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Digby Heathcote: The Early Days of a Country Gentleman's Son and Heir

by William Henry Giles Kingston · English · Gutenberg #34535 · 637,279 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Digby Heathcote: The Early Days of a Country Gentleman's Son and Heir

Author: William Henry Giles Kingston

Illustrator: Harrison Weir


        
Release date: December 1, 2010 [eBook #34535]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34535

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIGBY HEATHCOTE: THE EARLY DAYS OF A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN'S SON AND HEIR ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Digby Heathcote, by W.H.G. Kingston.

________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________
DIGBY HEATHCOTE, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE HERO'S EARLY DAYS--BLOXHOLME, ITS SQUIRE, HIS FAMILY AND DEPENDENTS.

"I'll not stand it, that I won't, Master Digby.  To think that you, a
young gentleman who has plenty to eat and drink of everything that's
nice, and more than enough, too, should come and put your fingers
through the paper into my jam pots, which I've just been and nicely tied
down, and all for mischief's sake, it's not to be borne, let me tell
you.  You've been and eaten up a whole pot of raspberry jam, and better
than half a one of greengage.  I wonder you are not sick with it.  If
you ever do it again, I'll leave your honoured father's service sooner
than submit to such behaviour, that I will--remember, Master Digby."

These exclamations were uttered by Mrs Carter, the housekeeper at
Bloxholme Hall, the residence of Mr Heathcote, the representative of
one of the oldest families in the county.

The culprit thus addressed, who had been caught in _flagrante delicto_,
stood before her with very sticky fingers, his countenance, however,
wearing anything but an expression of penitence.

"I like jam, and you don't give me enough in my puddings," was the only
excuse he deigned to offer for his conduct.

"You'll go without it altogether, Master Digby, let me tell you,"
retorted Mrs Carter.  She was the only person in the establishment who
ventured to thwart the young gentleman, though he did not love the old
lady the worse for that.

Digby was Mr Heathcote's eldest son and heir.  He had just attained the
mature age of nine years, and had hitherto in many respects been
considerably spoilt.  Mr Heathcote had not succeeded to his property
till rather late in life, and he had not till then married.  A son had
long been wished-for, and when one was given, the grateful hearts of the
parents felt that they could not prize him too much.  Too thankful they
might not have been, but they petted and indulged him more than was for
his good.  He had also three elder sisters.  They, in their fondness,
did their best to spoil him; indeed, as Mrs Carter used to observe to
Alesbury, the butler, she was afraid Master Digby would soon become as
much of a pickle as any she had in her store-room.  He was a sturdy
little fellow, with fat, rosy cheeks, and a figure which already gave
promise of considerable muscular powers.  Alesbury was wont to remark
that it was quite a pity Master Digby had not been born a younger
instead of an elder son, he seemed so well able to fight his way in the
world.  He had a fair complexion--already a little tanned, by the by--
light brown curling hair with a tinge of gold in it, he had good-sized
honest eyes, and looked as he was--from head to foot a thorough English
boy.  He had been spoilt hitherto, certainly, but not altogether so.  He
had been taught by both his parents to worship and fear God, and to hate
and abhor a lie.  He had only once been known to tell an untruth, and
then Mr Heathcote did what very nearly broke his heart to do; he
flogged him severely, and shut him up, and would not speak to him for
the remainder of the day.  Digby did not care much about the pain of the
flogging, but he felt the disgrace keenly, and it impressed on his mind
the enormity of the crime of which he had been guilty.  I believe that
he never after that event uttered a falsehood.  His very varied tricks
and numerous eccentric pranks were therefore constantly being brought to
light, when less honest boys might have managed to escape detection for
those they had committed; but few could find it in their hearts to
punish the young heir of Bloxholme when he ingenuously confessed his
fault, and expressed himself, as he really felt at the time, sorry for
what he had done.

"Oh, Master Digby!  Master Digby! what would your mamma say if she saw
you now?" continued Mrs Carter.

"I like jam," repeated Master Digby; an assertion of the truth of which
he had given strong evidence.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" added Mrs Carter, not taking notice
of his reply.

"The jam isn't yours, Mrs Carter," exclaimed Digby, as if a bright idea
had struck him.

"It is given into my charge by my mistress, Master Digby, and I am
answerable for every pot of it," answered the housekeeper, in a serious
tone, in which sorrow and rebuke were blended.

Digby was silent for a moment, and then seemed to see the matter in a
new light.

"I'm sorry for taking the jam, Mrs Carter; I'll tell mamma what I've
done, and then she won't be angry with you, I know," he replied, looking
very penitent.

"There's a darling, now," exclaimed Mrs Carter, catching him up in her
arms, and giving him a kiss; whereby, in consequence of his struggles to
get free, for he had a great dislike to such marks of affection, her
black silk dress was very considerably daubed with the jam yet adhering
to the young gentleman's fingers.  "Oh, Master Digby, Master Digby, what
have you done!" cried the old lady, when she discovered the injury which
her demonstration of affection had brought upon her dress.  "Oh, it
never will look nice again."

"I am so sorry, Mrs Carter, indeed I am," said the boy, eyeing the dark
marks his fingers had left.  "The first money I get I will buy you a new
gown, that I will; I won't take your jam any more, that I won't."

After this promise, Mrs Carter knew that her jam was safe, and she
willingly bore the injury done her dress for such a result.  She would
have given Digby another hug, but she took the precaution of washing his
hands before attempting such a proceeding.

"There now, Master Digby, I dare say the dress won't be much the worse,
after all," she remarked, as soon as she had dried his hands.  "You're a
dear, good child, that you are."

Digby knew what was coming, and watching his opportunity, he bolted out
of the room.  Snatching up his cap, away he ran, shouting, through the
gardens and woods which surrounded the old hall, in very exuberance of
spirits, without any definite idea as to where he was going or what he
should do with himself.  Similar to this had hitherto been most of
Digby's misdemeanours and scrapes, and thus, as he had not learned to
estimate the evil consequences of his naughtinesses, he was not
deterred, when the temptation came in his way, of committing fresh ones.

One of Digby's sisters was but a year older than himself, and very
naturally was his constant companion.  Kate, that was her name, was a
very quick, intelligent girl, the cleverest of the family, but her
talents were like wild plants, which bear flowers very beautiful to look
at, but if allowed to grow without training, apt, from their very
exuberance, to do mischief.  Kate could write poetry, and very funny
poetry it was too.  Digby admired it amazingly.  At all events it was
rhyme, and the lines were of the same length and not inharmonious.
Nobody could read it without laughing at the quaint ideas and, curious
expressions.  The handwriting was curious--I wish that I could give an
idea of it.  The letters were very round and irregular, capitals and
small letters were oddly mingled, and the lines wandered up and down the
pages.  The orthography, too, was not of the most orthodox description.
Her little inaccuracies in that respect, however, Digby himself was not
likely to discover.  Kate could draw, too, and indulged largely in
caricaturing the eccentricities of any of her friends and acquaintance.
If her poetry was funny, the designs she produced with her pencil were
still more so.  They never failed to produce roars of laughter from
Digby, who, if not witty or talented himself, was fully able to
appreciate her wit and talent.

Both her poetical effusions and her caricatures had hitherto been
devoted exclusively to Digby's amusement, and no other member of their
family was aware of her powers in that direction.  This arose from the
little maiden's modesty and timidity.  She knew that Digby would
certainly appreciate to the full her productions; but she doubted too
much whether others would do so to allow her to show them.  Besides, the
exquisite delight which the two enjoyed in looking over together, in
secret, her drawings and verses would have been much decreased had other
eyes been allowed to see them, and to discover faults perhaps to which
they themselves were willingly blind.  Not only could Kate write poetry
and draw, but she could sing too; and that everybody knew, and
wonderfully wild and warbling were her notes, when she did not fancy
that any one was listening to her, as she ran bounding along the green
lawn, like a young fawn, or made her way among the shrubberies to any of
her favourite haunts.  Kate was not pretty; her figure was small and
thin, and her features were rather sharp, but her eyes were bright, and
full of intelligence, and she had a sweet smile, which lightened up her
countenance when anything pleased her, which was very frequently.
Digby, however, would have been very much surprised had any one
pronounced her to be any otherwise than very pretty.  His usual
description of her was, "Oh, she is jolly, that sister of mine--Kate!
I'll bet there isn't another girl like her in the world!  Up to
anything--bird's-nesting, cricketing, or fishing.  Why, she can saddle
her own pony, and doesn't mind where she goes when I am with her.  She's
as plucky as any fellow, and I hope to see her leap a five-barred gate
some day--that I do."

Kate admired Digby in return, though not perhaps in the same degree, but
she was quite as fond of him as he was of her, probably even fonder.  I
think sisters generally love their brothers more than they get loved in
return, and most decidedly are ready to make more sacrifices for them,
to give up more to them, to endure more from them, more shame to the
boys.  Yes, unselfish indeed is a good sister's love, a thing to be
cherished, a thing to be grateful for.

I said Kate was not pretty.  As she ran along with her garden bonnet
thrown back, hanging by the string to her neck, and her frock not in the
most tidy condition, she might have been mistaken for one of the little
gipsies from the encampment which was frequently made on the
neighbouring common.  When, however, Kate spoke, a person of discernment
who might have mistaken her for a gipsy would at once have been
undeceived.  Her accent and manners were particularly ladylike; and if
she met a stranger, she sobered in a moment, and became perfectly quiet
and sedate.  A blush would suffuse her cheeks, and her mouth would
pucker up in a curious way as she attempted to check the laughter which
was springing to her lips.  After the stranger had disappeared, she
would walk on a few paces seemingly in a meditative mood, or still under
the influence of the unwonted restraint she had put on herself, but
either a squirrel would cross her path and mount a neighbouring tree, a
blackbird would fly chattering through the bushes, or a butterfly would
go fluttering before her, and off she would go in chase, and was soon
again the buoyant-spirited hoydenish little creature she generally
appeared.  Kate Heathcote was certainly not a model girl, nor was Digby
a model boy.  Both had very considerable faults.  There was good stuff
in them, but it required more cultivation than it was then receiving to
bring forth good fruit.  There was also bad in them, as there is in
everybody, which will inevitably bring forth bad fruit unless it is
counteracted.  In their case it produced no little amount of highly
indecorous conduct--so that although people who knew them could not help
liking them, their example is in no way to be imitated.

Digby and Kate were very fond of Bloxholme.  They thought no other place
they had ever heard of in the world to be compared to it.  Indeed, it
was a very attractive spot.  The Hall was a fine old red-brick edifice,
built in the time of Queen Elizabeth, with richly ornamented windows,
and fine gables, and curious ins and outs of all sorts; and there were
wide-extending wings of a later date, with the dining-room and a
conservatory on one side, and bachelors' bedrooms and domestic offices
on the other.  The garden, filled in the summer with a profusion of
flowers, came right up to the drawing-room windows on one side, and a
broad gravelly drive swept round in front of the house with an avenue of
tall elms, in which generation after generation of rooks had built their
nests, reared their young, and returned, cawing in concert, evening
after evening, for centuries past.  The park stretched away for a
quarter of a mile in front of the house.  It was a fine meadow, mottled
in early spring with yellow cowslips and other flowers which betokened a
rich land.  Fine clumps of trees were scattered over it, arranged to
give a picturesque effect to the scene.  Beyond them were seen the
silvery line of a rapid clear stream, and a range of blue hills in the
far distance.  The view from the garden side of the Hall was still more
attractive.  Both to the right and left were thick banks of tall trees,
some advancing, others receding, so as to prevent a too great uniformity
of appearance.  Between them, and sloping away till lost in the meadows
beyond, was a wide expanse of soft velvety lawn.  Pleasant was the sound
in the early summer mornings, when the dew was on the grass, of the
gardeners sharpening their scythes to keep it smooth and shorn.  Here
and there scattered over it were clumps of rhododendrons and other large
flowering shrubs, and nearer the house were beds full of gay-coloured
and sweet-scented flowers.  There were also some clumps of elegant
evergreens, and a few vases of marble or Maltese stone, beautifully
carved, which looked well either in summer or winter.  Digby thought no
lawns were so green, no gravel walks so yellow as those of Bloxholme.
The view, too, from the lower windows, as from the lawn itself, was very
beautiful, and perfectly English.  There were green slopes and
corn-fields, and hazel and beech woods, and rows of tall elms, and
clumps of fir-trees, and patches of wild land gleaming with the bloom of
the golden-coloured gorse; and then beyond all was to be seen, dancing
in the sunbeams, the wide expanse of the blue ocean, with a silvery
river finding its way down on the right to the little town of Osberton,
which stood on its shores.  Numberless are the scenes of similar beauty
which are to be found throughout England.  To the left of the lawn,
well-kept gravel walks twisted and twined away through shrubberies of
evergreens, passing several open spaces filled with flower beds and
trellised arbours, and rock-work and grottoes, and other similar
conceits, made with very good taste though, till they reached two wide
sheets of water, which might well be called lakes, connected by a
serpentine channel crossed at each end by a rustic bridge.  The ponds
were surrounded by trees, the shadows of which were seen reflected in
the clear waters.  There were picturesque little islands dotted about
here and there, not far from the shore, to which one of the largest was
joined by a bridge.  It had a summer-house on it, a very favourite
resort of Digby and Kate.  Perhaps they prized the ponds for being well
stocked with fish which consented now and then to be caught, even more
than for their beauty.  The upper and largest pond was full of pike, and
perch, and eels.  In the others were carp, and roach, and dace, and the
finest and fattest tench to be found in the county.  There were several
smaller ponds full of water lilies and other aquatic plants, which, when
in bloom, as they floated borne up by their broad leaves on the calm
water, looked very beautiful.  These ponds had been carefully stocked
with nearly all the species of fish to be found in English waters; and
in the rapid stream which ran out of the lowest pond and found its way
to the sea, a good basket full of mottled trout was to be caught by the
expert angler.  In most places it was so thickly shaded by hazel and
alder, and other bushes which love moisture, that the bungler was very
certain to lose his hook and line, and to catch no fish.

There was another spot, a still more favourite resort of Kate's and
Digby's.  It was a high mound--partly natural and partly artificial--
near the upper lake.  The base of the mound on one side was washed by a
stream and tributary of the lake, and on the other was a grassy meadow.
The mound itself was thickly covered with trees to the very top, where a
summer-house, or sort of temple, was placed.  From the windows a
beautiful view was obtained over the lakes and woods, and gardens and
fields of Bloxholme; and on one side of the village of Otterspoole and
its church-spire, and trout-stream and hanging woods, and on the other
of the valleys and hills and downs which intervened between the grounds
and the sea.  Glimpses of the blue ocean were obtained from every
height, and much did it enhance the beauty of the scenery.  The path
which led to the top of the mound was very intricate and steep--indeed
it formed a complete labyrinth, which, though it made it far more
attractive to Kate and her brother, prevented it from being so much the
resort of the elders of the family.

I have described these spots as Digby's favourite resorts.  I suspect,
however, that had it not been for Kate, he would not have often found
his way there.  He liked them because she did, and he went there for the
sake of her society.  Hearty were the laughs the two enjoyed there.
There she read to him her poetical effusions--there she showed him her
drawings, and there they concocted, I am sorry to say, many a scheme of
mischief.

The Hall itself was a thoroughly comfortable, warm, well-furnished
mansion, with handsome drawing-rooms, and dining-room and library; and
bedrooms which could accommodate Mr Heathcote's largish family, and a
good many guests besides.  He himself seemed fit in every respect to be
the owner of such a place.  He was a fine looking person--a thorough
English country gentleman.  He did not appear talented, and he was not;
but he had the character of being a thoroughly upright, honest man,
anxious to do his duty in that state of life to which God had called
him.  He was a good landlord, and watched over all the poor around,
whether or not living on his estate.  He was a county magistrate, and
was never missed in his place on the bench when the Court sat.  He was
strict, especially with poachers and smugglers.  There was very little
maudlin sentiment in his composition.  If a person did wrong he
considered that he ought to be punished, not only to teach him not to
act in the same way again, but to teach others also.  Still, no kinder
or more indulgent master, to all employed in his service, was to be
found in the county.  "If we do not inflict the legal punishment on the
man, how is he, or how are others, to know what is right or what is
wrong," he used to remark to his brother magistrates.  From his
invariable strictness he was looked upon as a severe magistrate, and
many a poacher had to rue the night in which he was caught trespassing
on the preserves of any of the neighbouring estates, till it was found
to be a very unpaying amusement, and poaching was almost put down.
Smugglers, also, either landsmen or seamen, who were captured breaking
the revenue laws, were treated in the same manner.  Every man in the
district knew, that if caught aiding in running an illicit cargo of
goods, the county gaol would be his abode for some months afterwards.
So the smugglers found it very difficult to procure men to help them
land their tubs of spirits or bales of silks.  Smuggling was not
entirely put down, but it received a severe check from Mr Heathcote's
system of proceeding.  The gipsies, and indeed all ill-doers, held him
in great awe.  At the same time he might have been seen visiting the
cottages of the men who had been sent to prison, ascertaining the real
wants of their families, and supplying them liberally.  It was not in
his way to talk much to them or to give them good advice.  He would
remark, perhaps, "Well, when your Bill comes out, tell him that if he
does it again, he'll have to go in again.  Remember that."  As the
county gaol was far from a pleasant abode, the warning had generally the
effect intended.  Mr Heathcote was a Tory, somewhat of the old school,
and an unwavering supporter of the Church of England.  Indeed, he was
very unwavering in all his ways of proceeding.  He regularly attended
all poor-law boards and road-trust meetings; indeed, a large portion of
his time was occupied in public matters.  He was also an enthusiastic
sportsman.  The first of September found him, gun in hand, intent on the
destruction of partridges.  At every meet of the hounds in the
neighbourhood he might be seen in red coat and top-boots, few in the
field better mounted, while he rode about with cheery voice greeting his
numerous acquaintance.  He no longer attended races, however.  When at
college he had done so, very much to his own let and hindrance.  He had
betted, lost money, and incurred debts which hung over him like an
incubus for years afterwards.  He had barely managed to take his degree,
even at a college where no great amount of knowledge was demanded for
obtaining that honour.  When he came into his estate he was unable to
take that place in the county which his ancestors had so long held.  If
he had had an extravagant wife he would never have obtained it, but
happily for him Mrs Heathcote was a sensible, light-minded,
straightforward person.  She saw what was wanted.  Retrenchment was
wanted, or rather, a refraining from expenditure.  A plan was laid down
and persevered in, and in a few years Mr Heathcote found his estate
unencumbered.  He was not, however, a rich man; his house was rather
large for his property, and as people judge rather by the size of the
mansion than by the number or quality of the acres which surround it, he
was supposed to be more wealthy than he really was, and was consequently
expected to live in a more expensive way than he found to be wise.  His
first children having been daughters, fancying that he had nothing to do
with their education, he not being a reading man, he was much oftener to
be found out of the house than in it.  He had learned, therefore, to
consider that his public duties had the greatest call on his time and
attention.  When Digby was born, he at first looked upon him as a baby,
and he had got so into the habit of regarding him in that light, that it
did not occur to him afterwards that his boy's mind, as well as his
stature, was enlarging, and that even greater care was required to
strengthen and cultivate the former than the latter.  Happily, Mrs
Heathcote did not altogether overlook this, and she did her best to
instruct him and to teach him what was right.  In this she did not
altogether fail.  But she had the education of her daughters to attend
to, and Digby was left more to his own devices than was altogether good
for him.  She might, of course, have had a governess, but she felt
herself well able to instruct her daughters, and had an idea that no
person could do so better than their mother.  Motives of economy had in
the first place induced her to make the attempt, which she afterwards
persevered in from the pleasure it afforded her.  She was a thoroughly
English, ladylike person, with no littleness about her.  Tittle-tattle,
scandal, or indeed talking of people except to praise them, she
thoroughly detested.  Her two eldest daughters did justice to her
instructions.

Eleanor and Mary Heathcote were good-feeling, right-minded, ladylike
girls.  I shall not have much to say about them, except in connexion
with Digby.  One was seventeen, the other fifteen.  They made attempts
to assist in his education, but they found him very unmanageable.  There
was a large town some miles off, from which masters came, and Mrs
Heathcote had begun to talk of obtaining a governess to attend to Kate
and Digby, and the younger children as they grew older.  A very superior
person had all along superintended the nursery, but Digby had already
broken through all the restraints she could put upon him, except when in
her immediate presence, and then he was obedient enough, both from habit
and affection.

Digby's next brother was Augustus--Gusty he was generally called; he was
three years younger--a fat chubby little fellow.  Digby was very fond of
him, and did his best to spoil him as much as he himself was spoiled.
He generally would do anything for him, or bear anything from him, but
sometimes Digby lost his temper, and he would then turn round and give
him a cuff, or carry off some of his property; but he was always sorry
before long for having hurt the child, and would restore what he had
deprived him of, with interest.

