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Won from the Waves

by William Henry Giles Kingston · English · Gutenberg #23602 · 721,715 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Won from the Waves

Author: William Henry Giles Kingston

Illustrator: John B. Greene


        
Release date: November 24, 2007 [eBook #23602]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23602

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WON FROM THE WAVES ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Won from the Waves, by W.H.G. Kingston.

________________________________________________________________________
This is a splendid book, one of Kingston's very best, written and
published at the very end of his life, and it will give you a very good
read.

Of course there are the usual swimming exercises, but there is just so
much more going on, that you will always be wanting to turn the next
page to see what happens.

________________________________________________________________________
WON FROM THE WAVES, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.



CHAPTER ONE.

ON THE PIER.

It was a gloomy evening.  A small group of fishermen were standing--at
the end of a rough wooden pier projecting out into the water and forming
the southern side of the mouth of a small river.  A thick mist, which
drove in across the German Ocean, obscured the sky, and prevented any
object being seen beyond a few hundred fathoms from the shore, on which
the dark leaden-coloured waves broke lazily in with that sullen-sounding
roar which often betokens the approach of a heavy gale.

On the north side of the river was a wide extent of sandy ground, where
the vegetation consisted of stunted furze-bushes and salt-loving plants
with leaves of a dull pale green, growing among patches of coarse grass,
the roots of which assisted to keep the sand from being blown away by
the fierce wintry gales which blew across it.  On the right hand of the
fishermen as they looked seaward, and beyond an intervening level space,
rose a line of high cliffs of light clay and sand extending far to the
southward, with a narrow beach at their base.  Parallel with the river
was a green bank, on the sides of which were perched several cottages,
the materials composing them showing that they were the abodes of the
hardy men who gained their livelihood on the salt deep.  The palings
which surrounded them, the sheds and outhouses, and even the ornaments
with which they were decorated, were evidently portions of wrecks.  Over
the door of one might be seen the figure-head of some unfortunate
vessel.  An arbour, not rustic but nautical, was composed of the carved
work of a Dutch galliot; indeed, the owners of few had failed to secure
some portion of the numerous hapless vessels which from time to time had
been driven on their treacherous coast.

On the level ground between the cliff and the river stood two or three
other cottages.  One, the largest of them, appeared to be built almost
entirely of wreck wood, from the uneven appearance presented by the
walls and roof, the architect having apparently adapted such pieces of
timber as came to hand without employing the saw to bring them into more
fitting shape; the chimney, however, and the lower portions of the
walls, were constructed of hewn stone, taken probably from some ancient
edifice long demolished.  Though the exterior of the cottage, with its
boat and fish sheds, looked somewhat rough, it had altogether a
substantial and not uncomfortable appearance.

The most conspicuous object in the landscape was a windmill standing a
little way to the southward on the top of the cliff.  Its sails were
moving slowly round, but their tattered condition showed that but a
small amount of grist was ground within.

Such was the aspect of the little village of Hurlston and its
surroundings towards the end of the last century.  It was not especially
attractive--indeed few scenes would have appeared to advantage at that
moment; but when sunshine lighted up the blue dancing waters, varied by
the shadows of passing clouds, the marine painter might have found many
subjects for his pencil among the picturesque cottages, their sturdy
inhabitants, the wild cliffs, and the yellow strand glittering with
shells.

Farther inland the country improved.  On the higher ground to the south
were neat cottages rising among shrubberies, the parish church with its
square tower, and yet farther off the mansion of Sir Reginald Castleton,
in the midst of its park, with its broad lake, its green meadows and
clumps of wide-spreading trees, surrounded by a high paling forbidding
the ingress of strangers, and serving to secure the herd of graceful
deer which bounded amidst its glades.

The fishermen--regardless of the driving mist, which, settling on their
flushing coats and sou'-westers, ran off them in streamlets--kept
turning their eyes seawards, endeavouring to penetrate the increasing
gloom.

"Here comes Adam Halliburt!" exclaimed one of them, turning round; "we
shall hear what he thinks of the weather.  If he has made up his mind to
go to sea to-night, it must come on much worse than it now is to keep
him at home."

As these words were uttered, a tall man a little past middle age,
strongly-built and hardy-looking as the youngest, habited like the rest
in fisherman's costume, was seen approaching from the largest of the
cottages on the level ground.  His face, though weather-beaten, glowed
with health, his forehead was broad, his bright blue eyes beaming with
good-nature and kindly feeling.  He was followed by a stout fisher-boy
carrying a coil of rope over his shoulders, and a basket of provisions
in his hand.  Two other lads, who had been with the men on the pier, ran
to meet him.

"They are doubtful about going to sea to-night.  What do you think of
it, father?" said the eldest.

"There is nothing to stop us that I see, Ben, unless it comes on to blow
harder than it does now," answered Adam, in a cheery voice.  "The
_Nancy_ knows her way to our fishing-grounds as well as we do, and it
must be a bad night indeed to stop her."

"What do you think of it, Adam?" asked two or three of the men, when he
got among them.

Halliburt turned his face seaward, sheltering his eyes with his hand
from the thick drizzle which the mist had now become.

"If the wind holds from the south-east there will be nothing to stop
us," he answered, after waiting a minute.  "It is likely, however, to be
a dirtier night than I had thought for--I will own that.  Jacob," he
said to his youngest boy, "do you go back and stay with your mother, she
wants some help in the house, and you can look after the pigs and
poultry before we are back in the morning."

Jacob, a fine lad of ten or twelve years, though he looked older, seemed
somewhat disappointed, as he had expected to have gone to sea with his
father and brothers.  Without attempting, however, to expostulate, he
immediately turned back towards the cottage, while the rest of the party
proceeded to the _Nancy_, a fine yawl which lay at anchor close to the
pier.

She was quickly hauled alongside, when some of the men jumped into her.
Before following them, Adam Halliburt took another glance seaward.  The
wind drove the rain and spray with greater force than before against his
face.

"We will wait a bit, lads," he said.  "There is no great hurry, and in a
few minutes we shall make out what the weather is going to be."

His own sons and some of the men remained in the boat, knowing that he
was not likely to give up his intention unless the weather speedily
became much worse.  Others followed him back to the pier-head, over
which the spray beat in frequent showers, showing that the sea had got
up considerably, even since they had left it.

They had retreated back a few paces to avoid the salt showers.  Adam
still seemed somewhat unwilling to give up putting to sea, when the dull
sound of a gun from the offing reached their ears.  Another and another
followed.

"There is a ship on Norton Sands," observed one of the men.  "Those guns
are too far off for that," answered Halliburt.  Two others followed, and
then came the thunder-sounding reports of several fired together.

"I was sure those were not guns of distress.  They come from ships in
action, depend on that; and the news is true we heard yesterday, that
the French and English are at it again," exclaimed Adam.  "I thought we
shouldn't long remain friends with the Mounsiers."

"Good luck be with the English ships!" cried one of the fishermen.

"Amen to that! but they must be careful what they are about, for with
the wind dead on shore, if they knock away each other's spars, they are
both more than likely to drift on Norton Sands, and if they do, the Lord
have mercy on them," said Adam, solemnly.  "Whichever gets the victory,
they will be in a bad way, as I fear, after all, it will be a dirty
night.  The wind has shifted three points to the eastward since I left
home, and it's blowing twice as hard as it did ten minutes ago.  We may
as well run the _Nancy_ up to her moorings, lads."

As one of the men was hurrying off to carry this order to the rest, a
heavier blast than before came across the ocean.  It had the effect of
rending the veil of mist in two, and the rain ceasing, the keen eyes of
the fishermen distinguished in the offing two ships running towards the
land, the one a short distance ahead of the other, which was firing at
her from her bow-chasers, the leading and smaller vessel returning the
fire with her after guns, and apparently determined either to gain a
sheltering harbour or to run on shore rather than be taken.  The moment
that revealed her to the spectators showed those on board how near she
was to the shore, though evidently they were not aware of the still
nearer danger of the treacherous sandbank.  An exclamation of dismay and
pity escaped those who were looking at her.

"If she had been half a mile to the nor'ard she might have stood through
Norton Gut and been safe," observed Halliburt; "but if she is a stranger
there is little chance of her hauling off in time to escape the sands."

While he was speaking, the sternmost ship was seen to come to the wind;
her yards were braced up, and now, apparently aware of her danger, she
endeavoured to stand off the land before the rising gale should render
the undertaking impossible.  The hard-pressed chase directly afterwards
attempted to follow her example.  She was already on a wind when again
the mist closed over the ocean, and she was hidden from sight.

"We will keep the _Nancy_ where she is," said Halliburt; "we don't know
what may happen.  If yonder ship drives on the sands--and she has but a
poor chance of keeping off them, I fear--we cannot let her people perish
without trying to save them; and though it may be a hard job to get
alongside the wreck, yet some of the poor fellows may be drifted away
from her on rafts or spars, and we may be able to pick them up.
Whatever happens, we must do our best."

"Ay, ay, Adam," answered several of his hardy crew, who stood around
him; "where you think fit to go we are ready to go too."

The party had not long to wait before their worst apprehensions were
realised.  The dull report of a gun, which their practised ears told
them came from Norton Sands, was heard; in another minute the sound of a
second gun boomed over the waters; a third followed even before the same
interval had elapsed.  That the ship had struck and was in dire distress
there could be no doubt, but when they gazed at the dark, heaving waves
which rolled in crested with foam, and just discernible in the fast
waning twilight, and felt the fierce blast against which even they could
scarcely stand upright on the slippery pier, hardy and bold as they
were, they hesitated about venturing forth to the rescue of the hapless
crew.  Long before they could reach the wreck darkness would be resting
on the troubled ocean; they doubted, indeed, whether they could force
their boat out in the teeth of the fierce gale.

Adam took a turn on the pier.  His heart was greatly troubled.  He had
never failed, if a boat could live, to be among the first to dash out to
the rescue of his fellow-creatures when a ship had been cast on those
treacherous sandbanks.  The hazard was great.  He knew that with the
strength of his crew exhausted the boat might be hurled back amid the
breakers, to be dashed on the shore; or, should they even succeed in
reaching the neighbourhood of the wreck, where the greatest danger was
to be encountered, they might fail in getting near enough to save any of
the people.

Every moment of delay increased the risk which must be run.

"Lads, we will try and do it," he said at length; "maybe she has struck
on the lowest part of the bank, and we shall be able to cross it at the
top of high water.  Come along, we will talk no more about it, but try
and do what we have got to do."

Just at that instant the words, uttered in a shrill, loud tone, were
heard:--

"Foolish men, have you a mind to drown yourselves in the deep salt sea!
Stay, I charge you, or take the consequence."

The voice seemed to come out of the darkness, for no one was seen.  The
men looked round over their shoulders.  Directly afterwards a tall thin
figure, habited in grey from head to foot, emerged from the gloom.
Those who beheld it might have been excused if they supposed it rather a
phantom than a being of the earth, so shadowy did it appear in the thick
mist.

"The spirit of the air forbids your going, and I, his messenger, warn
you that you seek destruction if you disobey him."

The men gathered closer to each other as the figure approached.  It was
now seen to be that of a tall, gaunt woman.  Her loose cloak and the
long grey hair which hung over her shoulders blew out in the wind,
giving her face a wild and weird look, for she wore no covering to
restrain her locks, with the exception of a mass of dry dark seaweed,
formed in the shape of a crown, twisted round the top of her head.

"I have seen the ship you are about to visit.  I knew what her fate
would be even yesternight when she was floating proudly on the ocean;
she was doomed to destruction, and so will be all those who venture on
board her.  If you go out to her, I tell you that none of you will
return.  I warn you, Adam Halliburt, and I warn you all!  Go not out to
her, she is doomed! she is doomed! she is doomed!"

As the woman uttered these words she disappeared in the darkness.  The
men stood irresolute.

"What, lads, are you to be frightened at what `Sal of the Salt Sea'
says, or `Silly Sally,' as some of you call her?" exclaimed Adam.  "Let
us put our trust in God, He will take care of us, if it's His good
pleasure.  It's our duty to try and help our fellow-creatures.  Do you
think an old mad woman knows more than He who rules the waves, or that
anything she can say in her folly will prevent Him from watching over us
and bringing us back in safety?"

Adam's appeal had its due effect.  Even the most superstitious were
ashamed of refusing to accompany him.  When he sprang on board the boat
his crew willingly followed.  He would have sent back his second boy
Sam, but the lad earnestly entreated to be taken.

"If you go, father, why should I stop behind?  Jacob will look after
mother, and I would rather share whatever may happen to you," he said.

Adam and his men were soon on board the boat: the most of them had
shares in her, and thus they risked their property as well as their
lives.  The oars were got out, and the men, fixing themselves firmly in
their seats, prepared for the task before them.

Shoving off from the shore, Adam took the helm.  The men pulled away
right lustily, and emerging from the harbour, in another minute they
were breasting the heaving foam-crested billows in the teeth of the
gale.  Sometimes, when a stronger blast than usual swept over the water,
they appeared, instead of making headway, to be drifting back towards
the dimly-seen shore astern.  Now, again exerting all their strength,
they once more made progress in the direction of the wreck.

All this time the minute guns had been heard, showing that the ship
still held together, and that help, if it came, would not be useless.
The sound encouraged Adam and his crew to persevere.  The reports,
however, now came at longer intervals than at first from each other.
Several minutes at length elapsed, and no report was heard.  Adam
listened--not another came.  The crew of the _Nancy_, however,
persevered, but even Adam, as he observed the slow progress they had
made, became convinced that their efforts would prove of no avail.

The gale continued to increase, the foaming seas leaped and roared
around them more wildly than before.  Even to return would now be an
operation of danger, but Adam with sorrow saw that it must be attempted.
For an hour or more no headway had been made.  He waited for a lull,
then giving the word, the boat was rapidly pulled round, and surrounded
by hissing masses of foam, she rapidly shot back within the shelter of
the harbour.  The sinews of her crew were too well strung to feel much
fatigue under ordinary circumstances, but the strongest had to
acknowledge that they could not have pulled much longer.

"We must not give it up, though, lads," said Adam.  "I am sure no
beachmen will be able to launch their boats to-night along the coast.
If the wind goes down ever so little, we must try it again; you will not
think of deserting the poor people if there is a chance of saving them,
I know that."

His crew responded to his appeal, and agreed to wait for the chance of
being able to get off later in the night.

Looking towards the landing-place, the tall figure of Sal of the Salt
Sea was seen standing on the edge of the pier gazing down upon them.

"Foolish men! you have had your toil for nought, yet it is well for you
that you could not reach the doomed ship.  I warned you, and you
disregarded me.  I commanded the winds and waves to stop your progress;
they listened to my orders and obeyed me.  You will not another time
venture to disregard my warnings.  Now go to your homes, and be thankful
that I did not think fit to punish you for your folly.  Again I warn you
that yonder ship is doomed! is doomed! is doomed!"

While the old woman was uttering these words in the same harsh, loud
tones as before, Adam and his crew were making their way to the
landing-place.  Before they reached it, however, the strange being had
disappeared in the darkness, though her voice could be heard as she took
her way apparently towards the cliffs.

"Again, lads, I say, don't let what you have heard from the poor mad
woman trouble you," exclaimed Adam.  "Come to my cottage, and we will
have a bite of supper, and wait till we have the chance of getting off
again."

Dame Halliburt, expecting them, had prepared supper.  The sanded floors
and rough chairs and stools which formed the furniture of her abode were
not to be injured by their dripping garments.  During the meal Adam, or
one of the men, went out more than once to judge if there was likely to
be a change.  Still the gale blew as fiercely as ever.  Some threw
themselves down on the floor to rest, while Adam, filling his pipe, sat
in his arm-chair by the fire, still resolved as at first to persevere.



CHAPTER TWO.

AT THE WRECK.

Thus the greater part of the night passed by.  Towards dawn Adam started
up.  The howling of the wind in the chimney and the rattling sound of
the windows which looked towards the sea decreased.

"Lads!" he shouted, "the gale is breaking, we may yet be in time to save
life, and maybe to get salvage too from the wreck.  We will be off at
once."

The crew required no second summons.  Telling his dame to keep up her
spirits, and that he should soon be back, he led the way to the pier.

Some of the men, hardy fellows as they were, looked round nervously,
expecting the appearance of Sal of the Salt Sea.  She did not return,
however, and they were soon on board.  The poor creature, probably not
supposing that they would again venture out, had not thought of being on
the watch for them.

Once more the _Nancy_, propelled by the strong arms of her hardy crew,
was making her way towards Norton Sands.  It was still dark as before,
but the wind had gone down considerably, and the task, though such as
none but beachmen would have attempted, seemed less hopeless.  After
rowing for some time amidst the foaming seas, Adam stood firmly up and
endeavoured to make out the ship.  At length he discovered a dark object
rising above the white seething waters: it was the wreck.  Two of her
masts were still standing.  She was so placed near the tail of the bank,
where the water was deepest, that he hoped to be able to approach to
leeward, and thus more easily to board her if necessary.

"We shall be able to save the people if we can get up to her soon,
lads," he exclaimed.  "Cheer up, my brave boys, it will be a proud thing
if we can carry them all off in safety."

The wind continued to decrease.  As they neared the bank, the force of
the sea, broken by it, offered less opposition.

Just then amidst the gloom he caught sight of another object at a little
distance from the wreck: it was a lugger under close-reefed sails
standing away on a wind towards the south.  "Can she have been visiting
the wreck?" thought Adam; "it looks like it.  If so, she must have taken
off the people.  Then why does she not run for Hurlston, where she could
most quickly land them?"

As these thoughts passed through his mind, the lugger, which a keen eye
like his alone could have discerned, disappeared in the darkness.

"I wonder if that can be Miles Gaffin's craft," he thought; "no one,
unless well acquainted with the coast, would venture in among these
sandbanks in this thick weather; she is more likely to be knocking about
here than any other vessel that I know of.  She has been after her usual
tricks, I doubt not."

Adam, however, did not utter his thoughts aloud.  Indeed, unless he had
spoken at the top of his voice he could not have been heard even by the
man nearest him, while all his attention was required in steering the
boat.

The crew had still some distance to pull, and their progress against the
heavy seas was but slow.  At length dawn began to break, and the wreck
rose clearly before them.  She was a large ship.  The foremast had gone
by the board, but the main and mizzen-masts, though the topmasts had
been carried away, were still standing.

With cool daring they pulled under her stern.  To their surprise, no one
hailed them--not a living soul did they see on the deck.

As a sea which swept round her lifted the boat, Adam, followed by his
son Ben and another man, sprang on board.  A sad spectacle met their
sight.  The sea had made a clean sweep over the fore part of the ship,
carrying away the topgallant, forecastle, and bulwarks, and, indeed,
everything which had offered it resistance, but the foremast still hung
by the rigging, in which were entangled the bodies of three or four men
who had either been crushed as it fell or drowned by the waves washing
over them.  The long-boat on the booms had also been washed away--
indeed, not a boat remained.  The guns, too, of which, though evidently
a merchantman, she had apparently carried several, had broken adrift and
been carried overboard, with the exception of the aftermost one, which
lay overturned, and now held fast a human being, and, as her dress
proved her to be a woman.  The complexion of the poor creature was dark,
and the costume she wore showed Adam that she was from the far-off East.
Ben lifted her hand; it fell on the deck as he let it go; it was
evident that no help could be of use to her.  Her distorted countenance
exhibited the agonies she must have suffered.

"She must have been holding on to the gun," observed Adam, "when it
capsized; and if I read the tale aright, she was standing there calling
to those in the boats to come back for her as they were shoving off.  If
the boats had not been lowered, we should have seen some of the wreck of
them hanging to the davits.  See, the falls are gone on both sides."

Having made a rapid survey of the deck, Adam looked seaward.

"We have no time to lose," he said, "for the sky looks dirty to
windward, and we shall have the gale down on us again before long, I
suspect.  We must first, though, make a search below, for maybe some of
the people have taken shelter there.  I fear, however, the greater
number must have been washed away, or attempted to get off in the
boats."

Adam, leading the party, hurried below.

The water was already up to the cabin deck, and the violent rocking of
the ship told them that it would be dangerous to spend much time in the
search.  No one was to be found.

"Let us have the skylight off, Tom, to see our way," said Ben.

Tom sprang on deck and soon forced it off, and the pale morning light
streamed down below.  Everything in the main cabin was in confusion.

"This shows that the people must have got away in the boats, and have
carried off whatever they could lay hands on, unless some one else has
visited the wreck since then," remarked Adam; and he then told Ben of
his having observed the lugger in the neighbourhood of the wreck.

