The captain breathed more freely—so did Morton. He had begun to fear that his prospects so lately brightening were again to be blighted. By keeping a constant look-out the "Pallas" once more made the Eddystone Lighthouse.

"Now, my lads, we'll show our friends on the shore that we have redeemed our pledges," cried the captain. "Have on deck those chests with the golden candlesticks, Mr Nibs," he added, turning to the purser. The chests were got up, and tackles being made ready to each mast-head, a golden candlestick was sent up and fixed above the truck. It was no easy work, but sailors can do anything that is possible. Thus with bags of dollars at the yard-arms, and rich brocades pendant from the stays, the frigate sailed up Plymouth Sound. Great was the excitement she caused, though she had already been looked for, as her four prizes, in spite of Hardman's prognostications, had arrived in safety before her.

All her crew who wished it got leave on shore; there was no fear of any running from her; their places would instantly have been filled by hundreds of eager applicants for a berth on board. Fully did Bob Doull carry out his intentions; and strange, though not very unusual, were the scenes witnessed in Plymouth and its neighbourhood for several days after the arrival of the "Pallas."

Coaches-and-four and coaches-and-six were seen driving about Plymouth, laden inside and out with seamen and their sweethearts, decked out in costumes of the most gaudy colours and extravagant fashion. Suppers and dancing closed the day. There was no great variety, perhaps, in the style of their amusements. The great object seemed to be to get rid of their money as rapidly as possible.

Ronald Morton, for the first time in his life, found himself possessed of what appeared to him a very large sum of money.

"It will be enough to sift this affair of my father's to the bottom, and if claims he has, to establish them thoroughly," he observed to his captain.

Lord Claymore laughed heartily.

"My dear fellow, you know not what amount a lawyer's maw is capable of swallowing," he answered. "It will prove a mere soppit if the matter is contested, as undoubtedly it will be. However, we will see about it when we return from our next cruise. Till your father returns home, you can do nothing."

Once more, her officers and crew having spent all their superfluous cash, the "Golden Pallas," as she was now called, put to sea.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

LORD CLAYMORE AND THE FIRE SHIPS—"PALLAS" ENGAGES BLACK FRIGATE— COLONEL ARMYTAGE IN THE PENINSULA.

"Morton, we ought to be content with the prizes we have made; we must now do something in the fighting way, or we shall be looked upon as mere buccaneers, who think of nothing but making money."

This remark was made by Lord Claymore, after the frigate had been for some time in commission—had been to America and back, and being now on the French coast, had sent home a few more captures, though not of any very great value.

"That may be very well for a captain who has made the best part of eighty thousand pounds," thought Morton, "but for a poor lieutenant, who has made not a twentieth part of that, yet wants it as much, it is a very different affair."

Ronald had begun to find the value of money, and also that it has wings with which to betake itself away. He acquiesced, however, in the propriety of fighting. An opportunity was not long wanting.

Before many days had passed the frigate was off the Isle d'Aix, on the French coast. She stood in; the captain and most of the officers with glasses at their eyes watching for the appearance of a French fleet. At length the masts and spars of several line-of-battle ships came in view. Still the frigate stood on till a three-decker—an eighty-gun ship— three seventy-fours, four frigates, and three brigs were counted. The little English frigate paraded up and down before the roadstead, but none ventured out to attack her. It was the French squadron under Admiral Allemand.

"I have been thinking over a plan which may sound terrible to the ears of some, but it is both feasible and right, I fully believe," said the captain, after taking several turns on deck, and addressing his first lieutenant. "We might set fire to or blow up into the air, one and all of those ships. I only wish that there were more together. You see they are deep in the water. They have stores on board, and are evidently intended for some expedition or other; an attack on our West India Islands, or to attack us in some other vulnerable part. They must or should be got rid of: other plans might be adopted; but I hold to that of the fire-ships. I should delight in conducting the enterprise. With a few brave men under me, on whose coolness and judgment I could rely, it would be certain to succeed. Morton, I would select you. Would it not be a glorious work?"

"If you selected me, my lord, I would certainly follow you, and do my utmost to carry out your directions," answered Morton; "but the idea of employing fire-ships has never been congenial to my taste. I would rather meet the enemy and destroy him in a general engagement."

"That sounds very right and chivalric," replied Lord Claymore, smiling; "but observe the true state of the case. The object of going to war with an enemy is to sink, burn, and destroy his ships at sea, and to do him all the injury in our power on shore. In a general engagement you attack his fleet with yours, at the cost of some of your ships, perhaps, and the loss of many hundreds of your men. If a great victory is gained, a tenth, or at all events a twentieth, part of the enemy are killed and wounded. Now, by my plan the lives of very few of our own people are risked; perhaps no one may be lost; while the ships of the enemy are entirely destroyed; and though, of course, some of their people are sacrificed, probably not more are lost than in a general engagement, while the chances are that the war in consequence is more speedily brought to a conclusion, and the lives of thousands saved, and people able to return to their peaceful and useful occupations. Morton, I look upon war as a terrible curse. The sooner it can be put an end to the better, but I am very certain that in this instance it can only be by humbling our proud foes to the very dust. Napoleon will bite till every tooth in his head is drawn."

Although Morton's reason was convinced by the reasoning of his enthusiastic captain, his feelings were not entirely satisfied. He, however, promised to aid him as far as he had the power in carrying out any project of that description which he might conceive.

The subject was again and again reverted to during the time the frigate was on the coast, and while he was engaged in the most stirring and often hazardous operations—such as cutting out vessels, armed and unarmed, landing and destroying telegraph stations, and storming and blowing up forts.

Once more the "Pallas" returned to L'Isle d'Aix. The French squadron was still there.

"We must be at those fellows," exclaimed Lord Claymore, as he walked the deck, looking towards the enemy with a greedy eye. "We must get them out somehow or other, if we can. It would have a grand moral effect to carry off a prize from before their very noses."

Morton was as eager as his chief. There was a soldier's wind, so that the frigate could stand in or off shore at pleasure.

"This is an opportunity many would rejoice to have; don't let us throw it away," continued the captain, watching the French ships through his telescope. They lay at their anchors, seemingly determined not to move in spite of the bold enemy proudly cruising before their eyes.

"Give them a shot or two, Morton," said the captain; "we'll try if that does not excite them to bestir themselves."

In advance of the rest of the squadron was a large frigate, painted black and heavily armed, and near her were three brigs. Still they were all under shelter of the batteries on the island.

With a shout of satisfaction the British crew observed the topsails of the black frigate and her three consorts let fall. It was a sign that they were coming out. The sails were sheeted home. Out they all four stood. The canvas of the "Pallas" was reduced, and she was hove-to, in the most gallant way, to wait for them.

"We must have him, I am determined," exclaimed the captain, as the enemy's frigate drew near. Everybody was as eager and sanguine as the captain, except Lieutenant Hardman.

"We have had all the luck hitherto—we must not expect to keep it," he remarked to Glover. "Remember what I often have said: There's many a—"

A shot from the enemy, which came whizzing close over his head, and the loud shouts of "Fire!" from the captain, cut short his remarks.

The crew gave a hearty cheer, and obeyed the order by delivering a rattling broadside at the advancing enemy.

More sail was now made on the frigate, so that she might be kept completely under command. The brigs coming up also commenced firing, as did the batteries on the island, but, boldly standing on, the English frigate gallantly engaged them all. The crew required no words of encouragement. Most of the men stood at their guns stripped to the waist, with their handkerchiefs bound round their heads, labouring with that determined energy which was the sure promise of victory. Now, as they could bring their guns to bear, they aimed at the brigs, now again at their larger opponent, the black frigate. As she drew near it was seen that she was greatly superior to the "Pallas," both in size and as to the number of her guns, while probably also her crew were much more numerous, but that in no way daunted Lord Claymore. On the contrary, he seemed the more eager not to part with her, but to carry her off as his prize.

In spite, however, of this superiority, the black frigate, as well as the brigs, showed a disposition to keep at a respectful distance. Several times the "Pallas" had to tack to avoid the shoals surrounding the island. Besides this, her captain's aim was, by manoeuvring, to get to windward of the black frigate, and also between her and the batteries, so that their shot would be likely to damage friends as well as foes. The brigs, which showed signs of being much cut up in their rigging, seemed inclined to keep at a respectful distance. The shots of the "Pallas" were, however, aimed chiefly at her more worthy antagonist. The guns were admirably served. Again the men cheered. The first step towards victory had been gained. The mizen-mast of the black frigate had been shot away, and over the side it went, with its yards and sails.

The "Pallas" ceased firing—so did the batteries, for they would have hit the French ship had they continued to do so. Once more the British frigate tacked. She had gained a position directly to windward of her opponents. Once more she opened her fire; it was with dreadful effect. She, however, was suffering much, both in spars and hull.

"This must be cut short," observed the captain, calmly. "Now, master, up with the helm, and carry us alongside the enemy. My men, be ready to board, the cutlass must decide the day."

