ill they had been treated by Europeans; for at that period, it was quite as common for the slave-trader to land and take away the inhabitants as slaves by force, as to purchase them in the more northern territories: still, he might be fortunate enough to fall in with some trader on the coast, as there were a few who still carried on a barter for gold-dust and ivory. We do not know--we cannot conceive a situation much more deplorable than the one we have just described to have been that of Francisco. Alone-- without a chance of assistance--with only a sufficiency of food for a few days, and cut off from the rest of his fellow-creatures, with only so much _terra firma_ as would prevent his being swallowed up by the vast, unfathomable ocean, into which the horizon fell on every side around him! And his chance of escape how small! Hundreds of miles from any from whom he might expect assistance, and the only means of reaching them a small boat--a mere cockleshell, which the first rough gale would inevitably destroy. Such, indeed, were the first thoughts of Francisco; but he soon recovered from his despondency. He was young, courageous, and buoyant with hope; and there is a feeling of pride--of trust in our own resources and exertions, which increases and stimulates us in proportion to our danger and difficulty; it is the daring of the soul, proving its celestial origin and eternal duration. So intense was the heat that Francisco almost panted for sufficient air to support life, as he lay under the shade of the boat during the whole of that day; not a breath of wind disturbed the glassy wave--all nature appeared hushed into one horrible calm. It was not until the shades of night were covering the solitude that Francisco ventured forth from his retreat; but he found little relief; there was an unnatural closeness in the air--a suffocation unusual even in those climes. Francisco cast his eyes up to the vault of heaven, and was astonished to find that there were no stars visible--a grey mist covered the whole firmament. He directed his view downwards to the horizon, and that, too, was not to be defined; there was a dark bank all around it. He walked to the edge of the sand-bank; there was not even a ripple--the wide ocean appeared to be in a trance, in a state of lethargy or stupor. He parted the hair from his feverish brow, and once more surveying the horrible, lifeless, stagnant waste, his soul sickened, and he cast himself upon the sand. There he lay for many hours in a state bordering upon wild despair. At last he recovered himself, and, rising to his knees, he prayed for strength and submission to the will of Heaven. When he was once more upon his feet, and had again scanned the ocean, he perceived that there was a change rapidly approaching. The dark bank on the horizon had now risen higher up; the opaqueness was everywhere more dense; and low murmurs were heard, as if there was wind stirring aloft, although the sea was still glassy as a lake. Signs of some movement about to take place were evident, and the solitary youth watched and watched. And now the sounds increased, and here and there a wild thread of air--whence coming, who could tell? and as rapidly disappearing-- would ruffle, for a second, a portion of the stagnant sea. Then came whizzing sounds and moans, and then the rumbling noise of distant thunder--loud and louder yet--still louder--a broad black line is seen sweeping along the expanse of water--fearful in its rapidity it comes! -- and the hurricane burst, at once and with all its force, and all its terrific sounds, upon the isolated Francisco. The first blast was so powerful and so unexpected that it threw him down, and prudence dictated to him to remain in that position, for the loose sand was swept off and whirled in such force as to blind and prevent his seeing a foot from him; he would have crawled to the boat for security, but he knew not in which direction to proceed. But this did not last; for now the water was borne up upon the strong wings of the hurricane, and the sand was rendered firm by its saturation with the element. Francisco felt that he was drenched, and he raised his head. All he could discover was, that the firmament was mantled with darkness, horrible from its intensity, and that the sea was in one extended foam-- boiling everywhere, and white as milk--but still smooth, as if the power of the wind had compelled it to be so; but the water had encroached, and one half the sand-bank was covered with it, while over the other the foam whirled, each portion chasing the other with wild rapidity. And now the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain, mingled with the spray caught up by the hurricane, was dashed and hurled upon the forlorn youth, who still lay where he had been first thrown down. But of a sudden, a wash of water told him that he could remain there no longer: the sea was rising--rising fast; and before he could gain a few paces on his hands and knees, another wave, as if it chased him in its wrath, repeated the warning of his extreme danger, and he was obliged to rise on his feet and hasten to the high part of the sand-bank, where he had drawn up his boat and his provisions. Blinded as he was by the rain and spray, he could distinguish nothing. Of a sudden, he fell violently; he had stumbled over one of the breakers of water, and his head struck against a sea-chest. Where, then, was the boat? It was gone! --it must have been swept away by the fury of the wind. Alas, then, all chance was over! and, if not washed away by the angry waters, he had but to prolong his existence but a few days, and then to die. The effect of the blow he had received on his forehead, with the shock of mind occasioned by the disappearance of the boat, overpowered him, and he remained for some time in a state of insensibility. When Francisco recovered, the scene was again changed: the wide expanse was now in a state of wild and fearful commotion, and the water roared as loud as did the hurricane. The whole sand-bank, with the exception of that part on which he stood, was now covered with tumultuous foam, and his place of refuge was occasionally invaded, when some vast mass, o'erlording the other waves, expended all its fury, even to his feet. Francisco prepared to die! But gradually the darkness of the heavens disappeared, and there was no longer a bank upon the horizon, and Francisco hoped--alas! hoped what? -- that he might be saved from the present impending death to be reserved for one still more horrible; to be saved from the fury of the waves, which would swallow him up, and in a few seconds remove him from all pain and suffering, to perish for want of sustenance under a burning sun; to be withered--to be parched to death--calling in his agony for water; and as Francisco thought of this he covered his face with his hands, and prayed, "Oh, God, thy will be done! but in thy mercy, raise, still higher raise the waters!" But the waters did not rise higher. The howling of the wind gradually decreased, and the foaming seas had obeyed the Divine injunction--they had gone so far, but no farther! And the day dawned, and the sky cleared: and the first red tints, announcing the return of light and heat, had appeared on the broken horizon, when the eyes of the despairing youth were directed to a black mass on the tumultuous waters. It was a vessel, with but one mast standing, rolling heavily, and running before the gale right on for the sand-bank where he stood; her hull, one moment borne aloft and the next disappearing from his view in the hollow of the agitated waters. "She will be dashed to pieces!" thought Francisco; "she will be lost! --they cannot see the bank!" And he would have made a signal to her, if he had been able, to warn her of her danger, forgetting at the time his own desolate situation. As Francisco watched, the sun rose, bright and joyous over this scene of anxiety and pain. On came the vessel, flying before the gale, while the seas chased her as if they would fain overwhelm her. It was fearful to see her scud--agonising to know that she was rushing to destruction. At last he could distinguish those on board. He waved his hand, but they perceived him not; he shouted, but his voice was borne away by the gale. On came the vessel, as if doomed. She was within two cables' length of the bank when those on board perceived their danger. It was too late! --they had rounded her to--another, and another wave hurled her towards the sand. She struck! --her only remaining mast fell over the side, and the roaring waves hastened to complete their work of destruction and of death!	{ "id": "21580" }
11	THE ESCAPE.	Francisco's eyes were fixed upon the vessel, over which the sea now broke with terrific violence. There appeared to be about eight or nine men on her deck, who sheltered themselves under the weather bulwarks. Each wave, as it broke against her side and then dashed in foam over her, threw her, with a convulsive jerk, still further on the sand-bank. At last she was so high up that their fury was partly spent before they dashed against her frame. Had the vessel been strong and well built-- had she been a collier coasting the English shores--there was a fair chance that she might have withstood the fury of the storm until it had subsided, and that by remaining on board, the crew might have survived: but she was of a very different mould, and, as Francisco justly surmised, an American brig, built for swift sailing, very sharp, and, moreover, very slightly put together. Francisco's eyes, as may easily be supposed, were never removed from the only object which could now interest him--the unexpected appearance and imminent danger of his fellow-creatures at this desolate spot. He perceived that two of the men went to the hatches, and slid them over to leeward: they then descended, and although the seas broke over the vessel, and a large quantity of water must have poured into her, the hatches were not put on again by those who remained on deck. But in a few minutes this mystery was solved; one after another, at first, and then by dozens, poured forth, out of the hold, the kidnapped Africans who composed her cargo. In a short time the decks were covered with them: the poor creatures had been released by the humanity of two English sailors, that they might have the same chance with themselves of saving their lives. Still, no attempt was made to quit the vessel. Huddled together, like a flock of sheep, with the wild waves breaking over them, there they all remained, both European and African; and as the heavy blows of the seas upon the sides of the vessel careened and shook her, they were seen to cling, in every direction, with no distinction between the captured and their oppressors. But this scene was soon changed; the frame of the vessel could no longer withstand the violence of the waves, and as Francisco watched, of a sudden it was seen to divide a-midships, and each portion to turn over. Then was the struggle for life; hundreds were floating on the raging element, and wrestling for existence, and the white foam of the ocean was dotted by the black heads of the negroes who attempted to gain the bank. It was an awful, terrible scene, to witness so many at one moment tossed and dashed about by the waves--so many fellow-beings threatened with eternity. At one moment they were close to the beach, forced on to it by some tremendous wave; at the next, the receding water and the undertow swept them all back; and of the many who had been swimming one half had disappeared to rise no more. Francisco watched with agony as he perceived that the number decreased, and that none had yet gained the shore. At last he snatched up the haulyards of his boat's sail which were near him, and hastened down to the spot to afford such succour as might be possible; nor were his efforts in vain. As the seas washed the apparently inanimate bodies on shore, and would then have again swept them away to return them in mockery, he caught hold of them and dragged them safe on the bank, and thus did he continue his exertions until fifteen of the bodies of the negroes were spread upon the beach. Although exhausted and senseless, they were not dead, and long before he had dragged up the last of the number, many of those previously saved had, without any other assistance than the heat of the sun, recovered from their insensibility. Francisco would have continued his task of humanity, but the parted vessel had now been riven into fragments by the force of the waves, and the whole beach was strewed with her timbers and her stores, which were dashed on shore by the waters, and then swept back again by the return. In a short time the severe blows he received from these fragments disabled him from further exertion, and he sank exhausted on the sand; indeed, all further attempts were useless. All on board the vessel had been launched into the sea at the same moment, and those who were not now on shore were past all succour. Francisco walked up to those who had been saved: he found twelve of them were recovered and sitting on their hams; the rest were still in a state of insensibility. He then went up to the knoll, where his chest and provisions had been placed, and, throwing himself down by them, surveyed the scene. The wind had lulled, the sun shone brightly, and the sea was much less violent. The waves had subsided, and, no longer hurried on by the force of the hurricane, broke majestically, and solemnly, but not with the wildness and force which, but a few hours before, they had displayed. The whole of the beach was strewed with the fragments of the vessel, with spars and water-casks; and at every moment was to be observed the corpse of a negro turning round and round in the froth of the wave, and then disappearing. For an hour did he watch and reflect and then he walked again to where the men who had been rescued were sitting, not more than thirty yards from him; they were sickly, emaciated forms, but belonging to a tribe who inhabited the coast, and who having been accustomed from their infancy to be all the day in the water, had supported themselves better than the other slaves, who had been procured from the interior, or the European crew of the vessel, all of whom had perished. The Africans appeared to recover fast by the heat of the sun, so oppressive to Francisco, and were now exchanging a few words with each other. The whole of them had revived, but those who were most in need of aid were neglected by the others. Francisco made signs to them, but they understood him not. He returned to the knoll, and pouring out water into a tin pan from the breaker, brought it down to them. He offered it to one, who seized it eagerly; water was a luxury seldom obtained in the hold of a slave-vessel. The man drank deeply, and would have drained the cup, but Francisco prevented him, and held it to the lips of another. He was obliged to refill it three times before they had all been supplied: he then brought them a handful of biscuit, and left them, for he reflected that, without some precautions, the whole sustenance would be seized by them and devoured. He buried half a foot deep, and covered over with sand, the breakers of water and the provisions, and by the time he had finished this task, unperceived by the negroes, who still squatted together, the sun had sunk below the horizon. Francisco had already matured his plans, which were, to form a raft out of the fragments of the vessel, and, with the assistance of the negroes, attempt to gain the mainland. He lay down, for the second night, on this eventful spot of desolation, and commending himself to the Almighty protection, was soon in a deep slumber. It was not until the powerful rays of the sun blazed on the eyes of the youth that he awoke, so tired had he been with the anxiety and fatigue of the preceding day, and the sleepless harrowing night which had introduced it. He rose and seated himself upon his sea-chest: how different was the scene from that of yesterday! Again the ocean slept, the sky was serene, and not a cloud to be distinguished throughout the whole firmament; the horizontal line was clear, even, and well defined: a soft breeze just rippled over the dark blue sea, which now had retired to its former boundary, and left the sand-bank as extended as when first Francisco had been put on shore. But here the beauty of the landscape terminated: the foreground was horrible to look upon; the whole of the beach was covered with the timbers of the wreck, with water-casks, and other articles, in some parts heaped and thrown up one upon another; and among them lay, jammed and mangled, the bodies of the many who had perished. In other parts there were corpses thrown up high and dry, or still rolling and turning to the rippling wave: it was a scene of desolation and of death. The negroes who had been saved were all huddled up together, apparently in deep sleep, and Francisco quitted his elevated position and walked down to the low beach, to survey the means which the disaster of others afforded him for his own escape. To his great joy he found not only plenty of casks, but many of them full of fresh water, provisions also in sufficiency, and, indeed, everything that could be required to form a raft, as well as the means of support for a considerable time for himself and the negroes who had survived. He then walked up to them and called to them, but they answered not, nor even moved. He pushed them, but in vain; and his heart beat quick, for he was fearful that they were dead from previous exhaustion. He applied his foot to one of them, and it was not until he had used force, which in any other case he would have dispensed with, that the negro awoke from his state of lethargy and looked vacantly about him. Francisco had some little knowledge of the language of the Kroumen, and he addressed the negro in that tongue. To his great joy, he was answered in a language which, if not the same, had so great an affinity to it that communication became easy. With the assistance of the negro, who used still less ceremony with his comrades, the remainder of them were awakened, and a palaver ensued. Francisco soon made them understand that they were to make a raft and go back to their own country; explaining to them that if they remained there, the water and provisions would soon be exhausted, and they would all perish. The poor creatures hardly knew whether to consider him a supernatural being or not; they talked among themselves; they remarked at his having brought them fresh water the day before; they knew that he did not belong to the vessel in which they had been wrecked, and they were puzzled. Whatever might be their speculations, they had one good effect, which was, that they looked upon the youth as a superior and a friend, and most willingly obeyed him. He led them up to the knoll, and, desiring them to scrape away the sand, supplied them again with fresh water and biscuit. Perhaps the very supply, and the way in which it was given to them, excited their astonishment as much as anything. Francisco ate with them, and, selecting from his sea-chest the few tools in his possession, desired them to follow him. The casks were collected and rolled up; the empty ones arranged for the raft: the spars were hauled up and cleared of the rigging, which was carefully separated for lashings; the one or two sails which had been found rolled up on the spars were spread out to dry; and the provisions and articles of clothing, which might be useful, laid together on one side. The negroes worked willingly, and showed much intelligence: before the evening closed, everything which might be available was secured, and the waves now only tossed about lifeless forms, and the small fragments of timber which could not be serviceable. It would occupy too much time were we to detail all the proceedings of Francisco and the negroes for the space of four days, during which they laboured hard. Necessity is truly the mother of invention, and many were the ingenious resources of the party before they could succeed in forming a raft large enough to carry them and their provisions, with a mast and sail well secured. At length it was accomplished; and on the fifth day, Francisco and his men embarked; and, having pushed clear of the bank with poles, they were at last able to hoist their sail to a fine breeze, and steer for the coast before the wind at the rate of about three miles an hour. But it was not until they had gained half a mile from the bank that they were no longer annoyed by the dreadful smell arising from the putrefaction of so many bodies, for to bury them all would have been a work of too great time. The last two days of their remaining on the island, the effluvia had become so powerful as to be a source of the greatest horror and disgust even to the negroes. But before night when the raft was about eight leagues from the sand-bank, it fell calm, and continued so for the next day, when a breeze sprang up from the south-east, to which they trimmed their sail with their head to the northward. This wind, and the course steered, sent them off from the land, but there was no help for it; and Francisco felt grateful that they had such an ample supply of provisions and water as to enable them to yield to a few days' contrary wind without danger of want. But the breeze continued steady and fresh, and they were now crossing the Bight of Benin; the weather was fine and the sea smooth; the flying-fish rose in shoals, and dropped down into the raft, which still forced its way through the water to the northward. Thus did Francisco and his negro crew remain for a fortnight floating on the wide ocean, without any object meeting their view. Day after day it was the same dreary "sky and water," and by the reckoning of Francisco they could not be far from the land, when, on the fifteenth day, they perceived two sails to the northward. Francisco's heart bounded with joy and gratitude to Heaven; he had no telescope to examine them, but he steered directly for them, and, about dark, he made them out to be a ship and a schooner, hove to. As Francisco scanned them, surmising what they might be, the sun set behind the two vessels, and after it had sunk below the horizon their forms were, for a few minutes, delineated with remarkable precision and clearness. There could be no mistake. Francisco felt convinced that the schooner was the _Avenger_; and his first impulse was to run to the sweep with which they were steered, and put the head of the raft again to the northward. A moment's reflection determined him to act otherwise; he lowered down his sail that he might escape observation, and watched the motions of the vessels during the few minutes of light which remained. That the ship had been captured, and that her capture had been attended with the usual scene of outrage and violence, he had no doubt. He was now about four miles from them, and just as they were vanishing from his straining eyes he perceived that the schooner had made all sail to the westward. Francisco, feeling that he was then secure from being picked up by her, again hoisted his sail with the hope of reaching the ship, which, if not scuttled, he intended to remove on board of, and then make sail for the first port on the coast. But hardly had the raft regained her way when the horizon was lighted up, and he perceived that the pirates had set fire to the vessel. Then it was useless to proceed towards her; and Francisco again thought of putting the head of the raft to the northward, when the idea struck him, knowing the character and cruelty of the pirates, that there might be some unfortunate people left on board to perish in the flames. He therefore continued his course, watching the burning vessel; the flames increased in violence, mounting up to the masts and catching the sails one after another. The wind blew fresh, and the vessel was kept before the wind--a circumstance that assured Francisco that there were people on board. At first she appeared to leave the raft, but as her sails, one after another, were consumed by the element, so did she decrease her speed, and Francisco, in about an hour, was close to her and under her counter. The ship was now one mass of fire from her bows to her mainmast; a volume of flame poured from her main hold, rising higher than her lower masts, and ending in a huge mass of smoke carried by the wind ahead of her; the quarter-deck was still free from fire, but the heat on it was so intense that those on board were all collected at the taffrail; and there they remained, some violent, others in mute despair; for the _Avenger's_ people, in their barbarity, had cut away and destroyed all the boats, to prevent their escape. From the light thrown round the vessel, those on board had perceived the approach of Francisco to their rescue, and immediately that it was under the counter, and the sail lowered, almost all of them had descended by ropes, or the stern ladder, and gained a place in her. In a few minutes, without scarcely an exchange of a word, they were all out of the brig, and Francisco pushed off just as the flames burst from the cabin-windows, darting out in a horizontal line like the tongues of fiery serpents. The raft, now encumbered with twelve more persons, was then steered to the northward; and as soon as those who had been saved had been supplied with some water, which they so much needed, Francisco obtained the intelligence which he desired. The ship was from Carthagena, South America; had sailed from thence to Lisbon with a Don Cumanos, who had large property up the Magdalen river. He had wished to visit a part of his family at Lisbon, and from thence had sailed to the Canary Isles, where he also had property. In their way from Lisbon to South America they had been beaten by stress of weather to the southward, and afterwards had been chased by the _Avenger_; being a very fast sailer she had run down several degrees before she had been captured. When the pirate took possession, and found that she had little or no cargo of value to them, for her hold was chiefly filled with furniture and other articles for the use of Don Cumanos, angry at their disappointment, they had first destroyed all their boats and then set fire to the vessel, taking care not to leave her until all chance of the fire being put out was hopeless. And thus had these miscreants left innocent and unfortunate people to perish. Francisco heard the narrative of Don Cumanos, and then informed him in what manner he had left the schooner, and his subsequent adventures. Francisco was now very anxious to make the land, or obtain succour from some vessel. The many who were now on board, and the time that he had already been at sea, obliged him to reduce the allowance of water. Fortune favoured him after all his trials; on the third day a vessel hove in sight, and they were seen by her. She made sail for them, and took them all on board. It was a schooner trafficking on the coast for gold-dust and ivory; but the magnificent offers of Don Cumanos induced them to give up their voyage and run across the Atlantic to Carthagena. To Francisco it was of little moment where he went, and in Don Cumanos he had found a sincere friend. "You have been my preserver," said the Spaniard, "allow me to return the obligation--come and live with me." As Francisco was equally pleased with Don Cumanos, he accepted the offer; they all arrived safely at Carthagena, and from thence proceeded to his estate on the Magdalen river.	{ "id": "21580" }
12	THE LIEUTENANT.	When we last mentioned Edward Templemore, we stated that he was a lieutenant of the admiral's ship on the West India station, commanding the tender. Now the name of the tender was the _Enterprise_: and it was singular that she was one of two schooners built at Baltimore, remarkable for their beauty and good qualities; yet how different were their employments! Both had originally been built for the slave-trade; now one hoisted the English pennant, and cruised as the _Enterprise_; the other threw out the black flag, and scoured the seas as the _Avenger_. The _Enterprise_ was fitted much in the same way as we have already described her sister vessel--that is, with one long brass gun amidships, and smaller ones for her broadside. But in the numbers of their crew there was a great disparity; the _Enterprise_ not being manned with more than sixty-five English sailors, belonging to the admiral's ship. She was employed, as most admirals' tenders usually _were_, sometimes carrying a tender made for a supply of provisions, or a tender of services, if required, from the admiral; or, if not particularly wanted, with the important charge of a tender _billet-doux_ to some fair friend. But this is a tender subject to touch upon. In the meantime it must be understood that she had the same commission to sink, burn, and destroy, as all other of his Majesty's vessels, if anything came in her way; but as she usually carried despatches, the real importance of which were, of course, unknown, she was not to go out of her way upon such service. Edward Templemore did, however, occasionally go a little out of his way, and had lately captured a very fine privateer after a smart action, for which he anticipated his promotion; but the admiral thought him too young, and therefore gave the next vacancy to his own nephew, who, the admiral quite forgot, was much younger. Edward laughed when he heard of it, upon his arrival at Port Royal; and the admiral, who expected that he would make his appearance pouting with disappointment, when he came up to the Penn to report himself, was so pleased with his good humour that he made a vow that Templemore should have the next vacancy; but this he also quite forgot, because Edward happened to be, at the time it occurred, on a long cruise,--and "out of sight out of mind" is a proverb so well established, that it may be urged as an excuse for a person who had so many other things to think of as the admiral entrusted with the command of the West India station. Lieutenant Templemore had, in consequence, commanded the _Enterprise_ for nearly two years, and without grumbling; for he was of a happy disposition, and passed a very happy sort of life. Mr Witherington was very indulgent to him, and allowed him to draw liberally; he had plenty of money for himself or for a friend who required it, and he had plenty of amusement. Amongst other diversions, he had fallen most desperately in love; for, in one of his trips to the Leeward Isles (so called from their being to windward) he had succoured a Spanish vessel, which had on board the new Governor of Porto Rico, with his family, and had taken upon himself to land them on that island in safety; for which service the English admiral received a handsome letter, concluding with the moderate wish that his Excellency might live a thousand years, and Edward Templemore an invitation to go and see them whenever he might pass that way; which, like most general invitations, was as much a compliment as the wish which wound up the letter to the admiral. It did, however, so happen that the Spanish governor had a very beautiful and only daughter, carefully guarded by a duenna, and a monk who was the depository of all the sins of the governor's establishment; and it was with this daughter that Edward Templemore fell into the heresy of love. She was, indeed, very beautiful; and, like all her countrywomen, was ardent in her affection. The few days that she was on board the schooner with her father, during the time that the _Enterprise_ convoyed the Spanish vessel into port, were quite sufficient to ignite two such inflammable beings as Clara d'Alfarez and Edward Templemore. The monk had been left on board of the leaky vessel; there was no accommodation in the schooner for him or the duenna, and Don Felix de Maxos de Cobas de Manilla d'Alfarez was too busy with his cigar to pay attention to his daughter. When they were landed, Edward Templemore was asked to their residence, which was not in the town, but at a lovely bay on the south side of the island. The town mansion was appropriated to business and the ceremony of the court: it was too hot for a permanent abode, and the governor only went there for a few hours each day. Edward Templemore remained a short time at the island, and at his departure received the afore-mentioned letter from the father to the English admiral, and an assurance of unalterable fidelity from the daughter to the English lieutenant. On his return he presented the letter, and the admiral was satisfied with his conduct. When ordered out to cruise, which he always was when there was nothing else to do, he submitted to the admiral whether, if he should happen to be near Porto Rico, he could not leave an answer to the Spanish governor's letter; and the admiral, who knew the value of keeping up a good understanding with foreign relations, took the hint, and gave him one to deliver, if _convenient_. The second meeting was, as may be supposed, more cordial than the first on the part of the young lady; not so, however, on the part of the duenna and holy friar, who soon found out that their charge was in danger from heretical opinions. Caution became necessary; and as secrecy adds a charm to an amour, Clara received a long letter and a telescope from Edward. The letter informed her that, whenever he could, he would make his appearance in his schooner off the south of the island, and await a signal made by her at a certain window, acknowledging her recognition of his vessel. On the night of that signal he would land in his boat and meet her at an appointed spot. This was all very delightful; and it so happened that Edward had four or five times contrived, during the last year, to meet Clara without discovery, and again and again to exchange his vows. It was agreed between them that when he quitted the station, she would quit her father and her home, and trust her future happiness to an Englishman and a heretic. It may be a matter of surprise to some of our readers that the admiral should not have discovered the frequent visits of the _Enterprise_ to Porto Rico, as Edward was obliged to bring his log for examination every time that he returned; but the admiral was satisfied with Edward's conduct, and his anxiety to cruise when there was nothing else for him to do. His logs were brought on shore to the admiral's secretary, carefully rolled and sealed up. The admiral's secretary threw the packages on one side, and thought no more of the matter, and Edward had always a ready story to tell when he took his seat at the admiral's dinner-table; besides, he is a very unfit person to command a vessel who does not know how to write a log that will bear an investigation. A certain latitude is always allowed in every degree of latitude as well as longitude. The Enterprise had been despatched to Antigua, and Edward thought this an excellent opportunity to pay a visit to Clara d'Alfarez: he therefore, upon his return, hove to off the usual headland, and soon perceived the white curtain thrown out of the window. "There it is, sir," said one of the midshipmen who was near him--for he had been there so often that the whole crew of the Enterprise were aware of his attachment--"She has shown her flag of truce." "A truce to your nonsense, Mr Warren," replied Edward, laughing; "how came you to know anything about it?" "I only judge by cause and effect, sir; and I know that I shall have to go on shore and wait for you tonight." "That's not unlikely; but let draw the foresheet; we must now get behind the headland." The youngster was right: that evening, a little before dark, he attended his commander on shore, the _Enterprise_ lying to with a lantern at her peak. "Once more, dearest Clara!" said Edward, as he threw off her long veil and pressed her in his arms. "Yes, Edward, once more--but I am afraid only once more; for my maid, Inez, has been dangerously ill, and has confessed to Friar Ricardo. I fear much that, in her fright (for she thought that she was dying), she has told all. She is better now." "Why should you imagine so, Clara?" "Oh, you know not what a frightened fool that Inez is when she is ill! Our religion is not like yours." "No, dear, it is not; but I will teach you a better." "Hush, Edward, you must not say that. Holy Virgin! if Friar Ricardo should hear you! I think that Inez must have told him, for he fixes his dark eyes upon me so earnestly. Yesterday he observed to me that I had not confessed." "Tell him to mind his own business." "That is his business, and I was obliged to confess to him last night. I told him a great many things, and then he asked if that was all. His eyes went through me. I trembled as I uttered an untruth, for I said it was." "I confess my sins but to my Maker, Clara! and I confess my love but to you. Follow my plan, dearest!" "I will half obey you, Edward. I will not tell my love." "And sins you have none, Clara; so you will obey me in all." "Hush, Edward, you must not say that. We all have sins; and, oh! what a grievous sin they say it is to love you, who are a heretic! Holy Virgin, pardon me! but I could not help it." "If that is your only sin, dearest, I can safely give you absolution." "Nay, Edward, don't joke, but hear me. If Inez has confessed, they will look for me here, and we must not meet again--at least not in this place. You know the little bay behind the rock, it is not much farther off, and there is a cave where I can wait: another time it must be there." "It shall be there, dearest; but is it not too near the beach? will you not be afraid of the men in the boat, who must see you?" "But we can leave the beach. It is Ricardo alone that I am in dread of, and the Donna Maria. Merciful Heaven! should my father know all, we should be lost--be separated for ever!" and Clara laid her forehead on Edward's shoulder, as her tears fell fast. "There is nought to fear, Clara. Hush! I heard a rustling in those orange-trees. Listen!" "Yes! yes!" whispered Clara, hastily; "there is some one. Away! dear Edward, away!" Clara sprang from his side, and hastened up the grove. Edward made his retreat, and flying down the rocky and narrow path through the underwood, was soon on the beach and into his boat. The _Enterprise_ arrived at head quarters, and Edward reported himself to the admiral. "I have work for you, Mr Templemore," said the admiral; "you must be ready to proceed on service immediately. We've found your match." "I hope I may find her, sir," replied the lieutenant. "I hope so, too; for, if you give a good account of her, it will put another swab on your shoulder. The pirate schooner, which has so long infested the Atlantic, has been seen and chased off Barbadoes by the _Amelia_: but it appears that there is not a vessel in the squadron which can come near her unless it be the _Enterprise_. She has since captured two West Indiamen, and was seen steering with them towards the coast of Guiana. Now, I am going to give you thirty additional hands, and send you after her." "Thank you, sir," replied Edward, his countenance beaming with delight. "How soon will you be ready?" inquired the admiral. "To-morrow morning, sir." "Very good. Tell Mr Hadley to bring me the order for the men and your sailing orders, and I will sign them; but recollect, Mr Templemore, you will have an awkward customer. Be prudent--brave I know you to be." Edward Templemore promised everything, as most people do in such cases; and before the next evening the _Enterprise_ was well in the offing, under a heavy press of sail.	{ "id": "21580" }
13	THE LANDING.	The property of Don Cumanos, to which he had retired with his family, accompanied by Francisco, extended from the mouth of, to many miles up, the Magdalen river. It was a fine alluvial soil, forming one vast strip of rich meadow, covered with numerous herds of cattle. The house was not a hundreds yards from the bank of the magnificent stream, and a small but deep creek ran up to the adjacent buildings; for Don Cumanos had property even more valuable, being proprietor of a gold mine near the town of Jambrano, about eight miles farther up, and which mine had latterly become exceedingly productive. The ore was brought down the river in boats, and smelted in the outhouses near the creek to which we have just referred. It will be necessary to observe that the establishment of the noble Spaniard was numerous, consisting of nearly one hundred persons, employed in the smelting-house or attached to the household. For some time Francisco remained here happy and contented; he had become the confidential supervisor of Don Cumanos' household, proved himself worthy of a trust so important, and was considered as one of the family. One morning, as Francisco was proceeding down to the smelting-house to open the hatches of the small deck boats which had arrived from Jambrano with ore, and which were invariably secured with a padlock by the superintendent above, to which Don Cumanos had a corresponding key, one of the chief men informed him that a vessel had anchored off the mouth of the river the day before, and weighed again early that morning, and that she was now standing off and on. "From Carthagena, probably, beating up," replied Francisco. "Valga me Dios, if I know that, sir," said Diego, "I should have thought nothing about it; but Giacomo and Pedro, who went out to fish last night, as usual, instead of coming back before midnight, have not been heard of since." "Indeed! that is strange. Did they ever stay so long before?" "Never, sir; and they have fished together now for seven years." Francisco gave the key to the man, who opened the locks of the hatches, and returned it. "There she is!" cried the man; the head-sails making their appearance as the vessel opened to their view from the projecting point distant about four miles. Francisco directed his eye towards her, and, without further remark, hastened to the house. "Well, Francisco," said Don Cumanos, who was stirring a small cup of chocolate, "what's the news this morning?" "The _Nostra Senora del Carmen_ and the _Aguilla_ have arrived, and I have just unlocked the hatches. There is a vessel off the point which requires examination, and I have come for the telescope." "Requires examination! Why, Francisco?" "Because Giacomo and Pedro, who went fishing last night, have not returned, and there are no tidings of them." "That is strange! But how is this connected with the vessel?" "That I will explain as soon as I have had an examination of her," replied Francisco, who had taken up the telescope, and was drawing out the tube. Francisco fixed the glass against the sill of the window, and examined the vessel some time in silence. "Yes! by the living God, it is the _Avenger_, and no other," exclaimed he, as he removed the telescope from his eye. "Eh?" cried Don Cumanos. "It is the pirate vessel--the _Avenger_--I'll forfeit my life upon it! Don Cumanos, you must be prepared. I know that they have long talked of a visit to this quarter, and anticipate great booty, and they have those on board who know the coast well. The disappearance of your two men convinces me that they sent up their boats last night to reconnoitre, and have captured them. Torture will extract the information which the pirates require, and I have little doubt but that the attack will be made, when they learn how much bullion there is at present on your premises." "You may be right," replied Don Cumanos, thoughtfully; "that is, provided you are sure that it is the pirate vessel." "Sure, Don Cumanos! I know every timber and plank in her; there is not a rope nor a block but I can recognise. At the distance of four miles, with such a glass as this, I can discover every little variety in her rigging from other craft, I will swear to her," repeated Francisco, once more looking through the telescope. "And if they attack, Francisco?" "We must defend ourselves, and, I trust, beat them off. They will come in their boats, and at night. If they were to run in the schooner by daylight and anchor abreast of us, we should have but a poor chance. But they little think that I am here, and that they are recognised. They will attack this night, I rather think." "And what do you then propose, Francisco?" "That we should send all the females away to Don Teodoro's--it is but five miles--and call the men together as soon as possible. We are strong enough to beat them off if we barricade the house. They cannot land more than from ninety to one hundred men, as some must remain in charge of the schooner; and we can muster quite as many. It may be as well to promise our men a reward if they do their duty." "That is all right enough; and the bullion we have here." "Here we had better let it remain; it will take too much time to remove it, and, besides, will weaken our force by the men who must be in charge of it. The out-houses must be abandoned, and everything which is of consequence taken from them. Fire them they will, in all probability. At all events we have plenty of time before us, if we begin at once." "Well, Francisco, I shall make you commandant, and leave the arrangements to you, while I go and speak to Donna Isidora. Send for the men and speak to them; promise them rewards, and act as if you were ordering upon your own responsibility." "I trust I shall prove myself worthy of your confidence, sir," replied Francisco. "Carambo!" exclaimed the old don, as he left the room; "but it is fortunate you are here. We might all have been murdered in our beds." Francisco sent for the head men of the establishment, and told them what he was convinced they would have to expect; and he then explained to them his views. The rest were all summoned; and Francisco pointed out to them the little mercy they would receive if the pirates were not repulsed, and the rewards which were promised by Don Cumanos if they did their duty. Spaniards are individually brave; and, encouraged by Francisco, they agreed that they would defend the property to the last. The house of Don Cumanos was well suited to resist an attack of this description, in which musketry only was expected to be employed. It was a long parallelogram of stone walls, with a wooden veranda on the first floor,--for it was only one story high. The windows on the first story were more numerous, but at the basement there were but two, and no other opening but the door in the whole line of building. It was of a composite architecture, between the Morisco and the Spanish. If the lower part of the house, which was of stone, could be secured from entrance, the assailants would, of course, fight under a great disadvantage. The windows below were the first secured by piling a heavy mass of stones in the interior of the rooms against them, rising to the ceiling from a base like the segment of a pyramid, extending to the opposite side of the chamber; and every preparation was made for effectually barricading the door before night. Ladders were then fixed to ascend to the veranda, which was rendered musket-proof nearly as high as its railings, to protect the men. The Donna Isidora, and the women of the establishment, were, in the afternoon, despatched to Don Teodoro's; and, at the request of Francisco, joined to the entreaties of Donna Isidora, Don Cumanos was persuaded to accompany them. The don called his men, and telling them that he left Francisco in command, expected them to do their duty; and then shaking hands with him, the cavalcade was soon lost in the woods behind the narrow meadows which skirted the river. There was no want of muskets and ammunition. Some were employed casting bullets, and others in examining the arms which had long been laid by. Before evening all was ready; every man had received his arms and ammunition; the flints had been inspected; and Francisco had time to pay more attention to the schooner, which had, during the day, increased her distance from the land, but was now again standing in for the shore. Half-an-hour before dusk, when within three miles, she wore round and put her head to the offing. "They'll attack this night," said Francisco, "I feel almost positive: their yards and stay-tackles are up, all ready for hoisting out the long-boat." "Let them come, senor; we will give them a warm reception," replied Diego, the second in authority. It was soon too dark to perceive the vessel. Francisco and Diego ordered every man, but five, into the house; the door was firmly barricaded, and some large pieces of rock, which had been rolled into the passage, piled against it. Francisco then posted the five men down the banks of the river, at a hundred yards' distance from each other, to give notice of the approach of the boats. It was about ten o'clock at night, when Francisco and Diego descended the ladder and went to examine their outposts. "Senor," said Diego, as he and Francisco stood on the bank of the river, "at what hour is it your idea that these villains will make their attempt?" "That is difficult to say. If the same captain commands them who did when I was on board of her, it will not be until after the moon is down, which will not be till midnight; but should it be any other who is in authority, they may not be so prudent." "Holy Virgin! senor, were you ever on board of that vessel?" "Yes, Diego, I was, and for a long while, too; but not with my own good will. Had I not been on board I never should have recognised her." "Very true, senor; then we may thank the saints that you have once been a pirate." "I hope that I never was that, Diego," replied Francisco, smiling; "but I have been a witness to dreadful proceedings on board of that vessel, at the remembrance of which, even now, my blood curdles." To pass away the time, Francisco then detailed many scenes of horror to Diego which he had witnessed when on board of the _Avenger_; and he was still in the middle of a narrative when a musket was discharged by the farthermost sentinel. "Hark, Diego!" Another, and another, nearer and nearer to them, gave the signal that the boats were close at hand. In a few minutes the men all came in, announcing that the pirates were pulling up the stream in three boats, and were less than a quarter of a mile from the landing-place. "Diego, go to the house with these men, and see that all is ready," said Francisco. "I will wait here a little longer; but do not fire till I come to you." Diego and the men departed, and Francisco was left on the beach alone. In another minute, the sound of the oars was plainly distinguishable, and Francisco's ears were directed to catch, if possible, the voices. "Yes," thought he, "you come with the intentions of murder and robbery; but you will, through me, be disappointed." As the boats approached, he heard the voice of Hawkhurst. The signal muskets fired had told the pirates that they were discovered, and that, in all probability, they would meet with resistance; silence was, therefore, no longer of any advantage. "Oars, my lads! --oars!" cried Hawkhurst. One boat ceased rowing, and soon afterwards the two others. The whole of them were now plainly seen by Francisco, at the distance of about one cable's length from where he stood; and the clear still night carried the sound of their voices along the water. "Here is a creek, sir," said Hawkhurst, "leading up to those buildings. Would it not be better to land there, as, if they are not occupied, they will prove a protection to us if we have a hard fight for it?" "Very true, Hawkhurst," replied a voice, which Francisco immediately recognised to be that of Cain. "He is alive, then," thought Francisco, "and his blood is not yet upon my hands." "Give way, my lads!" cried Hawkhurst. The boats dashed up the creek, and Francisco hastened back to the house. "Now, my lads," said he, as he sprang up the ladder, "you must be resolute; we have to deal with desperate men. I have heard the voices of the captain and the chief mate; so there is no doubt as to its being the pirate. The boats are up the creek and will land behind the out-buildings. Haul up these ladders, and lay them fore and aft on the veranda; and do not fire without taking a good aim. Silence! my men-- silence! Here they come." The pirates were now seen advancing from the out-buildings in strong force. In the direction in which they came, it was only from the side of the veranda, at which not more than eight or ten men could be placed, that the enemy could be repulsed. Francisco therefore gave orders that as soon as some of the men had fired they should retreat and load their muskets, to make room for others. When the pirates had advanced halfway to the house, on the clear space between it and the outbuildings, Francisco gave the word to fire. The volley was answered by another, and a shout from the pirates, who, with Hawkhurst and Cain at their head, now pressed on, but not until they had received a second discharge from the Spaniards, and the pirates had fired in return. As the Spaniards could not at first fire a volley of more than a dozen muskets at a time, their opponents imagined their force to be much less than it really was. They now made other arrangements. They spread themselves in a semicircle in front of the veranda, and kept up a continued galling fire. This was returned by the party under Francisco for nearly a quarter of an hour; and as all the muskets were now called into action, the pirates found out that they had a more formidable enemy to cope with than they had anticipated. It was now quite dark, and not a figure was to be distinguished, except by the momentary flashing of the fire-arms. Cain and Hawkhurst, leaving their men to continue the attack, had gained the house, and a position under the veranda. Examining the windows and door, there appeared but little chance of forcing an entrance; but it immediately occurred to them that under the veranda their men would not be exposed, and that they might fire through the wooden floor of it upon those above. Hawkhurst hastened away, and returned with about half the men, leaving the others to continue their attack as before. The advantage of this manoeuvre was soon evident. The musket-balls of the pirates pierced the planks, and wounded many of the Spaniards severely; and Francisco was at last obliged to order his men to retreat into the house, and fire out of the windows. But even this warfare did not continue; for the supporting-pillars of the veranda being of wood, and very dry, they were set fire to by the pirates. Gradually the flames wound round them, and their forked tongues licked the balustrade. At last, the whole of the veranda was in flames. This was a great advantage to the attacking party, who could now distinguish the Spaniards without their being so clearly seen themselves. Many were killed and wounded. The smoke and heat became so intense in the upper story that the men could no longer remain there; and, by the advice of Francisco, they retreated to the basement of the house. "What shall we do now, senor?" said Diego, with a grave face. "Do?" replied Francisco; "they have burnt the veranda, that is all. The house will not take fire; it is of solid stone: the roof indeed may; but still here we are. I do not see that they are more advanced than they were before. As soon as the veranda has burnt down, we must return above, and commence firing again from the windows." "Hark, sir! they are trying the door." "They may try a long while; they should have tried the door while the veranda protected them from our sight. As soon as it is burnt, we shall be able to drive them away from it. I will go up again and see how things are." "No, senor; it is of no use. Why expose yourself now that the flames are so bright?" "I must go and see if that is the case, Diego. Put all the wounded men in the north chamber, it will be the safest, and more out of the way." Francisco ascended the stone staircase, and gained the upper story. The rooms were filled with smoke, and he could distinguish nothing. An occasional bullet whistled past him. He walked towards the windows, and sheltered himself behind the wall between them. The flames were not so violent, and the heat more bearable. In a short time, a crash, and then another told him that the veranda had fallen in. He looked through the window. The mass of lighted embers had fallen down in front of the house, and had, for a time, driven away the assailants. Nothing was left of the veranda but the burning ends of the joists fixed in the wall above the windows, and the still glowing remains of the posts which once supported it. But the smoke from below now cleared away, and the discharge of one or two muskets told Francisco that he was perceived by the enemy. "The roof is safe," thought he, as he withdrew from the window; "and now I do not know whether the loss of the veranda may not prove a gain to us." What were the intentions of the pirates it was difficult to ascertain. For a time they had left off firing, and Francisco returned to his comrades. The smoke had gradually cleared away, and they were able to resume their position above; but as the pirates did not fire, they, of course, could do nothing, as it was only by the flashing of the muskets that the enemy was to be distinguished. No further attempts were made at the door or windows below; and Francisco in vain puzzled himself as to the intended plans of the assailants. Nearly half an hour of suspense passed away. Some of the Spaniards were of opinion that they had retreated to their boats and gone away, but Francisco knew them better. All he could do was to remain above, and occasionally look out to discover their motions. Diego, and one or two more, remained with him; the other men were kept below, that they might be out of danger. "Holy Francis! but this has been a dreadful night, senor! How many hours until daylight?" said Diego. "Two hours at least, I should think," replied Francisco; "but the affair will be decided before that." "The saints protect us! See, senor, are they not coming?" Francisco looked through the gloom, in the direction of the outbuildings, and perceived a group of men advancing. A few moments and he could clearly make them out. "Yes, truly, Diego; and they have made ladders, which they are carrying. They intend to storm the windows. Call them up; and now we must fight hard indeed." The Spaniards hastened up and filled the room above, which had three windows in the front, looking towards the river, and which had been sheltered by the veranda. "Shall we fire now, senor?" "No--no: do not fire till your muzzles are at their hearts. They cannot mount more than two at a time at each window. Recollect, my lads, that you must now fight hard, for your lives will not be spared; they will show no quarter and no mercy." The ends of the rude ladders now made their appearance above the sill of each window. They had been hastily, yet firmly, constructed; and were nearly as wide as the windows. A loud cheer was followed by a simultaneous mounting of the ladders. Francisco was at the centre window, when Hawkhurst made his appearance, sabre in hand. He struck aside the musket aimed at him, and the ball whizzed harmless over the broad water of the river. Another step, and he would have been in, when Francisco fired his pistol; the ball entered the left shoulder of Hawkhurst, and he dropped his hold. Before he could regain it, a Spaniard charged at him with a musket, and threw him back. He fell, bearing down with him one or two of his comrades, who had been following him up the ladder. Francisco felt as if the attack at that window was of little consequence after the fall of Hawkhurst, whose voice he had recognised; and he hastened to the one on the left, as he had heard Cain encouraging his men in that direction. He was not wrong in his conjecture; Cain was at the window, attempting to force an entrance, but was opposed by Diego and other resolute men. But the belt of the pirate-captain was full of pistols, and he had already fired three with effect. Diego and the two best men were wounded, and the others who opposed him were alarmed at his giant proportions. Francisco rushed to attack him; but what was the force of so young a man against the Herculean power of Cain! Still Francisco's left hand was at the throat of the pirate, and the pistol was pointed in his right, when a flash of another pistol, fired by one who followed Cain, threw its momentary vivid light upon the features of Francisco, as he cried out, "Blood for blood!" It was enough; the pirate captain uttered a yell of terror at the supposed supernatural appearance; and he fell from the ladder in a fit among the still burning embers of the veranda. The fall of their two chiefs, and the determined resistance of the Spaniards, checked the impetuosity of the assailants. They hesitated; and they at last retreated, bearing away with them their wounded. The Spaniards cheered, and, led by Francisco, followed them down the ladders, and, in their turn, became the assailants. Still the pirates' retreat was orderly: they fired, and retired rank behind rank successively. They kept the Spaniards at bay, until they had arrived at the boats; when a charge was made, and a severe conflict ensued. But the pirates had lost too many men, and, without their commander, felt dispirited. Hawkhurst was still on his legs and giving his orders as coolly as ever. He espied Francisco, and rushing at him, while the two parties were opposed muzzle to muzzle, seized him by his collar and dragged him in amongst the pirates. "Secure him at all events!" cried Hawkhurst, as they slowly retreated and gained the out-houses. Francisco was overpowered and hauled into one of the boats, all of which in a few minutes afterwards were pulling with all their might to escape from the muskets of the Spaniards, who followed the pirates by the banks of the river, annoying them in their retreat.	{ "id": "21580" }
14	THE MEETING.	The pirates returned to their vessel discomfited. Those on board, who were prepared to hoist in ingots of precious metal, had to receive nought but wounded men, and many of their comrades had remained dead on the shore. Their captain was melancholy and downcast. Hawkhurst was badly wounded, and obliged to be carried below as soon as he came on board. The only capture which they had made was their former associate Francisco, who, by the last words spoken by Hawkhurst as he was supported to his cabin was ordered to be put in irons. The boats were hoisted in without noise, and a general gloom prevailed. All sail was then made upon the schooner, and when day dawned she was seen by the Spaniards far away to the northward. The report was soon spread through the schooner that Francisco had been the cause of their defeat; and this was only a surmise, still, as they considered that had he not recognised the vessel the Spaniards would not have been prepared, they had good grounds for what had swelled into an assertion. He became, therefore, to many of them, an object of bitter enmity, and they looked forward with pleasure to his destruction, which his present confinement they considered but the precursor of. "Hist! Massa Francisco!" said a low voice near to where Francisco sat on the chest. Francisco turned round and beheld the Krouman, his old friend. "Ah! Pompey, are you all still on board?" said Francisco. "All! no," replied the man, shaking his head; "some die--some get away-- only four Kroumen left. Massa Francisco, how you come back again? Everybody tink you dead. I say no, not dead--ab charm with him--ab book." "If that was my charm, I have it still," replied Francisco, taking the Bible out of his vest; for, strange to say, Francisco himself had a kind of superstition relative to that Bible, and had put it into his bosom previous to the attack made by the pirates. "Dat very good, Massa Francisco; den you quite safe. Here come Johnson--he very bad man. I go away." In the meantime Cain had retired to his cabin with feelings scarcely to be analysed. He was in a bewilderment. Notwithstanding the wound he had received by the hand of Francisco, he would never have sanctioned Hawkhurst putting him on shore on a spot which promised nothing but a lingering and miserable death. Irritated as he had been by the young man's open defiance, he loved him--loved him much more than he was aware of himself; and when he had recovered sufficiently from his wound, and had been informed where Francisco had been sent on shore, he quarrelled with Hawkhurst, and reproached him bitterly and sternly, in language which Hawkhurst never forgot or forgave. The vision of the starving lad haunted Cain, and rendered him miserable. His affection for him, now that he was, as he supposed, lost for ever, increased with tenfold force; and since that period Cain had never been seen to smile. He became more gloomy, more ferocious than ever, and the men trembled when he appeared on deck. The apparition of Francisco after so long an interval, and in such an unexpected quarter of the globe, acted, as we have before described, upon Cain. When he was taken to the boat he was still confused in his ideas, and it was not until they were nearly on board that he perceived that this young man was indeed at his side. He could have fallen on his neck and kissed him: for Francisco had become to him a capture more prized than all the wealth of the Indies. But one pure, good feeling was unextinguished in the bosom of Cain; stained with every crime--with his hands so deeply imbrued in blood--at enmity with all the rest of the world, that one feeling burnt bright and clear, and was not to be quenched. It might have proved a beacon-light to steer him back to repentance and to good works. But there were other feelings which also crowded upon the mind of the pirate-captain. He knew Francisco's firmness and decision. By some inscrutable means, which Cain considered as supernatural, Francisco had obtained the knowledge, and had accused him, of his mother's death. Would not the affection which he felt for the young man be met with hatred and defiance? He was but too sure that it would. And then his gloomy, cruel disposition would reassume its influence, and he thought of revenging the attack upon his life. His astonishment at the reappearance of Francisco was equally great, and he trembled at the sight of him, as if he were his accusing and condemning spirit. Thus did he wander from one fearful fancy to another, until he at last summoned up resolution to send for him. A morose, dark man, whom Francisco had not seen when he was before in the schooner, obeyed the commands of the captain. The irons were unlocked, and Francisco was brought down into the cabin. The captain rose and shut the door. "I little thought to see you here, Francisco," said Cain. "Probably not," replied Francisco, boldly, "but you have me again, in your power, and may now wreak your vengeance." "I feel none, Francisco; nor would I have suffered you to have been put on shore as you were, had I known of it. Even now that our expedition has failed through your means, I feel no anger towards you, although I shall have some difficulty in preserving you from the enmity of others. Indeed, Francisco, I am glad to find that you are alive, and I have bitterly mourned your loss:" and Cain extended his hand. But Francisco folded his arms, and was silent. "Are you then so unforgiving?" said the captain. "You know that I tell the truth." "I believe that you state the truth, Captain Cain, for you are too bold to lie; and, as far as I am concerned, you have all the forgiveness you may wish; but I cannot take that hand; nor are our accounts yet settled." "What would you more? Cannot we be friends again? I do not ask you to remain on board. You are free to go where you please. Come, Francisco, take my hand, and let us forget what is past." "The hand that is imbrued with my mother's blood, perhaps!" exclaimed Francisco. "Never!" "Not so, by God!" exclaimed Cain. "No, no; not quite so bad as that. In my mood I struck your mother; I grant it. I did not intend to injure her, but I did, and she died. I will not lie--that is the fact. And it is also the fact that I wept over her, Francisco; for I loved her as I do you. "It was a hasty, bitter blow, that," continued Cain, soliloquising, with his hand to his forehead, and unconscious of Francisco's presence at the moment. "It made me what I am, for it made me reckless." "Francisco," said Cain, raising his head, "I was bad, but I was no pirate when your mother lived. There is a curse upon me: that which I love most I treat the worst. Of all the world, I loved your mother most: yet did she from me receive much injury, and at last I caused her death. Next to your mother, whose memory I at once revere and love, and tremble when I think of (and each night does she appear to me), I have loved you, Francisco; for you, like her, have an angel's feelings: yet have I treated you as ill. You thwarted me, and you were right. Had you been wrong, I had not cared; but you were right, and it maddened me. Your appeals by day--your mother's in my dreams--" Francisco's heart was softened; if not repentance, there was at least contrition. "Indeed I pity you," replied Francisco. "You must do more, Francisco; you must be friends with me," said Cain, again extending his hand. "I cannot take that hand, it is too deeply dyed in blood," replied Francisco. "Well, well, so would have said your mother. But hear me, Francisco," said Cain, lowering his voice to a whisper, lest he should be overheard; "I am tired of this life--perhaps sorry for what I have done--I wish to leave it--have wealth in plenty concealed where others know not. Tell me, Francisco, shall we both quit this vessel, and live together happily and without doing wrong? You shall share all, Francisco. Say, now, does that please you?" "Yes; it pleases me to hear that you will abandon your lawless life, Captain Cain; but share your wealth I cannot, for how has it been gained?" "It cannot be returned, Francisco; I will do good with it. I will indeed, Francisco. I--will--repent;" and again the hand was extended. Francisco hesitated. "I do, so help me God! I _do_ repent, Francisco!" exclaimed the pirate-captain. "And I, as a Christian, do forgive you all," replied Francisco, taking the still extended hand. "May God forgive you, too!" "Amen!" replied the pirate, solemnly, covering his face up in his hands. In this position he remained some minutes, Francisco watching him in silence. At last the face was uncovered, and, to the surprise of Francisco, a tear was on the cheek of Cain and his eyes suffused with moisture. Francisco no longer waited for the hand to be extended; he walked up to the captain, and taking him by the hand, pressed it warmly. "God bless you, boy! God bless you!" said Cain; "but leave me now." Francisco returned on deck with a light and grateful heart. His countenance at once told those who were near him that he was not condemned, and many who dared not before take notice of him, now saluted him. The man who had taken him out of irons looked round; he was a creature of Hawkhurst, and he knew not how to act. Francisco observed him, and, with a wave of the hand, ordered him below. That Francisco was again in authority was instantly perceived, and the first proof of it was, that the new second mate reported to him that there was a sail on the weather bow. Francisco took the glass to examine her. It was a large schooner under all sail. Not wishing that any one should enter the cabin but himself, he went down to the cabin-door, and knocked before he entered, and reported the vessel. "Thank you, Francisco; you must take Hawkhurst's duty for the present-- it shall not be for long; and fear not that I shall make another capture. I swear to you I will not, Francisco. But this schooner--I know very well what she is: she has been looking after us some time: and a week ago, Francisco, I was anxious to meet her, that I might shed more blood. Now I will do all I can to avoid her, and escape. I can do no more, Francisco. I must not be taken." "There I cannot blame you. To avoid her will be easy, I should think; the _Avenger_ outsails everything." "Except, I believe, the _Enterprise_, which is a sister-vessel. By heaven! it's a fair match," continued Cain, his feelings of combativeness returning for a moment; "and it will look like a craven to refuse the fight: but fear not, Francisco--I have promised you, and I shall keep my word." Cain went on deck, and surveyed the vessel through the glass. "Yes, it must be her," said he aloud, so as to be heard by the pirates; "she has been sent out by the admiral on purpose, full of his best men. What a pity we are short-handed!" "There's enough of us, sir," observed the boatswain. "Yes," replied Cain, "if there was anything but hard blows to be got; but that is all, and I cannot spare more men. Ready about!" continued he, walking aft. The _Enterprise_, for she was the vessel in pursuit, was then about five miles distant, steering for the _Avenger_, who was on a wind. As soon as the _Avenger_ tacked, the _Enterprise_ took in her topmast studding-sail, and hauled her wind. This brought the _Enterprise_ well on the weather-quarter of the _Avenger_, who now made all sail. The pirates, who had had quite enough of fighting, and were not stimulated by the presence of Hawkhurst, or the wishes of their captain, now showed as much anxiety to avoid, as they usually did to seek, a combat. At the first trial of sailing between the two schooners there was no perceptible difference; for half an hour they both continued on a wind, and when Edward Templemore examined his sextant a second time, he could not perceive that he had gained upon the _Avenger_ one cable's length. "We will keep away half a point," said Edward to his second in command. "We can afford that, and still hold the weather-gage." The _Enterprise_ was kept away, and increased her speed: they neared the _Avenger_ more than a quarter of a mile. "They are nearing us," observed Francisco; "we must keep away a point." Away went the _Avenger_, and would have recovered her distance, but the _Enterprise_ was again steered more off the wind. Thus did they continue altering their course until the studding-sails below and aloft were set by both, and the position of the schooners was changed; the _Enterprise_ now being on the starboard instead of the larboard quarter of the _Avenger_. The relative distance between the two schooners was, however, nearly the same, that is, about three miles and a half from each other; and there was every prospect of a long and weary chase on the part of the _Enterprise_, who again kept away a point to near the _Avenger_. Both vessels were now running to the eastward. It was about an hour before dark that another sail hove in sight right a-head of the _Avenger_, and was clearly made out to be a frigate. The pirates were alarmed at this unfortunate circumstance, as there was little doubt but that she would prove a British cruiser; and, if not, they had equally reason to expect that she would assist in their capture. She had evidently perceived the two schooners, and had made all sail, tacking every quarter of an hour so as to keep her relative position. The _Enterprise_, who had also made out the frigate, to attract her attention, although not within range of the _Avenger_, commenced firing with her long-gun. "This is rather awkward," observed Cain. "It will be dark in less than an hour," observed Francisco; "and that is our only chance." Cain reflected a minute. "Get the long-gun ready, my lads! We will return her fire, Francisco, and hoist American colours; that will puzzle the frigate at all events, and the night may do the rest." The long-gun of the _Avenger_ was ready. "I would not fire the long-gun," observed Francisco, "it will show our force, and will give no reason for our attempt to escape. Now, if we were to fire our broadside-guns, the difference of report between them and the one of large calibre fired by the other schooner would induce them to think that we are an American vessel." "Very true," replied Cain, "and, as America is at peace with all the world, that our antagonist is a pirate. Hold fast the long-gun, there; and unship the starboard ports. See that the ensign blows out clear." The _Avenger_ commenced firing an occasional gun from her broadside, the reports of which were hardly to be heard by those on board of the frigate; while the long-gun of the _Enterprise_ reverberated along the water, and its loud resonance was swept by the wind to the frigate to leeward. Such was the state of affairs when the sun sank down in the wave, and darkness obscured the vessels from each other's sight, except with the assistance of the night telescopes. "What do you propose to do, Captain Cain?" said Francisco. "I have made up my mind to do a bold thing. I will run down to the frigate, as if for shelter; tell him that the other vessel is a pirate, and claim his protection. Leave me to escape afterwards; the moon will not rise till nearly one o'clock." "That will be a bold _ruse_, indeed; but suppose you are once under her broadside, and she suspects you?" "Then I will show her my heels. I should care nothing for her and her broadside if the schooner was not here." In an hour after dark the _Avenger_ was close to the frigate, having steered directly for her. She shortened sail gradually, as if she had few hands on board; and, keeping his men out of sight, Cain ran under the stern of the frigate. "Schooner ahoy! What schooner is that?" " _Eliza of Baltimore_, from Carthagena," replied Cain, rounding to under the lee of the man-of-war, and then continuing: "That vessel in chase is a pirate. Shall I send a boat on board?" "No; keep company with us." "Ay, ay, sir," replied Cain. "Hands about ship!" now resounded with the boatswain's whistle on board of the frigate, and in a minute they were on the other tack. The _Avenger_ also tacked and kept close under the frigate's counter. In the meantime, Edward Templemore and those on board of the _Enterprise_ who, by the course steered, had gradually neared them, perceiving the motions of the two other vessels, were quite puzzled. At one time they thought they had made a mistake, and that it was not the pirate vessel; at another they surmised that the crew had mutinied and surrendered to the frigate. Edward hauled his wind, and steered directly for them, to ascertain what the real facts were. The captain of the frigate, who had never lost sight of either vessel, was equally astonished at the boldness of the supposed pirate. "Surely the rascal does not intend to board us?" said he to the first-lieutenant. "There is no saying, sir; you know what a character he has: and some say there are three hundred men on board, which is equal to our ship's company. Or perhaps, sir, he will pass to windward of us, and give us a broadside, and be off in the wind's eye again." "At all events we will have a broadside ready for him," replied the captain. "Clear away the starboard guns, and take out the tompions. Pipe starboard watch to quarters." The _Enterprise_ closed with the frigate to windward, intending to run round her stern and bring to on the same tack. "He does not shorten sail yet, sir," said the first-lieutenant, as the schooner appeared skimming along about a cable's length on their weather bow. "And she is full of men, sir," said the master, looking at her through the night-glass. "Fire a gun at her!" said the captain. Bang! The smoke cleared away, and the schooner's foretopsail, which she was in the act of clewing up, lay over side. The shot had struck the foremast of the _Enterprise_, and cut it in two below the catharpings. The _Enterprise_ was, for the time, completely disabled. "Schooner ahoy! What schooner is that?" "His Majesty's schooner _Enterprise_." "Send a boat on board immediately." "Ay, ay, sir." "Turn the hands up? Shorten sail!" The top-gallant and courses of the frigate were taken in, and the mainsail hove to the mast. "Signalman, whereabouts is that other schooner now?" "The schooner, sir? On the quarter," replied the signalman, who with everybody else on board, was so anxious about the _Enterprise_, that they had neglected to watch the motions of the supposed American. The man had replied at random, and he now jumped upon the signal-chests abaft to look for her. But she was not to be seen. Cain, who had watched all that passed between the other two vessels, and had been prepared to slip off at a moment's warning, as soon as the gun was fired at the other schooner, had wore round and made all sail on a wind. The night-glass discovered her half a mile astern; and the _ruse_ was immediately perceived. The frigate filled and made sail, leaving Edward to return on board--for there was no time to stop for the boat--tacked, and gave chase. But the _Avenger_ was soon in the wind's-eye of her; and at daylight was no longer to be seen. In the meantime, Edward Templemore had followed the frigate as soon as he could set sail on his vessel, indignant at his treatment, and vowing that he would demand a court-martial. About noon the frigate rejoined him, when matters were fully explained. Annoyed as they all felt at not having captured the pirate, it was unanimously agreed, that by his audacity and coolness he deserved to escape. It was found that the mast of the _Enterprise_ could be fished and scarfed, so as to enable her to continue her cruise. The carpenters of the frigate were sent on board; and in two days the injury was repaired, and Edward Templemore once more went in pursuit of the _Avenger_.	{ "id": "21580" }
15	THE MISTAKE.	The _Avenger_ stood under a press of sail to the northward. She had left her pursuers far behind; and there was not a speck on the horizon, when, on the second morning, Francisco, who had resumed his berth in the captain's cabin, went up on deck. Notwithstanding the request of Cain, Francisco refused to take any part in the command of the schooner, considering himself as a passenger, or prisoner on parole. He had not been on deck but a few minutes, when he observed the two Spanish fishermen belonging to the establishment of Don Cumanos conversing together forward. Their capture had quite escaped his memory, and he went forward to speak to them. Their surprise at seeing him was great, until Francisco informed them of what had passed. They then recounted what had occurred to them, and showed their thumbs, which had been put into screws to torture from them the truth. Francisco shuddered, but consoled them by promising that they should soon be at liberty, and return to their former master. As Francisco returned from forward, he found Hawkhurst on the deck. Their eyes met and flashed in enmity. Hawkhurst was pale from loss of blood, and evidently suffering; but he had been informed of the apparent reconciliation between Francisco and the captain, and he could no longer remain in his bed. He knew, also, how the captain had avoided the combat with the _Enterprise_; and something told him that there was a revolution of feeling in more than one point. Suffering as he was, he resolved to be a spectator of what passed, and to watch narrowly. For both Francisco and Cain he had imbibed a deadly hatred, and was watching for an opportunity to wreak his revenge. At present they were too powerful; but he felt that the time was coming when he might be triumphant. Francisco passed Hawkhurst without speaking. "You are at liberty again, I see," observed Hawkhurst with a sneer. "I am not, at all events, indebted to you for it," replied Francisco, haughtily; "nor for my life either." "No, indeed; but I believe that I am indebted to you for this bullet in my shoulder," replied the mate. "You are," replied Francisco, coolly. "And depend upon it the debt shall be repaid with usury." "I have no doubt of it, if ever it is in your power; but I fear you not." As Francisco made this reply, the captain came up the ladder. Hawkhurst turned away and walked forward. "There is mischief in that man, Francisco," said the captain in an under-tone; "I hardly know whom to trust; but he must be watched. He is tampering with the men, and has been for some time; not that it is of much consequence, if he does but remain quiet for a little while. The command of this vessel he is welcome to very soon; but if he attempts too early--" "I have those I can trust to," replied Francisco. "Let us go below." Francisco sent for Pompey the Krouman, and gave him his directions in the presence of the captain. That night, to the surprise of all, Hawkhurst kept his watch; and notwithstanding the fatigue, appeared every day to be rapidly recovering from his wound. Nothing occurred for several days, during which the _Avenger_ still continued her course. What the captain's intentions were did not transpire; they were known only to Francisco. "We are very short of water, sir," reported Hawkhurst one morning: "shall we have enough to last us to where we are going?" "How many days of full allowance have we on board?" "Not above twelve at the most." "Then we must go on half allowance," replied Cain. "The ship's company wish to know where we are going, sir." "Have they deputed you to ask the question?" "Not exactly, sir; but I wish to know myself," replied Hawkhurst, with an insolent air. "Turn the hands up," replied Cain: "as one of the ship's company under my orders, you will, with the others, receive the information you require." The crew of the pirate collected aft. "My lads," said Cain, "I understand, from the first mate, that you are anxious to know where you are going? In reply, I acquaint you, that having so many wounded men on board, and so much plunder in the hold, I intend to repair to our rendezvous when we were formerly in this part of the world--the _Caicos_. Is there any other question you may wish to ask of me?" "Yes," replied Hawkhurst; "we wish to know what your intentions are relative to that young man Francisco. We have lost immense wealth; we have now thirty men wounded in the hammocks, and nine we left dead on the shore; and I have a bullet through my body, all of which has been occasioned by him. We demand justice!" Here Hawkhurst was supported by several of the pirates; and there were many voices which repeated the cry of "Justice!" "My men! you demand justice, and you shall have it," replied Cain. "This lad you all know well; I have brought him up from a child. He has always disliked our mode of life, and has often requested to leave it, but has been refused. He challenged me by our own laws, `Blood for blood!' He wounded me; but he was right in his challenge, and, therefore, I bear no malice. Had I been aware that he was to have been sent on shore to die with hunger, I would not have permitted it. What crime had he committed? None; or, if any, it was against me. He was then sentenced to death for no crime, and you yourselves exclaimed against it. Is it not true?" "Yes--yes," replied the majority of the pirates. "By a miracle he escapes, and is put in charge of another man's property. He is made a prisoner, and now you demand justice. You shall have it. Allowing that his life is forfeit for this offence,--you have already sentenced him, and left him to death unjustly, and therefore are bound in justice to give his life in this instance. I ask it, my men, not only as his right, but as a favour to your captain." "Agreed; it's all fair!" exclaimed the majority of the pirate's crew. "My men, I thank you," replied Cain; "and in return, as soon as we arrive at the Caicos, my share of the plunder on board shall be divided among you." This last observation completely turned the tables in favour of the captain; and those who had joined Hawkhurst now sided with the captain. Hawkhurst looked like a demon. "Let those who choose to be bought off, take your money," replied he; "but _I will not_. Blood for blood I will have; and so I give you warning. That lad's life is mine, and have it I will! Prevent me, if you can!" continued the mate, holding up his clenched hand, and shaking it almost in the pirate-captain's face. The blood mantled even to the forehead of Cain. One moment he raised himself to his utmost height, then seizing a hand spike, which lay near, he felled Hawkhurst to the deck. "Take that for your mutiny!" exclaimed Cain, putting his foot on Hawkhurst's neck. "My lads, I appeal to you. Is this man worthy to be in command as mate? Is he to live?" "No! no!" cried the pirates. "Death!" Francisco stepped forward. "My men, you have granted your captain one favour; grant me another, which is the life of this man. Recollect how often he has led you to conquest, and how brave and faithful he has been until now! Recollect that he is suffering under his wound, which has made him irritable. Command you he cannot any longer, as he will never have the confidence of your captain; but let him live, and quit the vessel." "Be it so, if you agree," replied Cain, looking at the men; "I do not seek his life." The pirates consented. Hawkhurst rose slowly from the deck, and was assisted below to his cabin. The second mate was then appointed as the first, and the choice of the man to fill up the vacancy was left to the pirate-crew. For three days after this scene all was quiet and orderly on board of the pirate. Cain, now that he had more fully made up his mind how to act, imparted to Francisco his plans; and his giving up to the men his share of the booty still on board was, to Francisco, an earnest of his good intentions. A cordiality, even a kind of feeling which never existed before, was created between them; but of Francisco's mother, and the former events of his own life, the pirate never spoke. Francisco more than once put questions on the subject; the answer was,--"You shall know some of these days, Francisco, but not yet; you would hate me too much!" The _Avenger_ was now clear of the English isles, and with light winds running down the shores of Porto Rico. In the evening of the day on which they had made the land, the schooner was becalmed about three miles from the shore, and the new first mate proposed that he should land in the boat and obtain a further supply of water from a fall which they had discovered with the glasses. As this was necessary, Cain gave his consent, and the boat quitted the vessel full of breakers. Now it happened that the _Avenger_ lay becalmed abreast of the country-seat of Don d'Alfarez, the governor of the island. Clara had seen the schooner; and, as usual, had thrown out the white curtain as a signal of recognition; for there was no perceptible difference, even to a sailor, at that distance, between the _Avenger_ and the _Enterprise_. She had hastened down to the beach, and hurried into the cave, awaiting the arrival of Edward Templemore. The pirate-boat landed at the very spot of rendezvous, and the mate leaped out of the boat. Clara flew to receive her Edward, and was instantly seized by the mate, before she discovered her mistake. "Holy Virgin! who and what are you?" cried she, struggling to disengage herself. "One who is very fond of a pretty girl!" replied the pirate, still detaining her. "Unhand me, wretch!" cried Clara. "Are you aware whom you are addressing?" "Not I! nor do I care," replied the pirate. "You will perhaps, sir, when you learn that I am the daughter of the governor!" exclaimed Clara, pushing him away. "Yes! by heavens! you are right, pretty lady, I do care; for a governor's daughter will fetch a good ransom at all events. So come, my lads, a little help here; for she is as strong as a young mule. Never mind the water, throw the beakers into the boat again: we have a prize worth taking!" Clara screamed; but she was gagged with a handkerchief and lifted into the boat, which immediately rowed back to the schooner. When the mate came on board and reported his capture the pirates were delighted at the prospect of addition to their prize-money. Cain could not, of course, raise any objections; it would have been so different from his general practice, that it would have strengthened suspicions already set afloat by Hawkhurst, which Cain was most anxious just then to remove. He ordered the girl to be taken down into the cabin, hoisted in the boat, and the breeze springing up again, made sail. In the mean time Francisco was consoling the unfortunate Clara, and assuring her that she need be under no alarm, promising her the protection of himself and the captain. The poor girl wept bitterly, and it was not until Cain came down into the cabin and corroborated the assurances of Francisco that she could assume any degree of composure; but to find friends when she had expected every insult and degradation--for Francisco had acknowledged that the vessel was a pirate--was some consolation. The kindness and attention of Francisco restored her to comparative tranquillity. The next day she confided to him the reason of her coming to the beach, and her mistake with regard to the two vessels, and Francisco and Cain promised her that they would themselves pay her ransom, and not wait until she heard from her father. To divert her thoughts Francisco talked much about Edward Templemore, and on that subject Clara could always talk. Every circumstance attending the amour was soon known to Francisco. But the _Avenger_ did not gain her rendezvous as soon as she expected. When to the northward of Porto Rico an English frigate bore down upon her, and the _Avenger_ was obliged to run for it. Before the wind is always a schooner's worst point of sailing, and the chase was continued for three days before a fresh wind from the southward, until they had passed the Bahama Isles. The pirates suffered much from want of water, as it was necessary still further to reduce their allowance. The frigate was still in sight, although the _Avenger_ had dropped her astern when the wind became light, and at last it subsided into a calm, which lasted two days more. The boats of the frigate were hoisted out on the eve of the second day to attack the schooner, then distant five miles, when a breeze sprang up from the northward, and the schooner being then to windward, left the enemy hull down. It was not until the next day that Cain ventured to run again to the southward to procure at one of the keys the water so much required. At last it was obtained, but with difficulty and much loss of time, from the scantiness of the supply, and they again made sail for the Caicos. But they were so much impeded by contrary winds and contrary currents that it was not until three weeks after they had been chased from Porto Rico that they made out the low land of their former rendezvous. We must now return to Edward Templemore in the _Enterprise_, whom we left off the coast of South America in search of the _Avenger_, which had so strangely slipped through their fingers. Edward had examined the whole coast, ran through the passage and round Trinidad, and then started off to the Leeward Isles in his pursuit. He had spoken every vessel he met with without gaining any information, and had at last arrived off Porto Rico. This was no time to think of Clara; but, as it was not out of his way, he had run down the island, and as it was just before dark when he arrived off that part of the coast where the governor resided, he had hove to for a little while, and had examined the windows: but the signal of recognition was not made, and after waiting till dark he again made sail, mad with disappointment, and fearing that all had been discovered by the governor; whereas the fact was, that he had only arrived two days after the forcible abduction of Clara. Once more he directed his attention to the discovery of the pirate, and after a fortnight's examination of the inlets and bays of the Island of St. Domingo without success, his provisions and water being nearly expended, he returned, in no very happy mood, to Port Royal. In the mean time the disappearance of Clara had created the greatest confusion in Porto Rico, and upon the examination of her attendant, who was confronted by the friar and the duenna, the amour of her mistress was confessed. The appearance of the _Avenger_ off the coast on that evening confirmed their ideas that the Donna Clara had been carried off by the English lieutenant, and Don Alfarez immediately despatched a vessel to Jamaica, complaining of the outrage, and demanding the restoration of his daughter. This vessel arrived at Port Royal a few days before the _Enterprise_, and the admiral was very much astonished. He returned a very polite answer to Don Alfarez, promising an investigation immediately upon the arrival of the schooner, and to send a vessel with the result of the said investigation. "This is a pretty business," said the admiral to his secretary. "Young madcap, I sent him to look after a pirate and he goes after the governor's daughter! By the lord Harry, Mr Templemore, but you and I shall have an account to settle." "I can hardly believe it, sir," replied the secretary; "and yet it does look suspicious. But on so short an acquaintance--" "Who knows that, Mr Hadley? Send for his logs, and let us examine them; he may have been keeping up the acquaintance." The logs of the _Enterprise_ were examined, and there were the fatal words--Porto Rico, Porto Rico, bearing in every division of the compass, and in every separate cruise, nay, even when the schooner was charged with despatches. "Plain enough," said the admiral. "Confounded young scamp, to embroil me in this way! Not that his marrying the girl is any business of mine; but I will punish him for disobedience of orders, at all events. Try him by a court-martial, by heavens!" The secretary made no reply: he knew very well that the admiral would do no such thing. "The _Enterprise_ anchored at daylight, sir," reported the secretary as the admiral sat down to breakfast. "And where's Mr Templemore?" "He is outside in the veranda. They have told him below of what he has been accused, and he swears it is false. I believe him, sir, for he appears half mad at the intelligence." "Stop a moment. Have you looked over his log?" "Yes, sir. It appears that he was off Porto Rico on the 19th; but the Spanish governor's letter says that he was there on the 17th, and again made his appearance on the 19th. I mentioned it to him, and he declares upon his honour that he was only there on the 19th, as stated in his log." "Well, let him come in and speak for himself." Edward came in, in a state of great agitation. "Well, Mr Templemore, you have been playing pretty tricks! What is all this, sir? Where is the girl, sir--the governor's daughter?" "Where she is, sir, I cannot pretend to say; but I feel convinced that she has been carried off by the pirates." "Pirates! Poor girl, I pity her! --and--I pity you too, Edward. Come, sit down here, and tell me all that has happened." Edward knew the admiral's character so well, that he immediately disclosed all that had passed between him and Clara. He then stated how the _Avenger_ had escaped him by deceiving the frigate, and the agreement made with Clara to meet for the future on the beach, and his conviction that the pirate schooner, so exactly similar in appearance to the _Enterprise_, must have preceded him at Porto Rico, and have carried off the object of his attachment. Although Edward might have been severely taken to task, yet the admiral pitied him, and, therefore, said nothing about his visits to Porto Rico. When breakfast was over he ordered the signal to be made for a sloop of war to prepare to weigh, and the _Enterprise_ to be revictualled by the boats of the squadron. "Now, Edward, you and the _Comus_ shall sail in company after this rascally pirate, and I trust you will give me a good account of her, and also of the governor's daughter. Cheer up, my boy! depend upon it they will try for ransom before they do her any injury." That evening the _Enterprise_ and _Comus_ sailed on their expedition, and having run by Porto Rico and delivered a letter to the governor, they steered to the northward, and early the next morning made the land of the Caicos, just as the _Avenger_ had skirted the reefs and bore up for the narrow entrance. "There she is!" exclaimed Edward; "there she is, by heavens!" making the signal for the enemy, which was immediately answered by the _Comus_.	{ "id": "21580" }