"She looks to me like a foreign-built ship, although her fittings below
are in the English fashion," he observed, examining the cabins as far as
the dim twilight which made its way through the open hatch would allow.

"As we came under her stern I saw no name on it; I cannot make out what
she can be."

The lockers in the captain's state cabin were open, and none of his
instruments were to be seen.  Two or three of the other side cabins had
apparently been searched in a hurry for valuables.  The doors of the
aftermost ones were however still closed.  The violent heaving and the
crashing sounds which reached their ears, showing how much the ship was
suffering from the rude blows of the seas, made Adam unwilling to
prolong the search.  He and his companions secured such articles as
appeared most worth saving.

"Let us look into the cabin before we go," exclaimed Ben, opening the
door of one which seemed the largest.  As he did so a cry was heard, and
a child's voice asked, "Who's there?"  He and Adam sprang in.



CHAPTER THREE.

SAFE TO LAND.

As Adam Halliburt and his son sprang into the cabin, they saw in a small
cot by the side of a larger one, a little girl, her light hair falling
over her fair young neck.  She lifted her head and gazed at them from
her blue eyes with looks of astonishment mingled with terror.

"Is no one with you, my pretty maiden?" exclaimed Adam; "how came you to
be left all alone here?"

"Ayah gone.  I called, she no come back," answered the child.

"This is no place for you, my little dear, we will take care of you,"
said Adam, lifting her up and wrapping the bed clothes round her, for
she was dressed only in her nightgown.

"Oh, let me go; I must stay here till my ayah comes back," cried the
child; yet she did not struggle, comprehending, it seemed, from the kind
expression of Adam's countenance, that he intended her no harm.

"The person you speak of won't come back, I fear; so you must come with
us, little maid, and if God wills we will carry you safely on shore,"
answered Adam, folding the clothes tighter round the child, and grasping
her securely in his left arm as a woman carries an infant, and leaving
his right one at liberty, for this he knew he should require to hold on
by, until having made his way across the heaving, slippery deck, he
could take the necessary leap into the boat.

"It is wet and cold, we must cover you up," he said, adding to himself,
"The child would otherwise see a sight enough to frighten her young
heart."

The little girl did not again speak as Adam carried her through the
cabins.

"You must let go those things, lads, and stand ready for lending me a
hand to prevent any harm happening to this little dear," he said, as he
mounted the companion-ladder.

Before reaching the deck he drew the blanket over the child's face, and
then, with an activity no younger seaman could have surpassed, he sprang
to the side of the ship and grasped a stanchion, to which he held on
while he shouted to the crew of his boat, who had for safety's sake
pulled her off a few fathoms from the wreck, keeping their oars going to
retain their position.

"Pull up now, lads!  We have got all there is time for," he cried out.
"Ben and Tom, do you leap when I do.  I have a little maid here, my
lads, and we must take care no harm comes to her."

While he was speaking the boat was approaching.  Now she sank down,
almost touching the treacherous sands beneath her keel--now, as the sea
rolled in, part of which broke over the wreck, she rose almost to a
level with the deck.  Adam, who had been calculating every movement she
was about to make, sprang on board.  Steadying himself by the shoulders
of the men, he stepped aft with his charge.  Ben and Tom followed him.

The men in the bows, immediately throwing out their starboard oars,
pulled the boat's head round, and the next instant, the mast being
stepped and the sail hoisted, the _Nancy_ was flying away before the
following seas towards the shore.  Adam steered with one hand while he
still supported the child on his arm.

"You are all right now, my little maid," he said, looking down on her
sweet face, the expression of which showed the alarm and bewilderment
she felt, he having thrown off the blanket.

"We will soon have you safe on shore in the care of my good dame.  She
will be a mother to you, and you will soon forget all about the wreck
and the things which have frightened you."

As Adam turned a glance astern, he was thankful that he had not delayed
longer on board the wreck.  The wind blew far more fiercely than before,
and the big seas came hissing and foaming in, each with increased speed
and force.

The _Nancy_ flew on before them.  The windmill, the best landmark in the
neighbourhood, could now be discerned through the mist and driving
spray.  Adam kept well to the nor'ard of it.  The small house near the
pier-head, which served to shelter pilots and beachmen who assembled
there, next came into view, and the _Nancy_ continuing her course,
guided by the experienced hand of her master, now mounting to the top of
a high sea, now descending, glided into the mouth of the harbour, up
which she speedily ran to her moorings.

Adam, anxious to get his little maid, as he called her, out of the cold
and damp, and to place her in charge of his wife, sprang on shore.
Jacob, who had been on the look-out for the return of the _Nancy_ since
dawn, met him on the landing-place.

"Are all safe, father?" he asked, in an anxious tone.

"All safe, boy, praised be His name who took care of us, and no thanks
to that poor creature, Mad Sal, who would have frightened the lads and
me from going off, and allowed this little maid here to perish."

"What! have you brought her from the wreck?" inquired Jacob, eagerly,
looking into the face of the child, who at that moment opened her large
blue eyes and smiled, as she caught sight of the boy's good-natured
countenance.

"Is she the only one you have brought on shore, father?" he added.

"The only living creature we found on board, more shame to those who
deserted her, though it was God's ordering that she might be preserved,"
answered Adam.  "But run on, Jacob, and see that the fire is blazing up
brightly, we shall want it to dry her damp clothes and warm her cold
feet, the little dear."

"The fire is burning well, father, I doubt not, for I put a couple of
logs on before I came out; but I will run on and tell mother to be ready
for you," answered Jacob, hastening away.

Adam followed with rapid strides.

The dame stood at the open door to welcome him as he entered.

"What, is it as Jacob says, a little maid you have got there?" she
exclaimed, opening her arms to receive the child from her husband.

The dame was an elderly, motherly-looking woman, with a kindly smile and
pleasant expression of countenance, which left little doubt that the
child would be well cared for.

"Bless her sweet face, she is a little dear, and so she is!" exclaimed
the dame, as she pressed her to her bosom.  "Bless you, my sweet one,
don't be frightened now you are among friends who love you!" she added,
as she carried her towards the fire which blazed brightly on the hearth,
and observed that the child was startled on finding herself transferred
to the arms of another stranger.

"Bring the new blanket I bought at Christmas for your bed, Jacob, and I
will take off her wet clothes and wrap her in it, and warm her pretty
little feet.  Don't cry, deary, don't cry!" for the child, not knowing
what was going to happen, had now for the first time begun to sob and
wail piteously.

"Maybe she is hungry, for she could have had nothing to eat since last
night, little dear," observed Adam, who was standing by, his damp
clothes steaming before the blazing fire.

"We will soon have something for her, then," answered the dame.

Jacob brought the blanket, which the dame gave Adam to warm before she
wrapped it round the child.

"Run off to Mrs Carey's as fast as your legs can carry you, and bring
threepenny-worth of milk," she said to her son.  "Tell her why I want
it; she must send her boy to bring in the cow; don't stop a moment
longer than you can help."

Jacob, taking down a jug from the dresser, ran off, while the dame
proceeded to disrobe the little stranger, kissing and trying to soothe
her as she did so.  Round her neck she discovered a gold chain and
locket.

"I was sure from her looks that she was not a poor person's child, this
also shows it," she observed to her husband; "and see what fine lace
this is round her nightgown.  It was a blessed thing, Adam, that you
saved her life, the little cherub; though, for that matter, she looks as
fit to be up in heaven as any bright angel there.  But what can have
become of those to whom she belongs?  Of one thing I am very sure,
neither father nor mother could have been aboard, for they would not
have left her."

"I'll tell thee more about that anon," observed Adam, recollecting the
poor coloured woman whose wretched fate he had discovered; "I think thou
art right, mother."

The child had ceased sobbing while the dame was speaking, and now lay
quietly in her arms enjoying the warmth of the fire.

"She will soon be asleep and forget her cares," observed the dame,
watching the child's eyelids, which were gradually closing.  "Now, Adam,
go and get off thy wet clothes, and then cut me out a piece of crumb
from one of the loaves I baked yestere'en, and bring the saucepan all
ready for Jacob when he comes with the milk."

"I'll get the bread and saucepan before I take off my wet things,"
answered Adam, smiling.  "The little maid must be the first looked to
just now."

Jacob quickly returned, and the child seemed to enjoy the sweet
bread-and-milk with which the dame liberally fed her.

A bed was then made up for her near the fire, and smiling her thanks for
the kind treatment she received, her head was scarcely on the pillow
before she was fast asleep.



CHAPTER FOUR.

MAY'S NEW HOME.

"What are you going to do with her?" asked Jacob, who having stolen down
from his roosting-place after a short rest, found his father and mother
sitting by the fire watching over the little girl, who was still asleep.

"Do with her!" exclaimed Dame Halliburt, looking at her husband, "why,
take care of her, of course, what else should we do?"

"No one owns her who can look after her better than we can; we have a
right to her, at all events, and we will do our best for the little
maiden," responded Adam, returning his wife's glance.

"I thought as how you would, father," said Jacob, in a tone which showed
how greatly relieved he felt.  "I knew, mother, you would not like to
part with the little maid when once you had got her, seeing we have no
sister of our own; she will be a blessing to you and to all of us, I am
sure of that."

"I hope she will, Jacob; I sighed, I mind, when I found you were not a
girl, for I did wish to have a little daughter to help me, though you
are a good boy, and you mustn't fancy I love you the less because you
are one."

"I know that, mother," answered Jacob, in a cheerful tone; "but I don't
want her to work instead of me, that I don't."

"Of course not, Jacob," observed Adam; "she is a little lady born, there
is no doubt about it; and we must remember that, bless her sweet face.
I could not bear the thoughts of such as she having to do more work than
is good for her.  Still, as God has sent her to us, if no one claims her
we must bring her up as our own child, and do our best to make her
happy, and she will be a light and joy in the house."

"That I'm sure she will," interrupted Jacob; "and Ben and Sam and I will
all work for her, and keep her from harm, just as much as if mother had
had a little maid, that we will."

"Yes, yes, Jacob, I am sure of it," exclaimed the dame, smiling her
approval as she glanced affectionately at her son.

So the matter was settled, and the little girl was to be henceforth
looked on as the daughter of the house.

"Of course, dame, I must do what I can, though, to find out whether the
little maid has any friends in this country," observed Adam, after
keeping silence for some minutes, as if he had been considering over the
subject; "she may or she may not, but when I come to think of the poor
dark woman who was on board, and who I take to have been her nurse, she
must have come from foreign parts.  Still, as she speaks English, even
if her fair hair and blue eyes did not show that, it is clear that she
has English parents, and if they were not on board, and I am very sure
they were not, she must have been coming to some person in England, who
will doubtless be on the look-out for her.  So you must not set your
heart on keeping the little maiden, for as her friends are sure to be
rich gentlefolks she would be better off with them than with us."

"As to that Adam, I have been thinking as you have; but then you see
it's not wealth that gives happiness, and if we bring her up and she
knows no other sort of life, maybe she will be as happy with us as if
she were to be a fine lady," answered the dame looking affectionately at
the sleeping child.

"But right is right," observed Adam; "we would not let her go to be
worse off than she would be with us, that's certain; but we must do our
duty by her, and leave the rest in God's hands."

Just then the child opened her large blue eyes, and after looking about
with a startled expression, asked, "Where ayah?" and then spoke some
words in a strange-sounding language, which neither the fisherman nor
his wife could understand.

"She you ask for, my sweet one, is not here," said the dame, bending
over her; "but I will do instead of her, and you just think you are at
home now with those who love you, and you shall not want for anything."

While the dame was speaking the two elder lads came downstairs, and as
the appearance of so many strangers seemed to frighten the little girl,
Adam, putting on his thick coat and sou'-wester, and taking up his
spyglass, called to his sons to come out and see what had become of the
ship.

They found it blowing as hard as ever.  The sea came rolling towards the
shore in dark foaming billows.  The atmosphere was, however, clear; and
the wreck could still be distinguished, though much reduced in size.
While Adam had his glass turned towards it he observed the mizzen-mast,
which had hitherto stood, go by the board, and the instant afterwards
the whole of the remaining part of the hull seemed to melt away before
the furious seas which broke against it.

"I warned you that the ship was doomed, and that no human being would
reach the shore alive," shrieked a voice in his ears; "such will be the
fate, sooner or later, of all who go down on the cruel salt sea."

Adam turning saw Mad Sally standing near him, and pointing with eager
gestures towards the spot where the wreck had lately appeared.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she shouted, in wild, hoarse tones, resembling the cries
of the sea-gull as it circles in the air in search of prey.

  "Sad news, sad news, sad news I bring,
  Sad news for our good king,
  For one of his proud and gallant ships
  Has gone down in the deep salt sea, salt sea,
  Has gone down in the deep salt sea."

"Yonder ship has gone to pieces, there is no doubt about that, mother,"
said Adam; "but you were wrong to warn us not to go off to her, for go
off we did, and brought one of her passengers on shore who would have
perished if we had listened to you, so don't fancy you are always right
in what you say."

"If you brought human being from yonder ship woe will come of it.
Foolish man, you fought against the fates who willed it otherwise."

"I know nothing about the fates, mother," answered Adam; "but I know
that God willed us to bring on shore a little girl we found on board,
and protected us while we did so."

"Think you that He would have protected you when He did not watch over
my boy, who was carried away over the salt sea?" she exclaimed, making a
scornful gesture at Adam.  "He protects not such as you, who madly
venture out when in His rage He stirs up the salt sea, salt sea, salt
sea!" and she broke out into a wild song--

  "There were three brothers in Scotland did dwell,
  And they cast lots all three,
  Which of them should go sailing
  On the wide salt sea, salt sea;
  Which of them should go sailing
  On the wide salt sea;"

and, wildly flourishing her arms, she stalked away towards the cliffs,
up which she climbed, still making the same violent gestures, although
her voice could no longer be heard, till she disappeared in the
distance.

A number of people had collected along the beach, eagerly looking out
for any portion of the wreck or cargo which might be washed on shore,
but they looked in vain; the sands swallowed up the heavier articles,
while the rest were swept by the tide out to sea.  Nothing reached the
shore by which the name or character of the vessel which had just gone
to pieces could be discovered.

Adam Halliburt, finding that there was no probability of the weather
mending sufficiently to enable the _Nancy_ to put to sea, returned home.

"Look you, lads," he observed, calling his sons to his side; "you heard
what that poor mad woman said.  You see how she was all in the wrong
when she told us not to put off to the wreck, and warned us that we
should come to harm if we did.  Now, to my mind, she is just a poor mad
creature; but if she does know anything which others don't, it's Satan
who teaches her, and he was a liar from the beginning, and therefore she
is more likely to be wrong than right; and when you hear her ravings,
don't you care for them, but go on and do your duty, and God will take
care of you; leave that to Him."

"Ay, ay, father," answered Jacob; "she would have had us leave the
little maiden to perish, if we had listened to her; I will never forget
that."

While the elder lads went on board the _Nancy_ to do one of the
numberless jobs which a sailor always finds to be done on board his
craft, Jacob and his father entered the cottage.

The little girl was seated on the dame's knee, prattling in broken
language, which her kind nurse in vain endeavoured to understand.  She
welcomed the fisherman and his son with a smile of recognition.

"Glad to see you well and happy, my pretty maiden," said Adam, stooping
down to kiss her fair brow, his big heart yearning towards her as if she
were truly his child.

"Maidy May," she said, with an emphasis on the last word, as if wishing
to tell him her proper name.

"Yes, our `Maiden May' you are," he answered, misunderstanding her, and
from that day forward Adam called her Maiden May, the rest of the family
imitating him, and she without question adopting the name.



CHAPTER FIVE.

DAME HALLIBURT.

Dame Halliburt was a good housewife, and an active woman of business.
Every morning she was up betimes with breakfast ready for her husband
and sons waiting the return of the _Nancy_, and as soon as her
fish-baskets were loaded, away she went, making a long circuit through
the neighbouring country to dispose of their contents at the houses of
the gentry and farmers, among whom she had numerous customers.  She
generally called at Texford, though, as Sir Reginald Castleton lived
much alone, she was not always sure of selling her fish there, and had
often to go a considerable distance out of her way for nothing.  If Mr
Groocock, the steward, happened to meet her on the road he seldom failed
to stop his cob, or when she called at the house to come out and inquire
what was going on at Hurlston, or to gain any bits of information she
might have picked up on her rounds.

Maiden May had been for upwards of a year under her motherly care, when
one morning as she was approaching Texford with her heavily-loaded
basket, she caught sight of the ruddy countenance of Mr Groocock, with
his yellow top-boots, ample green coat, and three-cornered hat on the
top of his well-powdered wig, jogging along the road towards her.

"Good-morrow, dame," he exclaimed, pulling up as he reached her.  "I see
that you have a fine supply of fish, and you will find custom, I doubt
not, at the Hall this morning.  There are three or four tables to be
served, for we have more visitors than Sir Reginald has received for
many a day."

As he spoke he looked into the dame's basket, turning the fish with the
handle of his whip.

"Ah, just put aside that small turbot and a couple of soles for my
table, there's a good woman, will you?  You have plenty besides for the
housekeeper to choose from."

"I will not forget your orders, Mr Groocock," said the dame; "and who
are the guests, may I ask?"

"There is Mrs Ralph Castleton and her two sons, the eldest, Mr
Algernon, who is going to college soon, and Mr Harry, a midshipman, who
has just come home from sea; a more merry, rollicking young gentleman I
never set eyes on; indeed, if the house was not a good big one he would
turn it upside-down in no time.  There is also his sister, Miss Julia,
with her French governess, and Sir Reginald's cousins, the Miss
Pembertons.  One of them, the youngest, Miss Mary they call her, is
blind, poor dear lady; but, indeed, you would not think so to see the
bright smile that lights up her face when she is talking, and few people
know so much of what is going on in the world, not to mention all about
birds, and creeping things, and flowers.  The other day she was going
through the garden, when just by touching the flowers with her fingers
she was able to tell their colour and their names as well as the
gardener himself.

"Then there is a Captain Fancourt, a naval officer, a brother of Mrs
Ralph Castleton, and Mr Ralph Castleton himself is expected, but he is
taken up with politics and public business in London, and it is seldom
he can tear himself away from them."

"I suppose Mr Ralph, then, is Sir Reginald's heir," observed the dame.

"That remains to be seen," answered the steward.  "You know Sir Reginald
has another nephew older than Mr Ralph, who has been abroad since he
was a young man.  Though he has not been heard of for many years, he may
appear any day.  The title and estates must go to him, whatever becomes
of the personalty."

"You know when I was a girl I lived in the family of Mr Herbert
Castleton, their father, near Morbury, so I remember the young gentlemen
as they were then, and feel an interest in them, and so I should in
their children."

"Ah! that just reminds me that you or your husband may do Master Harry a
pleasure.  He has not been on shore many days before he is wanting to be
off again on the salt water, and who should he fall in with but Miles
Gaffin, who came up here to see me about the rent of the mill.  Master
Harry found out somehow or other that Miles had a lugger, and nothing
would content him but that he must go off and take a cruise in her.
Now, between ourselves, Mrs Halliburt, I do not trust that craft or her
owner.  You know, perhaps, as much about them as I do; your husband
knows more, but I think it would content the young gentleman if
Halliburt would take him off in his yawl, and he need not go so far from
the shore as to run any risk of being picked up by an enemy's ship."

"Bless you, Mr Groocock, of course Adam will be main proud to take out
Sir Reginald's nephew, and for his own sake will be careful not to go
far enough off the land to run the risk of being caught by any of the
French cruisers," answered the dame.  "When would the young gentleman
like to come?  He must not expect man-of-war's ways on board the
_Nancy_, and it would not do for Adam and the lads to lose their day's
fishing."

"As to that, he is not likely to be particular, and the sooner he can
get his cruise the better he will be pleased.  It seems strange to me
that any one, when once he is comfortable on shore, should wish to be
tumbling about on the tossing sea.  Though I have lived all my life in
sight of the ocean, I never had a fancy to leave the dry land.  Give me
a good roof over my head, plenty to eat and drink, and a steady cob to
ride, it's all I ask; a man should be moderate in his desires, dame, and
he will get them satisfied, that is my notion of philosophy."

"Ah! and a very good notion too," said Mistress Halliburt, who had great
respect for the loquacious steward of Texford.  "But you will excuse me,
Mr Groocock, I ought to be up at the Hall.  I will tell Adam of Master
Harry's wish, and he will be on the look-out for him."

