WHEN LONDON BURNED

By G. A. Henty

CONTENTS

PREFACE

WHEN LONDON BURNED

CHAPTER I — FATHERLESS

CHAPTER II — A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

CHAPTER III — A THIEF SOMEWHERE

CHAPTER IV — CAPTURED

CHAPTER V — KIDNAPPED

CHAPTER VI — A NARROW ESCAPE

CHAPTER VII — SAVED FROM A VILLAIN

CHAPTER VIII — THE CAPTAIN'S YARN

CHAPTER IX — THE FIRE IN THE SAVOY

CHAPTER X — HOW JOHN WILKES FOUGHT THE
DUTCH

CHAPTER XI — PRINCE RUPERT

CHAPTER XII — NEW FRIENDS

CHAPTER XIII — THE BATTLE OF LOWESTOFT

CHAPTER XIV — HONOURABLE SCARS

CHAPTER XV — THE PLAGUE

CHAPTER XVI — FATHER AND SON

CHAPTER XVII — SMITTEN DOWN

CHAPTER XVIII — A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE

CHAPTER XIX — TAKING POSSESSION

CHAPTER XX — THE FIGHT OFF DUNKIRK

CHAPTER XXI — LONDON IN FLAMES

CHAPTER XXII — AFTER THE FIRE

PREFACE

We are accustomed to regard the Reign of Charles II. as one of the most
inglorious periods of English History; but this was far from being the
case. It is true that the extravagance and profligacy of the Court were
carried to a point unknown before or since, forming,—by the
indignation they excited among the people at large,—the main cause
of the overthrow of the House of Stuart. But, on the other hand, the
nation made extraordinary advances in commerce and wealth, while the
valour of our sailors was as conspicuous under the Dukes of York and
Albemarle, Prince Rupert and the Earl of Sandwich, as it had been under
Blake himself, and their victories resulted in transferring the commercial
as well as the naval supremacy of Holland to this country. In spite of the
cruel blows inflicted on the well-being of the country, alike by the
extravagance of the Court, the badness of the Government, the Great
Plague, and the destruction of London by fire, an extraordinary extension
of our trade occurred during the reign of Charles II. Such a period,
therefore, although its brilliancy was marred by dark shadows, cannot be
considered as an inglorious epoch. It was ennobled by the bravery of our
sailors, by the fearlessness with which the coalition of France with
Holland was faced, and by the spirit of enterprise with which our
merchants and traders seized the opportunity, and, in spite of national
misfortunes, raised England in the course of a few years to the rank of
the greatest commercial power in the world.

G. A. HENTY.

WHEN LONDON BURNED

CHAPTER I — FATHERLESS

Lad stood looking out of the dormer window in a scantily furnished attic
in the high-pitched roof of a house in Holborn, in September 1664. Numbers
of persons were traversing the street below, many of them going out
through the bars, fifty yards away, into the fields beyond, where some
sports were being held that morning, while country people were coming in
with their baskets from the villages of Highgate and Hampstead, Tyburn and
Bayswater. But the lad noted nothing that was going on; his eyes were
filled with tears, and his thoughts were in the little room behind him;
for here, coffined in readiness for burial, lay the body of his father.

Sir Aubrey Shenstone had not been a good father in any sense of the word.
He had not been harsh or cruel, but he had altogether neglected his son.
Beyond the virtues of loyalty and courage, he possessed few others. He had
fought, as a young man, for Charles, and even among the Cavaliers who rode
behind Prince Rupert was noted for reckless bravery. When, on the fatal
field of Worcester, the last hopes of the Royalists were crushed, he had
effected his escape to France and taken up his abode at Dunkirk. His
estates had been forfeited; and after spending the proceeds of his wife's
jewels and those he had carried about with him in case fortune went
against the cause for which he fought, he sank lower and lower, and had
for years lived on the scanty pension allowed by Louis to the King and his
adherents.