16	THE CAICOS.	The small patch of islands called the Caicos, or Cayques, is situated about two degrees to the northward of Saint Domingo, and is nearly the southernmost of a chain which extends up to the Bahamas. Most of the islands of this chain are uninhabited, but were formerly the resort of piratical vessels,--the reefs and shoals with which they are all surrounded afforded them protection from their larger pursuers, and the passages through this dangerous navigation being known only to the pirates who frequented them, proved an additional security. The largest of the Caicos islands forms a curve, like an opened horseshoe, to the southward, with safe and protected anchorage when once in the bay on the southern side; but, previous to arriving at the anchorage, there are coral reefs, extending upwards of forty miles, through which it is necessary to conduct a vessel. This passage is extremely intricate, but was well known to Hawkhurst, who had hitherto been pilot. Cain was not so well acquainted with it and it required the greatest care in taking in the vessel, as, on the present occasion, Hawkhurst could not be called upon for this service. The islands themselves--for there were several of them--were composed of coral rock; a few cocoa-trees raised their lofty heads where there was sufficient earth for vegetation, and stunted brush-wood rose up between the interstices of the rocks. But the chief peculiarity of the islands, and which rendered them suitable to those who frequented them, was the numerous caves with which the rocks were perforated, some above high-water mark, but the majority with the sea-water flowing in and out of them, in some cases merely rushing in, and at high-water filling deep pools, which were detached from each other when the tide receded, in others with a sufficient depth of water at all times to allow you to pull in with a large boat. It is hardly necessary to observe how convenient the higher and dry caves were as receptacles for articles which were intended to be concealed until an opportunity occurred for disposing of them. In our last chapter we stated that, just as the _Avenger_ had entered the passage through the reefs, the _Comus_ and _Enterprise_ hove in sight and discovered her: but it will be necessary to explain the positions of the vessels. The _Avenger_ had entered the southern channel, with the wind from the southward, and had carefully sounded her way for about four miles, under little or no sail. The _Enterprise_ and _Comus_ had been examining Turk's Island, to the eastward of the Caicos, and had passed to the northward of it on the larboard tack, standing in for the northern point of the reef, which joined on to the great Caicos Island. They were, therefore, in a situation to intercept the _Avenger_ before she arrived at her anchorage, had it not been for the reefs that barred their passage. The only plan which the English vessels could act upon was to beat to the southward, so as to arrive at the entrance of the passage, when the _Enterprise_ would, of course, find sufficient water to follow the _Avenger_; for, as the passage was too narrow to beat through, and the wind was from the southward, the _Avenger_ could not possibly escape. She was caught in a trap; and all that she had to trust to was the defence which she might be able to make in her stronghold against the force which could be employed in the attack. The breeze was fresh from the southward, and appeared inclined to increase, when the _Comus_ and _Enterprise_ made all sail, and worked, in short tacks, outside the reef. On board the _Avenger_, the enemy and their motions were clearly distinguished, and Cain perceived that he was in an awkward dilemma. That they would be attacked he had no doubt; and although, at any other time, he would almost have rejoiced in such an opportunity of discomfiting his assailants, yet now he thought very differently, and would have sacrificed almost everything to have been able to avoid the rencontre, and be permitted quietly to withdraw himself from his associates, without the spilling of more blood. Francisco was equally annoyed at this unfortunate collision; but no words were exchanged between him and the pirate-captain during the time that they were on deck. It was about nine o'clock, when having safely passed nearly half through the channel, that Cain ordered the kedge-anchor to be dropped, and sent down the people to their breakfast. Francisco went down into the cabin, and was explaining their situation to Clara, when Cain entered. He threw himself on the locker, and appeared lost in deep and sombre meditation. "What do you intend to do?" said Francisco. "I do not know; I will not decide myself, Francisco," replied Cain. "If I were to act upon my own judgment, probably I should allow the schooner to remain where she is. They can only attack in the boats, and, in such a case, I do not fear; whereas, if we run right through, we allow the other schooner to follow us, without defending the passage; and we may be attacked by her in the deep water inside, and overpowered by the number of men the two vessels will be able to bring against us. On the other hand, we certainly may defend the schooner from the shore as well as on board; but we are weak-handed. I shall, however, call up the ship's company and let them decide. God knows, if left to me I would not fight at all." "Is there no way of escape?" resumed Francisco. "Yes, we might abandon the schooner; and this night, when they would not expect it, run with the boats through the channel between the great island and the north Cayque: but that I daren't propose, and the men would not listen to it: indeed, I very much doubt if the enemy will allow us the time. I knew this morning, long before we saw those vessels, that my fate would be decided before the sun went down." "What do you mean?" "I mean this, Francisco," said Cain; "that your mother, who always has visited me in my dreams whenever anything (dreadful now to think of!) was about to take place, appeared to me last night; and there was sorrow and pity in her sweet face as she mournfully waved her hand, as if to summon me to follow her. Yes, thank God! she no longer looked upon me as for many years she has done." Francisco made no answer; and Cain again seemed to be lost in meditation. After a little while Cain rose, and taking a small packet from one of the drawers, put it into the hands of Francisco. "Preserve that," said the pirate-captain; "should any accident happen to me, it will tell you who was your mother; and it also contains directions for finding treasure which I have buried. I leave everything to you, Francisco. It has been unfairly obtained; but you are not the guilty party, and there are none to claim it. Do not answer me now. You may find friends, whom you will make after I am gone, of the same opinion as I am. I tell you again, be careful of that packet." "I see little chance of it availing me," replied Francisco. "If I live, shall I not be considered as a pirate?" "No, no; you can prove the contrary." "I have my doubts. But God's will be done!" "Yes, God's will be done!" said Cain, mournfully. "I dared not have said that a month ago." And the pirate-captain went on deck, followed by Francisco. The crew of the _Avenger_ were summoned aft, and called upon to decide as to the measures they considered to be most advisable. They preferred weighing the anchor and running into the bay, where they would be able to defend the schooner, in their opinion, much better than by remaining where they were. The crew of the pirate-schooner weighed the anchor and continued their precarious course: the breeze had freshened, and the water was in strong ripples, so that they could no longer see the danger beneath her bottom. In the meantime, the sloop of war and _Enterprise_ continued to turn to windward outside the reef. By noon the wind had considerably increased, and the breakers now turned and broke in wild foam over the coral reefs, in every direction. The sail was still more reduced on board the _Avenger_, and her difficulties increased from the rapidity of her motion. A storm-jib was set, and the others hauled down yet even under this small sail she flew before the wind. Cain stood at the bowsprit, giving his directions to the helmsman. More than once they had grazed the rocks and were clear again. Spars were towed astern, and every means resorted to, to check her way. They had no guide but the breaking of the wild water on each side of them. "Why should not Hawkhurst, who knows the passage so well, be made to pilot us?" said the boatswain to those who were near him on the forecastle. "To be sure! let's have him up!" cried several of the crew; and some of them went down below. In a minute they reappeared with Hawkhurst, whom they led forward. He did not make any resistance, and the crew demanded that he should pilot the vessel. "And suppose I will not?" said Hawkhurst, coolly. "Then you lose your passage, that's all," replied the boatswain. "Is it not so, my lads?" continued he, appealing to the crew. "Yes; either take us safe in, or--overboard," replied several. "I do not mind that threat, my lads," replied Hawkhurst; "you have all known me as a good man and true, and it's not likely that I shall desert you now. Well, since your captain there cannot save you, I suppose I must; but," exclaimed he, looking about him, "how's this? We are out of the passage already. Yes--and whether we can get into it again I cannot tell." "We are not out of the passage," said Cain; "you know we are not." "Well, then, if the captain knows better than I, he had better take you through," rejoined Hawkhurst. But the crew thought differently, and insisted that Hawkhurst, who well knew the channel, should take charge. Cain retired aft, as Hawkhurst went out on the bowsprit. "I will do my best, my lads," said Hawkhurst "but recollect, if we strike in trying to get into the right channel, do not blame me. Starboard a little--starboard yet--steady, so--there's the true passage my lads," cried he, pointing to some smoother water between the breakers; "port a little--steady." But Hawkhurst, who knew that he was to be put on shore as soon as convenient, had resolved to lose the schooner, even if his own life were forfeited, and he was now running her out of the passage on the rocks. A minute after he had conned her, she struck heavily again and again. The third time she struck, she came broadside to the wind and heeled over: a sharp coral rock found its way through her slight timbers and planking, and the water poured in rapidly. During this there was a dead silence on the part of the marauders. "My lads," said Hawkhurst, "I have done my best, and now you may throw me overboard if you please. It was not my fault, but his," continued he, pointing to the captain. "It is of little consequence whose fault it was, Mr Hawkhurst," replied Cain; "we will settle that point by-and-by; at present we have too much on our hands. Out boats, men! as fast as you can, and let every man provide himself with arms and ammunition. Be cool! the schooner is fixed hard enough, and will not go down; we shall save everything by-and-by." The pirates obeyed the orders of the captain. The three boats were hoisted out and lowered down. In the first were placed all the wounded men and Clara d'Alfarez, who was assisted up by Francisco. As soon as the men had provided themselves with arms, Francisco, to protect Clara, offered to take charge of her, and the boat shoved off. The men-of-war had seen the _Avenger_ strike on the rocks, and the preparations of the crew to take to their boats. They immediately hove to, hoisted out and manned their own boats, with the hopes of cutting them off before they could gain the island and prepare for a vigorous defence; for, although the vessels could not approach the reefs, there was sufficient water in many places for the boats to pass over them. Shortly after Francisco, in the first boat, had shoved off from the _Avenger_, the boats of the men-of-war were darting through the surf to intercept them. The pirates perceived this, and hastened their arrangements; a second boat soon left her, and into that Hawkhurst leaped as it was shoving off. Cain remained on board, going round the lower decks to ascertain if any of the wounded men were left; he then quitted the schooner in the last boat and followed the others, being about a quarter of a mile astern of the second, in which Hawkhurst had secured his place. At the time that Cain quitted the schooner, it was difficult to say whether the men-of-war's boats would succeed in intercepting any of the pirate's boats. Both parties exerted themselves to their utmost; and when the first boat, with Francisco and Clara, landed, the headmost of the assailants was not much more than half a mile from them; but, shallow water intervening, there was a delay, which was favourable to the pirate. Hawkhurst landed in his boat as the launch of the _Comus_ fired her eighteen-pound carronade. The last boat was yet two hundred yards from the beach, when another shot from the _Comus's_ launch, which had been unable hitherto to find a passage through the reef, struck her on the counter, and she filled and went down. "He is gone!" exclaimed Francisco, who had led Clara to a cave, and stood at the mouth of it to protect her: "they have sunk his boat--no, he is swimming to the shore, and will be here soon, long before the English seamen can land." This was true. Cain was breasting the water manfully, making for a small cove nearer to where the boat was sunk than the one in which Francisco had landed with Clara and the wounded men, and divided from the other by a ridge of rocks which separated the sandy beach, and extended some way into the water before they were submerged. Francisco could easily distinguish the pirate-captain from the other men, who also were swimming for the beach; for Cain was far ahead of them, and as he gained nearer to the shore he was shut from Francisco's sight by the ridge of rocks. Francisco, anxious for his safety, climbed up the rocks and was watching. Cain was within a few yards of the beach when there was the report of a musket; the pirate-captain was seen to raise his body convulsively half out of the water--he floundered--the clear blue wave was discoloured--he sank, and was seen no more. Francisco darted forward from the rocks, and perceived Hawkhurst, standing beneath them with the musket in his hand, which he was recharging. "Villain!" exclaimed Francisco, "you shall account for this." Hawkhurst had reprimed his musket and shut the pan. "Not to you," replied Hawkhurst, levelling his piece, and taking aim at Francisco. The ball struck Francisco on the breast; he reeled back from his position, staggered across the sand, gained the cave, and fell at the feet of Clara. "Oh, God!" exclaimed the poor girl, "are you hurt? who is there then, to protect me?" "I hardly know," replied Francisco, faintly; and, at intervals, "I feel no wound, I feel stronger;" and Francisco put his hand to his heart. Clara opened his vest, and found that the packet given to Francisco by Cain, and which he had deposited in his breast, had been struck by the bullet, which had done him no injury further than the violent concussion of the blow--notwithstanding he was faint from the shock, and his head fell upon Clara's bosom. But we must relate the proceedings of those who were mixed up in this exciting scene. Edward Templemore had watched from his vessel, with an eager and painful curiosity, the motions of the schooner--her running on the rocks, and the subsequent actions of the intrepid marauders. The long telescope enabled him to perceive distinctly all that passed, and his feelings were increased into a paroxysm of agony when his straining eyes beheld the white and fluttering habiliments of a female for a moment at the gunwale of the stranded vessel--her descent, as it appeared to him, nothing loth, into the boat--the arms held out to receive, and the extension of hers to meet those offered. Could it be Clara? Where was the reluctance, the unavailing attempts at resistance, which should have characterised her situation? Excited by feelings which he dared not analyse, he threw down his glass, and seizing his sword, sprang into the boat, which was ready manned alongside, desiring the others to follow him. For once, and the only time in his existence when approaching the enemy, did he feel his heart sink within him--a cold tremor ran through his whole frame, and as he called to mind the loose morals and desperate habits of the pirates, horrible thoughts entered his imagination. As he neared the shore, he stood up in the stern-sheets of the boat, pale, haggard, and with trembling lips; and the intensity of his feelings would have been intolerable but for a more violent thirst for revenge. He clenched his sword, while the quick throbs of his heart seemed, at every pulsation, to repeat to him his thoughts of blood! blood! blood! He approached the small bay and perceived that there was a female at the mouth of the cave--nearer and nearer, and he was certain that it was his Clara--her name was on his lips when he heard the two shots fired one after another by Hawkhurst-- he saw the retreat and fall of Francisco--when, madness to behold! he perceived Clara rush forward, and there lay the young man supported by her, and with his head on her bosom. Could he believe what he saw! could she really be his betrothed! Yes, there she was, supporting the handsome figure of a young man, and that man a pirate--she had even put her hand into his vest, and was now watching over his reviving form. Edward could bear no more: he covered his eyes, and now, maddened with jealousy, in a voice of thunder, he called out: "Give way, my lads! for your lives, give way!" The gig was within half-a-dozen strokes of the oar from the beach, and Clara, unconscious of wrong, had just taken the packet of papers from Francisco's vest, when Hawkhurst made his appearance from behind the rocks which separated the two little sandy coves. Francisco had recovered his breath, and, perceiving the approach of Hawkhurst, he sprang upon his feet to recover his musket; but, before he could succeed, Hawkhurst had closed in with him, and a short and dreadful struggle ensued. It would soon have terminated fatally to Francisco, for the superior strength of Hawkhurst had enabled him to bear down the body of his opponent with his knee; and he was fast strangling him by twisting his handkerchief round his throat, while Clara shrieked, and attempted in vain to tear the pirate from him. As the prostrate Francisco was fast blackening into a corse, and the maiden screamed for pity, and became frantic in her efforts for his rescue, the boat dashed high up on the sand; and, with the bound of a maddened tiger, Edward sprang upon Hawkhurst, tearing him down on his back, and severing his wrist with his sword-blade until his hold of Francisco was relaxed, and he wrestled in his own defence. "Seize him, my lads!" said Edward, pointing with his left hand to Hawkhurst; as with his sword directed to the body of Francisco he bitterly continued, "_This victim is mine_!" But whatever were his intentions, they were frustrated by Clara's recognition, who shrieked out, "My Edward!" sprang into his arms, and was immediately in a state of insensibility. The seamen who had secured Hawkhurst looked upon the scene with curious astonishment, while Edward waited with mingled feelings of impatience and doubt for Clara's recovery: he wished to be assured by her that he was mistaken, and he turned again and again from her face to that of Francisco, who was fast recovering. During this painful suspense, Hawkhurst was bound and made to sit down. "Edward! dear Edward!" said Clara, at last, in a faint voice, clinging more closely to him; "and am I then rescued by thee, dearest!" Edward felt the appeal; but his jealousy had not yet subsided. "Who is that, Clara?" said he sternly. "It is Francisco. No pirate, Edward, but my preserver." "Ha, ha!" laughed Hawkhurst, with a bitter sneer, for he perceived how matters stood. Edward Templemore turned towards him with an inquiring look. "Ha, ha!" continued Hawkhurst; "why, he is the captain's son! No pirate, eh? Well, what will women not swear to, to save those they dote upon!" "If the captain's son," said Edward, "why were you contending?" "Because just now I shot his scoundrel father." "Edward!" said Clara, solemnly, "this is no time for explanation, but, as I hope for mercy, what I have said is true; believe not the villain." "Yes," said Francisco, who was now sitting up, "believe him when he says that he shot the captain, for that is true; but, sir, if you value your own peace of mind, believe nothing to the prejudice of that young lady." "I hardly know what to believe," muttered Edward Templemore; "but, as the lady says, this is no time for explanation. With your permission, madam," said he to Clara, "my coxswain will see you in safety on board of the schooner, or the other vessel, if you prefer it; my duty will not allow me to accompany you." Clara darted a reproachful yet fond look on Edward, as, with swimming eyes, she was led by the coxswain to the boat, which had been joined by the launch of the _Comus_, the crew of which were, with their officers, wading to the beach. The men of the gig remained until they had given Hawkhurst and Francisco in charge of the other seamen, and then shoved off with Clara for the schooner. Edward Templemore gave one look at the gig as it conveyed Clara on board, and ordering Hawkhurst and Francisco to be taken to the launch, and a guard to be kept over them, went up, with the remainder of the men, in pursuit of the pirates. During the scene we have described, the other boats of the men-of-war had landed on the island, and the _Avenger's_ crew, deprived of their leaders, and scattered in every direction, were many of them slain or captured. In about two hours it was supposed that the majority of the pirates had been accounted for, and the prisoners being now very numerous, it was decided that the boats should return with them to the _Comus_, the captain of which vessel, as commanding officer, would then issue orders as to their future proceedings. The captured pirates, when mustered on the deck of the _Comus_, amounted to nearly sixty, out of which number one-half were those who had been sent on shore wounded, and had surrendered without resistance. Of killed there were fifteen; and it was conjectured that as many more had been drowned in the boat when she was sunk by the shot from the carronade of the launch. Although, by the account given by the captured pirates, the majority were secured, yet there was reason to suppose that some were still left on the island concealed in the caves. As the captain of the _Comus_ had orders to return as soon as possible, he decided to sail immediately for Port Royal with the prisoners, leaving the _Enterprise_ to secure the remainder, if there were any, and recover anything of value which might be left in the wreck of the _Avenger_, and then to destroy her. With the usual celerity of the service these orders were obeyed. The pirates, among whom Francisco was included, were secured, the boats hoisted up, and in half an hour the _Comus_ displayed her ensign, and made all sail on a wind, leaving Edward Templemore with the _Enterprise_, at the back of the reef, to perform the duties entailed upon him; and Clara, who was on board of the schooner, to remove the suspicion and jealousy which had arisen in the bosom of her lover.	{ "id": "21580" }
17	THE TRIAL.	In a week, the _Comus_ arrived at Port Royal, and the captain went up to the Penn to inform the admiral of the successful result of the expedition. "Thank God," said the admiral, "we have caught these villains at last! A little hanging will do them no harm. The captain, you say, was drowned?" "So it is reported, sir," replied Captain Manly; "he was in the last boat which left the schooner, and she was sunk by a shot from the launch." "I am sorry for that; the death was too good for him. However, we must make an example of the rest; they must be tried by the Admiralty Court, which has the jurisdiction of the high seas. Send them on shore, Manly, and we wash our hands of them." "Very good, sir: but there are still some left on the island, we have reason to believe; and the _Enterprise_ is in search of them." "By-the-by, did Templemore find his lady?" "Oh yes, sir; and--all's right, I believe: but I had very little to say to him on the subject." "Humph!" replied the admiral. "I am glad to hear it. Well, send them on shore, Manly, to the proper authorities. If any more be found, they must be hung afterwards when Templemore brings them in. I am more pleased at having secured these scoundrels than if we had taken a French frigate." About three weeks after this conversation, the secretary reported to the admiral that the _Enterprise_ had made her number outside; but that she was becalmed, and would not probably be in until the evening. "That's a pity," replied the admiral; "for the pirates are to be tried this morning. He may have more of them on board." "Very true, sir; but the trial will hardly be over to-day: the judge will not be in court till one o'clock at the soonest." "It's of little consequence, certainly; as it is, there are so many that they must be hanged by divisions. However, as he is within signal distance, let them telegraph `Pirates now on trial.' He can pull on shore in his gig, if he pleases." It was about noon on the same day that the pirates, and among them Francisco, escorted by a strong guard, were conducted to the Court House, and placed at the bar. The Court House was crowded to excess, for the interest excited was intense. Many of them who had been wounded in the attack upon the property of Don Cumanos, and afterwards captured, had died in their confinement. Still forty-five were placed at the bar; and their picturesque costume, their bearded faces, and the atrocities which they had committed, created in those present a sensation of anxiety mingled with horror and indignation. Two of the youngest amongst them had been permitted to turn king's evidence. They had been on board of the _Avenger_ but a few months; still their testimony as to the murder of the crews of three West India ships, and the attack upon the property of Don Cumanos, was quite sufficient to condemn the remainder. Much time was necessarily expended in going through the forms of the court; in the pirates answering to their various names; and, lastly, in taking down the detailed evidence of the above men. It was late when the evidence was read over to the pirates, and they were asked if they had anything to offer in their defence. The question was repeated by the judge; when Hawkhurst was the first to speak. To save himself he could scarcely hope; his only object was to prevent Francisco pleading his cause successfully, and escaping the same disgraceful death. Hawkhurst declared that he had been some time on board the _Avenger_, but that he had been taken out of a vessel and forced to serve against his will, as could be proved by the captain's son, who stood there (pointing to Francisco), who had been in the schooner since her first fitting out:--that he had always opposed the captain, who would not part with him, because he was the only one on board who was competent to navigate the schooner: that he had intended to rise against him, and take the vessel, having often stimulated the crew so to do; and that, as the other men, as well as the captain's son, could prove, if they chose, he actually was in confinement for that attempt when the schooner was entering the passage to the Caicos; and that he was only released because he was acquainted with the passage, and threatened to be thrown overboard if he did not take her in; that, at every risk, he had run her on the rocks; and aware that the captain would murder him, he had shot Cain as he was swimming to the shore, as the captain's son could prove; for he had taxed him with it, and he was actually struggling with him for life, when the officers and boat's crew separated them, and made them both prisoners: that he hardly expected that Francisco, the captain's son, would tell the truth to save him, as he was his bitter enemy, and in the business at the Magdalen river, which had been long planned (for Francisco had been sent on shore under the pretence of being wrecked, but, in fact, to ascertain where the booty was, and to assist the pirates in their attack), Francisco had taken the opportunity of putting a bullet through his shoulder, which was well known to the other pirates, and Francisco could not venture to deny. He trusted that the court would order the torture to Francisco, and then he would probably speak the truth; at all events, let him speak now. When Hawkhurst had ceased to address the court, there was an anxious pause for some minutes. The day was fast declining, and most parts of the spacious Court House were already deeply immersed in gloom; while the light, sober, solemn, and almost sad, gleamed upon the savage and reckless countenances of the prisoners at the bar. The sun had sunk down behind a mass of heavy yet gorgeous clouds, fringing their edges with molten gold. Hawkhurst had spoken fluently and energetically, and there was an appearance of almost honesty in his coarse and deep-toned voice. Even the occasional oaths with which his speech was garnished, but which we have omitted, seemed to be pronounced more in sincerity than in blasphemy, and gave a more forcible impression to his narrative. We have said, that when he concluded there was a profound silence; and amid the fast-falling shadows of the evening, those who were present began to feel, for the first time, the awful importance of the drama before them, the number of lives which were trembling upon the verge of existence, depending upon the single word of "Guilty." This painful silence, this harrowing suspense, was at last broken by a restrained sob from a female; but owing to the obscurity involving the body of the court, her person could not be distinguished. The wail of a woman so unexpected--for who could there be of that sex interested in the fate of these desperate men? --touched the heart of its auditors, and appeared to sow the first seeds of compassionate and humane feeling among those who had hitherto expressed and felt nothing but indignation towards the prisoners. The judge upon the bench, the counsel at the bar, and the jury impannelled in their box, felt the force of the appeal; and it softened down the evil impression created by the address of Hawkhurst against the youthful Francisco. The eyes of all were now directed towards the one doubly accused--accused not only by the public prosecutor, but even by his associate in crime,--and the survey was favourable. They acknowledged that he was one whose personal qualities might indeed challenge the love of woman in his pride, and her lament in his disgrace; and as their regard was directed towards him, the sun, which had been obscured, now pierced through a break in the mass of clouds, and threw a portion of his glorious beams from a window opposite upon him, and him alone, while all the other prisoners who surrounded him were buried more or less in deep shadow. It was at once evident that his associates were bold yet commonplace villains--men who owed their courage, their only virtue perhaps, to their habits, to their physical organisation, or the influence of those around them. They were mere human butchers, with the only adjunct that, now that the trade was to be exercised upon themselves, they could bear it with sullen apathy--a feeling how far removed from true fortitude! Even Hawkhurst, though more commanding than the rest, with all his daring mien and scowl of defiance, looked nothing more than a distinguished ruffian. With the exception of Francisco, the prisoners had wholly neglected their personal appearance; and in them the squalid and sordid look of the mendicant seemed allied with the ferocity of the murderer. Francisco was not only an exception, but formed a beautiful contrast to the others; and as the evening beams lighted up his figure, he stood at the bar, if not with all the splendour of a hero of romance, certainly a most picturesque and interesting personage, elegantly if not richly attired. The low sobs at intervals repeated, as if impossible to be checked, seemed to rouse and call him to a sense of the important part which he was called upon to act in the tragedy there and then performing. His face was pale, yet composed; his mien at once proud and sorrowful: his eye was bright, yet his glance was not upon those in court, but far away, fixed, like an eagle's, upon the gorgeous beams of the setting sun, which glowed upon him through the window that was in front of him. At last the voice of Francisco was heard, and all in that wide court started at the sound--deep, full, and melodious as the evening chimes. The ears of those present had, in the profound silence, but just recovered from the harsh, deep-toned, and barbarous idiom of Hawkhurst's address, when the clear, silvery, yet manly voice of Francisco, riveted their attention. The jury stretched forth their heads, the counsel and all in court turned anxiously round towards the prisoner, even the judge held up his forefinger to intimate his wish for perfect silence. "My lord and gentlemen," commenced Francisco, "when I first found myself in this degrading situation, I had not thought to have spoken or to have uttered one word in my defence. He that has just now accused me has recommended the torture to be applied; he has already had his wish, for what torture can be more agonising than to find myself where I now am? So tortured, indeed, have I been through a short yet wretched life, that I have often felt that anything short of self-destruction which would release me would be a blessing; but within these few minutes I have been made to acknowledge that I have still feelings in unison with my fellow-creatures; that I am not yet fit for death, and all too young, too unprepared to die: for who would not reluctantly leave this world while there is such a beauteous sky to love and look upon, or while there is one female breast who holds him innocent, and has evinced her pity for his misfortunes? Yes, my lord! mercy, and pity, and compassion, have not yet fled from earth; and therefore do I feel I am too young to die. God forgive me! but I thought they had--for never have they been shown in those with whom by fate I have been connected; and it has been from this conviction that I have so often longed for death. And now may that righteous God who judges us not here, but hereafter, enable me to prove that I do not deserve an ignominious punishment from my fellow-sinners--men! "My lord, I know not the subtleties of the laws, nor the intricacy of pleadings. First, let me assert that I have never robbed; but I have restored unto the plundered: I have never murdered; but I have stood between the assassin's knife and his victim. For this have I been hated and reviled by my associates, and for this, is my life now threatened by those laws against which I never had offended. The man who last addressed you has told you that I am the pirate-captain's son; it is the assertion of the only irreclaimable and utterly remorseless villain among those who now stand before you to be judged--the assertion of one whose glory, whose joy, whose solace has been blood-shedding. "My lord, I had it from the mouth of the captain himself, previous to his murder by that man, that I was not his son. His son! thank God, not so. Connected with him and in his power I was, most certainly and most incomprehensibly. Before he died, he delivered me a packet that would have told me who I am; but I have lost it, and deeply have I felt the loss. One only fact I gained from him whom they would call my father, which is, that with his own hand he slew--yes, basely slew--my mother." The address of Francisco was here interrupted by a low deep groan of anguish, which startled the whole audience. It was now quite dark, and the judge ordered the court to be lighted previous to the defence being continued. The impatience and anxiety of those present were shown in low murmurs of communication until the lights were brought in. The word "Silence!" from the judge produced an immediate obedience, and the prisoner was ordered to proceed. Francisco then continued his address, commencing with the remembrances of his earliest childhood. As he warmed with his subject, he became more eloquent; his action became energetical without violence; and the pallid and modest youth gradually grew into the impassioned and inspired orator. He recapitulated rapidly, yet distinctly and with terrible force, all the startling events in his fearful life. There was truth in the tones of his voice, there was conviction in his animated countenance, there was innocence in his open and expressive brow. All who heard believed; and scarcely had he concluded his address, when the jury appeared impatient to rise and give their verdict in his favour. But the judge stood up, and, addressing the jury, told them that it was his most painful duty to remind them that as yet they had heard but assertion, beautiful and almost convincing assertion truly; but still it was not proof. "Alas!" observed Francisco, "what evidence can I bring forward, except the evidence of those around me at the bar, which will not be admitted? Can I recall the dead from the grave? Can I expect those who have been murdered to rise again to assert my innocence? Can I expect that Don Cumanos will appear from distant leagues to give evidence on my behalf? Alas he knows not how I am situated, or he would have flown to my succour. No, no; not even can I expect that the sweet Spanish maiden, the last to whom I offered my protection, will appear in such a place as this to meet the bold gaze of hundreds!" "She is here!" replied a manly voice; and a passage was made through the crowd; and Clara, supported by Edward Templemore, dressed in his uniform, was ushered into the box for the witnesses. The appearance of the fair girl, who looked round her with alarm, created a great sensation. As soon as she was sufficiently composed, she was sworn, and gave her evidence as to Francisco's behaviour during the time that she was a prisoner on board of the _Avenger_. She produced the packet which had saved the life of Francisco, and substantiated a great part of his defence. She extolled his kindness and his generosity; and when she had concluded, every one asked of himself, "Can this young man be a pirate and a murderer?" The reply was, "It is impossible." "My lord," said Edward Templemore, "I request permission to ask the prisoner a question. When I was on board of the wreck of the _Avenger_, I found this book floating in the cabin. I wish to ask the prisoner, whether, as that young lady has informed me, it is his?" And Edward Templemore produced the Bible. "It is mine," replied Francisco. "May I ask you by what means it came into your possession?" "It is the only relic left of one who is now no more. It was the consolation of my murdered mother; it has since been mine. Give it to me, sir; I may probably need its support now more than ever." "Was your mother murdered, say you?" cried Edward Templemore, with much agitation. "I have already said so; and I now repeat it." The judge again rose, and recapitulated the evidence to the jury. Evidently friendly to Francisco he was obliged to point out to them, that although the evidence of the young lady had produced much which might be offered in extenuation, and induce him to submit it to His Majesty, in hopes of his gracious pardon after condemnation, yet, that many acts in which the prisoner had been involved had endangered his life and no testimony had been brought forward to prove that he had not, at one time, acted with the pirates, although he might since have repented. They would of course, remember that the evidence of the mate, Hawkhurst, was not of any value, and must dismiss any impression which it might have made against Francisco. At the same time he had the unpleasant duty to point out, that the evidence of the Spanish lady was so far prejudicial, that it pointed out the good terms subsisting between the young man and the pirate-captain. Much as he was interested in his fate, he must reluctantly remind the jury, that the evidence on the whole was not sufficient to clear the prisoner; and he considered it their duty to return a verdict of _guilty against all the prisoners at the bar_. "My lord," said Edward Templemore, a few seconds after the judge had resumed his seat; "may not the contents of this packet, the seal of which I have not ventured to break, afford some evidence in favour of the prisoner? Have you any objection that it should be opened previous to the jury delivering their verdict?" "None," replied the judge: "but what are its supposed contents?" "The contents, my lord," replied Francisco, "are in the writing of the pirate-captain. He delivered that packet into my hands previous to our quitting the schooner, stating that it would inform me who were my parents. My lord, in my present situation I claim that packet, and refuse that its contents should be read in court. If I am to die an ignominious death, at least those who are connected with me shall not have to blush at my disgrace, for the secret of my parentage shall die with me." "Nay--nay; be ruled by me," replied Edward Templemore, with much emotion. "In the narrative, the handwriting of which can be proved by the king's evidence, there may be acknowledgment of all you have stated, and it will be received as evidence; will it not, my lord?" "If the handwriting is proved, I should think it may," replied the judge, "particularly as the lady was present when the packet was delivered, and heard the captain's assertion. Will you allow it to be offered as evidence, young man?" "No, my lord," replied Francisco; "unless I have permission first to peruse it myself. I will not have its contents divulged, unless I am sure of an honourable acquittal. The jury must deliver their verdict." The jury turned round to consult, during which Edward Templemore walked to Francisco, accompanied by Clara, to entreat him to allow the packet to be opened; but Francisco was firm against both their entreaties. At last the foreman of the jury rose to deliver the verdict. A solemn and awful silence prevailed throughout the court; the suspense was painful to a degree. "My lord," said the foreman of the jury, "our verdict is--" "Stop, sir!" said Edward Templemore as he clasped one arm round the astonished Francisco, and extended the other towards the foreman. "Stop, sir! harm him not! for he is my brother!" "And my preserver!" cried Clara, kneeling on the other side of Francisco, and holding up her hands in supplication. The announcement was electrical; the foreman dropped into his seat; the judge and whole court were in mute astonishment. The dead silence was followed by confusion, to which, after a time, the judge in vain attempted to put a stop. Edward Templemore, Clara, and Francisco, continued to form the same group; and never was there one more beautiful. And now that they were together, every one in court perceived the strong resemblance between the two young men. Francisco's complexion was darker than Edward's from his constant exposure, from infancy, to a tropical sun; but the features of the two were the same. It was some time before the judge could obtain silence in the court; and when it had been obtained, he was himself puzzled how to proceed. Edward and Francisco, who had exchanged a few words, were now standing side by side. "My lord," said Edward Templemore, "the prisoner consents that the packet shall be opened." "I do," said Francisco, mournfully; "although I have but little hope from its contents. Alas! now that I have everything to live for--not that I cling to life, I feel as if every chance was gone! The days of miracles have passed; and nothing but the miracle of the reappearance of the pirate-captain from the grave can prove my innocence." "He reappears from the grave to prove thine innocence, Francisco!" said a deep, hollow voice, which startled the whole court, and most of all Hawkhurst and the prisoners at the bar. Still more did fear and horror distort their countenances when into the witness-box stalked the giant form of Cain. But it was no longer the figure which we have described in the commencement of this narrative; his beard had been removed, and he was pale, wan, and emaciated. His sunken eyes, his hollow cheek, and a short cough, which interrupted his speech, proved that his days were nearly at a close. "My lord," said Cain, addressing the judge, "I am the pirate Cain, and was the captain of the _Avenger_! Still am I free! I come here voluntarily, that I may attest the innocence of that young man! As yet, my hand has not known the manacle, nor my feet the gyves! I am not a prisoner, nor included in the indictment, and at present my evidence is good. None know me in this court, except those whose testimony, as prisoners, is unavailing; and therefore, to save that boy, and only to save him, I demand that I may be sworn." The oath was administered, with more than usual solemnity. "My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I have been in court since the commencement of the trial, and I declare that every word which Francisco has uttered in his own defence is true. He is totally innocent of any act of piracy or murder; the packet would, indeed, have proved as much: but in that packet there are secrets which I wished to remain unknown to all but Francisco; and, rather than it should be opened, I have come forward myself. How that young officer discovered that Francisco is his brother I know not; but if he also is the son of Cecilia Templemore, it is true. But the packet will explain all. "And now, my lords, that my evidence is received, I am content: I have done one good deed before I die, and I surrender myself, as a pirate and a foul murderer, to justice. True, my life is nearly closed--thanks to that villain there; but I prefer that I should meet that death I merit, as an expiation of my many deeds of guilt." Cain then turned to Hawkhurst, who was close to him, but the mate appeared to be in a state of stupor; he had not recovered from his first terror, and still imagined the appearance of Cain to be supernatural. "Villain!" exclaimed Cain, putting his mouth close to Hawkhurst's ear; "doubly damned villain! thou'lt die like a dog, and unrevenged! The boy is safe, and I'm alive!" "Art thou really living?" said Hawkhurst, recovering from his fear. "Yes, living--yes, flesh and blood; feel, wretch! feel this arm, and be convinced: thou hast felt the power of it before now," continued Cain, sarcastically. "And now, my lord, I have done. Francisco, fare thee well! I loved thee, and have proved my love. Hate not, then, my memory, and forgive me--yes, forgive me when I'm no more," said Cain, who then turned his eyes to the ceiling of the court-house. --"Yes, there she is, Francisco! --there she is! and see," cried he, extending both arms above his head, "she smiles upon--yes, Francisco, your sainted mother smiles and pardons--" The sentence was not finished; for Hawkhurst, when Cain's arms were upheld, perceived his knife in his girdle, and, with the rapidity of thought, he drew it out, and passed it through the body of the pirate-captain. Cain fell heavily on the floor while the court was again in confusion. Hawkhurst was secured, and Cain raised from the ground. "I thank thee, Hawkhurst!" said Cain, in an expiring voice; "another murder thou hast to answer for: and you have saved me from the disgrace, not of the gallows, but of the gallows in thy company. Francisco, boy, farewell!" and Cain groaned deeply, and expired. Thus perished the renowned pirate-captain, who in his life had shed so much blood, and whose death produced another murder. "Blood for blood!" The body was removed; and it now remained but for the jury to give their verdict. All the prisoners were found guilty, with the exception of Francisco, who left the dock accompanied by his newly-found brother, and the congratulations of every individual who could gain access to him.	{ "id": "21580" }
18	CONCLUSION.	Our first object will be to explain to the reader by what means Edward Templemore was induced to surmise that in Francisco, whom he considered as a rival, he had found a brother; and also to account for the reappearance of the pirate Cain. In pursuance of his orders, Edward Templemore had proceeded on board of the wreck of the _Avenger_; and while his men were employed in collecting articles of great value which were on board of her, he had descended into the cabin, which was partly under water. He had picked up a book floating near the lockers, and on examination found it to be a Bible. Surprised at seeing such a book on board of a pirate, he had taken it with him when he returned to the _Enterprise_, and had shown it to Clara, who immediately recognised it as the property of Francisco. The book was saturated with the salt water, and as Edward mechanically turned over the pages, he referred to the title-page to see if there was any name upon it. There was not: but he observed that the blank or fly-leaf next to the binding had been pasted down, and that there was writing on the other side. In its present state it was easily detached from the cover; and then, to his astonishment, he read the name of Cecilia Templemore--his own mother. He knew well the history; how he had been saved, and his mother and brother supposed to be lost; and it may readily be imagined how great was his anxiety to ascertain by what means her Bible had come into the possession of Francisco. He dared not think Francisco was his brother--that he was so closely connected with one he still supposed to be a pirate: but the circumstance was possible; and although he had intended to have remained a few days longer, he now listened to the entreaties of Clara, whose peculiar position on board was only to be justified by the peculiar position from which she had been rescued, and returning that evening to the wreck he set fire to her, and then made all sail for Port Royal. Fortunately he arrived, as we have stated, on the day of the trial; and as soon as the signal was made by the admiral he immediately manned his gig, and, taking Clara with him, in case her evidence might be of use, arrived at the Court House when the trial was about half over. In our last chapter but one, we stated that Cain had been wounded by Hawkhurst, when he was swimming on shore, and had sunk; the ball had entered his chest, and passed through his lungs. The contest between Hawkhurst and Francisco, and their capture by Edward, had taken place on the other side of the ridge of rocks in the adjacent cove, and although Francisco had seen Cain disappear, and concluded that he was dead, it was not so; he had again risen above the water, and dropping his feet and finding bottom, he contrived to crawl out, and wade into a cave adjacent, where he lay down to die. But in this cave there was one of the _Avenger's_ boats, two of the pirates mortally wounded, and the four Kroumen, who had concealed themselves there with the intention of taking no part in the conflict, and, as soon as it became dark, of making their escape in the boat, which they had hauled up dry into the cave. Cain staggered in, recovered the dry land; and fell. Pompey, the Krouman, perceiving his condition, went to his assistance and bound up his wound, and the stanching of the blood soon revived the pirate-captain. The other pirates died unaided. Although the island was searched in every direction, this cave, from the water flowing into it, escaped the vigilance of the British seamen; and when they re-embarked, with the majority of the pirates captured, Cain and the Kroumen were undiscovered. As soon as it was dark, Cain informed them of his intentions; and although the Kroumen would probably have left him to his fate, yet, as they required his services to know how to steer to some other island, he was assisted into the stern-sheets, and the boat was backed out of the cave. By the direction of Cain they passed through the passage between the great island and the northern Caique, and before daylight were far away from any chance of capture. Cain had now to a certain degree recovered, and knowing that they were in the channel of the small traders, he pointed out to the Kroumen that, if supposed to be pirates, they would inevitably be punished, although not guilty, and that they must pass off as the crew of a small coasting-vessel which had been wrecked. He then, with the assistance of Pompey, cut off his beard as close as he could, and arranged his dress in a more European style. They had neither water nor provisions, and were exposed to a vertical sun. Fortunately for them, and still more fortunately for Francisco, on the second day they were picked up by an American brig bound to Antigua. Cain narrated his fictitious disasters, but said nothing about his wound, the neglect of which would certainly have occasioned his death a very few days after he appeared at the trial, had he not fallen by the malignity of Hawkhurst. Anxious to find his way to Port Royal, for he was indifferent as to his own life, and only wished to save Francisco, he was overjoyed to meet a small schooner trading between the islands, bound to Port Royal. In that vessel he obtained a passage for himself and the Kroumen, and had arrived three days previous to the trial, and during that time had remained concealed until the day that the Admiralty Court assembled. It may be as well here to remark, that Cain's reason for not wishing the packet to be opened was, that among the other papers relative to Francisco were directions for the recovery of the treasure which he had concealed, and which, of course, he wished to be communicated to Francisco alone. We will leave the reader to imagine what passed between Francisco and Edward after the discovery of their kindred, and proceed to state the contents of the packet, which the twin-brothers now opened in the presence of Clara alone. We must, however, condense the matter, which was very voluminous. It stated that Cain, whose real name was Charles Osborne, had sailed in a fine schooner from Bilboa, for the coast of Africa, to procure a cargo of slaves; and had been out about twenty-four hours when the crew perceived a boat apparently with no one in her, about a mile ahead of them. The water was then smooth, and the vessel had but little way. As soon as they came up with the boat, they lowered down their skiff to examine her. The men sent in the skiff soon returned, towing the boat alongside. Lying at the bottom of the boat were found several men almost dead, and reduced to skeletons; and in the stern-sheets a negro woman, with a child at her breast, and a white female in the last state of exhaustion. Osborne was then a gay and unprincipled man, but not a hardened villain and murderer, as he afterwards became; he had compassion and feeling-- they were all taken on board the schooner: some recovered, others were too much exhausted. Among those restored was Cecilia Templemore and the infant, who at first had been considered quite dead; but the negro woman, exhausted by the demands of her nursling and her privations, expired as she was being removed from the boat. A goat, that fortunately was on board, proved a substitute for the negress; and before Osborne had arrived off the coast, the child had recovered its health and vigour, and the mother her extreme beauty. We must now pass over a considerable portion of the narrative. Osborne was impetuous in his passions, and Cecilia Templemore became his victim. He had, indeed, afterwards quieted her qualms of conscience by a pretended marriage, when he arrived at the Brazils with his cargo of human flesh. But that was little alleviation of her sufferings; she who had been indulged in every luxury, who had been educated with the greatest care, was now lost for ever, an outcast from the society to which she could never hope to return, and associating with those she both dreaded and despised. She passed her days and her nights in tears; and had soon more cause for sorrow from the brutal treatment she received from Osborne, who had been her destroyer. Her child was her only solace; but for him, and the fear of leaving him to the demoralising influence of those about him, she would have laid down and died: but she lived for him--for him attempted to recall Osborne from his career of increasing guilt--bore meekly with reproaches and with blows. At last Osborne changed his nefarious life for one of deeper guilt: he became a pirate, and still carried with him Cecilia and her child. This was the climax of her misery: she now wasted from day to day, and grief would soon have terminated her existence, had it not been hastened by the cruelty of Cain, who, upon an expostulation on her part, followed up with a denunciation of the consequences of his guilty career, struck her with such violence that she sank under the blow. She expired with a prayer that her child might be rescued from a life of guilt; and when the then repentant Cain promised what he never did perform, she blessed him, too, before she died. Such was the substance of the narrative, as far as it related to the unfortunate mother of these two young men, who, when they had concluded, sat hand-in-hand in mournful silence. This, however, was soon broken by the innumerable questions asked by Edward of his brother, as to what he could remember of their ill-fated parent, which were followed up by the history of Francisco's eventful life. "And the treasure, Edward," said Francisco; "I cannot take possession of it." "No, nor shall you either," replied Edward; "it belongs to the captors, and must be shared as prize-money. You will never touch one penny of it, but I shall, I trust, pocket a very fair proportion of it! However, keep this paper, as it is addressed to you." The admiral had been made acquainted with all the particulars of the eventful trial, and had sent a message to Edward, requesting that, as soon as he and his brother could make it convenient, he would be happy to see them at the Penn, as well as the daughter of the Spanish governor, whom he must consider as being under his protection during the time that she remained at Port Royal. This offer was gladly accepted by Clara; and on the second day after the trial they proceeded up to the Penn. Clara and Francisco were introduced, and apartments and suitable attendance provided for the former. "Templemore," said the admiral, "I'm afraid I must send you away to Porto Rico, to assure the governor of his daughter's safety." "I would rather you would send some one else, sir, and I'll assure her happiness in the meantime." "What! by marrying her? Humph! you've a good opinion of yourself! Wait till you're a captain, sir." "I hope I shall not have to wait long, sir," replied Edward, demurely. "By-the-bye," said the admiral, "did you not say you have notice of treasure concealed in those islands?" "My brother has: I have not." "We must send for it. I think we must send you, Edward. Mr Francisco, you must go with him." "With pleasure, sir," replied Francisco, laughing; "but I think I'd rather wait till Edward is a captain. His wife and his fortune ought to come together. I think I shall not deliver up my papers until the day of his marriage!" "Upon my word," said Captain Manly, "I wish, Templemore, you had your commission, for there seems so much depending on it--the young lady's happiness, my share of the prize-money, and the admiral's eighth. Really, admiral, it becomes a common cause; and I'm sure he deserves it!" "So do I, Manly," replied the admiral; "and to prove that I have thought so here comes Mr Hadley with it in his hand; it only wants one little thing to complete it--" "Which is your signature, admiral, I presume," replied Captain Manly, taking a pen full of ink, and presenting it to his senior officer. "Exactly," replied the admiral, scribbling at the bottom of the paper; "and now--it does not want that. Captain Templemore, I wish you joy!" Edward made a very low obeisance, as his flushed countenance indicated his satisfaction. "I cannot give commissions, admiral," said Francisco, presenting a paper in return; "but I can give information--and you will find it not unimportant--for the treasure appears of great value." "God bless my soul! Manly, you must start at daylight!" exclaimed the admiral; "why, there is enough to load your sloop! There! --read it! -- and then I will write your orders, and enclose a copy of it, for fear of accident." "That was to have been my fortune," said Francisco, with a grave smile; "but I would not touch it." "Very right, boy! --a fine principle! But we are not quite so particular," said the admiral. "Now, where's the young lady? Let her know that dinner's on the table." A fortnight after this conversation, Captain Manly returned with the treasure; and the Enterprise, commanded by another officer, returned from Porto Rico, with a letter from the governor in reply to one from the admiral, in which the rescue of his daughter by Edward had been communicated. The letter was full of thanks to the admiral, and compliments to Edward; and, what was of more importance, it sanctioned the union of the young officer with his daughter, with a dozen boxes of gold doubloons. About six weeks after the above-mentioned important conversation, Mr Witherington, who had been reading a voluminous packet of letters in his breakfast-room in Finsbury Square, pulled his bell so violently that old Jonathan thought his master must be out of his senses. This, however, did not induce him to accelerate his solemn and measured pace; and he made his appearance at the door, as usual, without speaking. "Why don't that fellow answer the bell?" cried Mr Witherington. "I am here, sir," said Jonathan, solemnly. "Well, so you are! but, confound you! you come like the ghost of a butler! --But who do you think is coming here, Jonathan?" "I cannot tell, sir." "But I can! --you solemn old! Edward's coming here! --coming home directly?" "Is he to sleep in his old room, sir?" replied the imperturbable butler. "No! the best bedroom! Why, Jonathan, he is married--he is made a captain--Captain Templemore!" "Yes--sir." "And he has found his brother, Jonathan; his twin-brother!" "Yes--sir." "His brother Francis--that was supposed to be lost! But it's a long story, Jonathan--and a very wonderful one! his poor mother has long been dead!" "In caelo quies!" said Jonathan, casting up his eyes. "But his brother has turned up again." "Resurgam!" said the butler. "They will be here in ten days--so let everything be in readiness, Jonathan. God bless my soul!" continued the old gentleman, "I hardly know what I'm about. It's a Spanish girl, Jonathan!" "What is, sir?" "What is, sir! --who, Captain Templemore's wife; and he was tried as a pirate!" "Who, sir?" "Who sir! why, Francis, his brother! Jonathan, you're a stupid old fellow!" "Have you any further commands, sir?" "No--no! --there--that'll do--go away." And in three weeks after this conversation, Captain and Mrs Templemore, and his brother Frank, were established in the house, to the great delight of Mr Witherington; for he had long been tired of solitude and old Jonathan. The twin-brothers were a comfort to him in his old age: they closed his eyes in peace--they divided his blessing and his large fortune and thus ends our history of THE PIRATE!	{ "id": "21580" }
1	: The Lake Of Tiberias.	"Dreaming, John, as usual? I never saw such a boy. You are always in extremes; either tiring yourself out, or lying half asleep." "I was not half asleep, mother. I was looking at the lake." "I cannot see much to look at, John. It's just as it has been ever since you were born, or since I was born." "No, I suppose there's no change, mother; but I am never tired of looking at the sun shining on the ripples, and the fishermen's boats, and the birds standing in the shallows or flying off, in a desperate hurry, without any reason that I can make out. Besides, mother, when one is looking at the lake, one is thinking of other things." "And very often thinking of nothing at all, my son." "Perhaps so, mother; but there's plenty to think of, in these times." "Plenty, John; there are baskets and baskets of figs to be stripped from the trees, and hung up to dry for the winter and, next week, we are going to begin the grape harvest. But the figs are the principal matter, at present; and I think that it would be far more useful for you to go and help old Isaac and his son, in getting them in, than in lying there watching the lake." "I suppose it would, mother," the lad said, rising briskly; for his fits of indolence were by no means common and, as a rule, he was ready to assist at any work which might be going on. "I do not wonder at John loving the lake," his mother said to herself, when the lad had hurried away. "It is a fair scene; and it may be, as Simon thinks, that a change may come over it, before long, and that ruin and desolation may fall upon us all." There were, indeed, few scenes which could surpass in tranquil beauty that which Martha, the wife of Simon, was looking upon--the sheet of sparkling water, with its low shores dotted with towns and villages. Down the lake, on the opposite shore, rose the walls and citadel of Tiberias, with many stately buildings; for although Tiberias was not, now, the chief town of Galilee--for Sepphoris had usurped its place--it had been the seat of the Roman authority, and the kings who ruled the country for Rome generally dwelt there. Half a mile from the spot where Martha was standing rose the newly-erected walls of Hippos. Where the towns and villages did not engross the shore, the rich orchards and vineyards extended down to the very edge of the water. The plain of Galilee was a veritable garden. Here flourished, in the greatest abundance, the vine and the fig; while the low hills were covered with olive groves, and the corn waved thickly on the rich, fat land. No region on the earth's face possessed a fairer climate. The heat was never extreme; the winds blowing from the Great Sea brought the needed moisture for the vegetation; and so soft and equable was the air that, for ten months in the year, grapes and figs could be gathered. The population, supported by the abundant fruits of the earth, was very large. Villages--which would elsewhere be called towns, for those containing but a few thousand inhabitants were regarded as small, indeed--were scattered thickly over the plain; and few areas of equal dimensions could show a population approaching that which inhabited the plains and slopes between the Sea of Galilee and the Mediterranean. None could then have dreamed of the dangers that were to come, or believed that this rich cultivation and teeming population would disappear; and that, in time, a few flocks of wandering sheep would scarce be able to find herbage growing, on the wastes of land which would take the place of this fertile soil. Certainly no such thought as this occurred to Martha, as she re-entered the house; though she did fear that trouble, and ruin, might be approaching. John was soon at work among the fig trees, aiding Isaac and his son Reuben--a lad of some fifteen years--to pick the soft, luscious fruit, and carry it to the little courtyard, shaded from the rays of the sun by an overhead trellis work, covered with vines and almost bending beneath the purple bunches of grapes. Miriam--the old nurse--and four or five maid servants, under the eye of Martha, tied them in rows on strings, and fastened them to pegs driven into that side of the house upon which the sun beat down most hotly. It was only the best fruit that was so served; for that which had been damaged in the picking, and all of smaller size, were laid on trays in the sun. The girls chatted merrily as they worked; for Martha, although a good housewife, was a gentle mistress and, so long as fingers were busy, heeded not if the tongue ran on. "Let the damsels be happy, while they may," she would say, if Miriam scolded a little when the laughter rose louder than usual. "Let them be happy, while they can; who knows what lies in the future?" But at present, the future cast no shade upon the group; nor upon a girl of about fourteen years old, who danced in and out of the courtyard in the highest spirits, now stopping a few minutes to string the figs, then scampering away with an empty basket which, when she reached the gatherers, she placed on her head and supported demurely, for a little while, at the foot of the ladder upon which John was perched--so that he could lay the figs in it without bruising them. But, long ere the basket was filled she would tire of the work and, setting it on the ground, run back into the house. "And so you think you are helping, Mary," John said, laughing, when the girl returned for the fourth time, with an empty basket. "Helping, John! Of course I am--ever so much. Helping you, and helping them at the house, and carrying empty baskets. I consider myself the most active of the party." "Active, certainly, Mary! but if you do not help them, in stringing and hanging the figs, more than you help me, I think you might as well leave it alone." "Fie, John! That is most ungrateful, after my standing here like a statue, with the basket on my head, ready for you to lay the figs in." "That is all very fine!" John laughed; "but before the basket is half full, away you go; and I have to get down the ladder, and bring up the basket and fix it firmly, and that without shaking the figs; whereas, had you left it alone, altogether, I could have brought up the empty basket and fixed it close by my hand, without any trouble at all." "You are an ungrateful boy, and you know how bad it is to be ungrateful! And after my making myself so hot, too!" Miriam said. "My face is as red as fire, and that is all the thanks I get. Very well, then, I shall go into the house, and leave you to your own bad reflections." "You need not do that, Mary. You can sit down in the shade there, and watch us at work; and eat figs, and get yourself cool, all at the same time. The sun will be down in another half hour, and then I shall be free to amuse you." "Amuse me, indeed!" the girl said indignantly, as she sat down on the bank to which John had pointed. "You mean that I shall amuse you; that is what it generally comes to. If it wasn't for me I am sure, very often, there would not be a word said when we are out together." "Perhaps that is true," John agreed; "but you see, there is so much to think about." "And so you choose the time when you are with me to think! Thank you, John! You had better think, at present," and, rising from the seat she had just taken, she walked back to the house again, regardless of John's explanations and shouts. Old Isaac chuckled, on his tree close by. "They are ever too sharp for us, in words, John. The damsel is younger than you, by full two years; and yet she can always put you in the wrong, with her tongue." "She puts meanings to my words which I never thought of," John said, "and is angered, or pretends to be--for I never know which it is--at things which she has coined out of her own mind, for they had no place in mine." "Boys' wits are always slower than girls'," the old man said. "A girl has more fancy, in her little finger, than a boy in his whole body. Your cousin laughs at you, because she sees that you take it all seriously; and wonders, in her mind, how it is her thoughts run ahead of yours. But I love the damsel, and so do all in the house for, if she be a little wayward at times, she is bright and loving, and has cheered the house since she came here. "Your father is not a man of many words; and Martha, as becomes her age, is staid and quiet, though she is no enemy of mirth and cheerfulness; but the loss of all her children, save you, has saddened her, and I think she must often have pined that she had not a girl; and she has brightened much since the damsel came here, three years ago. "But the sun is sinking, and my basket is full. There will be enough for the maids to go on with, in the morning, until we can supply them with more." John's basket was not full, but he was well content to stop and, descending their ladders, the three returned to the house. Simon of Gadez--for that was the name of his farm, and the little fishing village close by, on the shore--was a prosperous and well-to-do man. His land, like that of all around him, had come down from father to son, through long generations; for the law by which all mortgages were cleared off, every seven years, prevented those who might be disposed to idleness and extravagance from ruining themselves, and their children. Every man dwelt upon the land which, as eldest son, he had inherited; while the younger sons, taking their smaller share, would settle in the towns or villages and become traders, or fishermen, according to their bent and means. There were poor in Palestine--for there will be poor, everywhere, so long as human nature remains as it is; and some men are idle and self indulgent, while others are industrious and thrifty--but, taking it as a whole there were, thanks to the wise provisions of their laws, no people on the face of the earth so generally comfortable, and well to do. They grumbled, of course, over the exactions of the tax collectors--exactions due, not to the contribution which was paid by the province to imperial Rome, but to the luxury and extravagance of their kings, and to the greed and corruption of the officials. But in spite of this, the people of rich and prosperous Galilee could have lived in contentment, and happiness, had it not been for the factions in their midst. On reaching the house, John found that his father had just returned from Hippos, whither he had gone on business. He nodded when the lad entered, with his basket. "I have hired eight men in the market, today, to come out tomorrow to aid in gathering in the figs," he said; "and your mother has just sent down, to get some of the fishermen's maidens to come in to help her. It is time that we had done with them, and we will then set about the vintage. Let us reap while we can, there is no saying what the morrow will bring forth. "Wife, add something to the evening meal, for the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh will sup with us, and sleep here tonight." John saw that his father looked graver than usual, but he knew his duty as a son too well to think of asking any questions; and he busied himself, for a time, in laying out the figs on trays--knowing that, otherwise, their own weight would crush the soft fruit before the morning, and bruise the tender skins. A quarter of an hour later, the quick footsteps of a donkey were heard approaching. John ran out and, having saluted the rabbi, held the animal while his father assisted him to alight and, welcoming him to his house, led him within. The meal was soon served. It consisted of fish from the lake, kid's flesh seethed in milk, and fruit. Only the men sat down; the rabbi sitting upon Simon's right hand, John on his left, and Isaac and his son at the other end of the table. Martha's maids waited upon them, for it was not the custom for the women to sit down with the men and, although in the country this usage was not strictly observed, and Martha and little Mary generally took their meals with Simon and John, they did not do so if any guest was present. In honor of the visitor, a white cloth had been laid on the table. All ate with their fingers; two dishes of each kind being placed on the table--one at each end. But few words were said during the meal. After it was concluded, Isaac and his son withdrew and, presently, Martha and Mary, having taken their meal in the women's apartments, came into the room. Mary made a little face at John, to signify her disapproval of the visitor, whose coming would compel her to keep silent all the evening. But though John smiled, he made no sign of sympathy for, indeed, he was anxious to hear the news from without; and doubted not that he should learn much, from the rabbi. Solomon Ben Manasseh was a man of considerable influence in Galilee. He was a tall, stern-looking old man, with bushy black eyebrows, deep-set eyes, and a long beard of black hair, streaked with gray. He was said to have acquired much of the learning of the Gentiles, among whom, at Antioch, he had dwelt for some years; but it was to his powers as a speaker that he owed his influence. It was the tongue, in those days, that ruled men; and there were few who could lash a crowd to fury, or still their wrath when excited, better than Solomon Ben Manasseh. For some time they talked upon different subjects: on the corn harvest and vintage, the probable amount of taxation, the marriage feast which was to take place, in the following week, at the house of one of the principal citizens of Hippos, and other matters. But at last Simon broached the subject which was uppermost in all their thoughts. "And the news from Tiberias, you say, is bad, rabbi?" "The news from Tiberias is always bad, friend Simon. In all the land there is not a city which will compare with it, in the wrongheadedness of its people and the violence of its seditions; and little can be hoped, as far as I can see, so long as our good governor, Josephus, continues to treat the malefactors so leniently. A score of times they have conspired against his life and, as often, has he eluded them; for the Lord has been ever with him. But each time, instead of punishing those who have brought about these disorders, he lets them go free; trusting always that they will repent them of their ways, although he sees that his kindness is thrown away, and that they grow even bolder and more bitter against him after each failure. "All Galilee is with him. Whenever he gives the word, every man takes up his arms and follows him and, did he but give the order, they would level those proud towns Tiberias and Sepphoris to the ground, and tear down stone by stone the stronghold of John of Gischala. But he will suffer them to do nothing--not a hair of these traitors' heads is to be touched; nor their property, to the value of a penny, be interfered with. "I call such lenity culpable. The law ordains punishment for those who disturb the people. We know what befell those who rebelled against Moses. Josephus has the valor and the wisdom of King David; but it were well if he had, like our great king, a Joab by his side, who would smite down traitors and spare not." "It is his only fault," Simon said. "What a change has taken place, since he was sent hither from Jerusalem to take up our government! All abuses have been repressed, extortion has been put down, taxes have been lightened. We eat our bread in peace and comfort, and each man's property is his own. Never was there such a change as he has wrought and, were it not for John of Gischala, Justus the son of Piscus, and Jesus the son of Sapphias, all would go quietly and well; but these men are continually stirring up the people--who, in their folly, listen to them--and conspiring to murder Josephus, and seize upon his government." "Already he has had, more than once, to reduce to submission Tiberias and Sepphoris; happily without bloodshed for, when the people of these cities saw that all Galilee was with Josephus, they opened their gates and submitted themselves to his mercy. Truly, in Leviticus it is said: "'Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people; but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' "But Josephus carries this beyond reason. Seeing that his adversaries by no means observe this law, he should remember that it is also said that 'He that taketh the sword shall fall by the sword,' and that the law lays down punishments for the transgressors. Our judges and kings slew those who troubled the land, and destroyed them utterly; and Josephus does wrong to depart from their teaching." "I know not where he could have learned such notions of mercy to his enemies, and to the enemies of the land," Simon said. "He has been to Rome, but it is not among the Romans that he will have found that it is right to forgive those who rise up in rebellion." "Yes, he was in Rome when he was twenty-six years old," Solomon said. "He went thither to plead the cause of certain priests who had been thrown into bonds, by Felix, and sent to Rome. It was a perilous voyage, for his ship was wrecked in the Adriatic and, of six hundred men who were on board, only eighty were picked up--after floating and swimming all night--by a ship of Cyrene. He was not long in Rome for, being introduced to Poppaea, the wife of Caesar, he used his interest with her and obtained the release of those for whose sake he went there. "No, if he gained these ideas from anyone, he learned them from one Banus--an Ascetic, of the sect of the Essenes, who lived in the desert with no other clothing than the bark and leaves of trees, and no other food save that which grew wild. Josephus lived with him, in like fashion, for three years and, doubtless, learned all that was in his heart. Banus was a follower, they say, of that John whom Herod put to death; and for aught I know, of that Jesus who was crucified, two years afterwards, at Jerusalem, and in whom many people believed, and who has many followers, to this day. I have conversed with some of them and, from what they tell me, this Jesus taught doctrines similar to those which Josephus practices; and which he may have learned from Banus, without accepting the doctrines which the members of this sect hold, as to their founder being the promised Messiah who was to restore Israel." "I, too, have talked with many of the sect," Simon said; "and have argued with them on the folly of their belief, seeing that their founder by no means saved Israel, but was himself put to death. From what I could see, there was much that was good in the doctrines they hold; but they have exaggerated ideas, and are opposed to all wars, even to fighting for their country. I hear that, since there has been trouble with Rome, most of them have departed altogether out of the land, so as to avoid the necessity of fighting." "They are poor creatures," Solomon Ben Manasseh said, scornfully; "but we need not talk of them now, for they affect us in no way, save that it may be that Josephus has learned somewhat of their doctrines, from Banus; and that he is thus unduly and, as I think, most unfortunately for the country, inclined too much to mercy, instead of punishing the evildoers as they deserve." "But nevertheless, rabbi, it seems to me that there has been good policy, as well, in the mercy which Josephus has shown his foes. You know that John has many friends in Jerusalem; and that, if he could accuse Josephus of slaughtering any, he would be able to make so strong a party, there, that he could obtain the recall of Josephus." "We would not let him go," Solomon said, hotly. "Since the Romans have gone, we submit to the supremacy of the council at Jerusalem, but it is only on sufferance. For long ages we have had nothing to do with Judah; and we are not disposed to put our necks under their yoke, now. We submit to unity because, in the Romans, we have a common foe; but we are not going to be tyrannized. Josephus has shown himself a wise ruler. We are happier, under him, than we have been for generations under the men who call themselves kings, but who are nothing but Roman satraps; and we are not going to suffer him to be taken from us. Only let the people of Jerusalem try that, and they will have to deal with all the men of Galilee." "I am past the age at which men are bound to take up the sword, and John has not yet attained it but, if there were need, we would both go out and fight. What could they do, for the population of Galilee is greater than that of Judah? And while we would fight, every man, to the death; the Jews would, few of them, care to hazard their lives only to take from us the man we desire to rule over us. Still, Josephus does wisely, perhaps, to give no occasion for accusation by his enemies. "There is no talk, is there, rabbi, of any movement on the part of the Romans to come against us, in force?" "None, so far as I have heard," the rabbi replied. "King Agrippa remains in his country, to the east; but he has no Roman force with him sufficient to attempt any great enterprise and, so long as they leave us alone, we are content." "They will come, sooner or later," Simon said, shaking his head. "They are busy elsewhere. When they have settled with their other enemies, they will come here to avenge the defeat of Cestius, to restore Florus, and to reconquer the land. Where Rome has once laid her paw, she never lets slip her prey." "Well, we can fight," Solomon Ben Manasseh said, sternly. "Our forefathers won the land with the sword, and we can hold it by the sword." "Yes," Martha said quietly, joining in the conversation for the first time, "if God fights for us, as He fought for our forefathers." "Why should He not?" the rabbi asked sternly. "We are still his people. We are faithful to his law." "But God has, many times in the past, suffered us to fall into the hands of our enemies as a punishment for our sins," Martha said, quietly. "The tribes were carried away into captivity, and are scattered we know not where. The temple was destroyed, and the people of Judah dwelt long as captives in Babylon. He suffered us to fall under the yoke of the Romans. "In his right time, He will fight for us again; but can we say that that time has come, rabbi, and that He will smite the Romans, as He smote the host of Sennacherib?" "That no man can say," the rabbi answered, gloomily. "Time only will show but, whether or no, the people will fight valiantly." "I doubt not that they will fight," Simon said; "but many other nations, to whom we are but as a handful, have fought bravely, but have succumbed to the might of Rome. It is said that Josephus, and many of the wisest in Jerusalem, were heartily opposed to the tumults against the Romans, and that they only went with the people because they were in fear of their lives; and even at Tiberias many men of worth and gravity, such as Julius Capellus, Herod the son of Miarus, Herod the son of Gamalus, Compsus, and others, are all strongly opposed to hostility against the Romans. "And it is the same, elsewhere. Those who know best what is the might and power of Rome would fain remain friendly with her. It is the ignorant and violent classes have led us into this strait; from which, as I fear, naught but ruin can arise." "I thought better things of you, Simon," the rabbi said, angrily. "But you yourself have told me," Simon urged, "that you thought it a mad undertaking to provoke the vengeance of Rome." "I thought so, at first," Solomon admitted, "but now our hand is placed on the plow, we must not draw back; and I believe that the God of our fathers will show his might before the heathen." "I trust that it may be so," Simon said, gravely. "In His hand is all power. Whether He will see fit to put it forth, now, in our behalf remains to be seen. However, for the present we need not concern ourselves greatly with the Romans. It may be long before they bring an army against us; while these seditions, here, are at our very door, and ever threaten to involve us in civil war." "We need fear no civil war," the rabbi said. "The people of all Galilee, save the violent and ill disposed in a few of the towns, are all for Josephus. If it comes to force, John and his party know that they will be swept away, like a straw before the wind. The fear is that they may succeed in murdering Josephus; either by the knife of an assassin, or in one of these tumults. They would rather the latter, because they would then say that the people had torn him to pieces, in their fury at his misdoings. "However, we watch over him, as much as we can; and his friends have warned him that he must be careful, not only for his own sake, but for that of all the people; and he has promised that, as far as he can, he will be on his guard against these traitors." "The governor should have a strong bodyguard," John exclaimed, impetuously, "as the Roman governors had. In another year, I shall be of age to have my name inscribed in the list of fighting men; and I would gladly be one of his guard." "You are neither old enough to fight, nor to express an opinion unasked," Simon said, "in the presence of your elders." "Do not check the boy," the rabbi said. "He has fire and spirit; and the days are coming when we shall not ask how old, or how young, are those who would fight, so that they can but hold arms. "Josephus is wise not to have a military guard, John, because the people love not such appearance of state. His enemies would use this as an argument that he was setting himself up above them. It is partly because he behaves himself discreetly, and goes about among them like a private person, of no more account than themselves, that they love him. None can say he is a tyrant, because he has no means of tyrannizing. His enemies cannot urge it against him at Jerusalem--as they would doubtless do, if they could--that he is seeking to lead Galilee away from the rule of Jerusalem, and to set himself up as its master for, to do this, he would require to gather an army; and Josephus has not a single armed man at his service, save and except that when he appears to be in danger many, out of love of him, assemble and provide him escort. "No, Josephus is wise in that he affects neither pomp nor state; that he keeps no armed men around him, but trusts to the love of the people. He would be wiser, however, did he seize one of the occasions when the people have taken up arms for him to destroy all those who make sedition; and to free the country, once and for all, from the trouble. "Sedition should be always nipped in the bud. Lenity, in such a case, is the most cruel course; for it encourages men to think that those in authority fear them, and that they can conspire without danger; and whereas, at first, the blood of ten men will put an end to sedition, it needs, at last, the blood of as many thousands to restore peace and order. It is good for a man to be merciful, but not for a ruler, for the good of the whole people is placed in his hands. The sword of justice is given to him, and he is most merciful who uses it the most promptly against those who work sedition. The wise ruler will listen to the prayers of his people, and will grant their petitions, when they show that their case is hard; but he will grant nothing to him who asketh with his sword in his hand, for he knows full well that when he yields, once, he must yield always; until the time comes, as come it surely will, when he must resist with the sword. Then the land will be filled with blood whereas, in the beginning, he could have avoided all trouble, by refusing so much as to listen to those who spoke with threats. "Josephus is a good man, and the Lord has given him great gifts. He has done great things for the land; but you will see that many woes will come, and much blood will be shed, from this lenity of his towards those who stir up tumults among the people." A few minutes later the family retired to bed; the hour being a late one for Simon's household, which generally retired to rest a short time after the evening meal. The next day the work of gathering in the figs was carried on, earnestly and steadily, with the aid of the workers whom Simon had hired in the town and, in two days, the trees were all stripped, and strings of figs hung to dry from the boughs of all the trees round the house. Then the gathering of the grapes began. All the inhabitants of the little fishing village lent their aid--men as well as women and children--for the vintage was looked upon as a holiday; and Simon was regarded as a good friend by his neighbors, being ever ready to aid them when there was need, judging any disputes which arose between them, and lending them money without interest if misfortune came upon their boats or nets, or if illness befell them; while the women, in times of sickness or trouble, went naturally to Martha with their griefs, and were assured of sympathy, good advice, and any drugs or dainty food suited to the case. The women and girls picked the grapes, and laid them in baskets. These were carried by men, and emptied into the vat; where other men trod them down, and pressed out the juice. Martha and her maids saw to the cooking and laying out, on the great tables in the courtyard, of the meals; to which all sat down, together. Simon superintended the crushing of the grapes; and John worked now at one task, and now at another. It was a pretty scene, and rendered more gay by the songs of the women and girls, as they worked; and the burst of merry laughter which, at times, arose. It lasted four days, by which time the last bunch, save those on a few vines preserved for eating, was picked and crushed; and the vats in the cellar, sunk underground for coolness, were full to the brim. Simon was much pleased with the result; and declared that never, in his memory, had the vine and fig harvest turned out more abundant. The corn had long before been gathered, and there remained now only the olives; but it would be some little time yet before these were fit to be gathered, and their oil extracted, for they were allowed to hang on the trees until ready to drop. The last basket of grapes was brought in with much ceremony; the gatherers forming a little procession, and singing a thanksgiving hymn as they walked. The evening meal was more bounteous, even, than usual; and all who helped carried away with them substantial proofs of Simon's thankfulness, and satisfaction. For the next few days Simon and his men, and Martha's maids, lent their assistance in getting in the vintage of their neighbors; for each family had its patch of ground, and grew sufficient grapes and fruits for its own needs. Those in the village brought their grapes to a vat, which they had in common; the measures of the grapes being counted as they were put in, and the wine afterwards divided, in like proportion--for wine, to be good, must be made in considerable quantities. And now there was, for a time, little to do on the farm. Simon superintended the men who were plowing up the corn stubbles, ready for the sowing in the spring; sometimes putting his hand to the plow, and driving the oxen. Isaac and his son worked in the vineyard and garden, near the house; aided to some extent by John who, however, was not yet called upon to take a man's share in the work of the farm--he having but lately finished his learning, with the rabbi, at the school in Hippos. Still, he worked steadily every morning and, in the afternoon, generally went out on the lake with the fishermen, with whom he was a great favorite. This was not to last long for, at seventeen, he was to join his father, regularly, in the management of the farm and, indeed, the Rabbi Solomon, who was a frequent guest, was of opinion that Simon gave the boy too much license; and that he ought, already, to be doing man's work. But Simon, when urged by him, said: "I know that, at his age, I was working hard, rabbi; but the lad has studied diligently, and I have a good report of him; and I think it well that, at his age, the bow should be unbent somewhat. "Besides, who knows what is before us! I will let the lad have as much pleasure from his life as he can. The storm is approaching; let him play, while the sun shines."	{ "id": "21614" }