"Here comes the young gentleman to speak for himself," said the steward.

At that moment a horse's hoofs were heard clattering along the road, and
a fine-looking lad in a midshipman's uniform cantered up on a pony,
holding his reins slack, and sitting with the careless air of a sailor.
He had a noble broad brow, clear blue eyes, and thick, clustering, brown
curls, his countenance being thoroughly bronzed by southern suns and sea
air.  His features were well formed and refined, without any approach to
effeminacy.

"Good-morrow, Mr Groocock," he exclaimed, in a clear voice, pulling up
as he spoke.  "Good-morrow, dame," he added, turning to Mrs Halliburt.

"I was just speaking to the dame here about your wish, Mr Harry, to
take a trip to sea.  Her husband, Adam Halliburt, has as fine a boat as
any on the coast, and he is a trustworthy man, which is more than can be
said, between ourselves, of the tenant of Hurlston Mill.  Adam will give
you a cruise whenever you like to go, wind and weather permitting,
though, as the dame observed, you must not expect much comfort on board
the _Nancy_."

"I care little for comfort--we have not too much of that sort of thing
at sea to make me miss it," answered Harry, laughing.  "If the dame can
answer for her husband, I will engage to go as soon as he likes."

"Adam will be glad to take you, I am main sure of that, Mr Harry," said
the dame.  "But as the _Nancy_ will be ready to put off before I get
back, I would ask you to wait till to-morrow afternoon, when she will go
out for the night's fishing."

Harry, well pleased at the arrangement, having wished the dame good-bye,
accompanied Mr Groocock on his morning's ride.



CHAPTER SIX.

LORD HOWE'S VICTORY.

Harry got back at luncheon time to Texford, where the family were
assembled in the dining-hall.  Sir Reginald--a fine-looking old man, the
whiteness of whose silvery locks, secured behind a well-tied pig-tail,
was increased by the hair-powder which besprinkled them--sat at the foot
of the table in the wheel-chair used by him to move from room to room.
His once tall and strongly-built figure was slightly bent, though,
unwilling to show his weakness, he endeavoured to sit as upright as
possible while he did the honours of his hospitable board.  Still it was
evident that age and sickness were making rapid inroads on his strength.

He had deputed his niece, Mrs Castleton, to take the head of his table.
She had been singularly handsome, and still retained much of the beauty
of her younger days; with a soft and feminine expression of countenance
which truly portrayed her gentle, and perhaps somewhat too yielding,
character--yielding, at least, as far as her husband, Ralph Castleton,
was concerned, to whose stern and imperious temper she had ever been
accustomed to give way.

"My dear Harry, we were afraid that you must have lost your way," she
said, when the young midshipman entered the room.

"I rode over to the post-office at Morbury for letters, and had to wait
while the bag was made up.  I slung it over my back, and I fancy was
taken for a government courier as I rode along.  I have brought
despatches for every one in the house, I believe; a prodigious big one
for you, Uncle Fancourt, from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty,
I suspect, for I saw the seal when it was put into the bag," he said,
addressing a sunburnt, fine-looking man, with the unmistakable air of a
naval officer, seated by his mother's side.  "Mr Groocock, to whom I
gave the bag, will send them up as soon as he has opened it.  There is
something in the wind, I suspect, for I heard shouting and trumpeting
just as I rode out of the town.  Knowing that I had got whatever news
there is at my back, I came on with it rather than return to learn more
about the matter."

"Probably another enemy's ship taken," observed Captain Fancourt.

"Are the Admiralty going to send you to sea again, Fancourt?" asked Sir
Reginald, who had overheard Harry's remark.

"They are not likely, during these stirring times, Sir Reginald, to
allow any of us to remain idle on shore if they think us worth our salt,
and I hope to deserve that, at least," answered Captain Fancourt.

"You are worth tons of that article, or the admiral's despatches greatly
overpraise you," observed Sir Reginald, laughing at his own joke.  "I
remember reading with great delight the gallant way in which, after your
captain was wounded, you fought the _Hector_ on your voyage home from
the West Indies, when she was attacked by two 40-gun French frigates.
You had not, I fancy, half as many men, or as many guns mounted, as
either one of them, while, in addition to their crews, they were full of
troops, yet you beat them off when they attempted to board; and though
they had pretty well knocked your ship to pieces, you compelled them to
make sail away from you, leaving you to your fate.  If I recollect
rightly, you bore up for Halifax with more than half your crew killed
and wounded."

"You give me more credit than is my due, Sir Reginald," observed Captain
Fancourt, "I was but a young lieutenant, though I did my duty.  Captain
Drury fought the ship, and we should all have lost our lives had not we
fallen in with the _Hawk_ brig, which rescued us just as the old
_Hector_ sank under our feet."

"Well, well, when our enemies find out that it is the fashion of English
sailors to fight till their ship goes down, they will be chary of
attacking them with much hopes of victory."

While the baronet was speaking, Harry had taken his seat next to a
pretty dark-eyed young girl, giving her a kiss on the cheek and at the
same time a pat on the back, a familiarity to which his sister Julia was
well accustomed from her sailor brother, who entertained the greatest
admiration and affection for her.

"You should not treat the demoiselle in that mode at table, Monsieur
Harry," observed a lady who was sitting on his other side.

"I beg your pardon, Madame De La Motte, I ought, I confess, to have paid
my respects to you first."

"Ah, you are mediant, incorrigible," said the lady, in broken English,
laughing as she spoke.

"No, I am only very hungry, so you will excuse me if I swallow a few
mouthfuls before we discuss that subject," said Harry, applying himself
to the plate of chicken and ham which the footman had just placed before
him.  "I'm afraid that you think I have forgotten my manners as well as
the French you taught me before I went to sea.  But I hope to prove to
you that I retain a fair amount of both," and Harry began to address the
lady in French.  When he mispronounced a word and she corrected him he
bowed his thanks, repeating it after her.

"Ah, you are _charmant_, Monsieur Harry, you have not forgotten your
manners any more than the language of La Belle France, which I will
continue to teach you whenever you will come and take a lesson with
Mademoiselle Julia.  When will you come?"

"Every day that I am at home till my country requires my services,"
answered Harry.

"I never learned French, but I should think it must be a very difficult
language to acquire," observed a pale middle-aged lady of slight figure
who sat opposite Harry, turning her eyes towards him, but those orbs
were of a dull leaden hue, the eyelids almost closed.  She was totally
blind.

Her features were beautifully formed, and had a peculiarly sweet and
gentle expression, though the pallor of her cheeks betokened ill-health.

"I will help you to begin, Miss Mary, while you are here, and then you
can go on by yourself," said Madame De La Motte, in her usual sprightly
way.

"I thank you, madame," answered Miss Mary Pemberton, "but I am dependent
on others.  Jane has no fancy for languages, and her time is much
occupied in household matters and others of still higher importance."

"Yes, indeed, Mary speaks truly," observed Miss Pemberton, a lady of a
somewhat taller and not quite so slight a figure as her sister, and who,
though her features had a pleasant expression, could not, even in her
youth, have possessed the same amount of beauty.  She always took her
seat next to Mary, that she might give her that attention which her
deprivation of sight required.  "While we have such boundless stores of
works on all important subjects in our own language, we waste our time
by spending it in acquiring another."

"Very right, my good cousin, very right," exclaimed Sir Reginald; "stick
to our good English books, for at the present day, what with their
republicanism, their infidelity, and their abominable notions, we can
expect nothing but what is bad from French writers."

"Pardonnez moi, Sir Reginald," exclaimed Madame De La Motte, breaking
off the conversation in which she was engaged with Harry, and looking up
briskly.  "Surely la pauvre France has produced some pure and religious
writers, and many works on science worthy of perusal."

"I beg ten thousand pardons, madame, I forgot that a French lady was
present.  I was thinking more of the murderous red republicans who have
cut off the heads of their lawful sovereign and his lovely queen, Marie
Antoinette.  I remember her in her youth and beauty at the court of her
brother, the Emperor Leopold, when I paid a visit to Germany some years
ago.  When I think how she was treated by those ruffians with every
possible indignity, and perished on a scaffold, my heart swells with
indignation, and I am apt to forget that there are noble and honest
Frenchmen still remaining who feel as I do."

"Ah, truly Sir Reginald, we loyal French feel even more bitterly, for we
have shame added to our grief and indignation, that they are our
compatriots who are guilty of such unspeakable atrocities as are now
deluging our belle France with blood," said Madame De La Motte, putting
her handkerchief to her face to hide the tears which the mention of the
fate of the hapless queen seldom failed to draw from the eyes of French
loyalists in those days.

"You will pardon me, madame, for my inadvertent remark," said Sir
Reginald, bowing as he spoke towards the French lady.

"Certainly, Sir Reginald, and I am grateful for your sympathy in the
sufferings of those I adore."

Just at that instant the butler entered the room bearing a salver
covered with letters, which most of the party were soon engaged in
reading.  An exclamation from Captain Fancourt made every one look up.

"There is indeed news," he exclaimed.  "Sir Roger Curtis has arrived
with despatches from Earl Howe announcing a magnificent victory gained
by him with twenty-five ships over the French fleet of twenty-six, on
the 1st June, west of Ushant; seven of the French captured, two sunk,
when the French admiral, after an hour's close action, crowded sail,
followed by most of his ships able to carry their canvas, and made his
escape, leaving the rest either crippled or totally dismasted behind
him.  Most of our ships were either so widely separated or so much
disabled, that several of the enemy left behind succeeded in making
their escape under spritsails.  One went down in action, when all on
board perished; another sank just as she was taken possession of, and
before her crew could be removed, though many happily were saved.  There
had been several partial actions between them."

Exclamations of delight and satisfaction burst from the lips of all the
party on hearing this announcement.

"I only wish that I had been there," exclaimed Harry, and Captain
Fancourt looked as if he wished the same.

"You might have been among those who lost their lives," observed Miss
Pemberton; "we would rather have you safe on shore."

"We must take our chance with others," said Harry.  "I only hope, Uncle
Fancourt, that you will soon be able to get me afloat again, though I am
not tired of home yet."

"I shall be able to fulfil your wishes, for the Admiralty have appointed
me to the command of the _Triton_, 38-gun frigate, ordered to be fitted
out with all despatch at Portsmouth.  Before many weeks are over she
will, I hope, be ready for sea.  I shall have to take my leave of you,
Sir Reginald, sooner than I expected.  I must go down at once to look
after her.  Harry need not join till I send for him."

"I congratulate you, Fancourt," said Sir Reginald, "though I am sorry
that your visit should be cut short."  The great battle was the subject
of conversation for the remainder of the day, every one eagerly looking
forward to the arrival of the newspapers the next morning for fuller
particulars.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE CASTELTONS AND GOULS.

In those days, when coaches only ran on the great high roads, and postal
arrangements were imperfect, even important news was conveyed at what
would now be considered a very slow rate.

Adam knew no one in London to whom he could write about the little girl
he had saved from the wreck, and many days passed before he could get to
Morbury, the nearest town to Hurlston.  It was a place of some
importance, boasting of its mayor and corporation, its town-hall and
gaol, its large parish church, and its broad high street.

Adam first sought out the mayor, to whom he narrated his story.  That
important dignitary promised to do all in his power through his
correspondents in London to discover the little girl's friends, but
warned him that, as during war time the difficulties of communication
with foreign countries were so great, he must not entertain much hope of
success.  "However, you can in the meantime relieve yourself of the care
of the child by sending her to the workhouse, or if you choose to take
care of her, her friends, when they are found, will undoubtedly repay
you, though I warn you they are very likely, after all, not to be
discovered," he added.

"Send the little maiden to the workhouse!" he exclaimed, as, quitting
Mr Barber's mansion, he pressed his hat down on his head; "no, no, no;
and as to being repaid by her friends, if it was not for her sake, I
only hope they may never be found."

The lawyer, Mr Shallard, on whom Adam next called, had the character of
being an honest man, and having for many years been Sir Reginald
Castleton's adviser, he was universally looked up to and trusted by all
classes, except by these litigants who were conscious of the badness of
their causes.

He was a tall, thin man, of middle age, with a pleasant expression of
countenance.  He listened with attention to Adam's account of his
rescuing the little girl, but gave him no greater expectation of
discovering her friends than had the mayor.

"You will, I suspect, run a great risk of losing your reward," he
observed; "but if you are unwilling to bear the expense of her
maintenance, bring her here, and I will see what can be done for her.
Of course, legally, you are entitled to send the foundling to the
workhouse."

"You wouldn't advise me to do that, I'm thinking," said Adam.

"No, my friend, but it is my duty to tell you what you have the right to
do," answered the lawyer.

"Well, sir, I'd blush to call myself a man if I did," replied the
fisherman, and without boasting of his intentions, he added that he and
his dame were quite prepared to bring up the little girl like a daughter
of their own.

When Adam offered the usual fee, the lawyer motioned him to put it into
his pocket.

"Friend Halliburt, you are doing your duty to the little foundling, and
I will do mine.  If her friends can be found, I daresay I shall be
repaid, and at all events, when you come to Morbury again you must call
and let me know how she thrives."

Adam, greatly relieved at feeling that, having done what he could
towards finding the child's friends, there was great probability that
she would be left with him and his wife, returned home.

"Any chance of hearing of our little maiden's friends?" asked the dame,
on Adam's return.

"None that I can see, mother," he answered, taking his usual seat in his
arm-chair.  "As it seems clear that they are in foreign lands, those I
have spoken to say, now that war has broken out again, it will be a hard
matter to get news of them."

"Well, well, you have done your duty, Adam, and you can do no more,"
answered his wife, looking much relieved.  "If it is God's will that the
little girl should remain with us, we will do our best to take care of
her, that we will."

"What do you think, though?" he continued, after he had given an account
of his first visit; "Mr Mayor advises us to send her to the workhouse.
It made my heart swell up a bit when he said so, I can tell ye."

"Sure it would, Adam," exclaimed the dame; "little dear, to think on't."

"Mr Shallard said something of the same sort too, but he showed that he
has a kind heart, for he told me to bring the child to him if we didn't
want to have charge of her, and when I offered his fee he wouldn't even
look at it."

"Good, good!" exclaimed the dame; "I've no doubt he'd act kindly by her,
but I wouldn't wish to give her up to him if I could help it.  It's not
every one who would have refused to take his fee, and it's more, at all
events, than old Lawyer Goul would have done, who used to live when I
was a girl where Mr Shallard does now.  There never was a man like him
for scraping money together by fair means or foul.  And yet it all went
somehow or other, and there was not enough left when he died to bury
him, and his poor heart-broken, crazy wife was left without house or
home, and went away wandering through the country no one knew where.
Some said she had cast herself into the sea and was drowned; but others,
I mind, declared they had seen her after that as wild and witless as
ever.  Hers was a hard fate whatever it might have been, for her husband
hadn't a friend in the world, no more had she; and when she went mad
there was no one to look after her."

Then Dame Halliburt told a tale, interrupted by many questions by the
good Adam, of which this is the substance.

Lawyer Goul had a son, and though he and his wife agreed in nothing
else, they did in loving and in spoiling that unhappy lad.  He caused
the ruin of his father, who denied him nothing he wanted.  Old Goul
wouldn't put his hand in his pocket for a sixpence to buy a loaf of
bread for a neighbour's family who might be starving, but he would give
hundreds or thousands to supply young Martin's extravagance.  He wanted
to make a gentleman of his son, and thought money would do it.  His son
thought so too, and took good care to spend his father's ill-gotten
gains.  As he grew up he became as audacious and bold a young ruffian as
could well be met with.  He had always a fancy for the sea, and used
often to be away for weeks and months together over to France or Holland
in company with smugglers and other lawless fellows, so it was said, and
it was suspected that he was mixed up with them, and had spent not a
little of his father's money in smuggling ventures which brought no
profit.  Old Martin Goul had wished to give his son a good education,
and had sent him to the very same school to which the sons of Dame
Halliburt's master, Mr Herbert Castleton, went.  There were two of
them, Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph.  Mr Herbert was Sir Reginald
Castleton's younger brother.  He was a proud man, as all the Castletons
were, and hot-tempered, and not what one may call wise.  He was
sometimes over-indulgent to his children, and sometimes very harsh if
they offended him.  For some cause or other Mr Ranald, the eldest, was
not a favourite of his, though many liked him the best.  He was generous
and open-hearted, but then, to be sure, he was as hot-tempered and
obstinate as his father.  While he was at college it was said he fell in
love with a young girl who had no money, and was in point of family not
a proper match for a Castleton.  Some one informed his father, who
threatened to disown him if he married her.  He could not keep him out
of Texford, for he was Sir Reginald's heir after himself.  This fact
enraged him still more against his son, as he thus had not the full
power he would have liked to exercise over him.  When Mr Herbert
married, his wife brought him a good fortune, which was settled on their
children, and that he could not touch either.  They had, besides their
two sons, a daughter, Miss Ellen Castleton, a pretty dark-eyed young
lady.  She was good-tempered and kind to all about her, but not as
sensible and discreet as she should have been.

When Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph left school young Martin Goul, whose
character was not so well known then as it was afterwards, came to the
house to pay them a visit.  As they had been playmates for some years,
and he dressed well and rode a fine horse, they seemed to forget that he
was old Martin Goul's son, and treated him like one of themselves.  To
my mind, continued the dame, nothing belonging to old Goul was fit to
associate with Mr Castleton's sons.  Once having got a footing in the
house, he used to come pretty often, sometimes even when the young
gentlemen were away from home, and it soon became known to every one
except Mr and Mrs Castleton that Lawyer Goul's son was making love to
Miss Ellen.  She, poor dear, knew nothing of the world, and thought if
he was fit to be a companion of her brothers, it was no harm to give her
heart to him.  She could see none of his faults, and fancied him a
brave, fine young fellow, and he could, besides, be as soft as butter
when he chose, and was as great a hypocrite as his father.  He knew it
would not do to be seen too often at the house, or Mr and Mrs
Castleton would have been suspecting something, and so he persuaded Miss
Ellen to come out and meet him in the park, and she fancied that no one
knew of it.  This went on for some time till Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph
came home from college.  One evening, as Mr Ranald was returning from a
ride on horseback, and had taken a short cut across the park, he found
his sister and Martin Goul walking together in the wood.  Now one might
have supposed that if the account of his own love affair was true he
would have had some fellow-feeling for his sister and old schoolmate,
and not thought she was doing anything very wrong after all, but that
wasn't his idea in the least.  Without more ado he laid his whip on
Martin's shoulders, and ordered him off the grounds, much as he would a
poacher.  Martin, the strongest of the two by far, would have knocked
him down if Miss Ellen had not interfered and begged Martin to go away,
declaring that if fault there was it was entirely hers.  Martin did go,
swearing that he would have the satisfaction one gentleman had a right
to demand from another.  Mr Ranald laughed at him scornfully, and,
taking Miss Ellen's arm, led her back to the house.

Mr Ranald was not on the terms, as I have said, which he should have
been with his father or even with his mother, so he said nothing to
them, but taking the matter into his own hands, told his sister to go to
her room and remain there.  She, as I said, was a gentle-spirited girl,
and did as she was bid, only sitting down and crying and wringing her
hands at the thoughts of what might come of what she had done.  Poor
dear young lady, she told me all about it afterwards, and I thought her
heart would break; and I was not far wrong, as it turned out at last.

Now, though Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph were not on affectionate terms as
brothers should be, and were seldom together, they were quite at one in
this matter.  Mr Ralph was by far the more clever, and had gained all
sorts of honours at college we heard; so that Mr Ranald looked up to
him when there was anything of importance to be done, and took his
opinion when he wouldn't have listened to any one else.

The brothers were closeted a long time together talking the matter over,
as they thought very seriously of it, and considered that the honour of
the family was at stake.  They then got their sister to come to them,
and tried to make her promise never to see young Martin Goul again; but
notwithstanding all they could say, gentle as she was in most things,
she would not say that.  They warned her that the consequences would be
serious to all concerned.

Martin Goul was as good as his word.  He got another young fellow who
passed for a gentleman, something like himself, to carry a challenge to
Mr Ranald.  The young fellow did not like to come into the house, so he
waylaid Mr Ranald near the entrance of the park, and delivered a letter
he had brought from Martin Goul.  Mr Ranald, as soon as he found from
whom it came, tore it up, and throwing it in the messenger's face, so
belaboured him with his whip, that he drove him out of the park faster
than he had come into it.