Sir Aubrey had been one of the wild, reckless spirits whose conduct did
much towards setting the people of England against the cause of Charles.
He gambled and drank, interlarded his conversation with oaths, and
despised as well as hated the Puritans against whom he fought. Misfortune
did not improve him; he still drank when he had money to do so, gambled
for small sums in low taverns with men of his own kind, and quarrelled and
fought on the smallest provocation. Had it not been for his son he would
have taken service in the army of some foreign Power; but he could not
take the child about with him, nor could he leave it behind.

Sir Aubrey was not altogether without good points. He would divide his
last crown with a comrade poorer than himself. In the worst of times he
was as cheerful as when money was plentiful, making a joke of his
necessities and keeping a brave face to the world.

Wholly neglected by his father, who spent the greater portion of his time
abroad, Cyril would have fared badly indeed had it not been for the
kindness of Lady Parton, the wife of a Cavalier of very different type to
Sir Aubrey. He had been an intimate friend of Lord Falkland, and, like
that nobleman, had drawn his sword with the greatest reluctance, and only
when he saw that Parliament was bent upon overthrowing the other two
estates in the realm and constituting itself the sole authority in
England. After the execution of Charles he had retired to France, and did
not take part in the later risings, but lived a secluded life with his
wife and children. The eldest of these was of the same age as Cyril; and
as the latter's mother had been a neighbour of hers before marriage, Lady
Parton promised her, on her death-bed, to look after the child, a promise
that she faithfully kept.

Sir John Parton had always been adverse to the association of his boy with
the son of Sir Aubrey Shenstone; but he had reluctantly yielded to his
wife's wishes, and Cyril passed the greater portion of his time at their
house, sharing the lessons Harry received from an English clergyman who
had been expelled from his living by the fanatics of Parliament. He was a
good and pious man, as well as an excellent scholar, and under his
teaching, aided by the gentle precepts of Lady Parton, and the strict but
kindly rule of her husband, Cyril received a training of a far better kind
than he would ever have been likely to obtain had he been brought up in
his father's house near Norfolk. Sir Aubrey exclaimed sometimes that the
boy was growing up a little Puritan, and had he taken more interest in his
welfare would undoubtedly have withdrawn him from the healthy influences
that were benefiting him so greatly; but, with the usual acuteness of
children, Cyril soon learnt that any allusion to his studies or his life
at Sir John Parton's was disagreeable to his father, and therefore seldom
spoke of them.

Sir Aubrey was never, even when under the influence of his potations,
unkind to Cyril. The boy bore a strong likeness to his mother, whom his
father had, in his rough way, really loved passionately. He seldom spoke
even a harsh word to him, and although he occasionally expressed his
disapproval of the teaching he was receiving, was at heart not sorry to
see the boy growing up so different from himself; and Cyril, in spite of
his father's faults, loved him. When Sir Aubrey came back with unsteady
step, late at night, and threw himself on his pallet, Cyril would say to
himself, "Poor father! How different he would have been had it not been
for his misfortunes! He is to be pitied rather than blamed!" And so, as
years went on, in spite of the difference between their natures, there had
grown up a sort of fellowship between the two; and of an evening
sometimes, when his father's purse was so low that he could not indulge in
his usual stoup of wine at the tavern, they would sit together while Sir
Aubrey talked of his fights and adventures.

"As to the estates, Cyril," he said one day, "I don't know that Cromwell
and his Roundheads have done you much harm. I should have run through
them, lad—I should have diced them away years ago—and I am not
sure but that their forfeiture has been a benefit to you. If the King ever
gets his own, you may come to the estates; while, if I had had the
handling of them, the usurers would have had such a grip on them that you
would never have had a penny of the income."

"It doesn't matter, father," the boy replied. "I mean to be a soldier some
day, as you have been, and I shall take service with some of the
Protestant Princes of Germany; or, if I can't do that, I shall be able to
work my way somehow."

"What can you work at, lad?" his father said, contemptuously.

"I don't know yet, father; but I shall find some work to do."

Sir Aubrey was about to burst into a tirade against work, but he checked
himself. If Cyril never came into the estates he would have to earn his
living somehow.