2	: A Storm On Galilee.	One day, after the midday meal, John said: "Mary, Raphael and his brother have taken the big boat, and gone off with fish to Tiberias; and have told me that I can take the small boat, if I will. Ask my mother to let you off your task, and come out with me. It is a fortnight since we had a row on the lake, together." "I was beginning to think that you were never going to ask me again, John; and, only I should punish myself, I would say you nay. There have you been, going out fishing every afternoon, and leaving me at home to spin; and it is all the worse because your mother has said that the time is fast coming when I must give up wandering about like a child, and must behave myself like a woman. "Oh, dear, how tiresome it will be when there will be nothing to do but to sit and spin, and to look after the house, and to walk instead of running when I am out, and to behave like a grown-up person, altogether!" "You are almost grown up," John said; "you are taller, now, than any of the maids except Zillah; but I shall be sorry to see you growing staid and solemn. And it was selfish of me not to ask you to go out before, but I really did not think of it. The fishermen have been working hard, to make up for the time lost during the harvest; and I have really been useful, helping them with their nets, and this is the last year I shall have my liberty. "But come, don't let's be wasting time in talking; run in and get my mother's permission, and then join me on the shore. I will take some grapes down, for you to eat; for the sun is hot today, and there is scarce a breath of wind on the water." A few minutes later, the young pair stood together by the side of the boat. "Your mother made all sorts of objections," Mary said, laughing, "and I do think she won't let me come again. I don't think she would have done it, today, if Miriam had not stood up for me, and said that I was but a child though I was so tall; and that, as you were very soon going to work with your father, she thought that it was no use in making the change before that." "What nonsense it all is!" John said. "Besides, you know it is arranged that, in a few months, we are to be betrothed according to the wishes of your parents and mine. It would have been done, long ago, only my father and mother do not approve of young betrothals; and think it better to wait, to see if the young ones like each other; and I think that is quite right, too, in most cases--only, of course, living here, as you have done for the last three years--since your father and mother died--there was no fear of our not liking each other." "Well, you see," Mary said, as she sat in the stern of the boat, while John rowed it quietly along, "it might have been just the other way. When people don't see anything of each other, till they are betrothed by their parents, they can't dislike each other very much; whereas, when they get to know each other, if they are disagreeable they might get to almost hate each other." "Yes, there is something in that," John agreed. "Of course, in our case it is all right, because we do like each other--we couldn't have liked each other more, I think, if we had been brother and sister--but it seems to me that, sometimes, it must be horrid when a boy is told by his parents that he is to be betrothed to a girl he has never seen. You see it isn't as if it were for a short time, but for all one's life. It must be awful!" "Awful!" Mary agreed, heartily; "but of course, it would have to be done." "Of course," John said--the possibility of a lad refusing to obey his parents' commands not even occurring to him. "Still it doesn't seem to me quite right that one should have no choice, in so important a matter. Of course, when one's got a father and mother like mine--who would be sure to think only of making me happy, and not of the amount of dowry, or anything of that sort--it would be all right; but with some parents, it would be dreadful." For some time, not a word was spoken; both of them meditating over the unpleasantness of being forced to marry someone they disliked. Then, finding the subject too difficult for them, they began to talk about other things; stopping, sometimes, to see the fishermen haul up their nets, for there were a number of boats out on the lake. They rowed down as far as Tiberias and, there, John ceased rowing; and they sat chatting over the wealth and beauty of that city, which John had often visited with his father, but which Mary had never entered. Then John turned the head of the boat up the lake and again began to row but, scarcely had he dipped his oar into the water, when he exclaimed: "Look at that black cloud rising, at the other end of the lake! Why did you not tell me, Mary?" "How stupid of me," she exclaimed, "not to have kept my eyes open!" He bent to his oars, and made the boat move through the water at a very different rate to that at which she had before traveled. "Most of the boats have gone," Mary said, presently, "and the rest are all rowing to the shore; and the clouds are coming up very fast," she added, looking round. "We are going to have a storm," John said. "It will be upon us long before we get back. I shall make for the shore, Mary. We must leave the boat there, and take shelter for a while, and then walk home. It will not be more than four miles to walk." But though he spoke cheerfully, John knew enough of the sudden storms that burst upon the Sea of Galilee to be aware that, long before he could cross the mile and a half of water, which separated them from the eastern shore, the storm would be upon them; and indeed, they were not more than half way when it burst. The sky was already covered with black clouds. A great darkness gathered round them; then came a heavy downpour of rain; and then, with a sudden burst, the wind smote them. It was useless, now, to try to row, for the oars would have been twisted from his hands in a moment; and John took the helm, and told Mary to lie down in the bottom of the boat. He had already turned the boat's head up the lake, the direction in which the storm was traveling. The boat sprang forward, as if it had received a blow, when the gale struck it. John had, more than once, been out on the lake with the fishermen, when sudden storms had come up; and knew what was best to be done. When he had laid in his oars, he had put them so that the blades stood partly up above the bow, and caught the wind somewhat; and he, himself, crouched down in the bottom, with his head below the gunwale and his hand on the tiller; so that the tendency of the boat was to drive straight before the wind. With a strong crew, he knew that he could have rowed obliquely towards the shore but, alone, his strength could have done nothing to keep the heavy boat off her course. The sea rose, as if by magic, and the spray was soon dashing over them; each wave, as it followed the boat, rising higher and higher. The shores were no longer visible; and the crests of the waves seemed to gleam, with a pallid light, in the darkness which surrounded them. John sat quietly in the bottom of the boat, with one hand on the tiller and the other arm round Mary, who was crouched up against him. She had made no cry, or exclamation, from the moment the gale struck them. Illustration: On the Sea of Galilee. "Are we getting near shore?" she asked, at last. "No, Mary; we are running straight before the wind, which is blowing right up the lake. There is nothing to be done but to keep straight before it." Mary had seen many storms on the lake, and knew into what a fury its waters were lashed, in a tempest such as was now upon them. "We are in God's hands, John," she said, with the quiet resignation of her race. "He can save us, if He will. Let us pray to him." John nodded and, for a few minutes, no word was spoken. "Can I do anything?" Mary asked, presently, as a wave struck the stern, and threw a mass of water into the boat. "Yes," John replied; "take that earthen pot, and bale out the water." John had no great hope that they would live through the gale, but he thought it better for the girl to be kept busily employed. She bailed steadily but, fast as she worked, the water came in faster; for each wave, as it swept past them, broke on board. So rapidly were they traveling that John had the greatest difficulty in keeping the boat from broaching to--in which case the following wave would have filled, or overturned, her. "I don't think it's any use, John," Mary said, quietly, as a great wave broke on board; pouring in as much water, in a second, as she could have baled out in ten minutes. "No use, dear. Sit quietly by me but, first, pull those oars aft. Now, tie them together with that piece of rope. Now, when the boat goes down, keep tight hold of them. "Cut off another piece of rope, and give it me. When we are in the water, I will fasten you to the oars. They will keep you afloat, easily enough. I will keep close to you. You know I am a good swimmer and, whenever I feel tired, I can rest my hands on the oars, too. "Keep up your courage, and keep as quiet as you can. These sudden storms seldom last long; and my father will be sure to get the boats out, as soon as he can, to look for us." John spoke cheerfully, but he had no great hopes of their being able to live in so rough a sea. Mary had still less, but she quietly carried out John's instructions. The boat was half-full of water, now, and rose but heavily upon the waves. John raised himself and looked round; in hopes that the wind might, unnoticed, have shifted a little and blown them towards the shore. As he glanced around, him he gave a shout. Following almost in their track, and some fifty yards away, was a large galley; running before the wind, with a rag of sail set on its mast. "We are saved, Mary!" he exclaimed. "Here is a galley, close to us." He shouted loudly, though he knew that his voice could not be heard, many yards away, in the teeth of the gale but, almost directly, he saw two or three men stand up in the bow of the galley. One was pointing towards them, and he saw that they were seen. In another minute the galley came sweeping along, close to the boat. A dozen figures appeared over her side, and two or three ropes were thrown. John caught one, twisted it rapidly round Mary's body and his own, knotted it and, taking her in his arms, jumped overboard. Another minute they were drawn alongside the galley, and pulled on board. As soon as the ropes were unfastened, John rose to his feet; but Mary lay, insensible, on the deck. "Carry the damsel into the cabin," a man, who was evidently in authority said. "She has fainted, but will soon come round. I will see to her, myself." The suddenness of the rescue, the plunge in the water, and the sudden revulsion of his feelings affected John so much that it was two or three minutes before he could speak. "Come along with me, lad," one of the sailors said, laying his hand on his shoulder. "Some dry clothes, and a draught of wine will set you all right again; but you have had a narrow escape of it. That boat of yours was pretty nearly water logged and, in another five minutes, we should have been too late." John hastily changed his clothes in the forecastle, took a draught of wine, and then hurried back again towards the aft cabin. Just as he reached it, the man who had ordered Mary to be carried in came out. "The damsel has opened her eyes," he said, "and you need not be uneasy about her. I have given her some woolen cloths, and bade her take off her wet garments, and wrap herself in them. "Why did you not make for the shore, before the tempest broke? It was foolish of you, indeed, to be out on the lake, when anyone could see that this gale was coming." "I was rowing down, and did not notice it until I turned," John replied. "I was making for the shore, when the gale struck her." "It was well, for you, that I noticed you. I was, myself, thinking of making for the shore although, in so large and well-manned craft as this, there is little fear upon the lake. It is not like the Great Sea; where I, myself, have seen a large ship as helpless, before the waves, as that small boat we picked you from. "I had just set out from Tiberias, when I marked the storm coming up; but my business was urgent and, moreover, I marked your little boat, and saw that you were not likely to gain the shore; so I bade the helmsman keep his eye on you, until the darkness fell upon us; and then to follow straight in your wake, for you could but run before the wind--and well he did it for, when we first caught sight of you, you were right ahead of us." The speaker was a man of about thirty years of age; tall, and with a certain air of command. "I thank you, indeed, sir," John said, "for saving my life; and that of my cousin Mary, the daughter of my father's brother. Truly, my father and mother will be grateful to you, for having saved us; for I am their only son. "Whom are they to thank for our rescue?" "I am Joseph, the son of Matthias, to whom the Jews have intrusted the governorship of this province." "Josephus!" John exclaimed, in a tone of surprise and reverence. "So men call me," Josephus replied, with a smile. It was, indeed, the governor. Flavius Josephus, as the Romans afterwards called him, came of a noble Jewish family--his father, Matthias, belonging to the highest of the twenty-four classes into which the sacerdotal families were divided. Matthias was eminent for his attainments, and piety; and had been one of the leading men in Jerusalem. From his youth, Josephus had carefully prepared himself for public life, mastering the doctrines of the three leading sects among the Jews--the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes--and having spent three years in the desert, with Banus the Ascetic. The fact that, at only twenty-six years of age, he had gone as the leader of a deputation to Rome, on behalf of some priests sent there by Felix, shows that he was early looked upon as a conspicuous person among the Jews; and he was but thirty when he was intrusted with the important position of Governor of Galilee. Contrary to the custom of the times, he had sought to make no gain from his position. He accepted neither presents, nor bribes; but devoted himself entirely to ameliorating the condition of the people, and in repressing the turbulence of the lower classes of the great towns; and of the robber chieftains who, like John of Gischala, took advantage of the relaxation of authority, caused by the successful rising against the Romans, to plunder and tyrannize over the people. The expression of the face of Josephus was lofty and, at the same time, gentle. His temper was singularly equable and, whatever the circumstances, he never gave way to anger, but kept his passions well under control. His address was soft and winning, and he had the art of attracting respect and friendship from all who came in contact with him. Poppaea, the wife of Nero, had received him with much favor and, bravely as he fought against them, Vespasian and Titus were, afterwards, as much attached to him as were the Jews of Galilee. There can be no doubt that, had he been otherwise placed than as one of a people on the verge of destruction, Josephus would have been one of the great figures of history. John had been accustomed to hear his father and his friends speak in tones of such admiration for Josephus, as the man who was regarded not only as the benefactor of the Jews of Galilee, but as the leader and mainstay of the nation, that he had long ardently desired to see him; and to find that he had now been rescued from death by him, and that he was now talking to him face to face, filled him with confusion. "You are a brave lad," Josephus said, "for you kept your head well, in a time when older men might have lost their presence of mind. You must have kept your boat dead before the wind; and you were quick and ready, in seizing the rope and knotting it round yourself, and the maid with you. I feared you might try and fasten it to the boat. If you had, full of water as she was, and fast as we were sailing before the wind, the rope would barely have stood the strain." "The clouds are breaking," the captain of the boat said, coming up to Josephus, "and I think that we are past the worst of the gale. And well it is so for, even in so staunch a craft, there is much peril in such a sea as this." The vessel, although one of the largest on the lake, was indeed pitching and rolling very heavily; but she was light and buoyant and, each time that she plunged bows under, as the following waves lifted her stern high in the air, she rose lightly again; and scarce a drop fell into her deep waist, the lofty erections, fore and aft, throwing off the water. "Where do you belong, my lad?" Josephus asked. "I fear that it is impossible for us to put you ashore, until we reach Capernaum; but once there, I will see that you are provided with means to take you home." "Our farm lies three miles above Hippos." "That is unfortunate," Josephus said, "since it lies on the opposite side of the lake to Capernaum. However, we shall see. If the storm goes down rapidly, I may be able to get a fishing boat to take you across, this evening; for your parents will be in sore trouble. If not, you must wait till early morning." In another hour they reached Capernaum. The wind had, by this time, greatly abated; although the sea still ran high. The ship was soon alongside a landing jetty, which ran out a considerable distance, and formed a breakwater protecting the shipping from the heavy sea which broke there when the wind was, as at present, from the south. Mary came out from the cabin, as the vessel entered the harbor, wrapped up from head to foot in the woolen cloths with which she had been furnished. John sprang to her side. "Are you quite well, Mary?" "Quite well," she said, "only very ashamed of having fainted, and very uncomfortable in these wrappings. But, oh! John, how thankful we ought to be, to God, for having sent this ship to our aid, just when all seemed lost!" "We ought, indeed, Mary. I have been thanking him, as I have been standing here watching the waves; and I am sure you have been doing the same, in the cabin." "Yes, indeed, John. But what am I to do, now? I do not like going on shore like this, and the officer told me I was, on no account, to put on my wet clothes." "Do you know, it is Josephus himself, Mary--think of that--the great Josephus, who has saved us! He marked our boat before the storm broke and, seeing that we could not reach the shore, had his vessel steered so as to overtake us." Mary was too surprised to utter more than an exclamation. The thought that the man, who had been talking so kindly and pleasantly to her, was the great leader of whom she had heard so much, quite took away her breath. At that moment Josephus, himself, came up. "I am glad to see you have got your color again, maiden," he said. "I am just going to land. Do you, with your cousin, remain on board here. I will send a woman down, with some attire for you. She will conduct you both to the house where I shall be staying. "The sea is going down, and the captain tells me that he thinks, in another three or four hours, I shall be able to get a boat to send you across to your home. It will be late, but you will not mind that; for they are sure not to retire to rest, at home, but to be up all night, searching for you." A crowd had assembled on the jetty, for Josephus was expected, and the violent storm had excited the fears of all for his safety; and the leading inhabitants had all flocked down to welcome him, when his vessel was seen approaching. "Isn't he kind and good?" Mary said, enthusiastically, as she watched the greeting which he received, as he landed. "He talked to me, just as if he had been of my own family." "He is grand!" John agreed, with equal enthusiasm. "He is just what I pictured to myself that a great leader would be; such as Joshua, or Gideon, or the Prince of the Maccabees." "Yes; but more gentle, John." "Brave men should always be gentle," John said, positively. "They ought to be, perhaps," Mary agreed, "but I don't think they are." They chatted, then, about the storm and the anxiety which they would be feeling, at home; until an officer, accompanied by a woman carrying attire for Mary, came on board. Mary soon came out of the cabin, dressed; and the officer conducted them to the house which had been placed at the disposal of Josephus. The woman led them up to a room, where a meal had been prepared for them. "Josephus is in council, with the elders," she said. "He bade me see that you had all that you required. He has arranged that a bark shall start with you, as soon as the sea goes down; but if, by eight o'clock, it is still too rough, I shall take the maiden home to my house, to sleep; and they will arouse you, as soon as it is safe to put out, whatever the hour may be, as your friends will be in great anxiety concerning you." The sun had already set and, just as they finished their meal, the man belonging to the boat came to say that it would be midnight before he could put out. Mary then went over with the woman; and John lay down on some mats, to sleep, until it was time to start. He slept soundly, until he was aroused by the entry of someone, with lights. He started to his feet, and found that it was Josephus, himself, with an attendant. "I had not forgotten you," he said, "but I have been, until now, in council. It is close upon midnight, and the boat is in readiness. I have sent to fetch the damsel, and have bidden them take plenty of warm wraps, so that the night air may do her no harm." Mary soon arrived; and Josephus, himself, went down with them to the shore, and saw them on board the boat--which was a large one, with eight rowers. The wind had died away to a gentle breeze, and the sea had gone down greatly. The moon was up, and the stars shining brightly. Josephus chatted kindly to John, as they made their way down to the shore. "Tell your father," he said, "that I hope he will come over to see me, ere long; and that I shall bear you in mind. The time is coming when every Jew who can bear arms will be needed in the service of his country and, if your father consents, I will place you near my person; for I have seen that you are brave and cool, in danger, and you will have plenty of opportunities of winning advancement." With many thanks for his kindness, John and Mary took their places in the stern of the boat. Mary enveloped herself in the wraps that had been prepared for her, for the nights were chilly. Then the sail was hoisted, and the boat sailed away from the land. The wind had shifted round, somewhat, to the west, and they were able to lay their course across towards Hippos; but their progress was slow, and the master bade the crew get out their oars, and aid the sail. In three hours they neared the land, John pointing out the exact position of the village; which was plainly enough marked out, by a great fire blazing on the shore. As they approached it, they could see several figures and, presently, there came a shout, which John recognized as that of Isaac. "Any news?" "Here we are, Isaac, safe and well." There was a confused sound, of shouts and cries of pleasure. In a few minutes, the boat grated on the shallow shore. The moment she did so, John leaped out over the bow and waded ashore, and was at once clasped in his mother's arms; while one of the fishermen carried Mary to the land. She received, from Martha, a full share of her caresses; for she loved the girl almost as dearly as she did her son. Then Miriam and the maids embraced and kissed her, while Isaac folded John in his arms. "The God of Israel be thanked and praised, my children!" Martha exclaimed. "He has brought you back to us, as from the dead, for we never thought to see you again. Some of the fishermen returned, and told us that they saw your boat, far on the lake, before the storm burst; and none held out hope that you could have weathered such a storm." "Where is father?" John asked. "He is out on the lake, as are all the fishermen of the village, searching for you. "That reminds me, Isaac, set fire to the other piles of wood that we have prepared. "If one of the boats returned, with any sure news of you, we were to light them to call the others back--one fire if the news was bad, two if it was good--but we hardly even dared to hope that the second would be required." A brand from the fire was soon applied to the other piles, and the three fires shone out across the lake, with the good news. In a quarter of an hour a boat was seen approaching, and soon came a shout: "Is all well?" "All is well," John shouted, in reply, and soon he was clasped in his father's arms. The other boats came in, one by one; the last to arrive towing in the boat--which had been found, bottom upwards, far up the lake, its discovery destroying the last hope of its late occupants being found alive. As soon as Simon landed, the party returned to the house. Miriam and the maids hurried to prepare a meal--of which all were sorely in need, for no food had been eaten since the gale burst on the lake; while their three hours in the boat had again sharpened the appetite of John and Mary. A quantity of food was cooked, and a skin of old wine brought up from the cellar; and Isaac remained down on the shore, to bid all who had been engaged in the search come up and feast, as soon as they landed. John related to his parents the adventure which had befallen them, and they wondered greatly at the narrowness of their deliverance. When the feasting was over, Simon called all together, and solemnly returned thanks to God for the mercies which He had given them. It was broad daylight before all sought their beds, for a few hours, before beginning the work of the day. A week later Josephus himself came to Hippos, bringing with him two nobles, who had fled from King Agrippa and sought refuge with him. He had received them hospitably, and had allotted a home to them at Tarichea, where he principally dwelt. He had, just before, had another narrow escape, for six hundred armed men--robbers and others--had assembled round his house, charging him with keeping some spoils which had been taken, by a party of men of that town, from the wife of Ptolemy--King Agrippa's procurator--instead of dividing them among the people. For a time, he pacified them by telling them that this money was destined for strengthening the walls of their town, and for walling other towns at present undefended; but the leaders of the evildoers were determined to set his house on fire, and slay him. He had but twenty armed men with him. Closing the doors, he went to an upper room, and told the robbers to send in one of their number to receive the money. Directly he entered, the door was closed. One of his hands was cut off, and hung round his neck; and he was then turned out again. Believing that Josephus would not have ventured to act so boldly, had he not had a large body of armed men with him, the crowd were seized with panic and fled to their homes. After this, the enemies of Josephus persuaded the people that the nobles he had sheltered were wizards; and demanded that they should be given up to be slain, unless they would change their religion to that of the Jews. Josephus tried to argue them out of their belief, saying that there were no such things as wizards and, if the Romans had wizards who could work them wrong, they would not need to send an army to fight against them; but as the people still clamored, he got the men privately on board a ship, and sailed across the lake with them to Hippos; where he dismissed them, with many presents. As soon as the news came that Josephus had come to Hippos, Simon set out with Martha, John, and Mary, to see him. Josephus received them kindly, and would permit no thanks for what he had done. "Your son is a brave youth," he said to Simon, "and I would gladly have him near me, if you would like to have it so. This is a time when there are greater things than planting vineyards, and gathering in harvests, to be done; and there is a need for brave and faithful men. If, then, you and your wife will give the lad to me, I will see to him, and keep him near me. I have need of faithful men with me, for my enemies are ever trying to slay me. If all goes well with the lad, he will have a good opportunity of rising to honor. "What say you? Do not give an answer hastily, but think it over among yourselves and, if you agree to my proposal, send him across the lake to me." "It needs no thought, sir," Simon said. "I know well that there are more urgent things, now, than sowing and reaping; and that much trouble and peril threaten the land. Right glad am I that my son should serve one who is the hope of Israel, and his mother will not grudge him for such service. As to advancement, I wish nothing better than that he should till the land of his fathers; but none can say what the Lord has in store for us, or whether strangers may not reap what I have sown. Thus, then, the wisdom which he will gain, in being with you, is likely to be a far better inheritance than any I can give him. "What say you, Martha?" "I say as you do, Simon. It will grieve me to part with him, but I know that such an offer as that which my lord Josephus makes is greatly for his good. Moreover, the manner in which he was saved from death seems to show that the Lord has something for his hand to do, and that his path is specially marked out for him. To refuse to let him go would be to commit the sin of withstanding God-- "Therefore, my lord, I willingly give up my son to follow you." "I think that you have decided wisely," Josephus said. "I tarry here, for tonight, and tomorrow cross to Tiberias; therefore, let him be here by noon." Mary was the most silent of the party, on the way home. Simon and his wife felt convinced the decision they had made was a wise one and, although they were not ambitious, they yet felt that the offer of Josephus was a most advantageous one, and opened a career of honor to their son. John, himself, was in a state of the highest delight. To be about the person of Josephus seemed, to him, the greatest honor and happiness. It opened the way to the performance of great actions, which would bring honor to his father's name; and although he had been, hitherto, prepared to settle down to the life of a cultivator of the soil, he had had his yearnings for one of more excitement and adventure; and these were now likely to be gratified, to the fullest. Mary, however, felt the approaching loss of her friend and playmate greatly, though even she was not insensible to the honor which the offer of Josephus conferred upon him. "You don't seem glad of my good fortune, Mary," John said as, after they returned home, they strolled together, as usual, down to the edge of the lake. "It may be your good fortune, but it's not mine," the girl said, pettishly. "It will be very dull here, without you. I know what it will be. Your mother will always be full of anxiety, and will be fretting whenever we get news of any disturbances; and that is often enough, for there seem to be disturbances, continually. Your father will go about silently, Miriam will be sharper than usual with the maids, and everything will go wrong. I can't see why you couldn't have said that, in a year or two, you would go with the governor; but that, at present, you thought you had better stop with your own people." "A nice milksop he would have thought me!" John laughed. "No, if he thought I was man enough to do him service, it would have been a nice thing for me to say that I thought I was too young. "Besides, Mary, after all it is your good fortune, as well as mine; for is it not settled that you are to share it? Josephus is all powerful and, if I please him and do my duty, he can, in time, raise me to a position of great honor. I may even come to be the governor of a town, or a captain over troops, or a councilor." "No, no!" Mary laughed, "not a councilor, John. A governor, perhaps; and a captain, perhaps; but never, I should say, a councilor." John laughed good temperedly. "Well, Mary, then you shall look forward to be the wife of a governor, or captain; but you see, I might even fill the place of a councilor with credit, because I could always come to you for advice before, I give an opinion--then I should be sure to be right. "But, seriously, Mary, I do think it great honor to have had such an offer made me, by the governor." "Seriously, so do I, John; though I wish, in my heart, he had not made it. I had looked forward to living here, all my life, just as your mother has done; and now there will be nothing fixed to look forward to. "Besides, where there is honor, there is danger. There seem to be always tumults, always conspiracies--and then, as your father says, above all there are the Romans to be reckoned with and, of course, if you are near Josephus you run a risk, going wherever he does." "I shall never be in greater risk, Mary, than we were, together, on the lake the other day. God helped us, then, and brought us through it; and I have faith that He will do so, again. It may be that I am meant to do something useful, before I die. At any rate, when the Romans come, everyone will have to fight; so I shall be in no greater danger than any one else." "I know, John, and I am not speaking quite in earnest. I am sorry you are going--that is only natural--but I am proud that you are to be near our great leader, and I believe that our God will be your shield and protector. "And now, we had better go in. Your father will, doubtless, have much to say to you, this evening; and your mother will grudge every minute you are out of her sight."	{ "id": "21614" }
3	: The Revolt Against Rome.	That evening the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh came in, and was informed of the offer which Josephus had made. "You were present, rabbi," Simon said, "at the events which took place in Jerusalem, and at the defeat of Cestius. John has been asking me to tell him more about these matters for, now that he is to be with the governor, it is well that he should be well acquainted with public affairs." "I will willingly tell him the history for, as you say, it is right that the young man should be well acquainted with the public events and the state of parties and, though the story must be somewhat long, I will try and not make it tedious. "The first tumult broke out in Caesarea, and began by frays between our people and the Syrian Greeks. Felix the governor took the part of the Greeks; and many of our people were killed, and more plundered. When Felix was recalled to Rome, we sent a deputation there with charges against him; but the Greeks, by means of bribery, obtained a decree against us, depriving the Jews of Caesarea of rights of equal citizenship. From this constant troubles arose but, outside Caesarea, Festus kept all quiet; putting down robbers, as well as impostors who led the people astray. "Then there came trouble in Jerusalem. King Agrippa's palace stood on Mount Zion, looking towards the Temple; and he built a lofty story, from whose platform he could command a view of the courts of the Temple, and watch the sacrifices. Our people resented this impious intrusion, and built a high wall to cut off the view. Agrippa demanded its destruction, on the ground that it intercepted the view of the Roman guard. We appealed to Nero, and sent to him a deputation; headed by Ismael, the high priest, and Hilkiah, the treasurer. They obtained an order for the wall to be allowed to stand, but Ismael and Hilkiah were detained at Rome. Agrippa thereupon appointed another high priest--Joseph--but, soon afterwards, nominated Annas in his place. "When Festus--the Roman governor--was away, Annas put to death many of the sect called Christians, to gratify the Sadducees. The people were indignant, for these men had done no harm; and Agrippa deprived him of the priesthood and appointed Jesus, son of Damnai. Then, unhappily, Festus--who was a just and good governor--died, and Albinus succeeded him. He was a man greedy of money, and ready to do anything for gain. He took bribes from robbers, and encouraged, rather than repressed, evil doers. There was open war, in the streets, between the followers of various chief robbers. Albinus opened the prisons, and filled the city with malefactors; and, at the completion of the works at the Temple, eighteen thousand workmen were discharged, and thus the city was filled with men ready to sell their services to the highest bidders. "Albinus was succeeded by Gessius Florus, who was even worse than Albinus. This man was a great friend of Cestius Gallus, who commanded the Roman troops in Syria; and who, therefore, scoffed at the complaints of the people against Florus. "At this time, strange prodigies appeared in Rome. A sword of fire hung above the city, for a whole year. The inner gate of the Temple--which required twenty men to move it--opened by itself; chariots and armed squadrons were seen in the heavens and, worse than all, the priests in the Temple heard a great movement, and a sound of many voices, which said: "'Let us depart hence!' "So things went on, in Jerusalem, until the old feud at Caesarea broke out afresh. The trouble, this time, began about one of our synagogues. The land around it belonged to a Greek and, for this, our people offered a high price. The heathen who owned it refused and, to annoy us, raised mean houses round the synagogue. The Jewish youths interrupted the workmen; and the wealthier of the community--headed by John, a publican--subscribed eight talents, and sent them to Florus as a bribe, that he might order the building to be stopped. "Florus took the money, and made many promises; but the evil man desired that a revolt should take place, in order that he might gain great plunder. So he went away from Caesarea, and did nothing; and a great tumult arose between the heathen and our people. In this we were worsted, and went away from the city; while John, with twelve of the highest rank, went to Samaria to lay the matter before Florus; who threw them into prison--doubtless the more to excite the people--and at the same time sent to Jerusalem, and demanded seventeen talents from the treasury of the Temple. "The people burst into loud outcries, and Florus advanced upon the city with all his force. But we knew that we could not oppose the Romans; and so received Florus, on his arrival, with acclamations. But this did not suit the tyrant. The next morning he ordered his troops to plunder the upper market, and to put to death all they met. The soldiers obeyed, and slew three thousand six hundred men, women, and children. "You may imagine, John, the feelings of grief and rage which filled every heart. The next day the multitude assembled in the marketplace, wailing for the dead and cursing Florus. But the principal men of the city, with the priests, tore their robes and went among them, praying them to disperse and not to provoke the anger of the governor. The people obeyed their voices, and went quietly home. "But Florus was not content that matters should end so. He sent for the priests and leaders, and commanded them to go forth and receive, with acclamations of welcome, two cohorts of troops who were advancing from Caesarea. The priests called the people together in the Temple and, with difficulty, persuaded them to obey the order. The troops, having orders from Florus, fell upon the people and trampled them down and, driving the multitude before them, entered the city; and at the same time Florus sallied out from his palace, with his troops, and both parties pressed forward to gain the Castle of Antonia, whose possession would lay the Temple open to them, and enable Florus to gain the sacred treasures deposited there. "But, as soon as the people perceived their object, they ran together in such vast crowds that the Roman soldiers could not cut their way through the mass which blocked up the streets; while the more active men, going up on to the roofs, hurled down stones and missiles upon the troops. "What a scene was that, John! I was on the portico near Antonia, and saw it all. It was terrible to hear the shouts of the soldiers, as they strove to hew their way through the defenseless people; the war cries of our own youths, the shrieks and wailings of the women. While the Romans were still striving, our people broke down the galleries connecting Antonia with the Temple; and Florus, seeing that he could not carry out his object, ordered his troops to retire to their quarters and, calling the chief priests and the rulers, proposed to leave the city, leaving behind him one cohort to preserve the peace. "As soon as he had done so, he sent to Cestius Gallus lying accounts of the tumults, laying all the blame upon us; while we and Bernice, the sister of King Agrippa--who had tried, in vain, to obtain mercy for the people from Florus--sent complaints against him. Cestius was moving to Jerusalem--to inquire into the matter, as he said, but really to restore Florus--when, fortunately, King Agrippa arrived from Egypt. "While he was yet seven miles from the city, a procession of the people met him, headed by the women whose husbands had been slain. These, with cries and wailings, called on Agrippa for protection; and related to a centurion, whom Cestius had sent forward, and who met Agrippa on the way, the cruelty of Florus. When the king and the centurion arrived in the city, they were taken to the marketplace and shown the houses where the inhabitants had been massacred. "Agrippa called the people together and, taking his seat on a lofty dais, with Bernice by his side, harangued them. He assured them that, when the emperor heard what had been done, he would send a better governor to them, in the place of Florus. He told them that it was vain to hope for independence, for that the Romans had conquered all the nations in the world; and that the Jews could not contend against them, and that war would bring about the destruction of the city, and the Temple. The people exclaimed they had taken up arms, not against the Romans, but against Florus. "Agrippa urged us to pay our tribute, and repair the galleries. This was willingly done. We sent out leading men to collect the arrears of tribute, and these soon brought in forty talents. All was going on well, until Agrippa tried to persuade us to receive Florus, till the emperor should send another governor. At the thought of the return of Florus, a mad rage seized the people. They poured abuse upon Agrippa, threw stones at him, and ordered him to leave the city. This he did, and retired to his own kingdom. "The upper class, and all those who possessed wisdom enough to know how great was the power of Rome, still strove for peace. But the people were beyond control. They seized the fortress of Masada--a very strong place near the Dead Sea--and put the Roman garrison to the sword. But what was even worse, Eleazar--son of Ananias, the chief priest--persuaded the priests to reject the offerings regularly made, in the name of the emperor, to the God of the Hebrews; and to make a regulation that, from that time, no foreigner should be allowed to sacrifice in the Temple. "The chief priests, with the heads of the Pharisees, addressed the people in the quadrangle of the Temple, before the eastern gate. I, myself, was one of those who spoke. We told them that the Temple had long benefited by the splendid gifts of strangers; and that it was not only inhospitable, but impious, to preclude them from offering victims, and worshiping God, there. We, who were learned in the law, showed them that it was an ancient and immemorial usage to receive the offerings of strangers; and that this refusal to accept the Roman gifts was nothing short of a declaration of war. "But all we could do, or say, availed nothing. The influence of Eleazar was too great. A madness had seized the people, and they rejected all our words; but the party of peace made one more effort. They sent a deputation--headed by Simon, son of Ananias--to Florus, and another to Agrippa, praying them to march upon Jerusalem, and reassert their authority, before it was too late. Florus made no reply, for things were going just as he wished; but Agrippa, anxious to preserve the city, sent three thousand horsemen, commanded by Darius and Philip. When these troops arrived, the party of peace took possession of the upper city; while Eleazar and the war party held the Temple. "For a week, fighting went on between the two parties. Then, at the festival of the Wood Carrying, great numbers of the poorer people were allowed by the party of the chief priest to pass through their lines; and go, as usual, to the Temple. When there, these joined the party of Eleazar, and a great attack was made on the upper city. The troops of Darius and Philip gave way. The house of Ananias--the high priest--and the palaces of Agrippa and Bernice were burned, and also the public archives. Here all the bonds of the debtors were registered and, thus, at one blow the power of the rich over the poor was destroyed. Ananias himself, and a few others, escaped into the upper towers of the palace, which they held. "The next day, Eleazar's party attacked the fortress of Antonia, which was feebly garrisoned and, after two days' fighting, captured it, and slew the garrison. Manahem, the son of Judas the Zealot, arrived two days later, while the people were besieging the palace. He was accepted as general, by them; and took charge of the siege. Having mined under one of the towers, they brought it to the ground, and the garrison asked for terms. Free passage was granted to the troops of Agrippa, and the Jews; but none was granted to the Roman soldiers, who were few in number and retreated to the three great towers, Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne. "The palace was entered, and Ananias and Hezekiah--his brother--were found in hiding, and put to death. Manahem now assumed the state of a king; but Eleazar, unwilling that, after having led the enterprise, the fruits should be gathered by another, stirred up the people against him, and he was slain. The three towers were now besieged; and Metilius--the Roman commander--finding he could no longer hold out, agreed to surrender, on the condition that his men should deliver up their arms, and be allowed to march away, unharmed. "The terms were accepted and ratified but, as soon as the Roman soldiers marched out, and laid down their arms, Eleazar and his followers fell upon them and slew them; Metilius himself being, alone, spared. After this terrible massacre, a sadness fell on the city. All felt that there was no longer any hope of making conditions with Rome. We had placed ourselves beyond the pale of forgiveness. It was war, to the death, with Rome. "Up to this time, as I have told you, I was one of those who had labored to maintain peace. I had fought in the palace, by the side of Ananias; and had left it only when the troops, and we of their party, were permitted to march out when it surrendered. But, from this time, I took another part. All hope of peace, of concessions, or of conditions was at an end. There remained nothing now but to fight and, as the vengeance of Rome would fall on the whole Jewish people, it was for the whole Jewish people to unite in the struggle for existence. "On the very day and hour in which the Romans were put to death, retribution began to fall upon the nation; for the Greeks of Caesarea rose suddenly, and massacred the Jews. Twenty thousand were slain, in a single day. The news of these two massacres drove the whole people to madness. They rose throughout the land, laid waste the country all round the cities of Syria--Philadelphia, Sebonitis, Gerasa, Pella, and Scythopolis--and burned and destroyed many places. "The Syrians, in turn, fell upon the Jewish inhabitants of all their towns; and a frightful carnage, everywhere, took place. Then, our people made an inroad into the domains of Scythopolis but, though the Jewish inhabitants there joined the Syrians in defending their territory, the Syrians doubted their fidelity and, falling upon them in the night, slew them all, and seized their property. Thirteen thousand perished here. In many other cities, the same things were done; in Ascalon, two thousand five hundred were put to the sword; in Ptolemais, two thousand were killed. The land was deluged with blood, and despair fell upon all. "Even in Alexandria, our countrymen suffered. Breaking out into a quarrel with the Greeks, a tumult arose; and Tiberias Alexander, the governor--by faith a Jew--tried to pacify matters; but the madness which had seized the people, here, had fallen also upon the Jews of Alexandria. They heaped abuse upon Alexander, who was forced to send the troops against them. The Jews fought, but vainly; and fifty thousand men, women, and children fell. "While blood was flowing over the land, Cestius Gallus--the prefect--was preparing for invasion. He had with him the Twelfth Legion, forty-two hundred strong; two thousand picked men, taken from the other legions; six cohorts of foot, about twenty-five hundred; and four troops of horse, twelve hundred. Of allies he had, from Antiochus, two thousand horse and three thousand foot; from Agrippa, one thousand horse and three thousand foot; Sohemus joined him with four thousand men--a third of whom were horse, the rest archers. Thus he had ten thousand Roman troops, and thirteen thousand allies; besides many volunteers, who joined him from the Syrian cities. "After burning and pillaging Zebulon, and wasting the district, Cestius returned to Ptolemais, and then advanced to Caesarea. He sent forward a part of his army to Joppa. The city was open, and no resistance was offered; nevertheless, the Romans slew all, to the number of eight thousand five hundred. The cities of Galilee opened their gates, without resistance, and Cestius advanced against Jerusalem. "When he arrived within six miles of the town, the Jews poured out; and fell upon them with such fury that, if the horse and light troops had not made a circuit, and fallen upon us in the rear, I believe we should have destroyed the whole army. But we were forced to fall back, having killed over five hundred. As the Romans moved forward, Simon--son of Gioras--with a band, pressed them closely in rear; and slew many, and carried off numbers of their beasts of burden. "Agrippa now tried, once more, to make peace, and sent a deputation to persuade us to surrender--offering, in the name of Cestius, pardon for all that had passed--but Eleazar's party, fearing the people might listen to him, fell upon the deputation, slew some, and drove the others back. "Cestius advanced within a mile of Jerusalem and--after waiting three days, in hopes that the Jews would surrender, and knowing that many of the chief persons were friendly to him--he advanced to the attack, took the suburb of Bezetha, and encamped opposite the palace in the upper city. The people discovered that Ananias and his friends had agreed to open the gates; and so slew them, and threw the bodies over the wall. The Romans for five days attacked and, on the sixth, Cestius, with the flower of his army made an assault; but the people fought bravely and, disregarding the flights of arrows which the archers shot against them, held the walls, and poured missiles of all kinds upon the enemy; until at last, just as it seemed to all that the Romans would succeed in mining the walls, and firing the gates, Cestius called off his troops. "Had he not done so, he would speedily have taken the city; for the peace party were on the point of seizing one of the gates, and opening it. I no longer belonged to this party; for it seemed to me that it was altogether too late, now, to make terms; nor could we expect that the Romans would keep to their conditions, after we had set them the example of breaking faith. "Cestius fell back to his camp, a mile distant, but he had no rest there. Exultant at seeing a retreat from their walls, all the people poured out, and fell upon the Romans with fury. "The next morning Cestius began to retreat; but we swarmed around him, pressing upon his rear, and dashing down from the hills upon his flanks, giving him no rest. The heavy-armed Romans could do nothing against us; but marched steadily on--leaving numbers of dead behind them--till they reached their former camp at Gabao, six miles away. Here Cestius waited two days but, seeing how the hills around him swarmed with our people, who flocked in from all quarters, he gave the word for a further retreat; killing all the beasts of burden, and leaving all the baggage behind, and taking on only those animals which bore the arrows and engines of war. Then he marched down the valley, towards Bethoron. "The multitude felt now that their enemy was delivered into their hands. Was it not in Bethoron that Joshua had defeated the Canaanites, while the sun stayed his course? Was it not here that Judas, the Maccabean, had routed the host of Nicanor? As soon as the Romans entered the defile, the Jews rushed down upon them, sure of their prey. "The Roman horse were powerless to act. The men of the legions could not climb the rocky sides and, from every point, javelins, stones, and arrows were poured down upon them; and all would have been slain, had not night come on and hidden them from us, and enabled them to reach Bethoron. "What rejoicings were there not, on the hills that night, as we looked down on their camp there; and thought that, in the morning, they would be ours! Fires burned on every crest. Hymns of praise, and exulting cries, arose everywhere in the darkness; but the watch was not kept strictly enough. Cestius left four hundred of his bravest men to mount guard, and keep the fires alight--so that we might think that all his army was there--and then, with the rest, he stole away. "In the morning, we saw that the camp was well-nigh deserted and, furious at the escape of our foes, rushed down, slew the four hundred whom Cestius had left behind, and then set out in pursuit. But Cestius had many hours' start and, though we followed as far as Antipatris, we could not overtake him; and so returned, with much rich spoil, and all the Roman engines of war, to Jerusalem--having, with scarcely any loss, defeated a great Roman army, and slain five thousand three hundred foot, and three hundred and eighty horse. "Such is the history of events which have brought about the present state of things. As you see, there is no hope of pardon, or mercy, from Rome. We have offended beyond forgiveness. But the madness against which I fought so hard, at first, is still upon the people. They provoked the power of Rome; and then, by breaking the terms, and massacring the Roman garrison, they went far beyond the first offense of insurrection. By the destruction of the army of Cestius, they struck a heavy blow against the pride of the Romans. For generations, no such misfortune had fallen upon their arms. "What, then, would a sane people have done since? Surely they would have spent every moment in preparing themselves for the struggle. Every man should have been called to arms. The passes should have been all fortified, for it is among the hills that we can best cope with the heavy Roman troops. The cities best calculated for defense should have been strongly walled; preparations made for places of refuge, among the mountains, for the women and children; large depots of provisions gathered up, in readiness for the strife. That we could ever, in the long run, hope to resist, successfully, the might of Rome was out of the question; but we might so sternly, and valiantly, have resisted as to be able to obtain fair terms, on our submission. "Instead of this, men go on as if Rome had no existence; and we only show an energy in quarreling among ourselves. At bottom, it would seem that the people rely upon our God doing great things for us, as he did when he smote the Assyrian army of Sennacherib; and such is my hope, also, seeing that, so far, a wonderful success has attended us. And yet, how can one expect the Divine assistance, in a war so begun and so conducted--for a people who turn their swords against each other, who spend their strength in civil feuds, who neither humble themselves, nor repent of the wickedness of their ways? "Alas, my son, though I speak brave words to the people, my heart is very sad; and I fear that troubles, like those which fell upon us when we were carried captive into Babylon, await us now!" There was silence, as the rabbi finished. John had, of course, heard something of the events which had been taking place but, as he now heard them, in sequence, the gravity and danger of the situation came freshly upon him. "What can be done?" he asked, after a long pause. "Nothing, save to pray to the Lord," the rabbi said, sorrowfully. "Josephus is doing what he can, towards building walls to the towns; but it is not walls, but soldiers that are wanted and, so long as the people remain blind and indifferent to the danger, thinking of naught save tilling their ground, and laying up money, nothing can be done." "Then will destruction come upon all?" John asked, looking round in a bewildered and hopeless way. "We may hope not," the rabbi said. "Here in Galilee, we have had no share in the events in Jerusalem; and many towns, even now, are faithful to the Romans. Therefore it may be that, in this province, all will not be involved in the lot of Jerusalem. There can be, unless a mighty change takes place, no general resistance to the Romans; and it may be, therefore, that no general destruction will fall upon the people. As to this, none can say. "Vespasian--the Roman general who has been charged, by Nero, with the command of the army which is gathering against us--is said to be a merciful man, as well as a great commander. The Roman mercies are not tender, but it may be that the very worst may not fall upon this province. The men of spirit and courage will, doubtless, proceed to Jerusalem to share in the defense of the Holy City. If we cannot fight with success, here, it is far better that the men should fight at Jerusalem; leaving their wives and families here, and doing naught to call down the vengeance of the Romans upon this province. "In Galilee there have, as elsewhere, been risings against the Romans; but these will count for little, in their eyes, in comparison to the terrible deeds at Jerusalem; and I pray, for the sake of all my friends here, that the Romans may march through the land, on their way to Jerusalem, without burning and wasting the country. Here, on the eastern shore of Galilee, there is much more hope of escape than there is across the lake. Not only are we out of the line of the march of the army, but there are few important cities on this side; and the disposition of the people has not been so hostile to the Romans. "My own opinion is that, when the Romans advance, it will be the duty of every Jew who can bear arms to go down to the defense of the Holy City. Its position is one of vast strength. We shall have numbers, and courage, though neither order nor discipline; and it may be that, at the last, the Lord will defend his sanctuary, and save it from destruction at the hands of the heathen. Should it not be so, we can but die; and how could a Jew better die than in defense of God's Temple?" "It would have been better," Simon said, "had we not, by our evil doings, have brought God's Temple into danger." "He has suffered it," the rabbi said, "and his ways are not the ways of man. It may be that He has suffered such madness to fall upon, us in order that His name may, at last, be glorified." "May it be so!" Simon said piously; "and now, let us to bed, for the hour is growing late." The following morning Simon, his wife, and the whole household accompanied John to the shore; as Simon had arranged with one of the boatmen to take the lad to Hippos. The distance was but short; but Simon, when his wife had expressed surprise at his sending John in a boat, said: "It is not the distance, Martha. A half-hour's walk is naught to the lad; but I had reasons, altogether apart from the question of distance. John is going out to play a man's part. He is young but, since my lord Josephus has chosen to place him among those who form his bodyguard, he has a right to claim to be regarded as a man. That being so, I would not accompany him to Hippos; for it would seem like one leading a child, and it were best to let him go by himself. "Again, it were better to have but one parting. Here he will receive my blessing, and say goodbye to us all. Doubtless he will often be with us, for Tiberias lies within sight and, so long as Josephus remains in Galilee, he will never be more than a long day's journey from home. The lad loves us, and will come as often as he can but, surrounded as Josephus is by dangers, the boy will not be able to get away on his own business. He must take the duties, as well as the honor of the office; and we must not blind ourselves to the fact that, in one of these popular tumults, great danger and even death may come upon him. "This seems to you terrible," he went on, in answer to an exclamation of alarm from Martha; "but it does not seem so terrible to me. We go on planting, and gathering in, as if no danger threatened us, and the evil day were far off; but it is not so. The Roman hosts are gathering, and we are wasting our strength, in party strife, and are doing naught to prepare against the storm. We have gone to war, without counting the cost. We have affronted and put to shame Rome, before whom all nations bow and, assuredly, she will take a terrible vengeance. Another year, and who can say who will be alive, and who dead--who will be wandering over the wasted fields of our people, or who will be a slave, in Rome! "In the times that are at hand, no man's life will be worth anything; and therefore I say, wife, that though there be danger and peril around the lad, let us not trouble overmuch; for he is, like all of us, in God's hands." Therefore, the parting took place on the shore. Simon solemnly blessed John, and his mother cried over him. Mary was a little surprised at these demonstrations, at what she regarded as a very temporary separation; but her merry spirits were subdued at the sight of her aunt's tears, although she, herself, saw nothing to cry about. She brightened up, however, when John whispered, as he said goodbye to her: "I shall come across the lake, as often as I can, to see how you are getting on, Mary." Then he took his place in the stern of the boat. The fishermen dipped their oars in the water, and the boat drew away from the little group, who stood watching it as it made its way across the sparkling water to Hippos. Upon landing, John at once went to the house where Josephus was lodging. The latter gave him in charge to the leader of the little group of men who had attached themselves to him, as his bodyguard. "Joab," he said, "this youth will, henceforth, make one of your party. He is brave and, I think, ready and quick witted. Give him arms and see that he has all that is needful. Being young, he will be able to mingle unsuspected among the crowds; and may obtain tidings of evil intended me, when men would not speak, maybe, before others whom they might judge my friends. He will be able to bear messages, unsuspected; and may prove of great service to the cause." John found, at once, that there was nothing like discipline, or regular duties, among the little band who constituted the bodyguard of Josephus. They were simply men who, from affection for the governor, and a hatred for those who, by their plots and conspiracies, would undo the good work he was accomplishing, had left their farms and occupations to follow and guard him. Every Jewish boy received a certain training in the use of weapons, in order to be prepared to fight in the national army, when the day of deliverance should arrive; but beyond that, the Jews had no military training, whatever. Their army would be simply a gathering of the men capable of bearing arms, throughout the land--each ready to give his life, for his faith and his country; relying, like their forefathers, on the sword of the Lord and Israel, but without the slightest idea of military drill, discipline, or tactics. Such an army might fight bravely, might die nobly, but it could have little chance of victory over the well-trained legions of imperial Rome. At noon, Josephus embarked in a galley with his little band of followers--eight in number--and sailed across the lake to Tiberias. Here they landed, and went up to the house in which Josephus always dwelt, when in that city. His stay there was generally short, Tarichea being his general abode--for there he felt in safety, the inhabitants being devoted to him; while those of Tiberias were ever ready to follow the advice of the disaffected, and a section were eager for the return of the Romans, and the renewal of the business and trade which had brought wealth to the city, before the troubles began. That evening, Josephus sent for John, and said: "I purpose, in two days, to go to Tarichea, where I shall spend the Sabbath. I hear that there is a rumor that many of the citizens have, privately, sent to King Agrippa asking him to send hither Roman troops, and promising them a good reception. The men with me are known, to many in the city, and would be shunned by my enemies, and so would hear naught of what is going on; therefore, I purpose to leave you here. "In the morning, go early to the house of Samuel, the son of Gideon. He dwells in the street called that of Tarichea, for it leadeth in the direction of that town. He is a tanner, by trade; and you will have no difficulty in finding it. He has been here, this evening, and I have spoken to him about you and, when you present yourself to him, he will take you in. Thus, no one will know that you are of my company. "Pass your time in the streets and, when you see groups of people assemble, join yourself to them and gather what they are saying. If it is ought that is important for me to know, come here and tell me or, if it be after I have departed for Tarichea, bring me the news there. It is but thirty furlongs distant." John followed up the instructions given him, and was hospitably received by Samuel the tanner. In the course of the day, a number of the citizens called upon Josephus and begged him, at once, to set about building walls for the town, as he had already built them for Tarichea. When he assured them that he had already made preparations for doing so, and that the builders should set to work, forthwith, they appeared satisfied; and the city remained perfectly tranquil until Josephus left, the next morning, for Tarichea.	{ "id": "21614" }
4	: The Lull Before The Storm.	The galley which carried Josephus from Tiberias was scarcely out of sight when John, who was standing in the marketplace watching the busy scene with amusement, heard the shout raised: "The Romans are coming!" At once, people left their business, and all ran to the outskirts of the city. John ran with them and, on arriving there, saw a party of Roman horsemen riding along, at no great distance. The people began to shout loudly to them to come into the town, calling out that all the citizens were loyal to King Agrippa and the Romans, and that they hated the traitor Josephus. The Romans halted, but made no sign of entering the town; fearing that treachery was intended, and remembering the fate of their comrades, who had trusted to Jewish faith when they surrendered the towers of Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne. The movement, however, spread through the city. The people assembled in crowds, shouting "Death to Josephus!" and exclaiming for the Romans, and King Agrippa. Such as were loyal to Josephus did not venture to raise their voices, so numerous and furious were the multitude; and the whole city was soon in open revolt, the citizens arming themselves in readiness for war. As soon as he saw the course which affairs were taking, John made his way out of the town, and ran at the top of his speed to Tarichea, where he arrived in a little over half an hour. He was directed at once to the house of Josephus, who rose in surprise, at the table at which he was seated, writing, at John's entry. "Scarcely had you left, my lord, than some Roman horsemen approached near the town; whereupon the whole city rose in revolt, shouting to them to enter and take possession, in the name of the king, and breathing out threats against yourself. The Romans had not entered, as I came away; but the populace were all in arms, and your friends did not venture to lift up a voice. Tiberias has wholly revolted to the Romans." "This is bad news, indeed," Josephus said, gravely. "I have but the seven armed men who accompanied me from Tiberias, here. All those who were assembled in the city I bade disperse, so soon as I arrived; in order that they might go to their towns, or villages, for the Sabbath. Were I to send round the country, I could speedily get a great force together but, in a few hours, the Sabbath will begin; and it is contrary to the law to fight upon the Sabbath, even though the necessity be great. "And yet, if the people of Tiberias march hither, we can hardly hope to resist successfully; for the men of the town are too few to man the full extent of the walls. It is most necessary to put down this rising, before King Agrippa can send large numbers of troops into Tiberias; and yet, we can do nothing until the Sabbath is past. "Nor would I shed blood, if it can be avoided. Hitherto I have put down every rising, and caused Sepphoris, Tiberias, and other cities to expel the evildoers, and return to obedience, by tact--and by the great force which I could bring against them--and without any need of bloodshed. But this time, I fear, great trouble will come of it; since I cannot take prompt measures, and the enemy will have time to organize their forces, and to receive help from John of Gischala and other robbers--to say nothing of the Romans." Josephus walked up and down the room, in agitation, and then stood looking out into the harbor. "Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, "we may yet frighten them into submission. Call in Joab." When Joab entered Josephus explained to him, in a few words, the condition of things at Tiberias; and then proceeded: "Send quickly to the principal men of the town, and bid them put trusty men at each of the gates, and let none pass out. Order the fighting men to man the walls, in case those of Tiberias should come hither, at once. Then let one or two able fellows embark on board each of the boats and vessels in the port, taking with them two or three of the infirm and aged men. Send a fast galley across to Hippos; and bid the fishermen set out, at once, with all their boats, and join us off Tiberias. We will not approach close enough to the city for the people to see how feebly we are manned but, when they perceive all these ships making towards them, they will think that I have with me a great army, with which I purpose to destroy their city." The orders were very quickly carried out. Josephus embarked, with his eight companions, in one ship and, followed by two hundred and thirty vessels, of various sizes, sailed towards Tiberias. As they approached the town, they saw a great movement among the population. Men and women were seen, crowding down to the shore--the men holding up their hands, to show that they were unarmed; the women wailing, and uttering loud cries of lamentation. Josephus waited for an hour, until the ships from Hippos also came up, and then caused them all to anchor off the town--but at such a distance that the numbers of those on board could not be seen. Then he advanced, in his own ship, to within speaking distance of the land. The people cried out to him to spare the city, and their wives and children; saying that they had been misled by evil men, and regretted bitterly what they had done. Josephus told them that, assuredly, they deserved that the city should be wholly destroyed; for that now, when there was so much that had to be done to prepare for the war which Rome would make against the country, they troubled the country with their seditions. The people set up a doleful cry for mercy; and Josephus then said that, this time, he would spare them; but that their principal men must be handed over to him. To this the people joyfully agreed; and a boat, with ten of their senate, came out to the vessel. Josephus had them bound, and sent them on board one of the other ships. Another and another boat load came off; until all the members of the senate, and many of the principal inhabitants, were prisoners. Some of the men had been drawn from the other ships, and put on board those with the prisoners; and these then sailed away to Tarichea. The people of Tiberias--terrified at seeing so many taken away, and not knowing how many more might be demanded--now denounced a young man, named Clitus, as being the leader of the revolt. Seven of the bodyguard of Josephus had gone down the lake, with the prisoners; and one Levi, alone, remained. Josephus told him to go ashore, and to cut off one of the hands of Clitus. Levi was, however, afraid to land, alone, among such a number of enemies; whereupon Josephus addressed Clitus, and told him that he was worthy of death, but that he would spare his life, if his two hands were sent on board a ship. Clitus begged that he might be permitted to keep one hand, to which Josephus agreed. Clitus then drew his sword, and struck off his left hand. Josephus now professed to be satisfied and, after warning the people against again listening to evil advisers, sailed away with the whole fleet. Josephus, that evening, entertained the principal persons among the prisoners and, in the morning, allowed all to return to Tiberias. The people there had already learned that they had been duped; but with time had come reflection and, knowing that in a day or two Josephus could have assembled the whole population of Galilee against them, and have destroyed them before any help could come, there were few who were not well content that their revolt had been so easily, and bloodlessly, repressed; and Josephus rose, in their estimation, by the quickness and boldness of the stratagem by which he had, without bloodshed save in the punishment of Clitus, restored tranquillity. Through the winter, Josephus was incessantly active. He endeavored to organize an army, enrolled a hundred thousand men, appointed commanders and captains, and strove to establish something like military drill and order. But the people were averse to leaving their farms and occupations, and but little progress was made. Moreover, a great part of the time of Josephus was occupied in suppressing the revolts, which were continually breaking out in Sepphoris, Tiberias, and Gamala; and in thwarting the attempts of John of Gischala, and his other enemies, who strove by means of bribery, at Jerusalem, to have him recalled--and would have succeeded, had it not been that the Galileans, save those of the great cities, were always ready to turn out, in all their force, to defend him and, by sending deputations to Jerusalem, counteracted the efforts, there, of his enemies. John was incessantly engaged, as he accompanied Josephus in his rapid journeys through the province, either to suppress the risings or to see to the work of organization; and only once or twice was he able to pay a short visit to his family. "You look worn and fagged, John," his cousin said, on the occasion of his last visit, when spring was close at hand. "I am well in health, Mary; but it does try one, to see how all the efforts of Josephus are marred by the turbulence of the people of Tiberias and Sepphoris. All his thoughts and time are occupied in keeping order, and the work of organizing the army makes but little progress. "Vespasian is gathering a great force, at Antioch. His son Titus will soon join him, with another legion; and they will, together, advance against us." "But I hear that the walling of the cities is well-nigh finished." "That is so, Mary, and doubtless many of them will be able to make a long defense but, after all, the taking of a city is a mere question of time. The Romans have great siege engines, which nothing can withstand but, even if the walls were so strong that they could not be battered down, each city could, in time, be reduced by famine. It is not for me, who am but a boy, to judge the doings of my elders; but it seems to me that this walling of cities is altogether wrong. They can give no aid to each other and, one by one, must fall; and all within perish, or be made slaves, for the Romans give no quarter when they capture a city by storm. "It seems to me that it would be far better to hold Jerusalem, only, with a strong force of fighting men; and for all the rest of the men capable of carrying arms to gather among the hills, and there to fight the Romans. When the legion of Cestius was destroyed we showed that, among defiles and on rocky ground, our active, lightly-armed men were a match for the Roman soldiers, in their heavy armor; and in this way I think that we might check even the legions of Vespasian. The women and the old men and children could gather in the cities, and admit the Romans when they approached. In that case they would suffer no harm; for the Romans are clement, when not opposed. "As it is, it seems to me that, in the end, destruction will fall on all alike. Here in Galilee we have a leader, but he is hampered by dissensions and jealousies. Samaria stands neutral. Jerusalem, which ought to take the lead, is torn by faction. There is war in her streets. She thinks only of herself, and naught of the country; although she must know that, when the Romans have crushed down all opposition elsewhere she must, sooner or later, fall. The country seems possessed with madness, and I see no hope in the future." "Save in the God of Israel," Mary said, gently; "that is what Simon and Martha say." "Save in him," John assented; "but, dear, He suffered us to be carried away into Babylon; and how are we to expect His aid now--when the people do naught for themselves, when His city is divided in itself, when its streets are wet with blood, and its very altars defiled by conflict? When evil men are made high priests, and all rule and authority is at an end, what right have we to expect aid at the hands of Jehovah? "My greatest comfort, Mary, is that we lie here on the east of the lake, and that we are within the jurisdiction of King Agrippa. On this side, his authority has never been altogether thrown off; though some of the cities have made common cause with those of the other side. Still, we may hope that, on this side of Jordan, we may escape the horrors of war." "You are out of spirits, John, and take a gloomy view of things; but I know that Simon, too, thinks that everything will end badly, and I have heard him say that he, too, is glad that his farm lies on this side of the lake; and that he wishes Gamala had not thrown off the authority of the king, so that there might be naught to bring the Romans across Jordan. "Our mother is more hopeful. She trusts in God for, as she says, though the wealthy and powerful may have forsaken Him, the people still cling to Him; and He will not let us fall into the hands of our enemies." "I hope it will be so, Mary; and I own I am out of spirits, and look at matters in the worst light. However, I will have a talk with father, tonight." That evening, John had a long conversation with Simon, and repeated the forebodings he had expressed to Mary. "At any rate, father, I hope that when the Romans approach you will at least send away my mother, Mary, and the women to a place of safety. We are but a few miles from Gamala and, if the Romans come there and besiege it, they will spread through the country; and will pillage, even if they do not slay, in all the villages. If, as we trust, God will give victory to our arms, they can return in peace; if not, let them at least be free from the dangers which are threatening us." "I have been thinking of it, John. A fortnight since, I sent old Isaac to your mother's brother--whose farm, as you know, lies upon the slopes of Mount Hermon, a few miles from Neve, and very near the boundary of Manasseh--to ask him if he will receive Martha, and Mary, and the women, until the troubles are over. He will gladly do so; and I purpose sending them away, as soon as I hear that the Romans have crossed the frontier." "I am, indeed, rejoiced to hear it, father; but do not let them tarry for that, let them go as soon as the snows have melted on Mount Hermon, for the Roman cavalry will spread quickly over the land. Let them go as soon as the roads are fit for travel. I shall feel a weight off my mind, when I know that they are safe. "And does my mother know what you have decided?" "She knows, John, but in truth she is reluctant to go. She says, at present, that if I stay she also will stay." "I trust, father, that you will overrule my mother; and that you will either go with her or, if you stay, you will insist upon her going. Should you not overcome her opposition, and finally suffer her, with Miriam and the older women, to remain with you, I hope that you will send Mary and the young ones to my uncle. The danger, with them, is vastly greater. The Romans, unless their blood is heated by opposition, may not interfere with the old people--who are valueless as slaves--but the young ones--" and he stopped. "I have thought it over, my son, and even if your mother remains here with me, I will assuredly send off Mary, and the young maidens, to the mountain. Make your mind easy, on that score. We old people have taken root on the land which was our fathers'. I shall not leave, whatever may befall--and it may be that your mother will tarry here, with me--but the young women shall assuredly be sent away, until the danger is over. "Not that I think the peril is as great as it seems, to you. Our people have ever shown themselves courageous, in great danger. They know the fate that awaits them, after provoking the anger of Rome. They know they are fighting for faith, for country, and their families, and will fight desperately. They greatly outnumber the Romans--at least, the army by which we shall first be attacked--and maybe, if we can resist that, we may make terms with Rome for, assuredly, in the long run she must overpower us." "I should think with you, father," John said, shaking his head, "if I saw anything like union among the people; but I lose all heart, when I see how divided they are, how blind to the storm that is coming against us, how careless as to anything but the trouble of the day, how intent upon the work of their farms and businesses, how disinclined to submit to discipline, and to prepare themselves for the day of battle." "You are young, my son, and full of enthusiasm; but it is hard to stir men, whose lives have traveled in one groove, from their ordinary course. In all our history, although we have been ready to assemble and meet the foe, we have ever been ready to lay by the sword, when the danger is past, and to return to our homes and families. We have been a nation of fighting men, but never a nation with an army." "Yes, father, because we trusted in God to give us victory, on the day of battle. He was our army. When He fought with us, we conquered; when He abstained, we were beaten. He suffered us to fall into the hands of the Romans and, instead of repenting of our sins, we have sinned more and more. "The news from Jerusalem is worse and worse. There is civil war in its streets. Robbers are its masters. The worst of the people sit in high places." "That is so, my son. God's anger still burns fiercely, and the people perish; yet it may be that He will be merciful, in the end." "I hope so, father, for assuredly our hope is only in Him." Early in the spring, Vespasian was joined by King Agrippa, with all his forces; and they advanced to Ptolemais and, here, Titus joined his father, having brought his troops from Alexandria by sea. The force of Vespasian now consisted of the Fifth, Tenth, and Fifteenth Legions. Besides these he had twenty-three cohorts; ten of which numbered a thousand footmen, the rest, each, six hundred footmen and a hundred and fifty horse. The allied force, contributed by Agrippa and others, consisted of two thousand archers, and a thousand horse; while Malchus, King of Arabia, sent a thousand horse, and five thousand archers. The total force amounted to sixty thousand regular troops, besides great numbers of camp followers--who were all trained to military service, and could fight, in case of need. Vespasian had encountered no resistance, on his march down to Ptolemais. The inhabitants of the country through which he passed forsook the villages and farms; and retired, according to the orders they had received, to the fortified towns. There was no army to meet the Romans in the field. The efforts at organization which Josephus had made bore no fruit, whatever. No sooner had the invader entered the country, than it lay at his mercy; save only the walled cities into which the people had crowded. In the range of mountains stretching across Upper Galilee were three places of great strength: Gabara, Gischala, and Jotapata. The last named had been very strongly fortified, by Josephus himself; and here he intended to take up his own position. "It is a pitiful sight, truly," Joab remarked to John, as they saw the long line of fugitives--men, women, and children--with such belongings as they could carry on their own backs, and those of their beasts of burden. "It is a pitiful sight, is it not?" "It is a pitiful sight, Joab, and one that fills me with foreboding, as well as with pity. What agonies may not these poor people be doomed to suffer, when the Romans lay siege to Jotapata?" "They can never take it," Joab said, scornfully. "I wish I could think so, Joab. When did the Romans ever lay siege to a place, and fail to capture it? Once, twice, three times they may fail but, in the end, they assuredly will take it." "Look at its position. See how wild is the country through which they will have to march." "They have made roads over all the world, Joab. They will make very short work of the difficulties here. It may take the Romans weeks, or months, to besiege each of these strong places; but they will assuredly carry them, in the end--and then, better a thousand times that the men had, in the first place, slain the women, and rushed to die on the Roman swords." "It seems to me, John," Joab said stiffly, "that you are over bold, in thus criticising the plans of our general." "It may be so," John said, recklessly, "but methinks, when we are all risking our lives, each man may have a right to his opinions. I am ready, like the rest, to die when the time comes; but that does not prevent me having my opinions. Besides, it seems to me that there is no heresy in questioning the plans of our general. I love Josephus, and would willingly give my life for him. He has shown himself a wise ruler, firm to carry out what is right, and to suppress all evildoers but, after all, he has not served in war. He is full of resources, and will, I doubt not, devise every means to check the Romans but, even so, he may not be able to cope, in war, with such generals as theirs, who have won their experience all over the world. Nor may the general's plan of defense, which he has adopted, be the best suited for the occasion. "Would you have us fight the Romans in the open?" Joab said, scornfully. "What has been done in the south? See how our people marched out from Jerusalem--under John the Essene, Niger of Peraea, and Silas the Babylonian--to attack Ascalon, held by but one cohort of Roman foot, and one troop of horse. What happened? Antoninus, the Roman commander, charged the army without fear, rode through and through them, broke them up into fragments, and slew till night time--when ten thousand men, with John and Silas, lay dead. "Not satisfied with this defeat, in a short time Niger advanced again against Ascalon; when Antoninus sallied out again, and slew eight thousand of them. Thus, eighteen thousand men were killed, by one weak cohort of foot and a troop of horse; and yet you say we ought not to hide behind our walls, but to meet them in the open!" "I would not meet them in the open, where the Roman cavalry could charge--at any rate, not until our people have learned discipline. I would harass them, and attack them in defiles, as Cestius was attacked; harassing them night and day, giving them no peace or rest, never allowing them to meet us in the plains, but moving rapidly hither and thither among the mountains--leaving the women in the cities, which should offer no resistance, so that the Romans would have no point to strike at--until at length, when we have gained confidence and discipline and order, we should be able to take bolder measures, gradually, and fight them hand to hand." "Maybe you are right, lad," Joab said, thoughtfully. "I like not being cooped up in a stronghold, myself; and methinks that a mountain warfare, such as you speak of, would suit the genius of the people. We are light limbed and active--inured to fatigue, for we are a nation of cultivators--brave, assuredly, and ready to give our lives. "They say that, in the fight near Ascalon, not a Jew fled. Fight they could not, they were powerless against the rush of the heavy Roman horse; but they died as they stood, destroyed but not defeated. Gabara and Gischala and Jotapata may fall but, lad, it will be only after a defense so desperate that the haughty Romans may well hesitate; for if such be the resistance of these little mountain towns, what will not be the task of conquering Jerusalem, garrisoned by the whole nation?" "That is true," John said, "and if our deaths here be for the safety of Jerusalem, we shall not have died in vain. But I doubt whether such men as those who have power in Jerusalem will agree to any terms, however favorable, that may be offered. "It may be that it is God's will that it should be so. Two days ago, as I journeyed hither, after going down to Sepphoris with a message from the general to some of the principal inhabitants there, I met an old man, traveling with his wife and family. I asked him whether he was on his way hither, but he said 'No,' he was going across Jordan, and through Manasseh, and over Mount Hermon into Trachonitis. He said that he was a follower of that Christ who was put to death, in Jerusalem, some thirty-five years since, and whom many people still believe was the Messiah. He says that he foretold the destruction of Jerusalem, by the Romans; and warned his followers not to stay in the walled cities, but to fly to the deserts when the time came." "The Messiah was to save Israel," Joab said, scornfully. "Christ could not save even himself." "I know not," John said, simply. "I have heard of him from others; and my father heard him preach, several times, near the lake. He says that he was a man of wondrous power, and that he preached a new doctrine. He says that he did not talk about himself, or claim to be the Messiah; but that he simply told the people to be kind and good to each other, and to love God and do his will. My father said that he thought he was a good and holy man, and full of the Spirit of God. He did works of great power, too; but bore himself meekly, like any other man. My father always regards him as a prophet; and said that he grieved, when he heard that he had been put to death at Jerusalem. If he were a prophet, what he said about the destruction of Jerusalem should have weight with us." "All who heard him agreed that he was a good man," Joab assented. "I have never known one of those who heard him say otherwise, and maybe he was a prophet. Certainly, he called upon the people to repent and turn from their sins and, had they done as he taught them, these evils might not have fallen upon us, and God would doubtless have been ready to aid his people, as of old. "However, it is too late to think about it, now. We want all our thoughts for the matter we have in hand. We have done all that we can to put this town into a state of defense and, methinks, if the Romans ever penetrate through these mountains and forests, they will see that they have a task which will tax all their powers, before they take Jotapata." The position of the town was, indeed, immensely strong. It stood on the summit of a lofty mass of rock which, on three sides, fell abruptly down into the deep and almost impassable ravines which surrounded it. On the north side, alone, where the ridge sloped more gradually down, it could be approached. The town extended part of the way down this declivity and, at its foot, Josephus had built a strong wall. On all sides were lofty mountains, covered with thick forests; and the town could not be seen by an enemy, until they were close at hand. As soon as Vespasian had arrived at Ptolemais (on the site of which city stands the modern Acre) he was met by a deputation from Sepphoris. That city had only been prevented from declaring for the Romans by the exertions of Josephus, and the knowledge that all Galilee would follow him to attack it, should it revolt. But as soon as Vespasian arrived at Ptolemais, which was scarce twenty miles away, they sent deputies with their submission to him; begging that a force might be sent, to defend them against any attack by the Jews. Vespasian received them with courtesy; and sent Placidus, with a thousand horse and six thousand foot, to the city. The infantry took up their quarters in the town; but the horsemen made raids over the plains, burning the villages, slaying all the men capable of bearing arms, and carrying off the rest of the population as slaves. The day after the conversation between Joab and John, a man brought the news to Jotapata that Placidus was marching against it. Josephus at once ordered the fighting men to assemble and, marching out, placed them in ambuscade, in the mountains, on the road by which the Romans would approach. As soon as the latter had fairly entered the pass, the Jews sprang to their feet, and hurled their javelins and shot their arrows among them. The Romans, in vain, endeavored to reach their assailants; and numbers were wounded, as they tried to climb the heights, but few were killed--for they were so completely covered, by their armor and shields, that the Jewish missiles, thrown from a distance, seldom inflicted mortal wounds. They were, however, unable to make their way further; and Placidus was obliged to retire to Sepphoris, having failed, signally, in gaining the credit he had hoped for, from the capture of the strongest of the Jewish strongholds in Upper Galilee. The Jews, on their part, were greatly inspirited by the success of their first encounter with the Romans; and returned, rejoicing, to their stronghold. All being ready at Jotapata, Josephus--with a considerable number of the fighting men--proceeded to Garis, not far from Sepphoris, where the army had assembled. But no sooner had the news arrived, that the great army of Vespasian was in movement, than they dispersed in all directions; and Josephus was left with a mere handful of followers, with whom he fled to Tiberias. Thence he wrote earnest letters to Jerusalem; saying that, unless a strong army was fitted out and put in the field, it was useless to attempt to fight the Romans; and that it would be wiser to come to terms with them, than to maintain a useless resistance, which would bring destruction upon the nation. He remained a short time, only, at Tiberias; and thence hurried up with his followers to Jotapata, which he reached on the 14th of May. Vespasian marched first to Gadara--which was undefended, the fighting men having all gone to Jotapata--but, although no resistance was offered, Vespasian put all the males to the sword; and burned the town and all the villages in the neighborhood, and then advanced against Jotapata. For four days, the pioneers of the Roman army had labored incessantly--cutting a road through the forests, filling up ravines, and clearing away obstacles--and, on the fifth day, the road was constructed close up to Jotapata. On the 14th of May, Placidus and Ebutius were sent forward by Vespasian, with a thousand horse, to surround the town and cut off all possibility of escape. On the following day Vespasian himself, with his whole army, arrived there. The defenders of Jotapata could scarcely believe their eyes when they saw the long, heavy column--with all its baggage, and siege engines--marching along a straight and level road, where they had believed that it would be next to impossible for even the infantry of the enemy to make their way. If this marvel had been accomplished in five days, what hope was there that the city would be able to withstand this force, which had so readily triumphed over the defenses of nature?	{ "id": "21614" }
5	: The Siege Of Jotapata.	"Well, Joab, what do you think, now?" John said, as he stood on the wall with his older companion, watching the seemingly endless column of the enemy. "It seems to me that we are caught here, like rats in a trap, and that we should have done better, a thousand times, in maintaining our freedom of movement among the mountains. It is one thing to cut a road; it would be another to clear off all the forests from the Anti-Libanus and, so long as there was a forest to shelter us, the Romans could never have overtaken us. Here, there is nothing to do but to die." "That is so, John. I own that the counsel you urged would have been wiser than this. Here are all the best fighting men in Galilee, shut up without hope of succor, or of mercy. Well, lad, we can at least teach the Romans the lesson that the Jews know how to die; and the capture of this mountain town will cost them as much as they reckoned would suffice for the conquest of the whole country. Jotapata may save Jerusalem, yet." John was no coward, and was prepared to fight to the last; but he was young, and the love of life was strong within. He thought of his old father and mother, who had no children but him; of his pretty Mary--far away now, he hoped, on the slopes of Mount Hermon--and of the grief that his death would cause to them; and he resolved that, although he would do his duty, he would strain every nerve to preserve the life so dear to them. He had no longer any duties to perform, other than those common to all able to bear arms. When the Romans attacked, his place would be near Josephus or, were a sally ordered, he would issue out with the general; but until then, his time was his own. There was no mission to be performed, now, no fear of plots against the life of the general; therefore, he was free to wander where he liked. Save the newly erected wall, across the neck of rock below the town, there were no defenses; for it was deemed impossible for man to climb the cliffs that fell, sheer down, at every other point. John strolled quietly round the town; stopping, now and then, to look over the low wall that bordered the precipice--erected solely to prevent children from falling over. The depth was very great; and it seemed to him that there could be no escape, anywhere, save on that side which was now blocked by the wall--and which would, ere long, be trebly blocked by the Romans. The town was crowded. At ordinary times, it might contain near three or four thousand inhabitants; now, over twenty-five thousand had gathered there. Of these, more than half were men; but many had brought their wives and children with them. Every vacant foot of ground was taken up. The inhabitants shared their homes with the strangers, but the accommodation was altogether insufficient; and the greater part of the newcomers had erected little tents, and shelters, of cloths or blankets. In the upper part of the town there were, at present, comparatively few people about; for the greater part had gone to the slope, whence they watched, with terror and dismay, the great Roman column as it poured down, in an unbroken line, hour after hour. The news of the destruction which had fallen on Gadara had been brought in, by fugitives; and all knew that, although no resistance had been offered there, every male had been put to death, and the women taken captives. There was naught, then, to be gained by surrender; even had anyone dared to propose it. As for victory, over such a host as that which was marching to the assault, none could hope for it. For, hold out as they might, and repel every assault on the wall, there was an enemy within which would conquer them. For Jotapata possessed no wells. The water had, daily, to be fetched by the women from the stream in the ravine and, although stores of grain had been collected, sufficient to last for many months, the supply of water stored up in cisterns would scarce suffice to supply the multitudes gathered on the rock for a fortnight. Death, then, certain and inevitable, awaited them; and yet, an occasional wail from some woman, as she pressed her children to her breast, alone told of the despair which reigned in every heart. The greater portion looked out, silent, and as if stupefied. They had relied, absolutely, on the mountains and forests to block the progress of the invader. They had thought that, at the worst, they would have had to deal with a few companies of infantry, only. Thus, the sight of the sixty thousand Roman troops--swelled to nigh a hundred thousand, by the camp followers and artificers--with its cavalry and machines of war, seemed like some terrible nightmare. After making the circuit of the rock, and wandering for some time among the impromptu camps in the streets, John returned to a group of boys whom he had noticed, leaning against the low wall with a carelessness, as to the danger of a fall over the precipice, which proved that they must be natives of the place. "If there be any possible way of descending these precipices," he said to himself, "it will be the boys who will know of it. Where a goat could climb, these boys, born among the mountains, would try to follow; if only to excel each other in daring, and to risk breaking their necks." Thus thinking, he walked up to the group, who were from twelve to fifteen years old. "I suppose you belong to the town?" he began. There was a general assent from the five boys, who looked with considerable respect at John--who, although but two years the senior of the eldest among them, wore a man's garb, and carried sword and buckler. "I am one of the bodyguard of the governor," John went on, "and I dare say you can tell me all sorts of things, about this country, that may be useful for him to know. Is it quite certain that no one could climb up these rocks from below; and that there is no fear of the Romans making a surprise, in that way?" The boys looked at each other, but no one volunteered to give information. "Come!" John went on, "I have only just left off being a boy, myself, and I was always climbing into all sorts of places, when I got a chance; and I have no doubt it's the same, with you. When you have been down below, there, you have tried how far you can get up. "Did you ever get up far, or did you ever hear of anyone getting up far?" "I expect I have been up as far as anyone," the eldest of the boys said. "I went up after a young kid that had strayed away from its mother. I got up a long way--half way up, I should say--but I couldn't get any further. I was barefooted, too. "I am sure no one with armor on could have got up anything like so far. I don't believe he could get up fifty feet." "And have any of you ever tried to get down from above?" They shook their heads. "Jonas the son of James did, once," one of the smaller boys said. "He had a pet hawk he had tamed, and it flew away and perched, a good way down; and he clambered down to fetch it. He had a rope tied round him, and some of the others held it, in case he should slip. I know he went down a good way, and he got the hawk; and his father beat him for doing it, I know." "Is he here, now?" John asked. "Yes, he is here," the boy said. "That's his father's house, the one close to the edge of the rock. I don't know whether you will find him there, now. He ain't indoors more than he can help. His own mother's dead, and his father's got another wife, and they don't get on well together." "Well, I will have a chat with him, one of these days. And you are all quite sure that there is no possible path up, from below?" "I won't say there isn't any possible path," the eldest boy said; "but I feel quite sure there is not. I have looked, hundreds of times, when I have been down below; and I feel pretty sure that, if there had been any place where a goat could have got up, I should have noticed it. But you see, the rock goes down almost straight, in most places. Anyhow, I have never heard of anyone who ever got up and, if anyone had done it, it would have been talked about, for years and years." "No doubt it would," John agreed. "So I shall tell the governor that he need not be in the least uneasy about an attack, except in front." So saying, he nodded to the boys, and walked away again. In the evening, the whole of the Roman army had arrived; and Vespasian drew up his troops on a hill, less than a mile to the north of the city, and there encamped them. The next morning, a triple line of embankments was thrown up, by the Romans, around the foot of the hill where, alone, escape or issue was possible; and this entirely cut off those within the town from any possibility of flight. The Jews looked on at these preparations as wild animals might regard a line of hunters surrounding them. But the dull despair of the previous day had now been succeeded by a fierce rage. Hope there was none. They must die, doubtless; but they would die fighting fiercely, till the last. Disdaining to be pent up within the walls, many of the fighting men encamped outside, and boldly went forward to meet the enemy. Vespasian called up his slingers and archers, and these poured their missiles upon the Jews; while he himself, with his heavy infantry, began to mount the slope towards the part of the wall which appeared the weakest. Josephus at once summoned the fighting men in the town and, sallying at their head through the gate, rushed down and flung himself upon the Romans. Both sides fought bravely; the Romans strong in their discipline, their skill with their weapons, and their defensive armor; the Jews fighting with the valor of despair, heightened by the thought of their wives and children in the town, above. The Romans were pushed down the hill, and the fight continued at its foot until darkness came on, when both parties drew off. The number of killed on either side was small, for the bucklers and helmets defended the vital points. The Romans had thirteen killed and very many wounded, the Jews seventeen killed and six hundred wounded. John had fought bravely by the side of Josephus. Joab and two others of the little band were killed. All the others were wounded, more or less severely; for Josephus was always in the front, and his chosen followers kept close to him. In the heat of the fight, John felt his spirits rise higher than they had done since the troubles had begun. He had fought, at first, so recklessly that Josephus had checked him, with the words: "Steady, my brave lad. He fights best who fights most coolly. The more you guard yourself, the more you will kill." More than once, when Josephus--whose commanding figure, and evident leadership, attracted the attention of the Roman soldiers--was surrounded and cut off, John, with three or four others, made their way through to him, and brought him off. When it became dark, both parties drew off; the Romans sullenly, for they felt it a disgrace to have been thus driven back, by foes they despised; the Jews with shouts of triumph, for they had proved themselves a match for the first soldiers in the world, and the dread with which the glittering column had inspired them had passed away. The following day, the Jews again sallied out and attacked the Romans as they advanced and, for five days in succession, the combat raged--the Jews fighting with desperate valor, the Romans with steady resolution. At the end of that time, the Jews had been forced back behind their wall, and the Romans established themselves in front of it. Vespasian, seeing that the wall could not be carried by assault, as he had expected, called a council of war; and it was determined to proceed by the regular process of a siege, and to erect a bank against that part of the wall which offered the greatest facility for attack. Accordingly the whole army, with the exception of the troops who guarded the banks of circumvallation, went into the mountains to get materials. Stone and timber, in vast quantities, were brought down and, when these were in readiness, the work commenced. A sort of penthouse roofing, constructed of wattles covered with earth, was first raised, to protect the workers from the missiles of the enemy upon the wall; and here the working parties labored securely, while the rest of the troops brought up earth, stone, and wood for their use. The Jews did their best to interfere with the work, hurling down huge stones upon the penthouse; sometimes breaking down the supports of the roof and causing gaps, through which they poured a storm of arrows and javelins, until the damage had been repaired. To protect his workmen, Vespasian brought up his siege engines--of which he had a hundred and sixty--and, from these, vast quantities of missiles were discharged at the Jews upon the walls. The catapults threw javelins, balls of fire, and blazing arrows; while the ballistae hurled huge stones, which swept lanes through the ranks of the defenders. At the same time the light-armed troops, the Arab archers, and those of Agrippa and Antiochus kept up a rain of arrows, so that it became impossible for the Jews to remain on the walls. But they were not inactive. Sallying out in small parties, they fell with fury upon the working parties who, having stripped off their heavy armor, were unable to resist their sudden onslaughts. Driving out and slaying all before them, the Jews so often applied fire to the wattles and timbers of the bank that Vespasian was obliged to make his work continuous, along the whole extent of the wall, to keep out the assailants. But, in spite of all the efforts of the Jews, the embankment rose steadily, until it almost equaled the height of the wall; and the struggle now went on between the combatants on even terms, they being separated only by the short interval between the wall and bank. Josephus found that in such a conflict the Romans--with their crowd of archers and slingers, and their formidable machines--had all the advantage; and that it was absolutely necessary to raise the walls still higher. He called together a number of the principal men, and pointed out the necessity for this. They agreed with him, but urged that it was impossible for men to work, exposed to such a storm of missiles. Josephus replied that he had thought of that. A number of strong posts were prepared and, at night, these were fixed securely, standing on the wall. Along the top of these, a strong rope was stretched; and on this were hung, touching each other, the hides of newly-killed oxen. These formed a complete screen, hiding the workers from the sight of those on the embankment. Illustration: Heightening the Walls of Jotapata under Shelter of Ox Hides. The hides, when struck with the stones from the ballistae, gave way and deadened the force of the missiles; while the arrows and javelins glanced off from the slippery surface. Behind this shelter, the garrison worked night and day, raising the posts and screens as their work proceeded, until they had heightened the wall no less than thirty-five feet; with a number of towers on its summit, and a strong battlement facing the Romans. The besiegers were much discouraged at their want of success, and enraged at finding the efforts of so large an army completely baffled by a small town, which they had expected to carry at the first assault; while the Jews proportionately rejoiced. Becoming more and more confident, they continually sallied out in small parties, through the gateway or by ladders from the walls, attacked the Romans upon their embankment, or set fire to it. And it was the desperation with which these men fought, even more than their success in defending the wall, that discouraged the Romans; for the Jews were utterly careless of their lives, and were well content to die, when they saw that they had achieved their object of setting fire to the Roman works. Vespasian, at length, determined to turn the siege into a blockade; and to starve out the town which he could not capture. He accordingly contented himself by posting a strong force to defend the embankment, and withdrew the main body of the army to their encampment. He had been informed of the shortness of the supply of water; and had anticipated that, in a very short time, thirst would compel the inhabitants to yield. John had taken his full share in the fighting, and had frequently earned the warm commendation of Josephus. His spirits had risen with the conflict; but he could not shut his eyes to the fact that, sooner or later, the Romans must become masters of the place. One evening, therefore, when he had done his share of duty on the walls, he went up to the house which had been pointed out to him as that in which lived the boy who had descended the face of the rocks, for some distance. At a short distance from the door, a lad of some fifteen years old, with no covering but a piece of ragged sackcloth round the loins, was crouched up in a corner, seemingly asleep. At the sound of John's footsteps, he opened his eyes in a quick, watchful way, that showed that he had not been really asleep. "Are you Jonas, the son of James?" John asked. "Yes I am," the boy said, rising to his feet. "What do you want with me?" "I want to have a talk with you," John said. "I am one of the governor's bodyguard; and I think, perhaps, you may be able to give us some useful information." "Well, come away from here," the boy said, "else we shall be having her--" and he nodded to the house, "--coming out with a stick." "You have rather a hard time of it, from what I hear," John began, when they stopped at the wall, a short distance away from the house. "I have that," the boy said. "I look like it, don't I?" "You do," John agreed, looking at the boy's thin, half-starved figure; "and yet, there is plenty to eat in the town." "There may be," the boy said; "anyhow, I don't get my share. Father is away fighting on the wall, and so she's worse than ever. She is always beating me, and I dare not go back, now. I told her, this morning, the sooner the Romans came in, the better I should be pleased. They could only kill me, and there would be an end of it; but they would send her to Rome for a slave, and then she would see how she liked being cuffed and beaten, all day." "And you are hungry, now?" John asked. "I am pretty near always hungry," the boy said. "Well, come along with me, then. I have got a little room to myself, and you shall have as much to eat as you like." The room John occupied had formerly been a loft over a stable, in the rear of the house in which Josephus now lodged; and it was reached by a ladder from the outside. He had shared it, at first, with two of his comrades; but these had both fallen, during the siege. After seeing the boy up into it, John went to the house and procured him an abundant meal; and took it, with a small horn of water, back to his quarters. "Here's plenty for you to eat, Jonas, but not much to drink. We are all on short allowance, the same as the rest of the people; and I am afraid that won't last long." There was a twinkle of amusement in the boy's face but, without a word, he set to work at the food, eating ravenously all that John had brought him. The latter was surprised to see that he did not touch the water; for he thought that if his stepmother deprived him of food, of which there was abundance, she would all the more deprive him of water, of which the ration to each person was so scanty. "Now," John said, "you had better throw away that bit of sackcloth, and take this garment. It belonged to a comrade of mine, who has been killed." "There's too much of it," the boy said. "If you don't mind my tearing it in half, I will take it." "Do as you like with it," John replied; and the boy tore the long strip of cotton in two, and wrapped half of it round his loins. "Now," he said, "what do you want to ask me?" "They tell me, Jonas, that you are a first-rate climber, and can go anywhere?" The boy nodded. "I can get about, I can. I have been tending goats, pretty well ever since I could walk and, where they can go, I can." "I want to know, in the first place, whether there is any possible way by which one can get up and down from this place, except by the road through the wall?" The boy was silent. "Now look here, Jonas," John went on, feeling sure that the lad could tell something, if he would, "if you could point out a way down, the governor would be very pleased; and as long as the siege lasts you can live here with me, and have as much food as you want, and not go near that stepmother of yours, at all." "And nobody will beat me, for telling you?" the boy asked. "Certainly not, Jonas." "It wouldn't take you beyond the Romans. They have got guards, all round." "No, but it might enable us to get down to the water," John urged, the sight of the unemptied horn causing the thought to flash through his mind that the boy had been in the habit of going down, and getting water. "Well, I will tell you," the boy said. "I don't like to tell, because I don't think there's anyone here knows it, but me. I found it out, and I never said a word about it, because I was able to slip away when I liked; and no one knows anything about it. But it doesn't make much difference, now, because the Romans are going to kill us all. So I will tell you. "At the end of the rock, you have to climb down about fifty feet. It's very steep there, and it's as much as you can do to get down; but when you have got down that far, you get to the head of a sort of dried-up water course, and it ain't very difficult to go down there and, that way, you can get right down to the stream. It don't look, from below, as if you could do it; and the Romans haven't put any guards on the stream, just there. I know, because I go down every morning, as soon as it gets light. I never tried to get through the Roman sentries; but I expect one could, if one tried. "But I don't see how you are to bring water up here, if that's what you want. I tell you, it is as much as you can do to get up and down, and you want both your hands and your feet; but I could go down and bring up a little water for you, in a skin hanging round my neck, if you like." "I am afraid that wouldn't be much good, Jonas," John said; "but it might be very useful to send messages out, that way." "Yes," the boy said; "but you see I have always intended, when the Romans took the place, to make off that way. If other people go, it's pretty sure to be found out, before long; and then the Romans will keep watch. But it don't much matter. I know another place where you and I could lie hidden, any time, if we had got enough to eat and drink. I will show you but, mind, you must promise not to tell anyone else. There's no room for more than two; and I don't mean to tell you, unless you promise." "I will promise, Jonas. I promise you, faithfully, not to tell anyone." "Well, the way down ain't far from the other one. I will show it you, one of these days. I went down there, once, to get a hawk I had taken from the nest, and tamed. I went down, first, with a rope tied round me; but I found I could have done it without that--but I didn't tell any of the others, as I wanted to keep the place to myself. "You climb down about fifty feet, and then you get on a sort of ledge, about three feet wide and six or seven feet long. You can't see it from above, because it's a hollow, as if a bit of rock had fallen out. Of course, if you stood up you might be seen by someone below, or on the hill opposite; but it's so high it is not likely anyone would notice you. Anyhow, if you lie down there, no one would see you. I have been down there, often and often, since. When she gets too bad to bear, I go down there and take a sleep; or lie there and laugh, when I think how she is hunting about for me to carry down the pails to the stream, for water." "I will say nothing about it, Jonas, you may be quite sure. That place may save both our lives. But the other path I will tell Josephus about. He may find it of great use." Josephus was indeed greatly pleased, when he heard that a way existed by which he could send out messages. Two or three active men were chosen for the work; but they would not venture to descend the steep precipice, by which Jonas made his way down to the top of the water course, but were lowered by ropes to that point. Before starting they were sewn up in skins so that, if a Roman sentry caught sight of them making their way down the water course, on their hands and feet, he would take them for dogs, or some other animals. Once at the bottom, they lay still till night, and then crawled through the line of sentries. In this way Josephus was able to send out dispatches to his friends outside, and to Jerusalem; imploring them to send an army, at once, to harass the rear of the Romans, and to afford an opportunity for the garrison of Jotapata to cut their way out. Messages came back by return and, for three weeks, communications were thus kept up; until one of the messengers slipped while descending the ravine and, as he rolled down, attracted the attention of the Romans who, after that, placed a strong guard at the foot of the water course. Until this discovery was made, Jonas had gone down regularly, every morning, and drank his fill; and had brought up a small skin of water to John, who had divided it among the children whom he saw most in want of it--for the pressure of thirst was now heavy. The Romans, from rising ground at a distance, had noticed the women going daily with jugs to the cistern, whence the water was doled out; and the besiegers directed their missiles to that point, and many were killed, daily, while fetching water. A dull despair now seized the Jews. So long as they were fighting, they had had little time to think of their situation; but now that the enemy no longer attacked, and there was nothing to do but to sit down and suffer, the hopelessness of their position stared them in the face. But there was no thought of surrender. They knew too well the fate that awaited them, at the hands of the Romans. They were therefore seized with rage, and indignation, when they heard that Josephus and some of the principal men were thinking of making an endeavor to escape. John, who had hitherto regarded his leader with a passionate devotion--although he thought that he had been wrong in taking to the fortified towns, instead of fighting among the mountains--shared in the general indignation at the proposed desertion. "It is he who has brought us all here," he said to Jonas--who had attached himself to him with dog-like fidelity--"and now he proposes to go away, and leave everyone here to be massacred! I cannot believe it." The news was, however, well founded for, when the inhabitants crowded down to the house--the women weeping and wailing, the men sullen and fierce--to beg Josephus to abandon his intention, the governor attempted to argue that it was for the public good that he should leave them. He might, he said, hurry to Jerusalem, and bring an army to the rescue. The people, however, were in no way convinced. "If you go," they said, "the Romans will speedily capture the city. We are ready to die, all together--to share one common fate--but do not leave us." As Josephus saw that, if he did not accede to the prayers of the women, the men would interfere by force to prevent his carrying out his intentions, he told them he would remain with them; and tranquillity was at once restored. The men, however, came again and again to him, asking to be led out to attack the Romans. "Let us die fighting," was the cry. "Let us die among our foes, and not with the agonies of thirst." "We must make them come up to attack us, again," Josephus said. "We shall fight to far greater advantage, so, than if we sallied out to attack them in their own intrenchments--when we should be shot down by their archers and slingers, before ever we should reach them." "But how are we to make them attack us? We want nothing better." "I will think it over," Josephus said, "and tell you in the morning." In the morning, to the surprise of the men, they were ordered to dip large numbers of garments into the precious supply of water, and to hang them on the walls. Loud were the outcries of the women, as they saw the scanty store of water, upon which their lives depended, so wasted; but the orders were obeyed, and the Romans were astonished at seeing the long line of dripping garments on the wall. The stratagem had its effect. Vespasian thought that the news he had received, that the place was ill supplied with water, must be erroneous; and ordered the troops again to take their station on the walls, and renew the attack. Great was the exultation among the Jews, when they saw the movement among the troops; and Josephus, ordering the fighting men together, said that now was their opportunity. There was no hope of safety, in passive resistance; therefore they had best sally out and, if they must die, leave at least a glorious example to posterity. The proposal was joyfully received, and he placed himself at their head. The gates were suddenly opened, and they poured out to the attack. So furious was their onslaught that the Romans were driven from the embankment. The Jews pursued them, crossed the lines of circumvallation, and attacked the Romans in their camp; tearing up the hides and penthouses behind which the Romans defended themselves, and setting fire to the lines in many places. The fight raged all day. The Jews then retired to the city, only to sally out again, the following morning. For three days the attacks were continued; the Jews driving in the Romans, each day, and retiring when Vespasian brought up heavy columns--who were unable, from the weight of their armor, to follow their lightly-armed assailants. Vespasian then ordered the regular troops to remain in camp, the assaults being repelled by the archers and slingers. Finding that the courage of the Jews was unabated, and that his troops were losing heavily in this irregular fighting, he determined to renew the siege, at all hazards, and bring the matter to a close. The heavy-armed troops were ordered to be in readiness, and to advance against the walls with the battering ram. This was pushed forward by a great number of men; being covered, as it advanced, with a great shield constructed of wattles and hides. As it was brought forward, the archers and slingers covered its advance by a shower of missiles against the defenders of the wall; while all the war machines poured in their terrible shower. The Jews, unable to show themselves above the battlements, or to oppose the advance of the terrible machine, crouched in shelter until the battering ram was placed in position. Then the ropes by which it swung from the framework overhead were seized, by a number of soldiers, and the first blow was delivered at the wall. It quivered beneath the terrible shock, and a cry of dismay arose from the defenders. Again and again the heavy ram struck, in the same place. The wall tottered beneath the blows; and would soon have fallen, had not Josephus ordered a number of sacks to be filled with straw, and let down by ropes from the walls, so as to deaden the blows of the ram. For a time the Romans ceased work; and then, fastening scythes to the ends of long poles, cut the ropes. The Jews were unable to show themselves above the walls, or to interfere with the men at work. In a few minutes the sacks were cut down, and the ram recommenced its work of destruction.	{ "id": "21614" }