Mrs Heathcote's health had always been delicate, and latterly it had
been more so than usual, and in consequence, Kate had been left to do
very much what she liked, except when she and Digby were called in by
Eleanor to do their lessons.  She got over hers very quickly, and helped
Digby to do his, so that he also had an abundance of time to follow his
own fancies and devices.  Three or four days in the week a master came
over to initiate him in the mysteries of the Latin accidence, as well as
writing and arithmetic--sciences which Mr Heathcote supposed the lady
members of his family were less able to impart than could one of the
sterner sex.  Digby, it must be owned, did not take kindly to any of
them, and showed but little respect or affection for his instructor.
When Mr Heathcote made inquiries as to his son's progress, Mr Crammer
invariably replied that Mr Digby was getting on nicely, and he was
content, and did not think it necessary to trouble his head further on
the matter.

I said a river was to be seen from Bloxholme.  It flowed away for a
distance of six or seven miles, till it reached the sea, on the shores
of which, at its mouth, a little old sea-port town was situated, called
Osberton.  The Rector, Mr Nugent, was brother to Mrs Heathcote.  He
had a small income and a large family, and so he took pupils.  He was a
refined, pleasing-mannered man, very earnest and zealous, but rather
strict and precise (not about religion, for in that no man can be too
strict), but with regard to the behaviour of his pupils, in small as
well as in important matters.  As, however, he entered into their
sports, and showed a deep interest in their welfare, he perfectly won
their love and affection.  Osberton was an old place altogether.  An old
castle, with a few old guns which had not gone off for ages, guarded, or
rather pretended to guard, the entrance to the river.  In reality, it
was no greater defence to the river than would be a stuffed dog in a
court-yard.  The little boat harbour and the quays were old, and the
inhabitants were old-fashioned into the bargain.  Now and then Digby had
been sent to stay with his uncle, but the atmosphere of the place did
not at that time suit his notions, and he always did his best to get
home again.

In the neighbourhood of Bloxholme was Melford Priory, the residence of
the Honourable Stephen Langley.  It had been granted to Mr Langley's
ancestors by Henry the Eighth, on the abolition of the monasteries in
England.  His family had, however, resided in the neighbourhood for
centuries before that time.  The estate belonged to Lord Calderton, his
elder brother, who was a diplomatist, and consequently seldom came to
the place.  He allowed Mr Langley to live at Melford on the supposition
that he devoted himself to looking after the property.  Mr Langley had
several children--the youngest, Julian, was about a year older than
Digby.  They had occasionally met--Digby thought him a very fast fellow,
and admired him exceedingly.  He described to Kate how he could ride the
biggest horse in the stable, and break in the most intractable dog, and
bring down a bird flying at a vast distance, and thrash any bumpkin
twice his size.  Mr Heathcote had a very great--an almost hereditary--
respect for Lord Calderton's family.  Many of them had been very
excellent people, and the present lord bore a high character.  It did
not, therefore, occur to him that any of them could be otherwise than
good.  Perhaps had he made inquiries, and ascertained how Julian was
being brought up, he would not have wished his son to become his
associate.  The truth is, that Mr Langley was not a good man, and poor
Julian was left to grooms and other servants, who did their best to ruin
him, physically and morally.  He listened eagerly to their conversation,
imbibed their notions, and gained a taste for beer and spirits, with
which they, in their ignorance of the injury they were inflicting,
supplied him.

I think that we have now got a very good idea of Bloxholme, its
inhabitants, and its neighbourhood.  I must again warn my readers that
none of the characters I have described were model people.  Mr
Heathcote himself certainly was not, nor was altogether Mrs Heathcote,
nor was her brother, Mr Nugent; and the troubles and difficulties Digby
brought upon himself, and the pain and suffering he endured, will show
that he is intended for a warning rather than an example.

I must not, however, forget my old friend John Pratt--a very worthy,
honest fellow.  He was a sort of under steward on the property.  He
looked after the cows, and pigs, and poultry, and sheep, and young
colts.  He assisted in the kitchen garden, but did not profess to know
much about flowers.  He acted also as a gamekeeper, but he was
especially great in fishing matters, and everything connected with the
ponds and the rookery.  He always decided when the young rooks were to
be shot, and when the ponds were to drained or drawn.  He superintended
the taking of all wasp's nests.  He had charge of the ferrets, the
hawks, and dogs; and as to vermin, the stoats, and the weasels, and
polecats, and even the rats, it was supposed had positively an
instinctive dread of him.  He was a tall, thin, wiry man, with a bald
forehead, and grey hair, and a keen intelligent countenance.  Digby was
very fond of him, and he in return doted on the young master, and would
have gone through fire and water to serve him.  He had already contrived
to instruct Digby in many of the secrets of his science, and as he used
to say, "It was a pleasure to teach Master Digby, he took to it so
kindly, and was afraid of nothing.  He'd grapple with a weasel, or a
snake, or a pike, and not cry out for help, when most other young 'uns
would a been running screaming away from them.  To see him once
tackle-to with one of the big swans, and only a little stick in his
hand, it was for all the world like St. George a-fighting the dragon,
just as you see on a gold sovereign."

Digby, however, had, in the encounter mentioned, very nearly got his arm
broken, and would in other ways have suffered probably severely had not
John come to the rescue.  It proved, however, the fearlessness of his
disposition, which had so won John Pratt's admiration.  John Pratt
himself feared no mortal foes; but the poorer classes in that part of
the country were excessively superstitious, and he partook to the full
of the general feeling.

Whereas, happily, throughout England generally, the grosser styles of
superstition have been in a great degree eradicated by the exertions of
the ministers of the Gospel and by the spread of education, in some
parts, and this was one of them, all the absurd notions in which our
ancestors indulged in the dark ages have been handed down to the present
generation.  Ghosts, hobgoblins, witches and their secret powers,
charms, amulets, spirits of every sort, were believed in with undoubting
faith.  Education had not spread into the district, and, unfortunately,
the clergymen who had successively ministered in that and the
neighbouring parishes had done little or nothing to eradicate the
pernicious and anti-Christian notions which were prevalent among the
people.  They had been what were called very good sort of men.  They had
preached very fair average sermons on a Sunday, and if people chose to
come to church to hear them they were welcome to do so.  If any of their
parishioners were sick and sent for them, they went to them, with their
Bibles in their pockets, from which, perhaps, they read a chapter or
two, and, with a few ordinary words of consolation or advice, they
hurried away as fast as they could.  They hunted, and shot, and dined
with Mr Langley and Mr Heathcote, and all the gentlemen round; and
drank their wine, and told good stories, and amused themselves and those
with whom they associated to the utmost of their power.  They passed for
worthy jolly good fellows, and no more was demanded of them.  It never
seemed to occur to them that they would have to answer some day or other
respecting the souls of their fellow-creatures committed to their
pastoral care.  They wondered why there was so much ignorance and
superstition in their parishes; why people did not come to church; why
dissent was rife; why dissenting chapels were built; why the country
people were so immoral; why there was so much drunkenness, folly, and
wickedness.

John Pratt, as I was saying, notwithstanding all his good qualities, was
a firm believer in witches, ghosts, and hobgoblins, and an arrant coward
with regard to the spiritual world.

As Digby ran through the grounds he found him by the side of the lake,
repairing one of the fishing punts.  As he sat with mallet and blunt
chisel in hand, driving the oakum into her seams, he was neither
whistling nor smiling, as was his wont.  So absorbed was he, indeed, in
his own thoughts, that he did not observe the young master's approach.

"What's the matter, John?" said Digby; "you don't seem happy to-day."

John started, and looked up, "Oh, Master Digby, is that you?  I didn't
see you, that I didn't," he exclaimed.  "Happy, did you say, Master
Digby?  No, I ain't happy by no means.  I'm going to be bewitched; and
that's enough to make a man anything but happy, I'm thinking."

"What does that mean, John?" asked Digby; "I don't understand."

"Why, Master Digby, you knows Dame Marlow--she as lives with her old man
down in the gravel-pits at Mile-End--she's a witch, and a wicked old
body, if ever there was one in this world.  Well, t'other day, as I was
sauntering like down the green lane, who should I see breaking through
the fence at the corner of the copse but the old Dame herself.  She'd a
bird in her hand, and as I ran up to her I found 'twas a hen pheasant.
When she seed me she tried to hide it away under her red cloak, and, in
her hurry, very nearly toppled down the bank on her nose, into the road.
`Oh, Dame Marlow, Dame Marlow, what have you been about?'  I cried out.
`You've been a-stealing master's pheasants, that you have; you wicked
old woman, that you are.'  Still I didn't like to lay hands on her, do
you see, for I know'd well what she was, and what she can do.  On she
went, hobbling away with her crutch as fast as I could walk, almost.  At
last she stopped, and turning round her face--oh how wicked and vengeful
it looked, how her red ferret eyes glared at me--says she to me, `Who
calls?  Ay, is that you, John Pratt?  Ay; and you're seeking your own
harm.  You want to bring down a curse on your own head; you want to
malign and injure a poor old body with a decrepit husband, who can't
help himself, do you?  Speak, man--what is it you want?'  `I want
master's pheasant which you've been trapping, dame,' says I; `and I must
have it, too,' says I, growing bold.  `Ay, I see you want to be cursed,'
says she; `you want to have the marrow dry up in your bones, and the
skin wither up on your flesh, and the hair fall off your head, and your
eyes grow dim, and your teeth drop out, and your legs not to bear your
body, and your hands to tremble,'--`Stop, stop, dame,' says I, `don't
curse me now; I'm only doing my duty.  I want the pheasant back; I'd
sooner give you its value than quarrel with you.'  `It's too late,' says
she, looking more wicked than ever, and not trusting me, I suppose;
`you're bewitched already, and you'll find it out before long, that you
will, let me tell you.'  Saying this, on she hobbled, as before.  I
followed, thinking that I ought and must have the pheasant; but she
turned upon me such a wicked look, and again hissed out, `You're
bewitched, John Pratt; you're bewitched, man,' that I couldn't stand it,
and had to run away as fast as my legs could carry me, while she set up
a shout of laughter which is even now ringing in my ears."

"Very horrid, indeed, John," said Digby, who did not exactly know
whether or not to believe in Dame Marlow's powers.  "But do you really
think she can do what she says?"

"No doubt about it, Master Digby," answered the old man, with grave
earnestness; "you should just hear what all the folks in the country
round do say of her.  There's no end of the cows, and sheep, and pigs,
she's bewitched in her time.  Many's the one she's sent to their graves
before their glass was run out, just because they'd offended her.  Oh,
she's a terrible woman, depend on that, Master Digby."

Much more nonsense of a similar character did poor John talk.  I need
not repeat it.  Digby was almost persuaded to believe all that the old
man told him.

This conversation was interrupted by a light, hearty fit of laughter.
So eager had they become that they had not perceived that Kate had
approached them, and had been an attentive and amused listener to much
that had been said on the subject.

"All that you have been saying is arrant nonsense, John," she exclaimed,
unable longer to restrain herself; "and you, Digby, are a little goose
to believe him.  Why, Dame Marlow has no more real power over the
elements or over her fellow-creatures than you or I, or her own black
cat has.  We'll soon concoct a plan to make her undo her own curse, and
to punish her, at all events.  An idea just now came into my head when I
heard you two wise people talking.  Come along, Digby, to our island,
and we'll work it out.  If it comes to anything, as I think it will,
we'll get John to help us; and we'll make Dame Marlow repent that she
ever pretended to be a witch, or threatened to injure any of the poor
people who are silly enough to believe in her."

From the hearty shouts of laughter which John soon heard coming across
the water from the island, there could be little doubt that Kate's idea
was considered by her and Digby as a very bright one, and that, under
the influence of their united wits, it was undergoing a rapid
development.

John Pratt was amazed.  He had great admiration of Master Digby's
physical courage.  He felt a sensation approaching to awe as he
contemplated the fearlessness with which Miss Kate proposed to encounter
one who possessed such unlimited powers over even the spirits of
darkness.  "There's the true old blood in their veins, that there is,"
remarked John to himself, as he went on caulking the punt.



CHAPTER TWO.

HOW DIGBY AND KATE CARRIED OUT THEIR PLOT--AN EVIL COUNSELLOR--YOUTHFUL
TRICKS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES.

As soon as Digby and Kate could make their escape from the schoolroom
the next morning, they repaired to an attic, where all sorts of lumber
was piled up, and refuse articles of every description were collected
till some destination was assigned for them.  Here they soon found what
they came to look for.  There was some rope, and the lining of a black
gown, and some black silk, and a few bits of red cloth.  The things were
done up tightly in bundles, and, with delighted eagerness, they hurried
off with them to the summer-house on the top of the mound.  Soon after
they got there, John Pratt appeared, with a bundle of hay.

"All right, John," exclaimed Digby, "that will stuff him well.  And have
you got the other things I asked you for?"

"Yes, Master Digby, but there's something I don't half likes about the
matter.  It will look too horrid, I zuzpect."

"Never fear, John; it will punish the old woman properly, and be great
fun," cried Kate, eagerly.  "Give me the things; we shall soon be ready;
and do you go down and keep ward and watch to give us timely notice of
any one's approach."

Thus exhorted, John produced from his capacious pockets a couple of
deer's antlers and two deer's hoofs, with the greater part of the skin
of the legs attached to them.  Kate eyed them with a merry glance.
Digby did not half like to touch them, it seemed.  The young lady was
evidently the leading spirit on the occasion.

"That will do, John," she said, with a nod.  "Nothing could be better."

John turned slowly, and went down the mound.  His mind was evidently not
quite satisfied with the work in which he was engaged.  Still, he could
not bring himself to refuse any of the requests made him by Miss Kate
and Master Digby.

As soon as he had gone, Kate, who had been cutting up the black stuff,
produced some large needles, and twine, and thread.  Digby held the
materials, and tied the knots as she directed him.  It is surprising how
rapidly her little fingers performed the work.  She first made a ball,
into which she fixed the two antlers.

"There is a capital head," she remarked.  "We will work in the eyes and
mouth and nose directly."

Then she made an oblong cushion, to serve as a body, and fastened the
head to it.  She next formed a pair of long arms, and made some pieces
of skin do duty for the hands and fingers, while the two hoofs were
secured to the end of the legs.  With the red cloth, part of an old
hunting-coat she made a mouth, and a long tongue sticking out of it; and
then she made white eyes, with red eyeballs, and she fastened on a long
hooked nose, rapidly formed with paper and the black stuff.  Some shreds
of the latter did duty as hair, and a twist of it, with a bit of red
cloth at the end, as a tail.  In a very short time the young lady had
put together a very ugly little imp, which did more credit to her
ingenuity and imagination than perhaps it did to her good taste.  Digby,
however, was delighted, and clapped his hands, and danced the figure
about round and round the room, with fits of uproarious laughter.  It
was scarcely, however, completed in all its details when the sound of a
bell reached their ears.

"Oh, we must run in, Digby, or they will be sending to look for us,"
exclaimed Kate.  "Here, we will put young Master Blackamoor away under
the table.  Nobody will be strolling this way, I hope; and, as soon as
our afternoon lessons are over, we'll come back and finish him, and get
John Pratt to carry him to Mile-End for us."

Telling John Pratt to meet them again at three o'clock, they hurried
back to the Hall.  Kate tried to look as grave as possible all
dinner-time, but whenever hers and Digby's eyes met, from their
ill-repressed twinkle their mother saw that there was some amusing
secret between them.

There were some guests taking luncheon at the hall.  Among them was Mr
Bowdler, the newly-appointed vicar of the parish.  He watched the
countenances of his young friends, and he saw that there was some joke
between them.  What it was he could not tell, and did not choose to ask.
After luncheon he took his departure, and strolled through the grounds
on his way home.

They got over their lessons very quickly--indeed, Kate was never long
about hers--and off they hurried again to the mound.

"Where are you going to, children?" asked Mrs Heathcote, as they were
running out.

"To the mound, to meet John Pratt," answered Digby.  "I'll take care of
Kate, that she doesn't get into mischief.  We are going to have a piece
of fun, that's all."

This answer, from its very frankness, satisfied Mrs Heathcote, and away
they went to carry out their scheme.  As they approached the mound
misgivings arose in their minds lest any body should have been there
during their absence; but when they reached it, they found their ugly
little imp in the position in which they had left him under the table,
and their minds were satisfied on the subject.  They now gave him the
last few finishing touches, fastened on his tail, and secured a rope at
his back.  When they had done this Digby insisted on having another
dance with him, and then John Pratt appeared with a large game basket.
Into this, neck and crop, they stuffed the figure and the rope, and John
carrying it, away they went laughing and chattering through the grounds
in the direction of Mile-End.

"Now, John, you are to go into Dame Marlow's cottage, and remember you
are to sit down and ask her to take the curse off you," said Kate.  "She
will say that she will not, and then you are to beg and entreat her, and
to tell her that if she is so wicked that some one will be coming to
carry her off one of these days, and then that she'll have good reason
to be sorry for what she has done.  Leave the rest to us; only, if you
do see anything come down the chimney, you are to run screaming away as
if you were in a dreadful fright."

"Yez, Miss Kate, I'll do as you zays.  But zuppose anything real was to
appear, what should I do then?" said John, evidently repenting that he
had entered into the young people's scheme.

Kate thought a moment; Digby looked very grave; John's fears were
infecting him.

"I do not think any harm can possibly come, John," said Kate, after some
time.  "You know we only want to frighten and to punish the old woman
who stole the pheasants, and tried to frighten you.  There cannot be any
harm in that, surely."

"I doan't know, I doan't know, Miss," answered John, rubbing his head
very hard, as he walked on faster than before, the children having to
keep almost at a run by his side.

It was curious to see that little girl, with her bright, though just
then misdirected, intelligence managing that gaunt, venerable-looking,
but ignorant old man.

John's education had been sadly neglected in his youth.  When they got
near the gravel-pits at Mile-End the party made a circuit to approach
Dame Marlow's cottage at the rear.  It was a curious edifice, built down
on a low ledge of the gravel-pit, one side of which formed the back
wall, while the roof rested on the edge.  The chimney was consequently
very accessible; and Digby and Kate could without difficulty reach to
the top, and look down it.  John, having deposited the basket containing
the imp went round to the front of the cottage, to be ready to perform
his part of the drama.  He had to descend to the bottom of the pit,
which, with the exception of a narrow causeway, which led to the
professed witch's abode, was full of water.  He crossed the causeway,
and then winding up a zig-zag path, stood before the door of the
cottage.  Digby and Kate got their figure ready to let down the chimney.
Though there was a fire on the hearth, it did not send forth sufficient
smoke to prevent them from looking down and hearing what was going
forward within the cottage.  John knocked.

"Come in, whoever you bees," exclaimed the old woman, in a harsh
croaking voice.  "Bad or good, old or young, little or big, rich or
poor, if you've anything to zay to Dame Marlow she bees ready to hear
you."

"I bees come, dame, to ask you to take the curse off me," said John,
entering and sitting down.  "Your zervant, Mr Marlow."

A cough and a grunt was the only answer the old man deigned to give.

"Is that the way the wind blows?  I thought az how you wouldn't wish to
make an enemy of me, John.  There's zome things that can be done, and
zome that can't.  Now, when I'ze once bewitched a man it's no easy
matter for me, or anyone else, to take the curse off on him: so, do you
zee, John Pratt, what I've cast at thee must stick by thee, man."

The wicked old woman thought that she had got John in her power, and had
no inclination to let him off easily.

Poor John begged and prayed that the dreaded curse might be taken off
him; but the more earnest he seemed the more inflexible she became, and
only laughed derisively at his fears.  When he appealed to the old man,
a grunt or a chuckle was the only answer he received.

"Then listen to me, both on you," cried John, mustering courage, and
recollecting his lesson.  "You bees a wicked old couple, and zome on
these days there will be a coming zome one who'll make you sorry you
ever cursed me, or any one else."

Scarcely had he spoken when a noise in the chimney was heard, the pot on
the fire was upset, out blew a thick puff of smoke, and, amid a shower
of soot, a hideous little black imp appeared, jumping about; while
frightful shrieks, which seemed to be uttered by him, rent the air.

John, with loud cries, jumped up, oversetting the table, and ran into
the open air.  The old man, attempting to follow, tripped up and fell
sprawling on the ground; while the dame herself, catching hold of John's
coat tails, hobbled after him, exclaiming that she was a wicked old
sinner, that she had no power to curse him or anybody else, and that she
would never utter another curse as long as she lived.  However, the
shrieks and hisses from the chimney continued, and at last, overcome
with terror, she fell down in a swoon.