In gallant style the small English frigate bore down upon an opponent nearly twice her size. The "Pallas" poured a well-directed broadside into the black frigate, and the instant afterwards there was a fearful concussion. The main-deck guns were driven in by the sides of the French ship, and at the same moment the maintopsail-yard was torn from the mast, and much other damage was done aloft, while the bumpkin, chain plates, cat heads, and bower anchor were carried away. In vain the captain called to his men to aid in lashing the two frigates together. Before they could assemble they had separated. Ronald, with a boarding party, was about to spring on to the deck of the French frigate, but he was too late to make the attempt.

Once more Lord Claymore was about to bear down on the French frigate, when Hardman pointed out to him two more French frigates coming out under all sail to the rescue of their friend. To have remained longer would have been madness. Lord Claymore was not a man to do a foolish rash thing. Waving his hat to the brave captain of the black frigate, who kept his post on a gun watching their proceedings, he ordered the tacks to be hauled aboard, and, without further injuring his opponent, stood out to sea. The guns were run in and secured, and the crew were sent aloft to repair damages. So severe, however, were they, that the "Pallas" could scarcely have escaped from her pursuers, had not a sloop of war hove in sight and taken her in tow. The enemy's frigates, disappointed of their expected prey, returned to their anchorage.

"We must be back there some day, Morton, for if life and strength is allowed me, I will not rest till I have carried out my plan for the destruction of this remainder of the Frenchman's fleet." Lord Claymore spoke, and faithfully he kept his word.

When the frigate rejoined the admiral she was found to be in so shattered a condition from her engagement with the Frenchman, that he sent her home to undergo repairs.

Morton was once more in England. He found a letter from his father, saying that the "Lion" had not yet received orders to return home, but he hoped that she soon would. He added, that this trip had satisfied him; that if he was allowed once more to set foot on British ground he had determined to take up his abode on shore, and that what with the prize-money he had made, and the produce of his farm in Shetland, he should be able to live on shore in a style suited to the rank his son had gained, so that he should have a home to offer him whenever he was not employed. This was satisfactory news to Ronald. Curiously enough, his father did not once allude to Doull or Eagleshay. He seemed to have forgotten all about the mystery of his birth, and that it might possibly by their means be cleared up. The truth was, that he had always been contented with his lot. He saw his son in the fair way of rising in his profession, and he fancied that no advantage would be gained by ascertaining the truth, even if it were possible to do so.

Soon after the letters had been brought on board, Glover came into Ronald's cabin.

"Here, Morton, is news which will interest you!" he said, showing an open letter. "It is from my cousin, Mrs Edmonstone—she and her husband are in England; they arrived some time ago. She tells me that they made the voyage with the Armytage family; Miss Armytage still unmarried, her mamma as amiable as ever, and the colonel as much the reverse as before; he is supposed to have gained very little advantage by his visit to India; his extravagance and love of play have ruined him: however, he has interest in high quarters, and soon after his return home, he got an appointment in the army in the Peninsula, and he has gone out there with his wife and daughter. In what part of Portugal or Spain they are, she does not tell me, but I will write and ascertain. There is a bare possibility of our being some day in the neighbourhood; and, judging of your wishes by mine own, I am sure that you would like to meet Mrs and Miss Armytage again, though you may wish to stand clear of the colonel."

There is a happy familiarity among messmates which seldom exists between other people.

Morton thanked Glover, and acknowledged, after a moment's thought, that he should be delighted again to meet Miss Armytage.

"Am I bound to obey her father, who discards me simply because he believes me to be of inferior birth to his daughter? I feel convinced that I am her equal. I have at all events gained the rank of a gentleman; I may some day obtain the fortune to support it, and to maintain her as well as her father can do. No; I feel that I am bound by no laws, divine or human, to yield to his unjust demands. If she loves me still, and I can win her, I will."

Glover, who was fully acquainted with his friend's feelings, and to whom part of these remarks were addressed, highly applauded his resolution, and promised to afford him all the aid in his power.

The "Pallas" was found to have received so much injury that her repairs would take a long time. Lord Claymore and his officers and crew were accordingly turned over to another frigate, the "Imperious," and ordered to proceed forthwith to the Mediterranean.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

RONALD JOINS THE "IMPERIOUS"—CHASE OF A FELUCCA—THE MARQUIS DE MEDEA— THE SPANISH PRIEST—RONALD ASTONISHES THE PRIEST.

The "Imperious" had been some time in the Mediterranean. She had not been idle, nor had her crew; that was not likely under such a captain as Lord Claymore. She had been up the Levant, and cruising among the Ionian Islands, and then back to Gibraltar, and had returned to Malta; and her blue-jackets and marines had landed on the Spanish and French coasts, and, as they had done before on the Biscay shores, had captured forts, destroyed barracks, and other public buildings, and burnt a town or two, and cut out merchant-men and armed vessels of all sorts; indeed, had done as much mischief as they possibly could. In all these proceedings Ronald Morton had greatly distinguished himself, and his captain promised him that he would not rest till he had obtained for him his rank as a commander.

Morton was in better spirits than he had been for a long time. He was as ready as ever for any daring exploit, but he had no desire to throw his life away if he could help it; he had a fancy that there was something worth living for. The good Lord Collingwood so highly approved of the proceedings of the "Imperious," that he sent her back, after her return to Malta, to continue the same sort of employment.

On the passage, when not far off Minorca, a large felucca was sighted, which, from her manoeuvres, was evidently anxious to avoid the frigate. Lord Claymore had received directions from the admiral to look out for a craft of this description, which was known to be a pirate, and to have committed innumerable atrocities. Chase was instantly made. The felucca on seeing this, and apprehending danger, rigged out her tall tapering lateen sails, wing-a-wing, as it is called, one on each side. She appeared like a graceful sea-bird, and did her utmost to escape. She sailed so well that there seemed a great possibility that she might effect this. The "Imperious," like some huge bird of prey, followed in her wake, resolved on her destruction. As yet the felucca was beyond the range of the frigate's bow-chasers. One shot from those long guns striking her masts or slender spars, would effectually have stopped her flight. Over the blue waters she flew; the officers and crew of the frigate were watching her.

"She has an evil conscience, or she would not fly so fast," observed Glover.

"Very likely; but like other rogues, she will escape the punishment she deserves," answered Hardman. "The wind is falling, that is in her favour."

"Not if it fall altogether; we may take her with the boats," remarked Morton. "There is every sign of a calm."

"She has sweeps, and it is extraordinary the rate at which these craft can pull," observed the pertinacious Hardman. "She has every chance of getting away from us."

"Hardman is a wise fellow. He is always expecting blanks that he may enjoy the prizes the more when they turn up," said the surgeon.

"He loses the pleasure of anticipation, though," said Morton. "That is too often greater than the reality."

"Ah, but I am saved the disappointment of the reverse," answered the second-lieutenant. "See our courses are hanging against the mast, and the felucca has lost the wind altogether. She has got out her sweeps, and off she goes like a shot."

Just then the captain called Morton. "We must take that fellow in the boats. Call away the crews of the pinnace and first and second cutters. Do not lose a moment. He will show fight, and it may save bloodshed to overawe him."

The boats were instantly made ready, and in two minutes were pulling away full of armed men, and led by Morton to the attack of the felucca.

The crew of that vessel did not for some time discover them, and continued as before urging her on at a rapid rate with their long sweeps, evidently hoping to escape. The boats, however, gained on them fast, and in a short time they were seen to lay in their long sweeps, finding, probably, that escape was hopeless, and to prepare for the attack. As the boats drew near, Ronald ordered them to separate so as to board at different parts of the vessel. Her deck was soon crowded with men, who, from their varied costumes, had a very suspicious appearance. Some were at their guns, others held cutlasses or pistols in their hands, threatening to make a stout resistance. One tall old man in a Spanish dress, with a huge white moustache and a long thin beard, stood on the companion hatch waving his sword, and with loud vociferations calling on his men to fight. As the boats got within hail, Morton rose and ordered the crew of the felucca to throw overboard their weapons and yield, for they showed no flag which could be hauled down as a sign of surrender. The answer was a round of grape and langrage from three guns, and a volley of musketry. The missels flew, whizzing and whistling close to his head. Happily he was unhurt; but two of his boat's crew were hit, and the side of the boat riddled in several places. The British seamen dashed on, and in another instant were clambering over the low bulwarks of the felucca.

"What are we, who have been fighting with honest Frenchmen all our lives, to be dared by a set of cut-throats like you? Take that," exclaimed Job Truefitt, as he dealt a blow which nearly severed a pirate's head from his shoulder.

The man fell dead, and Job and the rest springing on, the ruffians gave way, and many were driven overboard right across the deck, as a flock of sheep are swept away by a torrent. The old captain defended himself with all the fierceness of despair. He fought with the feeling that a rope was about his neck. Ronald at last reached him, and by a dexterous turn sent his sword flying over the side. The old man drew a pistol, but before he could fire it, Bob Doull, had sprung up at him, and, wrenching it from his hand, pulled him down to the deck. In vain he struggled, other seamen surrounded him, and he was secured. Several men of the pirate crew were driven overboard, and the rest leaped down below to avoid the cutlasses of the British. Some in the madness of their rage began to fire up at their captors. Fortunately, none of the latter were killed, or it would have fared ill with the pirates. Truefitt and others on finding this, leaped down among them, and singling out the culprits, bound them hand and foot, and bringing them on deck, threw them down with a kick in their sides, and an order to behave themselves.