Mr Ralph had, however, in the manner he was accustomed to manage
things, taken steps to get Martin Goul out of the way.  The last war
between England and France had just begun; the pressgang were busy along
the coast obtaining men for the navy.  Mr Ralph happened to know the
officer in command of a gang who had the night before come to Morbury.
He told him, what was the truth, that young Martin was a seafaring man,
and mixed up with a band of smugglers, and he hinted to the officer that
he would be doing good service to the place, and to honest people
generally, if he could get hold of the young fellow and send him away to
sea.  Martin was seized the same night, and before he could send any
message home to say what had happened, he was carried to a man-of-war's
boat lying in the little harbour of Morbury, ready to receive any
prisoners who might be taken.  He was put on board a cutter with several
others who had been captured in the place, and not giving him time to
send even a letter on shore, she sailed away for the Thames, and he was
at once sent on board a man-of-war on the point of sailing for a foreign
station.  Miss Ellen, when she heard what had happened, was more
downcast and sad than before, and those who knew the secret of her
sorrow saw that she was dying of a broken heart.

Poor Mrs Castleton had been long in delicate health, and soon after
this she caught a chill, and in a short time died.  Miss Ellen was left
more than ever alone.  From the day she last saw her worthless lover she
never went into society, and seldom, indeed, except at church, was seen
outside the park-gates.

Mr Castleton himself had become somewhat of an invalid, which made his
temper even worse than before.  He showed it especially whenever Mr
Ranald was at home, and I am afraid that Mr Ralph often made matters
worse instead of trying to mend them.

At last Mr Ranald left home altogether, for as he had come into a part
of his mother's property, he was independent of his father.  Some time
afterwards a letter was received from him saying that he had sailed for
the Indies.  Whether or not he had married the young lady spoken of at
college was not known to a certainty.

As may be supposed, old Martin Goul and his poor witless wife were in a
sad taking when they found that their son had been carried off by a
pressgang.  Old Goul vowed vengeance against those who had managed to
have his son spirited away.  His own days, however, were coming to a
close.  He found out the ship on board which young Martin had sailed,
and he tried every means to send after him to get him back.  That was no
easy matter, however; indeed, the money which he had scraped together
and cheated out of many a lone widow and friendless orphan had come to
an end.  No one knew how it had gone, except, perhaps, his son.  He
himself even, it was said, could not tell, though he spent his days and
nights poring over books and papers, trying to find out, till he became
almost as crazy as his wife.  No one went to consult him on law
business, except, perhaps, some smuggler or other knave who could get no
decent lawyer to undertake his case, and then old Goul was sure to lose
it, so that even the rogues at last would not trust him.

He and his wife had had for long only one servant in the house.  A poor
friendless creature was old Nan.  One day the tax-gatherer called when
Martin Goul, who was seated in his dusty room which had not been cleaned
out for years, told him that Nan had the money to pay, and that he would
find her in the kitchen.  He went downstairs and there, sure enough, was
poor Nan stretched out on the floor.  She had died of starvation, there
was no doubt about that, for there was not a crust of bread in the
kitchen, nor a bit of coal to light a fire.  How Martin Goul had managed
to live it was hard to say, except that his wife had been seen stealing
out at dusk, and it was supposed that she had managed to pick up food
for herself and her husband.

Meantime it was known that young Martin had been aboard the _Resistance_
frigate, which had gone away out to the East Indies.  At last news came
home that the _Resistance_ had been blown up far away from any help in
the Indian seas, and that every soul on board had perished or been
killed by savages when they got on shore.

Mr Ralph tried to keep what had happened from the ears of his sister,
but she was always making inquiries about the ships on foreign stations.
At last one day she heard what it would have been better she had never
known.  We found her in a dead faint.  She was brought to, but the
colour had left her cheeks and lips, and she never again lifted up her
head.  Mr Ralph came to see her.

"It was all your doing," she said to him in a reproachful tone.  "He
might have been wild, he might have been what you say he was, but he
promised me that he would reform and be all I could wish."

"Of whom do you speak, Ellen," asked Mr Ralph.

"Of him who now lies dead beneath the waters of the Indian Ocean, of
Martin Goul," she said, and uttered a cry which went to our hearts.

"That scoundrel's name is unfit to come out of your lips, Ellen," he
answered with an oath.  "He met a better fate than he deserved, for he
died with honest men.  Now put him away from your thoughts altogether,
and never defile your lips by speaking of him."

Poor Miss Ellen made no reply.  Nothing would induce her to leave her
room.  She grew weaker and weaker, and soon was laid beside her mother
in the family vault.

A few months afterwards Mr Castleton died, and the place was sold.  Mr
Ralph, who had become a barrister, went away to live in London and
married, and has been there ever since.

The death of his son was known to many others before Lawyer Goul heard
of it, for it was no one's business to tell him, and few would have been
willing to do so.  At last, one day in an old newspaper which contained
an account of the loss of the _Resistance_, his eye fell on the
announcement.  He let the paper drop, sank back in his chair, and never
spoke again.  His crazy wife took it up, and she, seeing what had
happened to her son, not even stopping to learn whether her husband was
dead or not, or trying to assist him, rushed away no one knew where.
"Some say," said Dame Halliburt, as she finished her long story, "that
she has long since been dead, and others that she is `Mad Sal,' as the
boys call her; but she does not look to me like old Goul's wife; and I
cannot fancy that one brought up as a sort of lady, as she was, could
live the life that poor mad woman does, all alone in a wretched hovel by
herself among the cliffs, without a neighbour or a soul to help her."

"Well, it's a sad story, wife; I wonder you never told it me before."

"To say the truth, Adam, it's not a matter I ever liked talking about,
and I don't know scarcely what made me tell it you now.  It's not that I
care about Lawyer Goul and his crazy wife and their son; but even now I
cannot bear to think of poor Miss Ellen.  It was a sad thing that a
sweet innocent creature like her should have been cut off in her young
days."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

GAFFIN, THE MILLER.

Adam had just recounted to his wife his interviews with the mayor and
lawyer of Morbury, and had listened to her history of Mr Herbert
Castleton's family, and the unhappy fate of his daughter, when a knock
was heard at the door.  The dame opened it, but drew back on seeing
their visitor.

"Good-day, neighbour," said the person who entered, a strongly-built man
with a bushy black beard and a sunburnt countenance, the sinister
expression of which was ill-calculated to win confidence, and whose
semi-nautical costume made it doubtful whether he was a landsman or
sailor.

"I have come to have a friendly chat with you, if you will give me
leave?"

Without waiting for a reply, still keeping his hat on, he threw himself
into a chair by the fire, glancing round the room as he did so.

"What have you got to talk about, Mr Gaffin?" asked Adam, disdaining to
give the welcome he could not heartily offer, and instead of sitting
down, standing with his hands in his pockets opposite his guest, while
the dame continued the work in which she had been engaged.

"I hear you boarded a wreck the other morning and rescued a child from
it," observed the visitor.

"I did so," answered Adam, curtly.

"What has become of the child, then?" asked Mr Gaffin, looking round
the room as if in search of her.  The visitor was Miles Gaffin, the
miller of Hurlston, as he was generally called.

"She has gone out for a walk," said the dame, coming up near her husband
on hearing the subject of the conversation.

"You will find the maintenance of a child in addition to your own
somewhat burdensome in these hard times," observed the miller.

"We can judge better than our neighbours whether the burden is more than
we can bear," answered the dame; "so you see, Mr Gaffin, that need not
make any one uneasy on our account."

"Very likely, my good woman, and all very well at present; but the day
will come when she will require schooling and clothing, and I suppose
you had not time to bring much property belonging to her on shore, Adam
Halliburt?" said Gaffin, in an inquiring tone.

"No, Miles Gaffin, I had less time to bring anything away than those who
visited the wreck before me," he answered, fixing his eyes on the
visitor, who met his glance unmoved.

"What! did any one else get on board the wreck, do you think?"

"I am sure of it; and whoever they were, they were heartless villains to
leave a little child to perish when they might have saved her."

"Perhaps if people did visit the wreck they were not aware that any
human being remained on board," said Gaffin.  "Did you see any of the
crew?  No one has heard of them, I understand."

"It's my belief that they attempted to escape in the boats, which were
swamped on crossing the sands," answered Adam.  "They deserved their
fate, too, if they recollected the poor child and her nurse who were
left behind.  Though the little dear was saved by their base conduct, as
she would have been lost had they taken her, not the less shame to them.
However, no one can tell how it happened."

"Of course they attempted to escape in their boats, there is no other
way to account for their disappearance," answered Gaffin; "few craft
except such as ours on this coast could live in the sea that was then
running, for it was as bad as could well be, as I hear.  I myself was
away to London on business," he added, carelessly.

Adam kept his eyes on his guest while he was speaking, but the
countenance of the latter maintained the same bold, defiant look which
it generally wore.

As Gaffin made the last remark, Jacob, with his little charge, entered
the cottage.

Maiden May, on seeing a stranger, kept tight hold of Jacob's hand, and
drew away from the fireplace, where he was seated.

"Is that the child we have been speaking of?" asked Gaffin, looking
towards her.  "She is indeed a little beauty.  Well, my friends, I
conclude you don't intend to bring her up as a fisherman's daughter--
pardon me, I don't mean to say anything disrespectful--even supposing
you fail to discover to whom she belongs?"

"As to that, Mr Gaffin, God placed her under our charge, and we intend
to do our duty by her," answered Adam, firmly.

"Your duty would be to obtain for her every opportunity of retaining the
position in which she was born," said Gaffin.  "That's no common
person's child."

"Maybe she is not; but, as I said before, we will do our best.  More
than that we cannot do," answered Adam.

"Now, my friend, I have a proposal to make," said Gaffin, speaking in as
frank a tone as he could assume.  "She will be a heavy burden to you
some time hence, if she is not so at present; my wife and I, as you
know, have no daughter, although, like you, we have three sons.  We are
more independent of the world than you are, as my wife had money; you
will understand, though, I do not eat the bread of idleness; and as she
would very much like to have a little girl to bring up to be her
companion when our boys are away, we are willing to take charge of that
child and adopt her, should her friends not be discovered.  To show you
that I am in earnest, here are five guineas as payment to you for going
off and bringing her on shore in the gallant way I understand you did.
It's a trifling reward, I own, but if I have the power I will increase
it should you accept my offer."

Adam stood with his hands in his pockets as he had been doing while his
visitor was speaking.

"Keep your money, Mr Gaffin, for when it may be required," he answered,
quietly.  "My lads and I only did our duty, and what any one with the
heart of a man would have tried to do.  That little maiden has been
placed in my charge, and until her rightful friends appear, my wife and
I will take care of her without looking for payment or reward.  You have
our answer, I speak for myself and dame; there is no use wasting more
time in talking about the matter."

"Well, well, neighbour, I cannot take your reply as conclusive," said
Gaffin, trying to conceal his annoyance; "just think it over, and you
will be doing a great pleasure to my wife and lay us under an obligation
if you agree to my proposal."

Adam had given his reply, and was determined to say nothing more.  He
was anxious, too, to get rid of his guest.

Gaffin at length, finding that he could gain nothing by staying, rose to
leave the cottage.  The dame took up May and retired with her to the
farther end of the room, while Adam stood as before with his hand firmly
thrust down into his pocket, as if determined not to shake that of his
departing guest, while Jacob opened the door as wide as he could.
Gaffin, unabashed, nodded to the fisherman and his dame, and with a
swagger in his walk to conceal the irritation he felt, left the cottage.
Jacob watched him till he had got to some distance.

"He has gone," he exclaimed.  "He shall not have our Maiden May if I can
prevent him."

"No fear of that, Jacob.  He, with his cursing and swearing, and his
wild, lawless ways, and his poor heart-broken, down-spirited wife, bring
up a little maid in the way she should go!  She would be better off with
us as long as we had a crust to give her; and take her from us he shall
not, whatever reasons he may have for wishing it.  So don't you fear,
Jacob, that I will listen to him even if he comes with 50 in his hand,
or 500 for that matter.  As I said before, if we don't find fairer
friends for her than he and his wife are like to prove, Maiden May shall
be our child, bless her."



CHAPTER NINE.

A SAIL IN THE NANCY.

Captain Fancourt took his departure from Portsmouth to commission the
_Triton_, promising to send for Harry as soon as the frigate was
sufficiently advanced to give a midshipman anything to do on board.

"I will ride by a single anchor, so as to be ready to slip at a moment's
notice," answered Harry.

Harry recollected his engagement to take a cruise in Adam Halliburt's
boat.

"Come, Algernon," he said to his elder brother, a tall, slight youth,
three or four years his senior, with remarkably refined manners, "you
would enjoy a trip to sea for a few hours in the _Nancy_.  It would give
you something to talk about when you go to college, and you have never
been on salt water in your life."

"Thank you," said Algernon.  "I do not wish to gain my first experience
of sea life in a fishing boat."

"I want to see how these fishermen live, and I should have been glad of
your company," answered Harry; "but perhaps you would find it rather too
rough a life for your taste, so I will go alone, and to-morrow when I
return I will ride with you wherever you like."

Harry, after luncheon, set off on his pony to Hurlston, while Algernon
accompanied his mother and the two Miss Pembertons in the carriage to
the same village, where they wished to look at a cottage which Sir
Reginald had told them was to be let, and which they had proposed,
should it suit them, to take.  They were much pleased with its
appearance.  It stood on the higher ground above the village, surrounded
by shrubberies, in an opening through which a view of the sea was
obtained.  On one side was a pretty flower-garden, and as Miss Pemberton
led her sister through the rooms and about the grounds describing the
place, they agreed that had it been built for them they could not have
been more thoroughly satisfied.  Mr Groocock therefore received
directions to secure Downside Cottage, and they determined to occupy it
as soon as it could be got ready for them.

Sir Reginald, on hearing of the decision of the Miss Pembertons, invited
them to remain in the meantime at Texford, where he hoped, even after
they were settled, they would become constant visitors.

"I am getting an old man now, and as I cannot hunt or attend to my
magisterial duties, I am grateful to friends who will come and see me,
and you have only to send over a note and my carriage will be at your
disposal."

Miss Pemberton assured Sir Reginald that one of their chief inducements
in taking the cottage was to be near a kinsman whom they so greatly
esteemed.

Mrs Castleton the next morning had become anxious at the non-appearance
of Harry.  She had not heard of his intention of remaining out during
the night till Algernon told her.  He agreed to ride down to Hurlston to
ascertain if the boat had returned, and as the Miss Pembertons wished to
pay another visit to the cottage, the carriage was ordered and Mrs
Castleton accompanied them.

The weather, as it frequently does in our variable English climate, had
suddenly changed by the morning, and although it had been calm during
the night, by the time the ladies reached Hurlston a strong east wind
sent the surf rolling up on the beach in a way which to the ladies,
unaccustomed to the sea-side, appeared very terrible.  Algernon, who was
on horseback, met them.

"The boat Harry went out in has not come back," he observed; "but as the
fishing-boats generally return about this hour, she will probably soon
be in."

Mrs Castleton, her anxiety increased by the appearance of the weather,
begged her companions to wait.

"Is that the boat?" she asked, pointing to a sail approaching the shore.

"I think not--that seems a large vessel," answered Algernon, and he rode
towards the pier, where a number of people were collected, while others
were coming from various directions.  There seemed some excitement among
them.  They were watching the ship observed by Mrs Castleton, which, in
the distance, had to her appeared so small, though in reality a large
brig.

"She brought up an hour ago in the roads, but only just now made sail
again," was the answer to Algernon's question.  "As she is standing for
the mouth of the river she is probably leaky, and her crew are afraid of
not keeping her afloat in the heavy sea now running."

Algernon watched the brig, which, under a press of canvas, came tearing
along towards the mouth of the harbour; and as she drew nearer the jets
of water issuing from her scuppers showed that his informant was correct
in his opinion.  She laboured heavily, and it seemed doubtful whether
she could be kept afloat long enough to run up the harbour.

The larger fishing-boats were away, but two or three smaller ones were
got ready to go out to her assistance, though with the sea then rolling
in there would be considerable danger in doing so.

At length the brig drew near enough to allow the people on board to be
easily distinguished.  The master stood conning the vessel--the crew
were at their stations.  So narrow was the entrance that the greatest
care and skill were required to hit it.  Algernon heard great doubts
expressed among the spectators as to the stranger being able to get in.

In a few seconds more, a sea bearing her on, she seemed about to rush
into the harbour, when a crash was heard, the water washed over her
deck, both the masts fell, and her hull, swinging round, blocked up the
entrance.  The men on shore rushed to their boats to render assistance
to the unfortunate crew, but as the foaming seas washed them off the
deck, the current which ran out of the river swept them away, and though
so close to land, in sight of their fellow-creatures, not one of the
hapless men was rescued.

Algernon could not repress a cry of horror.

"Oh, what will become of Harry?" exclaimed Mrs Castleton, when she saw
what had occurred.

"I trust he is safe with an experienced fisherman like old Halliburt,"
answered Algernon.  "I wish, mother, you would return home.  I will
bring you word as soon as he comes back."

Mrs Castleton, however, could not be persuaded to leave the shore.

At length several tiny sails were seen in the distance, and were
pronounced by the people on the pier to be the returning fishing-boats.
Some were seen standing away to the north to land apparently in that
direction, while three steered for Hurlston.

In consequence of the mouth of the river being blocked up, Algernon
found that the boats would have to run on the beach, all of them being
built of a form to do this, although those belonging to Hurlston could
usually take shelter in their harbour.

As the boats drew near, signals were made to warn them of what had
occurred.  The people in the leading boat, either not understanding the
signal or fancying that there would be still room to get up the harbour,
kept on, and only when close to it perceived what had occurred.  On this
the boat hauled her wind and attempted to stand off, so as to take the
beach in the proper fashion, but a sea caught her and drove her bodily
on the sands, rolling her over and sending the people struggling in the
surf.

The men on shore rushed forward to help their friends.

Mrs Castleton shrieked out with terror, supposing that Harry was in the
boat.

Algernon, who was not destitute of courage, rode his horse into the surf
and succeeded in dragging out a man who was on the point of being
carried off.  Again he went in and saved another in the same way,
looking anxiously round for Harry.  He was nowhere to be seen, and to
his relief he found that the _Nancy_ was one of the sternmost boats.
Two poor fellows in the boat were carried away, notwithstanding all the
efforts made to secure them.  Much of the boat's gear was lost, and she
herself was greatly damaged.

"Which is the _Nancy_?" inquired Algernon, round whom several people
were collected, eager to thank him for the courage he had just
displayed.

She was pointed out to him.  On she came under a close-reefed sail.

Adam, probably suspecting that something was wrong by having seen the
boat haul up to get off the shore, was on the look-out for signals.

The second boat came on shore, narrowly escaping the fate of the first.
Still the _Nancy_ was to come.  She was seen labouring on amid the
foaming seas.  Now she sank into the trough of a huge wave, which rose
up astern and robed in with foam-covered crest, curling over as if about
to overwhelm her.  Another blast filled her sails, and just escaping the
huge billow which came roaring astern, the next moment, surrounded by a
mass of hissing waters, she was carried high up on the beach.  Most of
her active crew instantly leaped out, and joined by their friends on
shore, began hauling her up the beach, when another sea rolling in
nearly carried them off their legs.  Harry, however, who had remained in
the stern of the boat with Halliburt, leaped on shore at the moment the
waters receded and escaped with a slight wetting.

As they made their way up the beach, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little
girl ran out from among the crowd and threw herself, regardless of
Adam's dripping garments, into his arms.

"Maidy May so glad you safe," she exclaimed, as the fisherman bestowed a
kiss on her brow.  "We afraid the cruel sea take you away."

"There was no great danger of that, my little maiden," answered Adam,
putting her down.  She then ran towards Jacob and bestowed the same
affectionate greeting on him.  Holding his hands, she tried to draw him
away from the surf, as if afraid that, disappointed of its prey, it
might still carry him off.

Harry remarked the reception the fisherman and his son met with from the
interesting-looking child, and he never forgot those bright blue eyes
and the animated expression of that lovely countenance.

Summoned by his brother, he now hastened to assure his mother of his
safety.

"My dear boy, we have been very anxious about you," exclaimed Mrs
Castleton, as he came up; "and I do hope that you will not go off again
in one of those horrible little fishing-boats; you run dangers enough
when on board ship in your professional duty without exposing yourself
to unnecessary risk."