6	: The Fall Of The City.	The Roman soldiers--seeing the wall of Jotapata tremble beneath the blows of the battering ram, whose iron head pounded to powder the stones against which it struck--redoubled their efforts when, suddenly, from three sally ports which they had prepared, the Jews burst out; carrying their weapons in their right hands, and blazing torches in their left. As on previous occasions, their onslaught was irresistible. They swept the Romans before them; and set fire to the engines, the wattles, and the palisades, and even to the woodwork of the embankment. The timber had by this time dried and, as bitumen and pitch had been used as cement in the construction of the works, the flames spread with great rapidity; and the work of many days was destroyed, in an hour. All the engines and breastworks of the Fifth and Tenth Legions were entirely consumed. Just as the attack began, Eleazar--the son of Sameas, a Galilean--with an immense stone from the wall, struck the iron head of the battering ram, and knocked it off. He then leaped down from the wall, seized the iron head, and carried it back into the city. He was pierced by five arrows. Still, he pressed on and regained the walls; and held up the iron head in the sight of all, and then fell down dead. Such was the spirit with which the Jews were animated; and the Roman soldiers, trained as they were to conflict among many peoples, were yet astounded by the valor displayed by the race that they had considered as unwarlike peasants. But the Romans were not discouraged. Heavy masses of troops were brought up, the Jews were driven within their walls and, towards evening, the ram was again in position. While Vespasian was directing the attack, he was struck by a javelin in the heel. The Romans ceased from the attack and crowded round their general but, as soon as they ascertained that his wound was not serious, they returned to the attack with redoubled fury. All that night, the contest raged unceasingly. The Roman engines swept the walls with missiles. The towers came crashing down, under the blows of the huge stones; while the javelins, arrows, and the stones from the slings created terrible havoc among the defenders of the wall. But, as fast as these fell, fresh combatants took their places; and they continued hurling down stones, and blazing brands, upon the freshly-erected wattles round the battering ram. The Romans had the advantage in this strife for, while the fires on the walls--at which the Jews lighted their brands, and boiled the pitch and sulphur in which these were dipped--enabled them to aim accurately, they themselves worked in deep shadow, at the foot of the wall. The night was a terrible one. The bolts, stones, and arrows which passed over the wall spread ruin and death over the town. The din was unceasing. The thundering noise of the great stones; the dull, deep sound as the ram struck the wall; the fierce shouts of the combatants, as they fought hand to hand--for the corpses were, in places, piled so thick that the assailants could mount upon them to the top of the walls--the shrieks of the women, and the screams of the children, combined in one terrible and confused noise; which was echoed back, and multiplied, by the surrounding mountains. Morning was just breaking when the shaken wall gave way, and fell, with a crash. Vespasian called off his weary troops, and allowed them a short time for refreshment; then he prepared to storm the breach. He brought up, first, a number of his bravest horsemen; dismounted, and clad in complete armor. They were provided with long pikes, and were to charge forward, the instant the machines for mounting the breach were fixed. Behind these were the best of his infantry, while in their rear were the archers and slingers. Other parties, with scaling ladders, were to attack the uninjured part of the wall, and to draw off the attention of the besiegers. The rest of the horse extended all over the hills round the town, so that none might make their escape. Josephus prepared to receive the attack. He placed the old, infirm, and wounded to repel the attack on the uninjured parts of the wall. He then chose the five strongest and bravest men and, with them, took his place to form the front line of the defenders of the breach. He told them to kneel down and cover their heads with their bucklers, until the enemy's archers had emptied their quivers and, when the Romans had fixed the machines for mounting, they were to leap down among the enemy and fight to the last; remembering that there was now no hope of safety, naught but to revenge the fate which was impending over them, their wives and children. As the Romans mounted to the assault, a terrible cry broke out from the women. They saw the Romans still manning the lines which cut off all escape, and they believed that the end was now at hand. Josephus, fearing that their cries would dispirit the men, ordered them all to be locked up in their houses, and then calmly awaited the assault. The trumpet of the legion sounded, and the whole Roman host set up a terrible shout while, at the same moment, the air was darkened by the arrows of their bowmen. Kneeling beneath their bucklers, the Jews remained calm and immovable; and then, before the Romans had time to set foot upon the breach, with a yell of fury they rushed upon them, and threw themselves into the midst of their assailants. For a time, the Romans could make no way against the desperate courage of the Jews but, as fast as the leading files fell, fresh troops took their places; while the Jews, who were vastly reduced by their losses, had no fresh men to take the place of those who died. At last, the solid phalanx of the Romans drove back the defenders, and entered the breach. But as they did so, from the walls above and from the breach in front, vessels filled with boiling oil were hurled down upon them. The Roman ranks were broken; and the men, in agony, rolled on the ground, unable to escape the burning fluid which penetrated through the joints of their armor. Those who turned to fly were pierced by the javelins of the Jews; for the Romans carried no defensive armor on their backs, which were never supposed to be turned towards an enemy. Fresh troops poured up the breach, to take the place of their agonized comrades; but the Jews threw down, upon the planks, vessels filled with a sort of vegetable slime. Unable to retain their footing upon the slippery surface, the Romans fell upon each other, in heaps. Those rolling down carried others with them, and a terrible confusion ensued, the Jews never ceasing to pour their missiles upon them. When evening came, Vespasian called off his men. He saw that, to overcome the desperate resistance of the defenders, fresh steps must be taken before the assault was repeated; and he accordingly gave orders that the embankment should be raised, much higher than before; and that upon it three towers, each fifty feet high and strongly girded with iron, should be built. This great work was carried out, in spite of the efforts of the besieged. In the towers, Vespasian placed his javelin men, archers, and light machines and, as these now looked down upon the wall, they were enabled to keep up such a fire upon it that the Jews could no longer maintain their footing; but contented themselves with lying behind it, and making desperate sallies whenever they saw any parties of Romans approaching the breach. In the meantime, a terrible calamity had befallen the neighboring town of Japha. Emboldened by the vigorous defense of Jotapata, it had closed its gates to the Romans. Vespasian sent Trajan, with two thousand foot and a thousand horse, against it. The city was strongly situated, and surrounded by a double wall. Instead of waiting to be attacked, the people sallied out and fell upon the Romans. They were, however, beaten back; and the Romans, pressing on their heels, entered with them through the gates of the outside walls. The defenders of the gates through the inner walls, fearing that these, too, would be carried by the mob, closed them; and all those who had sallied out were butchered by the Romans. Trajan, seeing that the garrison must now be weak, sent to Vespasian, and asked him to send his son to complete the victory. Titus soon arrived, with a thousand foot and five hundred horse and, at once, assaulted the inner walls. The defense was feeble. The Romans effected their entry but, inside the town, a desperate conflict took place; the inhabitants defending every street, with the energy of despair, while the women aided their efforts by hurling down stones, and missiles, from the roofs. The battle lasted six hours, when all who could bear arms were slain. The rest of the male population were put to death, the women taken as slaves. In all, fifteen thousand were killed, two thousand one hundred and thirty taken prisoners. In another direction, a heavy blow had also been struck by the Romans. The Samaritans had not openly joined the revolt, but had gathered in great force on Mount Gerizim. Cerealis was sent by Vespasian, with three thousand infantry and six hundred horse, against them. He surrounded the foot of the mountain, and abstained from an assault until the Samaritans were weakened by thirst--many dying from want of water. Cerealis then mounted the hill, and sent to them to throw down their arms. On their refusal, he charged them from all sides, and put every soul--in number, eleven thousand six hundred--to the sword. The situation of the defenders of Jotapata was now pitiable, indeed. Scarce a man but had received wounds, more or less severe, in the desperate combats. All were utterly worn out with fatigue; for they were under arms, day and night, in readiness to repel the expected attack. Numbers of the women and children had died of thirst, and terror. Save the armed men lying in groups near the foot of the wall, in readiness to repel an assault, scarce a soul was to be seen in the lately-crowded streets. The houses were now ample to contain the vastly diminished number. Here the women and children crouched, in utter prostration. The power of suffering was almost gone. Few cared how soon the end came. The siege had now continued for forty-seven days; and the Roman army, strong in numbers, in discipline, and in arms, and commanded by one of its best generals, had yet failed to capture the little town--which they had expected to take within a few hours of their appearance before it--and so fierce was the valor of the besieged, that Vespasian did not venture to order his legions forward to renew the assault. But now, a deserter informed him that the garrison was greatly exhausted, that the men on guard could not keep awake; and that the breach could be carried, at night, by a sudden assault. Vespasian prepared for the assault, which was to take place at daybreak. A thick mist enveloped the town, and the sleeping sentries were not aroused by the silent steps of the approaching Romans. Titus was the first to enter the breach, followed by a small number of troops. These killed the sleeping guards, and the main body of the Romans then poured in. Before the Jews were conscious of their danger, the whole of the Roman army was upon them. Then the slaughter commenced. Many of the Jews killed each other, rather than fall into the hands of the Romans. Many threw themselves over the precipices, numbers took refuge in the deep caverns under the city. That day, all in the streets or houses were killed; the next, the Romans searched the caverns and underground passages, slaughtering all the men and boys, and sparing none but infants and women. During the siege and capture, forty thousand men fell. Only twelve hundred women and children were spared. So complete was the surprise, and so unresistingly did the Jews submit to slaughter, that only one Roman was killed. This was Antoninus, a centurion. He came upon a Jew in a deep cavern, and told him he would spare his life, if he would surrender. The Jew asked him to give him his hand, as a pledge of his faith, and to help him out of the cave. Antoninus did so, and the Jew at once ran him through with a spear. John was asleep when the Romans entered. He was aroused by Jonas rushing into the room. The boy was at all times restless, and suffered less than most of those within the walls; for there was an abundance of grain up to the end of the siege and, until the Romans had discovered the way down to the water, he had not suffered in any way from thirst. He was considered too young to take part in the actual fighting; but had labored with the rest in repairing the defenses, carrying food to men on the walls, and carrying away the dead and wounded. "Get up, John!" he exclaimed. "In the mist I have just run upon a mass of Roman soldiers, ranged in order. The town is taken. Quick, before they scatter and begin to slay!" John caught up his sword, and ran out. Just as he did so, a terrible shout was heard, followed by shrieks and cries. The work of butchery had begun. John's plans had been laid for some time. At night Jonas had frequently descended to the ledge, taking with him food, and jars of the water he brought up from below; and once or twice John had descended, Jonas fastening a rope round his body, and lowering it gradually for, active as he was, John could not get down without such assistance. Indeed, to any one who looked casually over the top, the descent appeared absolutely impossible. At the top of their speed, the lads ran to the spot at which the descent had to be made. The rope was hidden close at hand. John slipped the noose at the end over his shoulders. Jonas twisted the rope once round a stunted tree, which grew close by, and allowed it to go out gradually. As soon as the strain upon it ceased, and he knew John was upon the ledge, he loosened the rope and dropped the end over; and then began, himself, to descend, his bare feet and hands clinging to every inequality, however slight, in the rock. He presently stood by the side of John. The latter had coiled up the rope, and laid it by him; and had then thrown himself down, and was sobbing bitterly. Jonas sat down quietly beside him, till he had recovered his composure. "It is no use fretting," he said, philosophically. "There's no one you care about, particularly, up there; and I am sure there's no one I care about--only I should like to have peeped in, and have seen her face, when the Romans burst open the door. I don't suppose she was very sorry, though, for it will be better to be a Roman slave than to be going through what they have been, for the last month." "It is horrible!" John said, "Horrible! However, Jonas, let us thank God for having thus preserved our lives, when all besides are in such terrible danger of death." For a time, the two lads sat silent. John was the first to speak. "I am thankful," he said, "that, owing to our being down the face of the rock, the sound is carried away above our heads, and we can hear but little of what is going on there. It seems a confusion of sounds, and comes to us rather as an echo from the hills, yonder, than directly from above." Sometimes, indeed, thrilling screams and shouts were heard but, for the most part, the sounds were so blended together that they could not be distinguished one from another. As soon as the mist cleared off, the lads lay down, as far back from the ledge as they could get. "We must not lift up a head, today," John said. "The guards below, and on the hills, will have their eyes fixed on the rock, on the lookout for fugitives and, until nighttime, we must not venture to sit up. Fortunately, that outer edge of the shelf is a good deal higher than it is, back here; and I don't think that even those on the mountain, opposite, could see us as we lie." "I should think a good many may escape, like us," Jonas said, presently. "There are numbers of caverns and passages, from which they have dug the stone for the building of the houses. A lot of the people are sure to hide away, there." "I daresay they will," John agreed; "but I fear the Romans will hunt them all out." "How long do you think we shall have to stay here, John?" "Till the Romans go, whether it is one week or two; but I do not think they will stay here many days. The town is so full of dead that, in this hot weather, it will be unbearable before long. At any rate, we shall be able to pass a good deal of time in sleep. We have not had much of it, lately. Till last night, I have not been in the house, at night, for over a fortnight. But I felt, last night, as if I must have a sleep, whatever came of it. I suppose the guards at the breach must have felt the same, or the Romans could never have got in without the alarm being given." For a few minutes, John lay thinking of the terrible scenes that must be passing, on the rock above; then his drowsiness overcame him, and he was soon fast asleep. It was dark when he woke. As he moved, Jonas spoke. "Are you awake, John? Because if you are, let us have something to eat. I have been awake the last four hours, and I have been wishing you would stir." "There was no occasion to wait for my waking, Jonas. There are the grain and the water, close at hand; and no cooking is required." "I wasn't going to eat till you woke, if it had been all night," Jonas said. "Still, I am glad you are awake; they are quiet now, up above, and I have heard the Roman trumpets sounding. I expect that most of them have marched back to their camp." The next day passed like the first. Occasionally cries of agony were heard. Sometimes bodies were hurled from the top of the rock, but a short distance from where they were lying. The next two days passed more quietly, but upon that following a murmur, as of a multitude of men working, was heard. From time to time there were heavy crashes, as masses of stones, hurled down the precipice, struck against its face as they fell; and then bounded, far out beyond the stream, at its foot. All these sounds were echoed back by the surrounding hills, until it seemed as if a storm was raging, far away in the heart of the mountains. "They are destroying the town," John said, in answer to his companion's question as to the cause of the uproar. "That is the best thing possible for us. Had it remained standing, they might have left a garrison here, to prevent our people reoccupying it. If they destroy it, it is a sign that they intend to march away, altogether." Several times Jonas wished to climb up, at night, to ascertain what was going on; but John would not hear of it. "There is nothing to find out, Jonas. We know what they did at Gadara, where they slew all the males and carried off all the women, although no resistance was offered. We may be sure that there will be no more mercy shown at Jotapata, which has affronted the Roman power by keeping their great army at bay, for nearly seven weeks, and whose capture has cost them thousands of men. We know what has happened--they have slain every soul, save a few young women, who were worth money as slaves. Now they are leveling the town to its foundations. The place that defied them will cease to exist. "And yet, they talk of Roman magnanimity! Would we had five thousand fighting men, hidden here with us. We would climb then, Jonas, and fall upon them in the night, and take a mighty vengeance for the woes they have inflicted. But, being alone, we will remain here till we have reason to believe that the last Roman has left. Did one of them catch sight of you, our fate would be sealed. They have no boys among them, and the slightest glimpse of your figure would be enough to tell them that you were a Jew who had been in hiding and, in their fear that one man should escape their vengeance, they would hunt you down, as a pack of wolves might hunt down a solitary lamb." "They could never get down here, John." "Not by the way you came; but they would lower a cage full of armed men, from above, and slay us without pity." "But if I were found out, John, I would not lead them here. I would throw myself over the precipice, rather than that risk should come to you!" "But I don't want you to throw yourself over the precipice, Jonas. I want to keep you with me: in the first place because we are great friends now; in the second because, if you were killed, I might as well throw myself over, at once--for I do not think I could ever climb up this rock, without your assistance." "It is much easier going up than coming down, John." "That may be and, indeed, I have no doubt it is so; but I would rather not put the matter to the test. No; we have provision and water here, enough to last us for ten days and, until they are consumed, it were best not to stir from here." Four days later, however, they heard the sound of the Roman trumpets and, on raising their heads carefully a few inches, saw that the guards on the opposite hills had all been withdrawn. Having now less fear of being seen, they raised their heads still further, and looked up the valley to the great camp on the hillside where, at night, they had seen the fires of the Romans, blazing high. "They are going!" Jonas exclaimed, joyously. "Look at the sun sparkling on the long lines of arms and armor. Not a sound is to be heard, above--the work is done. They are about to march away." "Do not let us expose ourselves further," John said. "It may be that they have left a few watchers, to see if any who have eluded their search may show themselves, believing that they have gone. I have no doubt they are going and, by tomorrow, it will be safe for us to move." All day they heard the sound of trumpets, for the great host took a long time getting into motion but, gradually, the sound grew fainter and fainter, as the rear guard of the army took the road which they had cut through the mountains, eight weeks before. That night, when darkness fell, and the two lads sat up on their ledge and looked round, not a light was to be seen; and not a sound broke the silence of the night. "At daybreak tomorrow, Jonas, as soon as it becomes light enough for you to see your way, you shall go up and look round. They may have left a guard behind, but I should hardly think so. After the wholesale slaughter at Gadara, and here, the hatred of the Romans will be so intense that, confident as they are in their arms and discipline, they would hardly venture to leave a small body of men, in the heart of these mountains." As soon as it was daylight, Jonas prepared to climb up to the plateau above. He took with him the rope; arranging that, if he found that the place was absolutely deserted, he would lower one end to John and fasten the other to the tree above; and that he would then aid John, as much as his strength would permit, in making his way up the rock. John watched his companion making his way up, and observed exactly where he placed his feet and hands, until he was out of sight. Then he waited. In about a quarter of an hour, the end of the rope fell in front of him. He fastened it securely under his arms and then, taking off his sandals, began the ascent. It was not so difficult as it had looked; and the steady strain which Jonas kept on the rope, from above, aided him and gave him confidence. In three or four minutes, he gained the top of the rock. "There is not a soul to be seen," Jonas said. "The town has gone, and the people, and the Romans. All is desolation!" The scene was indeed changed, since John had last looked upon it. Not a wall, in the so-lately busy little town, had been left standing. The whole area was covered, three or four feet deep with a chaos of stones, mortar, and beams; forming a great grave, below which lay the bodies of forty thousand of the defenders of the place. The walls so bravely defended had disappeared; and the embankment, whose erection had cost the Romans so much labor and bloodshed, had been destroyed by fire. A dead silence hung over the place, and the air was tainted with a terrible odor of corruption. The desolation and solitude of the scene overpowered John, and he sat down on a fragment of masonry and wept, unrestrainedly, for some time. He roused himself, at last, as Jonas touched him. "I shall go down again, and get what grain there is left," the boy said. "There is no chance of finding anything to eat within a day's march of here. The Roman horse will have destroyed every village within a wide circuit." "But I cannot let you go down again, Jonas. The danger is too great." "But I have been up and down, lots of times," Jonas said. "That may be, Jonas, but you might be dashed to pieces, this time." "Well, if you like I will fasten the rope round me; then, if I should slip, I shall be safe." John consented with some reluctance, but he was so nervous and shaken that he walked some distance away, and did not turn round until he heard Jonas' footsteps again approaching him. "Now we can start," the boy said. "We have got grain here, enough for three days; and tonight we will crush it, and cook it. I have had enough of eating raw grain, for a long time to come." The boy's cheerfulness restored the tone of John's nerves and--making their way with some difficulty over the chaos of stone and timber, until they arrived at the pile of charred timber, which marked the spot where the Roman embankment had stood--they stepped out briskly, descended the hill, crossed the deserted lines of circumvallation; and then began to ascend the mountains, which had, for some distance, been stripped of their timber for the purposes of the siege. In another hour's walking they reached the forest, and pressed on until the afternoon. Not that there was any need for speed, now, but John felt a longing to place as wide a gap as possible between himself and the great charnel ground which, alone, marked the spot where Jotapata had stood. At length, Jonas urged the necessity for a halt, for rest and food. They chose a spot at the foot of a great tree, and then set to work to collect a store of firewood. John took out the box of tinder which, in those days, everyone carried about with him, and a fire was soon lighted. Jonas then looked for two large flat stones, and set to work to grind some grain. The halting place had been chosen from the vicinity of a little spring, which rose a few yards distant. With this the pounded grain was moistened and, after kneading it up, Jonas rolled it in balls and placed them in the hot ashes of the fire. In half an hour they were cooked, and the meal was eaten with something like cheerfulness. Another day's walking brought them to a little village, nestled in the forest. Here they were kindly received, though the people scarce believed them when they said that they were survivors of the garrison of Jotapata. The news of the capture of the town, and the destruction of its defenders, had already spread through the country; and John now learned, for the first time, the fate which had befallen Japha and the Samaritans on Mount Gerizim--events which filled him with consternation. The folly of the tactics which had been pursued--of cooping all the fighting men up in the walled cities, to be destroyed one after the other by the Romans--was more than ever apparent. He had never, from the first, been very hopeful of the result of the struggle; but it seemed, now, as if it could end in nothing but the total destruction of the Jewish race of Palestine. John stayed for two days in the little mountain village and then, with a store of provisions sufficient to last him for some days, pursued his way; following the lines of the Anti-Libanus, until that range of hills joined the range of Mount Hermon, north of the sources of the Jordan. He had stopped for a day at Dan, high up among the hills. Here the people had no fear of Roman vengeance; for the insurrection had not extended so far north, and the Roman garrison of Caesarea Philippi overawed the plains near the upper waters of the Jordan. Determined, however, to run no unnecessary risks, John and his companion pursued their way on the lower slopes of the hills until, after six days' walking, they arrived at Neve. Here they learned where the farm of John's kinsman was situated, and made their way thither. As they came up to the house a woman came out, gazed intently at John and, with a scream of terror, ran back into the house. It was one of Martha's maids. John stood irresolute, fearing that his sudden appearance might startle the other inmates when, suddenly, Mary appeared at the door, looking pale but resolute. She, too, gazed fixedly at John; and her lips moved, but no sound came from them. "Don't you know me, Mary?" John said. The girl gave a scream of joy, and threw herself into his arms. A moment later Martha, followed by Miriam and the other servants, came out. "It is no spirit, mother, it is John, himself," Mary exclaimed and, the next moment, John was clasped in his mother's arms. It was not surprising that the first who saw John had thought that he was a spirit. The news had already been received that the whole of the garrison of Jotapata had been put to the sword; and John's appearance was changed so greatly, within the last three months, that he would scarce have been known. Fatigue, anxiety, and the loss of blood--from several wounds which he had received, in the course of the siege--had so pulled him down that he was but a shadow of his former self. His clothes were in rags. He had washed them at the village where he had first stopped for, before that, they had been stiffened with blood; and even now, stained and ragged as they were, they gave him the appearance of a mendicant. Jonas had held back a little, while the first joyful greeting was going on, but John soon turned to him. "Mother," he said, "this must be as another son to you for, next to the protection of God, it is to him I owe my life." Martha welcomed the young stranger affectionately. "Before you tell us aught that has befallen you, John, go and change your garments, and wash, while we prepare a meal for you. The clothes of your uncle's son Silas, who is about your age, will fit you; and those of his younger brother will do for your friend." "Was the last news of my father good?" John asked. "Yes, the Lord be praised, he was well when we heard of him, a week since!" The travelers were at once conducted to a room, and supplied with water and clean garments. By the time they had changed, and returned to the general room, John's uncle and cousin had been fetched in from the farm, and he received another hearty welcome. It almost seemed to him, as he sat down to a comfortable meal, with Mary and his mother waiting upon him, that the events of the past two months had been a hideous dream; and that he had never left his comfortable home on the shore of the Lake of Galilee. As to Jonas, unaccustomed to kind treatment, or to luxury of any kind, he was too confused to utter a word. When the meal was over, John was asked to tell his news; and he related all the stirring incidents of the siege, and the manner in which he and his companion had effected his escape. "We are, no doubt," he concluded, "the sole male survivors of the siege." "Not so, my son," Martha said. "There is a report that Josephus has survived the siege; and that he is a prisoner, in the hands of the Romans." "It may be that they have spared him, to grace Vespasian's triumph, at Rome," John said. "It is their custom, I believe, to carry the generals they may take in war to Rome, to be slain there." It was not until some time afterwards that John learned the particulars of the capture of Josephus. When he saw that all was lost, Josephus had leaped down the shaft of a dry well, from the bottom of which a long cavern led off, entirely concealed from the sight of those above. Here he found forty of the leading citizens, who had laid in a store of food sufficient to last for many days. Josephus, at least, who gives his account of all these circumstances, says that he quite unexpectedly found these forty citizens in hiding there; but this is improbable in the extreme, and there can be little doubt that he had, long before, prepared this refuge with them, when he found that the people would not allow them to attempt to make their escape from the city. At night Josephus came up from the well and tried to make his escape but, finding the Romans everywhere vigilant, he returned to the place of concealment. On the third day a woman, who was aware of the hiding place, informed the Romans of it--probably in return for a promise of freedom, for the Romans were searching high and low for Josephus; who could not, they were convinced, have escaped through their lines. Vespasian immediately sent two tribunes, Paulinus and Gallicanus, to induce him to surrender by promise of his life. Josephus refused to come out, and Vespasian sent another tribune, Nicanor, a personal friend of Josephus, to assure him of his safety, if he would surrender. In the account Josephus gives of the transaction, he says that at this moment he suddenly remembered a dream--in which it was revealed to him that all these calamities should fall upon the Jews, that he himself should be saved, and that Vespasian should become emperor--and that, therefore, if he passed over to the Romans he would do so not as a renegade, but in obedience to the voice of God. It was certainly a happy coincidence that the dream should have occurred to him, at this moment. He at once announced his readiness to surrender; but his forty companions did not see the matter in the same light. The moment Josephus left them, the Roman soldiers would throw combustibles down the well, and suffocate them, if they did not come out and submit to slaughter. They urged upon Josephus that he was their leader; that they had all followed his orders, and cast in their lot with his; and that it would be treacherous and base, in the extreme, for him now to save his life by going over to the Romans, when all the inferior people had slain themselves, or had submitted to slaughter, rather than beg their lives of the Romans. Josephus argued with them, at length, but they were not convinced and, drawing their swords, threatened to kill him, if he tried to leave them. They would all die together, they said. Josephus then proposed that, in order to avoid the sin of suicide, they should draw lots which should kill each other. To this they assented; and they continued to draw lots as to which should slay the other, until only Josephus and one other remained alive. This is the story that Josephus tells. He was, of course, endeavoring to put his own case in the best light, and to endeavor to prove that he was not--as the Jews universally regarded him--a traitor to his country. It need hardly be said that the story is improbable, in the extreme; and that, had any one of the forty men survived and written the history, he would probably have told a very different tale. The conduct of Josephus, from the first outbreak of the trouble, showed that he was entirely adverse to the rising against the Romans. He himself, having been to Rome, had seen her power and might; and had been received with great favor by Poppaea, the wife of Nero, and had made many friends there. He had, therefore, at the outset, opposed as far as he was able, without going so far as to throw suspicion on his patriotism, the rebellion against the Romans. During the events in Galilee, he had shown himself anxious to keep in favor with the Romans. He had rebuked those who had attacked the soldiers traveling as an escort, with a large amount of treasure belonging to King Agrippa; and would have sent back the spoils taken, had not the people risen against it. He affected great indignation at the plunder of Agrippa's palace at Tiberias and, gathering all he could of the spoils, had handed them over to the care of the chief of Agrippa's friends there. He had protected the two officers of Agrippa, whom the Jews would have killed--had released and sent them back to the king; and when John of Gischala wished to carry off large quantities of grain, stored by the Romans in Upper Galilee, Josephus refused to allow him to do so, saying that it should be kept for its owners. It is almost certain that Josephus must, in some way, have entered into communication with the Romans; for how otherwise could he, with the principal inhabitants, have proposed to make their escape, when every avenue was closed? Josephus was a man of great talent and energy, full of resources, and of great personal bravery--at least, if his own account of his conduct during the siege is to be believed. But no one can read his labored excuses for his own conduct without feeling sure that he had, all along, been in correspondence with the Romans; and that he had, beforehand, been assured that his life should be spared. He had, from the first, despaired of successful resistance to the Romans; and his conduct in throwing himself, at the last moment, into a town about to be besieged and, as he must have known, captured--for the want of water, alone, rendered its fall a mere question of time--when his presence and leadership was so urgently required among the people to whose command he had been appointed, seems to prove that he wished to fall into their hands. It would not be just to brand Josephus as a traitor. He had done his best to induce the Galileans to form themselves into an army, and to defend the province; and it was only when that army dispersed, at the approach of the Romans, that he went to Jotapata. It was his leadership that enabled that city to continue its heroic defense. It cannot, therefore, be said that Josephus in any way betrayed the trust confided to him by the council at Jerusalem. But the conclusion can hardly be avoided that, from the first, foreseeing that utter ruin and destruction would fall upon the Jews, he had set himself to work to prepare a way of pardon and escape, for himself; and that he thought a position of honor, among the Romans, vastly preferable to an unknown grave among the mountains of Galilee. Upon being taken out of the well, Josephus was taken to Vespasian and, in the presence only of the general, his son Titus, and two other officers, announced that he was endowed with prophetic powers, and that he was commissioned by God to tell Vespasian that he would become emperor, and that he would be succeeded by his son Titus. The prophecy was one that required no more penetration than for any person, in the present day, to predict that the most rising man in a great political party would one day become prime minister. The emperor was hated, and it was morally certain that his fall would not long be delayed; and in that case the most popular general in the Roman army would, almost certainly, be chosen to succeed him. Vespasian, himself, was not greatly affected by the prophecy. But Josephus declared that he had, all along, predicted the success of the Romans, the fall of the town after forty-six days' siege, and his own safety; and as some of the female captives were brought up and, on Josephus appealing to them whether this was not so, naturally replied in the affirmative, Josephus says that Vespasian was then satisfied of his prisoner's divine mission, and henceforth treated him with great honor. It is much more easy to believe that an agreement already existed between Vespasian and Josephus; and that the latter only got up this story to enable him to maintain that he was not a traitor to his country, but acting in accordance with the orders of God. Certain it is that no similar act of clemency was shown, by Vespasian, to any other Jew; that no other thought of pity or mercy entered his mind, during the campaign, that he spared no man who fell alive into his hands, and that no more ruthless and wholesale extermination than that which he inflicted upon the people of Palestine was ever carried out, by the most barbarous of conquerors. To this day, the memory of Josephus is hated among the Jews.	{ "id": "21614" }
7	: The Massacre On The Lake.	John remained for three weeks at his uncle's. A messenger, with the news of his safe arrival there, had been sent off to his father; who came up to see him, three days later. The formal act of betrothal between John and his cousin took place. Simon and Martha would have been willing that the full ceremony of marriage should take place, and the latter even urged this upon her son. "You are now more than seventeen, John, and have taken your place among men; and may well take to yourself a wife. Mary is nigh fifteen, and many maidens marry earlier. You love each other. Why, then, should you not be married? It would cheer the old age of your father, and myself, to see our grandchildren growing up around us." "Had the times been different, mother, I would gladly have had it so; but with the land torn by war, with our brethren being slaughtered everywhere, with Jerusalem and the Temple in danger, it is no time for marrying and giving in marriage. Besides, the law says that, for a year after marriage, a man shall not go to the war or journey upon business; but shall remain at home, quiet, with his wife. I could not do that, now. Did the news come, tomorrow, that the Romans were marching upon Jerusalem, assuredly I should do my duty, and take up arms and go to the defense of the Holy City; and maybe Mary would be left a widow, before the days of rejoicing for the marriage were over. "No, mother; the life of no man who can wield a weapon is his own, at present. The defense of the Temple is the first, and greatest, of duties. If I fall there, you will adopt Mary as your child; and marry her to someone who will take my place, and be a son to you. Mary will grieve for me, doubtless, for a time; but it will be the grief of a sister for a brother, not that of a wife for her husband and, in time, she will marry the man to whom you shall give her, and will be happy. Even for myself, I would rather that it were so left. I shall feel more free from cares and responsibilities; and though, if you and my father lay your orders upon me, I shall of course obey them, I pray you that, in this matter, you will suffer me to have my way." Martha talked the matter over with her husband; and they agreed that John's wishes should be carried out, and that the marriage should be postponed until the troubles were over. Neither of them believed that John would fall in the struggle. They regarded his escape from Jotapata as well-nigh miraculous, and felt assured that God, having specially protected him through such great danger, would continue to do so to the end. Contrary to expectation, Vespasian had not followed up his success at Jotapata by a march against Jerusalem. His army had suffered very heavy losses in the siege; and the desperate valor which the defenders of the town had shown had, doubtless, impressed upon his mind the formidable nature of the task he had undertaken. If a little mountain town had cost him so dearly, what would not be the loss which would be entailed by the capture of a city like Jerusalem, with its position of vast natural strength, its solid and massive fortifications; and defended, as it would be, by the whole strength of the Jewish nation, fighting with the fury of religious fanaticism and despair! His army, strong as it was, would doubtless capture the city, but at such a cost that it might be crippled for further action; and Vespasian was keeping one eye upon Rome, and wished to have his army complete, and in perfect order, in readiness for anything that might occur there. Therefore, after the fall of Jotapata he marched first to Caesarea and, after a short halt there, passed north to Caesarea Philippi--where the climate, cooled by the breezes from the mountains, was pleasant and healthful--and here he gave the army twenty days to rest, and recover from their wounds and fatigues. He then marched south again to Scythopolis, or Bethsan, lying just within the borders of Samaria, and not far from the Jordan. Here Titus, with a detached force, joined him; and they prepared to reduce the cities near the lake. Simon had by this time returned home, accompanied by John and Jonas. Simon tried to persuade his son to remain with his mother, but John had entreated that he might accompany him. "The war may last for a long time, father; and the land must be tilled, else why should you yourself return home? We are in the province of King Agrippa and, after what has befallen Jotapata and Japha, it is not likely that the people of Hippos, or of other towns, will venture to show disaffection--therefore there is no reason why the Romans should carry fire and sword through Agrippa's country, east of Jordan. It is well that my mother and Mary should not return for, if evil days should come, they could not save themselves by rapid flight; besides we risk but death, and death were a thousand times better than slavery among the Romans. If we find that they are approaching, and are wasting the land, we can fly. The boats are close by; and we can take to the lake, and land where we will, and make our way back here." "And you will not seek, John, when the Romans approach, to enter Tiberias or Gamala, or any other cities that may hold out against the Romans?" "No, father. I have had my share of defending a walled city and, save for Jerusalem, I will fight no more in cities. All these places must fall, sooner or later, if the Romans sit down before them. I will not be cooped up again. If any leader arises, and draws together a band in the mountains to harass and attack the Romans, I will join him--for it has always seemed to me that in that way, only, can we successfully fight against them--but if not, I will aid you in the labors of the farm, until the Romans march against Jerusalem." Simon yielded to his son's wishes, for the events of the last year had aged him much, and he felt the need of assistance on the farm. The men who had worked for him had--save Isaac, and one or two of the older men--gone away to Jerusalem, or to Gamala, or one or other of the fortified towns. The time for the harvest was at hand, and there would be few to gather it in. Martha would fain have accompanied them, but Simon would not hear of this. "You are in a safe refuge here, wife, and rather than that you should leave it, I would abandon our farm, altogether. If you come, Mary and the women must come also and, even for us men, the danger would be greater than were we alone." Mary also tried her power of persuasion, but Simon was not to be moved; and the three set off together--for Jonas, as a matter of course, accompanied John wherever he went. The three weeks' kindness, rest, and good feeding had done wonders for him. The wild, reckless expression, which John had noticed when he had first met him, had well-nigh disappeared; his bones had become better covered, and his cheeks filled out and, comfortably clothed as he now was, few would have recognized in him the wild goatherd of Jotapata. Simon was mounted on a donkey, the others walked. "It is well that I am off again," Jonas said. "Another month there, and I should have got fat and lazy, and should have almost forgotten how to run and climb, and should have grown like the dwellers on the plains." "There will be plenty of work for you, on the farm, Jonas," Simon said. "You need not be afraid of growing fat and lazy, there." "I don't think I am fond of work," Jonas said, thoughtfully, "not of steady work, but I will work hard now, Simon; you have all been so good to me that I would work till I dropped for you. I wouldn't have worked before, not if they had beaten me ever so much; because they were always unkind to me, and why should one work, for those who do nothing for you but beat and ill-use you?" "You should always do your duty, Jonas," Simon said. "If others do not do their duty to you, so much the worse for them; but that is no excuse for your not doing your duty, as far as you can." Jonas, being a little behind Simon, made a little face expressive of his disagreement with this opinion; but he said nothing. They followed the course of the river Hieromax down to Capitolias; where they slept, that night, in the house of some friends of Simon and, on the following evening, arrived at the farm. John received a hearty greeting, from Isaac and the other men; and several of the fishermen, when they heard of his return, came in to see him. For the next fortnight, John and Jonas worked from daylight till dark and, by the end of that time, the greater part of the corn was gathered in the granary. A portion was stored away in a deep pit, straw being laid over it when the hole was nearly full, and earth being thrown in level to the surface; so that, should the Romans come and sack the granary, there should still remain a store which would carry them on until the next harvest. Then the news came, from across the lake, that the Romans were breaking up their camp at Scythopolis, and were moving towards Tiberias. No resistance was expected to be offered there. The greater part of the inhabitants had, all along, been well affected to the Romans; and had only been compelled, by a small faction in the city and by the fear of the country people of Galilee, to join in the insurrection. It was, too, the richest city in the dominions of King Agrippa for, although these lay for the most part east of Jordan, the towns of Tiberias and Tarichea were included in them. Tiberias was, in fact, his chief city. Here he had his richest palace; and the city, which greatly benefited by being the seat of his government, was Roman rather than Jewish in its hopes and feelings. So confident was Vespasian that no resistance would be offered that, when he arrived within half a mile of the town, he sent forward an officer, with fifty horse, to exhort the people to open their gates. When he got near the town, the officer dismounted and went forward to speak; when a party of the war faction, headed by Jesus the son of Shaphat, charged out upon him. The officer, having had no orders to fight the Jews, fled on foot; with five of his men, who had also dismounted. Their assailants seized the horses, and carried them in triumph into the city. The senate of Tiberias at once issued out from the city, and hurried to the camp of Vespasian; and implored him not to visit the crime of a small body of desperate men upon the whole city, whose inhabitants had always been favorably disposed towards Rome. Agrippa added his entreaties to theirs; and Vespasian, who had just given orders for the troops to advance to storm and sack the city, recalled them. The insurgents under Jesus fled to Tarichea and, the gates being opened, the Romans entered Tiberias; Vespasian issuing strict orders against plundering, and the ill treatment of the inhabitants. At Tarichea were assembled not only the insurgents from Tiberias, but fighting men from all the towns on the lake, and from the country on the east. The city had been carefully fortified by Josephus and, as the inhabitants had a very large number of vessels in the port, they relied upon these for escape, in case the town should be reduced to extremities. No sooner did the Romans appear before their walls, and begin to lay out their siege works, than the Tiberians and others, under the command of Jesus, sallied out and dispersed the workmen. When the Roman troops advanced, in regular order, some of the Jews retired into the city. Others made for their boats, which were ranged along on the shore; and in these, putting out a little distance, they cast anchor, and opened fire with their missiles upon the Romans. In the meantime, a large number of Jews had just arrived from the farther side of Jordan. Vespasian sent Titus, with six hundred chosen horse, to disperse them. The number of the Jews was so large that Titus sent for further succor, and was reinforced by Trajan, with four hundred horse; while Antonius Silo, with two thousand archers, was sent by Vespasian to the side of a hill opposite the city, to open fire thence upon the defenders of the walls, and thus prevent them from harassing the Roman horsemen as they advanced. The Jews resisted the first charge of the cavalry; but they could not long withstand the long spears, and the weight and impetus of the horses, and fled in disorder towards the town. The cavalry pursued and tried to cut them off from it but, although great numbers were slaughtered, the rest--by pure weight of numbers--broke through, and reached the city. A great dissension arose within the walls. The inhabitants of the town--dismayed by the defeat inflicted, by a small number of Romans, upon the multitude in the field--were unwilling to draw upon themselves the terrible fate which had befallen the towns which had resisted the Romans, and therefore clamored for instant surrender. The strangers--great numbers of whom were mountaineers from Peraea, Ammonitis, and the broken country of Mount Galaad and the slopes of Hermon, who knew little of what had been passing in Galilee--were for resistance, and a fray arose in the town. The noise of the tumult reached Titus; who called upon his men to seize the moment, while the enemy were engaged in civil discord, to attack. Then, leading his men, he dashed on horseback into the lake, passed round the end of the wall, and entered the city. Consternation seized the besieged. The inhabitants attempted no resistance, still hoping that their peaceful character would save them from ill treatment; and many allowed themselves to be slaughtered, unresistingly. Jesus and his followers, however, fought gallantly; striving, but in vain, to make their way down to the ships in the port. Jesus himself, and many of his men, were killed. Titus opened the gates, and sent word to his father that the city was captured; and the Roman army at once entered. Vespasian placed a number of his troops in the large vessels in the port, and sent them off to attack those who had first fled to the boats. These were, for the most part, fishermen from the various towns on the lake. The cavalry were sent all round the lake, to cut off and slay those who sought to gain the land. The battle--or rather the slaughter--went on for some time. The fishermen, in their light boats, could do nothing against the soldiers in the large vessels. These slew them with arrows or javelins, from a distance; or ran them down, and killed them as they struggled in the water. Many of the boats were run ashore; but the occupants were slain, there, by the soldiers on the lookout for them. Altogether, six thousand perished in the slaughter. In the meantime, Vespasian had set up a tribunal in Tarichea. The inhabitants of the town were separated from the strangers. Vespasian himself was, as Josephus said, unwilling to shed more blood--as he had promised, when he had entered the city, to spare the lives of all--but he yielded to the arguments of those who said that the strangers were mountain robbers, the foes of every man. Accordingly, they were ordered to leave the city, by the road to Tiberias. As soon as they had left the town, the troops surrounded them, headed by Vespasian in person. Twelve hundred of the aged and helpless he ordered to be slain, at once; six thousand of the most able-bodied he sent to Nero, to be employed on the canal he was digging across the isthmus of Corinth; thirty thousand four hundred were sold as slaves; and a large number were bestowed upon Agrippa, who also sold them as slaves. This act, after the formal promise of pardon, disgraces the memory of Vespasian even more than the wholesale massacres of the garrisons of the towns which resisted to the last. The news of this act of wholesale vengeance spread such terror through the land that the whole of the cities of Galilee at once opened their gates; and sent deputations to Vespasian to offer their submission, and ask for pardon. Gamala, Gischala, and Itabyrium--a town on Mount Tabor, which had been strongly fortified by Josephus--alone held out. Itabyrium lay some ten miles to the west of Tiberias. Standing back among the trees, at a short distance from the lake, Simon, John, and the workers on the farm watched with horror the slaughter of the fishermen on the lake. None of their neighbors were among those who had gone out to aid in the defense of Tarichea; for Simon had gone among them, to dissuade them from launching their boats and joining the flotilla, as it proceeded down the lake in the morning. He urged upon them that, if they took part in the affair, they would only bring down vengeance upon themselves and their families. "There is no lack of men," he said, "in Tiberias and Tarichea. Such aid as you can give would be useless and, whether the cities fall at once, or whether they resist, the vengeance of the Romans will fall upon you. In a few hours, their horsemen can ride round the shores of the lake, and cut off all who are absent from returning to their homes, and give the villages to fire and sword. Those who can point to their boats, drawn up at the side of the lake, will be able to give proof to the Romans that they have not taken part against them. So far, we have escaped the horrors of war on this side of Jordan. "If the strong cities of Galilee cannot resist the Roman arms, what hope should we have on this side, where the population is comparatively scanty, and where there are few strong places? Do not let us provoke the Romans, my friends. If they go up against Jerusalem, let those who will, go, and die in defense of the Temple; but it would be worse than folly to provoke the wrath of the Romans, by thrusting yourselves into the quarrel here." Warmly did the fishermen congratulate themselves, when they saw the combat proceeding on the lake, and when a strong body of Roman horse rode along the shore, leaving parties at regular intervals to cut off those who might try and land. A body of twenty were posted down by the boats, and two came into the village and demanded food for the party. Simon, when he saw them coming, ordered all the able-bodied men to retire, and remain in the olive groves on the slopes, at a distance from the lake, until the Romans had gone; while he, and Isaac, and some other old men, went down and met the soldiers. "Are any of the people of this place out there on the lake?" the officer in command of the twenty men asked; as Simon and his party, bringing bread, fruit, and wine, came down to the waterside. "No, sir," Simon replied. "We have but eight boats belonging to the village, and they are all there. We are peaceable people, who till the soil and fish the lake, and take no part in the doings of the great towns. We are subjects of King Agrippa, and have no cause for discontent with him." "A great many other people have no cause for discontent, old man," the officer said; "but they have, nevertheless, risen in rebellion. However, as your boats are here, and your people seem to have taken no part in this matter, I have naught to say against you; especially as your wine is good, and you have brought down plenty of it." Simon and his companions withdrew and, with aching hearts, watched from a distance the massacre upon the lake. The fury, however, produced among the men in the towns and villages on the shore, at the sight of the numerous corpses washed ashore, was so great that many of the young men left their avocations and started for Gamala; which, relying upon the strength of its position--which was even stronger than that of Jotapata--was resolved to resist to the last. Several of the young men of the village, and many from the villages near, were determined to take this course, maddened by the slaughter of many friends and relations. John himself was as furious as any, especially when the news came of the violation of faith at Tarichea, and of the selling of nigh forty thousand men into slavery. "Father," he said, that evening, "I had thought to stay quietly with you, until the Romans advanced against Jerusalem; but I find I cannot do so. The massacre at Jotapata was bad enough, but the slaughter of defenseless men, on the lake, is worse. I pray you, let me go." "Would you go into Gamala, and die there, John?" Simon asked. "Better to die at the Temple, than to throw away your life here." "I do not intend to go into Gamala, father, nor to throw away my life--though I care little for it, except for the sake of you and my mother and Mary--but I would do something; and I would save the sons of our neighbors, and others, from the fate that assuredly waits them if they enter Gamala. They know not, as I do, how surely the walls will go down before the Roman engines; but even did they know it, so determined are they to fight these slayers of our countrymen that they would still go. "What I propose to do is to carry out what I have always believed to be the true way of fighting the Romans. I will collect a band, and take to the mountains, and harass them whenever we may find opportunity. I know the young men from our village will follow me, if I will lead them; and they will be able to get their friends along the shore to do the like. In that way the danger will not be so great for, in the mountains, the Romans would have no chance of overtaking us while, if we are successful, many will gather round us, and we may do good service." "I will not stay you, John, if you feel that the Lord has called upon you to go; and indeed, you may save, as you say, the lives of many of our neighbors, by persuading them to take to the hills with you, instead of shutting themselves up in Gamala. Go down, then, to the village, and talk to them; and see what they say to your plan." John had little doubt as to his proposal being accepted by the younger men of the village. The fact that he had been chosen as one of the bodyguard of Josephus had, at once, given him importance in the eyes of his neighbors; and that he should have passed through the siege of Jotapata, and had escaped, had caused them to regard him not only as a valiant fighter, but as one under the special protection of God. Since his return, scarce an evening had passed without parties coming, from one or other of the villages along the shore, to hear from his lips the story of the siege. As soon, then, as he went down to the fishing village, and told the young men who had determined to leave for Gamala that he thought badly of such action--but that he intended to raise a band, and take to the mountains and harass the Romans--they eagerly agreed to follow him, and to obey his orders. There were eight of them, and John at once made them take an oath of obedience and fellowship; swearing in all things to obey his orders, to be true to each other to death, to be ready to give their lives, when called upon, for the destruction of the Romans; and never, if they fell into the hands of the enemy, to betray the secrets of the band, whatever might be the tortures to which they were exposed. John could have obtained more than eight men in the village, but he would only take quite young men. "I want only men who can undergo fatigue and watching; who can climb mountains, and run as fast as the Roman horse can gallop. Besides, for work like this it is necessary that there should be one leader, and that he should be promptly obeyed. If I take older men, they will naturally wish to have a voice in the ordering of things. I have seen enough of military matters to know that, for prompt decision and swift execution, one head--and one head only--is necessary. Besides, we may find difficulties in the way of getting food and, at first, I wish for only a small band. If success attends us, we shall increase rapidly. Twenty will be quite enough, to begin with." As soon as the eight young men--of whom all but two were under twenty years old--had taken the oath, they started at once to the villages round. "Do each of you gather in two, but no more," John said; "and let them be those whom you know to be strong and active. Do not bring more; and if four of you bring but one, so much the better. If you find many more eager to join, you can tell them that we will send for them, when the time comes, to increase our numbers; and pray them to abide here, and not to go into Gamala. "Let each bring his arms and a bag of meal; and meet me, tomorrow evening at sundown, on the Hieromax River, three miles below Capitolias--that will be opposite to Abila, which lies on the mountain side. Let all travel singly, for the Roman horse may be about. However, as we shall be walking east, while Gamala lies to the west of south, they will not take us--should we come upon them--for men going thither to aid in the defense of the town." The young men started at once on their missions, full of confidence in John; and feeling certain that, under his leadership, they should soon come to blows with the Romans; being also, in their hearts, well satisfied that their warfare would be in the open country, and they should not be called upon to fight pent up in walls from which there was no escape. Having seen his followers off, John returned home, and told Simon the progress he had made. The old man sighed. "I do not seek to keep you, John; for your duty to your country stands, now, in the first rank of all; and it may be that the Lord preserved you, at Jotapata, because he intends you to do great deeds for him, here. I do not say spare yourself, or avoid danger, for our sakes. I only say, do not throw away your life by rashness. Remember that, young as you are, you are a leader, and be prudent as well as brave. "After Gamala has fallen--as fall I fear it will--and the Romans have moved away from these parts--as they will then do, for there is no resistance to them, on this side of Jordan, save at that town--I shall bring your mother and Mary back again; and you will find us waiting here to welcome you, if you return. If not, my son, I shall mourn for you, as Jacob mourned for Joseph--and more, seeing that you are the only prop of my old age--but I shall have the consolation of knowing that you died for your country." "You will find in Mary a daughter, father; and you must find a husband for her, who will take my place. But it may be that if the Romans march not direct upon Jerusalem--and they say that Vespasian has arranged that two of the legions shall winter on the sea coast, at Caesarea, and the third at Scythopolis--it is probable that he will not move against Jerusalem till the spring. In that case I may be often here, during the winter. For I will not go down to Jerusalem until the last thing; for there all is turmoil and disturbance and, until the time comes when they must lay aside their private feuds and unite to repel the invader, I will not go down." Father and son talked until late in the night. In the morning John made his preparations for departure. He had told Jonas of his intentions. The boy listened silently, only saying, "Wherever you go, John, I am ready to go with you; it makes no difference to me;" and afterwards went down to the lake side, where he filled his pouch with smooth pebbles, each of which he selected with great care for, when herding his goats among the mountains, Jonas had been always practicing with a sling, and many a cony had fallen before his unerring aim. All the lads in the mountains were accustomed to the use of the sling, but none in Jotapata had approached Jonas in their skill with this weapon. During the siege he had often astonished John by the accuracy of his aim; and had several times compelled the Romans to cease working one of their machines, which specially harassed the defenders of the wall, by striking down one after another of those who directed it--his stones seldom failing to strike them full in the face, the only spot unprotected by their armor. In the morning, John prepared to start. He and Jonas each carried a small sack, supported by a strap passing over the shoulders, and containing some eight pounds of meal and a gourd of water. Jonas carried no weapon, save a long knife hidden under his garment, and his sling and pouch of stones. John carried a sword and buckler, and a horn. Before they started, John knelt before his father and received his blessing; and Simon, as he bade him adieu, gave him a small bag of money. "You will need to buy things in the mountains, lad; and I would not that you should be driven, like the robber bands, to take food by force. It is true that they who go not to the war should support those who risk their lives for their country; but there are many aged men who, like myself, cannot fight, there are many women whose husbands are away in Gamala or Jerusalem, and these may not be able to afford to assist others. Therefore, it is well that you should have means of paying for what you require; otherwise the curse of the widow and fatherless may fall upon you. "And now, farewell, my son! May God have you in his keeping, and send you home safe to your mother and me!"	{ "id": "21614" }
8	: Among The Mountains.	Jonas was in high spirits as they started from the farm. He was leaving no friends behind and, so long as he had John with him, he was perfectly contented. He was delighted to be on the move again for, although he had worked steadily in getting in the harvest, regular labor was distasteful to him and, accustomed as he had been to wander, for weeks, free and unchecked with his goats among the mountains, the regular life and order of the farm were irksome to him. John, on the other hand, was silent; replying briefly to the boy's questions. He felt the danger of the enterprise upon which he had embarked, and his responsibility as leader; and the thought of the grief which his father and mother would feel, did ought befall him, weighed on his mind. Presently, however, he roused himself. "Now, Jonas, you must keep a sharp lookout round for, if we see any Roman soldiers in the distance, I must hide my sword and buckler before they discover us, and you must stow away your sling and pouch; then we will walk quietly on. If they question us, we are going to stay with friends at Capitolias and, as there will be nothing suspicious about us, they will not interfere with us. After they have passed on, we will go back for our arms. We are not traveling in the direction of Gamala, and they will have no reason to doubt our story." They did not, however, meet any of the parties of Roman horse who were scouring the country, carrying off grain and cattle for the use of the army; and they arrived, in the afternoon, on the bank of the Hieromax. Upon the other side of the river rose the steep slopes of Mount Galaad, high up on whose side was perched the little town of Abila. "Here we can wait, Jonas. We are nearly opposite the town. The others will, doubtless, soon be here." It was not long before the band made their appearance, coming along in twos and threes as they had met on the river bank. By sunset the last had arrived, and John found that each of his first recruits had brought two others. He looked with satisfaction at the band. The greater part of them had been fishermen. All were strong and active; and John saw that his order that young men, only, should be taken had been obeyed, for not one of them was over the age of twenty-three and, as he had laid it down, as an absolute rule, all were unmarried. All were, like himself, armed with sword and buckler; and several had brought with them bags with javelin heads, to be fitted to staves, later on. All their faces bore a look of determination and, at the same time, of gladness. The massacre on the lake had excited the inhabitants of the shore to fury, and even those who had hitherto held back from the national cause were now eager to fight against the Romans; but many shrunk from going to Gamala--which was, indeed, already as full of fighting men as it could hold--and John's proposal to form a band, for warfare in the mountains, had exactly suited the more adventurous spirits. All present were known to John, personally. Many of them were sons of friends of Simon; and the others he had met at village gatherings, or when fishing on the lake. There were warm greetings, as each accession to the party arrived; and each member of the band felt his spirits rise higher, at finding that so many of those he knew, personally, were to be his comrades in the enterprise. When the last comer had arrived, John said: "We will now be moving forward. We had best get well up the mountain, before night falls. It matters not much where we camp, tonight; tomorrow we can choose a good spot for our headquarters." It being now the height of the dry season, the river was low, and they had no difficulty in wading across. Then they struck up the hill, to the right of Abila, until they had fairly entered the forests which clothed the lower slopes of the mountains. Then John gave the word for a halt. Dead wood was soon collected, and a fire made. Cakes of meal were baked in the ashes and, after these had been eaten, the party lay round the fire and, a few minutes later, John rose to his feet. Illustration: John Incites his Countrymen to Harass the Romans. "You all know the reason for which we are gathered together here. We all long for vengeance on the oppressors of our country, the murderers of our kinsmen and friends, the men who carry off our women to shame and slavery in Rome. We are all ready to die, for our country and our God; but we would fain die doing as much harm to the Romans as we can, fighting like freemen in the open, instead of rats slaughtered in a cage. That is why, instead of going into Gamala, we have gathered here. "I am the youngest among you; but I have so far assumed the leadership because, in the first place, I have been much with Josephus, who--although he may now, most unworthily, have gone over to the Romans to save his life--was yet a wise governor, and a great leader. From him, I have learned much of the Romans. In the second place, I have seen more of their warfare than any of you, having passed through the terrible siege of Jotapata. Lastly, I believe that God, having saved me almost alone of all the host that defended the town, has intended me as an instrument for his service. "Therefore have I taken upon myself the command, in the first place, of this band; but at the same time, if you think that I am too young, and would rather place another at your head, I will stand aside, and release from their oath those who have already sworn. I am not self seeking. I crave not the leadership over you, and will obey whomsoever you may choose for your chief. But to whomsoever is the leader, prompt obedience must be given; for there must, even in a band like this, be order and discipline. We work for a common good, but we must yield to the direction of one will, and one head. "Now, what say you? I will walk away, to leave you free to consult one with another; and will abide by your decision, whatever it be. Only the decision, once made, must be adhered to. There must be no after grumbling, no hesitation or drawing back. You must have absolute confidence, and give absolute obedience, to him whom you choose. For only so can we hope to succeed in our enterprises." John had gone but a short way among the trees, when he was called back again. All had come prepared to follow him. His father had always been a man of weight and position among the villagers on the shore and, democratic as were the Jewish institutions, there was yet a certain respect paid to those of position above their fellows. John's experience and, especially, his escape from Jotapata, seemed specially to mark him as one destined to play an important part. And his quiet resolute bearing, now--the feeling that he knew what was to be done, and how to do it; that he was, in fact, their natural leader--came home to all, and it was with sincerity that they assured him that they accepted him as their leader. "Very well," John said, quietly. "Then let those who have not already taken the oath stand up, and do so." This was done, and John then said: "Now, I will tell you more of my plans; although these, of course, cannot be in any way settled until we see how things turn out. It is by watching for opportunities and seizing the right moment, only, that we can hope for success. We are all ready to give our lives for our country, but we do not wish to throw them away. We want each of us to do as much as possible. We want to live, so as to share in the defense of the Temple; therefore, we have to combine prudence with daring. "As for an attack upon any strong body of Roman troops, it would be impossible--unless they attempt to follow us among the mountains. One of our first duties will be to learn the country well, so that we may know where to defend ourselves, should they come up after us; where, from eminences, we can cast down rocks upon them; where there are crags which we can climb, but up which their heavy-armed soldiers cannot follow us. This is our first task for, as yet, they have not commenced the siege of Gamala. When they do so, we must draw down near them and hide ourselves, mark the position of their camp, see how their tents are arranged, and where their sentries are placed. "Then we can begin work: sometimes falling upon their guards; at other times creeping in past their sentries, scattering through the camp and, at a given signal, firing their tents with the brands from their fires; slaying those who first rush out, and then making off again to the hills. "Then, too, they will be sending great numbers of men up the hills, to cut timber and branches for their embankments, their breastworks, and the construction of the wattles to protect their machines. We shall be in hiding and, when a party of men separates from the rest, we will fall upon these; we will harass their workers from a distance, always avoiding a regular combat, but hindering their work, and wearing them out. Thus we may do better service, to the defenders of Gamala, than if we were within the walls. "At present we have only swords, but we must get bows and arrows. It would not have been safe to have carried them across the plains; but we can procure them at Abila, or Jabez Galaad. I fear that we shall not be able to interfere with the provisioning of the army--for upon the plains we shall have no chance with their cavalry--but, here in these mountains, stretching away over Peraea into Arabia and Moab, we can laugh at pursuit by the Romans; and even Agrippa's light-armed Arabs will have difficulty in following us, and of them we need have little fear. At Jotapata we proved ourselves a match for the Romans; and their light-armed troops will not care to venture against us, alone, as they will not know our numbers, and will fear being led into ambushes. "There is one question which we have to consider, and that is food; as to flesh, we shall have it in abundance. There will be many flocks of goats, belonging to those in Gamala, straying among the mountains without an owner; therefore of goats' milk and flesh we can take abundance, but there will be a scarcity of grain. I have some money with me, with which we can purchase it at Abila, and the villages. As for Jabez Galaad, it is too close to Gamala; and the Romans will probably ascend the hill and destroy it, or place a guard there. At any rate, the money will be sufficient to purchase meal for us, for some time--much longer, probably, than Gamala will be able to hold out--and when that has fallen, it will be time to arrange about the future. Only let us take nothing without payment; let us not be like the robber bands, which prey upon the people, until they long for the Romans as masters. "Only we must remember that, while we desire now to do the Romans as much harm as possible, this is but the beginning of our work; and that we must save ourselves for the future. Gamala is but one town; and we shall have plenty of opportunities for striking at the enemy, in the future. We have put our hands to the plow now and, so long as the war lasts, we will not look back. It may be that our example may lead others to follow it and, in that case, the Romans' difficulties will thicken, every day. Were there scores of bands of determined men, like us, hanging around them; ready to attack small bodies, whenever they venture away from their camps to gather in provisions and forage, and to harass them, at night, by constant alarms, we could wear them out. "Only, we must always avoid a pitched battle. In irregular fighting we are as good as they--better, for we can move more quickly--but when it comes to fighting in order of battle, we have no chance with them, whatever. Their cavalry, the other day outside Tarichea, were like wolves among a flock of sheep. Nothing but disaster can come of fighting in the plain. Every people should fight in the way that suits them best, and an attempt to meet an enemy in their own way of fighting is sure to lead to disaster. Let the Roman keep the plain, with his cavalry and his heavy infantry; let the Jew, light footed and swift, keep to the hills. He is as much superior, there, as is the Roman in the plains. "And now, we must establish signals. We will get horns, at Abila; and I will fix upon signals. One long note will mean, gather to me; two, fall back gradually; three, retire at once with all speed, to the spot agreed upon, before setting out in the morning. Two short notes will mean, advance and attack in the manner arranged; one short note, oft repeated, will tell you the Romans are advancing, sound your horns--for it were well that each provided himself with a cow's horn, so that the signals can be repeated. If we are scattered over a hillside among the trees, and the Romans hear horns sounded in many quarters, they will think that there must be a large body of men assembled. This will make them slow and cautious in all their movements; will force many to stand prepared, with their arms, to guard those at work; and will altogether confuse and puzzle them. "And now, we will lie down and sleep; as soon as it is dawn, we will be on foot again." The next two days were spent in exploring that part of the mountains: examining the direction, and extent, of each valley and ravine; seeing where steep precipices afforded an opportunity for rolling down rocks upon an enemy passing along the valley, or trying to storm the height; in searching for pools in dried watercourses; and in deciding upon a spot favorable for the camp. They fixed upon a spot high up on the mountains, two miles east of Abila, as their headquarters. It was in a pass between two peaks, and gave them the option of descending either to the north or south, or of skirting along the mountains towards the sources of the Jabbok river, and thence crossing the Hermon range beyond the limits of Peraea. Jonas was sent, the first thing, to discover whether the Romans had taken possession of Jabez Galaad; which lay but five miles from Gamala, and on the southern side of the range of hills on whose western spur Gamala was built. He returned, in a short time, saying that he had found the inhabitants in a state of great alarm; for that a Roman force could be seen, coming up the road from the plain. Most of the fighting men of the town were in Gamala; the rest, with the young women, were leaving, so that only old people and children would be found in the town when the Romans arrived. Jonas also brought word that Vespasian's whole army was moving against Gamala. John had given Jonas money, before he started, to purchase bows and arrows. He had brought back bows for the whole party, and as many arrows as he could carry. "I paid nothing for them," he said, as he threw them down. "The man who sold them was praying those who were leaving the town to take them--for he thought that, if the Romans found them in his house, they would destroy it--but no one listened. All were too busy, in carrying off such of their household goods as they could take, to burden themselves further; so he gladly gave me as many as I could take. I carried off nearly all his bows; and I left him breaking up the rest, and his store of arrows, in order to burn them before the Romans arrived. "A boy, carrying a bag of arrowheads, came with me some little distance. I paid the man for them, and they are now hidden in the forest. You can fetch them when you will, but I could not carry more with me than I have got." "You have done well, Jonas," John said, as the men seized each a bow, and divided the arrows among them; and then stood waiting, expecting orders from John to proceed, at once, to harass the Roman column as it ascended the hill. John said, in answer to their looks: "We will not meddle with them, today. Did we shoot at them, they would suppose that we belonged to Jabez Galaad; and would, in revenge, destroy the town and all those they may find within it; and our first essay against them would bring destruction upon thousands of our countrymen." The others saw the justness of his reasoning, and their faith in him as their leader was strengthened by his calmness, and readiness of decision. "Is the bag of arrowheads heavy, Jonas?" "It is as much as the boy, who was about my own age, could carry," Jonas replied. "Then do you, Phineas, and you, Simeon, go with Jonas to the place where the bag is hidden, and carry it to the place we have fixed upon for our camp. If, on the way, you come across a herd of goats, shoot two or three of them and take them with you, and get fires ready. The day is getting on, but we will go across the mountains, and see where the Romans are pitching their camp and, by sunset, we will be with you." Making their way along the mountain the band came, after an hour's walking, to a point where they could obtain a view of Gamala. The city stood on the western extremity of the hill which, after sloping gradually down, rose suddenly in a sharp ridge like the hump of a camel--from which the town had its name, Gamala. On both sides, this rock ended abruptly in a precipitous chasm; in which ran the two branches of the Hieromax, which met at the lower end of the ridge, and ran together into the end of the lake at Tarichea, three miles away. Thus, Gamala was only accessible from behind, where the ridge joined the mountains. Across this neck of land a deep fosse had been dug, so as to cut off all approach. The houses were crowded thickly on the steep slope of the ridge, which was so abrupt that the houses seemed to overhang one another. On the southern crag, which was of immense height, was the citadel of the town. There was a spring, supplying abundance of water, within the walls. Had it been defended by a garrison as brave and numerous as that of Jotapata, it would have been well-nigh impregnable; but Cheres and Joseph, who commanded, had none of the genius of Josephus, although they were brave and determined. The city was crowded with fugitives from all parts; and had already, for seven months, resisted a besieging force which Agrippa had sent against it. It was impossible to blockade the whole circuit of the town; but Vespasian took possession of all the neighboring heights, and established his camp, with that of the Fifteenth Legion, on the hill facing the city to the east. The Fifth Legion threw up works, opposite the center of the city; while the Tenth set to work to fill up ditches and ravines, in order to facilitate the approaches. Agrippa approached the wall, to persuade the inhabitants to surrender; but was struck on the right elbow by a stone from a sling, and forced to retire. This insult to the native king, who came in the character of an ambassador, enraged the Romans; and they set about the operations for the siege with great vigor. In spite of the efforts of the Jews, the fosse which protected the wall on the east was speedily filled up; and the Romans then began, as at Jotapata, to raise an embankment facing the wall. The day after the Romans had established their camp, John and his followers advanced along the mountain until they could look down upon it and, for a long time, watched the Romans at work, and learned all the details of the camp. "You must fix them in your minds," John said, "in order that, even on a dark night, you may be able to make your way about it without difficulty; so that you may be able, after striking a blow, to fly directly to the mountain--for any who get confused, and miss their way, will assuredly be killed. You see, the enemy have placed a strong guard, halfway up the hillside, in order to protect themselves from surprise; but it will be possible, by moving down to the streams, and then mounting again, to reach the camp without passing through them. And by the same way we must make our retreat for, if we succeed in setting the camp on fire, the flames will enable the guard on the mountains to see us approaching them. "I had hoped that we might be able to penetrate, unobserved, to the tent of Vespasian, and to slay him and some of his generals but, by the bustle that we see round that tower on the hillside, and by the strong force of cavalry picketed round it, it is evident that he has taken up his quarters there and, indeed, from the top of the tower he can look down upon the town, and on all that is passing there, and issue his directions to his troops accordingly; so we must give up that idea. Another time, we may be more fortunate. "But see, a great number of troops are ascending the hill towards us, doubtless to cut timber for their works. As soon as they are at work, we will attack them." The party retired into the forest and, as soon as they heard the sound of the Roman axes, they crept quietly forward; moving noiselessly, with their sandaled feet, among the trees. When within a short distance of the Romans, John ordered them to halt; and crept forward, with Jonas, to reconnoiter. There was little fear of their being heard, for several hundred men were at work, felling trees; a line of sentries, at ten paces apart, standing under arms to prevent a surprise. The Romans were working too thickly to permit of any successful action, by so small a party; and John saw that the idea of an attack must be abandoned, and that he must confine himself, for the present, to harassing the sentries. Rejoining his men, he told them what he had discovered; and bade them scatter along the line and, crawling up under the protection of the trees, to approach as near as they could to the line of sentries; and then to shoot at them--or at the workmen, many of whom, having thrown off their heavy armor to enable them the better to work, offered more favorable marks for the arrows than the sentries--whose faces, only, were exposed. They were on no account to come to close quarters with the Romans. If the latter advanced, they were instantly to retire, approaching again as soon as the Romans recommenced their work; and so to continue, until he blew the signal for them to draw off, altogether. They were not to begin until they heard his signal for attack. After allowing some little time to elapse for the men to get into position, John blew his horn. A moment, and cries and shouts were heard along the whole Roman line. The sound of chopping instantly ceased, and the Roman trumpets blew to arms. John had advanced sufficiently near to see the Roman workmen before he gave the signal. Jonas was a little in advance of him and, as the horn sounded, he saw him step out from behind a tree, whirl his sling round his head and discharge a stone and, almost simultaneously, a Roman sentinel, some forty paces away, fell with a crash upon the ground. The Roman soldiers who had retained their armor ran instantly forward, to support their sentries. The others hastily buckled on their breastplates, caught up their bucklers and helmets, and joined their comrades. Arrows continued to fall among them from their invisible foes and, although most of these fell harmless from their armor, several soldiers fell, in addition to the seven or eight who had been killed by the first volley. The centurion in command soon saw that the number of his assailants was small but, afraid of being drawn into an ambush, he hesitated to give orders for an advance; but dispatched a messenger instantly to camp, contenting himself with throwing out strong parties a hundred yards in advance of his line. These now became the objects of attack, while arrows ceased to fall among the main body of the troops. John moved round the flank, till he gained a position whence he could observe the camp. The trumpets above had been heard there, and the troops had already taken up their position under arms. As he looked on, he saw the messenger run up to a party of mounted officers. A minute later a trumpet sounded, and a strong body of Arabian archers advanced, at a run, up the slope. John at once withdrew to his first position, and sounded the order for instant retreat; and then, hurrying back half a mile, sounded the note for his followers to assemble at the spot where he was standing. In a few minutes, all had joined him. They were in high spirits at the success of this first skirmish; and wondered why they had been so suddenly called off, when the Romans had shown no signs of advancing against them. "There are fully a thousand Arab archers in the forest, by this time," John said. "They are as fleet of foot as we are, and it would be madness to remain. We have stopped their work, for a time; and have killed many, without a scratch to ourselves. That is well enough, for today. Tomorrow we will beat them up, again." At daybreak, two of the party were sent forward to the edge of the wood, to see with what force the Romans went out to work. They brought back the report that they were accompanied by a strong body of archers; and that, as soon as they reached the forest, the archers were scattered in front of them for a long distance, and that it would be impossible to approach them, unobserved. On the previous afternoon, John had dispatched Jonas to Abila, and he had returned with a number of cows' horns. Round the fire in the evening, the men had set to work to pierce the points with heated arrowheads, and had converted them into instruments capable of giving a deep, prolonged sound. On the return of the scouts, John set his men in motion. "We cannot fight them, today, but we can hinder their work. We will scatter through the forest and, as we approach them, each is to sound his horn; and continue to do so, from time to time. The Romans will think that a great force is advancing against them." This was done, with the effect John had anticipated. Hearing the sound of horns, all over the mountainside, the Romans concluded that a great force was advancing to attack them; and the archers were at once recalled. The troops all stood to arms and, for several hours, remained waiting an attack. Then, after strong bodies of heavy-armed troops--preceded by the archers, skirmishing before them--had pushed some distance into the forest without meeting with an enemy, the work recommenced; a considerable number still standing to their arms, as protectors to the rest. Although a certain amount of time had been gained, for the city, by the interruption of the work of bringing in timber, John had undertaken these sham attacks rather with the purpose of accustoming his band to work together, and to give them confidence, than with the view of troubling the Romans. In this he was perfectly successful. The band, when they reached their camp, that evening, were in high spirits. They had, for two days, puzzled and baffled a large Roman force; had inflicted some loss upon them, and forced them to desist from their work. They were pleased with themselves, and their leader; and had lost much of the dread of the Romans which the capture of Jotapata, Japha, and Tarichea, and the tales of their cruelty and ferocity, had excited among the whole population. A reverse, at the commencement of their work, would have been fatal; and John had felt that, however earnest the men were, in their determination to die fighting for their country, the loss of a few of their number at the outset would have so dispirited the rest that the probability was that the band would disperse--or would, at any rate, be unwilling to undertake any desperate operation. But in their present mood they were ready for any enterprise upon which he might lead them; and he, accordingly, told them that he should abstain, next day, from a continuance of his attacks upon the working party; but that, at night, he would carry out the design of setting fire to their camp. Accordingly, the following day, the Romans pursued their work unmolested; although they still continued the precaution of keeping a force of archers, and parties of heavy-armed troops, in advance of those working in the wood. John did not move till the afternoon; and then, descending the hill to the right, he skirted along in the lower forest until within two miles of Gamala. Here he halted until nightfall. While waiting for the hour of action, he gave final instructions to his men, and assigned to them the order in which they should ascend from the river towards the rear of the camp. When they approached the spot where they would probably find Roman sentries posted, they were to advance singly, crawling along upon the ground. Those who first went through were to keep straight on until they reached the further end of the camp; stopping, as near as they could judge, fifty paces apart. They were then to wait for half an hour, so as to be sure that all would have gained their allotted positions. Then, when they saw a certain star sink below the horizon (a method of calculating time to which all were accustomed) they were to creep forward into the Roman camp; and each to make his way, as noiselessly as possible, until he came within a few paces of one of the smoldering fires of the Romans, and to wait until they heard a single note from John's horn. Each was at once to spring forward, seize a lighted brand and fire the nearest tent; and then to crawl away--cutting, as they went, the ropes of the tents, so as to bring them down, and create as much confusion as possible. Then, either by crawling or, if discovered, by leaping to their feet and making a sudden rush, all were to make their way down to the river again; to follow its banks for half a mile, and then wait in a body for an hour. At the end of that time they were to make their way back to their camp in the mountain; certain, by that time, that all who were alive would have rejoined them. Should he himself not be with the party, they were at once to proceed to the election of another leader. At about ten o'clock they again moved forward and, descending to the river, followed its banks until they arrived at the spot they had fixed on; then, in single file, they began to climb the hill. John placed himself in the middle of the line, in order to have a central position when the attack began. As soon as they reached the top of the slope, they lay down and, one by one, crawled forward into the darkness; two or three minutes being allowed to elapse between the departure of each man. They could hear the call of the Roman sentries as they answered each other, every half hour; and knew that the line was but a hundred yards or so in front of them. The night was very dark, and no sudden shout proclaimed that those ahead had been noticed. When John's turn came to advance, Jonas was to follow next behind him. All had left their bows, arrows, bucklers, and swords behind them, and carried only their knives; for they had not come to fight, and the knives were required only for cutting the tent ropes or, in case of discovery, to enable them to take a life or two before they fell, fighting. Each had sworn to kill himself, if he found escape impossible, in order to escape a death by torture if he fell alive into the hands of the Romans. John, on approaching the line of sentries, was guided by sound, only, in trying to avoid them. He could not see their figures; but could hear the sound of their footsteps, and the clash of their arms, as they tramped a few yards backwards and forwards. He was, like his comrades, stripped to the waist--having only on a short garment, reaching halfway down the knee--as it was upon speed, and activity, that his life would depend. Without interruption, he crawled through the lines of sentries and continued his course until he was, as near as he could tell, opposite the center of the long line of tents; then he lay quiet, watching the setting of the star. No sound was heard from the camp in front; although from down the hillside beyond it came a confused noise, as of a host of men at work; and the glare of many fires reddened the skies for, there, five thousand men were at work raising the embankment against the doomed city; while the archers and slingers maintained a never-ceasing conflict, of missiles, with the defenders on the walls. The star seemed, to John, as if it hung on its course; so long was it in sinking to the horizon. But at last it sank; and John, crawling noiselessly forward, made his way into the Roman camp. It was arranged with wide and regular streets, laid out with mechanical accuracy. Here and there, in front of a tent of a commanding officer, sentries paced to and fro; the sound of their footsteps and the clash of their arms, each time they turned, giving warning of their positions. In the center of the streets the fires--round which the soldiers had, shortly before, been gathered--still glowed and flickered for, although the days were hot, the cold at night rendered fires desirable; and there was an abundance of fuel to be obtained, from the hills. John crawled along with the greatest care. He had no fear of being seen, but had he come roughly against a tent-rope he might have brought out some wakeful occupant of the tent to see who was moving. He continued his course until he found himself opposite a fire, in which some of the brands were burning brightly; while there was no sentry on guard, within a distance of fifty yards. So far, everything had gone well; neither in passing through the lines of the sentries, nor in making their way into the camp, had any of the band been observed. It was certain now that some, at least, would succeed in setting fire to the tents, before they were discovered; and the wind, which was blowing briskly from the mountains, would speedily spread the flames; and a heavy blow would be inflicted upon the enemy.	{ "id": "21614" }