Soon after the din of battle was over, some cries were heard proceeding from a cabin in the after part of the vessel. Morton at once, knocking off the companion-hatch, followed by a midshipman and several more, leaped below. As the skylight hatch was on, the cabin was very dark, but there was light sufficient to enable him to distinguish two old men and a young lady struggling in the power of some of the pirate crew, who had apparently forced their way into the cabin from forward. The ruffians were soon hauled off from their intended victims, and secured, with a double allowance of kicks, on deck, while Morton busied himself with rendering what assistance he could to the young lady and her companions. They were Spanish he found by their dress and language. One was habited in the costume of an ecclesiastic.

He was a thin, small old man, in whose sallow cheeks it seemed as if the blood could never have mantled, while from his calm exterior it could not have been supposed that he had just been rescued from imminent danger. The young lady, before Morton could reach her, had sunk down on a locker half-fainting.

"Air, air!" she murmured out, "Oh, my father! see to him."

The old man had sunk on the deck of the cabin. The priest stooped down to raise him up, while Ronald helped to knock off the skylight, and then went to the assistance of the young lady. The stream of fresh air which came from above helped to restore both daughter and father. They were then got upon deck, and the pure atmosphere, with a sight of the British flag, and their late masters bound hand and foot, soon completely restored them. The old gentleman was a fine looking Don of the ancient regime; the daughter, a perfect Spanish beauty, with raven hair and flashing eyes, and dark clear complexion. The old Don was profuse in his expressions of gratitude towards those who had rescued him from the hands of the pirates. He and his daughter, with his father confessor, the priest now present, had been travelling in France, when they heard that Spain was about to throw off the yoke of Bonaparte; and fearing that they should be detained, they got on board a small vessel to return to their own country. On their passage they had been attacked and captured by the felucca.

"That we have escaped with our lives is a mercy, when we reflect what atrocious villains are those into whose hands we fell, and from whom you have so nobly rescued us. That captain—the sooner you hang him at your yard-arm the better. He cumbers the earth. It is a disgrace to humanity to allow him to live."

"We do not execute people in England without a trial; if the captain of the felucca is found guilty, he will probably be hung," answered Morton, to whom this remark was made in French, a language the old Don spoke very well. Ronald did not altogether like his manner, or the expression of his countenance.

The sweeps of the felucca had been got out, and the boats had also taken her in tow, and she was now rapidly approaching the frigate.

During the time, Morton endeavoured to ascertain what he could about his new companions. Thinking that he might very possibly gain the information he wished for most easily from the priest, he took the opportunity of addressing him when out of hearing of the rest.

"You and your friends must have suffered much while in the power of those ruffians," he remarked. "That old gentleman has not yet recovered; he seems from his manner to be a man of rank."

"Yes; he is one of the old grandees of Spain," answered the priest.

"May I ask his name? for I wish to address him properly," said Ronald.

"Certainly," returned the priest. "He is known as the Marquis de Medea."

"How strange!" exclaimed Morton, involuntarily, for he had heard that name frequently repeated at Lunnasting, and had been taught to consider the possessor of the title certainly not in a favourable light.

The priest, as Ronald said this, gave him a glance as if he would look through him to his inmost soul, and yet he spoke softly and blandly as he asked, "Why so? Why strange, sir?"

"It is a name I frequently heard in my boyhood," answered Ronald, not supposing that there was the slightest necessity for being on his guard with the mild-looking priest.

"That is strange," repeated the priest. "Where was your boyhood passed, may I ask?" said the priest.

Ronald told him, "Chiefly in the castle of Lunnasting, in Shetland."

Again the priest gave a piercing glance at him.

"May I inquire your name?"

"I am called Ronald Morton."

"You say you are called so. Will it appear impertinent if I ask if you believe that you have the right to bear another?" said the priest.

"Why do you put the question?" was Ronald's very natural demand.

"You said that you were called Morton. I fancied, from your tone, that you insinuated that you have a right to some other name," said the priest.

"I may have some such idea; but at the same time I am perfectly contented with the one I bear."

The priest appeared lost in thought.

"Do you remember your father!" he asked, abruptly.

"Certainly; he is, I trust, alive still. I hope to meet him shortly;" surprised at the way in which the priest continued to cross-question him. Some men would have been much annoyed, and refused to reply; but Ronald saw that his interrogator had some good reasons for putting the questions, and felt no inclination to disappoint him.

"May I ask if you were ever considered like the lady of Lunnasting Castle? Donna Hilda, I think you called her," inquired the priest.

"I have not, that I am aware of, mentioned her name," answered Morton, looking in his turn hard at the priest. "I will reply to your question, though, before I ask one in return. I have heard that I was like her, and that is not surprising; my mother was very like her—they were cousins. Now I must inquire how comes it that you know anything of the family of Lunnasting? Were you ever in Shetland?"

"There are few parts of the world where I have not been. The members of my order go everywhere, and should know everything that takes place on its surface," answered the priest, evasively.

"I do not recollect you in Shetland," said Ronald, "May I ask your name?"

"I am called Father John," replied the priest, humbly. "I would yet further ask you, what you know respecting the Marquis de Medea?"

Ronald considered whether he should reply.

"There can be no harm in speaking the truth, surely," he said to himself. "I will tell you," he answered frankly. "The marquis is believed, at Lunnasting, at all events, to have inherited the estates which should rightly have belonged to the son of Don Hernan Escalante, the husband of the Lady Hilda of Lunnasting, as she is called in Shetland, the daughter of Sir Marcus Wardhill. Moreover, it is believed that, instigated by the present marquis, a pirate crew attacked the castle, and carried off the son of Donna Hilda, of whom I speak, the rightful heir to the title and estates of Medea."

Never, probably, had the countenance of the priest exhibited so much astonishment, or indeed, any sentiment, as it did at present.

"By what wonderful means have you become acquainted with what you have told me?" he asked.

"By the simplest of all; by having been told by those who were acquainted with the facts," answered Ronald.

"But how were they informed of those facts?" asked the priest, with increased interest.

"They learned them from a Spanish naval officer, Pedro Alvarez by name, who was the lieutenant of Don Hernan. He had promised to assist his captain's widow and her infant son to the utmost of his power. He returned to Shetland for that purpose, and when he heard that the boy had been carried off, he sailed away in search of the pirate; he, however, never returned to Shetland, and it is believed that he perished before he accomplished his purpose. The young Escalante has never been discovered, though the poor Lady Hilda lives on in expectation of recovering her son."

"No wonder that sacrilegious wretch, Pedro Alvarez, never returned to you. He was guilty of murdering one of the familiars of our most holy Inquisition. Had he ever caught the pirate he could not have returned to Spain, but must have been a wanderer on the face of the earth, with the mark of Cain on his brow."

"I was a mere infant when he last came to Shetland, so that I have no personal recollection of him, but from what I have heard, he was very much liked by all with whom he associated," said Ronald.

"Your heretical countrymen would probably think that killing an officer of the Inquisition was a very venial offence, and not look upon him with any horror on that account; but depend on it, an avenging Nemesis followed him to his grave, or will follow him, if he still lives," remarked the priest. "But we are now close to your ship. I would advise you not to let the marquis know that you are acquainted with that part of his history, which he would desire to keep secret. At first I thought that you were the son of Don Hernan, but I see that I was mistaken."

As soon as the felucca was towed alongside the frigate, the prisoners, as well as the marquis and his daughter, and the priest, were removed on board.

After inspecting the felucca, the captain resolved to keep her as a tender to the frigate, believing that she might be made very useful in capturing the enemy's merchantmen, as, from her rig, she might get close to them without being suspected.

Lord Claymore highly commended Morton for the gallant way in which he had taken the vessel.

"I scarcely know what to do with the prisoners," he observed. "We must not cut their throats, or hang them at the yard-arms, but that would be the simplest way of disposing of them, and they probably will not come to any better end."

Ronald also told his captain all he had heard of the Marquis of Medea.

"The old scoundrel!" was the answer. "However, he is our guest, and he has a lovely daughter; we must treat him politely."

The most important information, however, was the statement made by the marquis, that Spain had at length declared herself independent of France, and formed a league with England.

"It may be true, but we must not trust to it till we have more certain information," remarked Lord Claymore.

The calm lasted long enough to have the felucca over-hauled, somewhat cleansed, and put in order. Glover was placed in command of her, with two midshipmen and twenty men. The prisoners were secured below on board the frigate, and sentries put over them, while Lord Claymore gave up a cabin to the young lady, and accommodated the marquis and the priest with cots in his own. It was very difficult to please the old marquis, who, notwithstanding the trouble taken to attend to his comfort, grumbled at everything—so much so, that Lord Claymore would have sent him on board the felucca to shift for himself, had it not been for his daughter, who showed herself contented and thankful for the kindness she and her father were receiving, while her brilliant smiles and joyous laughter proved that she was sincere in her expressions.