"I assure you I have been in no danger whatever, except, perhaps, when
the boat was running in for the beach," answered Harry, laughing.  "When
we went off we did not expect to have to do that, and I am very sorry
that you should have been anxious about me.  However, I promise to
remain quietly on shore till I am summoned to join my ship, and as I am
somewhat damp, I will get my pony, which I left at the Castleton Arms in
the village, and ride home with Algernon."  The ladies accordingly,
re-entering the carriage, drove towards Texford, and Harry and his
brother followed soon afterwards.



CHAPTER TEN.

MAY'S NEW FRIENDS.

Harry refrained from making another trip in the _Nancy_, though he told
Adam Halliburt that he had hoped to do so.  He seldom, however, caught
sight of the blue sea in his rides without wishing to be upon it.

One day he and Algernon, on a ride over the downs, passed near the old
mill.  Miles Gaffin was standing at the door, while behind him, tugging
at a sack, was his man, whose countenance appeared to Harry, as he
caught sight of it for a moment, one of the most surly and ill-favoured
he had ever set eyes on.  "No wonder the farmers prefer sending their
corn to a distance to having it ground by such a couple," he thought.
The miller took off his hat as he saw the lads.  Algernon scarcely
noticed the salute.

"I am sorry, young gentlemen, not to have had the pleasure of giving you
a trip in my lugger," said the miller, in a frank, off-hand tone.  "If,
however, you and your brother are disposed to come, we will run down the
coast to Harwich, or to any other place you would like to visit, and I
will guarantee not to get you into such a mess as old Halliburt did, I
understand, the other day."

"Thank you," said Harry, "my brother has no fancy for the salt water,
and as I shall be off again to sea shortly, I cannot avail myself of
your offer."

"Did any one advise you not to go on board my craft?" asked Gaffin,
suddenly.

Harry hesitated.

"Adam Halliburt offered to take me a trip, and as Mr Groocock thought I
should prefer the _Nancy_ to any other craft, I arranged to go with
him," he said at length.

"Ah, I guessed how it was.  My neighbours are apt to say unpleasant
things about me.  Mr Groocock told you I was not a man to be trusted,
didn't he?"

"My brother has said that he preferred the fisherman's boat," said
Algernon, coming to Harry's assistance, "and I consider that you have no
right to ask further why he declined your offer.  Good-day to you, sir;
come along, Harry," and Algernon rode on.

"Proud young cock, he crows as loudly as his father was wont to do,"
muttered the miller, casting an angry glance at the young gentlemen; "I
shall have my revenge some day."

"I do not like the look of that fellow," observed Algernon, when they
had got out of earshot of the mill.  "I am glad you did not go on board
his vessel."

"He seems rather free and easy in his manners, and his tone wasn't quite
respectful, but I suppose his pride was hurt because I chose another
man's boat instead of his," answered Harry.

"You did not observe the scowl on his countenance when he spoke," said
Algernon.

Algernon evidently possessed the valuable gift of discernment of
character which some can alone gain by long experience.

The family party were separating one morning after breakfast, when, the
front door standing open on that warm summer day, Harry, as he passed
through the hall, caught sight of Dame Halliburt approaching with her
basket of fish, accompanied by the blue-eyed little girl he had seen
when landing from the _Nancy_.

"Come here, Julia," he exclaimed.  "Does not that sturdy fishwife with
her little daughter trotting along by her side present a pretty picture?
I wish an artist were here to take them as we see them now."

"Yes, Gainsborough would do them justice.  He delights in rustic
figures, though the child should have bare feet, and I see she has shoes
and stockings on," answered Julia.

"The little girl would, at all events, make a sweet picture in her red
cloak and hat," observed Miss Pemberton, who with her sister as they
crossed the hall had heard Harry's exclamation, and had come to the
door; and she described her to Miss Mary.

"I should like to speak to her.  I can always best judge of people when
I hear their voices," observed Miss Mary.

Harry proposed asking Dame Halliburt and the little girl to come up to
the porch, but they had by this time passed on towards the back
entrance.

"The dame is probably in a hurry to sell her fish and to go on her way,"
observed Miss Pemberton.  "We will talk to her another time."

"Come, Harry, madame is ready to give you your French lesson," said
Julia, and they went into the house.

Before luncheon Madame De La Motte proposed taking a walk.

"And we will talk French as we proceed.  You shall learn as much as you
will from your books," she said, inviting Harry to accompany her and her
pupil.  Harry gallantly expressed his pleasure, and they set out to take
a ramble through the fields in the direction of Hurlston.

They had got to some distance, and were about to turn back, when they
saw in the field beyond them the same little girl in the red cloak who
had come with Dame Halliburt to the house.

Two paths branched off at the spot she had just reached.  She stood
uncertain apparently which to take, when, at that instant, a bull
feeding in the field, irritated by the sight of her red cloak, began to
paw the ground and lower his head as if about to make a rush at her.
The child becoming alarmed uttered a cry, and ran in the direction of
the gate near which they were standing.  Harry leaped over the gate and
hurried to her rescue.  Seeing him coming she darted towards him.

"Throw off your cloak," he shouted.

She was too much frightened to follow his advice.  The bull was close
upon them when Harry reached her, and in an instant tearing off her
cloak he threw it at the bull, and lifting her in his arms darted on one
side, while the savage animal rushed over the spot where the moment
before they had stood, and catching the cloak on its horns threw it over
its head, and then stopping in its course looked round in search of the
object at which it was aiming.  Seeing Harry running off with the little
girl, it again rushed at them.  He had just time to lift her over the
gate, and to spring after her, when the creature came full tilt against
it.

The courage of Madame De La Motte and Julia had given way as they saw
the bull coming, and believing that the gate would be broken down, they
had run for safety to a high bank with a hedge above it a little on one
side of the field.

"You are quite safe now, little girl," said Harry, trying to reassure
the child.  "See, though the bull knocked his horns against the gate, he
could not throw it down, and is going off discomforted.  Come, Julia,
and help her," he shouted; "she has been dreadfully frightened, and not
without cause."

Julia and her governess, feeling a little ashamed of themselves,
descended from their safe position.

"I hope you are not hurt; but how came you to be in the field by
yourself?" asked Julia, addressing the little girl.

"Mother told me to take the path across the fields while she went round
by the road to call at some houses," she answered.

"To whom do you belong, and what is your name?" asked madame, looking
admiringly at the child's delicate and pretty features.

"I belong to Adam Halliburt, and he calls me his Maiden May," answered
the child.

"Maiden May! that is a very pretty name," observed Madame.  "But you are
very young to go so far alone."

"We must not let you go alone," said Harry; "I will take care of you
till you meet your mother, but I will first get your cloak.  I see the
bull has left it on the grass, and I hope has not injured it."

"Take care, Harry," exclaimed Julia, "the bull might run at you if he
sees you in the field."

"I do not mind running away from him, and I suspect I can run the
fastest," answered Harry, laughing, as he leapt over the gate.

Julia and Madame De La Motte watched him anxiously, not more so,
however, than did Maiden May.

"Oh, I hope he will not be hurt, I would much rather lose my cloak," she
said, following him with her eyes.

The bull having gone to a distance, Harry was able to reach the little
girl's cloak, and by keeping it in front of him the animal did not catch
sight of it, and he soon returned with his prize.

"If you will come to the hall we will send one of the servants with
you," said Julia.

"No, no," said Harry, "you go back, as you must be in at luncheon, and I
will take care of the little girl."

"Thank you, thank you," repeated Maiden May, "but I am not afraid."

Harry, however, with true chivalry, though the object of his attention
was but a little fisher-girl, insisted on escorting her, and at length
induced his sister and her governess to return, promising to hurry back
as soon as he had placed the child under Dame Halliburt's care.

They soon found the style which led into the path May should have
followed.  She took Harry's hand without hesitation, and as she ran
along by his side, prattled with a freedom which perfect confidence
could alone have given her.  She talked of the time he had been off in
the _Nancy_, and how anxious she had felt lest any harm should befall
the boat.

"And you are very fond of the sea?" she said, looking up in his face.

"Yes; I am a sailor, and it is my duty to go to sea, and I love it for
itself," said Harry; "I hope as you live close to it that you love it
too."

"Oh no, no, no," answered May; "I do not love it, for it's so cruel, it
drowns so many people.  I can't love what is cruel."

"It could not be cruel to you, I am sure," said Harry.  "Does your
father ever take you in his boat?"

"Yes, I have been in the boat, I know, but it was a long, long time ago,
and I have been on the sea far, far away."

She stopped as if she had too indistinct a recollection of the events
that had occurred to describe them.

Harry was puzzled to understand to what she alluded, and naturally
fancied that she spoke of some trip her father had taken her on board
his boat, not doubting, of course, that she was the fisherman's
daughter.

In a short time they caught sight of Dame Halliburt, when Harry,
delivering Maiden May to her care, without waiting to receive her thanks
hurried homewards as he had promised.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

HARRY OFF TO SEA.

A letter from Captain Fancourt at length arrived, summoning Harry to
join the _Triton_.  He bade an affectionate farewell to his kind old
uncle.  His brother had remarked the failing health of Sir Reginald.

"I shall be very sorry when he goes, but probably when you next come to
see us, you will find us here," observed Algernon, "unless our uncle
should turn up and claim the title and property, and as he has not been
heard of for a long time, I do not think that likely."

"I have no wish to be here except as Sir Reginald's guest," answered
Harry, with more feeling than his brother had displayed.  "I hope that
our old uncle will live for many a year to come."

In those times of fierce and active warfare it was far more trying to
the loving ones who remained at home when the moment of departure
arrived, than to the brave and gallant soldiers and sailors who were
going away to fight their country's battles.  They could not help
reflecting how many were likely to fall in the contest, and that, though
victories should be gained, their aching eyes might some day see in the
list of killed or wounded the names of those from whom they now parted
so full of life and spirits.

"Do not be cast down, mother," exclaimed Harry, as Mrs Castleton
pressed her gallant boy to her heart.  "I shall come back safe and
sound, depend on that; remember the verse of the song in Dibdin's new
play:--

  "`There's a sweet little cherub who sits up aloft
  To take care of the life of poor Jack.'"

"Let us rather trust to Him by whom the hairs of our head are all
numbered--without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground--
instead of talking in that light way," murmured Miss Mary, who was
sitting knitting near the window.  "Let us pray to Him, my dear Harry,
that you may be brought back in safety."

"I will, Cousin Mary," said Harry, "and I am sure mother will too.  I
spoke thoughtlessly.  It is the way of speaking one is accustomed to
hear."

"Too much, I am afraid," said Miss Mary.  "We are all too apt to speak
lightly on such matters."  The carriage came to the door.

"You will continue to study French diligently, Master Harry," said
Madame De La Motte, as she wished him good-bye.  "Though my countrymen
are your enemies, you will love the language for my sake, will you not?"

Harry promised that he would do as she advised; indeed, he was well
aware that the knowledge he already possessed was likely to prove very
useful to him on many occasions.

His sister Julia was the last of the family he embraced.  "The next time
I come home I must bring my old shipmate, Headland; I am glad to find
that he has joined the _Triton_.  He is one of the noblest and most
gallant fellows alive," he said, as he wished her good-bye.

"Though we shall be happy to see your friend, I only want you to bring
yourself back, Harry, safe and sound, with your proper complement of
arms and legs," she answered, smiling through her tears.

"I would sacrifice one or the other to have my name in the _Gazette_,
and to gain my promotion, so I can make no promises," he replied,
springing into the carriage after Algernon, and waving his hat as it
drove off.

A number of the surrounding tenantry had assembled near the park-gates
to bid farewell to the young sailor who was going off to fight King
George's enemies on the high seas.  Harry stopped the post-boy that he
might put his hand out of the carriage to wish Mr Groocock, who was
among them, good-bye, and to thank them for their good wishes, promising
at all events to do his best to prevent the French from setting foot on
the shores of England, and disturbing them in their quiet homes.  Their
hearty cheers as he drove off restored his spirits.

"It pays one for going away when the people show such kind feeling, and
I hope when I come back to be received with as hearty a welcome," he
remarked to Algernon, who accompanied him as far as the next town,
through which the coach passed.

There seemed a blank at Texford after Harry had gone.

The next day the Miss Pembertons moved into Downside Cottage.  To some
of the more worldly guests their departure was a relief, as they freely
expressed opinions which were looked upon as savouring too strongly of
what was called Methodism to be uttered in polite society.

Although she could not see the expression which her remarks called forth
on the countenances of the company, Miss Mary was often aware by the
tone of their voices that what she said was unpalatable.  This, however,
though it grieved her gentle spirit, did not anger her, and she spoke in
so mild and loving a way that even those who were least disposed to
adopt her principles could not help acknowledging that she was sincere
and faithful in her belief.

The Miss Pembertons had not been long settled in their new abode before
they began to visit their poorer neighbours.  The blind lady and her
sister were soon known in all parts of the village, and might be seen
every day walking arm-in-arm, now stopping at one cottage to admire the
flowers in the little plot of ground before it, or now at another to
inquire after the health of one of the inmates.  The sick and the
afflicted received their first attentions; Miss Mary could quote large
portions of the Scriptures, and explain them with a clearness and
simplicity suited to the comprehension of the most ignorant of those she
addressed.

The sisters had no carriage, for their income was limited; but those in
distress found them liberal in their gifts, and the inhabitants of
Hurlston averred that they might have kept not only a pony-chaise, but a
carriage and pair, with the sums they annually distributed in the place.
Their charities were, however, discerning and judicious, and although
those who had brought themselves into poverty received assistance when
there was a prospect of their amending, if they were known to be
continuing in an evil course they might in vain look for help, and were
pretty sure to meet with a somewhat strong rebuke from Miss Jane, as
Miss Pemberton was generally called.  In their inquiries about the
people they were helped by a good dame, one of the oldest inhabitants,
Granny Wilson, who lived in a nice tidy cottage, with an orphan
grandchild.  Though their charity was generally distributed by Miss
Jane's hand, Miss Mary was the greatest favourite.  The sweet expression
of her sightless countenance, and her gentle voice, won all hearts.
Though Miss Mary never ventured outside their gate without her sister,
she was wont to wander about the grounds by herself.  The flower-garden
was under her especial care.  She was said to know, indeed, every flower
which grew in it, and to point not only to any rose-tree which was
named, but to each particular rose growing on it, with as much certainty
as if she could see it before her.

A year had passed since the two spinster ladies had taken possession of
Downside.

One morning, while Miss Pemberton had gone over to Texford, her sister
was engaged, scissors in hand, in clipping the dead flower-stalks in
front of the cottage.

"Good morning, Miss Mary," said a voice.  "Am I to leave any fish for
you to-day?"

"Pray do, Mistress Halliburt; Susan knows what we require.  And you have
brought your little girl with you; I heard her light footstep as she
tripped by your side.  I should like to talk to her while you go in.
Come here, my dear," she said, as the dame went round to the back
entrance; "I have heard of you, though I forget your name; what is it?"

"My name is Maiden May, please, Miss Mary; and I have heard of you and
how kind you are to the poor; and I love you very much," answered the
little girl, looking up naively at the blind lady's face.

"Your name is a pretty one," said Miss Mary, a smile lighting up her
countenance as she spoke, produced by the child's remark.  "Why are you
called Maiden May?"

"Father called me so when he found me a long time ago," answered May.

"When he found you, my child, what do you mean?" asked Miss Mary, with
surprise.

"When I came in the big ship with my ayah, and was wrecked among the
fierce waves," answered May.

"I do not clearly understand you.  Is not Dame Halliburt your mother?"

"Oh, yes, and I love her and father and Jacob and the rest so much,"
said May.  "I have no other mother."

"Is your mother's name Halliburt?"

"Yes."

"I cannot understand what you mean, my dear; I must ask Mistress
Halliburt to explain to me," said Miss Mary.

"Ah, yes, do; she will tell you.  But I remember that father found me on
board the big ship, and brought me home in the boat, and mother took
care of me, and Jacob used to walk with me every day till I was old
enough to go out with mother."

"But who is Jacob?" asked Miss Mary.

"He is brother Jacob, and he is so kind, and he tries to teach me to
read; but he does not know much about it himself, and I can now read as
fast as he can."

"Does your mother not teach you?" asked Miss Mary.

"Not much, she has no time; but father on Sunday tells me stories from
the Bible.  He can read very well, though he sometimes stops to spell
the words, just as I do.  There is only the Bible and one book we have
got at home."

"Would you like, my little girl, to come up here and learn to read?  My
sister will teach you, and I think I can help, though I cannot see what
is printed in a book."

"Oh, yes, so much, if mother will let me," answered May.  "I am sure I
should remember all you tell me, and then I might teach Jacob to read
better than he does now.  Ah, here comes my mother."

"You can go round the garden and look at the flowers while I talk to
her."

"Thank you, Miss Mary; I so love flowers.  We have none near our
cottage, for they would not grow on the sand," and May ran off, stopping
like a gay butterfly, now before one flower, now before another, to
admire its beauty and enjoy its fragrance.

"If you can spare a few moments, Mistress Halliburt, I should like to
learn from you more than I can understand from the account your little
girl has been giving me of herself," said Miss Mary, as the dame
approached her.  "She has been talking about a wreck and being brought
on shore by your husband.  Is she not really your child?"

"We love her as much as if she was, but she has been telling you the
truth, Miss Mary," answered the dame.  "We have been unable to gain any
tidings of her friends, though we have done all we could to inquire for
them, and though we are loth for her sake to bring her up as a
fisherman's child, we would not part with her unless to those who could
do better for her welfare."

The dame then described how May had been brought from the wreck, and
how, from the dress the little girl had on, and the locket round her
neck, and more especially from her appearance, there could be no doubt
that she was the child of gentlefolks.

"From the tone of her voice and the account my sister gave of her, I
feel sure that you are right, Mistress Halliburt," said Miss May.  "If
you can spare her to-day, I should like to keep her with me, and you can
call or send for her when you have finished your rounds.  I shall esteem
it a favour if you will bring her up to-morrow morning, and let my
sister see her, and if we can in the meantime think of anything to
benefit the child, we will let you know."

The dame expressed her gratitude for the interest Miss Mary took in
Maiden May, but she could not help feeling somewhat jealous lest the
blind lady should rob her and Adam of some of the affection which the
child had bestowed on them.  Still she was too right-minded to allow the
feeling to interfere with May's interest.  She readily agreed to let her
remain, and also to bring her up the next morning, that Miss Pemberton
might see her and form her own opinion about the child.

Calling May, she told her that she was to stay with Miss Mary, "and if
Miss Mary wants you to lead her about, you must be very careful where
you go, and mind to tell her everything you see; but don't talk too much
if it seems to weary her," added the dame in a whisper, as, kissing May,
she wished her good-bye.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

MAY'S SCHOOLING.

Maiden May, on finding herself alone with Miss Mary, at once went up,
with a confidence she might not have felt with a person not deprived of
sight as the kind lady was, and took her hand.

"Mother told me to ask whether you would like me to lead you about the
garden.  May I do so?"

"I should like you to lead me about very much, though I think I know my
way pretty well.  But you must stop whenever you come to a flower you
admire, and I will tell you its name, and you must describe to me
anything else you see--birds or butterflies or other insects.  As my
eyes are blind, you must use yours instead of them for my benefit."

"Oh, yes, Miss Mary; I will try and do what you say," exclaimed May,
delighted to find that she could be of use to the blind lady.  A new
existence seemed suddenly opened out to her.  The gentle and refined
tone of voice of Miss Mary sounded pleasing to her ear, although she did
not understand all that she said, her language was so different to that
she had been accustomed to hear used in the fisherman's cottage.

Then she was delighted with the new and beautiful flowers, and her
wonder was excited when she found that they all had names, and that Miss
Mary, though blind, could tell their colours and describe them so
perfectly.  Miss Mary also told her the names of the birds whose notes
they heard as they walked about the grounds, and May in return described
with a minuteness which surprised her blind friend a number of objects
both animate and inanimate which she thought would interest her, while
she asked a variety of questions which, though exhibiting her ignorance,
showed a large amount of intelligence and desire to obtain information.
The child was evidently natural and thoroughly unaffected, without
either timidity or rustic bashfulness.  She had, indeed, been treated
with uniform kindness, and with even a certain amount of respect, which
the fisherman and his family could not help feeling for her.  Though the
dame had not failed in endeavouring to correct any faults she might have
exhibited, yet she had done so with that gentleness and firmness which
made the little girl sensible that her kind protectress did so for her
benefit alone.  The dame found the task a very easy one, for Maiden May
rarely required a rebuke.