Digby and Kate having ascertained that their device had taken the full
effect they anticipated, hauled up their figure, and packing it away in
the basket, in which operation they considerably blackened their hands
and dresses, sat down till John should join them.  Getting tired of
doing nothing, they cautiously approached the edge of the gravel-pit,
when, looking over, they saw the wretched old couple still on the
ground.  They were very much alarmed when they found that they did not
move, thinking perhaps they had really frightened them to death.

"Oh dear, oh dear, I wish that we hadn't done it," exclaimed Kate,
looking very miserable.  "And I to have led you to help me.  It was very
naughty of me, I know.  I know--I know it was."

"Oh no, Kate, it wasn't all your fault; I'm sure I thought it was very
good fun," answered Digby.  "Perhaps, after all, they are not dead.
I'll go and have another look."  Digby approached near, stooping down,
and when he looked over he saw the dame lifting up her head and gazing
cautiously around.  She did this more from instinct or habit than
because she fancied any one might be near.  Digby thought that she must
have seen him.  He crept back to Kate, satisfied, at all events, that
she was not dead; and John Pratt soon afterwards joining them, he
shouldered the basket, and they set off as fast as they could for the
Hall.  What to do with the imp, which had played so prominent a part in
the drama, was a puzzle, till John undertook to carry it home, and burn
it.

When they got back to the Hall the state of their dresses and their
hands, which were more than usually dirty, caused some grave suspicions
in the mind of Mrs Barker, the head nurse, who had to prepare them to
come in to dessert, after dinner; and she was not long in ascertaining
from Digby what had really occurred.  She thought it very wrong in John
Pratt to have assisted in such a proceeding; but he was a favourite, and
she was afraid that if she made much of the matter she should bring him
into trouble; she therefore merely gave Kate and Digby a lecture, and
they fancied that they had escaped without any further ill result from
their frolic.  It happened, however, that that very evening a neighbour
of Dame Marlow's came running to the vicarage to say that the dame and
her old man were both very ill, that they had something on their
consciences, and that they wished to see the vicar and to disburden
them.

Mr Bowdler was ever at the call of any of his poor parishioners who
sent for him.  Although he had but just finished his frugal dinner, and
taken his books and sat down to enjoy himself after his own fashion, in
communing in thought with great and good men.  He rose from his seat,
and said he would go immediately.

It was a fine moonlight night, and so he mounted his horse and trotted
off to Mile-End.  He found the old couple not nearly so ill as he
expected, but still suffering very much from fear.  I need not repeat in
their own words what they said.

The dame confessed that she had done many wicked things, and that she
had tried to impress people with a belief in her supernatural powers,
though she knew that she was a weak old woman, without any power at all.
At length, however, while she was endeavouring to frighten an honest
man out of his senses, the spirit of evil had himself appeared down the
chimney, and very nearly frightened her and her husband out of theirs.
What she had sent to Mr Bowdler for was, it appeared, not so much to
say how sorry she had been, but to entreat him to exorcise the evil
spirit, so that he might not venture to come back again.

Mr Bowdler looked grave.  He might have said that prayer, and
penitence, and watchfulness, were the only preventives against the
approach of the evil one.  However, in the present instance, he did not
like to say this.  The fact was that he had become completely
enlightened from what he had just heard as to the true state of the
case.  After taking luncheon at the Hall, he had strolled, as he had
been requested to do, through the grounds.  The day being very fine, and
not having been before at the Mound, he hunted about till he found his
way through the labyrinth, and then he climbed up to the summer-house to
enjoy the view which, he had been told, could be seen from it.  Just as
he was leaving the building, the little imp under the table had caught
his eye.  He pulled out the monster, and could scarcely help indulging
in a smile as he examined it.  He doubted, however, whether he ought to
leave it there, or carry it off; but guessing from the workmanship that
young hands had formed it, and recollecting Kate and Digby's glances at
luncheon, he had little difficulty in guessing that it was the produce
of their ingenuity.  Had he been less of a stranger, he would, I have no
doubt, have taken it away, or stopped and remonstrated with them on the
impropriety of making such a figure; but he was a judicious man, and he
feared that he might injure his future usefulness in the family by
appearing officious.  He was a man who only placed confidence in good
principles.  He believed that preaching against one sin, or one fault,
and leaving sin in general, evil dispositions unassailed, produced no
permanent effect.  However, he resolved to keep his eye on his young
friends, and to speak to them when he could find a favourable
opportunity.  He now at once discovered how the figure had been
employed, though he could scarcely persuade himself that Kate and Digby
alone could have carried out by themselves the drama which had evidently
been enacted.  He did not mention his suspicions to the old couple, but
he strongly urged them to repent of their evil ways, and to resolve in
future to lead better lives.  He assured them that neither he nor any
other mortal man had the power of exorcising evil spirits; and they were
silly old people to fancy so.  As to what they had seen, he did not
choose to pronounce an opinion; but he told them that they ought to have
stopped and examined it, and that then they would probably not have been
so much frightened.  He was not very well satisfied, however, with the
result of his visit.

"This is a pretty prank for these young people to play," said he to
himself, as he rode home.  "It is high time that Master Digby should be
sent to school, and that Miss Kate should have a governess to look after
her.  If something is not done they will be getting into some worse
scrape before long.  I must try and speak to Mr Heathcote on the
matter.  He appears to think that they are still babies, and never seems
to dream of the rapid development of their genius for mischief."

Not long after this, Julian Langley, who had not yet been sent to
school, was invited to spend a few weeks at the Hall.  From what I have
said it may be supposed that he was not likely to do Digby any good.
Kate, from the first, could not abide him; and even John Pratt looked at
him with no little suspicion.  Julian was tall for his age, with a
slight figure, fair, with light hair, and an inexpressive rather than a
bad countenance.  I believe that his was one of those characters which
may be moulded without difficulty either for good or for ill, according
to the hands into which they fall.  Nothing would have made Julian
Langley a very great man, or a very important member of society; but he
might have become, by proper care and culture, useful in his generation,
and religious and happy.  Alas, poor fellow, how different was his lot.
He could discourse very learnedly about horses and dogs, and all
sporting matters; and of course Digby thought him a very fine fellow.
It was not long before he led Digby into a variety of scrapes.

The first Sunday after his arrival all the family went to church.  The
Bloxholme pew had very high sides and curtains, and was directly in
front of the pulpit, the preacher being the only person who could look
directly down into it.  Outside it, also facing the pulpit, there had,
from time immemorial, been seats for a number of poor and old people.
One of the occupants was an old man, who wore a scratch-wig; he was very
deaf, also, and as he could not hear a word the vicar said, he
invariably fell asleep during the sermon, and, as was often the case, if
he had any cold, snored loudly.

Stephen Snookes was certainly not a nice old man, and Digby and Kate had
no affection for him.  People complained of his snoring; and the vicar
had more than once spoken to him about the impropriety of his conduct in
going to sleep during the sermon.  Stephen promised to try and amend;
but the next Sunday invariably committed the same fault.

Julian and Digby had sat quiet during the beginning of the sermon; but
when old Snookes began to snore, they got up on their seats and looked
over down upon the head of the delinquent.  As it happened, they had
heard, the evening before, a very sad, but very beautifully written
tale, read in which the unhappy hero, in the days of his boyhood, hooks
off an old man's wig in church.  Undeterred by the sad fate which
ultimately befel the hero, Julian Langley was seized with a strong
inclination to imitate his example.  Digby also jumped at the suggestion
made to him by his companion on their way home from church.

As soon as luncheon was over they hurried to Digby's room, where they
supplied themselves with a fish-hook and a line.  Their eagerness to
accompany the Miss Heathcotes to church in the afternoon might have
created just suspicions in the minds of some of the elders of the
family, but it did not; and off they set in high good humour.

Sermon time came.  Old Snookes fell asleep, his loud snoring gave notice
of the circumstance.  Julian and Digby stood up, and the hook descended,
its barbs becoming entangled in the curls of the scratch-wig.  The line
was then drawn tight, and the end secured to the brass rod at the top of
the pew.  What was the horror of Mr Bowdler, when raising his voice, to
see old Snookes suddenly bob his head, when, in the sight of a large
part of the congregation, off flew his wig, it seemed, and up he stood,
bare-headed.  Putting his hands to his bald pate, he exclaimed, "I bees
bewitched, I knows I bees!  Oh, where is my wig? where is my wig?"

Even Mr Bowdler, who had observed the cause which had produced this
effect, had some difficulty in keeping his countenance, while I am sorry
to say his congregation did very little to keep theirs.  He of course
felt much vexed with the conduct of the boys.  The wig was drawn up
rapidly to the edge of the pew, and then it fell down again to the
ground, from which the old man picked it up, and, in his hurry, clapped
it on again hind part before.

Mr Bowdler felt that any good effects his sermon might have produced
were too likely to be obliterated, and he resolved more than ever to
advise Mr Heathcote to send Digby off to school.

Neither Digby nor Kate were aware that some time before this their
parents had come to the resolution of obtaining a governess who might
assist Mary in her studies, and take entire charge of them and Gusty.
Their mother's health had lately become much worse, and she was utterly
unfit for the task she had imposed on herself.  Only the day before the
arrival of the lady they were told of the arrangements that had been
made.  Neither of them had formed any favourable notions of governesses
in general, and Julian had assured them that those he had heard of would
beat and pinch them and make them sit in the stocks, and keep them in at
their lessons all day, and deprive them of their dinners.  Long, indeed,
was the catalogue of the enormities governesses were supposed as a class
to commit.

"I should like to see anyone trying on those tricks with me," exclaimed
Digby, looking very fierce, "I would soon show them what I was made of!"

"Horrid old creature, I'll not attend to her," said Kate, pouting.
"I'll pretend to be as dull and stupid as a sick pig.  She'll find it
very difficult to knock anything into my head, let me assure her."

"Don't you think that we could play her some tricks, just to make her
sorry she came here?" suggested Julian.  "I'll show you how to make an
apple-pie bed, and we can put salt into her tumbler at dinner, and we
can pretend the cat is in the room and make a terrible fuss all
dinner-time, so that she will fancy we do not hear a word she says to
us.  There's no end of things I can put you up to, if you will be guided
by me."

Of the truth of this assertion of Master Julian's there could be no
doubt, but how far they were to be guided well was a very different
question.  That did not, perhaps, occur to his auditors at the time.
Kate's innate delicacy revolted from the idea of preparing an apple-pie
bed for their new governess, especially if, as she fancied, she was an
old lady, and might arrive fatigued after a long journey; but Digby
thought it would be very good fun, and undertook to assist Julian in
carrying out his proposal.  While the two boys were discussing the
matter, Kate was absorbed in meditation.

"I know one thing I should like to do," she exclaimed.  "I have often
thought about it.  It would give her a tremendous fright, and perhaps
she would pack up her things and go off again at once."

"What is it?" exclaimed the boys in a breath, for they knew that Kate's
ideas were generally very bright; "tell us all about it."

"Then listen," said Kate.  "In the long gallery at the top of the house
there are several pictures of old gentlemen and ladies, our ancestors I
believe, in full bottomed wigs and hoops, and long coats and breeches,
and swords and fans--and--that is to say, the gentlemen have some, and
the ladies the other articles I mention," she added, for she saw that
the boys were laughing.

"Well, go on," they exclaimed eagerly.

"Some of the portraits have been taken down and placed leaning against
the walls.  Now though when they were hung up they appeared as large as
life, now they are on the ground the figures do not seem to so much
taller than any of us.  The fancy took me as I was looking at them to
cut out the eyes, and to put mine in their stead; and I couldn't help
laughing at the idea of how frightened any one would be to see the eyes
rolling about, and to hear at the same time a groan or a sigh, as if the
portrait had all of a sudden become animated.  After the idea had once
seized me, I could not rest satisfied till I had put it in part into
execution.  There would have been no fun merely to put my eyes through
two holes, so after I had cut out the eyes of an old gentleman, our
great-great-great-grandfather, I believe, with a steel cuirass on his
breast, and a heavy sword in his hand, I got a looking-glass, and just
at dusk last evening, I carried it up and placed it on a chair before a
portrait of the old knight.  Then I got behind the canvas, and put my
eyes at the holes and rolled them about till I caught sight of them in
the glass.  I very nearly shrieked with horror--the eyes looked so
natural and bright, I quite forgot they were my own.  I couldn't endure
it any longer, but had to run out of the gallery without looking up at
any of the portraits, for I could not help fancying that I should see
them all rolling their eyes round at me."

"How dreadful," said Digby, shuddering.  "I wonder you could stand it,
Kate."

"Oh, I had to go up again to bring away the looking-glass, and as the
old gentlemen and ladies all looked very quiet and demure, I soon got
over my fright."

"What, then, do you want us to do?" asked Julian.  "Depend on it we're
up to anything."

"I will tell you," replied Kate.  "There are two big pictures I have
fixed on, I will cut out the eyes, and the nose, and the mouth of each
of them, I can easily fasten them in again with gum.  You shall go up as
soon as it is dusk, and put your faces at the holes.  I will then invite
the new governess, Miss Apsley, I hear is her name, to come up and
inspect our ancestors, and then you can sigh and groan, and then she is
certain to take fright; and I'll run away, and she will follow, and you
must then set up loud shrieks of horrid laughter; and my idea is, that
she will insist on going away, thinking the house is haunted, and never
wish to come near it or us again."

"Oh, glorious, grand, magnificent!" exclaimed the boys.

The terms were not very appropriate it must be owned.  Little did the
elders of the family dream of the mischief the children were committing
among their ancestors in the picture gallery.

The morning came on which Miss Apsley was to arrive.  John Pratt had
fixed that same morning for draining one of the ponds.  This was an
operation at which very naturally the boys were anxious to be present.
There were eels innumerable, and tench and perch in the pond, that was
certain, and it was believed that there were also some giant pike, which
refused to be caught by any of the baits thrown to them.  They had no
lessons to do that morning, so at an early hour they set off in high
glee at the fun they expected.  Even Gusty was allowed to accompany
them, and Kate was to follow shortly.  It was neither of the large ponds
which was to be drained, but still it was one of considerable size.
Even people of greater age might have been highly interested at the
prospect of seeing the long-hidden depths of the pond exposed to view.
John Pratt was in all his glory, and his attendants stood obedient to
his commands.  The sluices were forced up after a good deal of
hammering, and out rushed the water in a dense rapid current, rushing
down with a loud roar through the serpentine canal into the lowest lake,
whence it found its way to the river.  A net had been drawn across to
catch any of the larger fish who might be drawn in by the current, but
generally speaking the noise and unusual commotion made them seek what
they fancied would be safety in the lower depths of the pond.  The water
was not allowed to run off very fast lest it should commit some
mischief, so the operation was a long one.  At length, however, the
interest increased as shoals began to appear, and here and there an
astonished tench or an eel was seen struggling away through the mud to
get into the clearer liquid.  The boys shouted and shrieked as they saw
them.

"Oh there's another big fellow," cried Digby; "we must have him."

"What a whopper," exclaimed Julian; "I'll bet he weighs a dozen pounds
at least."

"There goes another, there's another--there's another--oh! what a huge
eel!" were the exclamations heard on every side.

John Pratt stood calm and collected.  He knew that the moment of action
had not yet arrived.  Landing-nets were in readiness, and so was a flat
punt with eel-forks, or prongs; indeed, he had omitted nothing that
would enable him to capture any of the finny tribe on which he might set
his eyes.  At length the wished-for moment arrived.  Nearly the whole
bottom of the pond was laid bare, with the exception of a hole
sufficiently deep to float the punt, and a narrow channel leading to it.
The exposed parts of the mud were waving in every direction with the
floundering struggling fish, while innumerable eels of all sizes were
wriggling about and seeking for shelter.  Just then Kate came down,
almost breathless, to the pond.  The boys had leaped into the punt with
John Pratt, and were shoving off.  Their jackets, and shoes, and hats,
indeed, everything but their shirts and trousers, had been thrown aside,
in imitation of John and the men who were assisting.  They pushed back,
yielding to her petitions to take her in.  The punt was very narrow,
John Pratt was tall, they were all very eager.  The fish swarmed around
them; some they took up with the landing-nets, the big eels John forked
with his prong, the tench and perch they caught with their hands; the
other men were wading about with landing-nets, putting the fish into
buckets, to transfer them alive to another pond while this was being
cleansed.  The water still kept running off, and more and more fish
appeared.  The boys and Kate shrieked again and again with delight.
Their eagerness increased.  John was aiming his prong at a large eel,
the young party all leaned over on the same side, not seeing that the
other edge of the punt was on the mud.  The bottom was slippery with the
slime of the tench and eels, John's foot slid away--in an instant over
went the punt, and let them all out into the water and mud.  At first
Kate was frightened and shrieked, and Digby was alarmed on account of
her and little Gusty, but he only laughed, and they soon found that
there was very little water there, and that the bottom was hard, and so
they thought it very good fun, and refused to get into the punt again.
Away they went, floundering about in chase of the fish, covered from
head to feet with mud, but thinking it very good fun.  Digby's fear was
lest some big pike should catch hold of Gusty.  He himself had a
desperate tussle with a big fellow, which would have got away, or,
perhaps, bit him, had not John Pratt come to his assistance.  Certainly
very curious figures were the four children, and no one would have
supposed that they were the descendants of long lines of well-born,
proud ancestors.

Scarcely had Kate left the house, when the expectant governess, Miss
Apsley, arrived.  After she had taken luncheon, as she was not tired
with her journey, Mrs Heathcote invited her to take a stroll through
the grounds to the ponds.

"We shall find the children there, and you will be able to observe them
without being remarked," said Mrs Heathcote.  "I hope that you will
think well of them, for they are, I believe, as well-behaved, tractable
children as any in the county.  Digby is a dear good boy, and Kate is a
clever little thing, though slightly hoydenish I own, but every one may
see at a glance that she is a perfect little lady as Digby is a
gentleman.  You will find no difficulty in managing them."

Mrs Heathcote spoke with the pardonable pride of a mother.  She was
much pleased with the new governess, and wished to impress her with a
favourable opinion of her children.

Miss Apsley, who was a very sensible, ladylike, right-minded person,
thought that she should like Mrs Heathcote, and was congratulating
herself on having such nice well-behaved little children placed under
her charge.  Engaged in pleasant conversation the two ladies drew near
the ponds.  Shouts and shrieks reached their ears, and expressions
anything but refined, which Mrs Heathcote fancied must be uttered by
some groom boys, or young gipsies, were heard.  When they got in sight
of the pond they both stood aghast.  There were the children, on whom
their mother had just been passing so warm an eulogium, covered from
head to foot with black mud, shouting and bawling as they ran after the
fish--the refined little ladylike Kate being in no better condition than
her brothers, while Julian Langley, having in his eagerness thrown off
all restraint, was shouting and swearing, and using expressions which
would disgrace the lips of any but the most ignorant heathens.

Poor Mrs Heathcote was horrified.  For some time so eager were the
children that they did not perceive her.  Kate was the first to see her
mother and the strange lady, as she was chasing a big eel close up to
where they were standing.

"Oh, mamma, the punt upset and we tumbled in and got all muddy, and so I
thought that it was a pity to come out, and it is such fun," she
exclaimed, making a grab at the eel, and not thinking it at all
necessary to appear ashamed of herself.

She probably was not aware of the very odd figure she, appeared.  Miss
Apsley smiled, but said nothing.

Poor little Gusty next came up, with his pockets full of the smaller
fish he had managed to catch hold of.  Digby was too much engaged to see
anything but the fish he was chasing.  Away he went, as indifferent to
the dirt as any mud-larker on the banks of the Thames, floundering away
after the fish, and throwing them as he caught them into the pails and
baskets prepared for their reception.

"They seem to enjoy the amusement," observed Miss Apsley at length; "I
hope they will not catch cold."

Mrs Heathcote was pleased that she did not speak in a satirical tone.
She thought, however, that it was high time that the amusement should
come to an end, so she desired Kate and Gusty to come out of the pond,
and directed John Pratt, who at length caught sight of his mistress, to
tell the other boys that she wanted them.  John could not help feeling
that the young people who had been entrusted to his charge were not in a
very presentable condition, so he thought that he ought to make the best
apology in his power.

"They bees very like young frogs, I does own, Mrs Heathcote, marm,"
said he; "but they does take to it so kindly loike, I couldn't find it
in my heart to prevent them."

I feel that I cannot do justice to worthy John's peculiar provincial
phraseology.  Mrs Heathcote smiled.  She did not think that John had
paid her children any very great compliment.  At last Digby and Julian
came forth from the mud, without a single white spot about them--hands
and face, and hair and clothes, all covered with mud.  They were not at
all pleased at being told to go into the house to be cleansed, for they
were not nearly tired of their sport, but Mrs Heathcote was afraid of
Digby's catching cold, and was firm, though they pleaded hard to be
allowed to remain.