The breeze came at last, and the frigate, followed by the little felucca, stood on towards the Spanish coast.

In the course of his duty, Morton was going the round of the decks, when he heard a voice from among the prisoners calling to him in French: "A poor dying wretch would speak to you. Have pity, brave Englishman, and hear what he has to say!"

"Who are you?" asked Morton.

"I was captain of the felucca. I am now a criminal, expecting speedy death," returned the speaker.

The master at arms held up the lantern he carried, and as its light fell on the countenance of the person who had addressed him, Morton recognised the old white-bearded captain who had made so desperate a resistance when his vessel was attacked. He had been lying at his length on some straw on the deck. He was now supporting himself on one arm that he might have a better look at the lieutenant as he passed.

"What would you say to me?" asked Morton.

"Many things, if you will listen to me," answered the old pirate. "I overheard part of your conversation with the priest. I know more about you than you suppose."

"What can you know about me?" asked Morton, very much surprised. "Here are two persons I fall in with unexpectedly and both assert they know more about me than I do myself," he thought.

"If you will have me removed out of earshot of my comrades, I will tell you," replied the old pirate. "We cannot speak in a language which some of them do not understand."

Morton ordered the old man to be unshackled, and to be conducted to another part of the deck. After he had gone his rounds, he returned and took a seat on a bucket by his side.

"Thanks, sir, for this kindness," said the old pirate; though as he spoke Ronald rather doubted his sincerity. "It is not thrown away. You see before you a victim to circumstances. I have done many evil deeds— many things of which I repent—but necessity drove me to commit them; poverty, that stern task-master, urged me on—not inclination, believe me. I say this that you may not look at me with the disgust that you might otherwise do. However, I am not now going to give an account of my life—I may some day, if you desire it; simply I will tell you who I am. You know already who the old man is whom I took prisoner."

"I should like to know who you are," said Ronald.

"I am, then, the celebrated Don Annibal Tacon," said the old man, in a tone of no little conceit. "I have made my name famous in most parts of the world. For some reason or other, however, my enterprises have not been as successful as they ought, and I have continued in the same state of poverty in which I began life. I say this as an excuse for myself, and to excite your compassion. It is not the matter on which I wish to speak to you. I have, since my early days, been acquainted with the Marquis de Medea. He, too, led a wild life in his youth; and there are many things he did which he would not like mentioned. Many years ago, when you were but a child, he encountered me in Cadiz. Promising me a large reward, and giving me a handsome sum as an earnest of his intentions, he engaged me on a hazardous and daring enterprise. It was no less than to sail to the North of England—to the islands of Shetland—and to carry off from a castle, situated on the shores of one of them, a child, the son of a certain Captain Don Hernan Escalante. I see you are interested in my account; you may well be so. I heard you speaking of that castle. I accomplished my errand. I attacked the castle, bore away the child, and purposed to return to Cadiz to receive my reward, and to learn what the noble marquis wished as to the disposal of the boy. I had some idea, indeed, of concealing him, and employing him to wring from the marquis the gold which I might require. My plans were, however, frustrated. I was driven by a gale nearly across the Atlantic, and so many British cruisers swarmed in all directions, that I was continually driven back whenever I attempted to approach the Spanish coast. At length a Spanish vessel hove in sight. As she drew nearer, I recognised her as a corvette commanded by an officer I knew, Pedro Alvarez by name. I at first thought she was a friend, but, by the way she approached, I suspected she had hostile intentions. I endeavoured to make my escape, for I have always held that men should never fight if they can help it. That is to say, if an enemy has a rich cargo on board, a wise man may fight to capture it; but if he himself has anything of value on board, he will fly to preserve it, and only fight when he cannot preserve it by any other means.

"The corvette bore down upon us, and so well did she sail, that I found escape impossible. She ran me aboard; and Pedro Alvarez and half his crew, leaping down on my decks, drove my people before them; he fought his way into the cabin—there was the infant, on the possession of whom I rested the hopes of my future support. He seized it, and hurrying back to his own vessel, called his people to follow him, and then, casting my craft free, he stood away to the eastward, without firing a shot at my vessel, seeming content with the mischief he had already done me. Believing that he would at once go back to Spain, denounce the marquis, and proclaim me as his tool, I dared not return to Cadiz. I therefore sailed for the West Indies, and employed myself in an occupation which I found tolerably lucrative, seeing that all the transactions were for ready money, though it must be owned that it was somewhat hazardous. Some people might call it piracy. It was not till long afterwards, when I was paying a visit to Cadiz, that I learned that Pedro Alvarez was himself an outlaw, that he had not returned to Cadiz, and that neither he nor his ship had ever again been heard of.

"From the words which reached my ears while you were talking to that wily priest, I have an idea that you are no other than the son of Don Hernan and the lady of that northern castle. By whatever means you got back there, my evidence will be of value to prove that you are the child I carried off. I have no doubt about it; I would swear to the fact. Let us be friends, then. You assist to preserve my life; I will help you to obtain your rights as the Marquis de Medea, and to become the master of the immense estates belonging to the family."

The old villain looked up into the young officer's face, expecting a favourable reply. Ronald was almost inclined to laugh at his outrageous audacity and cunning. "You are entirely mistaken as to whom I am," he answered. "The child you carried off from Lunnasting was never brought back. I cannot even tell you if he is still alive; but whether or not, I have no power to make any bargain with you. You must abide by the consequences of your misdeeds."

"I have always done that," answered the pirate, with an humble look. "From my youth up till now I have been an unfortunate man. I hope some day the tide will turn; but there is not much time left for that."

Ronald made no reply. He resolved to tell the captain all he had heard; and on going aft he left directions that the old prisoner should be strictly watched, and not allowed to communicate with any one.

As Ronald could not speak to Lord Claymore in the cabin lest he should be overheard, he waited till he came on deck.

"A pretty set of scoundrels!" was Lord Claymore's remark. "That cunning priest, too, depend on it, has a finger in the pie. A curious coincidence there is, too, in your own history, and in that of the story you have just told me. You want to find out to what family you belong, and here is a title, estates, and fortune, waiting to be filled by the rightful heir, if he can be found."

Though the captain entertained a considerable amount of contempt for the marquis, for the sake of his daughter he treated him with his usual courtesy. He felt that he should be very glad to get him out of the ship; still, by keeping him on board, he might possibly gain some information which might prove useful in establishing the claims of Hilda Wardhill's son to the property of his father. The most important object was to discover if that son was alive, and where he was, and what had become of Pedro Alvarez.

Lord Claymore and Ronald talked the subject over with such intense eagerness, that the latter almost forgot his own interests in the desire he felt to be of service to one whom he justly looked on as his patroness and the protectress of his youth. The homicide of the familiar of the Inquisition fully accounted for Pedro's not returning to Spain; while as that country had been for so many years at war with England, he might have found it impossible to send him back to Shetland. He might have written, to be sure, but the letters might have miscarried. Nothing was more probable. It was too likely, however, that both he and the boy were lost. Still Lord Claymore hoped the contrary, and, perhaps, his anxiety was not a little increased by the satisfaction he anticipated in ousting the rascally old marquis from his estates and rank.

The coast of Spain was soon after made, and the active operations in which the ship was engaged allowed the captain or Morton very little time to think of that or any other subject.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

RONALD MEETS HIS FATHER—OLD DOULL RECOGNISES ROLF MORTON—MORTON RECOGNISES FATHER MENDEZ—ROLF MORTON'S DIPLOMACY—A FORT ATTACKED—BLUE JACKETS ON SHORE.

A few days after the "Imperious" reached the coast, a brig of war hove in sight. The frigate stood towards her, and when the two vessels had hove-to, the commander of the brig came on board, and confirmed the statement made by the marquis and the priest, that Spain had made peace with England, and had determined to throw off the French yoke.

"Much good may our allies do us," remarked Lord Claymore who had a profound contempt for the Spaniards. "A cowardly braggadocio set. I would place no dependence on their support in case of need."

The commander of the brig bowed; he was not likely to dispute the matter with his lordship.

"By-the-by, I have brought a passenger—an old shipmate of mine, whom Mr Morton will at all events be glad to see."

"And so shall I," said Lord Claymore, glancing at the gangway, at which a fine, stout, elderly-looking man appeared, dressed in plain clothes. Ronald sprang aft, and grasped his hand.

"Father, I little expected to see you. Where have you come from?"

"From Malta last," answered Rolf Morton. "I went out there to look for you. When I arrived home in the old 'Lion,' and was paid off, I applied for and obtained my discharge from the service. I found that I had made a mistake in going to sea the last time. It did not suit me. I felt, too, that for your sake as well as my own, it would be better for me to live in a private capacity on shore. You are a lieutenant, and may soon be a commander. It would stand in your way in society to have it said that your father was a boatswain; not that you would be ashamed of me, I am sure, but we cannot make people wiser, we must take them as they are. Besides, I am more at liberty to attend to the subject you wrote to me about. I am not very sanguine of success, but still it would be satisfactory, for your sake, to discover after all that I was of good family, and to find some relations for you."