Still, though her voice was gentle, the child had caught the idiom and
pronunciation of the fisherman's family; but even in that respect there
was a natural refinement in the tone of her voice; and as Adam was a
God-fearing man, and had brought up his sons to fear God also, no coarse
language or objectionable expressions were ever heard in his cottage.
Indeed, more true refinement is oftener found among the lower classes
where religious principles exist than is generally supposed.

Miss Mary, after walking till she was tired, invited her young guest
into the house.  Luncheon was placed on the table; Susan attended her
mistress and placed delicacies before May such as she had never before
tasted.  In spite, however, of Susan's pressing invitations to take
more, she ate but sparingly, to the surprise of the kind woman, who
thought that the little fisher-girl would have done more justice to the
good things offered her.

"She has quite a young lady's appetite," she observed afterwards to Miss
Mary.

"That is not surprising, for a young lady she is, depend on that.  It
will be a grievous pity if her relatives are not to be found," was the
answer.

After luncheon, Miss Mary got out a book and placed it before May, and
begged her to read from it.  By the way May endeavoured to spell out the
words Miss Mary discovered that she had made but very little progress in
her education.

"Please, I think I could say my lessons better in the Bible if I could
find the verses father teaches me," said May, with perfect honesty.

Miss Mary rang to obtain Susan's assistance, and May asked her to find
the Sermon on the Mount.  May read out nearly the whole of the first
chapter, with a peculiar tone and pronunciation, which she had learned
from honest Adam, following the words with her finger.

"I rather think, my little maid, that you know the verses by heart,"
observed Miss Mary.

"Oh, yes," answered May, naively, "I could not read them without; but I
will try and learn more before I next come."

Miss Mary was, however, inclined to advise her not to make the attempt,
as she would learn to pronounce the words with the accent which sounded
so harsh to her ears.

"But, however pronounced, they are God's words," she thought to herself.
"I should not prevent her learning even a verse from His book.  She
will soon gain the right pronunciation from educated people."

The time passed as pleasantly with Miss Mary as with May herself.

At length Susan appeared to say that a fisher-lad, one of Dame
Halliburt's sons, had come to fetch the little girl.

"Who is it?" asked Miss Mary.

"Oh, it is sure to be brother Jacob, the rest have gone out with
father," answered May.

Jacob was desired to walk in.  He stood in the hall, hat in hand,
watching the door of the drawing-room, through which Susan had intimated
May would appear.  As soon as she saw him she ran forward and took both
of his hands, pleasure beaming on her countenance.  He stooped down and
kissed her.

"Are you ready to come with me, Maidy May?" he asked; "you don't want to
stop away from us with the ladies here, do you?"

"Oh, no, no, Jacob!" answered May, holding him tightly by the hand; "I
don't want to leave father or mother or you; I will go back with you as
soon as you like."

Miss Mary overheard the latter part of the conversation as she followed
May out of the drawing-room.

"I hear, my good lad, that you have been very kind to the little girl;
and pray understand that we do not wish to rob you of her; and if we ask
her to come up here, it will only be to help you in teaching her to
read, as I understand you have been accustomed to do."

"Please, ma'am, I am a very poor scholar," answered Jacob; "but I do my
best, and I shall be main glad if you will help me."

Hand-in-hand May and Jacob set off to return home.

That evening Jacob might have been seen with the Bible before him, and
May seated by his side, while he tried to help her to read.  As the lamp
fell on their countenances, the contrast between the fair,
delicate-looking child and the big, strongly-built fisher-boy, with his
well-bronzed, broad and honest face, would not have failed to be
remarked by a stranger entering the room.

Jacob spelt out the words one by one, pronouncing them with his broad
accent as he gained their meaning, while May followed him, imitating
exactly the intonation of his voice.  Sometimes she not only caught him
up, but got ahead, reading on several words by herself, greatly to her
delight.

"Ah, May!  I see how it is," said Jacob, with a sigh.  "You will be
quicker with your books than I ever shall be, and if the kind ladies at
Downside wish to teach you, it's not for me to say them nay; but I would
that I had more learning for your sake, and I shall be jealous of them,
that I shall, when I find that you can read off out of any book you have
got as smoothly as you do the verses you have learned by rote.  Oh, you
will be laughing at me then."

"No, no, Jacob!  I will never laugh at you.  You taught me all I know
about reading, and I shall never forget that, even if I learn to read
ever so well."

Next morning, when Adam came home from fishing, the dame told him the
interest Miss Mary Pemberton seemed to take in Maiden May, and of her
expectation that the Miss Pembertons would wish to have the little girl
up to instruct her better than they could at home.  Adam agreed that it
would not be right to prevent their charge enjoying the benefit which
such instruction would undoubtedly be to her.

"But they must not rob us of her altogether, dame.  I could not bear to
part with the little maiden, and what is more I won't, unless her own
kindred come to claim her, and then it would go sore against the grain
to give her up.  But right is right, and we could not stand out against
that."

"If the Miss Pembertons wish to take the little girl into their house
and make a little lady of her it would not be right, I fear, Adam, to
say `No' to them."

"She is a little lady already," answered Adam, sturdily.  "They could
not make her more so than she is already."

"But I am afraid the way we live, and speak too, Adam, is not like that
of gentlefolks; and though our Maiden May is a little lady, and better
than many little ladies I have known in all her ways, she will become in
time too much like one of us to please those to whom she belongs, I am
afraid," observed the dame, who had from her experience as a domestic
servant in Mr Castleton's family, a clearer perception of the
difference between the habits of her own class and those of the upper
orders of society than her husband.  Still Adam was not to be convinced.

"We are bringing her up as a Christian child should be brought up, to be
good and obedient," he observed, in a determined tone, "and that's more
than many among the gentry are.  You know, Betsy, you wouldn't like her
to be like that Miss Castleton you told me off."

"No more I should," answered the dame; "But though the Pembertons are of
her kindred, they are truly Christian ladies, and Maiden May could only
learn good from them."

As is often the case in a matrimonial discussion, the wife had the best
of the argument, but they were still uncertain whether the Miss
Pembertons would even make the offer which the dame had suggested as
possible.  She, at all events, had promised to take Maiden May up to
them, and Adam could not prohibit her doing so.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

MAY AN APT SCHOLAR.

On Miss Pemberton's return to Downside, while seated at their tea-table,
Miss Mary gave her a description of her young visitor of the morning,
and told her of the proposal she was anxious to make about her.

"I should just like to see the little girl," said Miss Pemberton.  "If
she is really as the dame supposes, of gentle birth, it would be
undoubtedly right to try and give her some of the advantages of which
she has been deprived.  At the same time we should be cautious--perhaps
the dame may have been mistaken, and it will be unnecessary, if not
imprudent, to try and raise her above the position in which she was
born, unless she possesses qualities calculated to make her happier and
better in a higher station."

"Well, Jane, I could only form an opinion from her sweet voice and from
what she said.  Adam Halliburt and his wife are devotedly fond of her,
and do you not think that we may help them by judicious training."

"Well, Mary, I see that you are determined to think highly of the child,
and unless we find that you are mistaken, I shall be very glad to see
her as often as her worthy protectors will allow her to come," said Miss
Pemberton.

"I trust that it will be found that I am right in my opinion of the
sweet little girl," said Miss Mary, nodding her head and smiling.  "I
can always judge best of people by their voices, and I detected in her's
that true tone which can only proceed from a true heart."

"Well, well, we shall see, and I hope that my opinion will agree with
your's, Mary," observed Miss Pemberton.

Next morning Mistress Halliburt arrived with Maiden May.  The little
girl was scrupulously clean and neatly dressed, though her garments were
befitting a fisherman's daughter of plain and somewhat coarse materials,
except that she wore the unusual addition of shoes and stockings.

"I have brought our little maiden to you, ladies, as you desired, and if
you will please to tell me how long you wish to keep her, I will send my
Jacob up to fetch her away at the proper time," said the dame as she
entered the hall into which the Miss Pemberton's had come out to meet
their young guest.

Miss Pemberton scanned her narrowly with her keen grey eyes before
replying.

"Good morning, my dear," said Miss Mary, "come and shake hands."

May ran forward and placed her hand trustfully in that of the blind
lady.  "May I lead you about the garden as I did yesterday, Miss Mary,"
she asked, "and tell you of the birds, and butterflies, and flowers I
see?  I shall like it so much."  Miss Mary smiled and nodded her consent
to the proposal.  "Thank you, thank you," exclaimed Maiden May.  "You
need not send for the child till the evening, Mrs Halliburt," said Miss
Jane, who had been watching May.  "We shall not grow tired of her I
think, and she, I hope, will be happy here."

The dame went away in the hopes that Maiden May had made a favourable
impression on the ladies.  "The elder is a little stiff and won't win
the child's heart like the blind lady; but she is kind and may be thinks
more than her sister," she said to herself.  "She won't spoil the child
or set her up too much--that's a good thing, or maybe she might not like
coming back to us and putting up with our ways, and that would vex Adam
sorely."

The little girl spent a very happy day with the kind ladies.  She led
Miss Mary as she had proposed about the garden, and was as entertaining
to the blind lady as on the previous day, while she gained a
considerable amount of information tending to expand her young mind.

Miss Jane commenced giving her the course of instruction she had
contemplated, and Maiden May proved herself a willing and apt pupil.
When invited to come to dinner, Miss Jane was pleased to see her stand
up with her hands before her, ready to repeat the grace which she
herself uttered.

"Father always prays before and after meals though he does not say the
same words; but I think God does not care about the words so much as
what comes out of the heart.  Oh, He is very very kind, I always thank
Him for what He gives me.  If He had not taken care of me, I should have
been washed away in the sea with my poor ayah and all the people on
board the ship."

"And you love God my little maiden," asked Miss Pemberton.  "Oh, yes,
how could I not when He has given us His dear Son, and with Him all
things else which we can want to make us happy."

"The child has been well taught by the good fish wife," observed Miss
Mary aside to her sister.  "She has set us an example which we must be
careful to follow."

"Yes, indeed," said Miss Jane, "we can better give her lady-like notions
and habits than the good old woman could have done, but she has acted
faithfully in imparting that knowledge which is above all price."  It is
true May did several things at table not in accordance with the customs
of polite society, but Miss Jane refrained from saying anything for fear
of intimidating the little girl.

"You will observe, May, how I behave at table, and you will try, I am
sure, to do as I do," she said quietly.

May nodded, and after this so narrowly watched all her movements that
Miss Jane began almost to wish that she had not made the remark.  If
Miss Jane helped herself to salt so did Maiden May, when she drank the
little girl lifted her small tumbler to her lips, her knife and fork was
held exactly in the same way she saw Miss Jane doing, or held daintily
in her tiny hand while Susan took her plate for some more chicken.

"Our young friend will prove an apt scholar, I suspect," observed Miss
Jane, to her sister.  "I will tell you why I think so by and bye."

After dinner Miss Jane gave May her first writing lesson.  She had never
before held a pen in her hand, and her attempts to make pot-hooks and
hangers, and even straight lines were not very successful.

"I think I could make some letters like those in a book, if you will let
me, Miss Jane," she said, looking up after surveying her performance.

"I do not want you to make such as those at present; but I will write
some which you can copy."

To her surprise the little girl imitated the letters, as she told Miss
Mary, with a neatness and precision which was truly surprising.

"I like to do them much better than those ugly things," said Maiden May,
and she was spared the task of copying the pot-hooks and hangers, and
was allowed to learn writing more according to her own fancy.

She was so happy that she thought Jacob had arrived sooner than it was
necessary to escort her home.  She went, however, very willingly,
tripping along by his side as she held his big hand, and describing with
glee all she had seen and learned.

"You will soon be thinking little of our home I am afeared, May," said
Jacob with a sigh.

May protested honestly she liked home best.  Jacob felt that in a few
years she would think differently.  He scarcely dared to allow himself
to contemplate the wide gap which would be placed between them.

Day after day May went up to Downside Cottage.

"We ought not to give you the trouble to come for your little girl,
Mistress Halliburt," observed Miss Jane; "Susan can escort her if you do
not think her old enough to go by herself."

"If she were my own daughter, or any other poor person's child, I would
have let her go and come back by herself long ago, but there is one
living not far off, who, for reasons of his own which I cannot fathom,
would, I am afraid, like to spirit her off," said the dame mysteriously.
"I have never lost sight of her except when she has been with you or my
Jacob, besides that time when near Texford Mr Harry saved her from the
wild bull, and I was so frightened then that I made up my mind never to
let her go by herself again.  If she had come to harm I should have
almost died of it, and Adam would never have forgiven me."

"That was an accident not likely to occur again, and surely no one would
injure the child," observed Miss Jane.

"It's no fancy of mine if I think there is," said the dame.  "He came
once and tried to get her from us by fair means, but we would not give
her up for all his promises.  But when he finds out as he is sure to do
before long, that she is with you, and coming backwards and forwards, he
will be on the watch for her.  He is not often here now since the war
began, and Adam thinks he is about no good.  He does come back sometimes
for a day or two, and Satan will be helping him if he thinks of
mischief."

"No doubt about that, Mrs Halliburt," observed Miss Jane.  "But there
is one more powerful than Satan who will protect the innocent."

"True, marm, but He will protect them through the means of their
friends, and it's our business, if we suspect evil to guard against it,"
said the dame.

"You are right.  But who is the person of whom you speak who is likely
to injure our little girl?"

"We must not speak ill of our neighbours, Miss Pemberton," answered the
dame.  "I know that; but if our neighbours do ill we may warn others
against them.  The man I mean is Miles Gaffin, the miller, as he calls
himself.  Now, I cannot say exactly what ill he does, except that I
never heard of his doing any good or saying even a kind word, though he
says many a bad one: but Adam, my husband, has a pretty strong notion of
the sort of business he carries on, and that it's not by his mill he
makes his money.  There are few about here who don't stand in awe of
him, and yet it would be hard for anyone to say exactly why.  Only one
thing is certain, that if he had a mind to do a thing he would do it,
and set the law at defiance.  To say the truth, I cannot tell you more
against him than I have, but I am just afraid of him, and cannot help
feeling as how he would work mischief to our Maiden May if he had the
chance.  But, Miss Pemberton, you will not repeat what I have said?"

"Certainly not, dame, certainly not," said Miss Mary, "but after all I
cannot say that you have brought any serious accusation against the
miller, nor can I understand why you should fancy he is likely to injure
our Maiden May."

"That's just it, Miss Mary, no one about here can say exactly what he
does, or why they don't like him.  Still, no one does like him, and I
feel a sort of tremble whenever I set my eyes on him, just as I should,
begging your pardon, ladies, if I was to meet Satan himself, though I
know well he cannot hurt me, for I trust in one who is able to keep evil
at a distance."

"Though I still remain in the dark as to why we should be cautious of
this man Gaffin, we will always keep a careful watch over Maiden May,
and when you or your son cannot come for her we will send her home with
some prudent person who will take care that neither he nor anyone else
runs off with her," answered Miss Jane.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

AT PORTSMOUTH.

Portsmouth was a busy place in those stirring times of warfare, and as
the coach, on the top of which Harry was seated, rattled and rumbled
down the High Street, parties of sailors came rolling along, laughing
and talking, several in their heedlessness almost running against the
horses in spite of the shouts of the coachman, who had more than once to
pull up to avoid driving over them.  Now a pressgang passed along,
dragging a number of unwilling captives to serve on board the fleet,
some resigned to their fate, others with frowning brows resenting the
treatment they had received, and some glancing round, hoping against
hope for an opportunity to escape.  Officers in cocked hats and
glittering epaulets were walking quickly along, while post-chaises came
driving in bringing Admiralty officials or Captains to join their ships.
Groups were collected in front of the different inns, and Jews were
looking out for customers, certain of obtaining a ready sale for their
trumpery wares.  Ballad singers, especially those who could troll forth
one of Dibdin's new songs, were collecting a good harvest from eager
listeners, and the apple-stall women were driving a thriving trade; as
were the shopkeepers of high and low degree, judging by their smiling
countenances, while the sound of revelry which came forth from the
numerous inns showed that the landlords were rejoicing in the abundance
of custom: in short, there was little chance of grass growing in
Portsmouth streets in those days.

As Harry leaped down from his seat he found his hand grasped by another
midshipman, a handsome looking youth, somewhat taller and older than
himself, who had made his way through the crowd gathered round the
coach.

"I have been on the look-out for you, Harry, with a message from the
Captain," said the latter, as they cordially shook hands.  "You are to
come on board at once, for we are all ataunto and the frigate goes out
of harbour this evening."

I have to order a few things at my tailor's, and shall be quite ready,
answered Harry.

"Well, Headland," he added, taking his friend's arm after he had given
his portmanteau into charge of a porter, "I was so glad to find that you
had joined the Triton, and as the captain knows and esteems you, he is
sure to give you a lift whenever he can.  We shall see some more service
together, and I hope that you, at all events, will mount a swab on your
shoulder before the ship is paid off."

"Your uncle will get you promoted first, I should think," answered
Headland, "though I hope some day my turn will come."

"You are my senior, and have done not a few things to merit it, and
Captain Fancourt is the last man to favour a relation by passing over
another with greater merits."

"Come, come, you have learned to flatter while you were studying French
on shore.  We shall both do our duty, I have no doubt about that."

Harry having called at his tailor's, he and Headland went down to the
point now so crowded with men-of-war's boats, and wherries coming in and
shoving off marines and sailors, watermen, and boat-women, and gaily
dressed females and persons of all description, that they had no little
difficulty in gaining one of the wherries.  Reaching her, however, at
last, they off to the frigate lying mid-channel, with her sails loose,
ready to get under way.

Harry, having reported himself, had some old friends to greet, and a
number of new acquaintances to make, and he soon found himself at home
in a midshipman's berth.

As soon as the captain came on board, the frigate, slipping her
moorings, glided out of harbour, and took up a berth near Lord Howe's
fleet, which had a short time before arrived after the glorious victory
of the 1st June.

Captain Fancourt having sent for Harry, gave him a kind welcome, and
said:--

"You shall go on shore with me to-morrow to attend the king and queen,
who are coming on board the fleet.  It is the best opportunity you may
have of seeing their majesties till you go to court on your promotion,
which I hope, however, you will gain before many years are over."

Accordingly, the next morning the captain went on shore in his boat,
taking Harry with him, and pulled to the dockyard.

Never had Portsmouth harbour presented a gayer scene.  Every vessel
afloat was dressed with as many flags as could be mustered, from the
proud line of battle ship to the humble lighter, while banners waved
from numberless flagstaff's on shore.  The shores were everywhere lined
with people on the watch for the flotilla of boats which were collecting
before the Commissioner's house in the dockyard.  The whole garrison was
under arms, and the Lords of the Admiralty, whose flag was hoisted on
board the Queen, and most of the Ministers of State were present.

Shouts rent the air as at length the king issued from the Commissioner's
house, carrying in his own hand a magnificent diamond-hilted sword,
accompanied by the queen, and followed by several of the princes and
princesses.  He thus proceeded down to his barge waiting at the steps,
when, amid the shouts of the multitude, and the firing of guns, he
embarked with his family and attendants.  The barge, then urged by the
strong arms of her crew, proceeded down the harbour, followed by a vast
fleet of boats, and steered for the Queen Charlotte, the most
conspicuous of the ships at Spithead.

As soon as the barge arrived alongside, the royal standard was hoisted,
that of the venerable admiral being shifted to a frigate, and a royal
salute thundered forth from all the ships, while hearty cheers rose from
the throats of the gallant crews as they stood on the outstretched
yards.

On the deck of the Queen Charlotte were collected the gallant admirals
and captains, by whose courage and seamanship the first of that long
series of victories which contributed so greatly to England's naval
glory had been won.

The king would allow no one to take the sword from him, but as soon as
he reached the deck, eagerly advanced towards Lord Howe.  He presented
it to him as a mark of his satisfaction and entire approbation of his
conduct.  Rich gold chains were then presented by the king to Sir
Alexander Hood, to Admiral Gardener, and also to Lord Howe's first
captain, Sir Roger Curtis.

"I am sorry that their wounds prevent Admiral Bower and Admiral Paisley
from attending," said the king.  "I must have the satisfaction of
presenting them with gold chains; and as soon as medals can be cast to
commemorate the victory, I will send them that they may be attached to
the chains."