9	: The Storming Of Gamala.	At last, John made sure that all his followers must have taken up a favorable position. Rising to his feet he sounded a short note on his horn; then sprang forward and seized one of the blazing brands, and applied it to a tent. The canvas, dried by the scorching sun, lit in an instant and, as the flame leaped up, John ran further among the tents, lighted another and, leaving the brand there, sprang twenty yards away and then threw himself down. By this time, although not twenty seconds had elapsed since he had given the signal, a sudden uproar had succeeded the stillness which had reigned in the camp. The sentries had started on their posts, as they heard the note of the horn; but had stood a moment, irresolute, not knowing what it meant. Then, as the first flash of flame shot up, a simultaneous shout had arisen from every man on guard; rising louder and louder as the first flame was followed, almost instantly, by a score of others in different parts of the camp. It was but a few seconds later that the first trumpeter who rushed from his tent blew the alarm. Before its notes ceased, it was answered all over the camp and, with a start, the sleeping soldiers sprang up, caught up their arms, and rushed out of their tents. Startled, as they were, with the suddenness of the awaking, and the sight of the blazing tents, there was none of that confusion that would have occurred among troops less inured to warfare. Each man did his duty and--buckling on their arms as best they might, stumbling over the tent ropes in the darkness, amazed by the sound of the fall of tents, here and there, expecting every moment to be attacked by their unseen foe--the troops made their way speedily to the wide streets, and there fell in together, in military array, and waited for orders. These were not long in coming. As soon as the generals reached the spot, they told off a number of men to endeavor to extinguish the flames; sent other parties to scour the camp, and search for the enemy; while the rest, in solid order, awaited any attack that might be made upon them. But, short as was the time that had elapsed since the first alarm, it had sufficed to give the flames such hold and power that they were beyond control. With extraordinary rapidity the fire had leaped from tent to tent, and threatened to overwhelm the whole camp. The soldiers tried, in vain, to arrest the progress of the flames; rushing among the blazing tents, cutting the ropes to bring them to the ground, and trying to beat out the masses of fire as they fell. Many were terribly burnt, in their endeavors, but in vain; and the officers soon called them off, and set them to work pulling down the tents which the fire had not yet reached. But even this was useless: the flakes of fire, driven before the wind, fell on the heaps of dried canvas; and the flames spread almost as rapidly as they had done when the tents were standing. Nor were the parties in search of the incendiaries more successful. John had lain quiet, where he threw himself down, for a minute or two; by which time the tents had emptied of their occupants. Then, pausing only occasionally to circle a tent and cut away its ropes, he made his way to the edge of the camp. By this time the sheet of flame had extended well-nigh across the camp; extending high above it, and lighting it almost as if by day. But between him and the fire lay, still, a dark mass of tents; for the wind was blowing in the opposite direction and, light as it was elsewhere, in the black shadow of the tents it was still dark in the extreme. John made his way along, until he came to the end of the next street, and then paused. Already, three or four active figures had run past him at the top of their speed, and he wished to be the last to retreat. He stayed till he heard the tramp of troops coming down--driven out by the spreading flames--and then sprang across the end of the road and dashed along at full speed, still keeping close to the line of tents. A shout, which rose from the leading files of the Roman column, showed that he was seen. As he neared the end of the next opening, the Roman soldiers were pouring out; and he turned in among the tents again. Through these he made his way; dashing across the open spaces and, once, rushing through the midst of a Roman column--through which he passed before the troops had time to strike at, or seize him. At last, he reached the extremity of the camp. The slope down to the river was but fifty yards away and, once over the brow, he would be in darkness and safe from pursuit. But already the Romans had drawn up a column of men along the edge of the plateau, to cut off any who might try to pass. John paused among the last row of the tents, hesitating what course to adopt. He could not make directly up the mountain, for the space between it and the camp was now covered by the Roman cavalry--the greater portion of their infantry being still engaged in trying to save at least some portion of the camp. Suddenly he heard a footstep among the tents, close behind him. He drew back into the tent by which he was standing, and peered cautiously out. A Roman soldier came hastily along, and entered the next tent--doubtless to fetch some article of value, which he had left behind him as he rushed out, on the first alarm. A sudden idea flashed across John's brain. He waited till the soldier came out, followed him with silent steps; and then sprang upon him at a bound, hurling him to the ground, and burying his knife again and again in his body. Illustration: The Roman Camp Surprised and Set on Fire. Not a cry had escaped the Roman. The instant he was sure he was dead, John rose to his feet, placed the helmet of the fallen man on his head, secured the breastplate by a single buckle round his neck, took up his buckler and sword; and then, emerging from one of the tents, ran towards the Roman line, making for one of the narrow openings between the different companies. Several other soldiers--who had, like the man whom John had killed, gone back to their tents to fetch armor, or arms, left there--were also hurrying to take their places in the ranks. Therefore, no special attention was paid to John until he was within a few yards of the opening. Then a centurion at the end of the line said sternly: "You will be punished, tomorrow, for not being in your place. What is your name?" for, as John was between him and the sheet of flame rising from the camp, the Roman was unable to see his face. Instead of halting, as he expected, John sprang past him and, throwing down his helmet and buckler, dashed through the space between the companies. "Seize him! Cut him down!" the centurion shouted; but John was already descending the slope. As he ran, he swung the loosely buckled breastplate round on to his back; and it was well he did so for, a moment later, a Roman javelin rang against it, the force of the blow almost throwing him on his face. But, in a moment, he continued his course. He was in total darkness now and, though the javelins were flying around him, they were thrown at random. But the descent had now become so steep he was obliged to pause in his course, and to make his way cautiously. He undid the buckle, and left the breastplate behind him; threw down the sword; and climbed down until he stood by the side of the river. He could hear shouts above him, and knew that the Romans were searching the hillside, hoping that he had been killed or wounded by their darts. But he had no fear of pursuit. He swam the river--for he had struck upon a deep spot--and then, at full speed, ran along on the bank--knowing that some of the Roman cavalry were encamped upon the plain, and would soon be on the spot. However, all was quiet, and he met no one until he arrived opposite the place where it had been arranged that the party should meet. Then he waded across. "Is that you, John?" a voice exclaimed. "It is I, Jonas. Thank God, you have got back safely! How many are with you?" There was a loud cry of satisfaction and, as he made his way up the bank, a number of his followers crowded round him; all in the highest state of delight at his return. Jonas threw his arms round his neck, crying with joy. "I thought you must have fallen, John. I have been here ten minutes. Most of the others were here before me. Only three have arrived since and, for the last five minutes, none have come." "I fear no more will come," John said. "The Romans have cut off all retreat. "How many are missing?" "We were nineteen, here, before you came," one of the men replied. "Then there are six missing," John said. "We will not give them up. Some may have made their way straight up the mountain, fearing to be seen as they passed the ends of the open spaces. Some may have made their way, down the opposite slope, to the other arm of the river. But, even if all are killed, we need not repine. They have died as they wished--taking vengeance upon the Romans. "It has been a glorious success. More than half the Roman camp is assuredly destroyed; and they must have lost a prodigious quantity of stores, of all kinds. "Who are missing?" He heard the names of those absent. "I trust we may see some of them, yet," he said; "but if not, Jonas, tomorrow, shall carry to their friends the news of their death. They will be wept; but their parents will be proud that their sons have died in striking so heavy a blow upon our oppressors. They will live, in the memory of their villages, as men who died doing a great deed; and women will say: "'Had all done their duty, as they did, the Romans would never have enslaved our nation.' "We will wait another half hour, here; but I fear that no more will join us, for the Romans are drawn up all along the line where, alone, a descent could be made in the valley." "Then how did you escape, John," Jonas asked; "and how is it that you were not here, before? Several of those who were in the line beyond you have returned." "I waited till I hoped that all had passed," John said. "Each one who ran past the open spaces added to the danger--for the Romans beyond could not but notice them, as they passed the spaces lighted by the flames--and it was my duty, as leader, to be the last to go." "Six of those who were beyond you have joined us," one of the men said. "The other six are those that are missing." "That is what I feared," John answered. "I felt sure that those behind me would have got safely away, before the Romans recovered from their first confusion. The danger was, of course, greater in proportion to the distance from the edge of the slope." "But how did you get through, John, since you say that all escape is cut off?" John related how he had slain the Roman soldier, and escaped with his armor; and the recital raised him still higher in the estimation of his followers--for the modern feeling, that it is right to kill even the bitterest enemy only in fair fight, was wholly unknown in those days when, as was done by the Romans at Jotapata, men would cut the throat of a sleeping foe, with no more compunction than if they were slaughtering a fowl. Perceiving, by John's narration, that there was no chance of any of their comrades getting through to join them, now, the party struck off into the hills and, after three hours' march, reached their encampment. They gave a shout of joy, as they approached it; for a fire was burning brightly, and they knew that some of their comrades must have reached the spot before them. Four men rose, as they approached, and joyful greetings were exchanged. Their stories were soon told. As soon as they heard--by the shouts of the Romans on the hillside, and of the outer sentries--that they were discovered as they passed the spaces lit up by flames, they had turned back. Two of them had made their way up a deep watercourse, past the Roman guard on the hill--the attention of the soldiers being fixed upon the camp. The other two had climbed down the precipitous rocks on the other side of the hill. "It was terrible work, in the darkness," one of them said. "I fell, once, and thought I had broken my leg; but, fortunately, I had caught on a ledge, and was able to go on after a time. I think two of our party must have perished there; for twice, as I was descending, I heard a sudden cry, and then a sound as of a body falling from rock to rock." "Better so than to have fallen into the hands of the Romans," John said, "and to have been forced to slay themselves by their own hands, as we agreed to do. "Well, my friends, we have done a glorious deed. We have begun well. Let us trust that we may strike many more such blows against our tyrants. Now, let us thank God that he has fought by our hands, and that He has brought so many of us back from so great a danger! "Simeon, you are the oldest of the party; do you lift up your voice for us all." The party all stood listening reverently, while Simeon said a prayer of thanksgiving. Then one of them broke out into one of the psalms of triumph, and all joined at once. When this was done, they gathered round the fire, prepared their cakes of meal, and put meat on long skewers on the flames. Having eaten, they talked for hours, each in turn giving his account of his share in the adventure. They then talked of their missing friends; those from the same village telling what they knew of them, and what relations they had left behind. At last, just as morning was breaking, they retired into the little bowers of boughs that had been erected to keep off the cold--which was, at this elevation, sharp at nights. They were soon fast asleep. The first thing the next morning, Jonas set off to explore the foot of the precipices on the south side of the Roman camp, and to search for the bodies of their two missing comrades. He found one, terribly crushed; of the other he could find no sign, whatever. On his returning to the mountain camp, one of the young men was sent off to bear, to the relatives of the man whose body had been found, the certain news of his death; and to inquire, of the friends of the other, whether he had any relations living near the mountains to whom he might have made his way, if hurt or disabled by his fall. The messenger returned, on the following day, with the news that their missing comrade had already arrived at his home. His fall had not been a very deep one and, when he recovered consciousness, some hours before daybreak, he found that one of his legs was useless, and an arm broken. Thinking that, in the morning, the Romans might search the foot of the precipices, he dragged himself with the greatest difficulty a few hundred yards and, there, concealed himself among some bushes. A man came along, in search of an ass that had strayed. He called to him and, on the man hearing that he was one of the party who had caused the great fire in the Roman camp--the sight of whose flames had caused such exultation in the heart of every Jew in the plains around--he hurried away, and fetched another with a donkey. Upon this the injured man was lifted, and carried down to the lake; passing, on the way, several parties of Roman soldiers, to whom the idea did not occur that the sick man was one of the party who had inflicted such a terrible blow upon them on the previous night. Once by the side of the lake, there was no difficulty in getting him on board a boat, in which he was carried to his native village. The Romans were furious at the blow which had been struck them. More than half their camp and camp equipage had been destroyed; a great part of the baggage of the officers and soldiers had been burned, and each man had to deplore losses of his own, as well as the destruction of the public property. But, more than this, they felt the blow to their pride. There was not a soldier but felt humiliated at the thought that a number of the enemy--for, from the fire breaking out simultaneously, it was certain at least a score of men must have been engaged in the matter--should penetrate unseen into the midst of their camp; and worse still that, after effecting all this damage, all should have succeeded in making their escape--for, so far as they knew, the whole of the Jews got safely away. But not for a moment did they relax their siege operations. The troops engaged upon the embankment were relieved at the usual hour; and half a legion went up into the mountains, as usual, to procure timber; while four thousand archers, divided into parties two hundred strong, extended themselves all over the hills, and searched the forest for miles for some sign of their enemy--who were, they were now convinced, comparatively few in numbers. The news of the daring attack on the Roman camp spread far and wide among the towns and villages of the plains; and aroused the drooping spirits of the people, who had begun to think that it would be worse than useless to offer any opposition to the Roman power. Whence came the party which had accomplished the deed, or who was its leader, none knew; and the inhabitants of the villages near Hippos who, alone, could have enlightened them, were careful to maintain an absolute silence; for they knew that if, by any chance, a rumor reached the Romans of the locality from which their assailants had come, they would have carried fire and sword among all the villages by the lake. Titus was away, being absent on a mission in Syria; and Vespasian himself went among the troops, exhorting them not to be downcast at the disaster that had befallen them, for that the bravest men were subject to sudden misfortunes of this kind; and exhorted them to push on the siege with all the more vigor, in order that they might the sooner remove to camping grounds where they would not be exposed to such attacks by a lurking foe. The soldiers replied with cheers; and the next day, the embankment being completed, they opened so terrible a fire from their war engines upon the defenders of the walls that these were forced to retire into the city. The Romans at once pushed forward their battering rams to the walls and, setting to work with the greatest vigor, speedily made three breaches; through which they rushed, with exulting shouts. The Jews ran down to oppose them, and a desperate conflict took place in the narrow streets; but the Romans, pouring in in great numbers through the breaches, pressed them step by step up the steep hill. The Jews, animated by despair, again turned, and fell upon them with such fury that the Romans could not withstand the assault, and were driven down the steep lanes and paths, with great slaughter. But those who fled were stopped by the crowd of their own men, pressing up the hill from below; and the Roman soldiers--jammed, as it were, between the Jews above, and their own countrymen below--took refuge in the houses, in great numbers. But these were not constructed to bear the weight of so many men, in heavy armor. The floors fell in and, as many of the Romans climbed up on to the flat roofs, these also fell, bringing the walls down with them. Standing, as they did, almost one above another, each house that fell brought down the one below it and, thus, the ruin spread--as one house of cards brings down another--until the whole of the town standing on the steep declivity, on its eastern side, was a mass of ruins. The confusion was tremendous. The dust of the falling houses so thickened the air that men could not see a yard in front of them. Hundreds of the Roman soldiers were buried among the ruins. Some were killed, at once. Others, jammed between fallen timbers, strove in vain to extricate themselves, and shouted to their comrades to come to their assistance; but these--enveloped in darkness, ignorant of the ground, half suffocated with dust--were powerless to aid them. In the confusion, Romans fell by the swords of Romans. Many who could not extricate themselves slew themselves, with their own swords; while the exulting Jews--seeing, in this terrible disaster, a miracle effected in their favor--crowded down from above, slaying with their swords, hurling masses of stone down on the foe, killing those unable to retreat, and adding to the confusion and terror with their yells of triumph, which rose high above the confused shouts of the Romans. Vespasian himself, who had entered the town with his soldiers, and had pushed forward with them up the hill, was nearly involved in the common destruction; but, as the houses came crashing down around him, he shouted loudly to the soldiers near to gather round him, and to lock their shields together to form a testudo. Recognizing the voice of their beloved general, the soldiers near rallied round him and, sheltered beneath their closely-packed shields, resisted the storm of darts and stones from above and, gradually and in good order, made their way down over the ruins and issued safely from the walls. The loss of the Romans was great. The soldiers were greatly dispirited by their defeat, and especially by the thought that they had deserted their general in their retreat. Vespasian, however, was wise enough to see that this was no time for rebuke; and he accordingly addressed them in language of approbation. He said that their repulse was in no way due to want of valor on their part, but to an accident such as none could foresee; and which had been brought about, to some extent, by their too impetuous ardor, which led them to fight rather with the desperate fury of the Jews than with the steady discipline that distinguished Roman soldiers. The defenders of the city were full of exultation at their success and, setting to work with ardor, soon repaired the breaches and strengthened the walls. But all knew that, in spite of their momentary success, their position was desperate, for their provisions were almost exhausted. The stores which had been laid up were very large; but the siege had lasted for many months before the arrival of the Romans, and the number of the people assembled within the walls far exceeded the usual population. The Romans, on their part, increased the height of their embankment, and prepared for a second assault. In the meantime, Itabyrium had fallen. The hill of Tabor was inaccessible, except on the north side; and the level area, on the top, was surrounded by a strong wall. Placidus had been sent, with six hundred horse, against the place; but the hill was so steep, and difficult, that he hesitated to attack it. Each party pretended to be anxious to treat, each intending to take advantage of the other. Placidus invited the garrison to descend the hill, and discuss terms with him. The Itabyrians accepted the invitation, with the design of assailing the Romans, unawares. Placidus, who was on his guard, feigned a retreat. The Itabyrians boldly pursued on to the plain; when the Roman horse, wheeling round, dashed among them, inflicting terrible slaughter and cutting off their retreat towards the city. Those who escaped the slaughter fled to Jerusalem. The town, weakened by the loss of so many fighting men, and being much distressed by want of water, again opened negotiations; and surrendered upon the promise that the lives of all within it should be spared. Hunger was now doing its work among the people of Gamala. The inhabitants suffered terribly, for the provisions were all taken for the use of the fighting men; and the rest had to subsist, as best they could, on any little hoards they might have hidden away, or on garbage of all kinds. Numbers made their escape through the sewers and passages which led into the ravines, where the Romans had placed no guards. Still the assaults of the Romans were bravely repelled until, on the night of the 22d of September, two soldiers of the Fifteenth Legion contrived to creep, unobserved, to the foot of one of the highest towers of the wall; and began, silently, to undermine its foundations. Before morning broke, they had got in so far that they could not be perceived from the walls. Still they worked in, leaving a few stones in their place, to support the tower until the last moment. Then they struck these away, and ran for their lives. The tower fell with a terrible crash, with the guards upon it. In their terror, the defenders of the walls leaped up and fled in all directions; and many were killed by the Romans' darts--among them Josephus, one of their two leaders--while Chares, who was lying in the height of a fever, expired from the excitement of the calamity. The confusion in the town was terrible. Deprived of their two leaders, and with the town open to assault, none knew what was to be done. All expected instant destruction, and the air was filled with the screams and wailings of the women; but the Romans, mindful of their last repulse, did not at once advance to the assault. But in the afternoon Titus--who had now returned--taking two hundred horse, and a force of infantry, crossed the breach and entered the town. Some of the defenders rushed to meet him. Others, catching up their children, ran with their wives to the citadel. The defenders fought bravely, but were driven steadily up the hill by the Romans--who were now reinforced by the whole strength of the army, led by Vespasian. Quarter was neither asked nor given. The defenders contested every foot of the hill, until the last defender of Gamala, outside, the citadel had fallen. Then Vespasian led his men against the citadel itself. It stood on a rugged rock, of great height, offering tremendous difficulties to the assailants. The Jews stood upon the summit, rolling down great stones and darts upon the Romans, as they strove to ascend. But the very heavens seemed to fight against the unfortunate Jews, for a terrific tempest suddenly broke upon the city. So furious was the wind that the Jews could no longer stand on the edge of the crag, or oppose the progress of the enemy; while the Romans, sheltered from the wind by the rock, itself, were able to press upwards. The platform once gained, they rushed upon the Jews, slaying all they met, men, women, and children. Vast numbers of the Jews, in their despair, threw themselves headlong, with their wives and children, over the precipices and, when the butchery was complete, five thousand bodies were found at the foot of the rocks. Four thousand lay dead on the platform above. Of all those in Gamala when the Romans entered, two women, alone, escaped. They were the sisters of Philip, a general in Agrippa's army. They managed to conceal themselves until the carnage was over, and the fury of the Romans had subsided; and then showed themselves, and proclaimed who they were. Gischala now, alone of the cities of Galilee, defied the Roman arms. The people themselves were, for the most part, tillers of the soil, and were anxious to make their submission; but John--the rival and bitter enemy of Josephus--with the robber band he had collected, was master of the town, and refused to allow any talk of submission. The city had none of the natural strength of Jotapata and Gamala, and Vespasian sent Titus against it with a thousand horse; while he ordered the Tenth Legion to take up its winter quarters at Scythopolis; and himself moved, with the other two legions, to Caesarea. Titus, on his arrival before Gischala, saw that the city could be easily taken by assault but, desirous of avoiding any more shedding of blood, and learning that the inhabitants were desirous of surrendering, he sent an officer before it to offer terms of capitulation. The troops of John of Gischala manned the walls and, when the summons of Titus was proclaimed, John answered that the garrison accepted willingly the generous terms that were offered; but that, the day being the Sabbath, nothing could be concluded, without an infringement of the law, until the next day. Titus at once granted the delay, and drew off his troops to a neighboring town. In the night, John of Gischala marched away with all his armed men; followed by many of the inhabitants, with their wives and children--fearing to remain in the city, exposed to the anger of Titus, when he found he had been duped. The women and children soon began to drop behind; but the men pressed on, leaving the helpless and despairing women behind them. In the morning, when Titus appeared before the town, it opened its gates to him at once; the people hailing him as their deliverer from the oppression they had so long suffered, at the hands of John and his bands of ruffians. Titus entered Gischala amidst the acclamations of the people; and behaved with great moderation, injuring no one, and contenting himself with throwing down a portion of the walls; and warning the inhabitants that, if they again rose in rebellion, the same mercy would not be extended to them. He had at once dispatched a troop of horse in pursuit of the fugitives. They overtook them, and slew six thousand of the men, and brought three thousand women and children back into the city. John himself, with the strongest of his band, were not overtaken, but made their way to Jerusalem. The fame of the successful exploit, of the destruction of the Roman camp, brought large numbers of young men flocking to the hills, as soon as the Romans retired from Gamala, all eager to join the band; and John could have recruited his numbers to any extent but, now that all Galilee had fallen, and the Romans retired to their winter quarters, he did not see that there was anything to be done, until the spring. It would be madness to attack either of the great Roman camps, at Scythopolis or Caesarea; and although, doubtless, the garrisons left in Tiberias, Tarichea, and other towns might have been driven out, this would only have brought upon those cities the anger of the Romans, and involved them in ruin and destruction. Still less would it have been of any advantage to go down, at present, into Judea. That province was suffering woes, as great as the Romans could inflict upon it, from the action of the factions. Under the pretense of punishing all who were supposed to be favorable to making terms with Rome, bands of armed men pervaded the whole country, plundering and slaying the wretched inhabitants. Law and order were at an end. Those in Jerusalem who claimed, for themselves, the chief authority in the country had done nothing to assist their countrymen, in the north, in their struggle with the Romans. Not a man had been dispatched to Galilee. The leaders were occupied in their own desperate feuds, and battles took place in the streets of the city. The peaceful inhabitants were plundered and ill treated, and the condition of those within the walls was as terrible as was that of those without. Anarchy, plunder, and carnage extended throughout Judea and, while the destruction of Jerusalem was threatened by the Roman army in the north, the Jews made no preparation, whatever, for its defense, but spent their whole time and energy in civil strife. When, therefore, the numerous band who had now gathered round him urged him to lead them down to Jerusalem, John refused to do so. Getting upon an elevated spot, where his voice could be heard by them all, he said: "My friends, you have heard, as well as I, what is taking place in Jerusalem and the country round it. Did we go down there, what good could we do? We should be drawn into the strife, on one side or another; and the swords which should be kept for the defense of the Temple against the Romans would be stained with Jewish blood. Moreover, we should aid to consume the food stored away in the granaries. "Nor can we, through the winter, attempt any enterprise against the Romans here. The woes of Galilee are over. Tens of thousands have fallen, but those that survive can go about their business and till their fields in peace. Were we to renew the war, here, we should bring upon them a fresh outburst of the Roman vengeance. "Therefore, there is naught for us to do, now; but in the spring, when the Romans get into motion against Jerusalem, we will march to its defense. We have naught to do with the evil deeds that are being performed there; we have but to do our duty, and the first duty of every Jew is to die, if need be, in the defense of the Temple. Therefore, let us now disperse to our homes. When the first news comes that the Romans are stirring, those of you who are disposed to follow me, and obey my orders, can assemble here. "But let only such come. Let the rest make their way, singly, to Jerusalem. I am resolved to have only such with me who will follow me as one man. You know how the factions rage in the city. A compact body of men, true to themselves and their leader, can maintain themselves aloof from the strife, and make themselves respected by both parties; but single men must take sides with one faction or other, or be ill treated by both. "We are wanted, at home. The fields are lying untilled, for want of hands; therefore let us lay aside our arms until the spring, and do our duty to our families until we are called upon to aid in the defense of the Temple. When the hour comes, I shall be ready to lead, if you are ready to follow." John's address received general approval, and the gathering dispersed; all vowing that they would assemble in the spring, and follow John wherever he chose to lead them--for he was already regarded with an almost superstitious admiration in the country around. His deliverance at Jotapata and the success that he, alone of the Jewish leaders, had gained over the Romans, marked him in their eyes as one specially chosen by God to lead them to victory; and in a few hours the hill above Gamala was deserted, and John and his followers were all on their way towards their homes.	{ "id": "21614" }
10	: Captives.	John was received with great joy by his father; who had already heard the story brought by the injured member of the band from Gamala, and was filled with pride that his son should so have distinguished himself. He at once agreed to John's proposal that he should start, on the following day, to fetch the women from Neve, as there was no longer any fear of trouble from the Romans. Galilee was completely subdued and, whatever events might take place in Judea, those in the north would be unaffected by them. The day after his return, then, John set out with Jonas for Neve. John charged his companion on no account to say anything of their doings at the siege of Gamala; and as communication was difficult, and they had not heard from Simon since John had left him, his friends at Neve were not aware that he had been absent from the farm. Martha and Mary were delighted to see him, and to hear that all was well at home. They had been greatly alarmed at the news of the slaughter of the fishermen on the lake, fearing that John might have gone across to Tarichea with some of his friends in the village. Their fears on this head, however, abated as time passed on and they did not hear from Simon; who, they felt assured, would have brought the news to Martha, had aught happened to their son. They had mourned over the siege and massacre of Gamala, and had been filled with joy when the news had arrived, three days before, that the Roman army had marched away to take up its quarters for the winter; and they had looked for the summons, which John brought, for their return home. "And does your father think, John, that there will be trouble again in the spring? Shall we have to leave home again, as soon as the winter is past?" "He hopes not, mother. Gamala was the only town on this side of the Jordan that resisted the Roman authority and, as all the territories of Agrippa are now peaceful, there is no reason why the Romans should enter these again; and indeed, all Galilee has now surrendered. As Vespasian moved towards the sea, deputies came to him from every town and village; and I think, now, that there will be no more trouble there." "It has been terrible enough, my son. What tens of thousands of men have perished, what destruction has been wrought! We have been mourning, for months now, for the woes which have fallen upon our people." "It has been most terrible, mother; and yet, it might have been worse. Nigh a hundred and fifty thousand have fallen, at Gadara, Jotapata, Japha, Tarichea, and Gamala; besides those who were slain in the villages that had been sacked, and destroyed. Still, considering all things, it might have been worse and, were it all over now--did no more dangers threaten our nation--we might even rejoice that no greater evils have befallen us, for our revolt against Rome. But what has been done is but a preparation for the siege of Jerusalem. "However, do not let us begin to mourn over the future. The storm has, for the present, passed away from us and, whatever misfortunes have befallen our countrymen, we have happily escaped. The farm stands uninjured, and no harm has come to any of us." "And all the villagers have escaped, John? Did none of our neighbors go out in their boats to Tarichea? We feared, when we heard of the sea fight, that some must have fallen." "No, mother. Fortunately, they listened to the counsels of my father, who implored them not to put out on the lake for that, did they do so, they would only bring misfortune and ruin upon themselves." "And have you heard, John," Mary asked, "anything of the champion who they say has arisen? We have heard all sorts of tales of him--how he harassed the Romans before Gamala and, with his followers, burned their camp one night and well nigh destroyed them; and how, when he goes into the fight, the Roman javelins drop off without harming him; and how, when he strikes, the Romans fall before his blows like wheat before a sickle." John burst into a laugh. "I wonder, Mary, that the reports didn't say also that he could fly through the air when he chose; could render himself invisible to the enemy; and could, by a wave of his hand, destroy them as the hosts of Sennacherib were destroyed. The Romans were harassed somewhat, at Gamala, by John and his followers, who crept into their camp at night and set it on fire, and had a few skirmishes with their working parties; but when you have said that, you have said all that there is to say about it." "That is not like you, John," Mary said, indignantly, for the tales that had circulated through the province had fired her imagination. "Everyone is talking of what he has done. He, alone of all our leaders, has checked the Romans; and has shown wisdom, as well as valor, in fighting. I should have thought you would have been one of the first to praise him. Everyone is talking about him and, since we heard of what he has been doing, mother and I pray for him, daily, as we pray for you and your father; and now you want to make out he has done nothing." "I do not want to make out that he has done nothing, Mary, for doubtless the Lord has been with him, and has enabled him to give some trouble to the Romans; but I was laughing at the fables you have heard about him, and at the reports which had converted his skirmishes with the Romans into all sorts of marvelous actions." "I believe they were marvelous actions," Mary said. "Why should what people say be all wrong? "We believe in him, don't we, mother?" "Yes, Mary. It is true that the tales we have heard may be, as John says, exaggerated; but assuredly this new champion of our people must be a man of wisdom and valor, and I see not why, as God raised up champions for Israel in the old time, he should not do so now, when our need is so great." "There is no reason, mother," John said, more quietly, "but I fear that the champion of Israel is not yet forthcoming. We have heard of the doings of this John and, as I said, he has merely had some skirmishes with the Romans--his band being too small to admit of any regular fighting. He interrupted their work, and gave them some trouble; and his men, creeping down into the camp, set it on fire, and so caused them a good deal of loss; but more than this cannot be said of him." "At any rate," Mary said disdainfully, "he has done more than your Josephus, John--for he brought ruin on all who took his advice, and went into the cities he had fortified. It may please you to make little of what this champion has done. Others do not think so. Everywhere he is talked of, and praised--the old men are talking of him, the Jewish maidens are singing songs in his honor. I heard them, yesterday, gathered round a well near Neve. His father must rejoice, and his mother be proud of him, if they are alive. "What do they say down by the lake, Jonas, of this captain? Are not the tales we have heard believed, there?" "I have heard nothing about the Roman javelins not harming him," Jonas said; "but he certainly got safely out of the hands of the Romans, when they had well-nigh taken him; and all say that he is brave and prudent, and men have great confidence and trust in him." "Ridiculous, Jonas!" John exclaimed angrily, and Mary and his mother looked at him in surprise. "Truly, John," his mother said, "what Mary said is just. This is not like you. I should have thought you would have been one of the first to admire this new leader, seeing that he is fighting in the way I have heard you advocate as being that in which the Romans should be fought, instead of the Jews being shut up in the cities." "Quite so, mother! No doubt he is adopting the proper way of fighting, and therefore has naturally had some success. I am only saying that he has done nothing wonderful; but has given the Romans some trouble by refusing to fight, and by merely trying to harass them. If there were a thousand men who would gather small bands together, and harass the Romans night and day in the same manner, they would render it well-nigh impossible for them to make any progress. As it was, he merely aided in delaying the fall of Gamala by a day or two. "And now, let us talk of something else. Our father has succeeded in getting in the principal part of the harvest, but I fear that this year you will be short of fruit. We have had no time to gather in the figs, and they have all fallen from the trees; and although we have made enough wine for our own use, there will be but little to sell." "It matters not at all," Martha said. "God has been very merciful towards us and, so that we have but bread to eat and water to drink, until next harvest, we shall have nothing to repine about, when ruin and destruction have fallen upon so many." That evening, when Mary and Martha had retired to their apartments, the former, who had been very silent all the evening, said: "I cannot understand, mother, why John speaks so coldly of the doings of this brave leader; and why he was almost angry at our praises of him. It seems altogether unlike him." "It is unlike him, Mary; but you must never be surprised at men, they do not like to hear each other praised; and though I should have thought, from what I know of my son, that he was above the feeling of jealousy, I cannot but think that he showed some signs of that feeling today." "But it seems absurd, mother. I can understand John being jealous of any one his own age who surpassed him in any exercises--though I never saw him so for, when in rowing on the lake, or in shooting with bows and arrows, or in other sports, some of our neighbors' sons have surpassed him, he never seemed to mind at all; and it seems almost absurd to think that he could be jealous of a great leader, who has done brave deeds for our people." "It does seem so, Mary, and I wonder myself; but it has been ever one of our national faults to be jealous of our leaders. From the time the people vexed Moses and Aaron, in the wilderness, it has ever been the same. I grieve to see it in John, who has distinguished himself greatly for his age, and of whom we are proud; but no one is perfect, my child, and you must not trouble because you find that your betrothed husband is not free from all weaknesses." "I don't expect him to be free from all weaknesses, mother; but this is one of the last weaknesses I should have expected to find in him, and it troubles me. When everything seemed so dark, it was a pleasure to think that a hero, perhaps a deliverer, had arisen; and now John seems to say that he has done nothing." "My dear child," Martha said, "something may have occurred to vex John on the way and, when men are put out, they will often show it in the strangest manner. Probably John will, another time, speak just as warmly in praise of our new leader as you would, yourself." "Perhaps it may be so, mother," Mary assented. "I can hardly believe that John is jealous--it does seem so unlike himself." "I would not speak on the subject again, Mary, if I were you; unless he, himself, brings it up. A wise woman keeps silence on subjects which may lead to disagreement. You will learn, when you have married, that this is the easiest and best way." "I suppose so, mother," Mary said, in a tone of disappointment; "but somehow it never seemed to me, before, that John and I could have any subject on which there would be disagreement." "My dear Mary," Martha said, smiling, "John and you are both mortal; and although you may truly love each other--and will, I trust, be very happy as husband and wife--subjects will occur upon which you will differ; and then, as you know, the wisest plan is for the wife to be silent. It is the wife's duty always to give way to the husband." Mary gave a little shrug of her shoulders, as if to intimate that she did not regard altogether favorably this view of a wife's duties; however, she said no more, but kissed Martha, and retired to bed. The next morning they started early, and journeyed to Capitolias, where they stayed at the house of some friends. In the evening, the talk again turned upon the new leader, who had burned the Roman camp. When they did so, John at once made some excuse, and went out. He regretted, now, that he had not at once told his mother what he had been doing. He had intended, in the first place, to give her a little surprise; but had no idea of the exaggerated reports that had been spread about and, when Mary broke out into praise of the unknown leader, it seemed to him that it would have been absurd to say that he, himself, was the person of whom she had formed so fantastically exalted an opinion. Not having said so at first, he did not see how he could say so, afterwards; and so left the matter as it stood, until they should return home. While John was out, he heard news which caused him some uneasiness. It was said that parties of Roman horse, from Scythopolis, had been scouring the country; burning many villages--under the pretext that some Roman soldiers, who had straggled away marauding on their own account, had been killed by the peasants--slaughtering the people, and carrying off as slaves such young women and men as were likely to fetch good prices. He told his mother what he had heard; and asked her whether she did not think that it would be better to stay where they were, for a time, or return to Neve. But Martha was anxious to be at home, again; and the friend with whom they were stopping said that these reports were a week old, and that doubtless the Romans had returned to their camp. She determined, therefore, that she and Mary would continue their journey; but that the maids should remain with their friend, at Capitolias, until the Roman excursions ceased. They accordingly set out in the morning, as before--the two women riding, and John and Jonas walking by the side of the donkeys. Following the road by the side of the Hieromax they kept on, without meeting anything to cause alarm, until they reached the angle of the stream, where the road to Hippos branched off from that which followed the river down to Tarichea. They had gone but a short distance, when they saw a cloud of dust rising along the road in front of them, and the sparkle of arms in the sun. "Turn aside, mother," John exclaimed. "Those must be the Romans ahead." Turning aside, they rode towards some gardens and orchards at no great distance but, before they reached them, two Roman soldiers separated themselves from the rest, and galloped after them. "Fly, John!" Martha said, hurriedly. "You and Jonas can escape." "It would only ensure evil to you if we did, mother. No, we will keep together." The Roman soldiers rode up, and roughly ordered the party to accompany them back to the main body, which consisted of fifty men. The leader, a young officer whose garments and armor showed that he belonged to a family of importance, rode forward a few paces to meet them. "Some more of this accursed race of rebels!" he exclaimed. "We are quiet travelers," John said, "journeying from Capitolias to Tarichea. We have harmed no one, my lord." "You are all the same," the Roman said, scowling. "You speak us fair one day, and stab us in the back the next. "Pomponius," he said to a sergeant, "put these two lads with the rest. They ought to fetch a good price, for they are strong and active. As to the girl, I will make a present of her, to the general, to send to his wife in Rome. She is the prettiest Jewess I have seen, since I entered the country. The old woman can go. She is of no use to anyone." Illustration: Mary and the Hebrew Women in the Hands of the Romans. Martha threw her arms round Mary; and would have striven to resist, with her feeble strength, the carrying out of the order, when John said in Hebrew: "Mother, you will ruin us all, and lose your own life! Go home quietly, and trust to me to save Mary." The habit of submitting to her husband's will, which Martha had practiced all her life, asserted itself. She embraced Mary passionately, and drew aside as the Roman soldiers approached; and then, tottering away a short distance, sank weeping on the ground. Mary shed no tear but, pale as death, walked by the side of a soldier, who led her to the rear of the cavalcade, where four or five other young women were standing, in dejected attitudes. John and Jonas were similarly placed, with some young men, in the midst of the Roman soldiers. Their hands were tied behind them, and the troop resumed its way. They were traveling by the road along which the little party had just come. Whenever a house or small village was seen, half of the troop galloped off. Flames were soon seen to rise, and parties of wretched captives were driven in. When about halfway to Capitolias, the troop halted. The horses were turned into a field of ripe corn, to feed. Half the men sat down to a meal, while the remainder stood on guard over the captives. John had whispered to Jonas to work his hands so as to loosen his cords, if possible; and the lad, whose bones were very small, soon said that he could slip the ropes off without difficulty. It was harder work for John and, indeed, while on the march he did not venture to exert himself, fearing that the movements would be noticed by his guards. But when they halted, he got into the middle of the group of captives, and tried his best to loosen the cords. Jonas was close beside him. "It is of no use, Jonas," he said. "The cords are cutting into my flesh, and they will not yield in the slightest." "Let me try, John. "Stand round close," Jonas said to the other captives, in Hebrew. "I want to loosen my friend's knots. If he can get away, he will bring rescue to you all." The others moved so as to completely cover the movements of Jonas; and the lad, stooping down, applied his teeth to the knot in John's cords, and soon succeeded in loosening it. "That will be enough, Jonas. I can draw my hand through, now." Jonas again stood up. "When I make an effort to escape, Jonas, do you dash between the horsemen, and run for it. In the confusion you will get a start, and they will not overtake you until you are across the river. Once on the hill, you are safe. If you remain behind and I get away, as likely as not one of the soldiers would send a javelin through you, as being my companion." After half an hour's halt, the Romans again mounted their horses and turned to retrace their steps. Two Romans rode on either side of the captives, who were about fifty in number; and John gradually made his way to the front of the party, between the two leading horsemen. The officer, talking to his sergeant, rode a few paces ahead, in the middle of the road. Since the cords had been loosened, John had continued to work his fingers until the circulation was restored. Suddenly he slipped his hands from their fastenings, gave three bounds forward, and vaulted on to the back of the horse behind the officer. He had drawn the knife which had been hidden in his girdle; and he threw one arm round the officer, while he struck the knife deep into the horse's flank. The animal reared in the air and then, at a second application of the knife, sprang forward at the top of his speed, before the astonished Roman knew what had happened. John held him in his arms like a vice and, exerting all his strength, lifted him from the saddle and hurled him headlong to the ground; where he lay, bleeding and insensible. John had now time to look round. Struck with astonishment at the sudden incident which had passed under their eyes, the Romans had, at first, instinctively reined in their horses. The sergeant had been the first to recover himself and, shouting to the five leading soldiers on each side to follow him, had spurred in pursuit, just as his officer was hurled to the ground. But John was already some fifty yards away, and felt sure that he could not be overtaken. He had remarked the horse ridden by the officer, while they were eating; and saw that it was of far higher blood and swifter pace than any of those ridden by the soldiers. His own weight, too, was far less than that of the heavy-armed men in pursuit of him and, with a shout of scornful defiance, and a wave of his hand, he continued his course. Before a mile had been passed he had left his pursuers far in the rear and, seeing the hopelessness of the pursuit, they presently reined up and returned to the main body. Jonas had carried out John's instructions and, the instant the latter sprang on the officer, he slipped under the belly of the horse next to him and ran, at the top of his speed, for the river. It was but a hundred yards away, and he had gone three quarters the distance before any of the soldiers--confused at the attack upon their officer, doubtful whether the whole of the captives were not about to fall upon them, and without orders how to act, set out in pursuit. Jonas plunged into the stream, dived to the other side, and then sprang forward again, just as three or four soldiers reached the bank he had left. Their javelins were hurled after him, but without effect and, with a shout of triumph, he sprang up the hillside, and was soon safe from pursuit. As soon as he saw that the Romans had turned back, John sprang from his horse, unstrapped the heavy armor which covered its chest and sides, and flung it away; and then, mounting, resumed his course. At the first house he came to he borrowed a shepherd's horn and, as he approached the first village, sounded his signal for the assembly. Two or three young men ran out from their houses, as he dashed up; for there was not a village in those parts from which some of the young men had not gone up to the mountains to join him, after the fall of Gamala, and all were ready to follow him anywhere. He rapidly gave them orders to go to all the villages round; and instruct the young men to assemble, with all speed possible, at their old trysting place near Jabez Galaad; and to spread the news as they went, some from each village being sent as messengers to others. Then he pursued his way at full speed and, by sunset, had issued his orders in some twenty villages. Being convinced that, by night, a sufficient number of men would have gathered in the mountain for his purpose, he rode back to the river, swam his horse across; and then, leaving it to shift for itself, made his way up the mountain. Some seventy or eighty men had already arrived at the appointed place, and fresh parties were coming in every minute. Jonas was already there, John having arranged with him to watch the movements of the Romans until the sun set, and then to bring word to the place of meeting as to their movements. "Well, Jonas, what is your news?" "The Romans have halted, for the night, at a spot about a mile this side of where we left them. They remained where they were, until the party who had ridden after you returned; then they went slowly back, after having made a litter with their spears, on which four of them carried the officer you threw from his horse--what a crash he made! I heard the clang of his arms, as I was running. They stopped near one of the villages they burned as we went past; and when I turned to make my way here their fires were burning, so there's no doubt they mean to halt there for the night." "That is good news, indeed!" John said. "Before morning we will rouse them up in a way they little expect." John's followers arrived eager for the fight, for the news of the devastations committed by this party of Romans had roused the whole district to fury. As a rule the Romans, except when actually on a campaign, abstained from all ill treatment of the inhabitants--the orders against plundering and injuring the people being here, as in other countries held by the Roman arms, very stringent. In the present case, there was no doubt that Roman soldiers had been killed; but these had brought their fate upon themselves, by their ill treatment and insult of the villagers, and no notice would have been taken of the slaying of men while acting in disobedience of orders, had it not been that they belonged to the company of Servilius Maro. He was a young noble, possessed of great influence in Rome, and of a ferocious and cruel disposition; and he had urged the general so strongly to allow him to go out, to inflict punishment upon the country people, that consent had reluctantly been given. But even at this time, although the Jews were not aware of it, a messenger was on his way to Servilius with peremptory orders to him to return at once to Scythopolis, as most serious reports as to his cruelty to peaceful inhabitants had come to the general's ears. But that message Servilius was never to receive. By midnight, upwards of four hundred men had gathered at the rendezvous in the mountains. John divided the force into four bodies, and gave each their orders as to the part that they were to take; and then marched down the hill, crossed the river, and advanced towards the Roman bivouac. When within a quarter of a mile of the fires, the band broke up into sections and proceeded to surround the enemy. When each company reached the position John had marked out for it, the men began to crawl slowly forward towards the Romans. John sounded a note on his horn and, with a shout, the whole band rushed to their feet and charged down upon the enemy. Before the latter could spring to their feet, and mount their horses, the Jews were among them. John, with a picked band of twenty men, at once made his way to the center of the camp; where the captives, ignorant of the cause of this sudden alarm, stood huddled together. Placing his men around them, to prevent any Roman soldier injuring them, John joined in the fray. It was short. Taken by surprise, unable to get together and form in order of defense, the Roman soldiers were surrounded and cut down, each man fighting stubbornly to the last. One of the first to fall was their leader who, springing to his feet at the alarm, had rushed just as he was, without helmet or armor, among his soldiers, and was stabbed in a dozen places before he had time to draw his sword. The moment the conflict was over, and the last Roman had fallen, John ordered his men to disperse, at once. "Regain your homes before morning," he said. "There may be other parties of Romans out, and it is as well that none, even of your friends, should see you return; and then the Romans will have no clue as to those who have taken part in this night's business. Take not any of their arms, or spoils. We have fought for vengeance, and to relieve our friends, not for plunder. It is well that the Romans should see that, when they hear of the disaster and march out to bury the dead." The men were already crowding round the captives, relieving them from their bonds and, in many cases, embracing and weeping on their necks, for among them were many friends and relations of the rescuing party. John soon found Mary. "Is this a miracle you have performed, John?" the girl said. "Can it be true that our captors have been slain, and that we are free?" "Yes, dear, we can continue our journey." "But how has it happened, John; how has it all come about?" "Jonas and I escaped, as I suppose you know, Mary." "There was a great confusion and stir upon the road," Mary said, "but I did not know what had happened, until we got here. Then some of the men said that two of the captives had escaped; and that one of them jumped on to the horse of the officer and overthrew him, and had ridden off. They said they were both young and, as I missed you both from among the party, I thought it must have been you. "But how did all these men come together?" "I rode round the country, calling upon the young men in the villages to take up arms, to rescue their friends who had been carried away captive into slavery, and to revenge the destruction which this band of ruffians had caused. There were plenty of brave men ready to undertake the task and, as you see, we have carried it out. "And now, Mary, we had best be going. You see, the others are dispersing fast; and it is as well to be as far from here, by morning, as possible. A troop of Roman horse may come along, journeying between Scythopolis and Capitolias; and if they came upon this camp, they might scour all the country." "I am ready, John. What a fate you have saved me from! I have seemed in a dream, ever since the Romans met us this afternoon. I have tried to think of what my life was going to be, but could not. When we got here I tried to weep, but no tears would come. I have been sitting there, as still and cold as if frozen, till I heard the notes of a horn. "Oh, John, do you know John of Gamala was there?" "How do you know, Mary?" John asked, in surprise. "One of the young men who was a captive was lying near, and he leaped to his feet when the horn sounded, and shouted, 'There is John of Gamala's horn; we are saved.' Did you know he was with you?" "Yes, I knew he was," John said. "You won't say anything against him, again," Mary said. "Why did you not bring him here to us, that we might thank him?" "Certainly I will not say anything against him, in future, Mary. "And now, let us be going. I am very anxious about my poor mother. We will follow the road to the spot where we left her. By the time we get there, morning will be breaking. We will inquire for her, at every village we pass through; for I am sure she cannot have gone far. The Romans did not take the asses but, even with them, she could not have traveled far, and probably took shelter at the first place which she came to." This proved to be the case. At the first village they arrived at after passing the spot at which they had been taken captives, they heard that, late the evening before, a woman had arrived in sore distress. She was leading two asses, which she seemed too feeble to mount. She stated that her son and daughter had been carried away by the Romans; and she had been received, for the night, in the principal house in the village. Martha's delight, when John and Mary entered the house where she had been sheltered, was beyond words. She fell on their neck and kissed them, with broken sentences of thankfulness to God at their deliverance; and it was some time before she was sufficiently calm to hear how their escape had been effected, by the night attack upon the Romans by the country people. She was scarcely surprised when she heard that John had effected his escape, and summoned the people to rise to rescue them. "You told me to trust to you to save Mary, John; and I have kept on saying your words, over and over again, to myself. It seemed to me as if I did not quite understand them, and yet there was comfort in them. I could not even think what you could do to help Mary; and yet it appeared as if you, yourself, must have some hope." As soon as Martha was sufficiently recovered from her emotions to resume their journey, the party again started. They made a detour to avoid Hippos for, as John said, there might be inquiries as to everyone who was noticed coming from the direction of the scene of the struggle. They made many halts by the way, for Martha was scarcely able to retain her seat on the donkey, and even Mary was greatly shaken by the event of her captivity and rescue. During the heat of the day they remained under the shade of some trees, and the sun was setting when they approached the farm. Simon and the men hurried out, when the sound of the asses' feet was heard. Martha burst into tears, as he assisted her to alight. "What ails you, wife? I trust that no evil has befallen you by the way. Where are the maids? "Why, Mary, my child, you look pale, too!" "No wonder, uncle, that aunt is shaken, and that I look pale. For John, and I, and Jonas were taken captives by the Romans, who carried us off to sell as slaves, leaving poor mother behind." "And how then have you escaped, child?" "John and Jonas got away from them, and raised all the country; for the Romans had done much harm, killing, and carrying away captives, and burning. So when he called them the men took up arms, and fell upon the Romans at night and slew them all, and rescued me, and some fifty other captives who had fallen into their hands." Simon asked no further questions, for the time, but helped Martha into the house, and then handed her over to the care of Mary and, half an hour later, she had recovered sufficiently to return to the room; and sit there, holding Simon's hand in quiet happiness, and watching Mary as she resumed her accustomed tasks, and assisted old Isaac in preparing supper. "Everything looks just as it was, mother. I could hardly have believed things would have got on so well, without me to look after them. And there are quantities of grapes on the vines, still. They are too ripe for wine, but they will last us, for eating, for months, and that is ever so much better than making them into wine--" She stopped, for Simon had taken his place at the head of the table; and offered up thanks, in the name of the whole household, for the mercies that had been vouchsafed to them; and especially that they were all, once again, assembled together in their house, without there being one vacant place. Then the meal began. While it was eaten, many questions were asked, on both sides; Simon inquiring about his brother-in-law, and his family, and the life they had led at the farm; Martha asking after their neighbors--who had suffered, and who had escaped without loss or harm. When Isaac and the men retired, Jonas rose also to go, but Simon stopped him. "Remain with us, Jonas. Your life has been strangely cast in that of John's, and I would that, henceforth, you take your place as one of the family. You saved his life at Jotapata, and you will henceforth be as an adopted son to me. "Martha, I know that you will spare some of your affection for the lad, who is as a younger brother to John; and who would, I believe--nay I feel sure--if need be, give his life for his friend." "I would do so, indeed," Jonas said, simply. "He found me an outcast, whom none cared for. He has treated me like a brother, and I would gladly die for him." Martha said a few kind words to Jonas, whose quiet and somewhat subdued manner, and whose evident affection for John, had greatly pleased her; and Mary gave him a little nod, which signified that she gladly accepted him as one of the family. "And now, Martha," Simon said, "you have not yet told me how proud you must feel, in the doings of our son. Our friends here are never weary of congratulating me; and truly I feel thankful that a son of mine should have done such deeds, and that the Lord should have chosen him, to use him as an instrument of his will." "My dear father," John interrupted, "I have told you that there is nothing at all out of the way in what we have done. Jonas and the others did just as much as I did, and methinks that some of them make much more than is needful of our skirmishes, and praise me because in so doing they praise themselves, who did as much as I did." "But I do not understand you, Simon," Martha said. "I know that John fought bravely at Jotapata, and that it was marvelous that he and Jonas escaped, when so many fell. Is it this that you are speaking of?" "What! Has John said nothing about what he has been doing, since?" Simon asked, in surprise. "No, father, I said nothing about it," John said, before his mother could speak. "I thought, in the first place, that you would like to tell them; and in the next, the people there had heard such magnified reports that I could not, for very shame, lay claim to be the hero they had pictured to themselves." "But what has he done?" Martha asked, more and more surprised; while Mary, at his last words, sprang to her feet, and stood looking at him with an intent and eager face. "He should have told you, Martha," Simon said. "It is no light thing that this son of ours has done. Young as he is, the eyes of the people are upon them. For with a small band, which he gathered here, he harassed the enemy several days and, boldly entering their camp, destroyed it by fire." "Oh, John!" Mary said, in a low voice; while Martha exclaimed: "What! Is the John, of whom we have heard so much--the young man, of whom the people speak as their future leader--our boy? You cannot mean it, Simon!" "There is no mistake about it, Martha. The lad came to me; and said he thought that, with a small band, he could cause much trouble to the Romans. So I told him he could go, not knowing whether he spoke from the restlessness of youth, or because it was the will of the Lord that he should go and fight for the country. Indeed, it seemed to many that his marvelous escape from Jotapata showed that God had need of him. So I did not withstand him. There were many from the villages round who were ready to join themselves to him, and follow him, for the fame of his escape had made him much talked of. "So he went, with twenty-four followers and, of course, Jonas here; and truly he did, as all men say, great things. And though he saved not Gamala--as indeed could not have been done, save by a miracle of God, with so small a band--he did much and, by the burning of their camp, not only struck a heavy blow upon the Romans, but he inspired the people with hope. "Before, it seemed that to resist the Romans was to bring certain destruction upon those who adventured it; now men see that with prudence, united with bravery, much may be done and, in the spring, John will be followed by a great gathering of fighting men, from all the country round." Martha sat, in speechless surprise, looking at her son. "My dear mother," John said, "what I told you before, when you were praising the unknown John, is equally true now that it is John your son. We acted with common sense which, so far, no one seems to have exercised in our struggle with the Romans. We just kept out of their reach, and took good care never to come to actual blows with them. We constantly threatened them; and compelled them, who knew nothing of our numbers or strength, to cease working. "As to the burning their camp, of course there was a certain amount of danger in it, but one cannot make war without danger. We crept through their sentries into the camp, in the night, and set it on fire; and then made our escape, as best we could. As only one of our number was killed; and he from falling over a precipice, and not by the sword of the Romans, you see the peril could not have been very great. "It was just as I said, that because we did not throw away our lives, but were prudent and cautious, we succeeded. People have made a great fuss about it, because it is the only success, however small, that we have gained over the Romans but, as my father says, it has certainly had a good effect. It has excited a feeling of hopefulness and, in the spring, many will take the field with the belief that, after all, the Romans are not invincible; and that those who fight against them are not merely throwing away their lives." It was some time before Martha could realize that the hero, of which she had heard so much, was the quiet lad standing before her--her own son John. "Simon," she said, at last, "morning and night I have prayed God to protect him of whom we heard so much, little thinking that it was my own son I was praying for. Tonight, I will thank him that he has so blessed me. Assuredly, God's hand is with him. The dangers he has run and the success that he has gained may, as he says, be magnified by report; nevertheless he has assuredly withstood the Romans, even as David went out against Goliath. Tomorrow I will hear more of this; but I feel shaken with the journey, and with this strange news. "Come, Mary, let us to bed!" But Mary had already stolen away, without having said a single word, after her first exclamation. John was at work soon after daybreak, next morning, for there was much to be done. The men were plowing up the stubble, ready for the sowing, Jonas had gone off, with Isaac, to drive in some cattle from the hills; and John set to work to dig up a patch of garden ground, near the house. He had not been long at work, when he saw Mary approaching. She came along quietly and slowly, with a step altogether unlike her own. "Why, Mary, is that you?" he said, as she approached. "Why, Miriam herself could not walk slower. "Are you ill this morning, child?" he asked, with a change of voice, as he saw how pale she was looking. Mary did not speak until she came quite close; then she stopped, and looked at him with eyes full of tears. "Oh, John," she began, "what can I say?" "Why, my dear Mary, what on earth is the matter with you?" he said, throwing down his spade, and taking her hands in his. "I am so unhappy, John." "Unhappy!" John repeated. "What is making you unhappy, child?" "It is so dreadful," she said, "to think that I, who ought to have known you so well--I, your betrothed wife--have been thinking that you were so mean as to be jealous; for I did think it was that, John, when you made light of the doings of the hero I had been thinking about so much, and would not allow that he had done anything particular. I thought that you were jealous, John; and now I know what you have done, and why you spoke so, I feel I am altogether unworthy of you." "Well, Mary, I never thought you were a little goose, before. What nonsense you are talking! It was only natural you should have thought I was jealous; and I should have been jealous, if it had been anyone else you were praising so much. It was my fault, for not telling you at once. Concealments are always stupid; but I had thought that it would give you a pleasant surprise, when you got home, to hear about it; but instead of causing you pleasure, I have caused you pain. I was not vexed, in the slightest; I was rather amused, when you answered me so curtly." "I think it was cruel of you, John, to let me go on thinking badly of you, and showing yourself in so unworthy a light. That does not make it any the less wrong of me. I ought to have believed in you." "You are making a mountain out of a molehill, Mary, and I won't hear any such nonsense. You heard an absurd story, as to what someone had been doing, and you naturally made a hero of him. You were hurt by my speaking slightingly of this hero of yours, and naturally thought I was jealous at hearing such praises of another from my betrothed wife. It was all perfectly natural. I was not in the least offended with you, or put out in any way; except that I was vexed with myself for not telling you, at once, that all these fables related to your cousin John. "Now, dry your eyes, and don't think any more about it. Go and pick two of the finest bunches of grapes you can find, and we will eat them together." But it was some time before Mary recovered her brightness. The changes which the last few months had made almost depressed her. It was but a year ago that John and she had been boy and girl, together; now he had become a man, had done great deeds, was looked upon by many as one chosen for the deliverance of the nation. Mary felt that she, too, had aged; but the change in her was as nothing to that in her old playfellow. It was but a year ago she had been gravely advising him; treating him, sometimes, as if she had been the elder. She would have treated him now, if he would have let her, with something of the deference and respect which a Jewish maiden would usually pay to a betrothed husband--one who was shortly to become her lord. But the first time he detected this manner, John simply laughed at her, and said: "My dear Mary, do not let us have any nonsense of this sort. We have been always equals, you and I; friends and companions. You know, just as well as I do, that in all matters which we have had in common, you have always had quite as much sense as I and, on a great many matters, more sense. "Nothing has occurred since then to alter that. I have grown into a young man, you into a young woman; but we have advanced equally. On matters concerning warfare, I have gained a good deal of knowledge; in other matters, doubtless, you have gained knowledge. And if, dear, it is God's will that I pass through the troubles and dangers that lie before us, and we become man and wife, I trust that we shall always be the friends and comrades that we have been, as boy and girl together. "It is all very well, when young men and maidens have seen nothing of each other until their parents bring them together as man and wife, for the bride to affect a deep respect--which I have not the least doubt she is generally far from feeling, in her heart--for the man to whom she is given. Happily, this has not been the way with us. We have learned to know each other well; and to know that, beyond the difference in strength which a man has over a woman, there is no difference between us--that one will rule the house, and the other will rule the farm, but that in all things, I trust, we shall be companions and equals. I do hope, Mary, that there will be no change in our ways, the few months we have to be together, now. "In the spring, I go up to help to defend Jerusalem; and it is no use hiding the fact from ourselves that there is but little chance of my returning. We know what has befallen those who have, hitherto, defended cities against the Romans; and what has happened at Jotapata, and Gamala, will probably happen at Jerusalem. But for this reason, let us have no change; let us be as brother and sister to one another, as we have been, all along. If God brings me back safe to you, and you become my wife, there will be plenty of time to settle exactly how much deference you shall pay me; but I shall expect that, when the novelty of affecting the wifely obedience, which is enjoined upon the females of our race, is past, you will be quite ready to take up that equality which is, after all, the rule in practice." "I shall remember your words," Mary said, saucily, "when the time comes. It may be you will regret your expressions about equality, some day." So, during the winter, Mary tried to be bright and cheerful; and Martha, whose heart was filled with anxiety as to the dangers and trials which lay before them--Jerusalem and the Temple threatened, and John away, engaged in desperate enterprises--often wondered to herself, when she heard the girl's merry laugh as she talked with John, and saw how completely she seemed to put aside every sort of anxiety; but she did not know how Mary often spent the entire night in weeping and prayer, and how hard was her struggle to keep up the brave appearance which was, she knew, a pleasure to John. He was not much at home, being often absent for days together. Strangers came and went, frequently. John had long conversations with them; and sometimes went away with them, and did not return for three or four days. No questions were asked, by his parents, as to these visitors or his absence. They knew that they had reference to what they considered his mission; and as, when he returned home, he evidently wished to lay aside all thought of other things, and to devote himself to his life with them, they asked no questions as to what he was doing. He spoke, sometimes, of these things to Mary, when they were together alone. She knew that numbers of young men were only waiting his signal to join him; that parties of them met him among the hills, and were there organized into companies, each with officers of their own choice over them; and that, unknown to the Romans at Scythopolis, there were daily held, throughout the country on both sides of the Jordan, meetings where men practiced with their arms, improved their skill with the bow and arrow, and learned to obey the various signals of the bugle, which John had now elaborated. John was resolute in refusing to accept any men with wives and families. There were other leaders, he said, under whom these could fight; he was determined to have none but men who were ready to sacrifice their lives, and without the care of others dependent upon them. He was ready to accept youths of fifteen, as well as men of five-and-twenty; believing that, in point of courage, the one were equal to the other. But each candidate had to be introduced by others, who vouched for his activity, hardihood, and courage. One of his objects was to avoid increasing his band to too great dimensions. The number of those ready to go up to defend Jerusalem, and eager to enroll themselves as followers of this new leader--whose mission was now generally believed in, in that part of the country--was very large; but John knew that a multitude would be unwieldy; that he would find it impossible to carry out, with thousands of men, tactics dependent for success upon celerity of movement; and, moreover, that did he arrive in Jerusalem with so great a following, he would at once become an object of jealousy to the leaders of the factions there. He therefore limited the number to four hundred men; urging upon all others who presented themselves, or sent messages to him, to form themselves into similar bands; to choose leaders, and to act as independent bodies, hanging upon the rear of the Romans, harassing them with frequent night alarms, cutting off their convoys, attacking their working parties; and always avoiding encounters with strong bodies of the Romans, by retreating into the hills. He said that, although he would not receive more men into his own force than he thought could be easily handled, he should be glad to act in concert with the other leaders so that, at times, the bands might all unite in a common enterprise; and especially that, if they entered Jerusalem, they might hold together, and thus be enabled to keep aloof from the parties of John of Gischala, or Eleazar, who were contending for the mastery of the city. His advice was taken, and several bands similar to his own were formed; but their leaders felt that they needed the prestige and authority which John had gained, and that their followers would not obey their orders with the faith which was inspired, in the members of John's own band, by their belief in his special mission. Their representations on this subject were so urgent that John, at their request, attended a meeting at which ten of these chiefs were present. It was held in a farmhouse, not far from the spot where Gamala had stood. John was embarrassed at the respect which these men, all of them several years older than himself, paid him; but he accepted the position quietly, for he felt that the belief that existed, as to his having a special mission, added greatly to his power of utility. He listened to their representations as to their want of authority, and to the rivalries and jealousies which already existed among those who had enrolled themselves. When they had finished, he said: "I have been thinking the matter well over. I am convinced that it is absolutely necessary that none of the commands shall exceed the numbers I have fixed upon--namely, four hundred men, divided into eight companies, each with a captain--but at the same time, I do not see any reasons why all our corps should not be nominally under one leader. If, then, you think it will strengthen your position, I am ready to accept the general leadership, and to appoint you each as commanders of your troops. Then you will hold my commissions; and I will support you, in your commands, with any authority I may have. "At the same time you will understand that you will, in reality, act altogether independently of me; save and except when, it seems to me, that we can unite in any enterprise. If we enter Jerusalem, we will then hold together for mutual protection from the factions; but even there you will each command independently for, did I assume a general command, it would excite the jealousy of the leaders of the factions, and we should be forced to take part in the civil strife which is devastating the city." A cordial consent to this proposition was given by the other leaders, who said that the knowledge that they were John's officers would add immensely to their authority; and would also raise the courage and devotion of their men, who would not believe that they were being led to victory, unless they were acting under the orders of John, himself. "Remember," John said, "that if misfortune befalls us, I have never laid claim to any divine commission. We are all agents of God, and it may be that he has specially chosen me as one of his instruments; but this I cannot say, beyond the fact that, so far, I have been carried safely through great dangers, and have been enabled to win successes over the Romans. But I do not set up as a specially-appointed leader. "I say this for two reasons: in the first place, that you should not think that I am claiming authority and command on grounds which may not be justified; and in the second place that, if I should fall early in the fighting, others should not be disheartened, and believe that the Lord has deserted them. "I am but a lad among you, and I recognize that it is God who has so strangely brought me into eminence but, having done that much, he may now choose some other instrument. If this should be so--if, as may well be, one of you should obtain far greater success than may attend me--I shall be only too glad to lay aside this authority over the rest, with which you are willing to invest me, and to follow him as cheerfully as you now propose to follow me." The meeting soon afterwards broke up, and the news that John of Gamala--as he was generally called, from the success he had gained over the Romans before that town--had assumed the supreme command of the various bands which were being raised, in eastern Galilee and on the east of Jordan, spread rapidly; and greatly increased the popular feeling of hope, and confidence. Fresh bands were formed, the leaders all receiving their appointments from him. Before the spring arrived, there were twenty bands formed and organized, in readiness to march down towards Jerusalem, as soon as the Roman legions got into motion.	{ "id": "21614" }