After Rolf Morton had talked for some time with his son, Lord Claymore sent for him. He had heard from the commander of the brig that he had retired from the service. He shook him warmly by the hand.

"It will be pleasant for you to be together, and as the brig has to return immediately, I shall be glad if you like to remain on board. Your son, I doubt not, can put you up."

Rolf Morton thanked the captain for his kindness. It was the very thing he wished. He wanted to be for some time with Ronald, and to talk to old Doull and Eagleshay, to ascertain what they knew about his early days.

Most of the prisoners taken in the felucca were sent to Malta, but Captain Tacon was kept on board the frigate, as Lord Claymore considered that he might assist in clearing up the matter in which he was so much interested, and be made useful in other ways, from his knowledge of the coast and of the towns and villages near it.

Rolf was naturally eager to see Doull and Eagleshay. The two old men were sent for. Their astonishment was very great when they were told that he was the boy they had carried off from Shetland nearly fifty years before. He assured them that he clearly recollected the circumstance, and that two of the men were tall, like them, and that there was one much older and shorter. They both looked at him very earnestly for some time. At last Doull exclaimed—

"I remember well a mark on the laddie's hand; a spike or a nail had run through it just between the bones of the fore and second finger. It was a curious mark to be in the hand of so small a child, and I mind well thinking that mark will never wear out, and I shall know the boy whenever I meet him again."

While the old man was speaking, Rolf was examining his hand. He held it out with the back up; there, sure enough, was visible, through the brown, hairy skin, a deep mark, evidently produced as Doull had described.

"Father, there can be no longer any doubt about the matter," exclaimed Ronald with more excitement than he usually exhibited.

"I am afraid that the evidence will not be considered very strong in a court of law," observed Rolf. "However, it leaves no doubt on my mind that these two men assisted to carry me off. But that is all! they cannot say, more than I can, to what family I belong; and as for this paper which they say they signed, that of course is irretrievably lost. Ronald, I have made up my mind what I will do—I will go back to Whalsey and take possession of my farm. I no longer fear Sir Marcus Wardhill— he can do me no harm, and I will try to live at peace with the old man. I will take these two men, Doull and Eagleshay, with me. Lord Claymore will give them their discharge. They are no longer fit for duty. They shall be well looked after, for I bear them no ill-will for the injury they did me. All has been for the best, I doubt not: we can but do our duty and trust in Providence."

Ronald heartily entered into his father's plans, though he felt much more sanguine than he did as to the result. He said that he had little doubt but that Lord Claymore would grant a superannuated discharge to the two old men.

"All will be right," said Rolf, cheerfully. "I must, however, take a cruise with you first, my lad. It will be time enough to think of going home when we fall in with a ship bound that way."

Rolf had gone into the gun-room soon after his arrival on board, and did not return on deck till the evening. When he made his appearance, the marquis and his daughter and the priest were assembled there. All the officers, and especially Glover, welcomed him cordially, and Lord Claymore came up and spoke to him in the kindest way. Rolf looked across the deck at the Spanish party, and could not help fixing his eyes on the priest.

"I am sure it is him," he exclaimed. "I never saw a stronger likeness; years have only dried him up a little." And without another word he walked up to the old man, and said—

"What, Father Mendez! it is long since we met; but don't you know me?"

The priest cast a calm glance at him, totally free from astonishment, as he answered—"Time changes all people. If it is long since we met, you must excuse me if I do not recollect you."

"I forgot that," said Rolf, frankly. "My name is Morton—we met in Shetland. Were you not then called Father Mendez?"

"I am called Father John," said the priest in the same calm tone as before.

This reply would have irritated many men, but Rolf looked at him, and said quietly—"That may be your present name, but unless my recollection strangely deceives me, you were called Mendez."

The priest bowed and replied—"I have seen many people in the course of my life. It is possible we have met, but you will understand that the memory of a man, as he advances in life, is not as good as it was in his youth."

"I have the advantage of you in that respect, certainly," persisted Rolf, in a manner very different to his usual custom.

"Come, come, Father Mendez! we were too much together in days gone by for you to have forgotten me any more than I have forgotten you," continued Morton. "I do not wish to annoy you, but I wish you to do an act of justice. The son of your former patron and friend, Don Hernan Escalante, was carried off from his mother's house by the crew of a schooner which suddenly appeared before the place. He has never since been heard of: what has become of him? I ask. His mother has friends in this ship who will insist on knowing the truth. It will be wiser for you to speak it at once."

The priest was more thrown off his guard by this appeal than he probably had ever been before.

"I know nothing of Don Hernan's child," he answered quickly. "I did not carry him off, nor was I privy to it. I could not be guilty of such a deed; the members of my order never employ violence to bring about what they desire. That alone ought to convince you that I am guiltless of the charge you make against me."

Morton was not in the slightest degree more convinced than at first by what the father said.

"Then, at all events, you do not deny that you were in Shetland, and that I knew you as Father Mendez?" said Rolf.

The marquis and his daughter were all this time watching the speaker with looks of astonishment.

"There would be no object in denying that such was the case," answered the priest. "I was in Shetland rather more than twenty years ago, and I was then known as Father Mendez. I am at present called Father John."

"I thought so," observed Rolf, bluntly. "You'll understand me, sir—I am but a rough seaman, and all I want is fair play. You and I were present at the marriage of that unhappy lady of Lunnasting Castle. We are the only surviving witnesses, besides Pedro Alvarez, and where he is to be found no one knows. What I ask you is, to help me to see her righted, and to find her lost son. Now that England and Spain are friends again, her son may be discovered with less difficulty than before; when discovered, assist in enabling him to regain his father's property in Spain, which was, if I remember rightly, at once taken possession of by his relative, who, from the accounts received in Shetland, was a very great rogue; the Marquis of Medea he was called. I am not wrong, I fancy."

Father Mendez rapidly thought over the state of the case. The marquis had certainly supported him during the misfortunes which their country had suffered by the French invasion, but he had been anything but a generous patron, and it occurred to him that he might make a far better bargain with the rightful heir, if he could be found; and he believed that Rolf Morton, notwithstanding what he said, had the clue to his discovery, if he did not already know where to place his hand on him. When therefore, Rolf, feeling that he might have been too abrupt and uncourteous in the way he had addressed him, apologised for his roughness, the priest answered blandly—

"Do not concern yourself, my friend, on that account. We are old acquaintance. I have good reason to remember your sterling qualities, which far outweigh all others, and I own that it would be with great satisfaction that I found you looked upon me as a friend. I love justice as much as you do, and most anxious I am to attain it for the son of my old and esteemed friend, Don Hernan. Tell me how I can assist you, and I promise you all the aid I can afford."

Rolf Morton was not so completely deceived by this speech as the priest might have supposed. He, however, thanked him, and rejoined Ronald in his quarter-deck walk, which they had to themselves, as the captain and most of the officers had, gone below.

Very great was Rolf's surprise when he found that the dignified old gentleman on the other side of the deck was the Marquis de Medea, and still more so on hearing that the very man who had carried off the young Hernan Escalante was in irons below.

Ronald reported to Lord Claymore the fresh discoveries that had been made. "All will go right, Morton, in the end, depend on that," he answered. "I am very sanguine that the young Hernan, if he is forthcoming, will obtain his rights, and so will your father his; those two old men were not fallen in with by you in so unlikely a way, except for some object. 'Never despair!' has always been my motto, adopt it, there is no safer one."

Lord Claymore would very gladly have landed the disagreeable marquis and the priest on the first part of the coast of Spain they made; but as the French still held numerous ports and towns to the west, they would have found it impossible to travel towards Cadiz, to which they expressed their wishes to proceed, and as there was a lady of the party, he could not, without great want of courtesy, have put them on shore. For the sake indeed of Don Josef's daughter, Donna Julia, the captain would very gladly have borne with his haughty and morose manners. The young lady, indeed, contrived to enchant every one on board; and those who knew the character of her father, and entertained hopes of dispossessing him of his property, could not help feeling compassion for one so young and lovely, who would, should they succeed, be in reality the principal sufferer.

The frigate was not to be idle; numberless were the dashing exploits performed by her gallant crew. In most of them Ronald took an active part, and several times his father insisted on accompanying him, as he observed, just to make him feel young again. Numerous vessels were also captured—one was a French privateer; some Spaniards taken in a prize were on board her. From these men Lord Claymore learned that within a day's sail there was a strong and important castle, garrisoned by French troops. This castle commanded a pass on the road by which the chief communication was kept open between the borders of France and the French army on the Ebro. A Spanish force, it was said, had already assembled, and commenced the siege of the place, but with little success. The frigate made a long tack off the coast; when she again stood in the fort was made out, situated on a commanding elevation, overlooking the road which wound along the shore. The frigate had her guns run out, and the crew stood at their quarters, ready for action. The officers, with their glasses, were examining the coast. The sun shone brightly; the water was blue, still more blue was the sky, shedding a brilliancy over the sand, the rocks, the hill-sides clothed with verdure, showing here and there the darker tints of orange or olive groves, with lighter shades where vineyards clothed the ground. Had it not been for that ominous-looking little fort, with its extended outworks, the landscape would have exhibited a picture of perfect rest and peace.