It was an interesting sight when, on that occasion, the flower of the
English navy, with the gallant men who had fought that glorious action,
were presented by the venerable admiral, for Lord Howe was then seventy
years of age, to the good king on the quarter-deck of the flag ship.
His Majesty exhibited much genuine feeling as the admirals captains and
lieutenants in succession came up to him.  He had a kind word for
everyone, and one of sympathy for those who had so far recovered from
their wounds as to be able to be presented.

"Who would not be ready to shed the last drop of his blood when we have
our dear country to fight for, and so first-rate a king to reign over
us," exclaimed Harry, enthusiastically to his friend Headland, for they
both had accompanied their captain on board, and witnessed the spectacle
from a distant part of the ship.

The levee being concluded, the king dined with the admiral on board, and
then returned in his barge to the harbour, accompanied as before by a
squadron of boats.

His Majesty was so eager to see the prizes captured by his fleet, that,
before going on shore, he insisted on pulling up the harbour to have a
look at them.  There, at their moorings, lay the six huge line of battle
ships which had lately belonged to the republican French, now the prize
of English valour.  The Northumberland, Achille, La Just, Impetueux, and
America, the two latter the finest seventy-fours that had ever been seen
in the British harbour, the Sans-Pareille, almost equalling in size the
Queen Charlotte, and noted for her swift sailing.  The Venguer would
have been among them had she not sunk just after she struck her colours.

In the evening the town was brilliantly illuminated, and the next day
the king attended the launch of a line of battle ship, the Prince of
Wales.  Directly afterwards, the indefatigable monarch, with the queen
and princess, rowed out to Spithead, embarked on board the Aquilon
frigate, royal salutes firing from all the ships while the crews manned
yards and cheered, and the bands played their most lively music.

The Aquilon getting under way stood towards the Needles, when the king
returned to Portsmouth to spend the Sunday.

On the following Monday he sailed in the Niger frigate for Southampton,
whence the royal family proceeded in carriages for Windsor.

Such is a description of one of the many visits the king delighted to
pay to the fleets of England, so that both the officers and men of the
navy were well acquainted with his person, and very many could boast of
having had the honour of conversing with him.

The Triton, however, was soon to be far away from such scenes, and to be
engaged in the stern reality of warfare.  Her destination was the
Mediterranean, and her captain and crew being eager to distinguish
themselves, the grass was not allowed to grow on her keel.  Still,
though a bright look-out was kept, and leagues of water had been
ploughed by her, a couple of privateers, a few merchantmen, and Gunda
costas, only had been captured, she having hitherto encountered no
worthy antagonist.

Unhappily fever broke out on board, and going into Gibraltar she was
compelled to leave thirty men at the hospital.  Even after she sailed
again, a considerable number remained on the sick list; indeed, she had
almost an equal number with those left behind unable to do duty.

Though his crew were thus reduced in strength, Captain Fancourt
continued his cruise in search of the enemy.

The Triton, approaching the neighbourhood of Carthagena, a number of
large ships were seen hull down between her and the land.  They were
known to be the Spanish fleet.  Their movements were watched, and they
were observed standing back to port.  The Triton kept them in sight, and
then standing away, continued cruising on the ground they had before
occupied.  In vain, however, Captain Fancourt watched for their return,
that he might carry information of their whereabouts to the admiral.

Day after day went by and not a sail was seen.

"This is vexatious work," exclaimed Harry, as he and Headland were
walking the quarter-deck during the first watch, when the frigate lay
becalmed about ten or a dozen miles off the coast.

"It's more than vexatious to me who have no friends to help me, and who,
unless I get the opportunity of fighting my way up the ratlines, have
but little hope of promotion," answered Headland.  "You who have a
father in Parliament are sure of yours as soon as you have served your
time."

"That may be the case, but I would rather gain my promotion in hard
service, than as a matter of favour.  I am sure that you will make
opportunities for yourself, and I hope to find them too, though they may
not come as willingly as we may desire," said Harry.  "But how is it,
Headland, that you speak of having no friends?  You know me well enough,
to be sure, that I could not wish to pry into your affairs from idle
curiosity; but the truth is, that being known to be your friend, I have
several times been asked about you, and I have been compelled to confess
that I know nothing of your history.  That has made people fancy that
there is something you would desire to conceal, though, as I know you,
my dear fellow, to be the soul of honour, I am very sure there is
nothing, as far as you are personally concerned, which you would desire
to be kept secret."

"You do me no more than justice, Harry," answered Headland, in a tone
which denoted honest pride--a very different feeling to vanity.  "There
is nothing in my history which I wish to conceal.  On the contrary, I
would rather have it as widely known as possible, though the fear of
being considered egotistical has prevented me talking about myself.  For
this reason alone I have hitherto, even to you, never spoken about my
early days, and now you put the question to me, I can scarcely otherwise
account for my silence on the subject."

"You have spoken at times of a kind-hearted seaman who took care of you
as a child, and of having served as a ship's boy before you were placed
on the quarter-deck, and of other circumstances which have made me
suspect that your early history was not a little romantic.  From
strangers being present, or from other causes, I have, however, always
been prevented from questioning you more particularly on the subject,
and even now, as I honour you for yourself, I would not ask you to tell
me anything, but that I believe it would be for your advantage, and
certainly, as I said before, not to satisfy my own curiosity."

"I am sure of that, my dear Harry," answered Headland, "and I will try
to give you as much of my early history as I possess myself.  To do so I
must exert my memory, and help it out with the information I have
obtained from my early protector and devoted friend, Jack Headland,
whose name I bear, though I know from him that it is not my proper one.
I have no reason, however, to be ashamed of the name, and therefore
gladly retain it, hoping some day to make it known with honour.  I
confess, however, did I possess any means of being recognised, my
earnest wish would have been to discover my parents and family, but as
you will learn, from what I am going to tell you, all possible clue that
would enable me to do so has been lost, and I have therefore made up my
mind to be content with my position, and to gain a name for myself."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A YARN AT SEA.

"If it gives you no painful recollections, my dear Headland, I shall
much like to hear your history," said Harry.  "On this calm night the
thread of your narrative is not likely to be broken."

"I will try to go back, then, as far as my memory will help me," said
Headland.

I have a dim recollection of living in a large Eastern style of house,
with a number of black servants dressed in white, and a black woman who
spoke in a language which has now become strange, though I think I then
understood it.  She attended especially on me.  There was a tall
gentleman of a slight figure, and a very fair lady, who was, I am sure,
my mother.  I have a faint recollection of her blue eyes and sweet smile
as she took me in her arms, or looked down upon me as I played at her
feet.  Still, it is only now and then like the vision in a dream that
her countenance rises to my memory.  After that there comes a blank, and
I found myself on board a ship--brought there by my black nurse,
accompanied by the tall gentleman.  I remember him clearly in the cabin,
talking to a lady who then took charge of me, my nurse, I conclude,
returning on shore, for she disappears from my recollection.  While the
gentleman was on deck, as I was afterwards told by Jack Headland, he
suddenly, looking at the mate, asked him if he was not somebody he had
known in England.  The mate seemed for a moment taken aback, but,
recovering himself, replied quite quietly that the gentleman was
mistaken; that he had never heard of such a person, and that his name
was Michael Golding, which, as Jack said, as far as he knew to the
contrary, was the case, for that was the name he went by on board,
though he was generally spoken of as the mate.  The gentleman at last
seemed satisfied, and returned on shore.

The ship sailed, and I remember seeing the blue water bubbling and
hissing alongside as she clove her way through it, and playing with a
ball on deck, which rolled out through one of the ports.  The lady was
very kind, and used to sing to me, and tell me stories, and, I fancied,
tried to teach me my letters, though I was somewhat young to learn them.
She was, however, very different to my mother, much older I suspect,
and I did not love her half so much.

It came on to blow after a time, the sea got up and the ship tumbled
about, and the poor lady was unable to watch over me.

There were other passengers, but they were all ill, and the stewardess
was too busy to attend to me, but the mate came one day and told the
lady that he would watch over me, or get some one else to do so when he
was engaged.

From the first I did not like him, for he was a dark, black bearded man,
with an unpleasant expression of countenance, so I cried out whenever he
came near me.  The captain must, I think, therefore, have given me in
charge to Jack Headland, a young apprentice, whose looks I liked much
better than the mate's.  At all events, I was frequently with Jack, and
no one could have taken better care of me.

There were not many English seamen, most of the crew being dark-skinned
fellows--Malays, I suppose.

The vessel was, I know, not an Indiaman, but a country trader bound to
Calcutta or Bombay.

I told Jack--so I learned from him--that I did not like the mate.  He
advised me not to say that to any one else, and promised that he would
be my friend.

Most thoroughly he fulfilled his promise.  Strange as it may seem, the
mate intentionally left me near an open port several times, in the hopes
that I might by chance slip through, so Jack thought, though he could
not guess at his motive.  Still it was clear that the mate had a bitter
spite against me.

We had been some time at sea when we were caught in a fearful hurricane.
The ship was dismasted, and I remember hearing a dreadful crash, when
all was confusion on board.  The sea broke over the ship, and a number
of people were washed away.  Even then Jack did not forget me.  He found
me in the cabin, and seizing me in his arms carried me to the fore part
of the ship, which still hung to the rocks, while the after part,
directly we had left it, broke up, and the poor lady who had had charge
of me with many others was lost.  The mate, who had made his way forward
with half-a-dozen men, advised Jack to let me go, as it was impossible I
should survive, and that he would probably lose his own life in
attempting to save mine.

"No, no," answered Jack.  "I promised to take care of the youngster, and
I will as long as I have life in me."

The noble fellow held me the faster with one arm, while he clung to the
wreck with the other.  Scarcely had the mate spoken than he was washed
away; but Jack saw him gain a piece of the wreck to which he was
clinging, when he disappeared in the gloom at night.

When morning broke, the shore was seen.  The hurricane was over, and the
sea was becoming calmer.  Jack securing me to the stump of the bowsprit
with three or four of our surviving shipmates, contrived to form a raft.
When this was launched he came for me, and fed me with some biscuit
which he had in his pocket, I conclude.  We then embarked, and partly by
paddling with pieces of plank, and partly by sailing, we reached the
shore.

We had not long landed when a number of natives came, and made the whole
party prisoners.  While they were consulting what to do with us, some
others were seen along the shore dragging the mate in their midst.
Three Malays had been saved on the raft, who, poor fellows, were quickly
knocked on the head.  The lives of the white men were spared.  Jack kept
me tightly in his arms, and entreated the natives not to take me from
him.  The mate, however, seemed to be able to make them understand him,
and Jack said that he was certain from the way he looked at me, that he
was endeavouring to persuade the natives to separate us.  Though we had
fallen among a tribe of murderous pirates, such as frequent the coasts
of many of the Indian Islands, they had still some of the kinder
feelings of human nature lingering in their breasts.  Notwithstanding
what the mate might have said Jack was allowed to keep possession of me,
and our captors making signs to us to accompany them, we proceeded to
their village, situated on the shores of a creek, on the bank of which
several piratical proas lay moored.

By this time I was suffering dreadfully from thirst.  Jack seeing this
entreated the natives to give me some water.  The houses were raised on
platforms, with steps leading to them some height from the ground.

One of the natives, a headman, calling out a pleasant-looking young
woman, brought down a calabash of water, which she gave me to drink.
She smiled as she watched me.  As soon as I had satisfied my thirst, I
put it to Jack's mouth, and he swallowed the remainder.  The young woman
seemed to have taken a fancy to me, and saying something to the head
man, who was her husband, the latter made signs to Jack that he was to
give me to her.  On this she seemed highly pleased, and Jack, thinking I
should be safe in her keeping, made no resistance.

As soon as she got me, she carried me up into the house.  Jack was going
to follow, when some of the natives seized him and dragged him away.  My
new nurse brought me some dry native clothing, and while doing so
discovered round my neck a gold chain to which an ornament was attached;
but she did not attempt to take it off, and I have ever since carefully
preserved it in the hopes that it might assist to identify me.  She then
gave me food, and placed me on a mat, where I soon fell asleep.

Day after day passed by, and though I frequently asked for Jack, he did
not appear.  The young woman who had no children of her own, treated me
with great kindness, and dressed me up like a native.  I do not remember
having had my own clothes restored.

I remember once, if not twice, seeing the mate while I was playing in
front of the house; but my protectress, fancying that he wanted to take
me from her, ran out and carried me inside.

I was beginning to learn the language of the people with whom I was
thrown, and could make my wants known, so that I must have been some
time with them.  I had not forgotten Jack, however, and continued hoping
that he would come back for me; and whenever I went out I was on the
watch for him.  Once I fancied I saw him in the distance, but as I was
dressed as a native child, he did not recognise me.

Many months went by.  I afterwards found that the white men had been
compelled to labour as slaves, though the mate had managed to gain the
confidence of one of the chiefs, and had risen in his favour.  The proas
frequently went out of harbour, and were absent often for a considerable
time.  When they came back they brought all sorts of things, which were
placed in their store houses, and were certainly not obtained by
peaceable commerce.

One day the young woman who had charge of me seemed very unhappy.  I was
now able to understand all she said, so I asked her the cause of her
grief, and she told me that the chief whose slave the mate had become,
wanted to persuade her husband to give me up to him, and that she could
not bear the thoughts of parting from me.  I entreated her to keep me,
and promised that if I was taken away I would run back to her.  I then
asked her if she knew what had become of my friend Jack.  She said he
was not far off, but that his master would not let him come to see me.
I begged her, at all events, not to let me be given up to the mate.  She
at last told me one day that I need have no fear of the mate, as he had
disappeared, and was supposed to have made his way out to sea in a canoe
to a vessel which had appeared off the coast.

The pirates lived tolerably easy lives on shore, apparently believing
that though they must have made enemies in all directions, their village
was so securely hidden, they were not likely to be molested.

Thus time went on, when one night I was awoke by hearing a fearful
uproar, rapid reports of firearms, shouts and shrieks of men fighting
desperately.  Presently flames burst forth from different parts of the
village.  They were approaching the house where I was.  The one next to
it was on fire.  My kind protectress did not forget me.  At first, not
knowing what to do, she had remained watching the progress of events,
hoping probably that the enemy would be driven back.  When, however, the
fire surrounded her house, she saw that it was time to fly.  Seizing me
in her arms she was about to do so, when the crackling and hissing
flames burst forth around us.  At that moment a man leaped up the steps.
Though so long a time had passed since we had parted, I at once
recognised my friend Jack.  Snatching me from the woman's arms, he
sprang down to the ground, telling her to follow him.  Bullets were
whizzing through the air in all directions.  He made his way as fast as
his legs could carry him out of the range of fire, and then directed his
course towards the river, where he sat down on the ground beneath some
bushes, and I believe I fell asleep.

It was just daylight when I awoke, and Jack creeping with me down to the
water's edge, we saw several boats full of men.  Jack shouted to them,
and one of them put in and took us on board.  They were, he afterwards
told me, the boats of two Dutch men-of-war, which had been sent up the
river to destroy the nest of pirates.  This they had done effectually,
and were now on their way back to their ships.  Jack was the only one of
the shipwrecked crew who had escaped; what had become of the others he
could not tell, but concluded that they had been murdered.

It was a long time, however, before I could speak to him or understand
what he said, for I had been so long without hearing a word of English
that I had almost forgotten it, while he knew but very little of the
native language in which I had in the meantime learned to express my
wants.

We were kindly received on board one of the Dutch frigates.  Jack tried
to tell the captain the little he knew about me, but as the Dutchman
spoke no English, and Jack was ignorant of Dutch, he did not, I suspect,
give him a very lucid account.  Jack having been but a short time at the
port from which we sailed, as he had joined the ship from a vessel which
had arrived only the day before, had entirely forgotten its name, and
being no navigator he had not the slightest notion from what direction
we had come.  He was not much happier in recollecting the name of the
vessel, except that there were two of them both ending, as he said, in
"jee."

Before long a Dutch seaman who spoke English was found on board, and
through his interpretation Jack was able to give a rather more clear
account of me than at first.  The captain was at all events satisfied
that I was the child of English parents of a good position in life, and
taking compassion on my destitute condition, he desired Jack to leave me
in the cabin, giving him permission, however, to come aft and attend to
me.  Jack would rather have kept me forward with himself, but believing
that this arrangement was for my good, he submitted to it.  I was soon
rigged out like a young Dutchman by the ship's tailor, and Jack used to
come into the cabin to look after me in the morning, and to attend to me
at my meals, while he watched during the best part of the day as I ran
about the deck.

The frigates were bound for Batavia.  As soon as we arrived there the
captain took me on shore, and he so interested a wealthy Dutch merchant
and his wife in my favour that they offered to receive me into their
house and adopt me should my parents not be discovered.  I at once
became a great favourite of the lady's, who had no children of her own,
and for my sake they sent for Jack and asked if he would wish to remain
on shore and enter their service.  As he was very unwilling to part with
me he accepted their offer, though, as he afterwards said, kind as they
were, he did not like the thoughts of my being turned into a Dutchman.
He was my constant companion when I was not with Mynheer Vanderveldt or
his excellent Frau, and he did his best to teach me English.  They,
however, did not neglect either my education or my manners, but took
great pains to bring me up as a young gentleman.

Three or four years more passed by, and I had become a biggish boy, and
should, in spite of Jack's efforts, have been soon turned into a
Dutchman, when my kind friends determined to return to Europe.  I
suspect that all this time, from their wish to keep me, they had taken
no great pains to discover to whom I belonged; indeed, the only clue
that Jack could give them was so slight that I feel that they really had
a sufficient excuse for their negligence.  My faithful friend Jack,
still unwilling to part from me, accompanied my friends in the _Prinz
Mauritz_, on board which we embarked.  He and I were doomed, however, to
be unfortunate in our voyages, though more fortunate than our
companions.

We had been some weeks at sea when, during a dark and blowing night, a
terrific crash was heard.  I sprang out of my berth and dressed, and
within a minute my faithful Jack was by my side.

"The ship is on shore and will go to pieces before daylight, but I will
not desert you, my boy," he said.  "As I came aft I made out a rock
close aboard of us, and as the masts are sure to go over we may manage
to gain it if we take the proper time.  I wish I could help Mynheer and
the Frau, but I must look after you first."

Scarcely had he said this when another and another crashing sound
reached our ears.

"There go the masts!" he exclaimed.  "Come along!" and seizing me by the
arm he dragged me on deck.

As he had expected, the head of the mainmast rested on the rock, which
could now be seen as a bright flash of lightning darted from the sky.
We were the first on the spar, and making our way along it gained the
rock.  A few others seeing us followed.  I entreated Jack to look after
my friends, forgetting the danger to which he would be exposed in doing
so.  The people coming along the mast prevented him from going, and just
then a heavy sea rolling in sent a sheet of spray over us, completely
hiding the ship.  When we looked again she was gone.  The sea had lifted
her, and falling off the rock she had sunk, dragging her fallen masts
with those still clinging to them.

Six people, besides Jack and me, had alone escaped, all the other human
beings on board, including my kind friends, had perished.  We remained
till daylight on the rock, and at daybreak managed to get to the island,
partly by wading and partly by swimming.  It was itself only a huge
rock, about three miles long, rising in some places to the height of a
couple of hundred feet above the sea.

We employed the whole day in collecting provisions and part of the cargo
washed ashore.  We went in search of water and found a spring, so that
we had no fear of dying from hunger or thirst for some time to come.
One of our first cares was to erect a flagstaff as a signal to any
passing ship.  I felt deeply grieved for the loss of my friends; but I
did not think so much about the fact that I was reduced from affluence
to perfect poverty.  Jack told me that he knew Mynheer Vanderveldt
intended to leave me all his property.

"He made his will before he left Batavia, and I am pretty sure he had it
with him, so that if any of his chests are washed on shore, as I should
know them, there may still be a chance of finding it.  Though I am no
scholar myself, you might make it out, and some day get what the good
man intended to be yours."

So impressed was Jack with this idea that he employed a considerable
portion of his time in hunting along the shore for my friend's chests.

Though we did not get them, we found several articles which were of more
use to us just then, so that the time was not fruitlessly spent.

We lived in a hut built partly of stones and partly of the wreck, and
thus suffered no great hardship.  After we had spent three months on the
rock we saw a sail in the distance.  She approached--our signal was
discovered.  A boat came and took us off, when we found ourselves on
board an English frigate, the _Nymph_, which had been driven by a gale
out of her course.  Had it not been for this circumstance we might have
remained on the rock many months longer, or till we had all died of
starvation.

Captain Biddell sent for me, and desired to know who I was.

"That's more than I can very well tell you, sir," I answered in the
broken English I then spoke; "but my friend Jack Headland can tell you
more about me than I can."