11	: A Tale Of Civil Strife.	Towards the spring, Simon and his family were surprised by a visit from the Rabbi Solomon Ben Manasseh. It was a year since they had last seen him, when he called to take leave of them, on starting for Jerusalem. They scarcely recognized him as he entered, so old and broken did he look. "The Lord be praised that I see you all, safe and well!" he said, as they assisted him to dismount from the donkey that he rode. "Ah, my friends, you are happy, indeed, in your quiet farm; free from all the distractions of this terrible time! Looking round here, and seeing you just as I left you--save that the young people have grown, somewhat--I could think that I left you but yesterday, and that I have been passing through a hideous nightmare. "Look at me! My flesh has fallen away, and my strength has gone. I can scarce stand upon my legs, and a young child could overthrow me. I have wept, till my tears are dried up, over the misfortunes of Jerusalem; and yet no enemy has come within sight of her walls, or dug a trench against her. She is devoured by her own children. Ruin and desolation have come upon her." The old man was assisted into the house, and food and wine placed before him. Then he was led into the guest chamber, and there slept for some hours. In the evening, he had recovered somewhat of his strength, and joined the party at their meal. When it was concluded, and the family were alone, he told them what had happened in Jerusalem during the past year. Vague rumors of dissension, and civil war, had reached them; but a jealous watch was set round the city, and none were suffered to leave, under the pretext that all who wished to go out were deserters who sought to join the Romans. "I passed through, with difficulty," the rabbi said, "after bribing John of Gischala, with all my worldly means, to grant me a pass through the guards; and even then should not have succeeded, had he not known me in old times, when I looked upon him as one zealous for the defense of the country against the Romans--little thinking, then, that the days would come when he would grow into an oppressor of the people, tenfold as cruel and pitiless as the worst of the Roman tribunes. "Last autumn when, with the band of horsemen, with steeds weary with hard riding, he arrived before the gates of Jerusalem--saying that they had come to defend the city, thinking it not worth while to risk their lives in the defense of a mere mountain town, like Gischala--the people poured out to meet him, and do him honor. Terrible rumors of slaughter and massacre, in Galilee, had reached us, but none knew the exact truth. Moreover, John had been an enemy of Josephus and, since Josephus had gone over to the Romans, his name was hated and accursed among the people; and thus they were favorably inclined towards John. "I don't think anyone was deceived by the story he told, for it was evident that John and his men had fled before the Romans. Still, the tidings he brought were reassuring, and he was gladly received in the city. He told us that the Romans had suffered very heavily at the sieges of Jotapata and Gamala, that they were greatly dispirited by the desperate resistance they had met with, that a number of their engines of war had been destroyed, and that they were in no condition to undertake the siege of a strong city like Jerusalem. But though all outwardly rejoiced, many in their hearts grieved at the news, for they thought that even an occupation by the Romans would be preferable to the suffering they were undergoing. "For months, bands of robbers, who called themselves Zealots, had ravaged the whole country; pillaging, burning, and slaying, under the pretense that those they assaulted were favorable to the cause of Rome. Thus, gradually, the country people all forsook their homes, and fled to Jerusalem for refuge and, when the country was left a desert and no more plunder was to be gained, these robber bands gradually entered Jerusalem. As you know, the gates of the holy city were always open to all the Jewish people; and none thought of excluding the strangers who entered, believing that every armed man would add to the power of resistance, when the Romans appeared before it. "The robbers, who came singly or in small parties from all parts of the country, soon gathered themselves together in the city, and established a sort of terror over the peaceable inhabitants. Men were robbed, and murdered, openly in the street; houses were broken open, and pillaged; none dare walk in the street, without the risk of insult or assault. Antipas, Levias, and Saphias--all of royal blood--were seized, thrown into prison, and there murdered; and many others of the principal people were slain. "Then the robbers proceeded to further lengths. They took upon themselves to appoint a high priest; selected a family which had no claim whatever to the distinction and, drawing lots among them, chose as high priest one Phannias--a country priest, ignorant, boorish, and wholly unable to discharge the function of the office. Hitherto, the people had submitted to the oppression of the Zealots, but this desecration of the holy office filled them with rage and indignation; and Ananus--the oldest of the chief priests, a man of piety and wisdom--was the head of the movement and, calling the people together, exhorted them to resist the tyranny which oppressed them, and which was now desecrating the Temple--for the Zealots had taken refuge there, and made the holy place their headquarters. "The people seized their arms, but before they were ready for the attack the Zealots, learning what was going on, took the initiative and fell upon them. The people were less accustomed to arms than their foes, but they had the superiority of numbers, and fought with fury. At first the Zealots gained the advantage, but the people increased in numbers. Those behind pressed those in front forward, and the Zealots were driven back into the Temple, and the Quadrangle of the Gentiles was taken. "The Zealots fled into the inner court, and closed the gates. Thither their wounded had already been carried, and the whole place was defiled with their blood. But Ananus, having the fear of God before his eyes, did not like to attack them there and, leaving six thousand chosen men on guard in the cloisters, and arranging that these should be regularly relieved, retired. "Such was the state of things, when John of Gischala arrived. He at once professed complete agreement with the party of Ananus, and was admitted into all their councils; but all the time, as we afterwards learned, he was keeping up a secret correspondence with the Zealots, and betrayed to them all that took place at the council. There was some distrust of him but, in addition to the party that had entered the city with him, he had speedily gathered together many others and, distracted as we already were with our troubles, none cared to add to the number of their enemies by openly distrusting John--who took many solemn oaths of fidelity to the cause of order. "He at length volunteered to enter the inner Temple, on a mission to the Zealots; and to persuade them to surrender, and leave the city. But no sooner was he among them than he threw off the mask, and told the Zealots that the offers to allow them to depart in peace were blinds, and that they would at once be massacred if they surrendered. He therefore advised them to resist, and to send for assistance without--recommending them especially to send to the Idumeans. Eleazar and Zacharias--the chiefs of the Zealots--felt sure that they, above all, would be sacrificed if they surrendered; and they embraced John's counsel, and sent off swift-footed messengers to the Idumeans, urging them to come to their assistance. "The Idumeans had, since their conquest by Hyrcanus, been incorporated with the Jews. They were a fierce and warlike people--of Arab descent--and, immediately the messengers of the Zealots arrived, they embraced the proposal, anticipating the acquisition of great plunder in Jerusalem. Marching with all speed, they appeared, twenty thousand strong, before the walls of Jerusalem. "Although taken completely by surprise--for none knew that messengers had gone over to the Idumeans--the people manned the walls; and Jesus, a colleague of Ananus, addressed the Idumeans. He asked them to take one of three courses: either to unite with the people, in punishing the notorious robbers and assassins who were desecrating the Temple; or to enter the city unarmed, and arbitrate between the conflicting parties; or to depart, and leave the city to settle its own difficulties. Simon, the leader of the Idumeans, answered that they came to take the part of the true patriots, against men who were conspiring basely to sell the people into the hands of the Romans. "At this answer Jesus left the wall, and we held debate upon the situation. Before the arrival of this new enemy, we felt certain of overpowering the Zealots; and Ananus would, ere long, have been persuaded to lay aside his scruples and attack them for, as they were desecrating the sanctuary, it would be better to shed their blood there and, when these wicked men were slain, to offer up atonement and purify the Temple--as had been done before, in the days of the Maccabees, after the Temple had been defiled. "We redoubled our guards round the Temple, so that none could issue out thence to communicate with the Idumeans. At night a terrible storm set in, with lightning, thunder, and rain, so that the very earth seemed to shake. A great awe fell upon all, within and without the city. To all, it seemed a sign of the wrath of God at the civil discords; but though, doubtless, it was the voice of the Almighty, it was rather a presage of further evils. "Under shelter of the storm--which drove all the guards to take refuge--some of the Zealots cut asunder the bars of the gate, and crept along the street to the wall. Then they sawed through the bars of the gate that faced the Idumeans, who were trembling with terror in the storm. Unseen by anyone, the Idumeans entered the gate, marched through the city, and approached the Temple. Then they fell upon our guards, while the Zealots attacked them from behind. "Furious at the hours they had passed exposed to the tempest, ashamed of their fears, and naturally pitiless and cruel, the Idumeans gave no quarter; and a terrible carnage took place among the ten thousand men who had been placed in the outer court of the Temple. Some fought desperately, others threw themselves down from the wall into the city and, when morning dawned, eight thousand five hundred of our best fighting men had been slain. "As soon as it was daylight, the Idumeans broke into the city, pillaging and slaying. The high priests, Ananus and Jesus, were among those who were slain; and in that terrible night were extinguished the last hopes of saving Jerusalem. "Ananus was a man of the highest character. He had labored unceasingly to place the city in a posture of defense; believing, and rightly, that the stronger were its walls, and the more formidable the resistance it could offer, the better chance there was of obtaining favorable terms from the Romans. Ananus was the leader and hope of the peace party, which comprised all the respectable classes, and all the older and wiser men in Jerusalem. His death left the conduct of affairs in the hands of the thoughtless, the rash, and the desperate. "The massacre continued for days, the Idumeans hunting the citizens in the streets. Vast numbers were killed, without question. The young men of the upper classes were dragged to prison, and were there scourged and tortured to force them to join the Zealots, but not one would do so. All preferred death. Thus perished twelve thousand of the best and wisest in Jerusalem. "Then the Zealots set up a tribunal and, by proclamation, assembled seventy of the principal citizens remaining to form a court; and before it brought Zacharias, the son of Baruch--an upright, patriotic, and wealthy man. Him they charged with entering into correspondence with the Romans, but produced no shadow of evidence against him. Zacharias defended himself boldly, clearly establishing his own innocence, and denouncing the iniquities of his accusers. The seventy unanimously acquitted the prisoner, preferring to die with him, to condemning an innocent man. The Zealots rushed forward, with cries of rage, and slew Zacharias and, with blows and insults, turned the judges out of the Temple. "The Idumeans at length began to weary of massacre, and were sated with pillage and, declaring that they had been deceived by the Zealots, and that they believed no treason had been intended, they left the city; first opening the prisons, and releasing two thousand persons confined there, who fled to Simon the son of Gioras, who was wasting the country toward Idumea. "The Zealots, after their departure, redoubled their iniquities; and seemed as if they would leave none alive, save the lowest of the people. Gorion, a great and distinguished man, was among the slain. Niger of Peraea, who had been the leader in the attack on the Romans at Ascalon--a noble and true-hearted patriot--was also murdered. He died calling upon the Romans to come to avenge those who had been thus murdered; and denouncing famine, pestilence, and civil massacre, as well as war, against the accursed city. "I had lain hidden, with an obscure family, with whom I had lodged during these terrible times. So great was the terror and misery in the city that those who lived envied the dead. It was death to bury even a relative, and both within and without the city lay heaps of bodies, decaying in the sun. "Even among the Zealots themselves, factions arose. John of Gischala headed one party, and that the more violent. Over these he ruled with absolute authority, and occupied one portion of the city. The other party acknowledged no special leader. Sometimes, then, the factions fought among themselves; but neither side ceased from plundering and murdering the inhabitants. "Such, my friends, was the condition of Jerusalem when I left it; having, as I told you, purchased a permission from John of Gischala to pass through the guards at the gates. "As I traveled here, I learned that another danger threatens us. The sect called the Assassins, as you know, seized the strong fortress of Masada, near the Dead Sea, at the beginning of the troubles. Until lately, they have been content to subsist on the plunder of the adjacent country but, on the night of the Passover, they surprised Engaddi, dispersed all who resisted, and slew seven hundred women and children who could not escape. They carried off the contents of the granaries, and are now wasting the whole region. "What hope can there be of success, my friends, when, with an enemy close to their gates, the Jews are slaying more of their fellow countrymen than the Romans themselves? Did ever a country present so humiliating and terrible a spectacle? Were such atrocities ever perpetrated by men upon their brothers? And yet, the madmen still believe that the Almighty will deliver them--will save from destruction that Temple which they have polluted, the altars that they have deluged with blood." When the rabbi had finished his narration, there was a long silence. Martha was in tears, at the recital of the misery which was endured by the inhabitants of Jerusalem; Simon sat with his face covered with his hands; John had scarce moved, since the rabbi had begun his story, but sat with a heavy frown on his face, looking straight before him; while Mary anxiously watched him, to see the effect of the recital upon him. Simon was the first to speak. "It is a tale of mourning, lamentation, and woe that you have told us, rabbi. Not even in the days of our captivity in Babylon were the Jewish people fallen so low. Let us to bed now. These things are too terrible to speak of, until we have laid them before the Lord, and asked his guidance. I wonder not, now, rabbi, that years seem to have rolled over your head since we last met." The others rose. Mary, as she passed John, laid her hands on his shoulder with a caressing action--which was very rare to her, for she generally behaved to him as to a brother, holding any exhibition of greater affection unmaidenly, until the days of betrothal were ended. The action seemed to recall John from his gloomy thought, and he smiled down at her anxious face; then, when the others went off to their apartments, he went out into the night air and stood for hours, nearly immovable, with his eyes fixed on the stars. In the morning, Mary joined him in the garden; as had come to be their custom, this being the only time in the day when they were alone together. "Well, John?" she asked. He understood her question. "I have thought it over, Mary, in every way; but I cannot see that my duty is changed by what we heard last night. Affection for you, and my parents, would keep me here; and I wish that I could see that my duty could go hand in hand with my wishes. I have been sorely tempted to yield--to resign the struggle, to remain here in peace and quiet--but I should never be happy. I do not believe that I am, as so many think, specially called to be a deliverer--though God has assuredly specially protected and aided me--but, did I draw back now, it would be a grievous discouragement to many. I have put my hand to the plow, and cannot look back. "God has permitted these miseries to fall upon Jerusalem, doubtless, as a punishment for the sins of the people. It may be yet that his wrath will be abated, and that he will remember the mercies of old. He has suffered his Temple to be profaned, but it may not be his purpose to allow it to be destroyed, utterly. The evil doings, therefore, of evil men do not release us from our duty; and it has always been held the chief duty of all Jews to die, if need be, in defense of the Temple. Never, so long as that stands, can we say that the Lord has wholly turned his face from us--that he purposes another period of exile, and captivity, to befall his people. "Therefore, Mary, I shall go on as I have intended; warring against the Romans, and doing what I can to hinder their advance against Jerusalem. I think that the war may last longer than I had expected. Vespasian will have heard--from those who, like the rabbi, have escaped from Jerusalem--what is going on within the city; and knowing the great strength of its walls; and judging, from what he saw at Jotapata and Gamala, how desperate would be its resistance, were he to appear before it, he may well decide to leave it for the present; suffering the population to prey upon each other, to consume their provisions and waste their strength till, when he marches against it, there will be no longer men left to man the walls." "I thought you would decide so, John," Mary said, quietly; "and much as I love you--for I do love you, John--I would rather part with you so, never to see you again, than that you should draw back now. I set you up on a pedestal, before I knew that it was you who was my hero; and I would not have it said that he, of whom such high hopes were cherished, drew back from the enterprise he had taken up. Rather would I mourn for you, all my life, than that men should say of you: "'This is he of whom we said, he is the deliverer; but who shrank from the dangers of battle, and threw down his country's sword.'" "Thank you, Mary. I am glad to hear you say so. I thought that I was right, but it was very hard so to decide. And, now that you agree with me, my chief cause for hanging back is removed. Henceforth, I shall trouble no more over it. My conscience tells me that I am right to go. You say go, also. Therefore now, whatever betides, I shall not blame myself; but shall feel that I could not have taken any other course." "I have faith, John, that you will come back to me, when the troubles are over. I believe that, whatever may happen at Jerusalem, you will be spared to me. I think that it was either for the country, or for me, that your life was spared, alone of all those that fought at Jotapata; and I mean to keep on thinking so. It will keep up my spirits, while you are away, and will help me to cheer our mother." "If the Romans do not move upon Jerusalem, I may be able to be often at home. Our policy will be to strike a blow; and then, when the Romans gather in force, to scatter and disappear; so that I may often be home, until the time comes when the enemy gather round Jerusalem. "But at any rate, Mary, I shall try and believe that your hope is well founded; and that, in the end, I shall return alive to you. Certainly I shall not spare my life; for, when one takes up the post of a leader of his fellows, he must never hang back from danger, but must be always in the front. At the same time, I shall never forget that you are thinking and praying for me, and will never throw away my life recklessly; and if the time comes when I see that all is lost--that fighting is no longer of avail--I will neither rush into the enemy's ranks to die, nor will I throw down my arms and die unresisting, nor will I slay myself with my own weapons; but I will strive, in every way, to save my life for your sake, having done all that I could for our country, and the Temple." "That is all I ask, John. I am quite content to wait here, until the day comes that you shall return; and then, though our cause be lost, our country ruined, and God's Temple destroyed, we can yet feel that God has been good and merciful to us--even if we be driven out of our home, and have to become exiles, in a far land." A week later, the news came that the Romans were preparing to take the field. The young men of the village at once started, as messengers, through the country. At night, a vast pile of brushwood was lighted on the hill above Gamala; and answering fires soon blazed out from other heights. At the signal, men left their homes on the shores of Galilee, in the cities of the plains, in the mountains of Peraea and Batanaea. Capitolias, Gerisa and Pella, Sepphoris, Caphernaum and Tiberias--and even the towns and villages almost within sight of Caesar's camp, at Caesarea--sent their contingents and, in twenty-four hours, eight thousand armed men were gathered on the slopes of Mount Galaad. Each man brought with him grain, sufficient for a week's consumption; and all had, according to their means, brought money, in accordance with the instructions John and the other commanders had issued. For John held that although--as they were fighting for the country--they must, if necessary, live upon the country; yet that, as far as possible, they should abstain from taking food without payment, and so run the risk of being confounded with the bands who, under the cloak of patriotism, plundered and robbed the whole country. The bands assembled, each under their leaders. It was easy to see that they had come from different localities. Tarichea and Tiberias had both sent two companies, and the aspect of these differed widely from that of the companies of peasants, raised in the villages on the slopes of Hermon or among the mountains of Peraea; but all seemed animated by an equal feeling of devotion, and of confidence in their young leader. John, after carefully inspecting his own band, visited the camps of the other companies; and was everywhere received with acclamations. He addressed each company in turn--not only urging them to show bravery, for that every Jew had shown, who had fought against the Romans--but pointing out that far more than this was required. While they must be ready to give their lives, when need be; they must be equally ready to shun the fight, to scatter and fly, when their leaders gave the orders. It was not by bravery that they could hope to overcome the Romans; but by harassing them night and day, by attacking their camps, cutting off their convoys, and giving them no rest. Above all, obedience was required. "Look at the Roman soldiers," he said. "They have no wills of their own. They advance, or retreat; they attack, when they know that those who first attack must die; they support all hardships and fatigues; they accomplish marvels, in the way of work; they give themselves up, in fact, to obey the orders given them, never questioning whether those orders are the best, but blindly obeying them; and so it must be, here, if we are to fight the Romans with a chance of success. "The most useful man here--the man who will do best service to his country--is not he who is strongest, or bravest, but he who is most prompt in his obedience to orders. The true hero is he who gives up his will and, if need be, his life, at the order of his leader. You have chosen your own officers, and I have confirmed the choice that you have made. It is for you, now, to give them your support and assistance. There will be hardships, these must be borne without complaint; there will be delays, these must be supported with patience; there will be combats and dangers, these must be met with confidence and courage--believing that God will give you success; and that, although the issue of the strife is in his hands, each of you should do his best, by his conduct and courage, to gain success. "We shall not act in one great body, for we could not find food, in the villages, for so large a number. Moreover, to do so would be to give the Romans an opportunity of massing their forces against us, of surrounding and destroying us. On great occasions, and for a great object, we may gather together and unite our forces. At other times, although acting upon a general plan, and in concert with each other, each company will work independently. So we shall elude the Romans. When they strike at us, we shall be gone. When they try to inclose us, we shall disperse. When they pursue one body, others will fall upon them. When they think that we are in one part of the country, we will be striking a blow in another. When they fancy themselves in security, we will fall upon them. We will give them no rest, or peace." John's addresses were received with shouts of approval. By the great majority of those present, he was now seen for the first time; but his appearance, the tone of authority with which he spoke, his air of confidence, and the manner in which he had evidently thought out the plans of action, and prepared for all contingencies, confirmed the reports which they had heard of him; and the conviction that he was a specially appointed leader was deepened, and strengthened. How otherwise could one who was a mere youth speak with such firmness, and authority? The memories of the Jews were stored with legends of the prowess of Judas the Maccabean, and his brothers; and of other leaders who had, from time to time, arisen and enabled them to clear their country of oppressors; and they were thus prepared to accept, willingly, those who appeared to them specially sent as leaders, and the question of age and experience weighed but little with them. Moreover, as none had been trained as soldiers, there were none who had to set aside superior claims. Samuel had been chosen as a child, Saul was the youngest of his brethren, and David a lad when he slew the champion of the Philistines. Such being the case, the youth of John was no drawback, in the eyes of his followers; and indeed the fact that, being still a youth, he had yet escaped from Jotapata, where all his elders had died; and that he had inflicted a heavy blow upon the Romans, when all others who had opposed them had perished, seemed in itself a proof that he was under special protection. John probably believed in himself less than did any man among his followers. Piously and devoutly brought up, he saw in the two escapes that he had had, from death at the hands of the Romans, signs of a special protection of God. But, while he hoped that he might be able to do the Romans much harm, he had not any conviction that he was destined to deliver his country. He had none of the fervent enthusiasm of men who are convinced that they have a divine mission, and that miracles would be wrought in his favor. He had seen the tremendous strength of the Roman army, as it defiled from the mountains before Jotapata. He had learned the power of their war engines, and had evidence of their discipline, their bravery and perseverance; and had no idea that such a force as that gathered round him could cope with the legions of Rome. Still, that firm and pious belief, which was so deeply ingrained in the heart of the Jews, that God specially interested himself in them--that he personally directed everything that befell them, and intervened in every incident of their history--had its natural effect upon him. His training taught him that he was an instrument in God's hands and, although he hardly even hoped that he was destined to be a deliverer of Jerusalem, he thought that God might intend him to do great things for his people. At any rate, while never claiming any special authority--or to have, more than those around him, any special mission--he was careful not to damp the enthusiasm of his followers, by disclaiming the mission they attributed to him; knowing how much such a belief added to his authority, and to the efficiency of the force under his command.	{ "id": "21614" }
12	: Desultory Fighting.	After having gone through the camps of the whole of the companies, John assembled the leaders round him, and held a council as to future operations. It was agreed that it would be best to leave alone, for the present, the legion at Scythopolis; for rumors of the gathering would almost certainly have reached that city, and the Romans might be on their guard against attack. It was resolved, therefore, to cross the Jordan a few miles below Tarichea, to traverse the hills between Endor and Gelbus and, by a long march, to gain the range of hills extending from Carmel to Samaria, and forming the boundary between the latter province and Galilee. They would then be looking down upon the camp of Vespasian, at Caesarea. The country, between these hills and the city, was too flat for them to engage with any hopes of success; for although, by a surprise, they might inflict great damage on the Romans, they would be wholly unable to withstand the charges of the Roman horse. They would, therefore, maintain a lookout from the mountains; and attack the Roman camp the first time it was pitched on ground whence a rapid retreat could be effected, to the hills. As the Jordan was unfordable, between Scythopolis and the lake, all who could not swim were ordered to carry with them, on their march down to the river, logs of light wood sufficient to support them in crossing. Those who could swim were to assist in piloting over those unable to do so. This would be a work of no great difficulty, for the width of the Jordan is not great, and it was only for a short distance in the center that it would be unfordable. As was to be expected, the companies raised near the shores of the lake contained but few men unable to swim, while those from the mountain districts were almost wholly ignorant of the art. The bands were, therefore, linked together for the purpose of crossing; one of those from the plains, and a company of mountaineers, marching down to the stream together. The preparations were all complete by the afternoon and, just as it was becoming twilight, the leading bands arrived on the banks of the Jordan. The crossing was effected without difficulty and, in two hours, all were over. Then the companies formed up under their leaders, and started independently; men who knew the country well being assigned, as guides, to each. They crossed the hill between Endor and Gelbus, marched through Jezrael; and then, just as morning was breaking, ascended the slopes of Mount Carmel, leaving Legio on their right. It was a march of about fifty miles; but the men were all active and vigorous, lightly armed, and sustained by enthusiasm and excitement, and not a man dropped behind during the journey. Once among the hills, they threw themselves down for a rest of some hours. From the crest of the hill, it was but some twelve miles down to Caesarea; and the blue line of the sea extended, right and left, as far as the eye could reach. In the afternoon Jonas was sent down to the city, to learn how matters stood there, and when Vespasian was going to move. He was to remain there that night, and return with the news on the following morning. He came back, however, at midnight; saying that the Romans had marched on the previous day, that they had taken the southern road which skirted the mountains for some distance, and would probably cross the central range at Sichem, and either proceed to Scythopolis, or join the legion thence on the plain of Aulon, west of the Jordan. This was a disappointment but, at daybreak, the companies were afoot. It was decided they should march separately; each taking its own line to the east, following unfrequented roads, and keeping among the hills as far as possible, so that no report of the passage of any large gathering of men should reach the Romans. Although no time had been lost, John, when he approached the Jordan, learned that Vespasian had already joined the legion from Scythopolis, and had crossed the river into Peraea, and was marching with all speed against Gadara, its chief city. Halting for the night near the Jordan; John crossed the river by a ford, next morning, and then moved forward, cautiously, to commence operations as soon as the Romans were engaged upon the siege of the city. But, ere many hours had passed, he learned that the inhabitants had sent forward a deputation to Vespasian; and that the war party, taken by surprise by the rapid advance of the Romans, had hastily evacuated the city, after slaying many of those who were willing to admit the Romans. When Vespasian arrived, he had been received with acclamations by the inhabitants; who had already destroyed a portion of their walls, to prove that they never thought of resistance. Having thus established the Roman authority in Peraea, Vespasian left a garrison there; and set out, with the main body of his army, for Caesarea, leaving a garrison in the town; and dispatching Placidus, with five hundred horse and three thousand foot, in pursuit of the fugitives who had fled from Gadara before he entered it. As Vespasian marched back, the band under John began their work. Wherever the road led through the mountains, they rolled down rocks upon the column. The light-armed allies of the Romans were sent out on each flank and, climbing the hills, attacked their assailants. As soon, however, as they neared the crests--which were, as they believed, held by small parties, only, of the enemy--the Jews rushed upon them with fury, overthrew them, and drove them down the hills; until the heavy-armed troops were obliged to advance to their assistance, upon which the Jews at once fell back to the higher slopes. Growing bolder by success, they even ventured to rush down upon the baggage; breaking through its guard, and killing great numbers of the animals. A party of Roman horse which came up at full gallop was charged, just as they reached the spot, by two more companies from the hill; and these, before the Romans could face about and oppose their line of long spears to their assailants, were among them--stabbing the horses, leaping up behind the soldiers and slaying them with their knives, and throwing the whole into confusion. Then the sound of a horn was heard on the hillside, and the whole of the Jews instantly relinquished their work and took to the mountains, just as a large body of cavalry, headed by Titus, came thundering up. At night, the Romans were disturbed by constant alarms. Men crept up to the sentries, and slew them in the darkness. Numbers of the enemy penetrated into the camp; killing the soldiers as they slept, hocking the horses, and setting fire to the camp in several places; and it was not until the whole army got under arms that the attack ceased. The next day, they were similarly harassed upon the march; and it was not until they had crossed the mountains, and descended on to the western plain, that the Jews drew off, highly satisfied with the result of their first encounter with the Romans. Their loss had been slight--not more than twenty having fallen--while they had killed more than two hundred of the light-armed troops, had inflicted some loss upon the Romans themselves, had slain numbers of baggage animals; and had shown the enemy that, however formidable the Roman soldiers might be on the plains, the legions of Vespasian were no more invincible than was that of Cestius, among the hills. They regretted however that, instead of engaging the main army, they had not followed the force under Placidus--of whose dispatch from Gadara they had not learned, until it was too late. The fugitives, of whom Placidus was in pursuit, had taken possession of the village of Bethennabris. He pursued the stratagem which had already succeeded so well. He feigned a retreat, and the Jews sallied out and attacked him. He cut off the greater part from returning to the village and, at night, attacked Bethennabris, captured it, and put all within it to the sword. Those who had escaped were joined by great numbers of the country people; and made for the Jordan, intending to cross by the ford opposite Jericho. But the river was swollen with rain, and they were unable to cross. Placidus overtook and attacked them. Vast numbers were killed, and more were driven into the river and drowned. Fifteen thousand fell. Two thousand five hundred were taken prisoners, with a vast number of animals, of all kinds. Placidus then reduced the whole of Peraea, and the coast of the Dead Sea, as far as Machaerus. Vespasian soon moved down from Caesarea, keeping near the sea, and capturing Antipatris, Lydda, and Thamna, and blocking Emmaus. Then, continuing his course southward, he wasted the country to the frontier of Idumea, and captured the towns Betaris and Caphartobas, putting to the sword about ten thousand men. Then he marched back, by Emmaus and Sichem, descended the hills and marched to Jericho; where he was joined by Placidus, with the troops from Peraea. The city had been deserted by its inhabitants, and the Roman army rested here for some time until, just as Vespasian was about to march upon Jerusalem, the news arrived of the death of Nero and, unwilling to weaken his army by besieging the city--strong in itself, and defended by a host--Vespasian withdrew to Caesarea and, for another two years, Jerusalem had time for preparation, or submission. As Vespasian's march had, except when he was crossing the mountains from Emmaus to Sichem, lain entirely in the plains, John had been able to do but little. Half the force had been sent across the Jordan, and its operations had greatly added to the difficulties Placidus had met with in subduing Peraea. The other companies had closely followed the march of Vespasian, had made many attacks upon parties dispatched to pillage the country and, after the Romans marched north again, besieged and captured some of the small places in which they had left garrisons. They had united when the two Roman armies met at Jericho; and were prepared to defend, desperately, the rugged mountain roads leading thence to Jerusalem when, to their surprise, they saw the Roman host moving away to the north again. As soon as they ascertained that Vespasian had, for the present, entirely abandoned the idea of attacking Jerusalem, and that his troops had gone into permanent quarters, John held a council with the other commanders. Some were in favor of remaining in arms, and of constantly attacking the Roman garrisons. Others were for scattering and returning to their homes--from which they had now been absent three months--until the Romans again set themselves in motion against Jerusalem. Opinions were about equally divided, and John remained silent until all had spoken. Then he said: "I think that we had better disperse. If we remained in arms, we might gain some successes, we might surprise and slay some Roman garrisons; but the others would speedily prepare themselves against attack, by strengthening their walls and taking every precaution. But, did we succeed in destroying the garrisons in every one of the towns they have captured, of what benefit would it be? It would rather excite the Romans yet more against the people. Yet more would they march through the land, burning, destroying, and slaying. They would turn the country into a desert; and either slay, or carry away all the people captives. We should irritate without seriously injuring the Romans; and the very people, whose sufferings we should heighten by our work, would turn against us. "Now that the whole country has been scoured, all the towns which have resisted destroyed, and all the men who defended them put to the sword, there may be breathing space for the land, until the Romans advance against Jerusalem. It may be that those in Jerusalem may come to terms with the Romans, in which case there need not be any more bloodshed. Therefore, I say that it seems to me that it would be wrong to continue the war, so long as the Romans rest peacefully in their camps; but should Jerusalem have need of us in her defense, every one of us will again take the field." John's counsel was finally adopted. Many of the men were longing to return to their homes, where they knew that they would be welcomed, and honored, for the deeds they had performed; for although they had achieved no grand successes, they had done much by compelling the Romans to keep together, and had thus saved many towns from plunder and destruction. Their operations, too, had created a fresh sensation of hope, and had aroused the people from the dull despair in which they were sinking. Had messengers been now sent out on all sides, a great multitude of men would have collected; but John knew well that numbers would be of no avail, and that in a pitched battle the Romans could defeat many times their number of the undisciplined and ill-armed Jews. John himself stood even higher, in the estimation of his followers, than he did at the commencement of the campaign. His own band had been particularly successful, and had several times encountered parties of the Romans almost equal to themselves in numbers. His plans had been always well laid, and on no occasion had the Romans cut off and killed any numerous parties. Altogether, the justness of his views had been established by experience, the men had gained confidence in themselves and in him, and now only regretted that they had had no opportunity of attacking the Romans in anything like equal numbers. Therefore, when the news spread that John was of opinion that the wisest course was for them to return to their homes, and there to hold themselves in readiness to reassemble, whenever the Romans moved against Jerusalem; the decision was willingly accepted and, a few hours after the Roman column had marched out from Jericho, the Jewish companies started for their respective homes, all promising to take up arms again, when the signal was given. Although the success that had attended them had not been so great as they had hoped, it had been sufficiently marked to inspire them with confidence in themselves, and their leader. But few lives had been lost; and they had learned that, so long as they persisted in the tactics their leader had laid down, there was but little chance of the Romans striking a heavy blow at them. Surprise was mingled with joy, in the greetings John received on his return home. "No disaster has befallen your bands, I hope, John?" Simon asked, anxiously. "We heard that the Romans had reached Jericho; and we have been praying the Lord, night and day, for his protection for you--believing that you would doubtless fall upon the enemy, as they marched through the mountains towards Jerusalem." "We should have done so, father, and already had taken up a position on the heights commanding the roads; but there was no fighting, simply because Vespasian has marched away with his army to Caesarea, and will not, as we believe, make any movement against Jerusalem this year." "The Lord be praised!" Simon said, piously. "There is time yet for the city to repent, in sackcloth and ashes, for its sins; and to come to such terms with the Romans as may save the Temple." "So far as I have heard, father, Jerusalem is little likely either to repent or to negotiate. The news of what is passing there is even worse than that which the Rabbi Solomon told us; but I will not pain you by talking of these matters, now. "You have heard what we have been doing. We have done no great deeds, but we have harassed the Romans sorely, so that they could not say that they held the country beyond the flight of their arrows. We have taken many cities where they had left small garrisons. We have cut off very many small parties, have captured many flocks and herds which they had carried off, and have lost but few men while inflicting much damage. Moreover, we have gained experience and confidence and, when the time comes for fighting hand-to-hand with the Romans, we shall enter upon the struggle without fear." "But what can have induced the Romans to retire, when almost within sight of Jerusalem?" "Partly, no doubt, because Vespasian considered it better to let the Jews go on slaying each other, than to waste his strength in killing them; but partly, I believe, because of news from Rome. We heard a rumor that a messenger had arrived in the Roman camp, with news that Nero is dead; and Vespasian may well wish to keep his army together, to watch the course of events." This was, indeed, Vespasian's main object in retiring; and for nearly two years he kept his army in hand, waiting for his opportunity, while Galba, Otho, and Vitellius in turn gained and lost the imperial crown. John remained at home, except that he went out with the companies in the spring of 69; when Vespasian, for a time, set his troops in motion. As before, the Romans marched down into the south of Judea, and reduced the country on the western shore of the Dead Sea; while Cerealis entered Idumea and completely subdued it, so that there now remained only the towns of Herodium, Masada, Machaerus, and Jerusalem itself which still remained unconquered. John's troops had pursued precisely the same tactics as in the previous year; and had contented themselves with harassing the Romans whenever the latter entered difficult country, and in preventing them from sending out small foraging parties. John himself would not have called his men under arms, as he saw that no real advantage was gained; but the men were eager to go, and he saw that there was a considerable advantage in their continued practice in arms, in the quickness with which they worked together, and in the confidence which they had in themselves. The company suffered but slight loss in the operations; but John, himself, had an adventure which nearly cost him his life. Vespasian, with the bulk of his army, was encamped at Hebron; while Titus was at Carmelia, near the Dead Sea. John's company were in the hills near Hebron; and he, wishing to examine the Roman position at Carmelia, and the road between the two towns, started by himself. He carried, as usual, his buckler, two light javelins, and a sword. The road led down a series of precipitous valleys; and John, knowing that he could instantly gain the hills, out of reach of danger, did not hesitate to descend into it. He was now nineteen, strong, active, and sinewy. The position in which he had been placed had given him the habit of command, and the heavy responsibility which had devolved upon him had added two or three years to his apparent age. He was taller than most of his countrymen, broad across the shoulders, and a match for any single man under his command. As he walked along, he heard the sound of a horse's footsteps, coming up the valley. He sprang a short distance up the craggy hillside, and then paused as a single horseman came in sight. As he came a little nearer John saw, by the splendor of his armor, and that of the horse he was riding, that he was an officer of rank and distinction. John scorned to fly before a single foe, and stood quietly watching him, till he came nearly abreast of him. The horseman reined up his charger and, without a word, seized his javelin and hurled it at the armed figure, standing on the hillside some thirty feet above him. John sprang lightly aside, and the missile struck the rock with a sharp clang, close to him. In return, he threw a javelin at the Roman, which struck him on the armor and fell, blunted. "Well thrown!" the Roman said, calmly, and hurled a second javelin. The stroke was too swift to avoid; but John threw up his buckler so as to receive it at an angle, and the javelin glanced off, and flew far up the hillside. This time John sprang down the rocks, with the activity of a goat, till within a few feet of the Roman. Then he threw his javelin at the horse, with so true an aim that it struck at a spot unprotected by armor, and the animal fell. With an exclamation of anger, the Roman threw himself off, as the animal sank beneath his legs. He had already drawn his sword, as John approached, and stood at once on the defensive. Without a moment's hesitation John sprang at him, and the combat commenced. John trusted to his activity, while the Roman had an immense advantage in his heavy armor--John being unprotected, save by his buckler. The Roman stood calm and confident, while John attacked--moving quickly, round and round him; springing in to deliver a blow, and then bounding out of reach of the sweep of the heavy Roman sword. For some time the combat continued. John had received two or three severe wounds while, although the Roman was bleeding, his armor protected him from any serious hurt. Suddenly John sprang in at the Roman, throwing himself with all his force against him. He partially warded, with his sword, the blow which the Roman struck at him as he came in; but his weapon was beaten down, and the Roman blade cut through his thick headdress. But the impetus of his spring was sufficient. The Roman, taken by surprise by this sudden attack, tottered, and then fell with a crash, John falling on the top of him. John was almost blinded by the blood which streamed down his forehead, from the blow he had last received; but he dashed it aside, seized his long knife and, in another moment, would have slain his enemy, had not the latter exclaimed: "Strike, Jew! I am Titus." John was confused by the last blow he had received, but a thousand thoughts whirled in his brain. For an instant he grasped the knife more firmly, to slay the son of the chief enemy of his country; then the possibility of carrying him away a captive occurred to him, but he saw that this was out of the question. Then another thought dashed across his brain. "Swear," he said, in Greek, for he was ignorant of Latin, "by your gods, to spare the Temple, or I will kill you." There was a moment's hesitation. The knife was already descending, when Titus exclaimed, in the same language: "I swear to do all in my power to save the Temple." John's knife fell from his hand. He tried to rise to his feet; then everything seemed to swim round, and he fell, insensible. Titus rose to his feet. He was shaken by the fall; and he, too, had lost much blood. Panting from his exertions, he looked down upon his prostrate foe; and the generosity which was the prevailing feature of his character, except when excited in battle, mastered him. "By Hercules," he exclaimed, "that is a gallant youth; though he is a Jew, and he has well-nigh made an end of me! What will Vespasian say, when he hears that I have been beaten in fair fight, and owe my life to the mercy of a Jew? How they think of their temple, these Jews! Why, I would not injure it, were it in my power to do so. Have not our emperors sent offerings there? Besides, we war not with the gods of the people we conquer. "Ah, here come Plancus and the others! This will be a lesson to me not to trust myself, alone, among these mountains again. It is the first time I have done so, and it shall be the last." A messenger had, in fact, arrived at Carmelia, with an order from Vespasian for him to go to Hebron--as he had a desire to speak with him--and ordering Plancus, a centurion, to follow with his troop, Titus had sprung on his horse, and ridden off at once. The Romans were soon upon the spot, and were loud in exclamation of surprise and grief at seeing their commander covered with dust, and bleeding from several wounds, while his horse lay dead beside him. To their inquiries whether he was seriously wounded, Titus replied, lightly: "I am more dirty than hurt. Though, had it not been for my armor, there would have been a different tale to tell, for these Jews fight like demons. As you see, he first slew my horse with his javelin, and then we fought it out on foot." "Was there only this one?" the centurion asked, in surprise, pointing to John's body. "Only that one," Titus said, "and he nearly got the best of it. Fighting with these Jews is like fighting with wild cats, so fierce are they in the attack, and so quick are their movements. I tell you that, for a moment, my life was at his mercy. "See if he is dead, Plancus." "No, he breathes," Plancus said, stooping over him. "Let four of the men make a litter, with their spears," Titus said; "and take him down to Carmelia, and let my own leech attend him. I would gladly save his life, if I can. I began the fray and, truly, he has shown himself so gallant a young man that I would not that he should die." Accordingly, when John opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a Roman tent, where an old man was sitting by his couch; and a Roman sentry pacing, backwards and forwards, before the entrance of the tent. "Drink this," the old man said, placing a cordial to his lips. "You need have no fear, you are in the camp of Titus; and he, himself, has ordered that all attention shall be paid to you." John was too weak from loss of blood, and confused from the effects of the blow on his head, even to feel the sensation of wonder. He drank the potion, and closed his eyes again, and went off into a sleep which lasted for many hours. It was not until the next day that he thoroughly awoke. The leech continued to attend him and, at the end of four days, he was able to sit up. Illustration: Titus Brings Josephus to See John. In the afternoon, he heard a clash of arms as the sentry gave the military salute and, a moment later, Titus entered, accompanied by one whom John instantly recognized as Josephus. John rose to his feet. "I told you he was but a young man," Titus said to Josephus; "but now that I can see him more nearly or, at any rate, more calmly, I can see that he is little more than a lad; and yet, as you have heard me say, he is a man of valor, and defeated me in fair fight." "I seem to know his face," Josephus said, and then addressed John in Hebrew. "Who are you, young man?" "I am that John whom you saved in the storm, on the Sea of Galilee, and who fought with you at Jotapata." "Is it possible?" Josephus exclaimed, in surprise. "I thought that I, alone, was saved there." "I lay hidden with the boy Jonas, who told us of the track down to the water," John said, quietly, "and have since then been fighting the Romans. While you--" "While I have been their prisoner," Josephus broke in. "I know that all my countrymen are enraged against me but, truly, without a cause." Josephus then translated to Titus what John had told him, adding that the young man had served him with zeal and devotion, and that he had an affection for him. "Then I am the more glad that he has not lost his life," Titus said, courteously. "And now, my antagonist," he said, in Greek, to John, "I would tell you that I bear you no malice; though you have shed my blood, and brought somewhat of disgrace upon me--for truly it is a disgrace for a Roman soldier, in heavy armor, to be overthrown by one who carries but a light buckler as his protection. But I love a brave man, even though he be a foe; and I honor those who are fighting for what they believe to be the cause of their country. If I let you go free, will you promise me not to bear arms again, against Rome?" "I could not promise that, Titus," John said, quietly, "even were you to order me, now, to be taken out and slain. It is the first duty of all Jews to fight for the Holy City and, so long as I live, and the Holy City is in danger, so long I must fight for her. These are the commands of my religion; and I cannot, even to save my life, disobey them." "I will not press you to do so," Titus said; "though Josephus, here, will tell you that Rome is not an unkind lord, even to those who have most withstood it. When you are well enough to leave us, you shall go unharmed; though, could you have seen your way to desist from hostility to us, I would have been a good friend to you; and have promoted you to posts of honor, and that in countries where you would not have been opposed to your countrymen. But if you will not have it so, you are free to go; and remember that, at any time, you have a friend in Titus; and that when this war is over, and peace restored, if you come to me I will repeat the offer that I have now made. "Moreover, you may rely upon it that, in the last extremity, I will do all in my power to save the Temple; and indeed, in no case would I have injured a building so venerable and holy." Titus then left the tent, but Josephus remained for some time, talking with John. "I suppose you, like all others, have looked upon me as a traitor, John?" he began. "Not so," John replied. "I knew that you fought bravely, at Jotapata; and risked your life many times in its defense I knew, too, that you from the first opposed the revolt against the Romans, and it is not for me to judge as to your position among them." "I am a prisoner," Josephus said. "I am kindly treated, indeed, and Vespasian frequently asks my opinion of matters connected with the country; but surely I am doing more good to my countrymen, by softening his heart towards them, than if I had died at Jotapata--still more if I had been, like John of Gischala, a scourge to it. I trust even yet that, through my influence, Jerusalem may be saved. When the time comes Vespasian will, I hope, grant terms; and my only fear is that the madness of the people will lead them to refuse all accommodation, and so force him into taking the city by storm--in which case it cannot but be that terrible misery will fall upon it, and that vast numbers will lose their lives. "And now, tell me how you are, at home, and what you have been doing since I last saw you." John thought it as well not to mention, to Josephus, the prominent part which he had taken among those who had so harassed the Romans; but he said that he had joined the bands raised in Galilee, and had been among those who had hung upon the Roman flank and rear, wherever they marched. "The Jews have behaved with prudence and valor," Josephus said, "and I now see that it would have been far better had I trusted more in mountain warfare, than in fenced cities; but it would have been the same, in the end. I know the Jews. They would have fought bravely, for a time; but the thought of each would have turned to his farm and his vineyard, and they would never have kept the field for any length of time. The Romans therefore would, in the end, have tired them out and, perhaps, the fate which has befallen the cities that resisted would have fallen upon all the land. "And now remember that, although but a prisoner, I have much influence with Vespasian; and that at any time, should you fall into their hands again, I will exert that influence in your favor." John remained about ten days at Carmelia. Titus had several interviews with him, and at the last of these said: "I have conceived a strong friendship for you, young man, and would willingly do you service. Take this signet ring. At all times, and in all places, it will pass you to my presence. If a Roman sword be raised to strike you, and you show this ring, it will be lowered. That you should fight against us to the last is, as you believe, your duty; and as I myself would so fight for Rome, I seek not further to dissuade you. But when resistance is at an end, and it is useless any longer to hold the sword, your death cannot benefit your country. Therefore, when that time comes--if not before--use this ring, and come to me; and I will grant you not only your own life, but that of such friends as you may wish to save. "I do not forget that you had my life in your hands, and that you spared it. It is a life that may yet be valuable to Rome; and though even now, when I speak of it, my cheek flushes with humiliation, I am none the less grateful. It pleases me to see that, in the conversations you have had with my officers, you have borne yourself so modestly, and have made no mention of this; for although I, myself, do not hesitate to speak of the mishap which befell me, it is pleasant for me that it is not spoken of by others. Believe me, then, that at all times you will find a sincere friend in Titus." John replied in suitable terms; thanking Titus for the promises he had made, and disclaiming any merit in his success--which was but the last effort of a beaten man, and was the result of the sudden surprise, and not of any skill or bravery. Upon the following morning, Titus furnished him with an escort far beyond the confines of the camp; and then, taking to the hills, John rejoined his companions, who had long since given him up as dead. They could scarce credit him, when he told them that he had been lying wounded, in the hands of the Romans; and were still more surprised at hearing that he had been engaged in a personal encounter with Titus. Of this John gave no details, beyond the fact that, after throwing their javelins, the horse of Titus had fallen, and they had fought hand to hand until, at last, he had fallen, bleeding from a severe wound; and that Titus himself had been wounded. "But how was it he did not slay you?" was the question. "It seems almost a miracle, especially after wounding Titus, himself." "Doubtless the Lord put it into his heart to spare me," John said. "Titus only said that he preserved my life as that of a brave foe. The Romans esteem bravery and, as I had withstood Titus for some time, he was pleased to think that I had done well." "Ah, if you had killed him, what rejoicings there would have been in the land!" "No," John said earnestly, "there would have been mourning. You may be sure that Vespasian would have avenged his blood upon all the people. It would have been a misfortune, indeed, had Titus fallen. It is well that it ended as it did." John was, however, far too weak to be able to accompany his band upon its rapid marches; and therefore, for a time, resigned its command to one of his captains. He determined to go, until his strength returned to him, to a small community of which he had heard as dwelling in an almost inaccessible valley on the shore of the Dead Sea. He was told that they took no part in the commotion of the times, and that they lived in such poverty that even the robbers of Simon had not cared to interfere with them. They practiced hospitality to strangers, and spent their lives in religious observances. As John had often heard from his father of this sect--which was at one time numerous in the land, but had been sorely persecuted by the priests and Pharisees--he determined to stop for a time among them, and learn somewhat of their doctrines. Accompanied by Jonas, he made his way across the mountains to the valley where they dwelt. As wounded, and a stranger, he was received without question among them; and a little hut, similar to that in which they all lived, was placed at his disposal. These huts were ranged in a square, in the center of which stood a larger building, used as their synagogue. Here John remained nearly a month; and was greatly struck by their religious fervor, the simplicity and austerity of their lives, and the doctrines which they held. He learned that the more rigorous of the sect abstained, altogether, from the use of meat and wine; and that celibacy was strictly enjoined. Those who married did not separate themselves from the sect, but were considered as occupying an inferior position in it. Their food was of the simplest kind, and only sufficient to sustain life. The community raised the grain and vegetables necessary for their use. But it was the religious doctrines which they held which most greatly surprised John. They attached no importance, whatever, to the ceremonial law of the Jewish Scriptures; maintaining, in the first place, that the Scriptures had a spiritual signification wholly apart from the literal meaning, alone understood by the world; and that this spiritual meaning could only be attained by those who, after long probation, were initiated into the inner mysteries of the sect. In the second place, they held that the written law had been altogether superseded by the coming of the great prophet, Christ, who had been put to death by the Jewish priests. John learned that there were already large numbers of Jews who had accepted the doctrines taught by this Christ, although they did not all embrace the strict rules and modes of life of the ascetics. John was greatly struck with their doctrines, although he did not hear enough to do more than to dimly understand their meaning. He determined however that, if he went safely through the war, he would inquire further into these mysteries. At the end of the four weeks, his strength being comparatively restored, he took his leave of the community, and rejoined his band.	{ "id": "21614" }
13	: The Test Of Devotion.	Although John was able to join his companions, he was still far from strong; and was glad to have a valid excuse for handing over his command to his lieutenant, and returning home. The campaign was nearly over; and he could not have followed those rapid marches through the hills which enabled the band to appear, now on one side, now on the other of the Romans, and to keep them in a constant state of watchfulness. At the same time, he was glad of the excuse to leave for, although he had declared to Titus that he would fight again in defense of Jerusalem, he felt that, after the kind treatment he had met with, he could not take part in the daily skirmishes with the Romans. Mounting a donkey, which was among the many animals captured in the attacks upon the Romans' baggage train, John bade adieu to his comrades; and with Jonas, now grown into a sturdy young fellow, started for home. He journeyed by the road to the west of Jerusalem, in order to avoid the bandits of Simon son of Gioras; who still scourged the neighborhood of Masada and Herodium, lying between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. He avoided all the towns in which there were Roman garrisons; for the bandages on his head would have shown, at once, that he had been engaged in fighting. He traveled slowly, and was six days before he arrived home. "This time, my son, you have not come home unharmed," Simon said. "Truly you are a shadow of your former self." "I shall soon be strong again, father; and these are honorable scars, for I had them in single combat with Titus, himself, in the valley between Hebron and Carmelia." "Then how is it that you live to tell the tale, my son?" Simon asked, while exclamations of wonder broke from Mary and Martha. "Surely God did not deliver him into your hands?" "I wish not to boast, father, and I have told the true story to none; but truly God did deliver him into my hands." "And he is dead?" Simon exclaimed. "No, father, he lives, for I spared him." "Spared him!" Simon exclaimed. "What, you did not avenge the miseries of our people upon the son of the oppressor?" "No, father; and I rejoice that I did not for, had I done so, surely the Romans would have avenged his death upon all the land. But I thought not of that, at the time. I was sore wounded, and bleeding, and my sense was well-nigh gone; but as I knelt upon him, and lifted my hand to slay him, a thought--surely sent by God, himself--came into my mind, and I said: "'Swear by your gods that you will spare the Temple, or I slay you;' and he swore that, so far as lay in his power, he would spare the Temple." An exclamation of joy burst from his hearers, and Simon said: "Verily, my son, God has raised you up as a deliverer of his Temple; not, as some hoped, by defeating our oppressors, but by binding one of their mightiest ones to do it no harm." "I pray, father, say naught of this to anyone. It is between ourselves, and Titus, and the Lord; and I would not that any man should know of it. Moreover, Titus behaved with the greatest generosity to me. "My victory over him was but a surprise. I was sorely wounded, while he was almost unharmed, when I sprang upon him and, by the sudden impulse, threw him to the ground, he being burdened with his heavy armor I had but strength to hear him swear, and then I fell as one dead. Titus might have slain me, as I lay; but he not only did me no harm but, when his soldiers came up, he gave me into their care, and directed me to be carried down to his camp, placed in a tent, and tended by his own leech and, when I recovered, he let me go free." "Truly it is a marvelous tale, John. That you should have fallen into the hands of the Romans, and come forth unharmed after discomfiting their leader, is as marvelous to me as Daniel coming unharmed from the lions' den. We will say naught of your story, my son. Tell us only what you told your own companions, so that we may know what to say, when we are questioned." "I told them the truth, father, although not all the truth. I said that I met Titus, and fought with him; that I wounded him somewhat; but that, by virtue of his armor, I did him no great harm, while he wounded me so seriously that I fell down as one dead; that he, feeling that I had fought like a brave foeman, had me carried to his tent, and tended and cared for until I was able to go forth; when he sent me away free, and unharmed." "Truly men say of Titus that he is clement and merciful, and therein differs much from Vespasian his father; and the clemency which he showed to the people of Gischala, and other places which he has taken, proves that is so; but this deed of his to you shows that he must have a great heart, for few men of rank, and warlike fame, who had been discomfited by one yet scarce a man, but would have left him by the road to die, so that none might know what had happened." "Titus made no secret of it, father," John said. "He told Josephus, in my hearing, that I had spared his life. He said naught of the oath which he had taken; but I know that he will keep it as far, as he said, lies in his power." "What is he like?" Mary asked. "He is not of very tall stature, but stoutly built, and strong. His face--clean shaved, as is their custom--has a pleasant and kindly expression, that tallies with his disposition, for he is greatly beloved by his soldiers. In action they say he is brave to rashness, quick to anger, but as quickly appeased. Had he been in command of the Roman legions, they would have been not less formidable in the fight and, perhaps, when the passions of Titus were roused, not less savage; but they would not have wrought such wholesale cruelty and destruction as they have done." "It is rarely that pity enters into the heart of a Roman," Simon said; "and yet, it is hardly for us to complain for, when we crossed over the Jordan and conquered Canaan, we put all to the sword, and spared none. It may be that in future times, if wars do not altogether cease in the world, they will be waged in another spirit; but so far, from the commencement of the world until now, it has ever been the same--war has brought desolation and destruction upon the vanquished." The next morning John went early into the garden; not that he was strong enough for heavy work, but in order that Mary might, as usual, join him there. "Do you know, John," she said, after their first greeting, "you have made me happier than I have been, for some time." "How is that, Mary?" "It seemed to me, John, that you were getting away from me." "Getting away, Mary!" he repeated; "how do you mean?" "You were becoming a great leader, John. I was proud that it should be so, proud to think that you might become a deliverer of the nation; and then it would have been meet and right that you should take to yourself, as a wife, a daughter of one of the great ones of the land." "Mary!" John exclaimed, indignantly. "It might have been necessary, John. The tillers of the soil can marry where they please. Those who have power must wed for other reasons than that of love. They must make alliances that will strengthen their position, and it would have been your duty to have sacrificed your love for the sake of your country. I should have been the first to bid you do so. I should have been content to make my sacrifice, too, on the altar of our country; content with knowing that you, the deliverer of Israel, would have chosen me from among all other women, had you only had your own pleasure and happiness to consult. "But after what you told us yesterday, I think, perhaps, that this need not be so; and that the way in which you were to save the Temple was not the way we thought. Your mission has been fulfilled--not by great victories, which would have made you the hero of Israel--but in that contest in the valley, where no eyes but those of God beheld you; and should the Temple be saved, no one will know that you were its savior, save we who love you. Therefore, John, once again I can look forward to the time when you and I can dwell, together, in the house of your fathers." Mary was so earnest that John did not attempt to laugh her out of her fancies, as was his usual way. He only said, quietly: "Perhaps you are right, Mary, as to my mission; but I do not think, dear, that even had I been made ruler of Israel, I would have gone elsewhere for a wife; but as you say, circumstances might have been too strong for me and, at any rate, I am well pleased that there is no chance of my happiness being set in one scale, and the good of my country in another." "And now, John, I believe that you will come back to me, even if Jerusalem falls. This is the third time your life has been spared and, if we count that day when we were so nearly drowned together on the lake, we may say that four times your life has been saved, when it seemed all but lost; and I believe, now, that it will be saved to the end." "I hope for your sake, Mary, and for my father and mother's, that it may be so. I have so much to make my life happy that I will assuredly do all in my power to save it. As you know, I have never held with those who would destroy themselves, when all seemed lost. My idea is: a man should fight until the last; but should, if possible, provide some way of escape, when fighting is no longer of avail. "Fortunately, if I do not fall in battle, I have a talisman which will bring me safe to you. Titus has given me a signet ring which will, at all times, procure me access to him. He has promised that, at all times, he will be my friend and, should I fall into the hands of his soldiers again, he will let me go free, and will give me the lives of any who may be dear to me." "This Titus must be a noble enemy," Mary said, with tears in her eyes. "He is strong, and kind, and generous. Had such a man been raised up as the leader of our people, instead of the leader of our foes, how different it might have been!" "Yes, indeed," John agreed; "truly we are sheep without a shepherd; nay, we are sheep whose leaders are ravening wolves, who devour their own flock." The time passed, quietly and happily save for the grief which the tidings of the terrible doings in Jerusalem caused. The two years' respite which the city had obtained, when Vespasian marched away from Jericho, instead of being turned to good account, had brought even greater evils than before. Simon son of Gioras, having wasted all the country towards Idumea, began to threaten Jerusalem. The Zealots marched out against him, but were driven back to the city. Simon--thinking that the Idumeans, believing him to be occupied with Jerusalem, would have grown careless--suddenly entered their country at the head of twenty thousand men. The Idumeans flew to arms, and met him with twenty-five thousand men; and a furious battle ensued, in which neither party gained the advantage. Simon retreated, and the Idumeans dispersed. Simon raised an even larger force than before, and advanced with forty thousand irregular troops, besides his heavy-armed soldiers. They took Hebron, and wasted Idumea with fire and sword. The Zealots, in Simon's absence, succeeded in capturing his wife; and carried her off to Jerusalem, hoping by this means to force him to come to terms. On receiving the news he hurried back with his forces, surrounded Jerusalem, and slew everyone who ventured to leave the city--except some whom he sent back, having cut off their hands, to tell those within that, unless his wife were returned, he would storm the city and slay every man within it. Even the Zealots were alarmed at his threats and fury, and restored his wife; whereupon he withdrew. This had happened in the previous year, before Cerealis and Vespasian had entered Idumea. As soon as the Romans had retired, Simon again sallied forth from Masada, collected a great number of Idumeans, and drove them before him into Jerusalem. Then he encamped before the city, and slew all who quitted the protection of its walls. Thus, within, John of Gischala and his followers tyrannized over the people, murdering and plundering till they were sated with blood, and knew not what to do with their booty; while Simon cut off all flight beyond its walls. But at length the party of John became divided. The Idumeans, who were in considerable numbers in the city, rose and drove John and the Zealots into the palace built by Grapte; which had served them as their headquarters, and the storehouse where they piled up the treasure which they had amassed by the plunder of the people. But the Idumeans attacked them here, and drove them into the Temple--which adjoined the palace--and took possession of all the plunder that they had amassed. The Zealots, however, were in great force in the Temple, and threatened to pour out and destroy the whole city by fire. The Idumeans called an assembly of the chief priests, and they decided to admit Simon within the gates. The high priest, Matthias, went out in person to invite him to enter and, amidst the joyful greetings of the population, Simon marched through the gates with his followers, and took possession of the upper city. This was the last and most fatal mistake of the people of Jerusalem. The sheep had invited a tiger to save them from a wolf; and now two tyrants, instead of one, lorded it over the city. As soon as Simon entered, he proceeded to attack the Zealots in the Temple; but the commanding position of that building enabled them to defend themselves with success. To obtain still further advantage, they reared four strong towers; and on these placed their military engines and bowmen, and so swept the approaches to the Temple that Simon was forced to desist from the attack. All through the winter, fighting went on without intermission, and the streets of Jerusalem ran with blood. A further division took place among the Zealots. Eleazar--who had been their head before the arrival of John of Gischala--jealous of the supremacy of that leader, got together a party and suddenly seceded from the main band, and seized the inner court of the Temple. Now, fighting went on within as well as without the holy buildings. The party of Eleazar were well supplied with provisions, for the stores in the Temple were of immense extent. They were too few in numbers to sally out to attack the party of John; but they were strong enough to defend the walls of the inner court, which looked down upon the rest of the Temple, and enabled them to command the positions of John's troops. Day and night the struggle went on. The inner court of the Temple was desecrated by blood--dying men lay on the steps of the altar, and the shouts and songs of the savage soldiery rose, where the hymns of praise of the Levites had been wont to ascend. John's troops continued their attacks upon the inner court, while they successfully resisted the assaults of Simon; who tried to take advantage of the internecine strife raging between the two parties of Zealots, but the superior height of the positions held by John's men enabled them to defend themselves as successfully as did those of Eleazar against their attacks. And yet, during all this terrible strife, the services of the Temple were continued, in the midst of blood and carnage. Free ingress and egress were, as at all times, permitted to the pious; who made their way unharmed through the fierce combatants, passed over the pavement slippery with blood, and laid their offering on the altars--often paying with their lives for their pious services, being smitten down, even as they prayed at the altar, by the missiles which the followers of John poured incessantly into the inner court. Sometimes, drunk with the wine obtained from the abundant stores of the Temple, the followers of Eleazar would sally out against John. Sometimes John would pour out against Simon, wasting and destroying the city as far as his troops could penetrate. Thus, the Temple became surrounded by a waste of ruins, held in turn by one or other of the factions. Even the rites of burial, so dear to the Jews, were neglected; and the bodies of the slain lay, unburied, where they fell, And yet, the forces of the three factions which thus desolated the city were comparatively small and, had the wretched population who were tyrannized over by them possessed any unanimity, or been led by any man of courage, they could easily have overthrown them all; for Simon's force amounted to about fifteen thousand, that of John to six thousand, while Eleazar could count but two thousand four hundred men, and yet in Jerusalem were gathered a population amounting, with the original inhabitants and the fugitives from the country around, to over a million people. At length, the long interval of suspense was drawing to an end. At the death of Vitellius, Vespasian had been called upon, by the general voice of the people, to ascend the throne; and had, some time before, left for Rome to assume the imperial purple. He was joyfully acknowledged by the whole Roman empire; who had groaned under a succession of brutal tyrants, and now hailed the accession of one who was, at once, a great general and an upright and able man; and who would rule the empire with a firm, just, and moderate hand. When winter was over, Vespasian sent Titus--who had, in the meantime, gone to Egypt--back to Palestine, and ordered him to complete the conquest of Judea. The Twelfth Legion--that which had been defeated, when under the command of Cestius--was ordered to reinforce the three already in Judea; and the gaps made in the ranks during the war, and by the withdrawal of the men who had accompanied Vespasian to Rome, were filled by an addition of two thousand picked troops from Alexandria, and three thousand from the legions stationed on the Euphrates. The Syrian kings sent large contingents; and Tiberius Alexander--an intimate friend of Titus, a man of wisdom and integrity--was appointed to high command. His knowledge of the country, which he had once governed, added to his value in the Roman councils. As soon as the news spread that the Roman army was collecting for its march against Jerusalem, the signal fires were kindled on the hills above Gamala; and John, after a tender farewell to his parents and Mary, set out with Jonas. In twenty-four hours, the band had again assembled. When they were gathered, John addressed them. He pointed out to them that the campaign that they were now about to undertake differed widely from those which had preceded it. "Hitherto," he said "you have but skirmished around the Romans, and have run but comparatively little danger; but now, those who go with me must make up their minds that they are going to Jerusalem to die. It may be that the Lord will yet deliver the Holy City from her enemies, as he delivered it in days of old. But you know what has been doing in Jerusalem, for the last four years; that not only the streets, but the altar itself have been flooded with the blood of the people, how the Jews themselves have desecrated the Temple, and how wickedness of all kinds has prevailed in the city. "Thus, you can judge for yourselves what chance there is that God will interfere on behalf of the people who have forsaken and insulted him. If he does not interfere, in my opinion the fate of the city is sealed. I have seen the Romans at work, at Jotapata and Gamala; and I know how the strongest walls go down before their engines and battering rams. Moreover I hear that, in the wars which have been raging within the gates, the magazines--which contain sufficient food to last even her great population for years--have been entirely destroyed; and thus those who go to defend her have to face not the Roman sword only, but famine. "Therefore, I say that those who go up to defend the Temple must make up their minds that they go to die for the Temple. It is for each of you to ask yourselves whether you are ready to do this. I ask no one to go with me. Let each, before it is too late, ask himself whether he is ready to do this thing. I blame none who find the sacrifice too great. It is between them and their conscience. "Therefore, I pray you, let all tonight disperse among the hills, each by himself, so that you may think over what I have said; and let all who may come to the conclusion that they are not called upon to go to certain death, in defense of the Temple, depart to their homes without reproach from their comrades. Each man here has done his duty, so long as hope remained. Now it is for each to decide, for himself, whether he feels called upon to give his life for the Temple." Silently the crowd dispersed, and John joined the captains, and passed the night with them. "I fear we shall have but a small gathering in the morning," one of them said, as they sat down by the fire. "Many will fight as long as there is hope, but few will go down to certain death." "It is better so," John said. "Misery and ruin have fallen upon the country. As you saw for yourselves, Judea and Idumea are but deserts, and more have fallen by famine and misery than by the sword. We would not have our nation blotted out; and as, in the days after the captivity in Babylon, God again collected his people and restored their land to them, so it may be his intention to do, now, when they have paid the full penalty of their disobedience and wickedness. Therefore, I would not that any should go down to die, save those who feel that God has called them to do so. "Already the victims who have fallen in these four years are well-nigh countless; and in Jerusalem there are a million people--sufficient, if they have spirit and strength and the Lord is with them--to defend the walls. Thus, then, however small the number of those who may gather tomorrow, I shall be content. Had the Romans advanced against Jerusalem at the commencement of the war, there was not a Jew capable of bearing arms but would have gone up to the defense of the Holy City; but now, their spirit is broken by the woes that have come upon them, and still more by the civil wars in Jerusalem herself. A spirit of hopelessness and despair has come upon us. It is not that men fear to die, or that they care to live; it is that they say: "'What matters it whether we live or die? All is lost. Why should we trouble as to what may come upon us?'" "Then you no longer believe in your mission, John?" one of the party said, gloomily. "I have never proclaimed a mission," John said. "Others have proclaimed it for me. I simply invited a score of men to follow me, to do what we could to hinder the Romans; and because God gave us success, others believed that I was sent as a deliverer. "And yet, I believe that I had a mission, and that mission has been fulfilled. I told you not, before; but I tell you now, for your comfort, what happened between me and Titus--but I wish not that it should be told to others. I told you that I fought with him; and that, being wounded and insensible, I was carried into his tent--but that was not all. When we fought, although sorely wounded, I sprang upon him and we fell to the ground, I uppermost. I drew my knife, and would have slain him; when the Lord put a thought into my mind, and I called upon him to swear that he would spare the Temple. "He swore that, if it lay in his power, he would do so. Then he was but in inferior command. Now he is general of the army, and should be able to keep his oath. Thus, if I had a mission to save the Temple, I trust that I have fulfilled it; and that, whatever fate may fall upon the city, the Temple will yet remain erect and unharmed." John's words gave new life and energy to the before dispirited men gathered round him. It seemed to them not only that the Temple would be saved, but that their belief in their leader's mission as a deliverer was fully justified; and a feeling of enthusiasm succeeded that of depression. "Why did you not tell us before? Why did you not let all your followers know what a great thing you had done, John?" one of them asked, presently. "For two reasons," John replied. "I did not wish to seem to exalt myself, or to boast of the success which God had given me over the Roman; for it was assuredly his strength, and not mine, for I myself could do naught against the strength and skill of Titus and, as I told you, was wounded nigh to death, while he received small hurt. In the next place I thought that, if I made it public, it would be noised abroad through the land; and that Titus, when he heard that all men knew that he had been worsted in fight with a Jew, might repent of his oath--or might even ask to be sent to some other command, so that he might not be called upon to keep it." John's companions agreed that the second reason was a valid one, though they did not agree that the first should have weighed with him. "It is not by hiding a light under a bushel," one of them said, "that men gain the confidence of their followers. The more men believe in their leaders, the more blindly will they follow him, the greater the efforts they will make for him. It was the belief in your mission which gathered eight thousand men on these mountains to follow you; and the proof that you have given us that that belief was well founded, and that you had a mission to save the Temple--the knowledge that you had, single handed, forced the Roman general to swear an oath to save the Temple--would have so heightened that enthusiasm that they would have followed you, had you bidden them attack the whole Roman army. I agree that, for your second reason, it was wise to say nothing of what took place; but your first was, I think, a mistaken one." "At any rate," another said, "the hand of God is plainly marked in the matter; for it has placed Titus in full command, and has thus given him the power of carrying out the oath which he swore. Now, my friends, we can go up with light hearts with John to Jerusalem for, though we may die, yet do we feel assured that the Lord purposes to save the Temple; and that, one day, he will restore the glories of Judah." In the morning, as John had expected, the number of those who gathered at the sound of the trumpet was comparatively small. The night's reflection, the feeling that the sacrifice of their lives would be of no avail, and the dull despair that had seized the whole nation had had their effect and, of the eight thousand men who had gathered there the night before, but six hundred now obeyed the summons. These gathered, stern and silent, but with an expression of desperate resolution on their faces. At the earnest request of his captains, John allowed them to go among the men and to tell them that, although the manner in which it was done was a secret, John had given to them undoubted proofs that he had a mission from God; and that they believed that, whatever might happen to Jerusalem, it was the Lord's will that the Temple should be saved. The joyous expression of their leaders' faces, even more than their words, assured their followers of their sincerity. Their spirit rose, and a renewed feeling of enthusiasm seized them; and when, an hour later, John took his place on a rock to address them, the shouts of greeting which broke forth showed him how great was the change in their spirit. "My friends," he said, "I greet you who have decided to die with me, if need be, in defense of Jerusalem. I blame not those who have gone. They would not have gone, had the Lord required them to stay; but to you he has spoken, and has told you that he has need of your services. Henceforward, we will act as one band--a band of men inspired with one thought, and one aim. And now, though our numbers may not be great, yet a force so composed of men who hold their lives as naught may do wonders. You remember how Gideon sent the greater part of his army away and, with a mere handful, defeated the hosts of the enemy! "We look not for victory; but we will show the Romans what men can do to avenge their bleeding country--what deeds Jews can perform, when fighting for the Temple. We shall go into Jerusalem. There we will hold aloof from all parties. If we are attacked, we will defend ourselves. But our aim will be to act as a body apart from others, ready to undertake the most desperate services, and to set an example of courage and devotion. "Now let us count our numbers, and arrange ourselves anew into companies." It was found that the bands composed of men from Tiberias, and the other cities of the lake, had entirely disappeared; and that those who had stayed were principally hardy dwellers among the hills. They were again divided into twenty companies of thirty men each and, after examining their arms, and seeing that all were well provided, John gave the order, and the band set off. Keeping on the eastern side of Jordan they stopped at a large village, near the ford opposite Jericho; and here a quantity of grain was purchased, and was made up into sacks, each weighing fifty pounds. "The granaries that remain will be principally in the hands of the troops of John, or Simon," John said; "and it is as well that we should have our own store to depend upon. So long as we can buy food, we will do so; and we can fall back upon our own magazine, if necessary. It will be best for two or three of us to go into the city, first, and find a quarter where we can lodge close together, and as far removed as possible from the factions. Simon holds the upper town, and John the Temple; therefore we will establish ourselves in the lower town. We will not go in in a body, for they might refuse us admittance; but as the Romans approach there will be a stream of fugitives entering the city. We will mingle with them, and pass in unobserved. "Many of the fugitives will be carrying the goods they most value; and many, doubtless, will take in provisions with them. Therefore, our sacks of grain will not excite attention." It was five years since John had journeyed up with his parents to Jerusalem, and he therefore knew but little of the city. Some of his followers, however, had been there more recently; and he picked out four of these, one of whom was a captain of a company, to enter the city and find a suitable post for them. The whole band crossed the Jordan together, and made a detour to avoid Jericho, where the Tenth Legion had been quartered during the winter. Then they took their way up the steep road through the hills until, passing through Bethany, they came out on the crest of the hill looking down upon the Valley of Jehoshaphat; with the Temple rising immediately opposite to them, and the palace of Agrippa, and the crowded houses of the city, in the background. Illustration: John and his Band in Sight of Jerusalem. The men laid down their sacks, and stood for a long time, looking at Jerusalem. Many were moved to tears, as they looked on the stately beauty of the Holy City, and thought how low it had fallen; with civil tumult within, and a terrible enemy approaching from without. Even now, there is no fairer scene in the world than the view of Jerusalem from the spot where they were standing--called then, as now, the Mount of Olives--and it must have been superb, indeed, in the days when the Temple stood intact, and the palaces of Agrippa and Herod rose on the brow of Mount Zion. After a long pause they resumed their way, crossed the upper end of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and established themselves for the night in a grove of trees near the Grotto of Jeremiah; four chosen men at once entering the city, by the Old Gate on the north side of the city. The country here--and indeed, all the hills around Jerusalem--were covered with the houses of the wealthy, surrounded by gardens and orchards. They belonged not only to the Jews of the city; but to those who dwelt in foreign countries, and who were accustomed each year to come to Jerusalem for the Passover, and to spend some time there before they returned to their distant homes. Even now, undismayed by the dangers of the times, and the knowledge that the Romans would shortly besiege the city, pilgrims were arriving from all the cities of Asia Minor, Greece, and Egypt, for the time of the Passover was close at hand. At the foot of the walls, and on the slopes around, large numbers of pilgrims were encamped--the rich in gorgeous tents, the poor in shelters constructed of boughs or carpets. This overflow of people was an occurrence which was witnessed every year, on the same occasion; but its proportions were this time of greater magnitude than usual, partly owing to the difficulty of procuring lodgings in the town, owing to the crowds of fugitives there, partly because many thought it safer to camp outside, and to enter the city only to pay their devotions, and take part in the ceremonial, than to put themselves wholly into the power of the ruffians of Simon and John. In the following morning the men returned, and reported that they had found a spot in the inner lower town, between the Corner Gate and the Gate of Ephraim in the second wall, where was a large house, inhabited now but by two or three persons. Here a great number of them could take up their quarters, while the others could find lodging near. The reason why so many houses were empty there was that it was somewhat exposed to the irruptions of Simon's men from the upper town, as they frequently came down and robbed those who entered the city at the Damascus Gate, from which led the great north road. Crowds of fugitives were making their way by this road to the city, flying before the advance of the Romans; who were, they said, but a few hours' march in their rear. Many were men, coming to take their part in the defense of the city; but the great proportion were old men, women, and children, flying for refuge. John shook his head, as he watched the stream of fugitives, for he well knew the horrors that would befall the besieged town. "Better a thousand times," he said to Jonas, "that these poor people should have remained in their villages. They have nothing which would tempt the cupidity of the Roman soldiers, and no evil might have befallen them; whereas now they will perish by famine or disease, or be slain by the Romans, besides consuming the food which would have sustained the fighting men. Were I master of Jerusalem I would, when I heard the Romans were approaching, have cleared out from the city all who could not aid in the defense. It would have seemed a harsh action; but it would have been a merciful one, and would greatly strengthen the power of resistance."	{ "id": "21614" }