"There mamma, there, see that huge pike," exclaimed Digby, about to dart
back again; "he's one of the giant fellows we have been looking for all
along, and thought he must have got out somewhere.  I wonder you don't
feel inclined to jump in after him.  There, they've caught him; he must
be thirty pounds weight."

Mrs Heathcote fairly laughed at the idea of her rushing into the mud in
chase of a pike, but still Digby had to accompany her home.  Whatever
might have been his other delinquencies, he never had disobeyed her
expressed wishes, for he loved her dearly.  He and Julian, however, as
they followed a little way behind, looked at the strange lady and
thought that she had, in some way or other, something to do with their
being called in.  She was so ladylike and young, and nice-looking, and
so different from what they had fancied the new governess was to be,
that they never suspected that she was the awful and dreaded Miss
Apsley.

Great was the dismay of Mrs Barker when the mud-besprinkled, or rather
mud-covered children, made their appearance.  Mrs Carter was summoned
to give her assistance, and much soap and many tubs of hot-water were
used before they were at all in their usual presentable condition.  They
scolded them much more severely than their mother had done.  Poor little
Gusty cried, and could not help fancying that he had been very naughty.
When also Digby and Kate found that the lady with their mother was the
new governess, and that it was owing to her arrival that they had been
compelled to come in thus early, their hearts, in spite of her kind
manner and nice looks, hardened towards her, and, instigated by Julian,
they resolved to put into execution the plan which Kate had concocted.
Mr Heathcote dined out that day, so the parlour dinner was soon over.
Mrs Heathcote was fatigued, so lay down on the sofa and fell asleep.
The boys had disappeared.  The summer evening was drawing to a close.
Now or never was the time.  Kate had scarcely seen Miss Apsley.

"Will you come and look over the old house," she said, at length, in a
voice which trembled somewhat.

It was late, and getting dusk, but Miss Apsley was glad of an
opportunity of having some conversation with her rather silent pupil,
and consented readily.

Kate really was very much agitated, and repented of her undertaking
before even she reached the picture gallery.  She hurried through the
other rooms; she felt that she was acting a treacherous part; she tried
to talk, but her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth; still there was
so much determination, or obstinacy some would have called it, in her
composition, that she would not turn aside from her resolution.  Miss
Apsley guessed that there was something or other on her young friend's
mind, but made no remark.  The gallery was reached.  It was a long,
wide, and high passage in the centre of the house, lighted at both ends
and partially from the top.  The portraits reached to the very roof, and
looked very grim and dark--very few of them deserved much commendation
as works of art.  The gallery Kate thought looked more gloomy than ever;
she could scarcely bring herself to utter a word.

"Come to the other end, marm," at last she said in a faltering voice.

She could scarcely help running away and screaming even before she got
to the portraits whose faces she had so ill-treated.  She got up to
them; she dared not look at them; she was certain that the eyes were
rolling horribly.  Miss Apsley walked calmly on.  Kate thought that she
saw the governess look first on one side, then on the other, but she was
not certain.  They reached the end of the gallery; there was a fine view
from the window; the rich glow of that fine summer evening still
lingered in the sky.  Miss Apsley seemed to enjoy it very much, as she
stood contemplating it for some time, till hill, and wood, and fields
became so blended as to be scarcely distinguishable.

"We will now return to the drawing-room, Kate, if you please," she said
quietly.

Kate followed her.  Again they reached the two portraits on the floor;
there was a groan on one side, and what was meant for a sigh on the
other.  Kate was really frightened, and rushed off shrieking.

"Stop, stop, Kate, my dear, there is nothing to be alarmed about," said
Miss Apsley, in a calm voice.  "Come back and see."

As she spoke she caught hold of the nose of one of the portraits, which
squeaked out "Oh, oh, oh!"  Kate's fancy was tickled, and she burst into
a fit of laughter; her admiration, also, was much excited for her new
governess.  Digby came forth from behind the other portrait; Julian,
whose nose had been caught literally in his own trap, drew it back as he
did his tongue, which he had protruded as far as he could, and also came
out looking very sheepish, without a word to say for himself.

Digby, however, in a manly way, at once said--"I beg pardon, Miss
Apsley, I thought that we were going to play you a good trick, which
would have frightened you very much; but I am glad it did not, and I am
sure we are very sorry, and I hope you will forgive us."

Miss Apsley's calmness had won Digby's admiration even in a greater
degree than it had Kate's.

"Yes, indeed I will," she replied, pleased at his frankness.  "It was
silly and wrong in you, and the consequences might, in some instances,
have been serious.  I am bound to tell you this that I may warn you
against playing such tricks in future; but as far as I am individually
concerned I most heartily forgive you, and will entirely overlook the
matter."

Julian could not understand these sentiments, and thought Digby a very
silly fellow to make what he called an unnecessary apology.  They all
went downstairs together, and then Kate took the governess to her room,
and confessed that she had herself concocted the scheme which had so
signally failed, and told her, indeed, all I have already described
about the matter.  With eager haste she undid, too, the apple-pie bed
which Digby and Julian had made, and assuring her how different a person
she was to what she expected, promised that she would never again
attempt to play her another trick, and that she would be answerable that
Digby would not either.

"Why did you come out and show yourself, Digby?" said Julian, when they
were alone together.  "I don't understand your way of doing things; if
you had groaned, as it was arranged, when that Miss Apsley and Kate
first appeared, we should have put her to flight, and I should not have
had my nose pulled--she knows how to pinch hard let me tell you."

Digby confessed that she really was so nice a person that he did not
like to frighten her, and that had he not undertaken to groan, he could
not have brought himself to do so at all.

Julian only sneered at this, and said no more on the subject.

It was most unfortunate for Digby that he had at that time so evil a
counsellor as Julian to turn him aside from the right course, in which
Miss Apsley was so anxious and so well able to direct him.  Often and
often have boys been warned to avoid bad companions.  Let me assure my
readers, that they are the emissaries of the evil one, and that their
vocation is to destroy, both in body and soul, all who come under their
influence.



CHAPTER THREE.

MORE MISCHIEF--JULIAN'S BAD ADVICE--DIGBY'S FIRST TUTOR--HOW TIME WAS
SPENT AT OSBERTON--TOBY TUBB AND HIS YARNS.

There was a large gathering at Bloxholme Hall, both from far and near,
of most of the principal families in the county.  The house was full of
those acquaintances of Mr and Mrs Heathcote who lived too far off to
return the same night, but numbers came who were to drive home again the
same evening.

There was an archery meeting in the morning, and then a dinner and a
dance afterwards.  Julian and Digby voted it very slow work.  It was,
probably, so to them.  Kate liked the archery, and especially the
dancing, for gentlemen asked her to dance, and chatted with her, and she
skipped about like a little fairy, as merrily as possible.  The boys had
not gone in to the dinner, but they had helped themselves plentifully to
the good things on which they could lay hands, and Julian especially had
got hold of some wine.  In consequence of this, he had become very
pot-valorous.

"I'll tell you what, Digby," said he, "we must do something, or I shall
go to sleep.  This dancing is all nonsense.  Come into the garden.  I
dare say I shall knock out an idea; it's seldom I fail, when I try."

That was true; but they were very bad ideas Master Julian knocked out.

Before long they found their way into the court-yard, where the
carriages of the company were left standing by themselves.  The horses
were in the stables, pleasantly munching their corn.  The coachmen and
grooms were in the servants' hall, as agreeably occupied in eating their
suppers.

Julian went in and out among the carriages, and whatever rugs, or
gloves, or wrappers, or halters he could find, he transferred from one
carriage to the other.

"I say, Digby, it will be a capital joke," he exclaimed.  "When the fat
old coachmen come out, they'll all set to quarrelling.  One will think
that the other has stolen his things; and they will never dream that we
did it."

Digby thought the joke a good one, and helped to take the articles out
of some carriages and to put them into others, till it was evidently
almost impossible for any one, in the dark, to regain their lost
property.  When this was done, and the joke, as they called it, enjoyed,
the boys sat down to consider what else they could do.

"I have a notion of something," said Julian.  "It is dangerous, because,
if we were found out, we should get into a terrible scrape; but I should
like to try it."

"What is it?" asked Digby, eagerly.  "As for the scrape, I don't mind
that; I rather like the risk."

"Well, young 'un, that's according to fancy," said Julian.  "I like to
take care of myself, but still I like fun.  My notion is, that if we
were to take the linch-pins out of the carriages we should see a scene
not often beheld.  As soon as they begin to move, the wheels will go
spinning off in every direction, and the people will be spilt right and
left into the road.  Wouldn't it be fun?"

Digby did not think so.  He could scarcely fancy that Julian was in
earnest.  "Why, some of the coachmen might be killed," he exclaimed;
"and the people inside would certainly be hurt."

"Oh, nonsense," answered Julian.  "You are qualmish.  I'll do it.  You
just stand by and see.  Look, they are out in a minute.  Just untwist
the wire.  Here's somebody's chaise; I suspect it is the parson's.
There, he'll get a spill.  Now, then, this old family coach; it belongs
to those old frumps the Fullers.  Lord, what fun, to see them all
sprawling out into the road."

Thus Julian went on, Digby felt very much inclined to stop him, and to
entreat him to replace the linch-pins; but Julian rattled away, and was
so amusing, that his first feeling of the wrong to which he was a party
wore off.  It never occurred to him that, if he could not stop Julian,
his wisest course would have been to tell the coachmen to look to their
linch-pins.  Fortunately, many of the carriages had been built in
London, and were supplied with patent boxes, so that they escaped the
contemplated mischief.

While the boys were thus engaged they heard some footsteps, and they
guessed that the coachmen were returning from their suppers to look
after their horses.  They therefore beat a precipitate retreat through
the gate which led into the garden, and quickly made their way into the
ball-room.

Mr Bowdler was walking about the room, speaking a kindly word whenever
he had an opportunity, both to young and old, of those among whom he had
come to live, and whom he was anxious to instruct, and endeavouring, as
he felt it most important to do, to win the confidence of all, when he
saw the two boys return.  Their hair was disordered, their shoes were
far from clean, and there were thin lines of dust or mud on their
jackets.  Julian looked flushed, and Digby had a sheepish abashed
manner, very different from that which usually distinguished him.  He
was very certain that they had been about something they should not, but
the question as to what they had been doing he did not think fit to ask.
It was already getting later than the hour which he liked to be away
from home, so, wishing Mr and Mrs Heathcote good-night, in that
pleasant cordial manner which had already gained him their good-will, he
walked out to get ready his own carriage.  The glass door of the house
which led into the garden was open, and so was that which led from the
garden into the court-yard.  Near his own carriage he saw something
shining on the ground.  He stooped down, and picked up a clasp knife
which he himself had given to Digby a few days before.  A groom came and
brought out his horse and harnessed it to his carriage.  When, however,
the man led it out to be clear of the other carriages, in crossing a
shallow open drain, first one wheel came off, and then, to his surprise,
another followed.  As the carriage was moving very slowly, and no one
was in it, there was little harm done.

Mr Bowdler said nothing.  "That was a cruel trick of those thoughtless
boys," he uttered to himself.  "They could scarcely have wished to
injure me, but I fear they are the guilty ones."

He and the groom hunted about till they found the linch-pins and the
wires which kept them in, and, having examined the other wheels, he got
in and drove off.

The groom, of course, wondered how it could have happened, but it did
not occur to him to accuse the young gentlemen.

Soon after this, Mrs Fuller's coach was ordered.  The fat coachman put
the horses to, and drove slowly up to the front door.  She and four
daughters, and two young sons, came down the steps, the first got in,
and the latter got up outside, while Digby and Julian stood in the hall
looking on.  Digby nearly bit off the thumb of his glove in his
eagerness, and hesitation and regret, as he watched for the catastrophe
he expected.  Julian, fancying that they were secure from detection,
stood more in front, highly amused at the thoughts of seeing the fat
coachman tumble off into the dust.

Just as they were starting, a carriage was heard coming rapidly along
the road.  The fat coachman thought that he ought to move out of the
way, so he whipped on his horses and away they trotted.  A stone had
been cast on to the carriage-way--the old family coach bumped over it--
off flew a wheel--over went the carriage, the coachman and the two lads
were thrown off with no little violence, right and left, greatly to
Julian's delight, and the ladies screamed.

Fortunately the windows had not been drawn up, and no one was cut, but
being stout people and closely packed, they were very much jammed
together.  The poor coachman was the most hurt, and the young men had
their coats spoilt.  They were on their legs in a moment, and while one
helped up the coachman the other ran to the horses' heads.  The next
thing was to get out the ladies, who, trembling and alarmed, reentered
the hall.  Grooms, and servants, and gentlemen, assembled from all
quarters.

"Look at the other wheels," said a voice.

It was that of Mr Bowdler.  His mind had misgiven him that the trick
which he had discovered might have been played to other carriages, and
he had driven back.  He returned to the coach-yard and warned the
coachmen of what he suspected.  He found them in a state of great
commotion, all crying out for the things they had lost, one accusing the
other of having appropriated them.  Their anger was still further
increased when, in accordance with Mr Bowdler's advice, they discovered
the linch-pins had been abstracted from several of the carriages, and
that the necks of some of them had narrowly escaped being broken.  They
were loud in their threats of vengeance on the heads of the unknown
ragamuffins who had committed the atrocious act.

"It's they gipsies," said one; "they've done it to rob the ladies as we
drove along."

"It's some on old Dame Marlow's tricks.  I don't think az how any one
could a come in here to play zick a prank," observed another, a believer
in the Dame's powers.

Some, however, ventured to suggest that as there were young gentlemen at
the Hall, and young gentlemen did play very bad tricks at times, they
might have done it.  Opinion was setting very much in this direction,
when John Pratt appeared, and was highly indignant that any such
reflection should be cast on his young master.

Mr Bowdler having assured himself that no more harm was likely to
occur, drove away again.

"I am not justified in allowing the boys to go on in this way," he said
to himself.  "I must inform Mr Heathcote of what has occurred, and get
them sent to where they will be properly looked after; I should like to
get them separated; one will learn no good from the other."

Meantime the disturbance in the coach-yard increased, and John Pratt had
at last to summon his master from the ball-room to quell it.  Mr
Heathcote's voice was now heard inquiring what was the matter, when a
dozen people tried to give their own versions of the state of affairs.

"Very well, my friends," said Mr Heathcote, after listening to them
patiently, "keep the peace among yourselves for the present, and if the
culprits can be discovered, I will take care, I promise you, that they
shall be properly punished.  And John Pratt, get more lanterns, and have
all the things in the carriages collected, and distributed to the proper
owners as they are claimed."

Having said this, the master of the house returned to his guests.
Julian and Digby, when they heard what Mr Heathcote had said, were in a
great fright.  Digby knew very well that what his father said he would
do--that he assuredly would do.  He had no hope of escaping detection,
and was certain that he should be punished.  Of course, he remembered
that he had not actually taken the linch-pins out of the carriages, but
he had stood by, if not aiding and abetting, at all events not making
any strenuous effort to prevent the deed.  He, therefore, never for a
moment dreamed of sheltering himself under the plea that he had not
touched the linch-pins.  It scarcely occurred to him that Julian might
have exonerated him in a great degree by generously declaring that he
himself had proposed the trick and had carried it out.  Had he been in
Julian's place, that is what he would have done; but he did not ask
Julian to act thus for him, and he made up his mind to abide the
consequences.  He felt that any excuse he could offer for himself would
throw more blame on Julian, and it did occur to him that even then his
word might be doubted.

In the meantime Mrs Fuller's carriage was put to rights, the coachman
mounted on his box, the ladies were handed in, and the young gentlemen
got up once more on the rumble, all of them very angry and annoyed, as
well they might be, and some not a little bruised.  Mr Heathcote
assured them of his vexation at what had occurred, and promised them, as
he had the coachmen, that he would get the culprits properly punished.

The party at length separated, and Digby, more unhappy and discontented
with himself than he had been for a long time, went to bed and cried
with very vexation till he fell asleep.  It was a pity that his
repentance was not of a more permanent nature.

The next morning he arose refreshed, and though he felt an unusual
weight at his heart, yet he looked at things in a brighter light.
Julian looked immaterial (as Kate called his expression of countenance)
when he came down to breakfast, and had evidently made up his mind to
brazen out the affair, should suspicion fall on him.  The event of the
evening naturally, however, became the subject of conversation, and
Digby felt conscious that he was blushing, while he dared not meet the
eye of any one present.  He eat away perseveringly at his breakfast, and
bolted so hot a cup of tea, that he scalded his mouth, and was about to
make his escape, when his father's eye fell on him.  Digby knew it,
though he did not dare to look up, and Mr Heathcote felt very nearly
certain that the culprit was his own son.  Had he doubted it much, he
would have asked him, in joke, if he could tell how the affair happened;
but he was silent, and felt sad and annoyed.  He was sorry to suppose
that Digby had been guilty of so foolish and really wicked an act, and
his pride too, of which he had a good deal, was hurt at the thought of
having, in accordance with his word, publicly to punish him.

All doubts were at an end when, in a short time, Mr Bowdler appeared,
mentioned what he had ascertained, and firmly recommended the course he
thought ought to be pursued.

"You are right," answered Mr Heathcote, "but he is such a child--it
seems to me but the other day that he was a baby.  Let me see, how old
is he?  Ah, to be sure, I went to school at an earlier age.  Old or
young, I am bound to punish him, however.  Yet stay, we have no right to
condemn him unheard."

Mr Heathcote rang the bell, and ordered the servant to send in Master
Digby to him.  He felt very like that Roman father we read about, who
condemned his own son to death.

"Digby," said Mr Heathcote, when his son and heir stood before him,
"did you take the linch-pins out of the carriages last night?"

Digby thought a moment.

"No, I did not," he answered firmly.

"Do you know anything about the matter," said Mr Heathcote, somewhat
astonished but firmly believing the assertion.  Oh what a blessed thing
is that perfect confidence in the honour and truthfulness of those
connected with us.

"Do you say that I must answer that question, papa?" said Digby.

"I do not wish to force you to say anything," remarked Mr Heathcote,
"but I do wish to ascertain how the circumstance occurred."

Digby thought for some time, while his father sat looking at him.

"I should like to know how you intend to punish the person who committed
the mischief," he said at last.

"If you had done it, I should probably have flogged you, and have sent
you off to school, as soon as I could find a suitable one.  That would
have been a lenient punishment for you.  A poor boy would be flogged and
sent to the house of correction."

"Then you must send me to school, papa, though I should be glad if you
would omit the flogging," replied Digby, frankly.  "I will not say who
played the trick; but, as I see somebody ought to be punished, I'm ready
to suffer, as I think I ought."

Mr Bowdler was very much interested in hearing this conversation, and
certainly thought very much better of Digby than he had before been
inclined to do.  "There is a great deal in that boy which may bring
forth good fruit, if it is properly developed," he said to himself.  It
made him very anxious that Digby should go to some school where the
moral as well as intellectual qualities of the boys were attended to.

Mr Heathcote did not wish to press the matter further on his son.  He
was convinced that he was innocent of the act committed, and he had no
doubt of the real delinquent.  Still he was very unwilling to have to
punish Julian, and he wished to pass the matter over, unless the boy was
positively accused before him of the crime.  Digby was told that he
might go back to the schoolroom and prepare for Mr Crammer.

Mr Bowdler had heard Mr Nugent, Mrs Heathcote's brother, very highly
spoken of, and he recommended that Digby should be placed under him till
a good school could be found.

Mr Heathcote liked the notion.  He could not bear the idea of having
Digby far separated from him.  Not that he saw much of the boy, but he
liked to feel and know that he was near him.  He fancied that he was
getting on very well with Mr Crammer, and, now that so excellent a
governess had come to instruct him, he thought that his education would
be well provided for.  He promised Mr Bowdler, therefore, that he would
ride over to Osberton and get his brother-in-law to take charge of
Digby.

Mr Bowdler, on his part, undertook to make inquiries for a good school
for the boy.

"I will send young Julian home," said Mr Heathcote.  "I see no
particular harm in him.  He seems a quiet, inoffensive lad; but, as you
think it advisable, it will be a good excuse for separating the two."

"Yes, a very good excuse," said Mr Bowdler.

Julian had been with Digby when the footman summoned him into his
father's presence.  He waited anxiously for his return.

"You've not peached, I hope, Digby?" said he.

"No, indeed," answered Digby, rather proudly.  "I wasn't going to tell a
story, either.  Your name wasn't mentioned, so you need not be afraid."