He accordingly sent for Jack, who told him all he knew.  He seemed, by
his remarks, to have some doubts of the truth of the story.

"Well, all I can do is to enter you both on the ship's books," he
observed.  "I shall see how the boy behaves himself and act
accordingly."

Jack was asked by what name I should be entered.

"I'll give him mine," he answered.  "I don't want him to be a Dutchman,
and I don't know any other to call him by."

And so I was entered as young Jack Headland, and young Jack I was called
ever afterwards, while he was known as old Jack, though he was not very
old either, for he was still a fine active young fellow.

"You heard what the captain said," observed old Jack to me.  "What you
have got to look after is to behave yourself and to do your duty.
Though he is somewhat cross-grained in his manner, he is all right at
bottom, or the ship would not be in the good order she is, or the men so
well contented.  Though I have never served on board a man-of-war before
I can judge of that."

I followed Jack's advice, and having shifted my shore-going clothes,
which were pretty nearly worn out, for a seaman's suit, I was soon able
to do my duty as well as any of the other boys in the ship.

Captain Fancourt was then first lieutenant of the frigate, and having
heard Jack's account he spoke to me and found that at all events I was a
young gentleman in manners and education.

"Do you wish to keep your present knowledge, my lad?" he asked one day,
calling me to him.  "It is a pity you should lose what you know."

I replied that I especially wished to do so, but that I had no books,
and should find it a hard matter to read them for'ard, even if I had.

"Very well," he answered.  "You shall come to my cabin every day, and I
will assist you in your studies."

The other officers following his example, also took me in hand.  The
master gave me lessons in mathematics and navigation, and the purser
taught me writing and arithmetic, so that though I was still berthed
for'ard I had advantages which even the midshipmen did not possess.
They, in a short time, finding I was a gentleman in manners, applied for
leave to the captain, and I was admitted into their berth.  I do not
know that I gained much by the change in some respects, but I was glad
to escape from the rough boys with whom I had at first to associate.  I
still did duty as a ship's boy, and by this means Jack was able to
instruct me in knotting and splicing, and other minutiae of a seaman's
education, which I found especially useful.

We had been in the Indian Seas about three years, chiefly engaged in
protecting British merchantmen from the pirates which swarmed there.
The boats had been sent away in chase of three or four of their craft,
cut off from a piratical fleet which were endeavouring to make their
escape along shore.  My friend Jack belonged to the second cutter.
Night came on, and the frigate stood after the boats, making signals for
their return.  Three of the boats at length got alongside, but the
second cutter did not appear.  The weather changed--a heavy gale sprang
up, and we were compelled to stand out to sea.  As soon as the weather
moderated, we returned and cruised up and down the coast, the boats
being sent on shore at various places; but nothing could be seen of the
second cutter, and we had every reason to fear that the officer in
charge of her and all hands, had either been killed or fallen into the
power of the pirates.  I was very much cut up at the loss of my kind
friend, who had indeed acted like a father towards me.  The captain sent
for me into his cabin, and expressed his regret at the loss of my old
protector.

"I wish to make all the amends I can to you, my lad," he said.  "As your
conduct has been thoroughly to my satisfaction since you came on board,
and as there is now a vacancy by the death of Mr Watson (the midshipman
lost in the boat), I will place you on the quarter-deck and give you the
rating of a midshipman."

I thanked him very much; but I remember saying, "I would rather old Jack
were alive though."

"I appreciate your feeling, my lad," he answered; "but even if he does
return I won't disrate you, and I will see how we can best manage to get
you an outfit."

Thus by the loss of my honest friend, whom I greatly lamented, I got my
first step on the ratlines.

After a further search for the missing boat we left the coast, and soon
afterwards going to Calcutta received our orders to return home.

Your uncle has been my friend ever since.  He obtained his promotion on
our arrival in England, and was at once appointed to the command of the
_Ariel_, corvette, in which I accompanied him to the West Indies, where
we were actively engaged, and I had there the opportunity I had so much
wished for of performing two or three acts which gained me credit.  I
was still more anxious than ever to make a name for myself, as since the
loss of my protector, Jack Headland, I had no possible clue by which to
discover my parents with the exception of the gold chain, which I wore
round my neck, and which I still preserved.  A small bundle containing a
child's clothes and shoes, and the figure of an Indian tumbler, which
were found in Jack's kit, I felt sure had belonged to me.  Whether or
not they are sufficient to identify me I am very doubtful.  Not wishing
to throw a chance away I deposited them for safety with my agents in
London.

Such was Headland's history, and Harry assured him at its close that he
always knew he must be a gentleman by birth, as he was in every other
possible way.

"I heartily wish," he said, "that you may some day find out to whom you
belong.  Whoever they are you may depend on it they will welcome you
joyfully.  Why there goes eight bells.  Our watch has indeed passed
quickly away."

The two midshipmen were relieved and went below.  They had scarcely, as
they supposed, closed their eyes, when the boatswain's rough voice and
shrill pipe roused them up with a cry of "All hands on deck!" followed
by the quick roll of the drum, the well known beat to quarters.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

HOME, WITH PROMOTION.

As Harry and his friend reached the deck they caught sight of a strange
frigate standing towards the _Triton_, which was, as has already been
said, off the port of Carthagena, and as they looked towards the land
they observed a small vessel under all sail running in for it.  That the
stranger was an enemy there was no doubt, and as she was evidently as
heavy a frigate as the Triton, there appeared, even should she be
captured, with the Spanish squadron close at hand, little prospect of
her being brought off.  There was indeed a great chance that the
_Triton_ herself would not escape should she be crippled.

"The odds are against us," observed the captain to his first lieutenant.
"We must not, however, show our heels to a single frigate, and will do
our best to take her before the enemy can come out to her rescue."

"Ay, ay, sir; take her we shall, and I hope get off with her too," was
the answer.

The crew were at their quarters, stripped to the waist, waiting eagerly
to begin the action.  The second lieutenant being left on shore and the
third being ill, Headland and Harry were doing duty in their places,
though the third lieutenant came on deck when he heard of the pending
action.

The stranger, which hoisted Spanish colours, and was seen to be of 34
guns, two more than the _Triton_, approaching within hail then hauled to
the wind, on the _Triton's_ weather beam.

"Give her a shot!" cried the captain, "to prove her."

Scarcely had the flash been seen than a whole broadside fired by the
enemy came rattling on board the _Triton_.  It was returned by the
British crew.  Broadside after broadside was given and received.  In
vain Captain Fancourt endeavoured to haul either ahead or astern of the
enemy to rake her.  She kept her advantageous position, and the
Spaniards, whatever may sometimes be said of them, fought their ship
gallantly.  The action continued to be a regular broadside to broadside
one.  The boatswain was seen examining the masts with anxious looks.
They and the bowsprit had been wounded pretty severely, while the
rigging hung in festoons, and her sails were shot through and torn.
Still the British seamen fought their guns as energetically as at first.

"Keep it up, my lads!" cried Headland, as he with Harry and other
officers moved from gun to gun.  "We have given her as much as we have
received, and something more into the bargain."

As far as the canopy of smoke which hung round the ships could enable
the British crew to distinguish the condition of their antagonist, they
saw that every shroud had been cut away, and her boats and upper works
knocked to pieces, while hitherto but very few of their own crew had
been hit and not one killed.  The action lasted an hour and twenty
minutes, when the Spaniards' fire sensibly slackened.

The _Triton_, giving her antagonist another broadside, now forged ahead.
The crew were ordered to leave their guns, and in an instant the
greater number swarming aloft began knotting and splicing the damaged
rigging, while fresh sails were got up and bent with a rapidity which
looked like magic.  Meantime the Spaniard was similarly engaged, and her
helm being put up she endeavoured under such sail as she could set to
make off.  The sight still further stimulated the British crew to
exertion, and in twenty minutes, with rigging refitted, she went about
and with every gun reloaded stood down once more towards the enemy.
Though the latter had hitherto fought with the greatest courage, yet no
sooner did the _Triton_ come within range than the proud flag of Spain
was hauled down.  A cheer, such as British sailors alone can give, burst
from the victorious crew.

Headland and Harry were sent on board with the only boat that could
swim, to take possession.

The brave Spanish captain delivered up his sword with a dignified bow,
and Headland, complimenting him on his gallantry, requested him at once
to go on board the _Triton_.  That he had not yielded till the last
moment was evident, for the booms having fallen down had disabled all
the waist guns of the frigate, and fully thirty men lay on the decks,
while an equal number were found wounded in the cockpit, many of them
mortally.

Not a moment was to be lost, and as soon as two other boats could be
patched up, more of the _Triton's_ crew were sent on board to repair the
damages the prize had received.

She proved to be the _Mahonesa_, and her brave captain, Don Tomas
Ayaldi.

"Well, we have done something now at all events," said Harry to
Headland, as the severed shrouds and running rigging of the prize having
been repaired and sail made she and her captor were steering for
Gibraltar.

The _Triton_ remained sometime at Gibraltar to refit.

After another cruise up the Mediterranean, where she did good service,
and fought an action not inferior to the first, when she captured her
antagonist, she was ordered home.  On her way she looked into Lisbon,
and Headland, who received his commission as lieutenant, was put in
charge of their first prize, with Harry as his second in command, and
another midshipman and thirty men to carry her home.

They reached Plymouth in safety, and when the _Triton_ was paid off,
Captain Fancourt being soon afterwards appointed to a ship in commission
in which there were no vacancies, Harry and his friend were separated.
They were employed for nearly three years on different stations and saw
much service, both obtaining their promotion, while Headland, by several
gallant acts, gained the credit he so eagerly sought for.

During the time, being then lieutenants, Harry belonging to the _Naiad_
frigate, and Headland to the _Alembic_, they had the good fortune to
capture two Spanish frigates, the _Thetis_ and _Santa Brigida_, laden
with specie to the value of upwards of 300,000 pounds sterling.  Though
two other frigates joined in the chase, each of the lieutenants of the
four ships obtained 5000 as their share of prize money, while the four
captains received upwards of 40,000 pounds a-piece.

"If you ever have to establish your claims, you will now have the means
of doing so," observed Harry to his friend when they arrived at
Plymouth.  "And remember my share shall be at your service."

"I am very sure you will help me to the last penny you possess if I
should require money," answered Headland.  "But I have long given up all
hopes of success, and really now think very little about the matter.  I
am not ambitious of wealth, and when the piping times of peace come
round, and I am sent on shore to shift for myself, I shall have saved
enough to live on in comfort and respectability."

"What, with a wife!" asked Harry.  "She may not be satisfied with what
you consider a competency."

"I have not thought about marrying," answered Headland, laughing, "and I
do not suppose any lady I should like would accept an unknown adventurer
such as I should be considered," he added, and a shade came over his
countenance showing that he felt his position more than he was willing
to acknowledge.

"Adventurer! nonsense; no one has a right so to call a naval officer who
has already made a name for himself, and will make a greater some day or
other," answered Harry.  "Don't let such an idea take possession of your
mind.  There are dozens of girls who would accept you gladly for
yourself, and perhaps be better pleased to find that they had not
married a whole tribe of relations, sisters and aunt, who might
interfere with their domestic arrangements.  Depend on it if every
lieutenant and ward-room officer of our four fortunate frigates were to
go on shore at once, we could each of us be married within a fortnight."

"Very likely," answered Headland.  "But the ladies would take us for our
prize money not for ourselves, and I should not wish to have a wife on
those terms."

"Nor should I, indeed; when I was last on shore during the London
season, and went out with my mother and sister, I saw enough of
fashionable society to make me resolve whenever I might take it into my
head to look out for a wife, not to seek for her in such an atmosphere.
I saw numbers of pretty girls, I confess, and, I daresay, some of them
possessed sterling qualities.  If I particularly admired any one fair
lady, on discovering that I was only a midshipman, she was sure to
freeze me up the next time I met her."

"Had she found that you were a lieutenant with a share of the _Santa
Brigida's_ treasure, she might have looked more affectionately on you,"
said Headland, laughing.

"Exactly; but I should not, as you were remarking, have been flattered
had I been aware of the motive which prompted her feelings."

"So it seems that we are perfectly agreed," said Headland, "and the less
we think about the matter till the time comes the better.  At all events
I intend never to entertain any thoughts of marrying unless I find some
one who, rising above ordinary prejudices, is ready to link her fate
with mine, regardless of my unknown birth and name."  See there are the
waggons to carry off our treasure.

As he spoke, he pointed to a large number of artillery waggons which had
driven into the dockyard, close to which the prizes had been hauled.

Two days were employed in landing the rich cargoes, which were escorted
by horse and foot soldiers, and armed seamen and marines, and
accompanied by bands of music and an immense concourse of people, to the
Citadel of Plymouth, in the vaults of which the treasure remained till
it was removed to London, and finally deposited in the Bank of England.

A similar scene occurred at different times when treasure ships were
taken.

On one occasion an English captain sailed into port with huge silver
candlesticks at his mastheads, and ordinary seamen found themselves
possessed of two or three hundred guineas prize money, frequently
squandered before many weeks were over; while the officers obtained a
proportionate share of wealth.  Few, perhaps, thought of the suffering
and injustice endured by the owners when gold was captured which
belonged to private individuals, and though in some instances when such
was the case it was returned, yet in many others non-combatants lost
their lives and their property at the same time.

Harry and Headland were among the fortunate officers who, having many
opportunities of distinguishing themselves, gained wealth and honour
together.

At length the great victory of the Nile, in which Headland took a part
was won, Napoleon's armies had been defeated in Syria and Egypt,
Copenhagen had been bombarded, and the treaty of Amiens, speedily again
to be broken, had been signed.

The ships in which the two lieutenants served came to an anchor at
Spithead, within a few days of each other.

Harry went on board the frigate in which Headland was serving as first
lieutenant.

"You are sure of your promotion, Headland," he said after their greeting
was over.  "I have just got a letter from my uncle telling me your name
is on the list.  You deserve a spell on shore.  We are to go into
harbour to be paid off to-morrow, and as soon as I am free you must
start with me for Texford, where my family are now residing.  Captain
Fancourt has already spoken to them of you, and you will receive a
hearty welcome.  No excuses, old fellow, you will be Captain Headland by
that time, and that alone will be sufficient introduction to any family
in the land."

Headland hesitated.  He thought of making a tour round England, and
perhaps going over to France, to have a look at the country from which
Englishmen had so long been excluded, but Harry overcame all objections,
and Headland agreed should he not be appointed to a command, which was
not very likely, to accompany his friend to Texford.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

SECOND PERIOD OF MAIDEN MAY'S HISTORY.

Time went on, and nothing occurred to interrupt the even tenor of the
Miss Pembertons' well-spent lives.  They never wearied in their efforts
to benefit the bodies and souls of their poorer neighbours, and if some
were ungrateful, many blessed them for the words they spoke, and the
kind acts they performed.  Their young pupil, in winter and summer, rain
and sunshine, continued to come to them every day.  She never wished for
a holiday, and it would have been a trial to her to have had to keep
away from Downside.  Though she was as loving as ever to those at home,
she was able to bestow an equal amount of affection on the ladies who
devoted themselves to her instruction.

She was now no longer the little fisher maiden she had appeared in
former years; but the charms of her mind and person having gradually
been developed, though she herself was scarcely aware of the change, she
had become a truly lovely girl already entering womanhood.

Adam had lost none of the affection he had from the first felt for the
child, whose life he had saved.  He could no longer, however, properly
call her his little Maiden May, for she had become a full-grown damsel,
full of life and spirits; and if, conscious that she was not his
daughter, she did not bestow on him all of a daughter's affection, she
yet treated him with respect, and so lovingly and kindly, that he had no
cause to complain.  Her tastes were refined, and her intellect expanding
as she advanced in knowledge, she could not help seeing the space
gradually widening between herself and her foster-parents and their
sons.  Yet, with tact and right feeling, she had contrived not to let
the young men feel how fully alive she was to the difference between
them.  They, however, gradually became aware of it, and treated her with
that deference which they considered to be her due, as superior to
themselves.  To the elder ones this was easy, but it caused Jacob no
small exercise of self restraint not to behave towards Maiden May as he
had been accustomed to do, when under his charge she was allowed to go
blackberrying, or to wander along the shore picking up shells.

May's dress, though plain and simple in the extreme, was such as was
suited for the companion of the well-born Miss Pemberton's, and she had
entwined herself so completely round their hearts that they regarded her
in the light of a beloved niece.  She had now for sometime resided
entirely with them.  She, however, paid frequent visits to her kind
foster father and mother, as she now called Adam and his wife.

It had been a hard struggle to Dame Halliburt and her husband to part
with her, but they saw clearly that it would be for her benefit, and
that their cottage was not a fit abode for a young girl destined to
occupy a higher rank than their own.  Even they felt that there was
already a broad line between them, and the dame, not having forgotten
her own training in a gentleman's family, could not help treating May
with much more deference than she would have shown to her had she been
really her daughter.

May herself, conscious of the change in the dame's manner, could
scarcely tell why she had become so much more formal than she used to
be, though she had too much confidence in the kind woman's love to
suppose that it arose from any want of affection.  Adam was, however, as
hearty as ever, but then he had for long treated her with a certain
amount of respect, moderating that exhibition of his affection his big
warm heart would have inclined him to bestow.  He still generally called
her his Maiden May, but sometimes addressed her as Mistress May, and
seldom offered to press the hearty kiss on her fair brow with which he
had been accustomed to greet her after a day's absence.

Adam and the dame had undergone severe trials during the last years,
though they bore up under them with christian fortitude and resignation.
Their second son Sam had been crossed in love, and as a consequence
went off to sea on board a man-of-war.  He was a steady well-conducted
young man.  He had become a petty officer, and there was every prospect
of his doing well.

A short time after Sam had gone to sea Ben, who was his father's
main-stay, had on one occasion gone to Morbury, just at the time when
press-gangs were hard at work along the coast, laying hands on every
seafaring person, whether willing or unwilling, to man the fleet.  Ben,
not suspecting danger, was walking along the quay, when a party of
seamen rushed out of a public-house and surrounded him.  Though he
endeavoured to make his escape, he was quickly overpowered, and being
dragged into a boat, was carried on board a cutter outside the harbour.
As many other brave fellows acted when he found his fate inevitable, he
submitted with a good grace, and determined to do his duty.

He did not return, and for several days Adam could gain no tidings of
his son, though he suspected what had occurred.  At length he received a
letter from Ben saying that he had been seized by a pressgang, and that
he was on board a frigate destined for the East India station.  Adam
went to Mr Shallard with a message from the Miss Pemberton's saying
they would be answerable for any sum required to obtain Ben's discharge,
but the lawyer feared that so urgent was the need of men for the navy
that success was improbable.  He did his best, but before any effort
could be made to obtain his discharge, the frigate sailed, carrying Ben
as one of her crew.

Thus Adam was deprived of the services of his two elder sons.  Still he
hoped that they would some day return, and be again able to assist him
on board the _Nancy_.

A still greater blow, however, was in store for him and his wife.  News
came that the ship on board which Sam was serving had been engaged in
action, and as they anxiously read the account of the battle, their eyes
fell on his name in the list of killed.

"God's will be done!  Poor Sam," exclaimed Adam, with a deep groan.

The dame expressed her grief in a louder manner, but honest Adam's was
the deepest.

May did her utmost to comfort her foster-parents, showing all the
sympathy for their sorrow which her gentle heart prompted her to
express.  Day after day she came to see them, sometimes accompanied by
Miss Jane, who, although she urged arguments innumerable to prove that
excessive grief was wrong, failed to convince them of the truth of her
assertions.  Their perfect confidence in God's love and justice,
however, brought resignation to their hearts, and they recovered in time
their usual spirits.  The dame became once more as active and loquacious
as ever, and Adam went through his daily labours with his ordinary
industry and perseverance.

Adam Halliburt, who had been out fishing all night, had just risen from
his noonday rest, when the dame returned from her usual round.

"Sad news from the Hall, Adam," she said, putting aside her basket.

"Old Sir Reginald has gone at last.  Poor dear gentleman, he will be
missed by many around.  I met Mr Groocock, who had been over to Morbury
to arrange about the funeral with Mr Shallard, who was Sir Reginald's
lawyer you know.  He pulled up just to have a talk for a minute, though
he was in a great hurry to get back.  Sir Reginald had sent, when he
found himself getting worse, for his nephew, Mr Ralph, his nearest of
kin in England, whom he seemed to have a great desire to s

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