Nearer and nearer approached the frigate, gliding majestically over the smooth sea. Suddenly, emerging from a ravine, appeared a long line moving slowly on. Then dots which might have been mistaken for minute insects separated from it, and here and there puffs of smoke were seen, which were replied to by the fort with other puffs, and the faint thunder of cannon was heard on board the frigate.

"Those must be Spaniards attacking the fort," exclaimed the captain, mechanically whistling for a breeze to urge on the ship with the rapidity that might satisfy his impatience.

In a short time the whole line was enveloped in smoke, and every gun on the south side of the fortifications commenced firing, forming so dense a cloud that the operations of the assailants could no longer be distinguished.

"The Spaniards will have completed the work, and gained all the glory, before we can get there to help them," cried Glover. "I wish we had more wind!"

"So do the Spaniards, but depend on it they will wait for us. There will be nothing desperate done till we get up to their assistance," observed Hardman.

The marines were now ordered to prepare for landing. The captain had made up his mind to storm the place under cover of the frigate's guns. Morton volunteered to lead the party. The captain was doubtful about letting him go. Rolf declared that if his son went, he would go also as a volunteer. At last the wished-for breeze came, and the frigate rapidly approached the scene of action.

The breeze lifted the canopy of smoke which hung over it, and the combatants could now be seen, the Spaniards pushing on in great force and clambering over an out-work, from which the French, still fighting bravely, were retreating.

"Ay, those Spaniards have many an act of outrage and cruelty to avenge," observed the captain. "Their blood is up now; I never saw them fight so bravely."

The spectacle greatly increased the eagerness of all onboard the frigate to take part in the work. The crews of the boats, and those who were to go on the expedition, stood in readiness, with pistols in their belts, and cutlasses at their sides; the marines drawn up, stiff and prim, ready to step into the boats, offering a strong contrast to the blue-jackets, with their rolling, somewhat swaggering movements, while several not told off to go were stealing round in the hopes of being able to slip unnoticed into the boats.

The Spaniards, apparently encouraged by the approach of the British ship, and knowing that those they had some reason to suspect were witnesses of their conduct, charged with greater vigour.

At length the wished-for moment arrived. The "Imperious" teached in as close as the depth of water would allow. A spring had been got ready on her cable. The moment the anchor was dropped she opened her broadside on the fort, while the boats collecting on the other, the men sprang into them, and giving way, they pulled with lusty strokes towards the shore. The forts opened fire on them, but the boats were small objects, and though the shots ploughed up the water ahead and astern of them, no one was hit. As they reached the beach some way to the southward of the castle, the marines and bluejackets sprang on shore, and instantly formed; then "Onward!" was the word. The Spaniards welcomed them with vivas. There was little time for Morton to exchange greetings with the Spanish chief. A supply of scaling ladders had been prepared and brought on shore, and Lord Claymore had taken good care that they should be long enough. The seamen carried them, and rushed on, following Ronald and his father. Rolf kept up with the activity of a younger man. On they went; they soon distanced the Spaniards. The outworks had been secured. Through them they dashed. The scaling ladders were planted against the walls; the French made some attempt to throw them down, but some of the seamen held them fast at the foot while the others climbed up. Nothing could stop their impetuosity.

The Spaniards were now swarming up likewise. The enemy fought with the courage of despair. They well knew that, should they fall into the hands of the Spaniards, their doom would be sealed. A number of Spaniards had made good their footing, when the French charged them with such fury that many were cut down, or hurled back over the wall. Two or three were defending themselves bravely. One of the number fell. Morton, seeing what was taking place, and that they would all be killed, calling some of his men, made a dash at the enemy. Rolf was by his side, and lifting up the man who had been wounded, bore him out of the fight. More marines and seamen clambered up.

The Frenchmen gave way and fled to the citadel. Some were cut down while bravely defending the gate. The rest got in; the portal was closed, and then a white flag was hung out, as a token that the governor was ready to surrender on terms. His sole proposal was that he and his men might be conveyed on board the British ship-of-war, to save them from the certainty of being cut to pieces by the Spaniards, should they have them in their power.

The Spaniard whom Rolf had rescued was full of gratitude. He had been knocked down, but his wound was not dangerous. He was a militia-man; a brave fellow, as he had proved himself by the ardour with which he had scaled the walls. He put his house and everything he possessed at the service of those who had preserved his life. He lived, he said, some way to the south. He should now return home, having had fighting enough, and a wound to show as a proof of his patriotism.

Ronald took the offers at what he believed them worth, and parted from him on the most friendly terms. The prisoners were conveyed on board the frigate; and as they embarked, the scowling looks the Spaniards cast on them showed what would have been their fate had they remained on shore.

Part only of the work to be accomplished was performed. As the French would soon again occupy the fort if it was left without a garrison, and as the Spaniards could not be depended on, it was necessary to blow it up. A supply of powder was found in it; some more was landed from the ship. Excavations were made under the walls; the train was laid. One gig only remained. Bob Doull undertook to fire the train. The rest of the crew were in their seats, with oars in hand, ready to pull off. Ronald stood up in the stern-sheets to give the word. Bob applied the match, and stooped down as if to blow it, and was in consequence sent reeling backward, while the fire, like a snake, went hissing along the ground. Ronald shouted to him. He picked himself up, and rushed down to the boat with his hair singed and his face blackened like a negro's.

"Shove off, my lads! Give way!" cried Ronald.

Not a moment was to be lost. As it was, they could scarcely hope to get beyond the influence of the explosion. There was a hollow, rumbling sound, and then, in clouds of smoke and flame and dust, up flew the whole of the fortress into the air. The next moment down rushed huge masses of masonry; it seemed indeed as if the solid rock itself had been rent, and filled up the whole of the road. Some loud splashes astern showed that the boat had but narrowly escaped destruction.

"The French will find it difficult to pass this way again for some time to come," observed Morton to the midshipman who accompanied him.

"Yes, sir," observed the youngster, who was somewhat of a philosopher. "It is wonderful how easy it is to knock a thing to pieces. It must have taken some years to have put all those stones together."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

LORD CLAYMORE ON SHORE—MORTON AGAIN MEETS EDDA—RONALD'S NEW FRIEND, DON JOSEF.

The frigate continued her cruise further to the south; she touched at several places, and Lord Claymore or Morton went constantly on shore to urge the Spanish authorities and the people to take up arms, and to assist in organising their forces. From the information the captain received, he considered it important to communicate with some influential people a short way in the interior. He gave his instructions to Morton, therefore, and directed him to take two men as a body-guard, and to set off at once. Ronald selected Truefitt and Doull, the first for his steadiness and the other for his cool courage, and having procured a guide and a horse, and two wretched mules which had been too decrepit for the enemy to carry off, proceeded on his mission.

Ronald and his guide rode on ahead, the two seamen following. Neither of them were better horsemen than are sailors in general, but they were at all events able to stick on, in spite of the kicks and stumbles and flounders their animals occasionally gave; each was armed with a good thick stick, besides a cutlass by his side and a brace of pistols in his belt. "This is a pleasanter sort of a cruise, mate, to my notion, than we've had the chance of for many a day," observed Doull.

"Keep up on your four legs, you brute, now. The people here, though, seems to me to be an outlandish set; did you ever hear such a rum way of speaking as they've got? they all seem to have got lumps of biscuit or duff, or something of that sort, down their throats."

"That's the way they have. Different people speak a different lingo, just as different animals make different noises," answered Job, sententiously. "I can't say as how I likes these Dons; they've too stuck up and stand clear a manner about them to please me."

"That's my notion, too, Job," said Bob. "I like the Mounseers a precious sight better; when one is friends with them, they take to our ways a hundred-fold better than these Dons. They'll talk and laugh away, and drink too, with a fellow, just for all the world as if they were as regular born Christians as we are. That's what a Don will never do; he won't drink with you, he won't talk to you, he won't laugh or dance, and what's more, he won't fight with you; and that's what the Mounseers never refuses to do, and that's why I likes them."

Morton enjoyed the change very much, from his usual life on board ship; he had not the same objection to the Spaniards as had his followers, and as he had now sufficiently mastered their language to converse with ease, he was never at a loss for amusement, and was able to obtain all the information he required about the country. Three days were consumed in reaching his destination; the French, he found, had lately been in that part of the country, but had retired northward. The people were anxious to drive the French out of their country, but they wanted arms, and money, and leaders.

Ronald was treated with great courtesy wherever he appeared, and he felt himself a much more important personage than he had ever before been. He had concluded the work on which he had been sent, and was about to return to his ship, when one of the Spanish officials informed him that he had received notification of the approach of a British commissioner, a military officer, to assist them in organising their forces.

"He must be a great man, an important person," observed the Spaniard; "for he travels with many attendants, and his wife and family. No Spanish ladies would dream of travelling about the country at a time like this."