"That's jolly," exclaimed Julian, brightening up.  "I was afraid that
you would be letting the cat out of the bag."

"I don't know exactly what that means," answered Digby; "I said that if
some one was to be punished I was ready to suffer, and so I'm to be sent
off to school, and that's not very pleasant, let me tell you.  Not that
I mind the idea of school.  It may be a very good sort of place; but I
don't like to have to leave so many pleasant things behind me.  What
will my poor dear old dog Tomboy do without me?  And there's my pretty
pony Juniper, which papa only bought last spring for me, and which I've
taught to know me and follow me about the field like a dog.  How many
pleasant rides I expected to have on him; and he will have forgotten all
about me when I come back.  Then I was to have gone out shooting with
John Pratt in September; and I'm pretty certain papa would have got me a
small gun, for I know he would like to see me a good shot; he's a
first-rate one himself.  John says he'll back me up to kill a brace of
partridges within a week after I get my gun; but all that's come to an
end.  Then we were to have had such capital fishing.  John has been
getting my tackle ready for me, and has made me a prime rod, much better
than can be bought in the shops.  Trap and ball, and hoops, and cricket,
and marbles--not that I ever can endure marbles--and rounders, and
prisoner's base, and all those sort of games, can be had at school even
better than at home, with the fellows one may pick up; so that won't
make any difference.  But, as far as I can make out, they don't let one
go out birds'-nesting, or ferreting, or cross-bow shooting, or badger
hunting, or any of those sort of things which John Pratt is up to.
Schools must be very slow places, that's my opinion.  I don't suppose we
might even blow up a wasps' nest, if we were to find one.  If John Pratt
might go and live near, and take me out every day, and have some fun or
other, I shouldn't mind it.  Then, you see, I don't like leaving Kate
and little Gusty.  What Kate will do without me I do not know at all.  I
hope Miss Apsley will treat her kindly; if he don't I'll--" and Digby
looked very fierce, but said nothing more.

"If you don't like school, all you've to do is to run away," said
Julian, ever ready to offer evil counsel.  "That's what I would do, I
know; or, if you don't like the idea of going there, run away before.
Send to me, and I'll help you; I'm always ready to help a friend in
need."

"Thank you," said Digby; "oh, I know you would be, but I promised my
father that I would go willingly if he wished to send me; so go I must."

Julian might have urged that promises were like piecrust, as the vulgar
saying runs, made to be broken: but he already knew enough of Digby to
be aware that such an opinion would have no response in his bosom, so he
only said, "Well, when you get there, and change your mind, only let me
know, and I will help you if I ran."

Julian, two days after this, to his astonishment found that his things
were packed, and his father's carriage coming to the door, he was told
that after he had had some luncheon he was to go home.  Mr and Mrs
Heathcote, however, wished him good-bye very kindly, and so did the Miss
Heathcotes, and of course Digby did, so he began to hope that nothing
had been discovered.  No one, however, said that they hoped soon to see
him again.  He went away smiling in very good humour with himself, and
tolerably so with the rest of the world.  The next day Digby was sent
off to Mr Nugent's; this he did not at all like; he would rather have
gone to school at once.  He recollected how very slow he had always
thought the life there--the hours were so regular and early, and he had
no field-sports of any kind to indulge in.  Kate, however, promised to
keep up a constant correspondence with him, and to tell him all that
went forward at home.  He undertook to write long letters to her in
return, at which she smiled, for hitherto he decidedly had not exhibited
any proficiency either in orthography or calligraphy, indeed it required
a considerable amount of patience and ingenuity to decipher his
epistles.  Digby loved his father and mother well, though I have not
said so; he had an affectionate parting from them.  John Pratt drove him
over to Osberton.  His uncle received him in a very kind way; he did not
allude in the slightest way to any of his late misdemeanors.  There were
four or five other boys there as pupils, considerably older than he was.
They seemed very quiet, well-behaved lads, and perfectly happy and
contented with their lot.  Mr Nugent, though strict in insisting on his
directions being obeyed, evidently ruled by love rather than by fear.
Mrs Nugent was also a very amiable, kind person, who took a warm
interest in the lads committed to her husband's charge.  Digby had
before seen very little of his aunt.  Before he had been there many days
he felt that he liked her very much.  Really the time was much more
pleasantly spent than he expected.  Mr Nugent was never idle for a
moment; when out of doors he was always moving about visiting his
parishioners; in the house, he was superintending the studies of his
pupils, or writing or reading himself.  In an evening he would always
read some interesting book to them--he never failed to select one with
which they were anxious to go on; he encouraged those who could draw, or
net, or make models of wood, or pasteboard, to go on at the same time
with their manual occupations.  Digby could do nothing of the sort.  His
notion of drawing was very limited indeed; however, his aunt undertook
to teach him.  By learning how to hold his pencil properly, and to move
his hand freely, he was surprised to find what rapid progress he made;
he first had very simple sketches to copy--houses and barns, the greater
number of the lines in which were perpendicular or horizontal.  She
would not let him have any other sketches till he had learned to draw
what he called the up and down, and the along lines properly.

"You must do that again, Digby," she used to say in her laughing, kind
tone.  "I make my houses stand upright, and I cannot allow you to let
them tumble down.  Till you have learned to build up a barn or a cottage
you must not attempt to erect a church or a castle.  See, you will be
able, if you persevere, to do drawings like these."

And she showed him some very attractive coloured sketches, well
calculated to excite his ambition to equal them.  The books, too, his
uncle read, or which he allowed one of the other boys to read, were
frequently very amusing, though instructive fictions--accounts of the
adventures and travels of lads, just such as boys like; sometimes
history was read, and always once in the week some very interesting book
on religious subjects.  It is a great mistake to suppose that such
subjects cannot be made interesting, independent of their vast, their
unspeakable importance.  Altogether Digby found the evenings pass much
more pleasantly than he had when he spent them in the idle, do-nothing
way to which he had been accustomed at home.  What numbers and numbers
of valuable hours are thrown away--not even spent in amusement, but
literally in doing nothing, and in being discontented, and sleepy, and
stupid, which might and ought to be employed in so profitable and
interesting a manner.  Mr Nugent frequently spoke to his pupils on the
subject of the proper employment of their time, and although many had
come to him as accustomed to idle and waste it, as was Digby, they very
soon, from experiencing the pleasure and advantages it afforded them,
began to wish to spend it profitably.  He used to remark--"Never suppose
that you are doing no harm when you are idle.  Remember, in the first
place, that `Satan finds some evil still for idle hands to do;' so you
are voluntarily exposing yourself to his temptations.  In that alone you
are wrong; but also understand that time is given us to be employed
aright; that is tilt tenure, so to speak, on which we hold our
existence; our intellects, our talents, our strength, our faculties of
mind and body, were bestowed on us for that object.  Boys and young
people, and even grown men and women, fancy they were sent into the
world only to amuse themselves.  If they have wealth at their disposal
they think that they are at liberty to spend their time in as pleasant a
way as possible, and as for reckoning up each day what good thing they
have done in the world, and saying how have I employed the talent
entrusted by my Maker to my charge, such an idea never comes into their
heads; but, my boys, I want it to come into your heads and hearts, and
to fix it there firmly.  If you have wealth at your disposal, consider,
and reflect, and pray, that you may be guided how to employ it aright;
if you are compelled to labour for your existence, work away with a
willing heart and hand, always remembering that you are labouring in the
sight of God, and that he approves of those who are doing their best to
perform their duty in that state of life into which he has called them."
Digby listened to these remarks; they were quite new to him, and he did
not entirely understand them; but they made an impression, and got
stowed away somewhere in the crannies of his mind and heart, and in
after years found their way to the surface to some effect.  Digby got on
much better with his lessons than he had done with Mr Crammer.  All
that gentleman seemed to aim at was to make him _say_ a lesson; he
learnt to say his Latin grammar glibly enough, and to answer set
questions in geography and history; and as to his comprehension of what
he was repeating, no inquiries were made.  The consequences may be
supposed, and poor Digby, with fair natural abilities, possessed the
very smallest modicum of the information which the books he had read
were capable of affording.  Mr Nugent, on the contrary, cared little
how a pupil said his lessons from a book; his object was to put
information into his head, and not only to make it stay there, but to
show him how to employ it profitably when required.  He used to explain
that dictionaries, and grammars, and delectuses, and graduses, and pens,
and ink, and paper, and the art of reading, were only so many mechanical
contrivances for acquiring knowledge.  The first thing to be done is to
learn to use them to the best advantage.

[Note: a Gradus is a textbook used to train people learning Latin in the
art of writing Latin verse, especially hexameters and pentameters.]

"Now, Marshall and Digby, take those two Latin dictionaries, and find me
out the meaning of the words _Luna circum terram movetur_."

Marshall placed his dictionary well before him, rapidly turning over the
leaves with the thumb of one hand, while he held them fast with the
other: as his quick eye caught sight of them, he wrote them down on a
piece of paper by his side.

Digby fumbled away awkwardly, going backwards and forwards, showing
clearly that he did not know how to handle a dictionary.  "What were the
words you said, Uncle?" he asked at last.

Marshall had looked out and written all his down and poor Digby had
actually forgotten them before he had been able to find one of them out.

"The moon moves, or is moved, round the earth," said Marshall, quietly.

"Now you see, Digby, the advantage of being able to turn over the leaves
of a dictionary rapidly," said Mr Nugent.  "Of two people with equal
talents, the one who possesses that simple mechanical power to the
greatest perfection will beat the other, in as far as he will gain the
information for which he is seeking in so much less time.  A rapid,
clear writer, and a person with a quick observant eye, has a great
advantage over those who do not possess those qualifications."

Digby very well understood these observations, and set to work to
practise turning over the leaves of his dictionary and in looking out
words, till, with no little triumph, he proved that he could find out a
word almost as quickly as Marshall.

It was not, however, all work and no play at Mr Nugent's.  He was near
a river as well as near the sea, and, though he did not wish to give the
boys a taste for a naval life, yet he was anxious that they should be
instructed in rowing and sailing a boat, and in swimming.  Digby had
prided himself in being a proficient for his age in all manly sports,
but he found that he was very inferior to his fellow-pupils with regard
to those connected with the water.  It was satisfactory, however, to
find from Marshall, who became his chief friend, that when they first
came they were no better than he was.  They were mostly as ignorant, and
accustomed to be idle, and knew nothing of aquatic amusements.  Mr
Nugent, who was very fond of boating, though he had little time to spend
in it, occasionally went out with them; but on other occasions they were
committed to the charge of an old seaman, Tobias Tubb by name.  Of
course he was always called Toby Tubb, or still more familiarly spoken
of as Toby.  Toby had served in all sorts of craft, from a
line-of-battle ship to a collier, and, report said, at one time in a
smuggling lugger; but he had good reasons for not wishing that
circumstance to be alluded to.  He was loquacious enough, however, with
regard to all the other events of his life, which he pumped up from time
to time from the depths of his memory, and sent them flowing forth in a
rich stream for the benefit of his hearers.  He was a great favourite
with the boys, who delighted to listen to his yarns; and he took an
interest in his young charges, and was equally pleased to describe the
events of his nautical career.  His boat was a fine wholesome craft,
eighteen feet long, with good beam.  She had a spritsail, jib, foresail,
and mizen.  Never did he appear so happy as when he had them all on
board for an afternoon's sail.  Tubb was a very appropriate name for
him.  He was somewhat stout and short, with a round, ruddy, good-natured
countenance, a bald forehead, and white hair on either side of it.  He
was all roundness.  His head was round, and his face was round, and his
eyes, and his nose, and his mouth were round.  His nose was like a very
funny little round button; but it looked so good-natured, and cocked up
so quaintly, that the boys declared that they would not have it changed
on any account for the first Roman nose in existence.  No more,
probably, would Toby, who had been very well contented with it for full
sixty years, it having, as he said, served him many a good turn during
that period.  "No, no; we should never be ashamed of old friends who
have been faithful and true, and wish to exchange them for finer folk,"
he used to remark, when, as was sometimes the case, his fellow-boatmen
humorously twitted him about his lose.

The first day that Digby went out in the John Dory, as Toby called his
boat, he discovered his ignorance of nautical affairs.  He had day after
day been on the ponds at Bloxholme, but then John Pratt had rowed him
about, and he had never thought of learning to row himself.

The river was wide at the mouth, and, as there were deep sheltered bays,
it was a good place for rowing.  When sailing, however, it was necessary
to be careful, for gusts often came down suddenly between the cliffs,
and had frequently upset boats the people in which had not been ready to
let go the sheets in an instant.  There was no wind this day.

"Now, young gen'man," said Toby, looking at Digby, "you'll just take an
oar and pull with the rest?"

"Oh yes," answered Digby, who was always ready to undertake any manual
exercise, "I'll row."

Marshall and the other boys got out the oars.  Toby eyed Digby, and
guessed, by the way he handled his oar the state of the case.  However,
Digby persevered in silence.

The boat slowly receded from the shore, Toby steering.  Digby, who sat
about midships, looked at Marshall, and Easton, and Power, who sat
further astern, and tried to imitate their movements.  He did so very
fairly.  He thought that he was performing his part wonderfully well.

Toby's nose curled more than usual as he looked at him.

"Give way, my lads, give way," he sung out.

The other boys instantly bent to their oars, and made much more rapid
strokes than before.  Digby had not the slightest notion what "giving
way" meant.  He only knew, to his cost, that he gave way, for his oar
caught in the water, and over he toppled on his back to the bottom of
the boat.

"Caught a crab, caught a crab," sung out the other boys, laughing.

Digby jumped up immediately, full of eagerness, not minding his bruises
a bit.

"Have I?  Where is he? where is he?  Let me see him," he exclaimed.

This made the rest laugh still more.

"It's only the sort of crab most young ge'men catches when first they
begins to learn to row," said Toby; "jump up and take your oar, and
you'll soon catch another, I warrant."

So Digby found, but he was not a boy to be beat by such an occurrence.
Each time he jumped up as quickly as he could, and grasping his oar,
went on pulling as before.

"What do you mean by `Give way?'" he asked, when he discovered that
these words invariably produced the unpleasant results.

"I means much the same as the soldier officers does when they says
`Double quick march.'"

"Oh, I see, we are to make the boat go as fast as we can," observed
Digby.

After that he caught fewer crabs, Toby having also advised him not to
dip the blade of his oar so deeply in the water.  In a few days he
learned how to feather his oar, that is, when lifting the blade out of
the water, to turn it, so as to keep it almost horizontal with the
surface.  This is done that it may not hold wind, and in a rough sea,
that it may be less likely to be struck by a wave, or if it is, that it
may cut through the top.  He also learned to keep time with the rest, a
very essential requisite in rowing.

"You've done capitally," said Marshall, after they landed the first day,
"many fellows have been here for some time before they have done as
well."

This praise encouraged Digby, and he determined to learn to be a good
boatman.  He expressed his intentions to Toby.  The old man laughed.

"You'll be good enough in time, I've no doubt, master, but it will take
you some years before you are fit to be trusted.  There's nothing but
experience will make a sailor.  You must be out in gales of wind, and
have all your sails blown away, and your masts carried over the side,
and find yourself on a lee shore on a dark night, with rocks close
aboard, and no room to wear, and the wind blowing great guns and small
arms, and a strong current running here and there, and setting you on to
the coast; and then, if you find means to save the ship, I'll allow that
you're something of a sailor."

Digby did not know what all this meant, but he thought the description
very dreadful, and certainly he had no notion how he should act.  As,
however, he had no wish to become a real sailor, that did not trouble
him.  Easton, however, took in every word that was said.  He had set his
heart on going to sea, and none of the descriptions of shipwrecks and
disasters in which the old man indulged had any terrors for him.  They
only the more excited his ardour, and he longed to encounter and
overcome them.

When Toby Tubb saw that Digby could row fairly, he began to teach him to
sail a boat.

"First you have to learn how to steer, Master Digby," he observed; "look
over the stern, you see how the rudder is, now put your hand in the same
line above it.  Now I press against your hand, the water is pressing
just in the same way against the rudder.  If you keep your arm stiff, I
should make you turn round.  Now, the rudder is stiff as long as you
don't let the tiller move, and so the water turns the boat round.  Now
put the tiller over on the opposite side, then you see the boat also
turns the opposite way.  You understand, to steer you must be going on,
or, what's the same thing, a current must be running past you.  If there
is no movement in the water, you may wriggle the tiller about as much as
you please, and you can't turn the boat's head.  Just understand, too,
that the water is a thing that presses.  It will give way, certainly.
It is not like a rock, but still it presses all around you.  That's the
reason why a vessel sails stem first, that is to say, she cuts the water
with the sharpest part, if the sails are trimmed properly to make her do
so.  You may trim the sails to make her sail stern first, or if there's
a gale of wind right abeam, she goes partly ahead, but also drives
before it with her side, that's what we call making lee way.  Now as to
the sails, you see, we have to balance them, or to trim them, as we call
it.  Once, I'm told, ships were only made to sail right before the wind.
Funny voyages they must have been, I'm thinking.  What a time they must
have been about them, waiting for a fair wind; no wonder they didn't get
round the world in those days.  Now, you see, we can sail not only with
the wind abeam as close, as four and a half points to the wind in fore
and after craft.  Still if we want to get where the wind blows from, we
could never do it if we couldn't tack ship, and sail away four and a
half points on the other side of the wind.  That's what we call working
a traverse.  Away a ship sails, zig-zagging along if there isn't too
much wind to blow her back, every tack making good some ground till she
reaches the port to which she's bound.  That's what I calls the
_philusfy_ of navigation.  But I haven't yet told you how the sails act
on the vessel.  You see the wind presses on them, just as the water does
on the hull.  The better you can get the wind to blow on them at what
they calls a right angle, the greater force it has.  So in a
square-rigged ship, if you can bring the wind a little on the quarter,
so that every sail, studden-sails, alow and aloft, can be made to draw,
you'll have the greatest pressure on the sails, and send the ship on the
fastest.  But we come to balancing, when a ship is on a wind.  If all
the sail was set forward, it would turn her head round, or if all was
set aft it would turn her stern round.  So we set some forward, and some
aft, and some amidships, and then we trim them together properly, and
away she goes in the direction we put her head.  Then, you see, if we
want to turn her head round we shake the wind out of her after sails, or
trice them up, and if we want her stem to go round, we do the same with
her head sails, and that, Master Heathcote, is what I calls the theory
of sailing.  There's a good deal more for you to learn before you will
be fit to be trusted in a boat by yourself, but if you keeps close to
those principles, you can't be far wrong in the long run."

Such was Digby's first lesson in seamanship.  He did not take in all
that was said to him; indeed he was rather young for comprehending the
subject, but it made him think and inquire further; and Toby Tubb was
perfectly satisfied that his lessons were not thrown away.

"It's very strange," soliloquised Toby, "the fathers and mothers of
these young ge'men pays lots of money to have 'em taught to ride and
dance, and to speak Latin and French, and all sorts of gimcrack
nonsense, and not one in a thousand ever thinks of making them learn how
to knot, and splice, and reef, and steer, and to take an observation, or
work a day's work, which to my mind is likely to be far more useful to
'em when they comes to take care of themselves in the world.  As for me,
I don't know what I should have done without the first, though the
shooting the sun and the navigation was above me a good way."

"There's nothing like leather."  Toby would have said, there is nothing
like hemp, and pitch, and tar, and heart of oak.  It is quite as well
that different people should have different opinions.  Thus the world is
prevented from stagnating.



CHAPTER FOUR.

DIGBY GAINS A KNOWLEDGE OF BOATING AND OTHER MANLY EMPLOYMENTS--THE
WONDERS OF THE SEA-SIDE--A SHIPWRECK--DIGBY PROVES HIMSELF A HERO--HOW
HE GAINED A FRIEND.

Digby, as he became more practised in the arts, gained a keen relish for
boating, not mere pulling, but for sailing--the harder it blew, the
better pleased he was.  In this he was joined by Easton, who was always
delighted when old Toby would take them out on a stormy day.  Marshall
and the others confessed that they liked fine weather sailing.

"But, suppose the boat was capsized, what would you do?" said Marshall
to Digby.

"Hold on to her, I suppose," was the answer.

"But very likely you would be thrown to a distance, what then?"

"Why I should try and catch what was nearest to me," replied Digby.

"But suppose there was nothing near you," remarked his friend.

"Then, I suppose I should--.  Let me see, I scarcely know what I should
do--I should try to swim," said Digby, after some hesitation.

"That is just what I wanted to bring you to," said Marshall.  "You have
not learned to swim, you know, and you assuredly would not then swim for
the first time, so that if no one was near to help you, you would
inevitably be drowned.  Take my advice--learn to swim forthwith; Toby
will teach you.  If you were to go to Eton, you would not be allowed to
go in the boats till you had learnt.  Everybody should know how to swim,
both for their own sakes and for the benefit of their fellow-creatures.
It is really disgraceful for an English boy not to know how to do what
even savages can do so well."