14	: Jerusalem.	Mingling with the crowd, John and his followers made their way through the Damascus Gate into Jerusalem, and followed the Damascus Street to the Gate of Ephraim. An air of sombre misery pervaded the whole population. In their hearts the greater portion of the population had, for many months, been longing for the approach of the Romans. Even death would be preferable to the misery which they suffered. There were but few people in the streets; for all remained in their houses, with closed doors, save when necessity drove them out to make purchases. Turning sharp round by the wall, the members of the band made their way along by it, until they were met by one or other of those who had gone on in advance, and were conducted to the house which had been hired for them. The inhabitants of the houses near looked out of their windows in alarm, when they saw so many armed men arriving; but they gained courage, on observing their quiet and orderly demeanor; and doors were presently unbolted, and men came out to inquire who were the newcomers. When they were told that they were from Galilee and Peraea, and had come down only to fight for the Holy City--that they would harm no one, and had nothing in common with any of the factions--confidence was restored, and offers were at once made to take in ten, fifteen, or twenty men, according to the size of the houses; for the people soon saw that the new arrivals would prove a protection from the attacks and insults of small numbers of Simon's men--who had hitherto pervaded the lower town, breaking into houses, robbing and murdering wheresoever they chose. The grain was all stored in the house that had been hired; and here John took up his quarters, with the men of his own company and those of Asher, one of his bravest and most determined captains. The rest were all accommodated in houses in the same street. And as this, like most of the streets of Jerusalem, was very narrow, John felt that it could be defended against an attack by a greatly superior force. It was but half an hour after the band had been settled in their quarters that a shriek was heard at the end of the street. John ran out in time to see a woman struck down; while a body of some twenty half-drunken soldiers, with drawn swords, were trying to force in the door of a house. John sounded his bugle, and there was a rush of armed men into the street. John put himself at the head of the two companies with him, and advanced against the soldiers, and sternly ordered them to desist. The soldiers, astonished by the sudden appearance of so large a body of armed men, drew back in astonishment. "Who are you?" one, who seemed to be their leader, asked. "It matters not who I am," John said, quietly. "It is enough, as you see, that I have a force here sufficiently strong to make myself obeyed. This street, henceforth, is mine; and beware of attempting plunder or violence here, for whoever does so surely dies!" Muttering threats below their breath, the soldiers sullenly withdrew. An hour later, one of the inhabitants ran in to inform John that a large body of men were coming down from the upper city. John immediately called his men to arms and, at their head, took up his position at the end of the street. Ere long, a crowd of soldiers were seen approaching. At their head strode one whom John at once guessed to be Simon, himself. When he arrived within ten paces Simon stopped, surprised at the compact order and resolute appearance of the band which filled the street. "Who are you?" he asked John, imperiously. "My name is John, and I am generally called John of Gamala, although that is not my birthplace." Simon uttered an exclamation of astonishment; for the tales of John's attack upon the Roman camp at Gamala, and of his subsequent actions against the Romans, were well known in Jerusalem. "You are but a lad," Simon said, contemptuously, "and John of Gamala must be a warrior!" "I am John of Gamala," John repeated, quietly, "and these men are part of my band. We have come down to defend Jerusalem, since there is no more to be done in the open country. We wish to interfere with none, to take part with no faction, but simply to defend the city. We war with the Romans, and not with Jews. We assault no one, but woe be to him who assaults us! Here are six hundred of us, each man ready to die; and though you have twenty men to one, yet will we withstand you, if you meddle with us. "By tonight, the Romans will be outside the walls. Is this the time that Jews should fall upon each other, like wild beasts?" Simon hesitated. The idea of opposition excited him, as usual, to fury but, upon the other hand, he saw that this determined body were not to be overcome, save with great loss, and he wanted his men for his struggles with the Zealots. "You are not in correspondence with John of Gischala?" he asked, doubtfully. "I am in correspondence with none," John said. "As I have told you, we come only to fight for Jerusalem; and will take no part, on one side or other, in your dissensions. We have taken up this street, between this gate and the Corner Gate, and this street we will hold." Simon still hesitated. He saw that, round this nucleus of determined men, the whole of the citizens of the lower town might gather; and that he might be forced to confine himself to the upper town. This, however, would be of no great importance, now. The inner, lower town was the poor quarter of Jerusalem. Here dwelt the artisans and mechanics, in the narrow and tortuous lanes; while the wealthier classes resided either in the upper town, where stood the palaces of the great; or in the new town, between the second and third walls. The new town had, indeed, until lately been a suburb outside the walls. Agrippa had begun the third wall--which was to inclose this--and, had he been allowed to build it according to his design, he would have made Jerusalem absolutely impregnable, save by famine; but the authorities at Rome, knowing how turbulent were the population of Jerusalem, and foreseeing that at some time they might have to lay siege to the city, had forbidden its construction; and the new wall had been hastily erected by the Jews, themselves, after they had risen and defeated Cestius, four years before. This wall inclosed a vast number of villas, with gardens and open spaces, now thickly tenanted by the temporary habitations of the fugitives and pilgrims. The lower town, then, contained but little to tempt the cupidity of Simon's troops. Its houses had, indeed, been ransacked over and over again; and Simon reflected that, even should his men be prevented from descending into it, it would matter but little while, as it was separated from the upper town by the Tyropoeon Valley, and the first wall, no rising there could be a formidable danger to him. Still, it galled him to be resisted and, had it not been that the Romans were close at hand, he would at once have given his men orders to attack the strangers. He stood for some minutes, stroking his beard, and then said: "I will give you no answer, now. I will think over what you say, till tomorrow, then we will talk again." "I doubt not what your decision will be," John said. "You are a brave man, Simon; and although you have done much harm to the Jews, yet I know that you will defend Jerusalem, to the end, against the Romans. You need feel no jealousy of me. I aspire to no leadership, or power. I am here only to fight, and six hundred such men as mine are not to be despised in the day of trial. Should the Romans march away, baffled, before the walls, I, too, shall leave; and you, who remain, can resume your mad struggles, if you will. But I think that, in the presence of the enemy, all strife within the city should cease; and that we should be as one man, in the face of the Romans." Simon looked with surprise, and some admiration, at the young man who so boldly addressed him. Savage and cruel as he was, Simon was a man of the greatest bravery. He had none of the duplicity and treachery which characterized John of Gischala, but was straightforward and, in his way, honest. As only his picture has come down to us, as described by the pen of Josephus who, at the time of his writing his history, had become thoroughly a Roman, and who elevated Titus and his troops at the expense of his own countrymen, great allowance must be made for the dark colors in which he is painted. The fact that he was regarded with affection and devotion by his troops, who were willing to go to certain death at his orders, shows that at least there must have been many good qualities in him; and history records no instance of more desperate and sustained bravery than he exhibited in defense of Jerusalem. The frankness of John's speech, instead of angering him, pleased him much. "Enough," he said. "I need no further time to reflect. A man who had thought of treachery would not speak so boldly, and fearlessly, as you do. Let us be friends. "I have often wondered what sort of man was the John of Gamala of whom I have heard so much, and who has so long kept the field against the Romans; and although I wonder greatly at seeing you so young a man, yet I rejoice that so valiant a fighter should be here, to aid us in the struggle. Here is my hand, in token of amity." John took the hand held out to him, and a shout of satisfaction rose from the armed men on either side--the followers of John being rejoiced that they would not be called upon to engage in civil strife, those of Simon well satisfied that they were not to be called upon to attack a body of men who looked such formidable antagonists. Just at this moment, a man rode in at the gate, saying that the Romans were but two miles distant, and would speedily make their appearance over the Hill of Scopus. Simon ordered a party of his men to proceed at once to Damascus Gate, and to close it as soon as the Romans were visible. Then he turned again to John. "Come up with me," he said, "to the Palace of Herod. From its summit, we can see the enemy approaching." Giving orders to his men to lay aside their arms, and calling Jonas to accompany him, John without hesitation turned to accompany Simon. The latter had hardly expected him to accept his invitation, and the readiness with which he did so at once pleased and gratified him. It was a proof of fearlessness, and a testimony to John's belief in his faith and honor. John of Gischala, treacherous himself, would not have placed himself in his power, whatever the guarantee he gave for his safety; while he himself would not have confided himself to John of Gischala, though the latter had sworn to his safety with his hand on the altar. John, himself, was struck with the rugged grandeur of Simon's appearance. He was far above the stature of ordinary men, and of immense strength; and there was, nevertheless, an ease and lightness in his carriage which showed that he was no less active than strong. His face was leonine in expression. His long hair fell back from his forehead, his eyebrows were heavy, his eyes were gray and clear; with a fierce and savage expression when his brows met in a frown, and his lips were firmly set; but at other times frank, open, and straightforward in their look. The mouth was set and determined, without being hard; and a pleasant smile, at times, lit up his features. He was a man capable of strong affections, and generous impulses. He was cruel, at times; but it was an age of cruelty; and Titus himself, who is held up as a magnanimous general, was guilty of far more hideous cruelties than any committed by Simon. Had the latter been master of Jerusalem from the first, and had not the granaries been destroyed in the civil war, the legions of Titus would never have achieved the conquest of the city. Ascending the steep slope of the valley, they passed through the gate in the first wall and, turning to the right, entered the Palace of Herod, which was at once a royal dwelling, and a fortress of tremendous strength. Much as John's thoughts were otherwise occupied, he could not help being struck by the magnificence and splendor of this noble building; but he said nothing as Simon strode along through the forum, passed out beyond the palace itself, entered the strong and lofty tower of Phasaelus, and ascended to its summit. An involuntary exclamation burst from John, as he gained the platform. From the point on which he stood, he commanded a view of the whole city, and of the country round. Far below, at his feet, lay the crowded streets of the inner town; between which and the outer wall the ground was thickly occupied by houses of the better class, standing half-embowered in trees. Close beside him rose the stately towers of Hippicus and Mariamne. Behind him was the Palace of Herod, standing on the ground once occupied by the Castle of David. On the east the Palace of Agrippa partly obscured the view of the Temple; but a portion of the building could be seen, standing on its platform on the summit of Mount Moriah. To its left, and connected with it by two lines of cloisters, was the castle of Antonia while, still further along, was the fort known as Acra. Behind the Palace of Herod, and its superb gardens, were scattered the palaces and mansions of the wealthy Jews and strangers which, with their gardens, occupied the whole of the upper part of Mount Zion. On the lower slope of Mount Moriah, lying between the Valley of Jehoshaphat and that of the Tyropoeon, was a densely-populated suburb known as the New Town. Westward, beyond the Tower of Hippicus, lay the valley of Hinnom, with the Dragon Pool glistening in the sun while, at a distance of four or five miles, to the southward could be seen the village of Bethlehem. The whole country outside the walls was a garden, with countless villas, mansions, and groves of trees. For some minutes, John looked round in admiration of the scene, while Simon stood with his eyes fixed upon the road crossing Mount Scopus. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation, and John joined him, and looked in the direction in which he was gazing. The white line of the road was darkened by a moving mass, sparkling as the sun shone on arms and armor. "They come, at last," Simon said and, as he spoke, cries of wailing and lamentation were heard from the walls, far below them. The four years that had elapsed, since danger first threatened Jerusalem, had deepened the impression in the minds of the Jews that the enemy would not be permitted to approach the Holy City. It was true that their faith had been sorely shaken, by many strange prodigies. A strange light had shone about the altar and the Temple, and it was said that voices had been heard from the Holy of Holies, saying, "Let us depart hence." The Beautiful Gate of the Temple, which required the strength of twenty men to close it, had opened of its own accord. War chariots and armies had been seen contending in the clouds; and for months a great comet, in shape like a flaming sword, had hung over the city. Still men had hoped, and the cry from the watchers that the Roman army was in sight struck dismay among the inhabitants. There were still many without the walls. Some of these rushed wildly into the gates, and entered the city; while the wiser fled away to the hills, and made their way to their homes. Titus, as he reached the brow of Mount Scopus, reined in his horse and looked for some time, in silence, at the great and magnificent city which extended before him; and there can be little doubt that he would fain have spared it, had it been possible. Even a Roman could not gaze on the massive beauty of the Temple, unmoved. It was the most famous religious edifice in the world. From all parts, pilgrims flocked to it; and kings made offerings to it. It was believed by the Jews to be the special seat of their deity; and the Romans, partly from policy, partly from superstition, paid respect and reverence to the gods of all the nations they subdued, and annual offerings had been sent by Rome to the Temple. Titus may well have wished to spare the city the ruin and misery of a siege, to preserve the Temple intact, and to hand over to King Agrippa, uninjured, his palace and capital. In all the wide dominions of Rome, there was not a city which approached Jerusalem in beauty and grandeur; and Titus must have felt that whatever honor would accrue to him, from its conquest, would be dearly purchased by the linking of his name, to all time, as the destroyer of so magnificent a city. Similar emotions were felt by the group of officers who rode with Titus, and who reined up their horses as he did so. With them, the military point of view was doubtless the most prominent; and as they saw, from their lofty vantage ground, how the deep valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat girt the city in on either side, and how stately and strong were the walls and towers, they may well have felt how mighty was the task which they had before them. The scene was calm and peaceful. No sound of warlike trumpets came from the walls, no signs of an enemy appeared without; and Titus rode on, past the deserted villas and beautiful grounds that bordered the road, until he neared the Damascus Gate. He was accompanied by six hundred horse, for the legions had encamped in the Valley of Thorns, near the village of Gaboth Saul, some four miles from Jerusalem. The walls appeared deserted; but Titus, having experience of the desperate courage of the Jews, paused at some little distance from the gate and, turning to the right, entered a lane which ran parallel to the wall, and made his way towards the Tower of Psephinus--or the Rubble Tower--at the north-eastern angle of the outer wall. Suddenly, a gate near the Tower of the Women was thrown open, and a crowd of armed men dashed out. Rushing forward at the top of their speed, some threw themselves across the road which Titus was following; but most of them rushed in behind him, cutting him off from the main body of his cavalry, and leaving him isolated with but a few followers. The main body of Roman cavalry, furiously assailed, and ignorant that Titus was cut off from them, turned and fled. Titus hesitated a moment. In front of him was an unknown country. He knew not whither the lane he was following led. Hedges rose on either side and, even did he burst through the crowd in front of him, he might be overwhelmed by missiles, as he rode on. Therefore, calling upon his men to follow him, he turned round and dashed into the crowd which barred his retreat. He wore neither helmet nor breastplate for, as he had only advanced to reconnoiter, and with no thought of fighting, these had been left behind. Yet, though javelins flew around him in showers, and arrows whizzed close to him, not one touched him as he struck, right and left, among those who barred his passage; while his warhorse, excited by the shouts and tumult, trampled them under his feet. In vain the Jews, astonished at his bravery, and still more so at his immunity from harm amid the shower of missiles, strove to seize him. He and his little band cut his way onward, those in front drawing back with almost superstitious fear from his attack. Two, only, of his followers were slain. One fell, pierced with numerous javelins. Another was pulled from his horse and killed but, with the rest, he emerged unharmed from among his assailants, and reached his camp in safety. The soldiers of Simon--for it was his men who guarded this part of the wall--returned with mingled feelings. They were triumphant that they had caused the son of Caesar, himself, to fly before them. They were humiliated that so great a prize should have escaped them, when he seemed in their hands; and they had a superstitious feeling that he had been divinely protected from their assaults. From their lookout, Simon and John had seen the Roman cavalry turn off from the Damascus road into the lane, and had then lost sight of them. Then they heard the sudden din of battle, and the shouts of the combatants, and saw the Roman cavalry riding off in full speed; but the clamor had continued and, in a short time, another little party of horsemen were seen to issue from the lane, and follow their companions. Simon laughed, grimly. "We have taught the Romans, early, that the wasps have stings and that, if they think they are going to take the nest without trouble, they will be mistaken. "And now, John, what do you advise? You were, they say, at Jotapata and Gamala; and you have since shown how well you understand the Roman tactics. I am a soldier, with an arm to strike but, so far, I have not had experience in the Roman tactics at sieges. Tell me, what would you do first, were you commander of this city?" "There is no doubt what is the first thing to be done," John said. "It is the duty of all within this city to lay aside their feuds, and unite in her defense. It is for you, as the strongest, to make the first advance; and to send at once to John and Eleazar to propose that, so long as the Romans are before the city, there shall be a truce between you; and to arrange which part of the walls shall be held by the soldiers of each. You must also arrange to unite for common action, both in the defense and in attacking them without the walls; for it is only by disturbing them at their work, and by hindering them as they bring forward their engines of war, that you can hope to hold the city. Strong as your walls may be, they will crumble to ruins when the battering rams once begin their work against them." Simon was silent for a minute, then he said: "Your advice is good. I will send at once to John and Eleazar, and ask them to meet me on the bridge across the Tyropoeon, which separates our forces." The sun was already setting, but the distance was short. Simon advanced to the bridge and, hailing the Zealots on the other side, said that he desired an interview with John, in reference to the defense of the city; and that he pledged his solemn oath that no harm should come to him. He sent a similar message to Eleazar. John shortly appeared for, from the summit of Antonia, he too had watched the advancing Romans, and felt the necessity for common action for defense of the town. Eleazar refused to come. He would have trusted Simon, but to reach the meeting place he would have had to pass through the outer courts of the Temple held by John, and he knew that no confidence could be reposed in any oath that the latter might take. He sent word, however, that he was willing to abstain from all hostilities, and to make common cause with the others for the defense of the city. John of Gischala advanced alone on to the bridge, a wide and stately edifice carried on lofty arches across the Tyropoeon valley, from a point near the Palace of Agrippa to the platform of the Temple. "Come with me," Simon said to his companion. John of Gischala paused in his advance, as he saw that Simon was not alone. "Let one of your men come with you, if you like," Simon said, with a grim laugh at his hesitation; "or two, or six, if you like." But John of Gischala knew that the eyes of the soldiers on both sides of the bridge were upon him and, having faith in the oath of Simon, he again advanced. John looked with curiosity at the man of whom he had heard so much; and who, having been a scourge to Upper Galilee with his horde of robbers, had now brought such misery upon Jerusalem. Without approaching his rival in size and strength, John of Gischala was a powerfully-built man. He did not shrink from danger, and had upon occasion shown great bravery; but he relied upon craft, more than force, to gain his ends. He possessed great power of oratory, could rouse men's passions or calm them, at will. He could cajole or threaten, persuade or deceive, with equal facility; was always ready to break an oath, if it was inconvenient to keep it. Although fond of power, he was still more greedy of gain. But in one respect, he and Simon agreed: both hated the Romans, with an intense and bitter hatred; both were ready to die in defense of Jerusalem. "I think it is time, John," Simon said, "to cease from our strife, for the present, and to make common cause against the enemy. If we continue our dissensions, and the Romans in consequence take the city, our names will be accursed, in all generations, as the men who gave Jerusalem into the hands of the Romans." "I am ready to agree to a truce," John of Gischala said. "It is you who have been attacking me, not I who have been attacking you; but we need not talk of that, now. Is it to be an understood thing that, if the Romans retire, we shall both occupy the positions we hold now, whatever changes may have taken place; and we can then either come to an understanding, or fight the matter out?" "Yes, that is what I would propose," Simon replied. "Whatever changes may take place, when the Romans retire we occupy exactly the positions we hold now. Will you swear to that, by the Temple?" "I will," John said. The two men each took a solemn oath to carry out the terms they agreed upon and, throughout the siege, to put aside all enmity towards each other; and to act together, in all things, for the defense of the city. They then arranged as to the portion of the wall which each should occupy, these corresponding very nearly to the lines which they at present held. Simon held the whole of the third wall which, commencing from Hippicus, the tower at the north corner of the high town, ran northward to Psephinus--or the Rubble Tower--then eastward to the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and again south to the Temple platform. The second wall, inclosing the inner low town--or Inner Acra, as it was sometimes called--was divided between the two. Simon also held the first wall, from Hippicus right round at the foot of Zion across the lower end of the Tyropoeon Valley, and round the outer low town as far as the platform of the Temple. John held the Temple platform, the middle low town, and some parts of the city immediately adjacent, both on the south slope of Mount Moriah--or Ophel, as this portion of the hill was called--and part of the inner low town. The line, therefore, which Simon had to defend was vastly greater than that held by John's troops but, in fact, the whole line bordering the valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat was practically unassailable--the wall being built along the edge of precipices, where it could not be attacked either with battering rams or by escalade--and it was really the north face of the city, only, that was exposed to serious assault. The outer wall on this side--that against which the assault would first be made--was entirely occupied by Simon's troops; but it was not anticipated that any successful resistance could be made here, for the walls, hastily raised by the Jews after turning out the Romans, were incapable of offering a long resistance to such a force as was now to assail it. It was, then, at the second wall that the first great stand would be made; and John and Simon's troops divided this between them, so that the division was fair enough, when it was considered that Simon's force was more than double that of John. When this matter had been arranged, John of Gischala said to Simon: "Who is this young man who accompanies you?" "He is one who has done much more for the cause than either you or I, John of Gischala; and indeed, hitherto it may be doubted whether we have not been the two worst enemies of Jerusalem. This is John of Gamala, of whom we have heard so often, during the last three years." "This, John of Gamala!" John repeated, in a tone of incredulity; "you are mocking me, Simon." "I mock no one," Simon said, sternly. "I tell you this is John of Gamala; and when we think that you and I--men of war--have as yet struck no single blow against the Romans, since I aided in the defeat of the legion of Cestius--for you fled from Gischala like a coward, at night, while I have been fighting for my own land, down here--we may well feel ashamed, both of us, in the presence of this youth; who has for three years harassed the Romans, burning their camps, driving out small garrisons, hindering pillagers from straying over the country, cutting off their convoys, and forcing them to keep ever on the watch. "I tell you, John, I feel ashamed beside him. He has brought here six hundred men of his band, all picked and determined fellows, for the defense of the city. I tell you they will be no mean assistance; and you would say so, also, had you seen how they drew up today, in solid order, ready to withstand the whole of my force. He is not of my party, or of yours; he comes simply to fight against the Romans and, as I understand him, when the Romans retire, he will leave, also." "That is certainly my intention," John said, quietly; "but before I go, I hope that I shall be able to act as mediator between you both, and to persuade you to come to some arrangement which may free Jerusalem from a renewal of the evils which, between you, you have inflicted upon her. If you beat back the Romans, you will have gained all the honor that men could desire; and your names will go down to all posterity as the saviors of Jerusalem and the Temple. If you desire treasure, there is not a Jew but that will be ready to contribute, to the utmost of his power. If you desire power, Palestine is wide enough for you to divide it between you--only beware, lest by striving longer against each other, your names go down as those who have been the tyrants of the land; names to be accursed, as long as the Hebrew tongue remains." The two men were silent. Bold as they were, they felt abashed before the outspoken rebuke of this stripling. They had heard him spoken of as one under the special protection of Jehovah. They knew that he had had marvelous escapes, and that he had fought single-handed with Titus; and the air of authority with which he spoke, his entire disregard of their power, his fearlessness in the presence of men before whom all Jerusalem trembled, confirmed the stories they had heard, and created an impression almost to awe. "If we three are alive, when the Romans depart from before the city," Simon said, in his deep voice, "it shall be as you say; and I bind myself, beforehand, to agree to whatever you shall decide is just and right. "Therefore, John of Gischala, henceforth I shall regard this not as a truce, but as the beginning of peace between us; and our rivalry shall be who shall best defend the Holy City against her foes." "So be it!" John of Gischala replied; "but I would that Eleazar were here. He is an enemy in my midst; and just as, whenever I was fighting with you, he fell upon me from behind; so will it be that, while I am struggling with the Romans, he may be attacking me from the inner Temple. He has none of the outer walls to defend; and will, therefore, be free to choose the moment when he can fall upon me, unawares." "Make peace with him, at any price," John said, "only put an end to this strife, and let there be no more bloodshed in the Temple. How can we hope for God's assistance, in defending the city, when his altars are being daily desecrated with blood?" "I will see what I can do," John said. "Somehow or other, this strife must be brought to an end; and it shall be done without bloodshed, if possible." "There is another thing, John," Simon said. "Our comrade here has been telling me that, from what he saw at Jotapata and Gamala, he is convinced that by passive resistance, only, we cannot defeat the Romans, but that we must sally out and attack them in their camps, and at their work; and therefore let us agree that we will meet here, from time to time, and arrange that, issuing together through the gates in our portions of the wall, we may unite in falling upon the Romans." "The counsel is good," John of Gischala said. "It will keep up the courage of men, to fight in the open. Whenever an opportunity presents itself, my men shall act with yours. You have given Titus a lesson, today. The next time, we will divide the honor."	{ "id": "21614" }
15	: The Siege Is Begun.	The Fifth Legion--which had been stationed at Emmaus, halfway between Jerusalem and Jaffa--marching the greater part of the night, joined the Twelfth and Fifteenth at their halting place at Gaboth Saul and, the next morning, the three advanced together. The Twelfth and Fifteenth marched halfway down the Hill of Scopus, and encamped together on a knoll; while the Fifth Legion encamped three furlongs to their rear so that, in case of an attack by the Jews, its weary soldiers should not have to bear the brunt of the conflict. As these legions were marking out their camp, the Tenth Legion--which had marched up from Jericho--appeared on the Mount of Olives, and Titus sent word for them to encamp there. Thus Jerusalem was overlooked, throughout its length and breadth, by the Roman camps on the hills to the north and east sides. John had, at the earnest request of Simon, taken up his residence with him in the Palace of Herod and, from the top of the Tower of Phasaelus, watched the Roman legions at work. "It seems to me," he said to Simon, "that now is the time for us to make an assault. The Romans raise veritable fortifications round their camp and, when once these are completed, we can scarcely hope to storm them; whereas, if we fall suddenly upon them, now, we can fight on even terms. The legion on the Mount of Olives is widely separated from the rest; and we might overcome it, before the others could come to its assistance." "I agree with you," Simon said; "let us strike a blow, at once." Simon at once sent off to John, to propose that the latter should issue out from the Golden Gate in the middle of the Temple platform; while he, himself, would lead out his troops by the gate to the north of that platform. In accordance with the suggestion of John, he requested John of Gischala to place a watchman on a conspicuous position on the wall, with orders to wave his mantle as a signal to both parties to charge as, from his position, he would be better able than they to see what the Romans were doing; and both parties could see him, while they might be invisible to each other. John of Gischala sent back, at once, to say that he approved of the plan, and would join in it. Simon called his troops together and--leaving the outer wall strongly manned, lest the Twelfth and Fifteenth Legions might take advantage of the absence of so large a portion of the garrison to make a sudden attack upon it--marched towards the northeastern gate; being joined on the way by John, with his band. They waited until a messenger came from John of Gischala, saying that he was ready; then the gates were thrown open, and the troops poured out. John had given strict orders to his men to keep together in their companies, each under his commander; and not to try to maintain regular order as one band, for this would be next to impossible, fighting on such hilly and broken ground. Besides, they would be sure to get mixed up with the masses of Simon's troops. At the same moment that Simon's force poured through the northeastern gate, that of John of Gischala issued from the Temple platform and, in rivalry with each other, both dashed down the steep declivity into the bottom of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and then climbed the sharp slope of the Mount of Olives. Then with loud shouts they fell, in wild disorder, each as he reached the spot, upon the Tenth Legion. The Romans, anticipating no attack, and many of them unarmed as they worked at the intrenchments, were unable to resist the fierce onslaught. Accustomed to regular warfare, this rush of armed men from all sides upon them surprised and disconcerted them. Every moment added to the number of their assailants, as fresh combatants continued to pour out from the city and, fighting stubbornly and sullenly, the Romans were driven out of their half-formed intrenchments up the slope, and over the crest of the Mount of Olives. The Jews fought, regardless of life. Single men dashed into the midst of the Romans and fell there, fighting fiercely. John's compact companies hurled themselves upon the line, and broke it. Simon fought desperately at the head of his men, cutting down all who stood in his way. The Romans were wavering, and would soon have broken into open flight, when rescue arrived. The general in command had, immediately the Jews had been seen issuing out, sent off a horseman to Titus with the news; and he, putting himself at the head of his bodyguard, started instantly to their assistance. Falling suddenly upon the flank of the Jews, he bore them down by the impetuosity and weight of the charge. In vain, Simon and John of Gischala tried to rally their men; and John's bands, gathering round him at the sound of his bugle, opposed a firm and steady resistance. The Roman legion rallied and, ashamed of having been driven back before the very eyes of Titus, attacked the Jews with fury; and the latter were driven down the hill into the valley. Here, John's band refused to retire further. Simon and John of Gischala rallied their troops, and an obstinate contest ensued; the Romans being unable to push the Jews farther back, now that the latter were, in turn, fighting with the ground in their favor. For some time the battle raged. Then Titus, seeing that he could not drive the Jews back into the city, ordered a portion of the Tenth Legion to reascend the Mount of Olives, and complete the work of fortifying their camp; so that, at the end of the day, the legion could fall back to a place of safety. The watchman on the wall saw the movement, and thought that the Romans were retreating. He waved his mantle wildly and, at the signal, the Jews again burst down upon their foes, and fresh forces poured down from the gates to their assistance. In vain, the Roman line tried to hold the bottom of the valley. The Jews burst through them, and drove them in disorder up the hill; Titus alone, with a few followers, making a stand on the lower slopes. The Jews, rushing on, surrounded his party and fell upon him from all sides, while their main body swarmed up the hill, and the Romans, panic stricken, dispersed in all directions. Victory seemed in the hands of the Jews, when some of the Romans discovered that Titus was not with them; but was cut off, and surrounded, at the bottom of the hill. They shouted to others, and the news rapidly spread through the fugitives. Overwhelmed with shame at having deserted their general, and knowing the severe punishment which, according to Roman military law, would befall them for their cowardice, the Romans paused in their flight. Their discipline came to their aid, and they quickly fell in, in companies and, with a shout of fury, advanced upon the scattered Jews; who, although vastly superior in numbers, had no order or formation which would enable them to resist the downward impetus of the solid masses of heavy-armed Romans. Again they were driven down the hill; and the Romans, pressing upon them, found to their delight that Titus and his band had successfully resisted the attacks of their foes. The Jews were driven some distance up the side of the slope; and there the combat was renewed until, seeing that they could make no further impression upon the enemy, the Jews retired sullenly through their gates into the city. They were, however, well satisfied with their day's work. Numbers had fallen, but they had inflicted heavy loss upon the Romans. They had forced one of the legions to retreat, in fair fight; had all but captured Titus; and had proved, to the Romans, the formidable nature of the task they had undertaken. The next day, the 13th of April, was the day of the Passover; and all Jerusalem prepared, as usual, to celebrate the day of the great sacrifice. The gates of the Temple were, as usual, thrown open; and the multitude thronged in to worship. John of Gischala had sworn to Eleazar, as he had to Simon, to lay aside all hostility but, as usual, he did not allow his oath to prevent him from carrying out his designs. A number of his men concealed their arms under their garments, and entered the Temple with the worshipers. At a signal, the swords were drawn and the cry of battle was raised. Eleazar and his followers at once fled, in dismay, to the vaults under the Temple. The multitude in the courts above, panic stricken at the threatened conflict, strove to escape. Many were trampled under foot and killed. Some were wantonly slain by John's followers, to whom murder had become a pastime. When order was restored, John of Gischala went to the entrance of the vaults, and shouted to Eleazar that he desired to keep his oath, and would do him no harm; but that, for the general safety of the city, he could be no longer permitted to hold the inner Temple but must, with his men, take his share in the defense of the walls. If Eleazar would agree to do this, he promised that no harm, whatever, should be done to him or his followers. Eleazar, being at the mercy of his foe, accepted the terms and, with his followers, ascended into the Temple. For once, John of Gischala kept his word. Eleazar was permitted to retain the command of his own two thousand men, but his force henceforth formed a part of the Zealot army of John. Thus, from this time forward, there were but two factions in the city. Josephus, always the bitter enemy of John of Gischala, speaks in terms of the utmost reprobation of his conduct on this occasion; and the occasion and manner in which the deed was effected cannot, for a moment, be defended. At the same time, it must be admitted that the occasion was an urgent one, that the existence of this enemy in his midst crippled John of Gischala's power to defend his portion of the city; and that the suppression of Eleazar's faction, and the conversion of his troops from enemies into allies, was an act of high policy, and was indeed a necessity, if Jerusalem was to be successfully defended. The desecration of the Temple, however, upon so sacred an occasion as the feast of the Passover, filled all pious Jews with horror; and caused John to be regarded with even greater detestation than before. For the opinion of the unarmed multitude, however, he cared little. He had crushed the faction of Eleazar, had added two thousand men to his strength; and was now ready, without fear of trouble within, to face the Roman enemy without. The desperate sortie of the Jews had convinced Titus that, if Jerusalem was to be taken, it must be by means of regular siege operations, conducted with the greatest care and caution and, having made a circuit of the city, he perceived that it was impregnable, save on the north and northwestern sides--that is, the part defended by the third wall. He therefore, reluctantly, gave orders that all the villas, mansions, gardens, and groves standing between that wall and the foot of Mount Scopus should be destroyed and, placing strong bodies of troops opposite the gates, to prevent any sortie of the defenders, he set the whole of the three legions encamped on that side to carry out the work of destruction. A feeling of grief and dismay filled the city, at the sight of the devastation that was being wrought; and there were very many among the multitude who would gladly have avoided further evils, by submitting to the Romans. But such an idea did not enter the heads of the military leaders, and Simon determined upon another sortie. A number of the citizens were ordered to take their places upon the walls, and to cry out to the Romans that they desired peace, and to implore them to enter the town and take possession. In the meantime, a number of Simon's men issued out from the Women's Gate in confusion, as if expelled by the peace party. They appeared to be in a state of extreme terror: sometimes advancing towards the Romans, as if to submit to them; at other times retreating towards the wall, as if afraid of putting themselves into the hands of the Romans--but, as they neared the walls, they were assailed by a shower of missiles from above. Titus suspected that a trick was being played, and ordered the troops to stand fast; but the battalion facing the gate, seeing it stand open, were unable to resist the impulse to rush in and take possession. They therefore advanced, through the crowd of Jews outside, until close to the gate. Then Simon's men drew out their concealed weapons, and fell upon them in the rear; while a fresh body of armed men rushed out from the gate, and attacked them in front while, from the two flanking towers, a storm of javelins, arrows, and stones was poured upon them. The Romans fought desperately, but numbers of them were slain; and the rest took to flight, pursued by the Jews, and did not halt until they reached the tombs of Helen, half a mile from the walls; while the Jews, with shouts of triumph, re-entered the city. John had taken no part in this sortie. He had lost more than fifty men, in the fight on the Mount of Olives; and determined to hold the rest in reserve, until they were needed in a moment of extreme peril. The manner in which the bands had held together, and had steadfastly resisted the Roman attacks, had greatly excited the admiration of Simon. "I see now," he said, on the evening of the sortie, when talking the matter over with John, "the secret of the successes you have gained over the Romans. Your men fight as steadily, and with as much discipline as they do; while they are far quicker in their movements. They unite the activity of my men with the steadiness of the Romans. I wish, now, that I had spent the last year in training and disciplining my men, to act with equal steadiness and order; but it is too late to try to do so, now. Each will do his best, and will die fighting but, were I to attempt, now, to introduce regularity among them, they would lose the fierce rush with which they assault the Romans; without acquiring sufficient discipline to enable them to keep their order, as yours do, in the confusion of the battle." "Mine are all picked men," John said. "I had eight thousand under my orders, during the last two years of fighting; but I bade all leave me, when I advanced to Jerusalem, save those who were ready and prepared to die. Therefore, I can rely upon every man, as upon myself. "Unless I see some exceptional opportunity, I do not think I shall lead them out beyond the walls again. The time will come, as the siege goes on, when you will need a body of men to hold a breach, or arrest the advance of a Roman column; men who will die, rather than give way a foot. When that time comes, my band shall fill the gap." "I think you are right," Simon agreed. "Your men are too good to be wasted in desultory fighting. They shall be kept as a last resource; and I know that, when the time comes, they can be relied upon." The clearing of the ground occupied four days; and Titus then determined to advance his camp nearer to the city, and fixed upon a spot which was the highest on the plateau--a quarter of a mile to the northwest of the Rubble Tower. Before moving into it, the position was strongly fortified and, so much impressed was Titus, by the sallies which the Jews had made, that he formed up his whole army along the north and northwest side of the city. The heavy-armed troops, three deep, were the first line. Behind them came a rank of archers, and behind these the cavalry, three deep. Brave as were the Jews, they did not venture to sally out to endeavor to break through this living wall; which stood all day, immovable, while the baggage animals--aided by a great crowd of artisans and camp followers--moved the war engines, reserves, and baggage of the army from Mount Scopus down to the new camp. Here the Twelfth and Fifteenth Legions, under Titus himself, took up their position. The Fifth Legion, under the command of Cerealis, formed their camp on a knoll, a quarter of a mile from the Jaffa Gate, and divided from it by the Valley of Hinnom which is, here, of no great depth. It lay about a third of a mile south of the camp of Titus. The Tenth Legion remained on the Mount of Olives. Their camp had now been very strongly fortified, and was in a position to repel any attack that might be made against it. Now that his dispositions were complete, Titus determined to save the city, if possible, from the horrors of siege. He therefore sent Nicanor and Josephus, with a flag of truce, towards the walls to offer them terms. No sooner had they come within bow shot than an arrow was discharged from the wall, and struck Nicanor upon the shoulder. The ambassador at once retired; and Titus, indignant alike at the insult to his messengers, and the violation of the flag of truce, immediately began to make preparations for the siege. Could the population of the city have been consulted, they would have declared, by an immense majority of voices, for surrender; but Simon and John of Gischala, whose men held the walls, were absolute masters of the city; and the inhabitants were to pay now, as they had paid in the past, for their cowardice in allowing themselves to be tyrannized over by a body of men whom they outnumbered by ten to one. Titus, after a careful examination of the walls, determined to attack at a spot between the Jaffa Gate and Psephinus. In former times, all assaults of the enemy had been directed against the north; and it was here, consequently, that the wall was strongest. At its foot, too, a wide and deep fosse had been cut in the solid rock: rendering it impossible for the assailants to advance to the attack, until this was filled up. But, on the northwest, the walls had not been made equally strong; nor had the fosse been continued from Psephinus to the Jaffa Gate. It had no doubt been considered that the projecting angle of the wall at Psephinus, and the fortifications of the Palace of Herod, covered this portion of the wall--which was, moreover, to some extent protected by the Valley of Hinnom But between the top of the slope of that valley, and the foot of the walls, was a level space of ground sufficiently wide for the establishment of machines for breaching the wall. Here, therefore, Titus determined to make his attack. On the 22nd of April, the troops began the work. Each legion was to erect a bank, mount a battering ram, and construct a tower. A vast quantity of timber was required, and the desolation already effected between the north wall and Scopus was now widely extended; the whole of the trees, for a great distance round Jerusalem, being cut down and brought to the spot. The towers were constructed about ninety feet in height, and with a wide face. They were put together beyond the range of the missiles of the defenders; and were to be advanced, upon wheels, up the bank until they neared the wall. As the three banks approached the wall, hurdles covered with hides were erected to protect the workers; and on each side javelin men and archers were posted, together with the war engines for casting missiles. Simon was not idle. He possessed the war engines taken when Antonia was surrendered by the Romans, and those captured from the legion of Cestius; but his men had no experience in the working of these machines. They could only manipulate them slowly, and their aim was bad. They were able, therefore, to interfere but little with the work of the Romans. The archers and slingers, however, did greater damage, and killed many while, at times, the gate would be thrown open, and Simon would dash out at the head of his men, and do much damage before the Romans could drive him back within the walls. The Tenth Legion did more injury to the defenders than did the others, being provided with more powerful war machines. Their ballistae threw stones, weighing a hundred weight, a distance of a quarter of a mile. The Jewish watchmen on the walls kept a vigilant watch upon these machines and, each time a stone was coming, shouted a warning; and the defenders threw themselves on their faces, until the stone passed over. Even at night, the whiteness of the newly-cut rock rendered the masses visible, as they flew through the air; and Titus then ordered the stones to be painted black, before they were discharged, and thus added to their effect, as their approach could be no longer seen. Night and day, the Romans toiled at the work; night and day the Jews, with missiles and sorties, hindered their approach; until the banks had approached so close to the walls that the battering rams would be within striking distance. Then the towers were brought up and the rams began to strike their mighty blows upon the wall while, from the top of the lofty towers, and from the stories below, the archers and war machines poured a storm of missiles down upon the defenders of the walls. As it was evident, now, that the danger lay solely in this quarter; and that the whole strength of the besieged was needed here; Simon sent to John of Gischala, to urge that the line of demarcation agreed upon by them between their respective troops should no longer be observed. John would not trust himself in the power of Simon, but gave leave to his soldiers to go down and aid in the defense; and they, who had been chafing at their forced inactivity, while Simon's men were bearing the brunt of the fighting, went down to take their share in the struggle. Regardless of the storm of missiles, the Jews maintained their place upon the walls, shooting blazing arrows and hurling combustibles down upon the Roman works; and executing such frequent and desperate sorties that Titus was obliged to keep the greater part of his force constantly under arms, and to gather round the towers large bodies of archers and horsemen, to repel the attacks. At length, a corner tower fell before one of the battering rams; but the wall behind stood firm, and no breach was effected. Nevertheless, the Jews appeared dispirited at this proof of the power of the battering rams, and fell back into the city. The Roman legionaries, under the belief that the fighting was over, for the evening, were drawn back into their camps. Suddenly, from a small gate hitherto unnoticed by the Romans--situated at the foot of the tower of Hippicus--the Jews poured out, with flaming brands in their hands, and dashed at the Roman banks; sweeping the defenders of the works before them, swarming up the banks, and surrounding the towers, to which they endeavored to set fire. They were, however, plated with iron outside, and the beams inside were of so massive a description that the Jews were unable to set light to them. While some of the Jews were striving to do this, the rest fell with such fury upon the Roman troops--who hurried up to the protection of their works--that they were driven back. A body of Alexandrian troops only, posted near the towers, maintained themselves against the attacks; until Titus with his cavalry charged down upon the Jews who, although a match for the Roman infantry, were never, throughout the war, able to resist the charges of the bodies of heavy horsemen. Titus is said to have killed twelve Jews with his own hand and, fighting desperately to the end, the assailants were driven back into the city. One prisoner only was taken; and him Titus, with the barbarity which afterwards distinguished his proceedings during the siege, ordered to be crucified close to the walls. Among those killed on the Jewish side was John, the commander of the Idumeans, who formed part of Simon's force. He was shot by an Arab, while he was parleying with a Roman soldier. He was a man of great courage and excellent judgment, and his loss was a serious one for the besieged. At night all was still, and silent. Both parties were exhausted with their long and desperate struggle, and even the machines ceased to hurl their missiles. Suddenly a terrific crash was heard, and the very ground seemed to shake. Both parties sprang to arms: the Jews, fearing that the wall had fallen; the Romans, not knowing what had happened, but apprehensive of another of the sorties--which they had begun to hold in high respect. Something like a panic seized them; until Titus, riding about among them, reassured them by his presence and words. They knew, indeed, that a repetition of the defeats they had suffered at the Jewish hands would not be forgiven. The battalion which had been defeated, at the sortie at the Women's Gate, had been sternly rebuked by Titus; who had ordered the military law to be carried into effect, and a certain number of the soldiers to be executed; and had only pardoned them upon the intercession of the whole army on their behalf. Therefore, the legionaries now fell into their ranks, at the order of Titus, and drew up in order of battle; while parties were sent forward to ascertain what had happened. It was found that a serious misfortune had befallen them. The Jews, in their attack, had been unable to set fire to the towers; but they had worked so vigorously, in their attempt to destroy the bank, that they had weakened that portion of it upon which one of the towers stood. This had given way, beneath the tremendous weight resting upon it; and the great tower had fallen, with a crash, to the ground. In the morning the combat recommenced but, although the Jews exposed their lives on the walls unflinchingly, they were unable to withstand the terrible shower of missiles poured upon them from the remaining towers, or to interrupt the steady swing of the huge rams which, day and night, beat against the walls. One of these, especially, did material damage; and the Jews themselves christened it "Nico," or the Conqueror. At length, wearied out by their efforts, disheartened by the failure of their attempts to interfere with the work of destruction, and knowing that the inner lines were vastly stronger than those without, the Jews abandoned the defense of the tottering wall, and retired behind their next line of defense The Romans soon discovered that they were unopposed, and scaled the wall. As soon as they found that the whole space between it and the second wall was abandoned, they set to work and threw down a large portion of the third wall, and took up their post inside. Titus established himself at the spot known as the camp of the Assyrians, at the foot of the Tower of Psephinus. As soon as his arrangements were completed, he gave orders for the assault to be recommenced. The date of the capture of the outer wall was on the 6th of May, fifteen days after the commencement of the siege. The capture of Bezetha, or the new town, enabled the Romans to make an attack directly on the Palace of Herod, on the one side, and Mount Moriah upon the other; without first assaulting the second wall, which defended the inner lower town. But two or three days' fighting convinced Titus that these positions could not be successfully attacked, until the lower town was in his power. The three great towers Phasaelus, Hippicus, and Mariamne--desperately defended by Simon's soldiers--formed an impregnable obstacle on the one side; while Antonia, and the steep ascent up to the Temple platform, was defended with equal stubbornness, and success, by the soldiers of John of Gischala. Titus therefore prepared for the assault of the second wall. The point selected for the attack was the middle tower on the northern face, close to which were the wool mart, the clothes mart, and the braziers' shops. There were no natural obstacles to the approach, and the battering ram was soon placed in position, while a strong body of archers prevented the defenders showing themselves above the parapet. The wall was of far less strength than that which the Romans had before encountered, and soon began to totter before the blows of the battering ram. The Jews, indeed, were indifferent as to its fall; for they knew that the possession of the inner town was of slight importance to them, and that its fall would not greatly facilitate the attack upon what was the natural line of defense--namely, the heights of Zion and Moriah. For a short time, the Roman advance was delayed by the proceedings of Castor, the Jewish officer commanding the tower which they had assaulted. He, with ten men, alone had remained there when the rest of the defenders had retired; and he got up a sham battle among his men--the Romans suspending operations, under the belief that a party of the defenders were anxious to surrender. Castor himself stood on the parapet, and offered Titus to surrender. Titus promised him his life and, when an archer standing near sent an arrow which pierced Castor's nose, he sternly rebuked him. He then asked Josephus, who was standing beside him, to go forward and assure Castor and his companions that their lives should be spared. Josephus, however, knew the way of his countrymen too well, and declined to endanger his life. But, upon Castor offering to throw down a bag of gold, a man ran forward to receive it, when Castor hurled a great stone down at him; and Titus, seeing that he was being fooled, ordered the battering ram to recommence its work. Just before the tower fell, Castor set fire to it; and leaped with his companions--as the Romans supposed into the flames--but really into a vault, whence they made their escape into the city. As soon as the tower fell, Titus entered the breach, with his bodyguard and a thousand heavy-armed troops. The inhabitants, almost entirely of the poorer class, surrendered willingly; and Titus gave orders that none, save those found with arms upon them, should be killed. The Romans dispersed through the narrow and winding streets when, suddenly, Simon and his men poured down from the upper city; and John, at the head of his band, issued from his quarters. While some fell upon the Romans in the streets, others entered the houses and rained missiles upon them from above; while another party, issuing from the gate by Phasaelus, attacked the Romans between the second and third walls, and drove them into their camp. For a time, Titus and those in the lower town suffered terribly; but at last Titus posted archers, to command the lanes leading towards the breach, and managed--but with considerable loss--to withdraw his troops through it. The Jews at once manned the wall, and formed in close order behind the breach. Titus led his heavy-armed troops against it, but John and Simon defended it with the greatest valor and, for three days and nights, beat back the continued attacks of the Roman soldiers; but at the end of that time they were utterly exhausted, while the Romans incessantly brought up fresh troops. Even Simon--who had fought desperately at the head of his men, and had performed prodigies of valor--could no longer continue the struggle and, slowly and in good order, the defenders of the breach fell back to the upper city, and the lower town remained in the possession of the Romans. In order to avoid a recurrence of the disaster which had befallen them, Titus ordered a considerable portion of the second wall to be leveled; so that the troops could, if necessary, pour in or out without difficulty. But Simon had no thought of repeating his sortie. A large number of his best men had already fallen, and he determined to reserve his force for the defense of the almost impregnable position of the upper city. Two hundred of John's band had fallen round the breach, he himself had received several wounds, and the fighting strength of his band was now but one-half of what it was at the commencement of the siege. He had, before the Romans first entered the inner town, had the remainder of his store of grain removed to the building in the upper town which Simon had assigned to his band. It had as yet been but little trenched upon, as Simon had ordered that rations, similar to those issued to his own men, from the few granaries which had escaped destruction, should be given to John's band. "What do you think, now, of the prospect?" Simon asked, as John and he stood together on the Tower of Phasaelus, on the day after the Romans had taken possession of the lower town. "I think, as I did at first," John said, "that nothing but a miracle can save the Temple." "But the difficulties that the Romans have overcome," Simon said, "are as nothing to those still before them." "That is quite true," John agreed, "and, had we but a good supply of food, I believe that we might hold out for months; but the grain is already nearly exhausted, and cannot support even the fighting men much longer, while the inhabitants are dying from hunger. Well and strong, we might resist every attack that the Romans can make but, when we can no longer lift our swords, they must overcome us. Still, as long as I can fight I am ready to do so, in hopes that God may yet have mercy upon us, and deliver his Temple."	{ "id": "21614" }
16	: The Subterranean Passage.	For a few days after the capture of the lower city, the Jews had a respite. Titus knew that famine was sapping the strength of the defenders, and that every day weakened their power of resistance. He saw that the assault upon their strong position would be attended with immense difficulty, and loss, and he was desirous of saving the city from destruction. He ordered, therefore, a grand review of the troops to take place; and for four days the great army at his command--the splendid cavalry, the solid masses of the Roman infantry, and the light-armed troops and cavalry of the allies, defiled before him. The Jews from the height of the city watched, with a feeling of dull despair, the tremendous power assembled against them; and felt the hopelessness of further resistance. An intense desire for peace reigned, throughout the multitude, but John of Gischala and Simon had no thought of yielding. They believed that, whatever mercy Titus might be ready to grant to the inhabitants of the town, for them and their followers there was no hope, whatever, of pardon; and they were firmly resolved to resist until the last. Titus, finding that no offers of submission came from the city, sent Josephus to parley with the defenders. He could not have made a worse choice of an ambassador. Divided as the Jews were, among themselves, they were united in a common hatred for the man whom they regarded as a traitor to his country; and the harangue of Josephus, to the effect that resistance was unavailing, and that they should submit themselves to the mercy of Titus, was drowned by the execrations from the walls. In fact, in no case could his words have reached any large number of the inhabitants; for he had cautiously placed himself out of bow shot of the walls, and his words could scarcely have reached those for whom they had been intended, even if silence had been observed. His mission, therefore, was altogether unavailing. Illustration: Misery in Jerusalem During the Siege by Titus. John felt his own resolution terribly shaken, by the sights which he beheld in the city. The inhabitants moved about like specters, or fell and died in the streets. He felt, now, that resistance had been a mistake; and that it would have been far better to have thrown open the gates, when Titus appeared before them--in which case the great proportion, at least, of those within would have been spared, and the Temple and the city itself would have escaped destruction. He even regretted that he had marched down to take part in the defense. Had he known how entirely exhausted were the granaries, he would not have done so. He had thought that, at least, there would have been sufficient provisions for a siege of some months, and that the patience of the Romans might have been worn out. He felt, now, that the sacrifice had been a useless one; but although he, himself, would now have raised his voice in favor of surrender, he was powerless. Even his own men would not have listened to his voice. Originally the most fervent and ardent spirits of his band, they were now inspired by a feeling of desperate enthusiasm, equal to that which animated Simon and John of Gischala; and his authority would have been at once overthrown, had he ventured to raise his voice in favor of surrender. Already, he had once been made to feel that there were points as to which his influence failed to have any effect, whatever. He had, the morning after they retired to the upper city, spoken to his men on the subject of their store of grain. He had urged on them the horrors which were taking place before their eyes--that women and children were expiring in thousands, and that the inhabitants were suffering the extreme agonies of starvation--and had concluded by proposing that their store should be distributed among the starving women. His words had been received in silence, and then one of the captains of the companies had risen. "What you say, John, of the sufferings which the people are undergoing is felt by us all; but I, for one, cannot agree to the proposal that we should give up our store of food. Owing to the number of us that have fallen, there are still well-nigh fifty pounds a man left, which will keep us in health and strength for another two months. Were we to give it out, it would not suffice for a single meal, for a quarter of the people assembled here, and would delay their death but a few hours; thus it would profit them nothing, while it will enable us to maintain our strength--and maybe, at a critical moment, to hurl back the Romans from the very gates of the Temple. "It would be wickedness, not charity, to part with our store. It would defeat the object for which we came here, and for which we are ready to die, without any real benefit to those on whom we bestowed the food." A general chorus of approval showed that the speaker represented the opinion of his comrades. After a pause, he went on: "There is another reason why we should keep what we, ourselves, have brought in here. You know how the soldiers of Simon persecute the people--how they torture them to discover hidden stores of food, how they break in and rob them as they devour, in secret, the provisions they have concealed. I know not whether hunger could drive us to act likewise, but we know the lengths to which famished men can be driven. Therefore, I would that we should be spared the necessity for such cruelties, to keep life together. We are all ready to die, but let it be as strong men, facing the enemy, and slaying as we fall." Again, the murmur of approval was heard; and John felt that it would be worse than useless to urge the point. He admitted to himself that there was reason in the argument; and that, while a distribution of their food would give the most temporary relief, only, to the multitude, it would impair the efficiency of the band. The result showed him that, implicit as was the obedience given to him in all military matters, his influence had its limits; and that, beyond a certain point, his authority ceased. Henceforth he remained in the house, except when he went to his post on the walls immediately adjoining; and he therefore escaped being harrowed by the sight of sufferings that he could not relieve. Each day, however, he set apart the half of his own portion of grain; and gave it to the first starving woman he met, when he went out. The regulation issue of rations had now ceased. The granaries were exhausted and, henceforth, Simon's troops lived entirely upon the food they extorted from the inhabitants. John of Gischala's followers fared better. Enormous as had been the destruction of grain, the stores in the Temple were so prodigious that they were enabled to live in comparative abundance, and so maintained their strength and fighting power. But the sufferings of the people increased daily, and great numbers made their escape from the city--either sallying out from unguarded posterns, at night; or letting themselves down from the lower part of the walls, by ropes. Titus allowed them to pass through; but John of Gischala and Simon, with purposeless cruelty, placed guards on all the walls and gates, to prevent the starving people leaving the city--although their true policy would have been to facilitate, in every way, the escape of all save the fighting men; and thus to husband what provisions still remained for the use of the defenders of the city. In the daytime, when the gates were open, people went out and collected vegetables and herbs from the gardens between the walls and the Roman posts; but on their return were pitilessly robbed by the rough soldiers, who confiscated to their own use all that was brought in. The efforts to escape formed a fresh pretext, to Simon and John of Gischala, to plunder the wealthy inhabitants who, under the charge of intending to fly to the Romans, were despoiled of all they had, tortured and executed. Titus soon changed his policy and, instead of allowing the deserters to make their way through, seized them and those who went out from the city to seek food, scourged, tortured, and crucified them before the walls. Sometimes as many as five hundred were crucified in a single day. This checked the desertion; and the multitude, deeming it better to die of hunger than to be tortured to death by the Romans, resigned themselves to the misery of starvation. For seventeen days, the Romans labored at their embankments, and only one attack was made upon the walls. This was carried out by the son of the King of Commagene, who had just joined the army with a chosen band, armed and attired in the Macedonian fashion. As soon as he arrived, he loudly expressed his surprise at the duration of the siege. Titus, hearing this, told him that he was at perfect liberty to assault the city, if he liked. This he and his men at once did, and fought with great valor; but with no success whatever, a great number of them being killed, and scarcely one escaping uninjured. For a fortnight, John had bestowed the half of his ration upon a poor woman, whose child was sick; and who stood at the door of her house, every morning, to wait his passing. One day, she begged him to enter. "I shall need no more food," she said. "Thanks to God, who sent you to our aid, my child is recovered, and can now walk; and I intend to fly, tonight, from this terrible place." "But there is no escape," John said. "The soldiers allow none to pass and, if you could pass through them, the Romans would slay you." "I can escape," the woman said, "and that is why I have called you in. "My husband--who was killed by Simon's robbers, three months ago--was for many years employed in working in the underground passages of the city, and in repairing the conduits which carry the water from the springs. As I often carried down his food to him, when he was at work, I know every winding and turn of the underground ways. "As you know, the ground beneath the city is honeycombed by passages whence stone was, in the old time, obtained for buildings. There are many houses which have entrance, by pits, into these places. This is one of them, and my husband took it for that convenience. From here, I can find my way down to the great conduit which was built, by King Hezekiah, to bring the water from the upper springs of the river Gihon down into the city. Some of these waters supply the pool known as the Dragon Pool, but the main body runs down the conduit in the line of the Tyropoeon Valley; and those from the Temple could, in old times, go down and draw water, thence, should the pools and cistern fail. But that entrance has long been blocked up for, when the Temple was destroyed and the people carried away captives, the ruins covered the entrance, and none knew of it. "My husband when at work once found a passage which ran, for some distance, by the side of some massive masonry of old time. One of the great stones was loose; and he prised it out, to see what might lie behind it. When he did so he heard the sound of running water and, passing through the hole, found himself in a great conduit. This he afterwards followed up; and found that it terminated, at the upper end of the Valley of Hinnom, in a round chamber, at the bottom of which springs bubbled up. There was an entrance to this chamber from without, through a passage. The outer exit of this was well-nigh filled up with earth, and many bushes grew there; so that none passing by would have an idea of its existence. "When the troubles here became great, he took me and showed me the conduit; and led me to the exit, saying that the time might come when I might need to fly from Jerusalem. The exit lies far beyond the camps that the Romans have planted on either side of the Valley of Hinnom; and by going out at night, I and my child can make our way, unseen, to the hills. Since you have saved our lives, I tell you of this secret; which is known, I think, to none but myself for, after showing me the place, my husband closed up the entrance to the passage--which was, before, well-nigh filled up with stones. "It may be that the time may come when you, too, will need to save yourself by flight. Now, if you will come with me, I will show you the way. See, I have mixed here a pot of charcoal and water, with which we can mark the turnings and the passages; so that you will afterwards be able to find your way for, without such aid, you would never be able to follow the path, through its many windings, after only once going through it." John thanked the woman warmly for her offer, and they at once prepared to descend into the pit. This was situated in a cellar beneath the house; and was boarded over so that plunderers, entering to search for provisions, would not discover it. Upon entering the cellar, the woman lit two lamps. "They are full of oil," she said, "and I have often been sorely tempted to drink it; but I have kept it untouched, knowing that my life might some day depend upon it." Rough steps were cut in the side of the pit and, after descending some thirty feet, John found himself in a long passage. The woman led the way. As they went on, John was surprised at the number and extent of these passages, which crossed each other in all directions--sometimes opening into great chambers, from which large quantities of stone had been taken--while he passed many shafts, like that by which they had descended, to the surface above. The woman led the way with an unfaltering step, which showed how thorough was her acquaintance with the ground; pausing, when they turned down a fresh passage, to make a smear at the corner of the wall with the black liquid. Presently, the passages began to descend rapidly. "We are now under the Palace of King Agrippa," she said, "and are descending by the side of the Tyropoeon Valley." Presently, turning down a small side passage, they found their way arrested by a pile of stones and rubbish. They clambered up this, removed some of the upper stones, and crawled along underneath the roof. The rubbish heap soon slanted down again, and they continued their way, as before. Another turn, and they were in a wider passage than those they had latterly traversed. "This is the wall of the conduit," the woman said, touching the massive masonry on her right hand. "The opening is a little further on." Presently they arrived at a great stone, lying across a passage, corresponding in size to a gap in the wall on the right. They made their way through this, and found themselves in the Conduit of King Hezekiah. A stream of water, ankle deep, was running through it. "We need not go further," the woman said. "Once here, you cannot miss your way. It will take nigh an hour's walking through the water before you arrive at the chamber of the springs, from which there is but the one exit." "I will come down again with you, tonight," John said, "and will carry your child to the entrance. You will both need all your strength, when you sally out; so as to get well beyond the Romans, who are scattered all over the country, cutting wood for their embankments. Moreover, I shall be able to see, as I come down with you, whether all the marks are plainly visible, and that there is no fear of mistake for, once lost in these passages, one would never find one's way again; and there would be the choice between dying of hunger, and of being found by the Romans--who will assuredly search all these passages for fugitives, as they did at Jotapata. "Truly, I thank you with all my heart; I feel you have given me the means of saving my life--that is, if I do not fall in the fighting." As they made their way back to the house, John examined the marks at every turning, and added to those that were not sufficiently conspicuous to catch the eye at once. When they had gained the cellar, and replaced the boards, the woman said: "Why should you not also leave the city, tonight? All say that there is no hope of resistance; and that John of Gischala and Simon are only bringing destruction, upon all in the city, by thus holding out against the Romans. Why should you throw away your life so uselessly?" "I have come here to defend the Temple," John said, "and so long as the Temple stands I will resist the enemy. It may be it is useless, but no one can say what is the purpose of God, or whether He does not yet intend to save his Holy Seat. But when the Temple has fallen, I shall have no more to fight for; and will then, if I can, save my life, for the sake of those who love me." That evening, on his return from the wall, John proceeded to the house of the woman. She was in readiness for the journey. The child, who was seven or eight years old, was dressed; and the mother had a little bundle with her valuables by her. As soon as they descended into the passage below, John offered to carry the child, but her mother refused. "She can walk well," she said, "for a time, and you could not carry her upon your shoulder; for the passages are, in many places, but just high enough for you to pass under without stooping. At any rate, she can walk for a time." It was not long, however, before the child, weakened by its illness, began to drag behind; and John swung her up on to his back. The marks, he found, were easily made out; and in half an hour they arrived at the entrance to the conduit. Here they were forced to walk, slowly. In some places the water, owing to the channel having sunk, deepened to the knee; at other times stones had fallen from the roof, and impeded their passage; and it was nearly two hours before they reached the arched chamber, at the termination of the conduit. There was a stone pavement round the edge of the pool, and upon this they sat down to rest, for an hour, for both John and the woman were exhausted by the labor they had undergone. "It is time for me to be moving," the woman said, rising. "It must be nigh midnight, and I must be some miles on my way before morning. The child has walked but a short distance, yet; and will do her best, now, when she knows that those wicked Romans will kill her--and her mother--if they catch them. "Won't you, Mariamne?" The child nodded. The Romans were the bogey with which Jewish children had, for the last five years, been frightened; and she announced her intention of walking till her feet fell off. "I will carry you, as much as I can," her mother said, "but it can only be for a short distance at a time; for I, too, am weak, and your weight is too much for me. "And now, God bless you, my friend," she said, turning to John; "and may He keep you safe through the dangers of the siege, and lead you to your home and parents again!" They made their way to the end of the passage together; climbed over the rubbish, which nearly blocked the entrance; crawled through the hole, and found themselves in the outer air. Thick low bushes covered the ground around them, and no sound was to be heard. John rose to his feet, and looked round. Behind him, at the distance of more than a quarter of a mile, the light of the Roman watch fires showed where the legions were encamped. Beyond and above could be seen, here and there, a light in the city. No sound was to be heard, save the occasional call of a Roman sentinel. On the other side, all was dark; for the working parties always returned to camp, at night, in readiness to repel any sortie the Jews might make against the camps or working parties. "It is a very dark night," John said, doubtfully. "Do you think you can find your way?" "There are the stars," the woman replied, confidently. "Besides, I was born at Bethlehem, and know the country well. I shall keep on west for a while, and then turn off into the deep valleys leading down towards Masada. "God be with you!" and, taking the child's hand, she emerged from the bushes, and glided noiselessly away into the darkness. John set out on his return journey--which he found very much shorter than he had done coming, for the weight of a child for two hours, when walking over difficult ground, is trying even to a strong and active man. He carefully replaced the boards across the mouth of the pit, placed the lamps in a position so that he could find them in the dark and, upon going out of the house, closed the door carefully. The next morning, that of the 29th of May, the Roman attack began. The Fifth and Twelfth Legions had raised embankments near the Struthion--or Soapwort--Pool, facing the Castle of Antonia; while the Tenth and Fifteenth raised theirs facing the great towers of Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne. They had not carried out their work unmolested, for the Jews had now learned the art of constructing and managing war machines; and had made three hundred scorpions for throwing arrows, and forty ballistae for hurling stones and, with these, they had caused terrible annoyance and great loss to the Romans. But now, all was prepared. On the evening of the 28th, the last stroke had been given to the embankment; and on the following morning the engines were mounted, and the troops stood in readiness for the attack. Suddenly a smoke was seen, stealing up round the embankments facing Antonia; and the Roman officers called back their men, not knowing what was going to occur. Then a series of mighty crashes was heard. The great embankments, with their engines and battering rams, tottered and fell. Dense smoke shot up in columns, followed rapidly by tongues of fire, and soon the vast piles of materials, collected and put together with so much pains, were blazing fiercely; while the Jews laughed, and shouted in triumph, upon the walls. The moment John of Gischala perceived where the Romans were going to construct their embankments, he had begun to run a mine from behind the walls towards them. When the gallery was extended under them, a great excavation was hollowed out; the roof being supported by huge beams, between which were piled up pitch and other combustibles. When the Romans were seen advancing to the attack, fire was applied and, as soon as the supports of the roof were burned away, the ground, with the embankments upon it, fell in. Simon, on his side, was equally ready to receive the enemy, but he trusted rather to valour than stratagem; and as soon as the Roman engines facing the towers began to shake the walls, Tepthaus, Megassar, and Chagiras rushed out, with torches in their hands, followed by a crowd of Simon's soldiers. They drove the Romans before them, and set fire to the great machine. The Romans crowded up to the assistance of the working parties but, as they advanced, they were received with showers of missiles from the walls; and attacked fiercely by the Jews, who poured out from the city in a continuous stream. The flames spread rapidly and, seeing no hope of saving their engines and embankments, the Romans retreated to their camp. The triumphant Jews pressed hard on their rear, rushed upon the intrenchments, and assailed the guards. Numbers of these were killed, but the rest fought resolutely, while the engines on the works poured showers of missiles among the Jews. Careless of death, the assailants pressed forward, stormed the intrenchment; and the Romans were on the point of flight when Titus, who had been absent upon the other side, arrived with a strong body of troops, and fell upon the Jews. A desperate contest ensued, but the Jews were finally driven back into the city. Their enterprise had, however, been crowned with complete success. The embankments, which had occupied the Romans seventeen days in building, were destroyed; and with them the battering rams, and the greater part of their engines. The work of reconstruction would be far more difficult and toilsome than at first, for the country had been denuded of timber, for many miles off. Moreover, the soldiers were becoming greatly disheartened by the failure of all their attacks upon the city. Titus summoned a council, and laid before them three plans: one for an attempt to take the city by storm; the second to repair the works and rebuild the engines; the third to blockade the city, and starve it into surrender. The last was decided upon and, as a first step, the whole army was set to work, to build a trench and wall round the city. The work was carried on with the greatest zeal; and in three days the wall, nearly five miles in circumference, was completed. Thus there was no longer any chance of escape to the inhabitants; no more possibility of going out, at night, to search for food. Now the misery of the siege was redoubled. Thousands died daily. A mournful silence hung over the city. Some died in their houses, some in the streets. Some crawled to the cemeteries, and expired there. Some sat upon their housetops, with their eyes fixed upon the Temple, until they sank back dead. No one had strength to dig graves, and the dead bodies were thrown from the walls into the ravines below. The high priest Matthias, who had admitted Simon and his followers into the city, was suspected of being in communication with the Romans; and he and his three sons were led out on to the wall, and executed in sight of the besiegers, while fifteen of the members of the Sanhedrin were executed at the same time. These murders caused indignation even on the part of some of Simon's men, and one Judas, with ten others, agreed to deliver one of the towers to the enemy; but the Romans--rendered cautious by the treachery which had before been practised--hesitated to approach and, before they were convinced that the offer was made in good faith, Simon discovered what was going on, and the eleven conspirators were executed upon the walls, and their bodies thrown over. Despair drove many, again, to attempt desertion. Some of these, on reaching the Roman lines, were spared; but many more were killed, for the sake of the money supposed to be concealed upon them. Up to the 1st of July, it was calculated that well-nigh six hundred thousand had perished, in addition to the vast numbers buried in the cemetery, and the great heaps of dead before the walls. Great numbers of the houses had become tombs, the inhabitants shutting themselves up, and dying quietly together. But, while trusting chiefly to famine, the Romans had laboured steadily on at their military engines--although obliged to fetch the timber for ten miles--and, at the beginning of July, the battering rams began to play against Antonia. The Jews sallied out, but this time with less fury than usual; and they were repulsed without much difficulty by the Romans. All day long the battering rams thundered against the wall; while men, protected by hurdles and penthouses, laboured to dislodge the stones at the foot of the walls, in spite of the storm of missiles hurled down from above. By nightfall, they had got out four large stones. It happened that these stones stood just over the part under which John of Gischala had driven his mine, when he destroyed the Roman embankments; and thus, doubly weakened, the wall fell with a crash during the night. John, however, had built another wall in the rear and, when the Romans rushed to the assault of the breach, in the morning, they found a new line of defence confronting them. Titus addressed the troops, and called for volunteers. Sabinus, a Syrian, volunteered for the attack, and eleven men followed him. In spite of the storm of missiles he reached the top of the wall. The Jews, believing that many were behind him, turned to fly; but his foot slipped and he fell and, before he could regain his feet, the Jews turned round upon him and slew him. Three of his companions fell beside him, on the top of the wall; and the rest were carried back, wounded, to camp. Two days later, in the middle of the night, twenty Roman soldiers, with a standard bearer and trumpeter, crept silently up to the breach, surprised, and slew the watch. The trumpeter blew the charge; and the Jews, believing that the whole Roman army was upon them, fled in a sudden panic. Titus at once advanced with his men, stormed the new wall, entered the Castle of Antonia, and then advanced along the cloisters which connected it with the Temple; but John of Gischala had by this time arrived at the spot, and opposed a desperate resistance to the assault; until Simon, crossing from the upper city by the bridge, came to his assistance; and John, finding that the Temple was attacked, also led his band across. For ten hours, the struggle raged. Vast numbers fell, on both sides; till the dead formed a bank between the combatants. Titus, finding that even the courage and discipline of his troops did not avail, against the desperate resistance of the Jews, at last called them off from the assault--well satisfied with having captured Antonia. During the fight the Romans had, several times, nearly penetrated into the Temple. Indeed, a centurion named Julian--a man of great strength, courage, and skill at arms--had charged the Jews with such fury that he had made his way, alone, as far as the inner court; when his mailed shoes slipped on the marble pavement, and he fell; and the Jews, rushing back, slew him--after a desperate resistance, to the end. Titus commanded that the fortress of Antonia should be levelled to the ground; and then sent Josephus with a message to John of Gischala, offering him free egress for himself and his men, if he would come out to fight outside, in order that the Temple might be saved further defilement. John replied by curses upon Josephus, whom he denounced as a traitor; and concluded that he feared not that the city should be taken, for it was the city of God. Then Titus sent for a number of persons of distinction who had, from time to time, made their escape from the city; and these attempted, in vain, to persuade the people--if not to surrender--at least to spare the Temple from defilement and ruin. Even the Roman soldiers were adverse to an attack upon a place so long regarded as pre-eminently holy, and Titus himself harangued the Jews. "You have put up a barrier," he said, "to prevent strangers from polluting your Temple. This the Romans have always respected. We have allowed you to put to death all who violated its precincts; yet you defile it, yourselves, with blood and carnage. I call on your gods--I call on my whole army--I call upon the Jews who are with me--I call on yourselves--to witness that I do not force you to this crime. Come forth and fight, in any other place, and no Roman shall violate your sacred edifice." But John of Gischala, and the Zealots, would hear of no surrender. They doubted whether Titus would keep his promise, and feared to surrender the stronghold which was now their last hope. Above all, they still believed that God would yet interfere to save his Temple. Titus, finding that the garrison were obstinate, raised his voice and called out: "John--whom I met near Hebron--if you be there, bear witness that I have striven to keep my oath. I will strive to the end; but blame me not if, not through my fault, but by the obstinacy of these men, destruction comes upon the Temple." John, who was standing within hearing, called out: "I am here, Titus, and I bear witness; yet, I pray you, strive to the end to keep the oath which you swore to me." "What is this oath, John?" Simon, who was standing close by, asked. "What compact have you with the Roman general?" "We met in battle, alone," John said, quietly, "and it chanced that he fell. I might have slain him, but it came to me that it were better to try to save the Temple, than to slay one of its enemies; and therefore swore him to save the Temple, if it lay in his power. He has offered to spare it. It lay with you, and John of Gischala, to save the Temple from destruction by accepting his terms. You have not done so. If the Temple is destroyed, it is by the obstinacy of its defenders, not by the cruelty of the Romans." "It would be madness to accept his offer," Simon said, angrily. "Titus knows well that, in the plains, we should be no match for his troops. Did you ever hear, before, of a garrison giving up a position so strong that it could not be taken from them, and going out to fight beyond the walls? Besides, who can tell that the Romans will keep their promises? Once we are at their mercy, they might level the Temple." "In that case, the sin would be upon their heads. Besides, there is no occasion to retire beyond the walls. Why should not all the fighting men retire into the upper city, and leave the Temple to God? If it is his will that the Romans should destroy it, they will do so. If it is his will that they should respect it, they will do so. He can save, or destroy, at his will. If we retreat to the upper town, and break down the bridge after us, they could never take it." "And how long could we hold out?" Simon said, with a hard laugh. "Is there a day's food left, in the city? If there is, my men are less sharp than I give them credit for. No, we will fight here, to the end, for the Temple; and the sooner the Romans attack, the better, for if they delay many days, there is not a single man will have strength enough to lift a sword."	{ "id": "21614" }