"All right, my boy. But do you stick to your idea of earning your living
by your sword; it is a gentleman's profession, and I would rather see you
eating dry bread as a soldier of fortune than prospering in some vile
trading business."

Cyril never argued with his father, and he simply nodded an assent and
then asked some question that turned Sir Aubrey's thoughts on other
matters.

The news that Monk had declared for the King, and that Charles would
speedily return to take his place on his father's throne, caused great
excitement among the Cavaliers scattered over the Continent; and as soon
as the matter was settled, all prepared to return to England, in the full
belief that their evil days were over, and that they would speedily be
restored to their former estates, with honours and rewards for their many
sacrifices.

"I must leave you behind for a short time, Cyril," his father said to the
boy, when he came in one afternoon. "I must be in London before the King
arrives there, to join in his welcome home, and for the moment I cannot
take you; I shall be busy from morning till night. Of course, in the
pressure of things at first it will be impossible for the King to do
everything at once, and it may be a few weeks before all these Roundheads
can be turned out of the snug nests they have made for themselves, and the
rightful owners come to their own again. As I have no friends in London, I
should have nowhere to bestow you, until I can take you down with me to
Norfolk to present you to our tenants, and you would be grievously in my
way; but as soon as things are settled I will write to you or come over
myself to fetch you. In the meantime I must think over where I had best
place you. It will not matter for so short a time, but I would that you
should be as comfortable as possible. Think it over yourself, and let me
know if you have any wishes in the matter. Sir John Parton leaves at the
end of the week, and ere another fortnight there will be scarce another
Englishman left at Dunkirk."

"Don't you think you can take me with you, father?"

"Impossible," Sir Aubrey said shortly. "Lodgings will be at a great price
in London, for the city will be full of people from all parts coming up to
welcome the King home. I can bestow myself in a garret anywhere, but I
could not leave you there all day. Besides, I shall have to get more
fitting clothes, and shall have many expenses. You are at home here, and
will not feel it dull for the short time you have to remain behind."

Cyril said no more, but went up, with a heavy heart, for his last day's
lessons at the Partons'. Young as he was, he was accustomed to think for
himself, for it was but little guidance he received from his father; and
after his studies were over he laid the case before his master, Mr.
Felton, and asked if he could advise him. Mr. Felton was himself in high
spirits, and was hoping to be speedily reinstated in his living. He looked
grave when Cyril told his story.

"I think it is a pity that your father, Sir Aubrey, does not take you over
with him, for it will assuredly take longer to bring all these matters
into order than he seems to think. However, that is his affair. I should
think he could not do better for you than place you with the people where
I lodge. You know them, and they are a worthy couple; the husband is, as
you know, a fisherman, and you and Harry Parton have often been out with
him in his boat, so it would not be like going among strangers. Continue
your studies. I should be sorry to think that you were forgetting all that
you have learnt. I will take you this afternoon, if you like, to my
friend, the Curé of St. Ursula. Although we differ on religion we are good
friends, and should you need advice on any matters he will give it to you,
and may be of use in arranging for a passage for you to England, should
your father not be able himself to come and fetch you."

Sir Aubrey at once assented to the plan when Cyril mentioned it to him,
and a week later sailed for England; Cyril moving, with his few
belongings, to the house of Jean Baudoin, who was the owner and master of
one of the largest fishing-boats in Dunkirk. Sir Aubrey had paid for his
board and lodgings for two months.

"I expect to be over to fetch you long before that, Cyril," he had said,
"but it is as well to be on the safe side. Here are four crowns, which
will furnish you with ample pocket-money. And I have arranged with your
fencing-master for you to have lessons regularly, as before; it will not
do for you to neglect so important an accomplishment, for which, as he
tells me, you show great aptitude."