Marshall went on in this style till Digby felt perfectly ashamed of
himself, and resolved to learn as soon as possible if Toby would teach
him.  He was manly enough, as has been seen, in disposition, but all his
knowledge of manly exercises he had acquired from John Pratt, except
riding, which his father had taken a pride in teaching him.  Swimming
was not among John Pratt's accomplishments, and so Digby had remained
ignorant of it.  There are many boys like him, brought up at home or at
small private schools, who are even worse off.  In many instances their
education is very carefully attended to, but for fear of accidents they
are not allowed to bathe, or climb trees, or to shoot.  Numbers have
suffered from this mistake when they have had to go out into the world
and take care of themselves--they have been drowned, when, had they been
able to swim, their lives would have been saved; had they been
accustomed to climb, they might have scaped from a burning house, a
wrecked ship, or a wild beast, while they have been called upon to use
fire-arms before they know how to load a gun.

"Toby," said Digby, "I want to learn how to swim."

"Then come along, master," replied the old man, and they rowed across to
a quiet little bay, with a sandy shore, sheltered by rocks, on the side
of the river opposite the town.  "Pull off your clothes, master," said
Toby, as they were still some little way from the shore.

Digby did as he was bid.

"Now, jump overboard," added Toby.

Digby stood up, but as he looked into the water and could see no bottom,
he shuddered at the thought of plunging in.  Toby passed a band round
his waist with a rope to it, but Digby scarcely perceived this--he felt
himself pushed, and over he went, heels over head, under the water.

"Oh, I'm drowning, I'm drowning," he cried out when he came to the
surface.

"Oh no, you're not, master, you're all right," said the old man.
"Strike out for the shore, and try if you can't swim there."

Digby did strike out, but wildly, and not in a way that would have kept
him afloat.

"That's the way you'd have done if the boat was capsized, and you'd have
drowned yourself and any one who came to help you," remarked Toby; "but
catch hold of this oar.  Now strike away with your feet, right astern;
not out of the water, though; keep them lower down.  That's the way to
go ahead.  Steady, though; strike both of them together.  Slow, though;
slower.  We're in no hurry, there's plenty of time; you can learn the
use of your hands another day.  Draw your legs well under you.  Now, as
I give the word--strike out, draw up; strike out, draw up.  That will do
famously.  If you keep steadily at it you'll learn to swim in a very few
days."

Digby felt rather tired when he and the boat at length reached the
shore.  He had some notion that he had towed her there, which he had
not, though.  He had learned an important part of the art of swimming.
When he came out of the water, and had dressed, Toby showed him how to
use his hands.

"Now, Master Heathcote, look here.  Do as I do."

Toby put his hands together, with the fingers straight out and close to
each other, and the palms slightly hollowed.  Then he brought them up to
his breast, and darting them forward, separated his hands and pressed
them backwards till he brought his elbows down to the hips, close to his
body, and again turned his wrists till his hands once more got back to
the attitude with which he had started.  He made Digby do this over and
over again, till he was quite eager to jump into the water and put his
knowledge into practice.

"No, no, master," said Toby, "you've had bathing enough to-day.  Just do
you keep on doing those movements whenever you have a spare moment, and
to-morrow we'll see how well you can do them in the water."

Digby was certain that not only would he do them perfectly, but that he
should be able to swim any distance.

Toby said nothing, but his nose curled up in its quiet funny way.

The next day was very fine, and all the boys came down to bathe, and to
see Digby swim, as he boasted he could do perfectly well.  They crossed
over to the bay, all of them getting ready for a plunge.

"Now, Digby," cried Marshall, when they got near the shore, "overboard
we go."

"All right," cried Digby, putting his hands into the scientific
attitude, as far as he could recollect it; and, with great courage, he
jumped into the water.

Somehow or other, he could not tell why, down he went some way under the
surface, and when he came up he had forgotten all about the way to
strike out which Toby had taught him.  Instead of that, he flung about
his arms and kicked his legs out in the wildest manner, and would have
gone down again had not Marshall swam up alongside him, and, putting his
hand under his chin, told him to keep perfectly quiet till he had
collected his senses.  He had resolution enough to do this, and was
surprised to find himself floating on the surface of the water with so
little support.

"Bravo, Master Marshall," cried Toby.  "Now strike out, Master
Heathcote, as I showed you."

The recollection of how to strike came back to Digby, and, to his great
delight, he found himself making some progress towards the shore, his
friend still holding him up by the chin.

"Let me go, I am sure I can swim alone," he cried.

Marshall did so, but, after a few strokes, down he went, and again he
forgot what he had done so satisfactorily on dry land.  His feet,
however, touched the bottom, and, hopping on one leg, he went on
striking out with his hands, and fancying that he was swimming, till he
reached the shore.  His companions, of course, laughed at him, but he
did not mind that, and, running in again, he made one or two more
successful attempts, but he forbore boasting any more of the distance he
was going to swim.  When once again he had gone out till the water
reached his chin, he found the boat close to him.

"Don't be swimming any more, Master Heathcote, but give me your hand,"
said Toby, taking it.  "There, now throw yourself on your back, stick
your legs out, put your head back as far as it will go, lift up your
chest, now don't move, let your arms hang down.  There, I'll hold you
steady; a feather would do it.  Now you feel how the water keeps you up.
There, you might stay there for an hour, or a dozen hours for that
matter, if it wasn't for the cold, in smooth water.  You'll learn to
swim in a very few days now, I see, without your clothes, and then you
must learn with your clothes on.  If I couldn't have done that I should
not have been here; I should have been drownded long ago."

Thus discoursing, the old man let Digby float by the side of the boat
till he had been long enough in the water, and then he helped him out
and made him dress quickly.

The other boys then got in, and consulted together how they should spend
the remainder of the afternoon.  Power, who was the chief fisherman of
the party, voted for going outside and trying to catch some mackerel.
No objections were made.  Toby consented: he had lines and hooks in the
boat.

They pulled down to the mouth of the river, and were very soon in the
open sea.  There was scarcely any wind, the sea was blue and bright, the
coast was picturesque, with rocky headlands, and white sandy bay; and
green downs above, and cliffs on which numberless wildfowl had taken up
their habitations.  As they pulled close under the rocks, numbers of
gulls flew out, screaming loudly at the intruders on their domains.

"I have often thought, when I have heard people talking of their ancient
families and their ancient homes, how much more ancient are the families
and the abodes of those white-coated gentry," observed Marshall.  "Up
there, now, perhaps, the ancestors of those birds have lived, from
generation to generation, since the flood.  They witnessed the first
peopling of our tight little island by the painted savages, who were as
barbarous as the New Zealanders or the Fejee Islanders of the present
century; the landing of Julius Caesar and his warriors, the battles of
the Norsemen, the Danes, and the Saxons, and the defeat of the Spanish
armada.  I wish that they could tell us all the interesting things they
have seen."

Easton liked the idea.  Digby did not understand it, for his knowledge
of history was very limited.

"I know what they've seen," observed Toby.  "They've seen many a cargo
of smuggled silks, and teas, and brandies run hereabouts, in days gone
by."

"Oh, those smugglers are jolly fellows!" exclaimed Digby.  "I should
like to see something of their fun.  I can't fancy any finer sport than
landing a cargo and having to run the gauntlet among a whole posse of
revenue officers."

"Something like prisoners' base, you would say," observed Marshall,
"only, I suspect, with a greater chance of being caught and shut up for
a longer time than would be pleasant."

"I'll tell you what it is, young gentlemen," said Toby, who had been
listening in silence to Digby's and the other boys' thoughtless remarks,
"smuggling is a very bad business, let me tell you.  I've seen something
of it, and I know what it is.  I've seen money made by it, I'll allow,
just as I've seen money made by other evil practices; but I've seen very
many fine fellows brought to a bad end by it, and have never known any
to prosper long at it.  Laws were made for the good of all, and no man
has a right to break them for his own advantage or pleasure.  Though I'm
only a poor boatman I've found that out, and it's my duty to make others
understand the truth, as well as I can."

The boys confessed that they had never before seen the matter in that
light.  They had thought smugglers, and pirates, and bandits, and
highwaymen, and outlaws of all descriptions very fine fellows; and it
had never occurred to them that they should be looked upon as base
scoundrels, who deserved to be hung, or severely punished in some other
way.

"Now let us have out the lines," exclaimed Power, who was eager to begin
fishing.  Two of the party paddled the boat on, relieving each other, at
the rate of about two miles an hour.

Toby produced four long, thin lines, wound up on wooden reels.  The
lines were considerably slighter than log-lines.  Five hooks were
fastened to each, about a yard apart.

"But where is the bait?" asked Digby.  "You cannot catch fish without
bait."

"Oh, mackerel are in no ways particular," answered Toby; "a bit of tin
or white rag will attract them; but see, I have some hooks with some
capital bait.  It is called a white cock's hackle.  The feathers are
fastened on to the butt, and project an inch or more beyond the bend, so
as to cover the barb.  This is certain to catch any fish which see it."

The lines were thrown overboard, one on each side, and one over each
quarter.  Toby assisted Digby to manage his.

Digby was quite delighted when he felt a sharp tug at the end of his
line.

"Haul in, haul in; you've got him," said Toby.

Digby hauled away, and soon he saw a fish skimming and jumping along on
the smooth surface of the blue water, leaving a thin wake behind him,
while his bright scales glistened in the sun.  Digby shouted with
glee,--"I've the first, I've the first.  Huzza!"

He almost tumbled overboard in his eagerness to catch hold of the fine
mackerel which came with what he called a hop, skip, and a jump
alongside.  He lifted the fish in.  The poor mackerel, with his dark
back and white belly, did not look nearly so bright out of the water as
he had done in it.  Digby thought it a very elegant-looking fish, and
very unlike any he had ever before caught with John Pratt.

"Now we shall catch a plenty," said Toby, as, to Digby's dismay, he took
the fish, and, cutting it up into strips, baited each of the hooks with
it.  "These mackerel like nothing better than their own kind."

Two or three dozen mackerel were quickly caught, of which Digby hauled
up several.

"But have we no chance of catching any carp, or tench, or perch?" he
asked, seriously.  "I should have thought that there must be plenty
about here."

His companions laughed heartily.

"What is the taste of the water alongside?" asked Marshall.

"Salt," said Digby, tasting it.

"Do you think freshwater fish will live in salt-water?" observed his
friend.

"Oh, you fine sportsman!  You laugh at us for not knowing so much about
dogs, and horses, and shooting, and racing, and hunting as you pretend
to do, and yet you are ignorant of far more important, and just as
interesting matters."

"Still, young gentlemen, I'm thinking that every man shines most in his
own element, as the mackerel would say, if they could speak, and would
rather be left there," observed Toby, who was a great philosopher in
many respects, although no man could be much more prejudiced with regard
to his own calling of a sailor than he was.  Such is often the ease.
When judging of the opinion of others, we should always try to discover
whether we are not prejudiced too much in favour of our own.

The boys had a capital evening's sport, and Digby learned much more
about conger-eels, and whiting, and bass, and mullet, and turbot, and
plaice, and John Dories, and brill, and other salt-water fish, than he
had ever known before.  He was daily discovering, by practical
experience, that there are many things in creation "of which he had
never before dreamed in his philosophy."  In other words, he began to
suspect, that though he was a very fine fellow, daring to do anything,
and ready to fight any boy of his age, he was in reality a remarkably
ignorant young gentleman.  This, to a lad of Digby's disposition, was a
very important discovery.  He was, I hope, on the high road to
improvement.  There is a saying, that "Where ignorance is bliss, it is
folly to be wise;" but depend on it, the moment the ignorance is
suspected, it is much greater folly not to set strenuously to work to
correct it.

When the lads got home, they recounted with great glee their adventures,
and offered, with much satisfaction, their baskets of fish to Mrs
Nugent.  They were served up fresh for breakfast and dinner the next
day, and for two or three days afterwards, cut open and salted.

Digby heard Mr Nugent speaking of the wonders of the deep.

"What, uncle, are there any things besides fish in the sea?" he asked
with, what the other boys thought, an almost incredible amount of
simplicity.

One of the few recreations Mr Nugent allowed himself, was a fishing
expedition on board a trawler.  Not that he cared much for the fish
which the trawl caught, but his delight was to examine the numberless
specimens of animal marine life which came up at the same time.  Digby
heard his uncle and Marshall talking about Noctilucae, and Medusae, and
Cydippi Actiniae, and Asterias, and Echini, and Terebellae, and
Nereides, and Cirripedes, and Solens, and Gastropods, and numberless
other creatures with hard names, which he thought that he could never
recollect, and about which he was persuaded he could not understand.

"And are all these animals found in the sea near here?" he asked.

"Yes, and thousands more," answered his uncle; "it would take a lifetime
to catch and note the habits of those found on this coast alone.  Each
person can only hope to add a little to the stock of knowledge which
others have obtained, and to ascertain what has been discovered by
others.  Still, the pursuit of that knowledge is so delightful, as is,
indeed, the study of all God's works, that those occupied in it find
themselves amply repaid for all the physical and mental exertion they
have to take to attain it."

"Are the things you speak of like horses, and dogs, and cats, or more
like fish?" asked Digby, seriously.  "I should think with such curious
names they must be very curious looking things."

Marshall and Power laughed heartily, and even his uncle could not help
smiling as he replied:

"Curious and wonderful, indeed, they are, but they are not fish in
appearance, and still less like terrestrial quadrupeds.  Some have their
heads at the end of their feet, and their eyes at the extremities of
their arms.  Some walk on their heads, and others have their arms
growing from the top of their heads.  Some, too, can turn themselves
inside out, and others of their own accord, break themselves to pieces,
and then, what is more wonderful still, like one of the tricks to be
seen at a pantomime, the bits send forth arms, and legs, and heads, and
tails, and become perfect animals again."

Digby listened with mute astonishment.  He knew that his uncle would not
tell him an untruth, and yet he fancied that, somehow or other, he must
be laughing at him.  The account he had heard, however, made him look
forward eagerly to the promised trawling expedition.

The day approached, but Digby was doomed to be disappointed.  A heavy
gale of wind sprung up in the evening, and blew with great violence
during the night.

The next day was Saturday, and was a half-holiday.  Just as the boys had
finished their lessons, a servant-girl came running in, exclaiming:

"Oh, sir, they say that there is a big ship driving on the shore, and
that all the poor souls in her will be lost.  Oh, it's very dreadful! oh
dear! oh dear!"

Mr Nugent seized his hat and stick, and the boys prepared to follow
him.

"Stay, we will take a brandy-flask, and any rope to be had--a long pole
may be useful."

These articles being quickly found, the boys carrying them, they hurried
out to the beach.

Not the eighth of a mile from the shore was a dismasted vessel, rolling
and tumbling about in the most fearful manner.  The crew were trying to
get up jury-masts, or sheers rather, which are formed of two spars, the
butt ends resting against the sides of the ship, and the others joined
together.  The sheers were got up, and then an endeavour was made to
hoist a sail on them, to beat the ship off the shore.  It was utterly
useless.  The sail was blown to ribbons, and the sheers blown away.  The
last resource was to anchor.  This was done, and the ship rode head to
wind, plunging, however, even more violently than before.  Toby Tubb
just then joined Mr Nugent and his pupils.

"There's no use in it.  There's no ground here will hold an anchor ten
minutes together."  His prediction proved too true.  On drove the
hapless ship.  She had parted from her anchors, no human power could
avert the expected catastrophe.  The only hope that any of those on
board could be saved, would be that the ship might drive into the sandy
cove in which they were standing.  If she struck on the dark ledges of
rock outside, not a person on board, it was thought, could be saved.
The sea was breaking with tremendous violence over them, creating sheets
of foam, which were driven towards the shore, almost blinding the
lookers-on.

Digby thought he could almost hear the shrieks of the unfortunate people
on board.  He could see them, clearly, throwing up their arms, as if
imploring aid from their fellow-men, who were utterly unable to afford
it.

"Could no boat go off to them?" asked Mr Nugent, eagerly.

"No, sir, no boat would live a second in that sea, alongside those
rocks," answered Toby; "what men can do we will do, when the time comes;
more is unpossible."

"I have a rope and some poles, you see," said Mr Nugent; "they may be
useful."

"So have I, sir, but two ropes may be better than one," was Toby's
reply.  "Now, lads, be ready to do what I tells you; follow me."

He addressed a party of seamen and fishermen, not all very young though,
who were standing near with their hands in their pockets, exhibiting,
apparently, very little interest in what was going forward.  The
ill-fated ship rose on the top of the huge waves which rolled onward
towards the shore.  Now it appeared that she would be engulphed between
them.  No further effort was made on board to save her.  Such would have
been hopeless.  Each person was intent on making preparations for his
own safety.  Digby gazed with horror; he felt inclined to shriek out
himself, as he saw the danger of the poor fellows on board.  He would
gladly have run away and forgotten all about it, but yet he could not
tear himself from the spot, or his eyes from the driving ship.  A few
minutes more, and her fate would be sealed.

"Follow me, lads," suddenly exclaimed old Toby, and led the way towards
a ledge of rocks which jutted out into the sea, and formed one side of
the bay of which I have spoken.

In a moment the fishermen had their hands out of their pockets, and were
all life and activity.  Carrying some long spars and several coils of
rope, they hurried after Toby to the end of the reef.  Toby was seen to
stop.  Digby and his companions held their breath--well they might.  It
seemed as if the ship must strike the very end of that black reef, over
which the sea was breaking with violence so fearful that it must have
shattered to fragments the stoutest ship that ever floated.  On she
came; there was a pause it seemed; a cross-sea struck her, and amidst a
deluge of foam she was hurled past the point, and driven in towards the
bay.  Another sea lifted her up, and then down she came on the beach,
still far out among the breakers, with a tremendous crash, which seemed
to shake the very shore.  Now was the moment of greatest peril to those
on board--the seas meeting with a resistance they had not hitherto
found, dashed furiously over the hull, carrying away the bulwarks, and
the boats, and caboose, and everything still remaining on deck.  The
crew clung to ropes made fast to the stumps of the masts, or to
ring-bolts in the decks, but the strength of many of them could not
withstand the fury of the seas.  One after the other was torn from his
hold, and hurled among the boiling breakers.  In vain the poor fellows
struck out; the receding waves dashed them against the side of the ship,
or carried them struggling hopelessly far out to sea, where they were
lost to sight among the foam.

While this was going forward, Toby and his companions were trying every
means they could think of to get a rope carried to the wreck.
Unfortunately they were unprovided with Captain Manby's apparatus, or
any other contrivance for throwing a shot with a line attached to it
over a wreck, so that by the line a hawser might be hauled on shore.
There were none of those excellent inventions--life-boats--in the
neighbourhood, which are now, happily, stationed all along the British
coast, and have been the means of saving the lives of numbers of human
beings; even the coastguard officer and most of his men had gone that
morning to a distance.  Toby had, therefore, to trust to his own
resources.  The crew seemed utterly unable to make any effort to save
themselves; indeed they saw that should they let go their hold, any
moment they might be washed overboard and drowned.  Toby had got a small
keg, to which he fastened a line, and seemed to hope that it might be
carried out by the receding wave towards the wreck, but though it went
some way, another wave came in before it got far enough to be of any
use, and sent it rolling back again with a coil of seaweed, mixed with
sand and foam, on the beach.  Toby next fastened a rope round his own
waist, and seemed to contemplate the possibility of swimming off himself
to the wreck, but the men round him held him back, persuading him that
the risk was too great.  He stood, evidently seeing that there was very
little chance of success.  Now another huge wave came foaming up.  The
crew turned their heads with a gaze of horror and alarm as they watched
its approach.  On it came, roaring loudly.  All on board grasped with a
gripe, in which the force of every sinew and muscle was exerted to the
utmost, the masts and ropes to which they were holding.  The wave struck
the ship, shaking her huge hull to the keel, and driving her still
further on the beach.  One poor fellow must have had a less secure gripe
than the rest, or else its fury must have been concentrated on him.  It
tore him from his hold, lifted him up, and as it passed over, he was
seen struggling in the water.  He struck out boldly.  Now the roaring
hissing sea carried him onward, then back again, now a side wave took
him and drove him in the direction of the spot where Toby and his
companions were standing.  Toby signed to the men to hold the rope, and
plunging in amid the foam, struck out towards the struggling seaman.
Now they were separated, now they were brought nearer together.  Now it
seemed as if the stranger would be carried out, as had been the others,
by the receding wave.  But the brave fellow still struggled on.  It was
too evident, however, that his efforts were growing weaker and weaker.
Toby sung out to him to encourage him to persevere.  Toby got close to
him, but just then a hissing wave went rolling back, the stranger threw
up his arms in despair, and was buried beneath the foam.  Toby darted
forward and disappeared beneath the water.