17	: The Capture Of The Temple.	Although abhorring the general conduct of Simon and John of Gischala, and believing that conditions could be made with the Romans which would save the Temple, John still retained the hope--cherished by every Jew--that God would yet, himself, save Jerusalem, as in the old times. He was conscious that the people had forfeited all right to expect his aid; that, by their wickedness and forgetfulness of him--and more especially by the frightful scenes which had desecrated the city and Temple, during the last four years--they must have angered God beyond all hope of forgiveness. Still, the punishment which had been inflicted was already so terrible that he, like others, hoped that God's anger might yet relent, as it had done in old times, and that a remnant might yet be spared. But above all, their hope lay in the belief that the Temple was the actual abode of the Lord; and that, though he might suffer the whole people to perish for their sins, he would yet protect, at the last, his own sanctuary. Surely, John thought, as he stood on the roof of the Temple, this glorious building can never be meant to be destroyed. The Temple occupied a square, six hundred feet every way. The lofty rock on which it stood had been cased with solid masonry, so that it rose perpendicularly from the plain. On the top of this massive foundation was built a strong and lofty wall, round the whole area. Within this wall was a spacious double cloister, fifty-two and one half feet broad, supported by one hundred and sixty-two columns. On the south side the cloister was one hundred and five feet wide--being a triple cloister--and was here called the King's Cloister. Within the area surrounded by the cloisters was an open court, paved with marble; this was the Court of the Gentiles, and was separated from the second court--that of the Jews--by a stone railing, five feet high. An ascent of fourteen steps led to a terrace, seventeen and one half feet wide, beyond which rose the wall of the inner court. This wall was seventy feet high on the outside, forty-four feet on the inside. Round the inner court was another range of cloisters. There were ten gates into the inner court. The doors of nine of these gateways were fifty-two and one half feet high, and half that breadth. The gateways rose to the height of seventy feet. The tenth, usually called the Beautiful Gate of the Temple, was larger than the rest; the gateway being eighty-seven and one half feet in height, the doors seventy feet. In the centre of the inner court was the Temple, itself. The great porch was one hundred and seventy-five feet in width, the gateway tower one hundred and thirty-two feet high and forty-three feet wide, and through it was seen the Beautiful Gate. The Temple itself was built of white marble, and the roof was covered with sharp golden spikes. Now that it was evident that on the side of the Temple, alone, could the enemy make an attack, the division between Simon and John of Gischala's men was no longer kept up. All gathered for the defence of the Temple. The Jews kept up a vigilant watch, for the Romans could assemble in great force in Antonia, unseen by them; and could advance, under cover, by the cloisters which flanked the platform connecting Antonia with the Temple, on either side. The interval between Antonia and the Temple was but three hundred feet. The cloisters were considered to form part of the Temple, and the Jews were therefore reluctant to destroy them, although they greatly facilitated the attack of the Romans. Finding that his offers were all rejected, Titus spent seven days in the destruction of a large portion of Antonia, and then prepared for a night attack. As the whole army could not make the assault, thirty men were picked from each hundred. Tribunes were appointed over each thousand, Cerealis being chosen to command the whole. Titus himself mounted a watchtower in Antonia, in order that he might see and reward each act of bravery. The assault began between two and three o'clock in the morning. The Jews were on the watch and, as soon as the massive columns moved forward, the cries of the guards gave the alarm; and the Jews, sleeping in and around the Temple, seized their arms and rushed down to the defence. For a time, the Romans had the advantage. The weight of their close formation enabled them to press forward against the most obstinate resistance and, even in the darkness, there was no fear of mistaking friend for foe; while the Jews, fighting in small parties, often mistook each other for enemies, and as many fell by the swords of their friends as by those of the enemy. The loss was all the greater, since the troops of John of Gischala and Simon had no common password and, coming suddenly upon each other, often fought desperately before they discovered their mistake; but as daylight began to break, these mistakes became less frequent. The presence and example of their leaders animated the Jews to the greatest exertions, while the knowledge that Titus was watching them inspired the Romans with even more than their usual courage and obstinacy. For nine hours, the conflict raged; and then the Romans, unable to make the slightest impression upon the resistance of the Jews, fell back again into Antonia. Finding that, in hand-to-hand conflict, his soldiers could not overcome the Jews, Titus ordered the erection of small embankments--two on the platform between the cloisters, the other two outside the cloister walls. But the work proceeded slowly, owing to the difficulty of procuring wood. The Jews, as usual, hindered the work as much as possible, with showers of missiles; and attempted to create a diversion, by a sortie and attack upon the camp of the Tenth Legion, on the Mount of Olives. This, however, was repulsed by the Romans, without great difficulty. As the cloisters leading to Antonia afforded great assistance to the Romans, in their attacks, the Jews set fire to the end of the cloisters touching the Temple wall; and a length of from twenty to thirty feet of each cloister was destroyed. The Romans destroyed a further portion, so as to afford more room for the men at work upon the embankments. The action of the Jews was, to a certain extent, a necessity; but it depressed the spirits of the inhabitants, for there was a prophecy: "When square the walls, the Temple falls!" Hitherto, Antonia and the connecting cloisters had been considered as forming part of the Temple, and had given it an irregular form; but the destruction of these cloisters left the Temple standing a massive square. The embankments presently rose above the height of the wall, and it was evident that this would soon be taken. The Jews retired from the roof of the cloister facing the embankment, as if despairing of further resistance; but they had previously stored great quantities of combustibles in the space between the cedar roof of the cloisters and the upper platform. The Romans on the embankment--seeing that the Jews had retired--without waiting for orders ran down and, planting ladders, scaled the wall. The Jews set up cries, as if of despair; and the Romans poured up on to the wall until a great mass of men were collected on the roof of the cloister. Then, on a sudden, flames shot up in all directions beneath their feet, and they found themselves enveloped in a sea of fire. Many were burned, or smothered by the smoke. Some stabbed themselves with their swords. Some leaped down into the outer court, and were there killed by the Jews. Many jumped down outside the walls, and were picked up dead or with broken limbs. Others ran along upon the top of the walls, until they were shot down by the Jewish missiles. But one man seems to have escaped. A soldier named Artorius, standing on the wall, shouted to the Romans below, "Whoever catches me shall be my heir." A soldier ran forward to accept the terms. Artorius jumped down upon him; killing him by his fall, but himself escaping unhurt. The fire extended along the whole of the western cloister; and the northern cloister was, next day, burned by the Romans and, thus, on the west and north sides the inner Temple was now exposed to the invader. All this time, famine had been continuing its work. The fighting men were so weakened that they had scarcely strength to drag their limbs along, or to hold their weapons; while horrible tales are told of the sufferings of such of the inhabitants who still survived--one woman, maddened by despair, cooking and eating her own infant. Occasionally a baggage animal or a Roman cavalry horse strayed near the walls, when a crowd of famishing wretches would pour out, kill and devour it. Titus, however, cut off even this occasional supply; by ordering a soldier, whose horse had thus fallen into the hands of the Jews, to be put to death for his carelessness. John's band had been greatly diminished in number, in the two days they had been fighting opposite Antonia. The stores they had brought to the city were now exhausted; although, for a long time, only the smallest amount had been issued, daily, to eke out the handful of grain still served out to each of the fighting men. A few only had, in their sufferings, refused to obey the orders of John and their officers, and had joined the bands of Simon and John of Gischala in the revolting cruelties which they practised, to extort food from the inhabitants. These had not been allowed to rejoin the band; which was now reduced to a little over fifty stern, gaunt, and famine-worn figures--but still unshaken in their determination to fight to the end. The Romans now pushed on a bank, from the western wall across the smouldering ruins of the cloister and inner court; and a battering ram began to play against the inner Temple but, after six days' efforts, and bringing up their heaviest battering ram, the Romans gave it up in despair; for the huge stones which formed the masonry of the wall defied even the ponderous machines which the Romans brought to play against it. An embankment, from the northern side, was also carried across the outer court to the foot of the most easterly of the four northern gates of the inner Temple. Still anxious to save the Temple itself, and its cloisters if possible, Titus would not resort to the use of fire; but ordered his men to force the gate, with crowbars and levers. After great efforts, a few of the stones of the threshold were removed; but the gates, supported by the massive walls and the props behind, defied all their efforts. Titus now ordered his soldiers to carry the walls by storm. Ladders were brought up; and the soldiers, eager for revenge upon the foe who had so long baffled and humiliated them, sprang to the assault with shouts of exultation. The Jews offered no resistance, until the Romans reached the top of the wall but, as they leaped down on to the roof of the cloister, they threw themselves upon them. Numbers were slain, as they stepped off the ladders on to the wall; and many of the ladders were hurled backward, crushing the soldiers crowded upon them on the pavement beneath. Then Titus ordered the standards of the legions to be carried up, thinking that the soldiers would rally round these, the emblems of military honour. The Jews, however, permitted the standards and numbers of the legionaries to ascend on to the roof of the cloisters; and then again fell upon them, with such fury that the Romans were overpowered, the standards were taken, and their defenders killed. Not one of the Romans who had mounted the wall retired from it. Titus could no longer resist the appeals of his infuriated soldiers who, maddened by the losses they had suffered, and the disgrace of the loss of the standards, could not understand why this loss was entailed upon them--when such an easy way of destroying the gate, and entering the Temple, was in their power. Most reluctantly, Titus gave the permission they clamoured for, and allowed his troops to set fire to the gate. The dry woodwork caught like tinder, and the flames mounted instantly. The silver plates which covered the woodwork melted, and ran down in streams; and the fire at once communicated with the cloisters inside the wall. Appalled at the sight of the inner court in flames, the Jews stood despairing; while the shouts of triumph of the Romans rose high in the air. During the rest of the day, and all through the night, the conflagration continued and extended all round the cloisters. Thus the Temple, itself, was surrounded by a ring of fire. The next day, the 4th of August, Titus called a council of his generals, to deliberate on the fate of the Temple. There were present, besides Titus, Tiberias Alexander, the second in command; the commanders of the Fifth, Tenth, and Fifteenth Legions; Fronto, the commander of the Alexandrian troops; and Marcus Antonius Julianus, the procurator of Judea. Some were for levelling the Temple to the ground. Others advised that, if abandoned by the Jews, it might be preserved; but if defended as a citadel, it ought to be destroyed. Titus listened to the opinions of the others; and then declared his own--which was that, whatever the use the Jews made of it, it ought to be preserved. Alexander, Cerealis, and Fronto went over to the opinion of Titus; and therefore, by a majority of one, it was agreed that the Temple should be spared, however fiercely the Jews might resist. Orders were given to prevent the fire spreading to the Temple, and to clear the ground for an assault against it. The 5th of August broke. It was on that day that the Temple of Solomon had been burned, by Nebuchadnezzar; but the courage of the Jews was not depressed by the omen. The brief pause had enabled them to recover from the despair which they had felt, in seeing the inner cloister in flames; and at eight o'clock in the morning, sallying from the Eastern Gate, they rushed down upon the Romans. The latter formed in close order and, covered by their shields, received the onslaught calmly. But so desperately did the Jews fight, and in such numbers did they pour out from the Temple, that the Romans had begun to give way; when Titus arrived, with great reinforcements. But even then, it was not until one o'clock that the Jews were driven back, again, into the walls of the inner Temple. Titus, having seen his troops victorious, retired to his tent; and the soldiers continued their work of clearing the platform, and extinguishing the smouldering fire of the cloisters. Suddenly the Jewish bands burst out again, and another deadly struggle commenced. Then one of the Roman soldiers, seizing a burning brand from the cloisters, hurled it into the window of one of the side chambers that inclosed the Temple on the north. In the furious struggle that was going on, none noticed the action; and it was not until the flames were seen, rushing out of the window, that the Jews perceived what had happened. With a cry of anguish, they discontinued the conflict, and rushed back to try and extinguish the flames. But the woodwork, dried by the intense heat of the August sun, was ripe for burning and, in spite of the most desperate efforts, the fire spread rapidly. The news that the Temple was on fire reached Titus and, starting up, accompanied by his bodyguard of spearmen--commanded by Liberatus--he hastened to the spot. His officers followed him and, as the news spread, the whole of the Roman legionaries rushed, with one accord, to the spot. Titus pushed forward into the first court of the inner Temple--the Court of the Women--and then into the inner court and, by shouts and gestures, implored his own soldiers, and the Jews alike, to assist in subduing the flames. But the clamour and din drowned his voice. The legionaries, pouring in after him, added to the confusion. So great was the crowd that many of the soldiers were crushed to death; while many fell among the ruins of the still smouldering cloisters, and were either smothered or burned. Those who reached the sanctuary paid no attention to the remonstrances, commands, or even threats of Titus; but shouted to those in front of them to complete the work of destruction. Titus pressed forward, with his guards, to the vestibule; and then entered, first the Holy, and then the Holy of Holies. After one glance at the beauty and magnificence of the marvellous shrine, he rushed back and again implored his soldiers to exert themselves to save it; and ordered Liberatus to strike down any who disobeyed. But the soldiers were now altogether beyond control, and were mad with triumph, fury, and hate. One of the bodyguard, as Titus left the sanctuary, seized a brand and applied it to the woodwork. The flames leaped up, and soon the whole Temple was wrapped in fire. The soldiers spread through the building, snatching at the golden ornaments and vessels, and slaying all they met--unarmed men, priests in their robes, women and children. Many of the Jews threw themselves into the flames. Some of the priests found their way on to the broad wall of the inner Temple; where they remained, until compelled by famine to come down, when they were all executed. Six thousand of the populace took refuge on the roof of the Royal Cloister, along the south side of the outer Temple. The Romans set fire to this, and every soul upon it perished. As soon as they felt that their efforts to extinguish the fire were vain, and that the Temple was indeed lost, John of Gischala, Simon, and John called their men together and, issuing out, fell with the fury of desperation upon the dense ranks of the Roman soldiers in the inner court and, in spite of their resistance, cut their way through to the outer court; and gained the bridge leading from the southwest corner, across the Valley of the Tyropceon, to the upper city; and were therefore, for a time, in safety. John, bewildered, exhausted, and heartbroken from the terrible events of the past few days, staggered back to his house, and threw himself on his couch; and lay there for a long time, crushed by the severity of the blow. Until now he had hoped that Titus would, in the end, spare the Temple; but he recognized, now, that it was the obstinacy of the Jews that had brought about its destruction. "It was God's will that it should perish," he said, to himself; "and Titus could no more save it than I could do." After some hours, he roused himself and descended to the room now occupied by the remnant of the band. Jonas and ten others, alone, were gathered there. Some had thrown themselves down on the ground. Some sat in attitudes of utter dejection. Several were bleeding from wounds received in the desperate fight of the morning. Others were badly burned in the desperate efforts they had made to extinguish the flames. Exhausted by want of food, worn out by their exertions, filled with despair at the failure of their last hopes, the members of the little band scarce looked up when their leader entered. "My friends," he said, "listen to me, if but for the last time. We, at least, have nothing to reproach ourselves with. We have fought for the Temple, to the last; and if we failed to save it, it is because it was the will of God that it should perish. At any rate, our duty is done. God has not given us our lives, and preserved them through so many fights, that we should throw them away. It is our duty, now, to save our lives, if we can. Now that the Temple has fallen, we are called upon to do no more fighting. "Let the bands of John of Gischala, and Simon, fight to the last. They are as wild beasts, inclosed in the snare of the hunter; and they merit a thousand deaths, for it is they who have brought Jerusalem to this pass, they who have robbed and murdered the population, they who have destroyed the granaries which would have enabled the city to exist for years, they who refused the terms by which the Temple might have been saved, they who have caused its destruction in spite of the efforts of Titus to preserve it. They are the authors of all this ruin and woe. They have lived as wild beasts, so let them die! "But there is no reason why we should die with them, for their guilt is not upon our heads. We have done our duty in fighting for the Temple, and have robbed and injured none. Therefore, I say, let us save our lives." "Would you surrender to the Romans?" one of the band asked, indignantly. "Do you, whom we have followed, counsel us to become traitors?" "It is not treachery to surrender, when one can no longer resist," John said, quietly. "But I am not thinking of surrendering. I am thinking of passing out of the city, into the country around. "But first, let us eat. I see you look surprised but, although the store we brought hither is long since exhausted, there is still a last reserve. I bought it, with all the money that I had with me, from one of Simon's men, upon the day when we came hither from the lower town. He had gained it, doubtless, in wanton robbery for, at that time, the fighting men had plenty of food; but as it was his, I bought it, thinking that the time might come when one meal might mean life to many of us. I have never touched it, but it remains where I hid it, in my chamber. I will fetch it, now." John ascended to his chamber, and brought down a bag containing about fifteen pounds of flour. "Let us make bread of this," he said. "It will give us each a good meal, now; and there will be enough left to provide food for each, during the first day's journey." The exhausted men seemed inspired with new life, at the sight of the food. No thought of asking how they were to pass through the Roman lines occurred to them. The idea of satisfying their hunger overpowered all other feelings. The door was closed to keep out intruders. Dough was made, and a fire kindled with pieces of wood dry as tinder, so that no smoke should attract the eye of those who were constantly on the lookout for such a sign that some family were engaged in cooking. The flat dough cakes were placed over the glowing embers, the whole having been divided into twenty-four portions. Some of the men would hardly wait until their portions were baked; but John urged upon them that, were they to eat it in a half-cooked state, the consequences might be very serious, after their prolonged fast. Still, none of them could resist breaking off little pieces, to stay their craving. "Let us eat slowly," John said, when the food was ready. "The more slowly we eat, the further it will go. When it is eaten, we will take a sleep for four hours, to regain our strength. There is no fear of our being called upon to aid in the defence. The Romans must be as exhausted as we are; and they will need thought, and preparation, before they attack our last stronghold, which is far stronger than any they have yet taken. If we had food, we could hold Mount Zion against them for months." As soon as the meal was over, all lay down to sleep. None had asked any question as to how their escape was to be effected. The unexpected meal, which John's forethought had prepared for them, had revived all their confidence in him; and they were ready to follow him, wherever he might take them. It was night when John called them to awake, but the glare of the vast pile of the burning Temple lit up every object. The brightness almost equalled that of day. "It is time," John said, as the men rose to their feet and grasped their arms. "I trust that we shall have no occasion to use weapons; but we will carry them so that, if we should fall into the hands of the Romans, we may fall fighting, and not die by the torments that they inflict upon those who fall into their hands. If I could obtain a hearing, so as to be brought before Titus, he might give us our lives; but I will not trust to that. In the first place, they would cut us down like hunted animals, did they come upon us; and in the second, I would not, now, owe my life to the clemency of the Romans." A fierce assent was given by his followers. "Now," John went on, "let each take his piece of bread, and put it in his bosom. Leave your bucklers and javelins behind you, but take your swords. "Jonas, bring a brand from the fire. "Now, let us be off." None of those with him, except Jonas, had the least idea where he was going; but he had instructed the lad in the secret of the pit and, one day, had taken him down the passages to the aqueduct. "You and I found safety before, Jonas, together, and I trust may do so again; but should anything happen to me, you will now have the means of escape." "If you die, I will die with you, master," Jonas said. And indeed, in the fights he had always kept close to John, following every movement, and ready to dash forward when his leader was attacked by more than one enemy; springing upon them like a wildcat, and burying his knife in their throats. It was to his watchful protection and ready aid that John owed it that he had passed through so many combats, comparatively unharmed. "Not so, Jonas," he said, in answer to the lad's declaration that he would die with him. "It would be no satisfaction to me that you should share my fate, but a great one to know that you would get away safely. If I fall, I charge you to pass out by this underground way; and to carry to my father, and mother, and Mary, the news that I have fallen, fighting to the last, in the defence of the Temple. Tell them that I thought of them to the end, and that I sent you to them to be with them; and to be to my father and mother a son, until they shall find for Mary a husband who may fill my place, and be the stay of their old age. My father will treat you as an adopted son, for my sake; and will bestow upon you a portion of his lands. "You have been as a brother to me, Jonas; and I pray you, promise me to carry out my wishes." Jonas had reluctantly given the pledge but, from that hour until John had declared that he would fight no more, Jonas had been moody and silent. Now, however, as he walked behind his friend, his face was full of satisfaction. There was no chance, now, that he would have to take home the news of his leader's death. Whatever befell them, they would share together. They soon reached the door of the house in which the pit was situated. It was entered, and the door closed behind them. The lamps were then lit. John led the way to the cellar, and bade the men remove the boards. "I will go first, with one of the lamps," he said. "Do you, Jonas, take the other, and come last in the line. "Keep close together, so that the light may be sufficient for all to see." Strengthened by the meal, and by their confidence in John's promise to lead them through the Romans, the band felt like new men; and followed John with their usual light, active gait, as he led the way. Not a word was spoken, till they reached the hole leading into the aqueduct. "This is the Conduit of King Hezekiah," John said. "When we emerge at the other end, we shall be beyond the Roman lines." Exclamations of satisfaction burst from the men. Each had been wondering, as he walked, where their leader was taking them. All knew that the ground beneath Jerusalem was honeycombed by caves and passages; but that their leader could not intend to hide there was evident, for they had but one meal with them. But that any of these passages should debouch beyond the Roman lines had not occurred to them. Each had thought that the passages they were following would probably lead out, at the foot of the wall, into the Valley of Hinnom or of Jehoshaphat; and that John intended to creep with them up to the foot of the Roman wall, and to trust to activity and speed to climb it, and make their way through the guard placed there to cut off fugitives. But none had even hoped that they would be able to pass the wall of circumvallation without a struggle. An hour's walking brought them to the chamber over the springs. "Now," John said, "we will rest for half an hour, before we sally out. Let each man eat half the food he has brought with him. The rest he must keep till tomorrow, for we shall have to travel many miles before we can reach a spot that the Romans have not laid desolate, and where we may procure food. "I trust," he went on, "that we shall be altogether unnoticed. The sentries may be on the alert, on their wall, for they will think it likely that many may be trying to escape from the city; but all save those on duty will be either asleep after their toils, or feasting in honour of their success. The fact, too, of the great glare of light over Jerusalem will render the darkness more intense, when they look in the other direction. "But if we should be noticed, it is best that we should separate, and scatter in the darkness; each flying for his life, and making his way home as best he may. If we are not seen, we will keep together. There is no fear of meeting with any Roman bands, when we are once fairly away. The parties getting wood will have been warned, by the smoke, of what has taken place; and will have hurried back, to gain their share of the spoil." At the end of the half hour, John rose to his feet and led the way along the passage to the entrance. When he came to the spot where it was nearly blocked up, he blew out his light, and crawled forward over the rubbish, until he reached the open air. The others followed, until all were beside him. Then he rose to his feet. The Temple was not visible, but the whole sky seemed on fire above Jerusalem; and the outline of the three great towers of the Palace of Herod, and of the buildings of the upper city, stood black against the glare. There was no sign of life or movement near as, with a quick, noiseless step, the little party stole away. None of them knew more than the general direction which they had to follow, but the glare of the great fire served as a guide as to their direction and, even at this distance, made objects on the ground plainly visible; so that they were enabled to pick their way among the stumps of the fallen plantations and orchards, through gardens, and by ruined villas and houses, until they reached the edge of the plateau, and plunged down into the valleys descending to the Dead Sea. After walking for two hours, John called a halt. "We can walk slowly now," he said, "and avoid the risk of breaking our legs among the rocks. We are safe, here; and had best lie down until morning, and then resume our way. There is no fear, whatever, of the Romans sending out parties, for days. They have the upper city to take, yet, and the work of plunder and division of the spoil to carry out. We can sleep without anxiety." It was strange, to them all, to lie down to sleep among the stillness of the mountains, after the din and turmoil of the siege when, at any moment, they might be called upon to leap up to repel an attack. But few of them went off to sleep, for some time. The dull feeling of despair, the utter carelessness of life, the desire for death and the end of trouble which had so long oppressed them--these had passed away, now that they were free, and in the open air; and the thoughts of the homes they had never thought to see again, and of the loved ones who would greet them, on their return, as men who had almost come back from the dead, fell upon them. They could go back with heads erect, and clear consciences. They had fought, so long as the Temple stood. They had, over and over again, faced the Romans hand to hand, without giving way a foot. They had taken no share in the evil deeds in the city, and had wronged and plundered no one. They did not return as conquerors, but that was the will of God, and no fault of theirs. At daybreak they were on their feet again, and now struck off more to the left; following mountain paths among the hills until, at last, they came down to the plain, within half a mile of the upper end of the Dead Sea. John here called his companions round him. "Here, my friends," he said, "I think it were best that we separated; laying aside our swords and, singly or in pairs, finding the way back to our homes. We know not in what towns there may be Roman garrisons, or where we may meet parties of their soldiers traversing the country. Alone, we shall attract no attention. One man may conceal himself behind a tree, or in the smallest bush; but the sight of a party, together, would assuredly draw them upon us. Therefore, it were best to separate. Some of you will find it shorter to cross the ford of the Jordan, three miles away; while others had best follow this side of the river." All agreed that this would be the safer plan and, after a short talk, each took leave of his leader and comrades, and strode away; until Jonas, alone, remained with John. "Will you cross the river, John, or follow this side?" Jonas asked. "I think we had best keep on this side, Jonas. On the other the country is hilly, and the villages few. Here, at least, we can gather fruit and corn, as we go, from the deserted gardens and fields; and two days' walking will take us to Tarichea. We can cross there, or take a boat up the lake." After waiting until the last of their comrades had disappeared from sight, John and his companion continued their way, keeping about halfway between Jericho and the Jordan. They presently bore to the left, until on the great road running north from Jericho. This they followed until nightfall, rejoicing in the grapes and figs which they picked by the roadside where, but a few months since, little villages had nestled thickly. Just before darkness fell they came upon a village which, although deserted, had not been burned--probably owing to some body of Roman soldiers having taken up their post there for a time. They entered one of the houses, lay down, and were soon fast asleep.	{ "id": "21614" }
18	: Slaves.	John was roused from sleep by being roughly shaken. He sprang to his feet, and found a number of men--some of whom were holding torches--in the room. Two of these had the appearance of merchants. The others were armed and, by their dress, seemed to be Arabs. "What are you doing here?" one of the men asked him. "We are peaceful travellers," John said, "injuring no one, and came in here to sleep the night." "You look like peaceful travellers!" the man replied. "You have two wounds yet unhealed on your head. Your companion has one of his arms bandaged. You are either robbers, or some of the cutthroats who escaped from Jerusalem. You may think it Iucky you have fallen into my hands, instead of that of the Romans, who would have finished you off without a question. "Bind them," he said, turning to his men. Resistance was useless. The hands of John and Jonas were tied behind their backs, and they were taken outside the house. Several fires were burning in the road, and lying down were three or four hundred men and women; while several men, with spears and swords, stood as a guard over them. John saw, at once, that he had fallen into the hands of a slave dealer--one of the many who had come, from various parts, to purchase the Jews whom the Romans sold as slaves--and already the multitude sold was so vast that it had reduced the price of slaves throughout Italy, Egypt, and the East to one-third of their former value. There were, however, comparatively few able-bodied men among them. In almost every case the Romans had put these to the sword, and the slave dealers, finding John and Jonas, had congratulated themselves on the acquisition; knowing well that no complaint that the captives might make would be listened to, and that their story would not be believed, even if they could get to tell it to anyone of authority. John and Jonas were ordered to lie down with the rest, and were told that, if they made any attempt to escape, they would be scourged to death. "The villains!" Jonas muttered, as they lay down. "Is it not enough to drive one mad to think that, after having escaped the Romans, we should fall into the hands of these rogues!" "We must not grumble at fate. Hitherto, Jonas, we have been marvellously preserved. First of all, we two were alone saved from Jotapata; then we, with ten others, alone out of six hundred escaped alive from Jerusalem. We have reason for thankfulness, rather than repining. We have been delivered out of the hands of death; and remember that I have the ring of Titus with me, and that--when the time comes--this will avail us." From the day the siege had begun, John had carried the signet ring of Titus; wearing it on his toe, concealed by the bands of his sandals. He knew that, were he to fall into the hands of the Romans, he would get no opportunity of speaking but, even if not killed at once, would be robbed of any valuable he might possess; and that his assertion that the ring was a signet, which Titus himself had given him would, even if listened to, be received with incredulity. He had therefore resolved to keep it concealed, and to produce it only when a favourable opportunity seemed to offer. "At any rate, Jonas, let us practise patience, and be thankful that we are still alive." In the morning, the cavalcade got into motion. John found that the majority of his fellow captives were people who had been taken captive when Titus, for the second time, obtained possession of the lower city. They had been sent up to Tiberias, and there sold, and their purchaser was now taking them down to Egypt. The men were mostly past middle age, and would have been of little value as slaves, had it not been that they were all craftsmen--workers in stone or metal--and would therefore fetch a fair price, if sold to masters of these crafts. The rest were women and children. The men were attached to each other by cords, John and Jonas being placed at some distance apart; and one of the armed guards placed himself near each, as there was far more risk of active and determined young men trying to make their escape than of the others doing so, especially after the manner in which they had been kidnapped. All their clothes were taken from them, save their loincloths; and John trembled lest he should be ordered also to take off his sandals, for his present captors would have no idea of the value of the ring, but would seize it for its setting. Fortunately, however, this was not the case. The guards all wore sandals and had, therefore, no motive in taking those of the captives, especially as they were old and worn. The party soon turned off from the main road, and struck across the hills to the west; and John bitterly regretted that he had not halted, for the night, a few miles further back than he did, in which case he would have avoided the slave dealers' caravan. The heat was intense, and John pitied the women and children, compelled to keep up with the rest. He soon proposed, to a woman who was burdened with a child about two years old, to place it on his shoulders; and as the guard saw in this a proof that their new captives had no idea of endeavouring to escape, they offered no objection to the arrangement which, indeed, seemed so good to them that, as the other mothers became fatigued, they placed the children on the shoulders of the male prisoners; loosing the hands of the latter, in order that they might prevent the little ones from losing their balance. The caravan halted for the night at Sichem, and the next day crossed Mount Gerizim to Bethsalisa, and then went on to Jaffa. Here the slave dealers hired a ship, and embarked the slaves. They were crowded closely together, but otherwise were not unkindly treated, being supplied with an abundance of food and water--for it was desirable that they should arrive in the best possible condition at Alexandria, whither they were bound. Fortunately the weather was fine and, in six days, they reached their destination. Alexandria was at that time the largest city, next to Rome herself, upon the shores of the Mediterranean. It had contained a very large Jewish population prior to the great massacre, five years before and, even now, there were a considerable number remaining. The merchant had counted upon this and, indeed, had it not been for the number of Jews scattered among the various cities of the East, the price of slaves would have fallen even lower than it did. But the Jewish residents, so far as they could afford it, came forward to buy their country men and women, in order to free them from slavery. When, therefore, the new arrivals were exposed in the market, many assuring messages reached them from their compatriots; telling them to keep up their courage, for friends would look after them. The feeling against the Jews was still too strong for those who remained in Alexandria to appear openly in the matter, and they therefore employed intermediaries, principally Greeks and Cretans, to buy up the captives. The women with children were the first purchased, as the value of these was not great. Then some of the older men, who were unfit for much work, were taken. Then there was a pause, for already many cargoes of captives had reached Alexandria, and the resources of their benevolent countrymen were becoming exhausted. No one had yet bid for John or Jonas, as the slave dealers had placed a high price upon them as being strong and active, and fitted for hard work. Their great fear was that they should be separated; and John had, over and over again, assured his companion that should he, as he hoped, succeed in getting himself sent to Titus, and so be freed, he would, before proceeding home, come to Egypt and purchase his friend's freedom. The event they feared, however, did not happen. One day a Roman, evidently of high rank, came into the market and, after looking carelessly round, fixed his eyes upon John and his companion, and at once approached their master. A few minutes were spent in bargaining; then the dealer unfastened the fetters which bound them, and the Roman briefly bade them follow him. He proceeded through the crowded streets, until they were in the country outside the town. Here, villas with beautiful gardens lined the roads. The Roman turned in at the entrance to one of the largest of these mansions. Under a colonnade, which surrounded the house, a lady was reclining upon a couch. Her two slave girls were fanning her. Illustration: 'Lesbia,' the Roman said, 'I have brought you two more slaves.' "Lesbia," the Roman said, "you complained, yesterday, that you had not enough slaves to keep the garden in proper order, so I have bought you two more from the slave market. They are Jews, that obstinate race that have been giving Titus so much trouble. Young as they are, they seem to have been fighting, for both of them are marked with several scars." "I dare say they will do," the lady said. "The Jews are said to understand the culture of the vine and fig better than other people, so they are probably accustomed to garden work." The Roman clapped his hands, and a slave at once appeared. "Send Philo here." A minute later a Greek appeared. "Philo, here are two slaves I have brought from the market. They are for work in the garden. See that they do it, and let me know how things go on. We shall know how to treat them, if they are troublesome." Philo at once led the two new slaves to the shed, at a short distance from the house, where the slaves employed out of doors lodged. "Do you speak Greek?" he asked. "As well as my native language," John replied. "My lord Tibellus is a just and good master," Philo said, "and you are fortunate in having fallen into his hands. He expects his slaves to work their best and, if they do so, he treats them well; but disobedience and laziness he punishes, severely. He is an officer of high rank in the government of the city. As you may not know the country, I warn you against thinking of escape. The Lake of Mareotis well-nigh surrounds the back of the city and, beyond the lake, the Roman authority extends for a vast distance, and none would dare to conceal runaway slaves." "We shall not attempt to escape," John said, quietly, "and are well content that we have fallen in such good hands. I am accustomed to work in a garden, but my companion has not had much experience at such work; therefore, I pray you be patient with him, at first." John had agreed with Jonas that, if they had the good fortune to be sold to a Roman, they would not, for a time, say anything about the ring. It was better, they thought, to wait until Titus returned to Rome--which he would be sure to do, after the complete conquest of Jerusalem. Even were they sent to him there, while he was still full of wrath and bitterness against the Jews--for the heavy loss that they had inflicted upon his army, and for the obstinacy which compelled him to destroy the city which he would fain have preserved, as a trophy of his victory--they might be less favourably received than they would be after there had been some time for the passions awakened by the strife to abate; especially after the enjoyment of the triumph which was sure to be accorded to him, on his return after his victory. The next day the ring, the badge of slavery, was fastened round the necks of the two new purchases. John had already hidden in the ground the precious ring, as he rightly expected that he would have to work barefooted. They were at once set to work in the garden. John was surprised at the number and variety of the plants and trees which filled it; and at the beauty and care with which it was laid out, and tended. Had it not been for the thought of the grief that they would be suffering, at home, he would--for a time--have worked contentedly. The labour was no harder than that on his father's farm; and as he worked well and willingly Philo, who was at the head of the slaves employed in the garden--which was a very extensive one--did not treat him with harshness. Jonas, although less skilful, also gave satisfaction; and two months passed without any unpleasant incident. The Roman slaves, save in exceptional instances, were all well treated by their masters, although these had power of life and death over them. They were well fed and, generally, had some small money payment made them. Sometimes, those who were clever at a handicraft were let out to other masters, receiving a portion of the wages they earned; so that they were frequently able, in old age, to purchase their freedom. There were four other slaves who worked in the garden. Two of these were Nubians, one a Parthian, the other a Spaniard. The last died, of homesickness and fever, after they had been there six weeks; and his place was filled up by another Jew, from a cargo freshly arrived. From him, John learned what had taken place after he had left Jerusalem. The bands of Simon and John of Gischala were so much weakened, by death and desertion, and were so enfeebled by famine, that they could not hope to withstand the regular approaches of the Roman arms, for any length of time. The two leaders therefore invited Titus to a parley; and the latter, being desirous of avoiding more bloodshed, of saving the Palace of Herod and the other great buildings in the upper city, and of returning to Rome at once, agreed to meet them. They took their places at opposite ends of the bridge across the Tyropceon Valley. Titus spoke first, and expostulated with them on the obstinacy which had already led to the destruction of the Temple, and the greater part of the city. He said that all the world, even to the distant Britons, had done homage to the Romans, and that further resistance would only bring destruction upon them. Finally, he offered their lives to all, if they would lay down their arms and surrender themselves as prisoners of war. Simon and John replied that they and their followers had bound themselves, by a solemn oath, never to surrender themselves into the hands of the Romans; but they expressed their willingness to retire, with their wives and families, into the wilderness, and leave the Romans in possession of the city. Titus considered this language, for men in so desperate a position, to be a mockery; and answered sternly that, henceforth, he would receive no deserters, and show no mercy, and that they might fight their hardest. He at once ordered the destruction of all the buildings standing round the Temple. The flames spread as far as the Palace of Helena, on Ophel, to the south of the Temple platform. Here the members of the royal family of Adiabene dwelt, and also in the Palaces of Grapte and Monobazus; and the descendants of Helena now went over to the Romans, and Titus, although he had declared that he would in future spare none, did not take their lives, seeing that they were of royal blood. Simon and John of Gischala, when they heard that the Adiabene princes had gone over to the Romans, rushed to the Palace of Helena, sacked it, and murdered all who had taken refuge in the building--seven thousand in number. They then sacked the rest of the outer lower town, and retired with their booty into the high town. Titus, furious at this conduct, ordered all the outer lower town to be burned; and soon, from the Temple platform to the Fountain of Siloam, a scene of desolation extended. The Roman soldiers then commenced to throw up banks, the one against Herod's Palace, the other near the bridge across the valley close to the Palace of Agrippa. The Idumeans, under Simon, were opposed to further resistance, and five of their leaders opened communication with Titus, who was disposed to treat with them; but the conspiracy was discovered by Simon, and the five leaders executed. Still, in spite of the watchfulness of Simon and John, large numbers of the inhabitants made their escape to the Romans who, tired of slaying, spared their lives, but sold the able-bodied as slaves, and allowed the rest to pass through their lines. On the 1st of September, after eighteen days' incessant labour, the bank on the west against Herod's Palace was completed, and the battering rams commenced their work. The defenders were too enfeebled, by famine, to offer any serious resistance and, the next day, a long line of the wall fell to the ground. Simon and John at first thought of cutting their way through the Roman ranks but, when they saw how small was the body of followers gathered round them, they gave up the attempt. They hesitated, for a moment, whether they should throw themselves into the three great towers, and fight to the last; or endeavour to fight their way through the wall of circumvallation. They chose the latter course, hurried down to the lower end of the upper city and, sallying out from the gate, they rushed at the Roman wall; but they had no engines of war to batter it, they were few in number and weakened by famine; and when they tried to scale the wall the Roman guards, assembling in haste, beat them back; and they returned into the city and, scattering, hid themselves in the underground caves. The Romans advanced to the great towers, and found them deserted. Titus stood amazed at their strength and solidity; and exclaimed that God, indeed, was on their side for that by man, alone, these impregnable towers could never have been taken. All resistance having now ceased, the Romans spread themselves through the city, slaughtering all whom they met, without distinction of age or sex. They were, however, aghast at the spectacle which the houses into which they burst presented. Some of these had been used as charnel houses, and had been filled with dead bodies. In others were found the remains of whole families who, with their servants, had shut themselves up to die of hunger. Everywhere the dead far outnumbered the living. The next day, Titus issued an order that only such as possessed arms should be slain, and that all others should be taken prisoners; but the Roman soldiers were too infuriated at the losses and defeats they had suffered even to obey the orders of Titus, and all save the able-bodied, who would be of value as slaves, were slaughtered. A vast number of those fit for slaves were confined in the charred remains of the Women's Court and, so weakened were these, by the ravages of famine, that eleven thousand of them are said to have perished. Of the survivors, some were selected to grace the triumphal procession at Rome. Of the remainder, all under the age of seventeen were sold as slaves. A part of those above that age were distributed, among the amphitheatres of Syria, to fight as gladiators against the wild beasts; and the rest were condemned to labour in the public works, in Egypt, for the rest of their lives. When all above the surface had been slain, or made prisoners, the Romans set to work methodically to search the conduits, sewers, and passages under the city. Multitudes of fugitives were found here, and all were slain as soon as discovered. Then the army was set to work, to raze the city to the ground. Every building and wall were thrown down, the only exception being a great barrack adjoining Herod's Palace--which was left for the use of one of the legions, which was to be quartered there for a time--and the three great towers--Hippicus, Phasaelus, and Mariamne--which were left standing, in order that they might show to future generations how vast had been the strength of the fortifications which Roman valour had captured. John of Gischala and Simon had both so effectually concealed themselves that for a time, they escaped the Roman searchers. At the end of some days, however, John was compelled by famine to come out, and surrender. Simon was much longer, before he made his appearance. He had taken with him into his hiding place a few of his followers, and some stone masons with their tools, and an effort was made to drive a mine beyond the Roman outposts. The rock however was hard, and the men enfeebled by famine; and the consequence was that Simon, like his fellow leader, was compelled to make his way to the surface. The spot where he appeared was on the platform of the Temple, far from the shaft by which he had entered the underground galleries. He appeared at night, clad in white, and the Roman guards at first took him for a spectre; and he thus escaped instant death, and had time to declare who he was. Titus had already left; but Terentius Rufus--who commanded the Tenth Legion, which had been left behind--sent Simon in chains to Titus, at Caesarea; and he, as well as John of Gischala, were taken by the latter to Rome, to grace his triumph. "It is strange," John said, when he heard the story, "that the two men who have brought all these woes upon Jerusalem should have both escaped with their lives. The innocent have fallen, and the guilty escaped--yet not escaped, for it would have been better for them to have died fighting, in the court of the Temple, than to live as slaves in the hands of the Romans." A month later, John learned the fate that had befallen the two Jewish leaders. Both were dragged in the triumphal procession of Titus through the streets of Rome; then, according to the cruel Roman custom, Simon was first scourged and then executed, as the bravest of the enemies of Rome, while John of Gischala was sentenced to imprisonment for life. The day after the news of the return to Rome and triumph of Titus arrived, John asked Philo to tell Tibellus that he prayed that he would hear him, as he wished to speak to him on a subject connected with Titus. Wondering what his Jewish slave could have to say about the son of the emperor, Tibellus, upon hearing from Philo of the request, at once ordered John to be brought to him. "Let me bring my companion, also, with me," John said to Philo. "He is my adopted brother, and can bear evidence to the truth of my statements." When they reached the colonnade Philo told them to stop there and, a minute later, Tibellus came out. "Philo tells me that you have something to say to me, concerning Titus." "I have, my lord," John said, and he advanced and held out the ring. The Roman took it, and examined it. "It is a signet ring of Titus!" he said, in surprise. "How came you by this? This is a grave matter, slave; and if you cannot account satisfactorily as to how you came possessed of this signet, you had better have thrown yourself into the sea, or swallowed poison, than have spoken of your possession of this signet." "It was given to me by Titus, himself." John said. The Roman made a gesture of anger. "It is ill jesting with the name of Caesar," he said, sternly. "This is Caesar's ring. Doubtless it was stolen from him. You may have taken it from the robber by force, or fraud, or as a gift--I know not which--but do not mock me with such a tale as that Caesar gave one of his signets to you, a Jew." "It is as I said," John replied, calmly. "Titus himself bestowed that ring upon me; and said that, if I desired to come to him at any time, and showed it to a Roman, it would open all doors, and bring me to his presence." "You do not speak as if you were mad," Tibellus said, "and yet your tale is not credible. "Are you weary of life, Jew? Do you long to die by torture? Philo has spoken well to me of you and your young companion. You have laboured well, and cheerfully, he tells me; and are skilled at your work. Do you find your lot so hard that you would die to escape it, and so tell me this impossible story? For death, and a horrible death, will assuredly be your portion. If you persist in this tale and, showing me this ring, say: 'I demand that you send me and my companion to Titus,' I should be bound to do so; and then torture and death will be your portion, for mocking the name of Caesar." "My lord," John said, calmly, "I repeat that I mock not the name of Caesar, and that what I have told you is true. I am not weary of life, or discontented with my station. I have been kindly treated by Philo, and work no harder than I should work at my father's farm, in Galilee; but I naturally long to return home. I have abstained from showing you this ring before, because Titus had not as yet conquered Jerusalem; but now that I hear he has been received in triumph, in Rome, he would have time to give me an audience; and therefore I pray that I may be sent to him." "But how is it possible that Titus could have given you this ring?" Tibellus asked, impressed by the calmness of John's manner, and yet still unable to believe a statement which appeared to him altogether incredible. "I will tell you, my lord, but I will tell you alone; for although Titus made no secret of it at the time, he might not care for the story to be generally told." Tibellus waved his hand to Philo, who at once withdrew. "You have found it hard to believe what I have told you, my lord," John went on. "You will find it harder, still, to believe what I now tell you; but if it is your command, I am bound to do so." "It is my command," Tibellus said, shortly. "I would fain know the whole of this monstrous tale." "I must first tell you, my lord, that though as yet but twenty-one years old, I have for four years fought with my countrymen against the Romans. "You see," he said, pointing to the scars on his head, arms, and body, "I have been wounded often and, as you may see for yourself, some of these scars are yet unhealed. Others are so old that you can scarce see their traces. This is a proof of so much, at least, of my story. My companion here and I were, by the protection of our God, enabled to escape from Jotapata, when all else save Josephus perished there. This was regarded by my countrymen as well-nigh a miracle, and as a proof that I had divine favour. In consequence a number of young men, when they took up arms, elected me as their leader and, for three years, we did what we could to oppose the progress of the Roman arms. It was as if a fly should try to stop a camel. Still, we did what we could, and any of the Roman officers who served under Titus would tell you that, of those who opposed them in the field, there was no more active partisan than the leader who was generally known as John of Gamala." "You, John of Gamala!" Tibellus exclaimed. "In frequent letters from my friends with the army I have read that name, and heard how incessant was the watchfulness required to resist his attacks, and how often small garrisons and parties were cut off by him. It was he, too, who burned Vespasian's camp, before Gamala. And you tell me, young man, that you are that Jewish hero--for hero he was, though it was against Rome he fought?" "I tell you so, my lord; and my adopted brother here, who was with me through these campaigns, will confirm what I say. I say it not boastingly, for my leadership was due to no special bravery on my part, but simply because the young men of the band thought that God had specially chosen me to lead them." "And now, about Titus," Tibellus said briefly, more and more convinced that his slave was audaciously inventing this story. "Once, near Hebron," John said, "I was passing through a valley, alone; when Titus, who was riding from Carmelia in obedience to a summons from Vespasian--who was at Hebron--came upon me. He attacked me, and we fought--" "You and Titus, hand to hand?" Tibellus asked, with a short laugh. "Titus and I, hand to hand," John repeated, quietly. "He had wounded me twice, when I sprang within his guard and closed with him. His foot slipped, and he fell. For a moment I could have slain him, if I would, but I did not. "Then I fainted from loss of blood. Titus was shortly joined by some of his men, and he had me carried down to his camp; where I was kindly nursed for a week, he himself visiting me several times. At the end of that time he dismissed me, giving me his signet ring, and telling me that if ever again I fell into the hands of the Romans, and wished to see him, I had but to show the ring to a Roman, and that he would send me to him." "And to him you shall go," Tibellus said, sternly; "and better would it have been that you had never been born, than that I should send you to him with such a tale as this." So saying, he turned away, while John and his companion returned to their work. The Roman officer was absolutely incredulous, as to the story he had heard; and indignant in the extreme at what he considered the audacity of the falsehood. Still, he could not but be struck by the calmness with which John told the story, nor could he see what motive he could have in inventing it. Its falsity would, of course, be made apparent the instant he arrived in Rome; whereas had he said, as was doubtless the truth, that he had obtained the ring from one who had stolen it from Titus, he might have obtained his freedom, and a reward for its restoration. After thinking the matter over for a time, he ordered his horse and rode into the city. One of the legions from Palestine had returned there, while two had accompanied Titus to Rome, and a fourth had remained in Judea. Tibellus rode at once to the headquarters of the commander of the legion. He had just returned, with some of his officers, from a parade of the troops. They had taken off their armour, and a slave was pouring wine into goblets for them. "Ah, Tibellus!" he said, "Is it you? Drink, my friend, and tell us what ails you, for in truth you look angered and hot." "I have been angered, by one of my slaves," Tibellus said. "Then there is no trouble in that," the Roman said, with a smile; "throw him to the fishes, and buy another. They are cheap enough, for we have flooded the world with slaves and, as we know to our cost, they are scarce saleable. We have brought two or three thousand with us, and can get no bid for them." "Yes, but this matter can't be settled so," Tibellus said; "but first, I want to ask you a question or two. You heard, of course, of John of Gamala, in your wars in Judea?" There was a chorus of assent. "That did we, indeed, to our cost," the general said; "save the two leaders in Jerusalem, he was the most dangerous; and was by far the most troublesome of our foes. Many a score of sleepless nights has that fellow caused us; from the time he well-nigh burnt all our camp before Gamala, he was a thorn in our side. One never knew where he was, or when to expect him. One day we heard of him attacking a garrison at the other end of the country, and the next night he would fall upon our camp. We never marched through a ravine, without expecting to see him and his men appearing on the hills, and sending the rocks thundering down among us; and the worst of it was, do what we would, we could never get to close quarters with him. His men could march three miles to our one; and as for our Arabs, if we sent them in pursuit, they would soon come flying back to us, leaving a goodly portion of their numbers dead behind them. He was the most formidable enemy we had, outside Jerusalem; and had all the Jews fought as he did, instead of shutting themselves up in their walled towns, we might have been years before we subdued that pestilent country." "Did you ever see this John of Gamala? Do you know what he was like, personally? Was he another giant, like this Simon who was executed at the triumph, the other day?" "None of us ever saw him--that is, to know which was he, though doubtless we may have seen him, in the fights--but all the country people we questioned, and such wounded men as fell into our hands--for we never once captured one of his band, unharmed--all asserted that he was little more than a lad. He was strong, and skilful in arms, but in years a youth. They all believed that he was a sort of prophet, one who had a mission from their God. "But why are you asking?" "I will tell you, presently," Tibellus said; "but first answer me another question. Was it not your legion that was at Carmelia, with Titus, when Vespasian lay at Hebron?" There was a general assent. "Did you ever hear of a wounded Jew being brought in, and tended there by order of Titus?" "We did," the general said; "and here is Plancus, who was in command of that part of the horse of the legion which formed the bodyguard of Titus, and who brought him into the camp. He will tell you about it." "Titus had received a message from Vespasian that he wished to see him," the officer signified by the general said, "and rode off at once, telling us to follow him. We armed and mounted, as soon as we could; but Titus was well mounted, and had a considerable start. We came up to him in a valley. He was standing by the side of his dead horse. He was slightly wounded, and his dirtied armour showed that he had had a sharp fight. Close by lay a Jew, who seemed to be dead. Titus ordered him to be carried back to the camp, and cared for by his own leech. That is all I know about it." "I can tell you more," the general said, "for Titus himself told me that he had had a desperate fight with the Jew; that he had wounded him severely, and was on the point of finishing him, when the Jew sprang at him suddenly and the sudden shock threw him to the ground; and that, strange as it might seem, although knowing who he was, the Jew spared his life. It was a strange story, and anyone besides Titus would have kept it to himself; and run his sword through the body of the Jew, to make sure of his silence; but Titus has notions of his own, and he is as generous as he is brave. By what he said, I gathered that the Jew abstained from striking, believing--as was truly the case--that Titus was more merciful than Vespasian, and that he would spare Jerusalem and their Temple, if he could. "And now, why all these questions?" "One more on my part first: what became of the Jew, and what was he like?" "That is two questions," the general replied; "however, I will answer them. Titus let him go free, when he was recovered from his wounds. He was a young man, of some twenty years old." "And do you know his name?" "I know his name was John, for so he told Titus; but as every other Jew one comes across is John, that does not tell much." "I can tell you his other name," Tibellus said. "It was John of Gamala." An exclamation of astonishment broke from the officers. "So that was John of Gamala, himself!" the general said. "None of us ever dreamt of it; and yet it might well have been for, now I think of it, the young fellow I saw lying wounded in the tent next to that of Titus answered, exactly, to the description we have heard of him; and the fact that he overcame Titus, in itself, shows that he had unusual strength and bravery. "But how do you know about this?" "Simply because John of Gamala is, at present, working as a slave in my garden." "You do not say so!" the general exclaimed. "We have often wondered what became of him. We learned, from the deserters, that he had entered into Jerusalem, and was fighting there against us. They all agreed that the men he had brought with him took no part in the atrocities of the soldiers of Simon, and John of Gischala; but that they kept together, and lived quietly, and harmed no man. It was they, we heard, who did the chief part in the three days' fighting at the breach of the lower town; but we never heard what became of him, and supposed that he must have fallen in the fighting round the Temple. "And so, he is your slave, Tibellus! How did you know it was he, and what are you going to do? The war is over, now, and there has been bloodshed enough and, after all, he was a gallant enemy, who fought us fairly and well." "He told me, himself, who he was," Tibellus said; "but I believed that he was lying to me. I had heard often of John of Gamala, and deemed that he was a brave and skilful warrior; and it seemed impossible that young man could be he. As to what I am going to do with him, I have nothing to do but what he has himself demanded--namely, to be sent to Titus. He produced the signet ring of Caesar; said that it was given to him by the general, himself; and that he told him that, if he presented it to a Roman at any time, he would lead him to his presence. I believed that he had stolen the ring, or had got it from somebody that had stolen it; and he then told me of the story, very much as you have told it--save that he said that, when he was well-nigh conquered by Titus, and sprang upon him, Caesar's foot slipped, and he fell--hinting that his success was the result of accident, rather than his own effort. He spoke by no means boastingly of it, but as if it was the most natural thing in the world." "There he showed discretion, and wisdom," the general said; "but truly this is a marvellous story. If he had not appealed to Caesar, I should have said, 'Give him his freedom.' You can buy a new slave for a few sesterces. This young fellow is too good to be a slave and, now that Judea is finally crushed, he could never become dangerous; but as he has demanded to be sent to Caesar, you must, of course, send him there. Besides, with the ideas that Titus has, he may be really glad to see the youth again. "But we shall like to see him, also. We all honour a brave adversary, and I should like to see him who so long set us at defiance." "I will bring him down, tomorrow, at this hour," Tibellus said; and then, taking leave of the officers, he mounted and rode back. On reaching home, he at once sent for John. "I doubted your story, when you told it to me," he said, "and deemed it impossible; but I have been down to the officers of the legion which arrived, last week, from Judea. It chances to be the very one which was at Carmelia, when Vespasian lay at Hebron; and I find that your story is fully confirmed--although, indeed, they did not know that the wounded man Titus sent in was John of Gamala--but as they admit that he answered, exactly, to the description which they have heard of that leader, they doubt not that it was he. "However, be assured that your request is granted, and that you shall be sent to Rome by the next ship that goes thither."	{ "id": "21614" }
19	: At Rome.	Tibellus at once ordered John to be released from all further work, the badge of slavery to be removed, and that he should be supplied with handsome garments, removed into the house, and assigned an apartment with the freedmen. The bearer of the signet of Titus--now that it was ascertained that the signet had been really given to him by Caesar--was an important person, and was to be received with consideration, if not honour. When these changes had been made, John was again brought before Tibellus. "Is there anything else that I can do for your comfort, as one who has been honoured by Titus, himself, our future emperor? You have but to express your wishes, and I shall be glad to carry them out." "I would ask, then," John said, "that my friend and companion may be set free, and allowed to accompany me to Rome. He is my adopted brother. He has fought and slept by my side, for the last four years; and your bounty to me gives me no pleasure, so long as he is labouring as a slave." Tibellus at once sent for Philo, and ordered the collar to be filed from the neck of Jonas, and for him to be treated in the same manner as John. The next day Tibellus invited John to accompany him to the barracks and, as he would take no excuses, he was obliged to do so. Tibellus presented him to the general and his officers, who received him very cordially; and were much struck with his quiet demeanour, and the nobility of his bearing. John had, for four years, been accustomed to command; and the belief, entertained by his followers, in his special mission had had its effect upon his manner. Although simple and unassuming in mind; and always ready, on his return to the farm, to become again the simple worker upon his father's farm; he had yet, insensibly, acquired the bearing of one born to position and authority. He was much above the ordinary height; and although his figure was slight, it showed signs, which could well be appreciated by the Romans, of great activity and unusual strength. His face was handsome, his forehead lofty, his eyes large and soft; and in the extreme firmness of his mouth and his square chin and jaw were there, alone, signs of the determination and steadfastness which had made him so formidable a foe to the Romans. "So you are John of Gamala!" the general said. "We have, doubtless, nearly crossed swords, more than once. You have caused us many a sleepless night, and it seemed to us that you and your bands were ubiquitous. I am glad to meet you, as are we all. A Roman cherishes no malice against an honourable foe, and such we always found you; and I trust you have no malice for the past." "None," John said. "I regard you as the instruments of God for the punishment of my people. We brought our misfortunes upon ourselves, by the rebellion--which would have seemed madness had it not, doubtless, been the will of God that we should so provoke you, and perish. All I ask, now, is to return to my father's farm; and to resume my life there. If I could do that, without going to Rome, I would gladly do so." "That can hardly be," Tibellus said. "The rule is that when one appeals to Caesar, to Caesar he must go. The case is at once taken out of our hands. Besides, I should have to report the fact to Rome, and Titus may wish to see you, and might be ill pleased at hearing that you had returned to Galilee without going to see him. Besides, it may be some time before all animosity between the two peoples dies out there; and you might obtain from him an imperial order, which would prove a protection to yourself, and family, against any who might desire to molest you. If for this reason, alone, it would be well worth your while for you to proceed to Rome." Three days later, Tibellus told John that a ship would sail, next morning; and that a centurion, in charge of some invalided soldiers, would go in her. "I have arranged for you to go in his charge, and have instructed him to accompany you to the palace of Titus, and facilitate your having an interview with him. I have given him a letter to present to Titus, with greetings, saying why I have sent you to him. "Here is a purse of money, to pay for what you may require on the voyage; and to keep you, if need be, at Rome until you can see Titus, who may possibly be absent. "You owe me no thanks," he said, as John was about to speak. "Titus would be justly offended, were the bearer of his signet ring sent to him without due care and honour." That evening Tibellus gave a banquet, at which the general and several officers were present. The total number present was nine, including John and the host--this being the favourite number for what they regarded as small, private entertainments. At large banquets, hundreds of persons were frequently entertained. After the meal John, at the request of Tibellus, related to the officers the manner of his escapes from Jotapata and Jerusalem, and several of the incidents of the struggle in which he had taken part. The next morning, he and Jonas took their places on board the ship, and sailed for Rome. It was now far in November, and the passage was a boisterous one; and the size of the waves astonished John, accustomed, as he was, only to the short choppy seas of the Lake of Galilee. Jonas made up his mind that they were lost and, indeed, for some days the vessel was in imminent danger. Instead of passing through the straits between Sicily and the mainland of Italy, they were blown far to the west; and finally took shelter in the harbour of Caralis, in Sardinia. Here they remained for a week, to refit and repair damages, and then sailed across to Portus Augusti, and then up the Tiber. The centurion had done his best to make the voyage a pleasant one, to John and his companion. Having been informed that the former was the bearer of a signet ring of Titus, and would have an audience with him, he was anxious to create as good an impression as possible; but it was not until Caralis was reached that John recovered sufficiently from seasickness to take much interest in what was passing round him. The travellers were greatly struck with the quantity of shipping entering and leaving the mouth of the Tiber; the sea being dotted with the sails of the vessels bearing corn from Sardinia, Sicily, and Africa; and products of all kinds, from every port in the world. The sight of Rome impressed him less than he had expected. Of its vastness he could form no opinion; but in strength, and beauty, it appeared to him inferior to Jerusalem. When he landed, he saw how many were the stately palaces and temples; but of the former none were more magnificent than that of Herod. Nor was there one of the temples to be compared, for a moment, with that which had so lately stood, the wonder and admiration of the world, upon Mount Moriah. The centurion procured a commodious lodging for him and, finding that Titus was still in Rome, accompanied him the next day to the palace. Upon saying that he was the bearer of a letter to Titus, the centurion was shown into the inner apartments; John being left in the great antechamber, which was crowded with officers waiting to see Titus, when he came out--to receive orders, pay their respects, or present petitions to him. The centurion soon returned, and told John to follow him. "Titus was very pleased," he whispered, "when he read the letter I brought him; and begged me bring you, at once, to his presence." Titus was alone in a small chamber, whose simplicity contrasted strangely with the magnificence of those through which he had passed. He rose from a table at which he had been writing. "Ah, my good friend," he said, "I am truly glad to see you! I made sure that you were dead. You were not among those who came out, and gave themselves up, or among those who were captured when the city was taken; for I had careful inquiry made, thinking it possible that you might have lost my ring, and been unable to obtain access to me; then, at last, I made sure that you had fallen. I am truly glad to see that it is not so." "I was marvellously preserved, then, as at Jotapata," John said; "and escaped, after the Temple had fallen, by a secret passage leading out beyond the wall of circumvallation. As I made my way home, I fell into the hands of some slave dealers, who seized me and my companion--who is my adopted brother--and carried us away to Alexandria, where I was sold. As you had not yet returned to Rome, I thought it better not to produce your signet, which I had fortunately managed to conceal. "When I heard that you had reached Rome, and had received your triumph, I produced the ring to my master Tibellus; and prayed him to send me and my companion here to you, in order that I might ask for liberty, and leave to return to my home. He treated me with the greatest kindness and, but that I had appealed to you, would of himself have set us free. It is for this, alone, that I have come here; to ask you to confirm the freedom he has given me, and to permit me to return to Galilee. Further, if you will give me your order that I and mine may live peacefully, without molestation from any, it would add to your favours." "I will do these, certainly," Titus said, "and far more, if you will let me. I shall never forget that you saved my life; and believe me, I did my best to save the Temple, which was what I promised you. I did not say that I would save it, merely that I would do my best; but your obstinate countrymen insisted in bringing destruction upon it." "I know that you did all that was possible," John said, "and that the blame lies with them, and not with you, in any way. However, it was the will of God that it should be destroyed; and they were the instruments of his will, while they thought they were trying to preserve it." "But now," Titus said, "you must let me do more for you. Have you ambition? I will push you forward to high position, and dignity. Do you care for wealth? I have the treasures of Rome in my gift. Would you serve in the army? Many of the Alexandrian Jews had high rank in the army of Anthony. Two of Cleopatra's best generals were your countrymen. I know your bravery, and your military talents, and will gladly push you forward." "I thank you, Caesar, for your offers," John said, "which far exceed my deserts; but I would rather pass my life as a tiller of the soil, in Galilee. The very name of a Jew, at present, is hateful in the ear of a Roman. All men who succeed by the favour of a great prince are hated. I should be still more so, as a Jew. I should be hated by my own countrymen, as well as yours, for they would regard me as a traitor. There would be no happiness in such a life. A thousand times better a home by the Lake of Galilee, with a wife and children." "If such be your determination, I will say nought against it," Titus said; "but remember, if at any time you tire of such a life, come to me and I will give you a post of high honour and dignity. There are glorious opportunities for talent and uprightness in our distant dependencies--east and west--where there will be no prejudices against the name of a Jew. "However, for the present let that be. Tomorrow I will have prepared for you an imperial order--to all Roman officers, civil and military, of Galilee and Judea--to treat you as the friend of Titus; also the appointment as procurator of the district lying north of the river Hieromax, up to the boundary of Chorazin, for a distance of ten miles back from the lake. You will not refuse that office, for it will enable you to protect your country people from oppression, and to bring prosperity upon the whole district. "Lastly, you will receive with the documents a sum of money. I know that you will not use it on yourself, but it will be long before the land recovers from its wounds. There will be terrible misery and distress; and I should like to think that in the district, at least, of my friend, there are peace and contentment. Less than this Caesar cannot give to the man who spared his life." John thanked Titus, most heartily, for his favours; which would, he saw, ensure his family and neighbours from the oppression and tyranny to which a conquered people are exposed, at the hands of a rough soldiery. Titus ordered an apartment to be prepared for him, in the palace; and begged him to take up his abode there, until a vessel should be sailing for Casarea. Slaves were told off to attend upon him, and to escort him in the city; and everything was done to show the esteem and friendship in which Titus held him. Titus had several interviews with him; and learned now, for the first time, that he was the John of Gamala who had so long and stoutly opposed the Romans. "If I had known that," Titus said, with a smile, "when you were in my hands, I do not think I should have let you go free; though your captivity would have been an honourable one. When you said that you would not promise to desist from opposing our arms, I thought that one man, more or less, in the ranks of the enemy would make little difference; but had I known that it was the redoubtable John of Gamala who was in my hands, I should hardly have thought myself justified in letting you go free." John, at the request of Titus, gave him a sketch of the incidents of his life, and of the campaign. "So you have already a lady love," Titus said, when he had finished. "What shall I send her? "Better nothing, at present," he said, after a moment's thought and a smile, "beyond yourself. That will be the best and most acceptable gift I could send her. Time, and your good report, may soften the feelings with which doubtless she, like all the rest of your countrywomen, must regard me; though the gods know I would gladly have spared Galilee, and Judea, from the ruin which has fallen upon them." In addition to the two documents which he had promised him, Titus thoughtfully gave him another, intended for the perusal of his own countrymen only. It was in the form of a letter, saying to John that he had appointed him procurator of the strip of territory bordering the Lake of Galilee on the east, not from any submission on his part, still less at his request; but solely as a proof of his admiration for the stubborn and determined manner in which he had fought throughout the war, the absence of any cruelty practised upon Romans who fell into his hands, of his esteem for his character, and as a remembrance of the occasion when they two had fought, hand to hand, alone in the valley going down from Hebron. The gold was sent directly on board a ship. It was in a box, which required four strong men to lift. A centurion, with twenty men, was put on board the ship; with orders to land with John at Casarea, and to escort him to his own home, or as near as he might choose to take them. Titus took a cordial leave of him, and expressed a hope that John would, some day, change his mind and accept his offer of a post; and that, at any rate, he hoped that he would, from time to time, come to Rome to see him. The voyage to Caesarea was performed without accident. "I shall look back at our visit to Rome as a dream," Jonas said, one evening, as they sat together on the deck of the ship. "To think that I, the goatherd of Jotapata, should have been living in the palace of Caesar, at Rome; with you, the friend of Titus, himself! It seems marvellous; but I am weary of the crowded streets, of the noise, and bustle, and wealth and colour. I long to get rid of this dress, in which I feel as if I were acting a part in a play. "Do not you, John?" "I do, indeed," John replied. "I should never accustom myself to such a life as that. I am longing for a sight of the lake, and my dear home; and of those I love, who must be mourning for me, as dead." At Caesarea, a vehicle was procured for the carriage of the chest, and the party then journeyed until they were within sight of Tarichea. John then dismissed his escort, with thanks for their attention during the journey, and begged them to go on to the city by themselves. When they were out of sight, he and Jonas took off their Roman garments, and put on others they had purchased at Caesarea, similar to those they were accustomed to wear at home. Then they proceeded, with the cart and its driver, into Tarichea; and hired a boat to take them up the lake. The boatmen were astonished at the weight of John's chest, and thought that it must contain lead, for making into missiles for slingers. It was evening when the boat approached the well-known spot, and John and his companion sprang out on the beach. "What shall we do with the chest?" one of the boatmen asked. "We will carry it to that clump of bushes, and pitch it in among them, until we want it. None will run off with it, and they certainly would not find it easy to break it open." This reply confirmed the men in their idea that it could contain nothing of value and, after helping John and Jonas to carry the chest to the point indicated, they returned to their boat and rowed away down the lake. "Now, Jonas, we must be careful," John said, "how we approach the house. It would give them a terrible shock, if I came upon them suddenly. I think you had better go up alone, and see Isaac, and bring him to me; then we can talk over the best way of breaking it to the others." It was nearly an hour before Jonas brought Isaac down to the spot where John was standing, a hundred yards away from the house; for he had to wait some time before he could find an opportunity of speaking to him. Jonas had but just broken the news, that John was at hand, when they reached the spot where he was standing. "Is it indeed you, my dear young master?" the old man said, falling on John's neck. "This is unlooked-for joy, indeed. The Lord be praised for his mercies! What will your parents say, they who have wept for you for months, as dead?" "They are well, I hope, Isaac?" "They are shaken, greatly shaken," old Isaac said. "The tempest has passed over them; the destruction of Jerusalem, the woes of our people, and your loss have smitten them to the ground but, now that you have returned, it will give them new life." "And Mary, she is well, I hope, too?" John asked. "The maiden is not ill, though I cannot say that she is well," Isaac said. "Long after your father and mother, and all of us, had given up hope, she refused to believe that you were dead; even when the others put on mourning, she would not do so--but of late I know that, though she has never said so, hope has died in her, too. Her cheeks have grown pale, and her eyes heavy; but she still keeps up, for the sake of your parents; and we often look, and wonder how she can bear herself so bravely." "And how are we to break it to the old people?" John asked. Isaac shook his head. The matter was beyond him. "I should think," Jonas suggested, "that Isaac should go back, and break it to them, first, that I have returned; that I have been a slave among the Romans, and have escaped from them. He might say that he has questioned me, and that I said that you certainly did not fall at the siege of Jerusalem; and that I believe that you, like me, were sold as a slave by the Romans. "Then you can take me in, and let them question me. I will stick to that story, for a time, raising some hopes in their breasts; till at last I can signify to Mary that you are alive, and leave it to her to break it to the others." "That will be the best way, by far," John said. "Yes, that will do excellently well. "Now, Isaac, do you go on, and do your part. Tell them gently that Jonas has returned, that he has been a slave, and escaped from the Romans; and that, as far as he knows, I am yet alive. Then, when they are prepared, bring him in, and let him answer their questions." The evening meal had been ended before Isaac had left the room to feed, with some warm milk, a kid whose dam had died. It was while he was engaged upon this duty that Jonas had come upon him. When he entered the room Simon was sitting, with the open Bible before him, at the head of the table; waiting his return to commence the evening prayers. "What has detained you, Isaac?" he asked. "Surely it is not after all these years you would forget our evening prayers?" "I was detained," the old man said, unsteadily and, at the sound of his voice, and the sight of his face, as it came within the circle of the light from the lamp, Mary rose suddenly to her feet, and stood looking at him. "What is it?" she asked, in a low voice. "Why," Simon asked calmly, "what has detained you, Isaac?" "A strange thing has happened," the old man said. "One of our wanderers has returned--not he whom we have hoped and prayed for most--but Jonas. He has been a slave, but has escaped, and come back to us." "And what is his news?" Simon asked, rising to his feet; but even more imperative was the unspoken question on Mary's white face, and parted lips. "He gives us hope," Isaac said to her. "So far as he knows, John may yet be alive." "I knew it, I knew it!" Mary said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "O Lord, I thank thee. Why have I doubted Thy mercy?" And she stood, for a moment, with head thrown back and eyes upraised; then she swayed suddenly, and would have fallen, had not Isaac run forward and supported her until, at Martha's cry, two of the maids hastened up and placed her on a seat. Some water was held to her lips. She drank a little, and then said, faintly, "Tell us more, Isaac." "I have not much more to tell," he replied. "Jonas says that John certainly did not fall in Jerusalem--as, indeed, we were told by the young man of his band who returned--and that he believes that, like himself, he was sold as a slave. "But Jonas is outside. I thought it better to tell you, first. Now, I will call him in to speak for himself." When Jonas entered, Martha and Mary were clasped in each other's arms. Miriam, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, was repeating aloud one of the Psalms of thanksgiving; while Simon stood with head bent low, and his hands grasping the table, upon which the tears were raining down in heavy drops. It was some little time before they could question Jonas further. Martha and Mary had embraced him as if he had been the son of one, the brother of the other. Simon solemnly blessed him, and welcomed him as one from the dead. Then they gathered round to hear his story. "John and I both escaped all the dangers of the siege," he said. "We were wounded several times, but never seriously. God seemed to watch over us; and although at the last, of the six hundred men with which we entered Jerusalem there were but twelve who remained alive, we were among them." "Yes, yes, we knew that," Martha said. "News was brought by a young man of his band, who belonged to a village on the lake, that twelve of you had escaped together on the day the Temple fell. The others all returned to their homes, but no news ever came of you; and they said that some party of Romans must have killed you--what else could have befallen you? And now we are in February--nearly six months have passed--and no word of you!" "We were carried off as slaves," Jonas said, "and taken, like Joseph, to be sold in Egypt." "And have you seen him, since?" Simon asked. "Yes, I saw him in Egypt." "And he was well then?" "Quite well," Jonas replied. "I was sent to Rome, and thence managed to make my way back by ship." "We must purchase him back," Simon said. "Surely that must be possible! I have money, still. I will make the journey, myself, and buy him." And he rose to his feet, as if to start at once. "Well, not now," he went on, in answer to the hand which Martha laid on his shoulder, "but tomorrow." While he was speaking, Mary had touched Jonas, gazing into his face with the same eager question her eyes had asked Isaac. The thought that Jonas was not alone had flashed across her. He nodded slightly, and looked towards the door. In a moment she was gone. "John!" she cried, as she ran out of the house; at first in a low tone, but louder and louder as she ran on. "John! John! Where are you?" A figure stepped out from among the trees, and Mary fell into his arms. A few minutes later, she re-entered the room. "Father," she said, going up to Simon, while she took Martha's hand in hers, "do you remember you told me, once, that when you were a young man you went to hear the preaching of a teacher of the sect of the Essenes, whom they afterwards slew. You thought he was a good man, and a great teacher; and you said he told a parable, and you remembered the very words. I think I remember them, now: "'And his father saw him, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him, and said, "Let us be merry, for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is found."' "And so, father, is it even unto us." Illustration: The Return of John to his House on the Lake. Martha gave a loud cry, and turned to the door and, in another moment, was clasped in John's arms. Then his father fell on his neck. There was no happier household in the land than that which joined in the Psalms of thanksgiving that night. The news spread quickly to the fishermen's cottages, and the neighbours flocked in to congratulate Simon and Martha on the return of their son; and it was long since the strains of the songs of joy had floated out so clear and strong over the water of Galilee for, for years, strains of lamentation and humiliation, alone, had been on the lips of the Jewish maidens. After the service of song was over, Miriam and the maids loaded the table, while Isaac fetched a skin of the oldest wine from the cellar, and all who had assembled were invited to join the feast. When the neighbours had retired, John asked his father and Isaac to come down with him, and Jonas, to the side of the lake, to bring up a chest that was lying there. "It is rather too heavy for Jonas and me to carry, alone." "It would have been better, my son, to have asked some of our neighbours. They would gladly have assisted you, and Isaac and I have not, between us, the strength of one man." "I know it, father, but I do not wish that any, besides ourselves, should know that the box is here. We will take a pole and a rope with us, and can adjust the weight so that your portion shall not be beyond your strength." On arriving at the spot, Simon was surprised at seeing a small box, which it would be thought a woman could have lifted, with ease. "Is this the box of which you spoke, John? Surely you want no aid to carry this up?" "We do, indeed, father, as you will see." With the assistance of Jonas, John put the rope round the box, and slung it to the pole near one end. He and Jonas then took this end. Simon and Isaac lifted that farthest from the box, so that but a small share of the weight rested upon them. So the chest was carried up to the house. "What is this you have brought home?" Martha asked, as they laid the box down in the principal room. "It is gold, mother--gold to be used for the relief of the poor and distressed, for those who have been made homeless and fatherless in this war. It was a gift to me, as I will tell you, tomorrow; but I need not say that I would not touch one penny of it, for it is Roman gold. But it will place it in our power to do immense good, among the poor. We had best bury it, just beneath the floor, so that we can readily get at it when we have need." "It is a great responsibility, my son," Simon said; "but truly, there are thousands of homeless and starving families who sought refuge among the hills, when their towns and villages were destroyed by the Romans and, with this store of gold, which must be of great value, truly great things can be done towards relieving their necessities." The next morning, John related to his family the various incidents which had befallen him and Jonas since they had last parted; and their surprise was unbounded, when he produced the three documents with which he had been furnished by Titus. The letters, saying that the favour of Caesar had been bestowed upon John as a token of admiration, only, for the bravery with which he had fought, and ordering that all Romans should treat him as one having the favour and friendship of Titus, gave them unbounded satisfaction. That appointing him procurator of the whole district bordering the lake to the east surprised, and almost bewildered them. "But what are you going to do, my son? Are you going to leave us, and live in a palace, and appear as a Roman officer?" "I am not thinking of doing that, father," John said, with a smile. "For myself I would much rather that this dignity had not been conferred on me by Titus; and I would gladly put this commission, with its imperial seal, into the fire. But I feel that I cannot do this, for it gives me great power of doing good to our neighbours. I shall be able to protect them from all oppression by Roman soldiers, or by tax gatherers. There is no occasion for me to live in a palace, or to wear the garments of a Roman official. The letter of Titus shows that it is to a Jew that he has given this power, and as a Jew I shall use it. "While journeying here from Rome, I have thought much over the matter. At first, I thought of suppressing the order. Then, I felt that a power of good had been given into my hands; and that I had no right, from selfish reasons, to shrink from its execution. Doubtless, at first I shall be misunderstood. They will say that I, like Josephus, have turned traitor, and have gone over to the Romans. Even were it so, I should have done no more than all the people of Tiberias, Sepphoris, and other cities which submitted to them. "But I do not think this feeling will last long. All those who fought with me outside Jerusalem, against the Romans, know that I was faithful to the cause of my country. The few survivors of the band I led into Jerusalem can testify that I fought until the Temple fell, and that I escaped by my own devices, and not from any agreement with the Romans. "Moreover they will, in time, judge me by my acts. I shall rule, as I said, as a Jew, and not as a Roman--rule as did the judges in the old times, sitting under my own fig tree, here, and listening to the complaints that may be brought to me--and I trust that wisdom will be given to me, by the Lord, to judge wisely and justly among them." "You have decided well, my son," Simon said. "May God's blessing be upon you! "What think you, little Mary? How do you like the prospect of being the wife of the ruler of this district?" "I would rather that he had been the ruler only of this farm," Mary said, "but I see that a great power of good has been given into his hands, and it is not for me to complain." "That reminds me," Simon said, "of what Martha and I were speaking together, last night. You have both waited long. There is no occasion for longer tarrying. The marriage feast will be prepared, and we will summon our neighbours and friends to assemble here, this day week. "And now, John, what are you going to do?" "I am going, father, at once to Hippos, the chief town in the district. I shall see the authorities of the town, and the captain of the Roman garrison, and lay before them the commission of Caesar. I shall then issue a proclamation, announcing to all people within the limits of the district that have been marked out that I have authority, from Rome, to judge all matters that may come before me, in the district; and that all who have causes of complaint, or who have been wronged by any, will find me here, ready to hear their cause, and to order justice to be rendered to them. I shall also say that I shall shortly make a tour through the district, to see for myself into the condition of things, and to give aid to such as need it." Great was the surprise of the Roman and Jewish authorities, in Hippos, when John produced the imperial commission. There was, however, no doubting or disputing it. The Roman officers at once placed themselves under his orders, and issued proclamations of their own, in addition to that of John, notifying the fact to all the inhabitants of the district. Among the Jewish authorities there was, at first, some feeling of jealousy that this young man should be placed over them; but they felt, nevertheless, the great benefits that would arise from the protection which one of their own countrymen, high in the favour of Titus, would be able to afford them. When showing his commission, John had also produced the letter of Titus, giving his reasons for the nomination; and indeed, the younger men in the district, many of whom had followed John in his first campaigns--and who had hitherto, in accordance with the oath of secrecy taken on enrollment, concealed their knowledge that John of Gamala was the son of Simon--now proclaimed the fact, and hailed his appointment with joy. On the appointed day, the marriage of John and Mary took place and, as the news had spread through the country, a vast gathering assembled, and it was made the occasion of a public demonstration. The preparations which Martha and Mary had made for the feast, ample as they had been, would have availed but little among such a multitude; but Isaac and the menservants drove in and slaughtered several cattle and, as those who came for the most part bore presents of wine, oil, bread, goats, and other articles, and the neighbours lent their assistance in preparing a feast at the great fires which were lighted along the shore, while Simon contributed all the contents of his wine store, the feast proved ample for all assembled. John and his wife moved among the throng, receiving congratulations and good wishes; Mary blushing, and tearful with happiness and pride in the honour paid to John; John himself radiant with pleasure, and with satisfaction at the thought of the good which the power, so strangely conferred upon him, would enable him to effect for his neighbours. After that, things went on in their ordinary routine at the farm; save that John was frequently away visiting among the villages of the district, which was some thirty miles long by ten wide. The northern portion was thinly inhabited; but in the south the villages were thick, and the people had suffered greatly from the excursions of the Roman foragers, at the time of the siege of Gamala. Many of the villages had been rebuilt, since that time; but there was still great distress, heightened by the number of fugitives from the other side of Jordan. The aid which John gave enabled most of the fugitives in his district to return to their distant villages, and to rebuild their homes, where there was now little fear of their being again disturbed. The distress in his own district was also relieved. In some cases money was given, in others lent, to enable the cultivators to till their fields, to replant vineyards, and to purchase flocks so that, in the course of a year, the whole district was restored to its normal appearance, and the signs of the destructive war were almost entirely effaced. Then John was able to settle down in his quiet home. In the morning he worked with his father. In the afternoon he listened to the complaints, or petitions, of those who came before him; settling disputes between neighbours, hearing the stories of those who considered that they were too hardly pressed upon by the tax collector, and doing justice to those who were wronged. Soon after he married, mindful of the doctrines he had heard during his visit among the community of Nazarites by the Dead Sea, John made inquiries and found that many of the sect, who had left the land when the troubles with the Romans commenced, had now returned; and were preaching their doctrines more openly than before, now that those of the ancient religion could no longer persecute them. At Tiberias a considerable community of the sect soon established themselves; and John, going over, persuaded one of their teachers to take up his abode with him, for a time, and to expound their doctrines to him and his family. He was astonished at the spirit of love, charity, and goodwill which animated the teaching of the Christians--still more at the divine spirit that breathed in the utterances and animated the life of their Master. The central idea, that God was the God of the whole world--and not, as the Jews had hitherto supposed, a special Deity of their own--struck John particularly, and explained many things which had, hitherto, been difficult for him to understand. It would have been galling to admit as much, in the days of Jewish pride and stubbornness; but their spirit was broken, now; and John could understand that although, as long as the nation had believed in him and served him, God had taken a peculiar interest in them, and had revealed to them much of his nature and attributes--while the rest of the world had had been left to worship false gods--He yet loved all the world, and was now about to extend to all men that knowledge of him hitherto confined to the Jews. Above all, John saw how vastly higher was the idea of God, as revealed in the new teaching, than that which the Jews had hitherto entertained regarding him. A month after the arrival of the teacher, John and Mary were baptized into the new faith; and a few months later Simon and Martha, who had been harder to convince, also became converts. When Titus was raised to the imperial throne, John, in compliance with the request he had made him, journeyed to Rome, and remained there for a short time as his guest. Titus received him with affection. "I shall not try to tempt you with fresh offers of honours," he said, "though I regret that you should refuse to accept a sphere of wider usefulness. From time to time, I have heard of you from the reports of my governors; who say that the district under your charge is the most prosperous and contented in all Palestine, that there is neither dispute nor litigation there, that there are no poor, that the taxes are collected without difficulty; and that, save only that you do not keep up the state and dignity which a Roman official should occupy, you are in all respects a model ruler." "I have every reason to be thankful," John said. "I have been blessed in every way. My parents still survive. I am happy with my wife and children. Your bounty has enabled me to bind up the wounds, and relieve the distress caused by the war. My mind has been opened to heavenly teaching, and I try humbly to follow in the steps of that divine teacher, Jesus of Nazareth." "Ah, you have come to believe in him!" Titus said. "There are many of his creed, here in Rome, and they say that they are even on the increase. I would gladly hear, from you, something of him. I have heard somewhat of him from Josephus, who for three years dwelt among the Essenes, and who has spoken to me very highly of the purity of life, the enlightenment, and religious fervour of that sect--to which, I believe, he himself secretly inclines; although, from the desire not to offend his countrymen, he makes no open confession of his faith." John, before he left, explained to the emperor the teachings of his Master; and it may be that the wisdom, humanity, and mildness which Titus displayed, in the course of his reign, was in no small degree the result of the lessons which he learned from John. The latter came no more to Rome but, to the end of his life, dwelt on the shore of Galilee, wisely governing his little district after the manner of the judges of old. Jonas never left his friend. He married the daughter of one of the fishermen, and lived in a small house which Simon built for him, close to his own. At the death of the latter, he became John's right hand on the farm; and remained his friend, and brother, to the end.	{ "id": "21614" }
1	THE HUNTER.	On a beautiful summer evening, not many years ago, a man was seen to ascend the side of a little mound or hillock, on the top of which he lingered to gaze upon the wild scenery that lay stretched out before him. The man wore the leathern coat and leggings of a North American hunter, or trapper, or backwoodsman; and well did he deserve all these titles, for Jasper Derry was known to his friends as the best hunter, the most successful trapper, and the boldest man in the backwoods. Jasper was big and strong as well as bold, but he was not a bully. Men of true courage are in general peacefully disposed. Jasper could fight like a lion when there was occasion to do so; but he was gentle and grave, and quiet by nature. He was also extremely good-humoured; had a low soft voice, and, both in mind and body, seemed to delight in a state of repose. We have said that his coat was made of leather; the moccasins or Indian shoes on his feet were made of the same material. When Jasper first put them on they were soft like a glove of chamois leather, and bright yellow; but hard service had turned them into a dirty brown, which looked more business like. The sun had burned his face and hands to as deep a brown as his coat. On his head he wore a little round cap, which he had made with his own hands, after having caught the black fox that supplied the fur, in one of his own traps. A coloured worsted belt bound his coat round his waist, and beneath the coat he wore a scarlet flannel shirt. A long knife and a small hatchet were stuck in the belt at his back, and in front hung a small cloth bag, which was so thickly ornamented with beads of many colours, that little of the cloth could be seen. This last was a fire-bag--so called because it contained the flint, steel, and tinder required for making a fire. It also contained Jasper's pipe and tobacco--for he smoked, as a matter of course. Men smoke everywhere--more's the pity--and Jasper followed the example of those around him. Smoking was almost his only fault. He was a tremendous smoker. Often, when out of tobacco, he had smoked tea. Frequently he had tried bark and dried leaves; and once, when hard pressed, he had smoked oakum. He would rather have gone without his supper than without his pipe! A powder-horn and shot pouch were slung over his shoulders by two cross belts, and he carried a long single-barrelled gun. I have been thus particular in describing Jasper Derry, because he is our hero, and he is worth describing, being a fine, hearty, handsome fellow, who cared as little for a wild Indian or a grizzly bear as he did for a butterfly, and who was one of the best of companions, as he was one of the best of hunters, in the wilderness. Having gained the top of the hillock, Jasper placed the butt of his long gun on the ground, and, crossing his hands over the muzzle, stood there for some time so motionless, that he might have been mistaken for a statue. A magnificent country was spread out before him. Just in front lay a clear lake of about a mile in extent, and the evening was so still that every tree, stone, and bush on its margin, was reflected as in a mirror. Here, hundreds of wild ducks and wild geese were feeding among the sedges of the bays, or flying to and fro mingling their cries with those of thousands of plover and other kinds of water-fowl that inhabited the place. At the lower end of this lake a small rivulet was seen to issue forth and wind its way through woods and plains like a silver thread, until it was lost to view in the far distance. On the right and left and behind, the earth was covered with the dense foliage of the wild woods. The hillock on which the western hunter stood, lay in the very heart of that great uncultivated wilderness which forms part of the British possessions in North America. This region lies to the north of the Canadas, is nearly as large as all Europe, and goes by the name of the Hudson's Bay Territory, or Rupert's Land. It had taken Jasper many long weeks of hard travel by land and water, in canoes and on foot, to get there; and several weeks of toil still lay before him, ere he could attain the object, for which his journey had been undertaken. Wicked people say that "woman is at the bottom of all mischief!" Did it never occur to these same wicked individuals, that woman is just as much at the bottom of all good? Whether for good or for evil, woman was at the bottom of Jasper Perry's heart and affairs. The cause of his journey was love; the aim and end of it was marriage! Did true love ever run smooth? "No, never," says the proverb. We shall see.	{ "id": "21715" }

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