Morton considered that it would be his duty to communicate with the commissioner, and hearing that he was only a day's journey off, he set out to meet him. The village at which he arrived in the afternoon, like most in Spain, consisted of neat, low, white-washed houses, with bright, red-tiled roofs, most of them having massive wooden verandahs and trellis-work in front, forming arbours, over which vines in rich profusion were taught to trail. The interior, at all events, had a neat and clean appearance, but several blackened ruins, loop-holed walls, the upper part of which were thickly bespattered with bullet-marks, showed that it had been lately the scene of, perhaps, a brief but desperate encounter between the hostile forces. The inn where the British commissioner was said to be was pointed out to him. It was a long low building like the rest in the place; the ground floor being divided into two compartments, one serving as a kitchen and common eating-room, the other as a stable and sleeping-place for the muleteers; the upper part consisted of one large room, with dormitories roughly partitioned off round it. An English cavalry soldier was doing duty as sentry at the door. He informed Morton that the colonel had gone out with some of the authorities in the neighbourhood, but that the ladies were upstairs.

While Ronald was doubting what he should do, another man appeared and begged that he would walk up and remain till the colonel returned. Handing the bridle to his attendants with directions to them to wait for him, he threw himself off his horse, and followed the servant through the dark smoky kitchen to the stairs leading to the upper floor. His heart beat more quickly than usual, for he had a hope, though a faint one, that he was about once more to meet Edda Armytage, yet again he thought it very improbable that Colonel Armytage would bring her and her mother, accustomed as they had been to all the luxuries of life, into a part of the country in which travelling was so inconvenient and dangerous. Still they were in Spain. Of that Mrs Edmonstone had assured Glover. He sprang up the steps. The door was opened. He walked in with more than usual precipitation. At one end of the room were several persons with cloaks over their shoulders, and, hat in hand, sitting silent and solemn, evidently waiting the return of the commissioner. At the further end, in the deep window recess, sat two ladies. The back of one was turned towards him. The other was looking down at a piece of work on which she was engaged. Though jaded and looking very sad, her countenance was, he was certain, that of Mrs Armytage. His quick step roused both the ladies. They turned round. In an instant Edda's hand was placed in his. The rich blood mantled in her cheeks, her eyes sparkled with pleasure. She forgot everything but the happiness of again meeting him. Mrs Armytage received him most cordially. The Spaniards looked on at what was taking place, and twirled their moustachios. They thought the young stranger officer a very happy fellow. After the first greetings were over, and Ronald had explained how he came to be at the place, Mrs Armytage told him that Colonel Armytage had met with considerable pecuniary losses, and that when he received the appointment he now held, he wished her to accompany him, and that Edda had insisted on not being left behind.

"We knew that there were inconveniences to be encountered, though we did not suppose that there were any dangers to be feared to which we would not gladly submit for the sake of accompanying Colonel Armytage, who so much requires our care," observed Mrs Armytage. "The inconveniences are more ridiculous than disagreeable, and I fully believe Edda enjoys them; and as to dangers, we have found none hitherto, and rather look for them to add zest to the interest of the journey."

Mrs Armytage went on speaking in this strain for some time, when she became very grave. Ronald suspected that, although she might not have been unwilling to come, it was not only her husband's state of health which had induced her to accompany him. He knew how selfish and tyrannical Colonel Armytage always was, and he suspected that he had not given his wife the choice of remaining behind. Edda, as she watched her mother's countenance, grew silent, and a shade of melancholy also stole over her features. Mrs Armytage at last spoke.

"We are truly glad to see you again, Mr Morton, and you know how high you stand in both Edda's estimation and mine. Nothing you have ever done has forfeited our regard, but I dread that when Colonel Armytage returns he will not treat you in the way that we would desire. You know that he is irritable, and that when he has taken up a prejudice it is difficult to eradicate it. He has not got over the objections which he formerly expressed to you. Earnestly do I wish that he would. But you are generous and noble-minded; you will not think unkindly of us because one we are bound to obey treats you unjustly. I know that I describe my daughter's feelings, and I speak thus because I feel that it is due to you to say it."

While her mother was speaking, Edda looked up imploringly at Ronald. He could not help perceiving that her countenance wore an expression of tenderness and love towards him, and it was a sore trial for him to promise compliance with the unjust demands which her father might make on him. Mrs Armytage had spoken as she felt she was bound to do. In her heart she rebelled against her husband's commands. Edda was old enough both to judge and act for herself, she considered. She had perfect confidence in her sense and discretion. Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she rose from her seat and went to her room, leaving her daughter and Ronald together. The window recess was very deep; Edda had retired into it, and was thus concealed from the view of the people at the other end of the room. Ronald stood with his back towards them.

"Edda, I have never ceased to think of you, to ground all my expectations of earthly happiness on the hopes of making you mine," he exclaimed in a low deep voice. "You require no assurances of my love and my constancy; then promise me that you will not consent to become another's whatever may occur. I dare not ask you to disobey your father, and marry me against his will; but for your own sake, for mine, I do entreat you not to yield to his authority so far as to marry one you cannot love. I have hopes, great hopes that his objections to me may be removed; but till they are so, I dread lest he should compel you to give your hand to some one else. The promise I ask will give you strength to resist any unjust exercise of authority. No one holds in more respect than I do the duty of the obedience of a child to a parent; but in this case it would, I am certain, work woe to you, sorrow to your mother, and ultimate regret to your father. You will be firm, Edda? Promise me."

"Indeed, indeed I will," answered Miss Armytage. "Most faithfully and unreservedly I promise you that."

At that moment there was a commotion among the people at the other end of the room, and a scraping of their feet on the floor as they rose from their seats. They simultaneously began to bow with a formal air; the noise they had created made Ronald turn his head, and as he did so, he saw an officer in full uniform entering the room, followed by a number of persons in various costumes. A second glance told Ronald that Colonel Armytage was before him.

Ronald at once advanced to meet him, and said, "I am an officer of his Majesty's ship 'Imperious.' I was sent by my captain to communicate with the people in this district, and hearing that you were in the neighbourhood, I considered it my duty to inform you of what I have done."

"In that light I am perfectly ready to receive you sir," said the colonel, with a stiff bow. "But you will have the goodness to proceed at once with your narrative: you see that there are a number of people waiting to transact business with me, and that my time is short."

Ronald felt a disagreeable sensation at his heart as the colonel was speaking, but he overcame his feelings, and at once entered on the business which had brought him to the place.

The manner of Colonel Armytage was stiff and ungracious in the extreme. Ronald had done everything so well, and gave so clear an account of all the arrangements he had made, that the colonel could not do otherwise than express himself satisfied. At length he rose, and said in a formal way, "I think now, sir, our business is ended. You will, I conclude, at once return to your ship, and express to Lord Claymore my satisfaction at the arrangements which have been made. His lordship will, however, see the necessity of leaving to me the task which he has hitherto performed so efficiently."

Edda had not dared to stir from her seat, but had continued with her head bent down over some work, only venturing at times to cast a furtive glance at her father and Ronald, to ascertain how they got on together. Mrs Armytage soon afterwards joined her, and continued equally silent, her countenance exhibiting still greater anxiety and nervousness.

The colonel ceased speaking, and looked as if he expected the young officer to make his bow and walk straight out at the door, but Ronald felt that he must risk everything rather than take his departure without exchanging another word with Edda. He therefore, as soon as he rose, observing that Colonel Armytage had beckoned to one of the Spaniards to advance, said quietly, "I will pay my respects to Mrs and Miss Armytage before I go."

Before the colonel could reply he had crossed the room to them.

"Mrs Armytage, whatever happens, I entreat you to think favourably of me," he said; and then he took Edda's hand, willingly given him, and he whispered, "Farewell, dearest; we shall meet, I trust, ere long, again, when I have hopes that some of the difficulties which now surround us may be surmounted. Your promise, though we were interrupted before the whole was given, has afforded joy and contentment to my heart."

"Oh, but I give it entirely," Edda exclaimed, eagerly. "No power shall make me break it, believe me Ronald."

"You will be benighted, sir, and brigandage is rife," exclaimed Colonel Armytage, looking up with an angry glance, which Edda observed, but Ronald did not.

"Go, go!" she exclaimed. "Heaven protect you?"

Morton shook hands with Mrs Armytage, bowed to the colonel, and walked with as much dignity as he could command out of the room.

He threw himself on his horse, and rather than remain in the place he determined to ride back to a village he had passed on his way there, where he might find refreshment and rest both for man and beast during the night.

As Ronald passed the group of Spaniards, he saw one of those who had come in with Colonel Armytage stare very hard at him. It struck him at the moment that he recollected the man's features. He had just mounted his horse, when the person in question rushed down the steps, and grasped him by the hand.

"I am ashamed, my brave friend, that I should not at once have known you!" exclaimed the Spaniard. "But we both of us look to much greater advantage than we did on the day we stormed the fort, when we were covered with gunpowder and blood. But you must not go; come to my house, it is not many leagues off. You can be spared from your ship for a day or two longer."

Ronald thanked his friend Don Josef very warmly, but assured him that it was his duty to make the best of his way to the coast, as the ship would be standing in to take him.