"Oh, he is gone, he is drowned, our poor Toby!" exclaimed Digby, giving
way to his feelings.

But Toby had only dived, and the next instant appeared grasping the body
of the seaman, but was being carried at a fearful rate out to sea.  His
friends on shore hauled in, however, gently on the rope, and gradually
drew him and the seaman towards them.  Still, Toby had much to contend
with; the sea tumbled about and broke wildly around him, and now the
water would make a rush in one direction and then in another, rendering
swimming almost impossible.  At length the rocks were reached.  Several
of the fishermen who had fastened ropes to their waists, rushed into the
sea to his assistance, and at length he and the nearly drowned man were
hauled up on the rocks.

"Bravo! excellent, brave fellow!" exclaimed Mr Nugent,
enthusiastically, "thank heaven, too, that the poor man is saved."

Digby shouted with delight.  "Oh, Toby is a grand fellow!" he exclaimed;
in which sentiment he was joined by his fellow-pupils.

Meantime, Mr Nugent hurried off to be of assistance, if required, to
the rescued man.

The escape of one of their shipmates seemed to give courage to the other
people on board.  Another man leaped off the wreck with a line, and
boldly struck out for the rocks.  Toby, notwithstanding his previous
exertions, dashed into the sea to meet him, but whether or not he would
succeed appeared very doubtful.

Meantime, another sea came rolling over the wreck.  Directly afterwards,
two human forms were seen struggling in the waves.  Sometimes the sea
carried them so close to the beach, that it seemed as if they could
almost touch the sand with their feet; then out they were carried once
more, and it appeared that they would be lost altogether.  This was the
more sad as Toby and the man, who had jumped off the wreck with the
line, had almost succeeded in establishing a communication between it
and the shore.  One of the people got so close to them that they could
see his features.  He was evidently a lad, not so old as Marshall.

"I am certain I could get hold of him," cried Digby, suddenly fastening
the rope round his own waist in the way Toby had taught him.  "Here, do
you hold the rope tight."

"I ought to go," said Marshall, throwing off his jacket.

"No, no--no time to be lost--now or never," cried Digby, rushing into
the sea just as the wave, having brought the almost senseless lad close
to the beach, was about to carry him off again.

Had he hesitated for a moment he would have been too late.  He thought
not of his own safety.  On he rushed.  The receding water took him off
his legs.  He struck out; he was turned heels over head.  Still he
dashed on.  He was within half an arm's-length of the drowning lad.
"Oh, I must have him," he thought to himself.  He sprung on; he caught
him by the collar of his jacket.  "Haul away," he sung out.

Marshall and the rest saw that he had got hold of the boy, though they
could not hear him speak.

Nothing but death would have made him relinquish that grasp, he felt.

His companions hauled away, and much force was required, for so strong
was the reflux of the wave that all his own strength would not have
opposed it.

Almost drowned himself, and scarcely sensible, holding tight on to the
boy, he at length was caught hold of by his friends, who ran up with him
and his burden out of the reach of the waves.

They undid the lad's collar and handkerchief.  He was breathing, but
insensible.  He was as well dressed as they were, and was certainly not
a poor sailor-boy, as Digby had fancied,--not that that would have made
any difference, of course.

Easton ran off to call Mr Nugent, while Marshall, Power, and Norton
attended to the stranger and Digby.

Meantime, they were anxiously looking out for the other person they had
seen in the water.  They could just distinguish him, but he had drifted
a long way out, and was making no effort to save himself.

Digby very soon came to his senses, as did the boy he had so gallantly
rescued.  No sooner did the latter open his eyes than he looked up and
exclaimed, "Oh, my father, my father; where is he?"  He gazed with a
countenance expressive of the greatest fear towards the ocean.  Then he
started up, and would have rushed back into the water, had not Marshall
and Digby prevented him.

In the mean time, some more fishermen and other persons had assembled at
the scene of action.  One of them was noted for being a first-rate
swimmer.  He was somewhat of a rival, too, of Toby's, though they were
excellent friends.  Fastening a rope round his waist, he plunged in and
swam out boldly and strongly amid the foaming breakers towards the
drowning man.  When the rescued boy saw what he was doing, he was
immediately calm, and kneeling down on the sand, with uplifted hands,
regardless of the bystanders, was evidently praying.  What mattered it
to him what others thought; the life of a beloved parent was in the
greatest extreme of danger.  He saw clearly that no help which he could
afford him or could obtain would be of any avail, and thus wisely and
with right faith he sought it whence alone it could be given.

The other boys stood around.  Marshall joined his prayers to those of
the young stranger, that his father might be saved.  Digby wished it,
and would have done anything to assist the struggling man; but how to
pray he knew not.  It was a moment of awful suspense; he felt it so
himself.  How must that kneeling boy have felt it!

The brave fisherman--John Holmes was his name--swam on.  He was joined
by Toby, and at the same time the cask was floated out.  It was let go
at the light moment.  The person struggling in the water saw it, and
endeavoured to reach it.  Twice he was washed away far off from it.  No
exclamation all the time was heard from the lips of his son.  He gazed
intently on what was going forward.  Sometimes he appeared to be about
to rise and rush towards the ocean; but he restrained himself, and
continued kneeling.  A shriek, it was one of joy, escaped him when he
saw his father at length grasp hold of the cask.

The two brave fishermen now swam up near him and assisted to hold him
on, while all three were hauled through the foaming surf towards the
rocks.

Then, and not till then, did the young stranger rise from his knees, and
hurry on towards the spot where he believed his father was about to be
landed.

Those in the water were, however, still exposed to a very great danger.
This was from the pieces of wreck which were dashing about in every
direction, and a blow from which might prove fatal.

The boy hurried along over the slippery rocks.  He got near enough to
see his father's countenance turned with eyes of affection towards him.
The son knew that he was recognised, and that his father was aware of
his safety.  A piece of timber came dashing by.  Had not the fishermen
been near him, it would have torn him from his hold.  As it was, Holmes
received a severe blow which almost disabled him, but he held on, and in
another minute all three were in the grasp of the men collected on the
rock to assist them.

The first impulse of the father and his son was to throw themselves into
each other's arms, and then the father knelt down and returned thanks to
Heaven for his preservation.

While this episode in the fearful history of that shipwreck was going
forward, a hawser or stout rope had been carried from the stranded ship
to the shore.  Several seamen worked their way along it, and readied the
rock in safety.  Then another came, but a sea rolled by, and, sweeping
him from his hold, he was carried far away out of sight.

The tide was rising, and rendering it more dangerous every moment to
those remaining on the wreck.  This made the seamen hurry on along the
hawser.  Dangerous was the transit, requiring a strong arm and firm
nerves.  Another huge sea came rolling in.  The already shattered vessel
could not withstand its force, and in a moment, as if it had been formed
of the most brittle materials, was shivered into a thousand fragments,
which came rolling on in tangled masses towards the shore.

Most of the men, and two of the officers, had reached the rocks; but the
master and one of his mates, who had refused to leave the ship till all
had left her, with two or three of the men, still remained on board at
the moment she broke up.  They were now seen struggling in the waves
among the broken masses of the wreck.

In vain the brave fishermen dashed into the sea to save them.  One after
the other, struck by pieces of timber, or spars, or floating packages,
were seen to go down without further efforts to save themselves.  At
last, one only remained alive.  On him all the interest of those on
shore was concentrated.

"Our captain, our captain," cried some of the rescued crew; "oh, how can
we save him? how can we save him?"

He seemed a fine old man, with a noble forehead and grey hair.  He
reached a spar, and threw his arms over it.  Thus supported, he lifted
himself out of the water, and looked calmly around, as if considering
how he might best reach the shore.  The spar was sent rushing on towards
the beach.  Many of his crew, all indeed who were uninjured, got ropes
ready to dash forward to his assistance.  He seemed to observe the
efforts preparing to aid him.  Digby was struck with the wonderful
calmness of the old man.  Death and destruction on every side, he seemed
not for a moment to have lost his presence of mind.  He fancied even
that he could see him smile, as the fishermen and his own people made a
rush towards him.  It proved unsuccessful.  He looked in no way
disconcerted.  Another wave came on and carried him forward; now he
beckoned them to come to him; on they dashed.  It was the work of a
moment.  They seized him by the collar of his coat, and Digby saw that
they had him safely landed on the beach.  Digby could not help running
forward and saying--

"I am very glad that you are saved, sir."

"Thank you, my boy," answered the old master, "if I mistake not, you are
one of the lads who saved my young Haviland there.  His father will
thank you, I know.  I saw it all from the wreck.  Nobly done, it was!"

Digby felt highly pleased at being thus praised; not that he thought
that he had done any great thing after all.

The master having thus expressed himself, called the rescued people
round him, and spoke a few words to them, telling them how thankful they
ought to be at being saved.  When he looked round and missed so many of
his late shipmates, he dashed his hand across his eyes as if he felt
severely their loss.  "God's will be done," he said, in a voice
trembling with agitation.  It was clear that, though his nerves were
strong, his heart was tender.

Mr Nugent, who had all along been attending to those who most required
his aid, now came forward and invited the gentleman who had been saved
and his son, as well as the old master, to his house.  The chief
magistrate and other authorities of Osberton undertook to look after the
crew, while Toby and Holmes were appointed to take charge of the cargo
which might be washed on shore.

Mr Haviland and his son, as well as Captain Burton, gladly accepted Mr
Nugent's invitation, greatly to the delight of the boys, who were eager
to know where the ship had come from, and how she had been wrecked.  Mr
Nugent hurried them up to his house, where he had beds immediately made
ready for them, into which he insisted on their getting, although the
old captain protested that, for his part, he was not a bit the worse for
his ducking.

That evening all the family, with the rescued strangers, were seated
round Mrs Nugent's tea-table.  Mr Haviland seemed to be a very
gentlemanly person, and his son, Arthur, quickly won the regards of all
the party by his kind and gentle manners, his intelligence, and the
affectionate and dutiful way in which he treated his father.  Captain
Burton was a fine old seaman; he had been so knocked about in the world,
and had met with so many adventures and mishaps, that he seemed to make
very light of the mere wreck of his ship, much as he grieved for the
loss of so many of his crew.

"We seamen know well what we have to expect one day or other.  We may
well be thankful when we are able to reach the shore alive in a
civilised land," he remarked; "sad is the fate of the poor fellows who
may be cast on a barren coast, or one inhabited by savages, cannibals
may be, who may knock them on the head as soon as they set foot on
shore.  Now I hope in a few days to be at home with my wife and family,
and soon to forget all my misfortunes."

The ship had come, he told them, from South America.  Owing to the thick
weather, they had not made the land; though he knew that he was running
up channel, he was not aware how near the shore he was when he was
struck by the gale and dismasted.  The ship in that condition, no
seamanship was of any avail to preserve her.

The next morning he and his crew took their departure from Osberton,
after he had collected all the articles of his private property which
had come on shore.

Mr Haviland gladly accepted Mr Nugent's invitation to remain some days
longer, that he might sufficiently recover his strength to enable him to
travel to London.  Again and again he expressed his gratitude to Digby
for having rescued his son from the waves, and Arthur himself
endeavoured to show how much he felt, and how unable he was to repay
him.

Mr Haviland was able to repay both Toby and Holmes, as well as the
other men, in a more substantial mode, for the gallant way in which they
had exerted themselves to save him.  Remittances from London supplied
him amply with funds; and all those who had assisted on the occasion of
the wreck declared, that so liberal a gentleman had never before
appeared in their town.



CHAPTER FIVE.

SEA-SIDE SPORTS--TOBY TUBB'S NAVAL YARN--A PIC-NIC, AND WHAT OCCURRED AT
IT.

"You must come and stay with us when we settle," said Arthur Haviland to
Digby, the morning on which the former, with his father, was to take his
departure from Mr Nugent's.  "I am to go to school, but papa intends to
take a house to receive me in the holidays, when we shall expect you,
and then I will tell you more about the Brazils, and the wonders of
other parts of South America."

Digby replied that if he could get leave he should be delighted to
accept the invitation for a part of the holidays.  "I tell you that I
should not like to be away the whole time: I could not miss seeing my
dear little sister Kate, and Gusty and the rest at home, on any account.
I don't fancy that I should like to be anywhere so much as at home.
Oh, it is such a dear, jolly place.  You must come to my home, Arthur,
some day, and then you'll see that I am right."  Such were the terms on
which Digby and Arthur Haviland parted.

Digby felt very sorry and quite out of spirits when his new friend had
gone.  He liked Marshall, and Eastern, and Power, indeed all his
companions, very much, but there was something so gentle, and amiable,
and intelligent about Arthur; in many respects he was so different to
himself, that he had been insensibly attracted towards him.  He had been
the means of saving Arthur's life, too, and though his friend was so
much older than himself, he ought to be his protector and guardian.  "I
wish that we had been going to the same school," he said to himself;
"Arthur is just the sort of fellow the boys will be apt to bully.  How
Julian would sneer at him and tease him.  Even Power and Easton couldn't
help now and then having a laugh at his notions.  How I should like to
stand up for him, and fight his battles.  I'm not very big, but I would
not mind a thrashing for his sake."

The summer was drawing to a conclusion, but still the weather was very
warm.  One evening Mr Nugent had been called out to visit a sick
person.  On his return he invited his pupils to accompany him to the
beach.

"I have seldom seen the water so beautifully luminous as it is
to-night," he observed.  "Bring two wide-mouthed bottles, my
naturalist's water nets, and a long pole, and we will go and fish for
night shiners."

Digby was puzzled to know what his uncle meant.  The nets which Marshall
produced were in shape like a landing-net, but smaller and lighter--fine
gauze being used instead of the twine net.  It was a dark night, and the
party stumbled along over the not very well-paved streets of the little
town till they reached the water.  Great was Digby's surprise to see the
whole ocean covered with glowing flashes; while, as the gently rippling
wavelets came rolling in, a line of light was playing over them, and as
they reached the shore it broke into still greater brilliancy, leaving,
as they retired, thousands of shining sparkles glittering on the smooth
beach.

"What is it?" he exclaimed, after gazing for some time in mute
astonishment.  "What has come over the ocean?"

"A mass of phosphorescent creatures," answered his uncle.  "We will go
to the deep pool (this was a quiet little bay close at hand).  We shall
then be able to fish up a supply for examination."

On reaching the pool all at first appeared dark, but Mr Nugent and
Marshall stooping down, swept the surface with their nets, when wherever
they touched the water, it glowed with the most brilliant flashes.
Having filled the bottles, they lifted the water up in the nets, when it
looked as if they had got in them a lump of the most glittering gold, or
a mass of molten lead.  A still more beautiful appearance was produced
when they threw the water up in the air and it came down in glittering
showers, like the dropping stars from a firework.

"Glorious! beautiful!" shouted Digby; "I did not think the sea could
produce anything so fine."

Then they stirred the water about with a long pole, till the whole pool,
which had been in tranquillity so dark, became like a caldron of boiling
metal.  After amusing themselves with the variety of effects to be
produced, the party returned homeward.

"What is the use of all that shining stuff, now, I wonder?" said Digby.

"I am glad to hear you ask the question," replied his uncle.  "That
shining stuff is called the phosphorescence of the ocean.  It is
composed of numberless minute animals, each not larger than a pin's
head.  Through a microscope we should see that all parts of the animal
shine, but at different times.  It emits, as it were, sparks, now from
one part of its body, now from another.  It is a very beautiful object,
especially in southern latitudes, and that alone may account for its
creation; just as birds with gay plumage, and flowers of varied hues and
sweet scents, were formed for the benefit of man.  It wonderfully
relieves, also, on a dark night, the obscurity of the ocean, and its
light is so great during storms that it enables seamen the better to
perform the duties of the ship.  Of one thing you may be certain, that
nothing is created in nature without a very adequate object."

On reaching home, Mr Nugent got out his microscope, and exhibited to
Digby the wonders of the creatures they had caught.  Power had also
brought home a bucketful of water.  It contained, among other creatures,
a little melon-shaped animal, which Mr Nugent turned into a glass
tumbler.  It was smaller than a small hazel nut, of a transparent
consistency, and with bands down it like the divisions in a melon.
These bands, when the tumbler was shaded, glittered in the most
beautiful way, while the creature moved about in the water, now rising
to the surface, and now sinking almost to the bottom.  When again
brought to the light, it was seen putting forth what Digby called its
fishing lines.  These, when it was on the surface, reached to the
bottom, and were evidently employed for the object Digby supposed.

"This beautiful little creature is called a Cydippe or Beroe," observed
Mr Nugent.  "Those bands are denominated cilia.  See, they are like
little paddles.  They are the means by which the animal moves.  Now
look--he has turned his head down, and away he plunges to the bottom;
now he rises slowly, like a balloon.  I doubt not that there is much
enjoyment even in that little mass of jelly.  Wonderful are all God's
works.  Who can measure the happiness which exists even in an atom."

Digby became far more interested than, a few weeks before, he would have
thought possible.  At the same time he did not take in all the remarks
his uncle and Marshall made.  He would have found it impossible to
describe the curious marine animals they showed him.  At the same time
the impression left on his mind was beneficial, as he in that way
learned to comprehend the fact of the existence of the numberless
wonders of nature, and to regard them with interest and respect.
Although he could not manage to recollect a single one of the hard names
he heard, he surely was better off than a person who remains ignorant
that even such things exist.

The day after the Noctilucae had exhibited their brightness on the sea
in so remarkable a degree, a heavy gale sprung up and blew on the shore
for some hours with great violence.

"I hope no other shipwreck happened last night," said Digby, as they got
up in the morning.

"I hope not," answered Marshall.  "We should have heard of it before
this.  But if you will come down with me to the beach, by and by, we
shall find that other floating things have been wrecked, and that the
sea has cast them up in great numbers on the shore."

As soon as lessons were over the boys set out.  Digby was now quite
eager for anything of the sort.  They had not gone far along the beach
when Marshall pounced on a dark-looking mass, which he put into his jar.

"What nasty thing is that?" exclaimed Digby, looking at it with disgust.

"Nasty! no; it is a magnificent Holothuria, or sea-cucumber.  Toby would
call it a sea-pudding.  It will look very different when it is in my
vivarium, let me tell you.  It now looks like a great bag, but the
outside of that bag is covered with numbers of suckers, by which it is
able to crawl about at a rapid rate; while in the inside are its head
and intestines, and all its fishing apparatus."

"I should like to see it in full action," said Digby.  "But I say,
Marshall, what are all those lumps of jelly?  Are they good to eat?
They look as if they would be, boiled a little, perhaps."

Marshall laughed heartily.  "I doubt if even the Chinese attempt to eat
them.  If they do, they must eat them raw, for even in the air they very
soon dissolve.  Those are Medusae, or jelly-fish, or sea-nettles.  The
first English name they obtain from their appearance, the second on
account of the property they possess of stinging; and that you would
soon discover if, when you were bathing, one of them got his long arms
round you."

"Arms, surely they have not got arms?" said Digby.

"Indeed they have, and very long arms, too, with which they can catch
all sorts of prey.  They have mouths and all internal arrangements, and,
soft and gelatinous as they appear, they can consume animals of a much
higher organisation than themselves.  You would not suppose that they
could gobble up crabs, yet they can do so without the slightest
difficulty.  They have also the property of giving forth light.  You may
see them by thousands floating about near the surface of the water, in
shape like small umbrellas, and moving up and down just as if a heart
beat beneath.  You will find them often in the river when the flood-tide
is coming in; and when we go on our trawling expedition we shall see
numbers of them."

Digby, notwithstanding what Marshall had told him, had not quite made up
his mind about them; and as he had brought a basket in which to carry
curiosities, he put several of them into it.

"Ah, here are some of the things I admire," exclaimed Digby, picking up
a star-fish.  "They are curious."

"Not more so than many others," answered Marshall.  "Yet I agree with
you, that they are very curious indeed.  You would not suppose that they
can crawl along at the bottom of the sea at a considerable rate, and
that they are the most voracious of marine animals.  They have a big
mouth in the centre of the lower side; and those star-like arms supply
them with food.  They progress by means of suckers, with which the whole
of the lower part of their bodies is covered.  They are the scavengers
of the ocean; and it is wonderful the amount of animal food they can
consume, which would otherwise tend to putrefy the ocean itself.
Another curious circumstance about them is, that when one or more of
their rays are broken off, fresh ones are produced; indeed, I have seen
it stated in print that a single ray has produced the mouth and the
other rays, and then that the old ray has fallen off, and that a new
star-fish, in its perfect proportions, has been thus reformed."

"I dare say what you tell me is all true," said Digby; "but it is very
hard to believe."

"I am only telling you what I have heard from others, though I have
observed some of the facts myself," answered Marshall.  "See, now; what
do you call that?" he added, holding up a very perfect Echinus.

"A sea-egg, of course," answered Digby.  "But I own that it has always
puzzled me how any fish can manage to lay an egg covered with spines."

"It is not an egg at all; it is much more properly called a sea-urchin
or a sea-hedgehog.  It is allied to the star-fish.  By means of these
spines it can move about with great ease; they serve also as its
protection.  The covering is most curious: it is composed of several
hundred pentagonal plates.  By a process going on continually from the
inside, each one of these plates is enlarged by a fresh deposit; and
thus, without altering their shape, the animal, as it grows, has its
coat of armour growing also."

"Well, Marshall, I must say that you spin wonderful yarns, as Toby Tubb
would say, about all these things.  I suppose that they are all true;
but they do sometimes make me open my eyes."

"Depend on it they are all true.  Mr Nugent can tell still more
wonderful ones," answered Marshall.  "The more we examine the
productions of nature the more wonderful things we shall discover.
There is no doubt, also, that--"

"I dare say not," said Digby, yawning.  "But do you know, Marshall,
that, somehow or other, I would rather sometimes hear old Toby spin one
of his yarns than listen to my uncle's lectures on natural history.
They are all very well in their way when one is in the humour for them,
but, just now, I am rather inclined for a brisk walk; and, thinking of
Toby, I say, I wish that we could get him to tell us how the ship he was
on board of attacked I don't know how many Frenchmen, or some other of
our enemies, and took one of them in sight of their own port.  He was
telling Easton all about it one day.  Perhaps he will not feel inclined
to tell it again."

Marshall laughed at the idea of an old sailor _not_ liking to spin a
yarn a second time, when the chances were in favour of his having
already spun it many hundred times.  He took the hint, also, about the
lectures on natural history, and said nothing more to Digby on the
subject.  He well knew that if he was to attempt to cram it down his
throat, Digby would be very likely to take a disgust to it, and
obstinately set his face against all branches of natural history.  He
promised, moreover, to try and get Toby to spin the yarn in which Easton
had been so much interested.

The next Saturday half-holiday was very lovely, and all Mr Nugent's
pupils agreed to make a boating excursion up the river as far as they
could go, and to dine in pic-nic fashion at the end of the voyage.

"We must try and get Toby Tubb to spin his yarn," observed Digby, as
they were starting.

Mrs Nugent had supplied them with some cold provisions; and they took
potatoes to cook, and tea and sugar; and they hoped to catch some fish,
which would be a great addition to their fare.  However, they were
fortunately independent of the fish, which sometimes obstinately refuse
to be caught.

Power, however, who had great confidence in his own success as a
fisherman, wanted the rest to leave a cold veal pie behind, assuring
them that he would take care that they had an ample supply of
salmon-peel, and bass, and flounders, which he promised to catch and
cook for them.

"That is all very well," said Marshall; "but I vote that we take the
pie, and then we can be eating that while Power is dining on the fish
which he has not yet caught."

"Now, do you, Toby, take the helm, and we will row," said Marshall,
seating himself ready to pull the stroke oar.

Digby jumped in next him, for he knew that he was about to fulfil his
promise, to get Toby to spin a yarn.

All took their seats, up went the oars.  "Give way!" sung out Toby.  The
oars came with a simultaneous flop into the water, and the young crew
bending to them, the boat glided swiftly and steadily over the smooth
surface.  The scenery for some distance was very beautiful: there were
high cliffs, broken and fantastic in shape, with here and there openings
through which green fields, and woods, and cottages could be seen, and
deep bays and inlets, and, further off, downs, or heather land, on which
sheep or cattle were feeding.  The sky was blue, the air was fresh and
pure; all were enjoying themselves, though they could not perhaps tell
why.

"Try old Toby now," whispered Digby into Marshall's ear.

Marshall began in a diplomatic way.  "Now, Toby," he said, "while we are
pulling and cannot talk much, it seems a pity that you should not be
telling us something we should like to hear.  You have been in a battle
or two, I dare say; perhaps fought with double your numbers, and came
off victorious, as I have heard of British seamen doing more than once."

"I believe you, Master Marshall," interrupted Toby.  "I have been in a
battle when we had three to one against us, and still we thrashed them.
I'll tell you how it was.  I belonged, in those days, to the _Spartan_,
a smart frigate of thirty-eight guns, and a first-rate dashing officer,
Captain Jahleel Brenton, commanded her.  We were in the Mediterranean in
the year 1810.  Many were the things we did which we had a right to talk
about.  It was about the end of April we were cruising in company with
the _Success_ frigate, Captain Mitford, and the sloop _Espoir_, when,
standing in for the Castle of Terrecino, on the Italian coast, we made
out a ship, three barques, and several feluccas, at anchor under shelter
of the guns of that fort.  Our captain, as soon as he saw them,
determined to have them; so as he was commodore, do you see, he ordered
away the boats of the squadron to cut them out.  I was not a little
pleased to find myself in one of the _Spartan's_ boats.  The whole
expedition was commanded by Lieutenant Baumgart, of the _Spartan_; and
we had with us another brave officer, Lieutenant George Sartorius, of
the _Sirius_.

"We rendezvoused on board the _Spartan_, and soon after noon pulled in
for the castle, covered by the fire of the squadron, which opened a
brisk cannonade on the town and batteries.  The enemy were not idle, and
the shot were flying pretty thick about us, but that did not stop our
way.

"`There's the ship, my boys, and we must have her, and the barques too,
if we can,' sung out our lieutenant; and on we dashed, with a loud
cheer, towards her.

"Round-shot and bullets came rattling about our heads, but they didn't
stop our way more than would a shower of hail.  Away we pulled, maybe a
bit faster, to get through them the quicker.  In a quarter less no time
we were alongside the ship, which mounted six guns, scrambling up her
sides, knocking everybody who opposed us on the head--not that all
stopped for that, seeing that many leaped into their boats as soon as we
gained the deck, and pulled away for the shore.  The rest, however, made
a tough fight of it before they knocked under.  To cut the cables and to
let fall the topsails and sheet home was the work of a few moments only,
and we were under weigh almost before the enemy had turned the guns of
the castle on us.

"The other boats, meantime, divided the barques among them, and,
attacking them altogether, drove their crews into the water, and,
cutting their cables, made sail after us.  We lost only one man killed
and two wounded in the whole affair, and carried all four vessels off in
safety.

"That's what we call a cutting-out expedition.  There's nothing we used
to like better.  They were generally pretty sharp slap-dash affairs; no
shilly-shallying, and counting what was dangerous and what was not; but
it was pull in, jump aboard, and we were out again with the prizes
before the enemy had time to find out what we were about.  But that
wasn't what I was going to tell you about.

"Soon after this, our squadron was cruising off the Bay of Naples--not
all, by the by, the Espoir had been sent away somewhere, and we had only
the _Spartan_, that was our ship, and the Success.  Well, we made out,
under weigh in the Bay, two ships, a brig and a cutter.  Not many
moments had gone by before we had crowded all sail in chase.  It was a
French squadron we saw, but they didn't like our looks, so they put
about and stood towards Naples, we following them almost up to the Mole.
That was on the first of May.  The next morning at daylight we saw our
friends at anchor, but they seemed in no way inclined to come out and
fight us.

"`Perhaps if they see one of us alone they may come out and take a taste
of our quality,' says our captain; so he sent off the Success to wait
for us about eight leagues from the island of Capri, thinking that the
Frenchmen would then, without doubt, venture out to attack us.

"In the meantime, the French General who had command at Naples, Prince
Murat, had formed a plan to capture us.  His French squadron consisted
of a 42-gun frigate, the _Ceres_; a 28-gun corvette, the _Fama_; an
8-gun brig, the _Sparviere_; and a cutter, mounting 10 guns; but besides
these there were seven gunboats at least, each with one long 18-pounder
and 40 men.  General Murat had also embarked four hundred Swiss troops
on board the ships, so that they had altogether 95 guns and 1,400 men,
while we had only 38 guns and about 260 men.  [Note.]  We didn't mind
the odds against us, all we thought of was how we could take the enemy.
They made sure, however, it seems, with the great odds in their favour,
on the other hand, do ye see, of taking us; but we sung, with some right
to sing it, too:--

  "Hearts of oak are our ships,
  Jolly tars are our men;
  We always are ready,
  Then steady, boys, steady,
  We'll fight, and we'll conquer again and again."

"All we were anxious for was the moment to begin.  At last, before
sunrise, on the third day after we had first made them out, which, do
you see, was the 3rd of May, 1810, we got a slant of wind from the
South-east, though it was very light, and we, being well to the
southward, stood under easy sail into the Bay of Naples.

"Well, we were keeping a bright look-out for the enemy, and just at
daybreak we made them out about six miles ahead, standing out from the
Mole of Naples, and just between the island of Capri and the mainland.
We were on the starboard tack, and they were on the larboard, or what we
now call the port tack, remember."

"What do you mean by the starboard and port tacks?" asked Digby, who was
much interested in the details of the account, and wanted to understand
it.

"Why, you see, the two lower corners of square sails have ropes to them
called tacks and sheets.  The tacks haul the corners of the sail down to
the fore part of the ship, and the sheets to the after part.  If the
tack is hauled down on the starboard side, the sheet is of course on the
other side, or to leeward, and the ship is then said to be on the
starboard tack.  So you'll know if the wind strikes the starboard side,
the ship is on the starboard tack, or, if it comes on the other side,
she's on the port or larboard tack."

"Thank you," answered Digby; "I know now, I think.  But go on; it's very
interesting."

"I vote that no one interrupts to ask questions," exclaimed Power.
"When the story is done we'll all fire away as much as we like.  Won't
that be best, Toby?"

Toby seemed to be of Power's opinion, so the motion was agreed to _nem
con_.

"Where was we?" began Toby, having been slightly put out, as even the
best story-tellers are when interrupted.  "Let's see.  Oh, I know,
standing in towards the Bay of Naples, to meet the French squadron.  We
were on the starboard tack; they were on the opposite one.  There's a
picture been done of the fight.  It always does my old heart good to
look at it; because, do ye see, it's not like some pictures of battles--
it's true.  An officer, an old shipmate, gave it me, and so I had it put
in a frame, with a glass over it, and hung up in my cottage.

"There we were, do ye see, the three French ships and we, drawing nearer
and nearer to each other on opposite tacks.  The Frenchmen followed each
other in line, the _Ceres_ leading, followed by the _Fama_ and
_Sparviere_, with the wind abeam.  Instead, however, of keeping close
together, as they ought to have done, they were some distance from each
other.  The light wind was thus all in our favour, as I'll make you
understand.  At last the _Ceres_ clewed up her courses, and we did the
same, and right glad we were to do it.

"Now, remember, that the Frenchman's decks were crowded with troops,
poor Swiss fellows, who had no wish naturally to hurt us any more than
we had to hurt them.

"`Now, lads, all hands lie down at their quarters.  We shall be having a
pretty hot shower of musketry among us before many minutes are over, and
it will be just as well to let it pass over our heads,' sung out our
captain.  All the time, though, he did not lie down, nor did some of the
officers; but of course all the people did as they were ordered, except
the men at the helm.  It was close upon eight o'clock, when we were
within pistol-shot of the _Ceres_, that she opened her fire on us.
Still we lay quiet.  Now, do ye see, all our guns on the main deck were
treble shotted.

"Our captain calmly waited, eyeing the enemy till every one of our guns
bore on him.  `Up, boys, and fire away!' he shouted.  Didn't we just
spring to our feet and blaze away like fury.  What shrieks and cries
rose from the Frenchman's decks.  Our shot mowed down the troops like
corn-stalks before the sickle, besides killing numbers of the crew.  The
soldiers were drawn up all ready for boarding, but our captain was too
wise to let them do that.  As we were going little more than two knots
through the water, we had plenty of time to load again, and to give the
second Frenchman, the _Fama_, the same taste of our quality.  Numbers
were killed and wounded aboard her, and then, loading once more, we
continued our course and fired into the brig.  We had still the gunboats
to talk to.  They were not to be despised, and, as it proved, they were
the worst enemies we had.  As we approached them we fired our headmost
starboard guns at them, and then, going about, let fly our whole
larboard broadside, which we had again got ready for their amusement.
They returned it with interest, though, and we lost many men from the
shot of their long guns, while most of our masts and spars were likewise
wounded.  As we went about our starboard broadside was not idle, and we
kept peppering away at the brigs and the two ships ahead of us.  Well,
the French commodore ought to have steered for the gunboats, but instead
of that he wore round and stood away for Baia, on the north side of the
Bay, where there were some batteries.  We wore after him.  Our captain
had taken his stand on the capstan head, that he might have a clear view
of everything, and a fine sight it was to see him standing up there
undaunted, while the round-shot and musket-balls were flying thick
around his head.  `Ay, he's the right sort of stuff, that skipper of
ours,' said my messmate, Bill Simmonds.  `If we don't take one or more
of those Frenchmen I'm very much mistaken.'  After we had got up to the
gunboats, and a large cutter there was among them, and hammered away at
them, the breeze fell, and left us surrounded with enemies.  The _Ceres_
lay ahead, with her starboard broadside turned towards us; and we had on
our port bow the corvette and brig, while the cutter and gunboats came
sweeping up astern, and pounding us pretty severely with their long
eighteen-pounders.  In spite of our first success, it seemed just then
as if matters would go very hard with us.  What was our sorrow, too, to
see our brave captain knocked off his post badly wounded.  He was
carried below, for a grape-shot had hit him in the hip.  Our first
lieutenant, Mr Willes, then took the command.  How we did whistle for a
wind.  Scarcely was our brave captain carried below before a light
breeze sprung up: and I can't tell you how our hearts beat with joy when
we found ourselves once more drawing near the French frigate.  There we
soon were, on her starboard quarter, and on the starboard bow of the
corvette, so that our guns were able almost to rake them both at the
same time.  We had, however, the brig peppering away at us on our
larboard quarter, while the cutter and gunboats, some of which were
astern and others on the starboard quarter, kept up a hot fire at us all
the time.  The enemy, it seemed, however, had no wish to continue at
such close quarters, for as soon as the frigate's sails felt the breeze,
away she ran as fast as her legs could carry her, till she got under the
shelter of the batteries of Baia.  We should have followed her, but our
rigging and sails had been so knocked about and riddled with shot that
for the best of all reasons we didn't--because we couldn't.  We managed
to wear, however, and gave the frigate and corvette a parting benefit,
raking them fore and aft with our starboard guns, and knocking away the
corvette's foretopmast.  At the same time we poured our whole larboard
broadside into the brig.  Hearty was the shout raised aboard us, when
down came her main-topmast, and, lowering her colours, she sung out for
mercy, lest we should give her a second dose of the same character.
Dropping a boat to take possession, we stood after the corvette, and
should have taken her, but the gunboats came up with their long sweeps,
and, in spite of a pretty severe fire we kept up at them, towed her in a
very spirited way out of action.  As I was saying, we couldn't then
follow, or we'd have had her also, at least.  Perhaps we might have had
the frigate, too.  We hadn't given up all hopes of another prize, and
with a hearty good will we set to work to repair damages.  We had
altogether been rather more than two hours pretty closely engaged with
the enemy.  We'd lost by this time ten killed and twenty-two wounded.
Both our captain and first lieutenant were very severely hurt.  When the
French frigate saw that we could not get up to her, she sneaked away
from Baia and stood back towards Naples.  By the time we were put
somewhat to rights the sea-breeze set in, and so our captain ordered the
prize to be taken in tow, and away we stood, passing just in front of
Naples, before which the rest of the enemy had just dropped their
anchors.  Whether they thought that we were going to fetch any of them
out I don't know.  We heard afterwards that the French General, Prince
Murat, who called himself King of Naples, was watching all the time,
expecting to see his frigate tow us in; and you may be sure that he was
in a pretty great rage when he saw us carry off one of his ships
instead, as our prize, before his very nose.  I've heard since that the
French, to excuse themselves, declared that our frigate was a _rase_, or
cut-down ship, and that we carried fifty heavy guns.  You may read of
many gallant actions, young gentlemen, but I don't believe that you'll
ever hear tell of one better-fought battle.  It showed the Frenchmen the
stuff we were made of, though they'd found that out pretty often before.
There's one thing you may depend on,--every victory gained helps to win
another.  The enemy can't help expecting to be beaten, and you feel that
you've a fair prospect of winning the day.  It's just the same thing,
take an old man's word for it, when you've got to fight with bad habits,
or vices, or sin of any sort, evil tempers, and evil propensities.  Gain
one victory.  Learn that you can conquer the foe, and the next time you
try you'll find that he gives way more easily than at first; but, if you
let him gain the victory, why 'tis you will go to the wall, faster and
faster each time, till he knocks you down altogether.  But I was telling
you how the gallant _Spartan_ captured the _Sparviere_; and don't forget
to come and see the picture, which 'll show you all about it."

The boys thanked Toby for his story, and all promised that they would go
and pay him a visit, and see the prints of the battle.  I need not
repeat all the questions they asked him about it; how he liked having
the shot flying about his head, and seeing his shipmates knocked over
near him, and all that sort of thing.

"As to the first, young gentlemen," he answered, "I can't say as how I
ever thought much about it; and as to the second, a man before he goes
into battle knows that it may be his lot, and so he makes up his mind to
it.  When a man makes up his mind to a thing it is much easier to bear
it, let me tell you.  Besides, very few men, when they once begin to
fight, think about anything else but the fighting."

The conversation to which Toby's history led lasted the party till they
reached the place at which they intended to pic-nic.  It had been
selected not so much because of its peculiar beauty, as on account of
the good fishing which Power expected to get there.  He talked of
salmon-peel, and basse, and flounders, and plaice, all of which come up
salt-water rivers, and often venture into brackish waters.  Power at
once set off to the spot where he intended to fish: it was on a bank
just below a mill-dam.  The salt-water flowed in with the flood-tide,
and when the ebb made a strong current run out, which always kept open a
deep channel.  Some shade-giving trees grew about, the turf was soft and
green, and, at a little distance, the cliffs turned inland, and formed a
ravine, in which stood the mill and the mill pond.  Marshall and Easton
went off to botanise, and to search in the cliffs for geological
specimens and other subjects of natural history; while Digby and two
other boys accompanied Power with their rods.  Ten minutes passed, and
all except Power began to make signs to each other expressive of
increasing hunger; but no sign was there of a fish.

"Hurra!" he at last exclaimed; "I have a bite; I knew I should."  His
float began to bob, and away it went down the stream.  He gave his rod a
jerk.  "I have him fast enough," he exclaimed.  High he lifted his rod,
and up came a fish--but such a fish--a little, ugly, big-headed,
flat-snouted monster.

"A miller's thumb!--a miller's thumb!" shouted the party, laughing
heartily.  "What a fine dinner he will make for us," cried one.  "I hope
you'll let us have something else, Power," said Digby.

"Not unless you will all hold your tongues, and let me try again, for I
don't think any of you will catch anything," said Power.

Just then Toby arrived, with a stick and line.  He held up the poor
bull-head with a comical look, and pretended to let it drop down his
throat--a proceeding which he would have found very unpleasant as
besides its large head its back was armed with a row of sharp spines.
"We call this a sea-scorpion, or sea-toad, and some call it a
father-lasher, because he is supposed to be so wicked that he would beat
even his own father," said Toby, putting back the fish with a pretence
of the greatest care into the basket.  "Now, young gentlemen, I'll see
what I can do for the pot; it's on, and boiling, and only wants
something put into it.  I'll make you some pebble-soup if we don't catch
any fish; but the fish will be best, I think."  Toby, on this, went a
little lower down the creek, and taking his seat on the bank, let his
line drop into the water, throwing in, every now and then, some ground
bait.  Before long, he pulled out a shining silvery little fish, of most
graceful form; another and another followed in rapid succession.

Digby, who had caught nothing, went up to him.  "Why, Toby, what are
those pretty little fish?  I should like to have some of them," he
observed.  "How do you catch them?"

"I'll show you if you'll sit down and try," answered Toby.  "You've
caught no fish because you've been wandering about from place to place,
and not taking advantage of the experience you have got with your first
trials.  If one depth won't do, raise or lower your float; if one bait
don't do, try another; and the same with your hook, if you find that you
get bites and don't catch anything.  Perseverance is the thing.  I
generally can tell how a lad is likely to get on in life by the way I
see him fish.  You'll excuse my freedom, Master Digby; I like to say
what I think will be

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