"How unfortunate!" said the Spaniard. "I have to see your commissioner—he seems a very great man—or I would accompany you all the way, and we might stop at the houses of some of my friends. Still I must go a little way with you. Wait a moment; I will send for my horse: it is a poor animal—the only one those thieving French have left me. But a day of retribution is coming, and soon, I hope."

The steed was brought out; it was a far better animal than Ronald expected to see. The Spaniard mounted, and the cavalcade moved on.

The village was soon left behind. Ronald's new friend, however, had not accompanied him more than a league when he said he must return, or he should miss his interview altogether with the commissioner. He had given Morton during that time a great deal of information as to the state of the country, and the temper of the people generally. One feeling seemed to pervade all classes—the deepest hatred of their late master, and a desire to be free.

"Better times may arrive, the country may be restored to peace, prosperity may be her lot, and then I trust that you will come and visit me at my home, and receive the thanks of my wife and children for the benefit you conferred on me."

Saying this with the usual complimentary Spanish expressions, Don Josef turned his horse's head, and rode back towards the village from which they had started, while Ronald continued his journey.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A SPANISH INN—THE SPANIARDS AROUSED TO ARMS—RONALD HEADS A GUERILLA BAND—EDDA RESCUED BY RONALD.

The sun had set some short time when Ronald, with his companions, reached the village where the guide told him he could obtain shelter and refreshment. The village itself was small and mean, and the only house of entertainment it possessed offered but few attractions to the travellers to remain there. However, as their beasts required rest, they were compelled to dismount, and while the guide with the boys of the inn led the animals into the stables, Ronald and the two seamen walked into the common room, which served as dining-hall, kitchen, and apparently the sleeping-place of the family, as well as of a numerous family of fowls. A very unattractive dame, who presided over the culinary department of the establishment, was now engaged in preparing supper for a very mixed and somewhat suspicious-looking company, who were seated at a long table, on benches at one side of the room. None of them rose as the strangers entered, and the few who condescended to pay them any attention scowled at them from under their brows, as if resenting their appearance as an intrusion. Ronald was very little moved by the want of courtesy with which he was received, but, walking up to the presiding genius of the place, he inquired, in the best Spanish he could command, whether he and his followers could have beds and food. The old woman looked up with a sinister expression without speaking, while she continued stirring the pot boiling on the huge wood fire. Her eyes were bleared with the smoke, and her face was wrinkled and dried, with a few white hairs straggling over her brow, while the long yellow tusks which protruded beyond her thin lips gave her a peculiarly hag-like look. Ronald repeated his question.

"Food?—yes, and good enough for any one," she answered in a low croaking voice; "but for beds, the enemy carried them off, and everything in the house. There is space enough and to spare, upstairs, for a taller man than you to stretch his legs. You can go and look when you have a mind; your valise will serve you as a pillow, and a sack with some straw must be your mattress. Many a better man has slept in a worse bed."

"I do not doubt it," answered Ronald, calmly. "My men and I will manage well enough, but we are hungry, and shall be glad of food."

"All in good time," said the old woman, somewhat softening her tone, and pleased at being spoken to in her own language. "You may carry your baggage upstairs, and select any corner you like for your sleeping-place. The girl will be in and give you a light presently. See that there are no holes in the roof above you, in case it should rain. You will find it warmer too if you avoid those in the floor beneath you."

The old woman said this evidently with serious good-will. Ronald thanked her, and directly afterwards a stout buxom girl came from the further end of the hall, with a brass oil lamp in her hand. Taking the advice of the old woman, Ronald went upstairs to select a corner where he and his party might rest a night. The apartment consisted of the entire upper floor, but as the old woman had warned him, it contained not a particle of furniture, though, from its appearance, there was little doubt that there would be a large number of inhabitants. In several places through the roof he could see the stars shining, while the faint rays of light, and odours anything but faint, which came up through the floor, showed the numerous holes and rents which time had made in the boards.

"This is a rum place for our lieutenant to sleep in," observed Bob Doull to Job; "and as to the gentry below there, they are as cut-throat a crew as I ever set eyes on. I'll not let his valise go out of my hands, for it would be whipped up pretty smartly by one of these fellows, and we should never see more of it. Looking at the land from aboard the frigate, I never should have thought it was such an outlandish sort of a country. Should you, Job?"

"Can't say much for their manners. May be they are better than they look," answered the elder seaman; "but if it came to a scrimmage, I can't say but what I wouldn't mind tackling a dozen of them."

These remarks were made while Morton was taking a survey of the unpromising apartment. It had apparently been used as a barrack by the French when, not long ago, they occupied the village, and very little trouble had since been taken to clean it out. Morton asked the girl if his surmise was not correct.

"Yes, the demons! they have been here, and Heaven's curse go with them!" she answered, with startling fierceness. "It was dark when you rode in, or you would have seen the number of houses burnt down, vineyards and orange-groves rooted up for firewood; but that was not all the harm they did. Woe, unutterable woe, they inflicted on thousands. I had a lover, to whom I was betrothed; they slew him, and me they rendered wretched. But I need not tell my own griefs. Thousands have suffered as much as I have. There, senor, that corner you will find the freest from inconvenience. Place your valise and saddle-bags there—they will be safe. We are honest, though our accursed foes have made us poor indeed."

The poor girl's dark eyes flashed fire as she spoke. Ronald felt sure that he might trust her entirely. He ordered Bob and Job, therefore, to deposit his scanty baggage in the corner indicated, and to follow him below.

"What! does the lieutenant think he'll ever see them again if we does?" observed Bob.

"Orders is orders," answered Job; "but just you keep a bright look out on the stair while we're below, and as soon as we've stowed away some grub, we'll take it watch and watch, and go up and sit on 'em. The Dons will find it a hard job to carry them off then, I'll allow."

Satisfied with their arrangements, the two seamen followed their officer. He took his seat at one end of the table, and, as he did so, he fancied the other guests seemed to regard him with more friendly glances than before. Not a minute had elapsed before Maria placed before him a smoking puchero (a dish to be found from one end of Spain to the other, composed of various sorts of meats minced with spices). There was a soup also, of a reddish tinge, from being coloured with saffron, and sausages rather too strong of garlic, and very white bread, and two dishes of vegetables, one of which was of garbanzos, a sort of haricot beans. There was wine also, and brandy; indeed, the inhabitants must have managed cleverly to hide their stores from their invaders to enable them to produce so good a supply. Job and Bob did not conceal their astonishment; the viands suited their taste, and they did ample justice to them.

Though Ronald was in love, and had just cause to be anxious as to its result, and though he had only just parted from his mistress, yet he was a sailor; he had been a midshipman, and he had always a remarkably good appetite; and now, much to his surprise (for when he stopped at the door of the inn he had no thoughts of eating), he felt every inclination to do justice to the feast set before him.

"He'll do," observed Job to Bob, as they sat at a respectful distance from their officer. "At first I could not tell what had come over him as he got on his horse after he'd been talking to that young lady up at the window. Whenever I sees a man able to take his grub, whatever's the matter with him, I knows it's all right."

Ronald had addressed some of the Spaniards near him. They listened respectfully. He spoke to them of the tyranny to which Spain had been so long subject; of the sufferings she had endured; of the only means of freedom—the rising of the whole nation, as a man, to throw off the yoke. "The English will help you, but they can only help, remember. It is you who must do the work," he added.

"True, true! the cabaliero speaks well!" resounded from all parts of the room.

"It is to urge you to rise in arms, to drive the invaders from your country that I have come among you," said Ronald. He warmed on the subject. His hearers grew enthusiastic.

"We have arms! we have arms!" they shouted. "We will bring them forth; we have powder and shot. The enemy are not far off. We will go and meet them. We will drive them before us like sheep."

Ronald was satisfied with the effect of his address. He knew perfectly well that in the morning, after they had cleaned their arms and filled their pouches with powder, they would stop and consider before they advanced to meet the enemy. Altogether, he felt that the evening had not been ill-spent, and at the end of it the very people who had, when he came among them, cast on him such sinister looks, now regarded him with the greatest respect. It was late before he threw himself down on a sack of straw in a corner of the upper room, wrapped up in his cloak. Though the room was occupied by a large portion of the rest of the guests, who kept up a concert of snores all night long, he managed to sleep soundly till daylight.

The next morning after breakfast, having bid farewell to his new friends, he continued his journey. Nothing would induce his horse to go out of a walk, while the mules refused to proceed at a faster rate than their more noble companions, so that their progress was of necessity slow. As they proceeded the sad traces of warfare were everywhere visible. Whole farmsteads burnt to the ground, houses in ruins, churches unroofed, groves of orange and olive trees cut down, fences destroyed, and fields once fertile returning to a state of nature, and overrun with weeds. The guide looked at them as objects to which he was well accustomed, but now and then he ground his teeth and swore vengeance on the heads of the fell invaders of his country.

Job had been remarking where the devastating hand of war had passed, and had counted up the objects destroyed. At length he gave expression to his thoughts.

"Well, to my mind, it's a mortal pity people take to fighting on shore. Why don't they stick to their ships, and always have it out afloat? that's the sensible thing, and then the only harm's done to the ships and the men who has the fun of the thing, and gets the honour and glory, and that's all natural and right."