The two months passed. Cyril had received but one letter from his father.
Although it expressed hopes of his speedy restoration to his estates,
Cyril could see, by its tone, that his father was far from satisfied with
the progress he had made in the matter. Madame Baudoin was a good and
pious woman, and was very kind to the forlorn English boy; but when a
fortnight over the two months had passed, Cyril could see that the
fisherman was becoming anxious. Regularly, on his return from the fishing,
he inquired if letters had arrived, and seemed much put out when he heard
that there was no news. One day, when Cyril was in the garden that
surrounded the cottage, he heard him say to his wife,—

"Well, I will say nothing about it until after the next voyage, and then
if we don't hear, the boy must do something for his living. I can take him
in the boat with me; he can earn his victuals in that way. If he won't do
that, I shall wash my hands of him altogether, and he must shift for
himself. I believe his father has left him with us for good. We were wrong
in taking him only on the recommendation of Mr. Felton. I have been
inquiring about his father, and hear little good of him."

Cyril, as soon as the fisherman had gone, stole up to his little room. He
was but twelve years old, and he threw himself down on his bed and cried
bitterly. Then a thought struck him; he went to his box, and took out from
it a sealed parcel; on it was written, "To my son. This parcel is only to
be opened should you find yourself in great need, Your Loving Mother." He
remembered how she had placed it in his hands a few hours before her
death, and had said to him,—

"Put this away, Cyril. I charge you let no one see it. Do not speak of it
to anyone—not even to your father. Keep it as a sacred gift, and do
not open it unless you are in sore need. It is for you, and you alone. It
is the sole thing that I have to leave you; use it with discretion. I fear
that hard times will come upon you."

Cyril felt that his need could hardly be sorer than it was now, and
without hesitation he broke the seals, and opened the packet. He found
first a letter directed to himself. It began,—

"MY DARLING CYRIL,—I trust that it will be many years before you
open this parcel and read these words. I have left the enclosed as a
parting gift to you. I know not how long this exile may last, or whether
you will ever be able to return to England. But whether you do or not, it
may well be that the time will arrive when you may find yourself in sore
need. Your father has been a loving husband to me, and will, I am sure, do
what he can for you; but he is not provident in his habits, and may not,
after he is left alone, be as careful in his expenditure as I have tried
to be. I fear then that the time will come when you will be in need of
money, possibly even in want of the necessaries of life. All my other
trinkets I have given to him; but the one enclosed, which belonged to my
mother, I leave to you. It is worth a good deal of money, and this it is
my desire that you shall spend upon yourself. Use it wisely, my son. If,
when you open this, you are of age to enter the service of a foreign
Prince, as is, I know, the intention of your father, it will provide you
with a suitable outfit. If, as is possible, you may lose your father by
death or otherwise while you are still young, spend it on your education,
which is the best of all heritages. Should your father be alive when you
open this, I pray you not to inform him of it. The money, in his hands,
would last but a short time, and might, I fear, be wasted. Think not that
I am speaking or thinking hardly of him. All men, even the best, have
their faults, and his is a carelessness as to money matters, and a certain
recklessness concerning them; therefore, I pray you to keep it secret from
him, though I do not say that you should not use the money for your common
good, if it be needful; only, in that case, I beg you will not inform him
as to what money you have in your possession, but use it carefully and
prudently for the household wants, and make it last as long as may be. My
good friend, Lady Parton, if still near you, will doubtless aid you in
disposing of the jewels to the best advantage. God bless you, my son! This
is the only secret I ever had from your father, but for your good I have
hidden this one thing from him, and I pray that this deceit, which is
practised for your advantage, may be forgiven me. YOUR LOVING MOTHER."

It was some time before Cyril opened the parcel; it contained a jewel-box
in which was a necklace of pearls. After some consideration he took this
to the Curé of St. Ursula, and, giving him his mother's letter to read,
asked him for his advice as to its disposal.

"Your mother was a thoughtful and pious woman," the good priest said,
after he had read the letter, "and has acted wisely in your behalf. The
need she foresaw might come, has arisen, and you are surely justified in
using her gift. I will dispose of this trinket for you; it is doubtless of
considerable value. If it should be that your father speedily sends for
you, you ought to lay aside the money for some future necessity. If he
does not come for some time, as may well be—for, from the news that
comes from England, it is like to be many months before affairs are
settled—then draw from it only such amounts as are needed for your
living and education. Study hard, my son, for so will you best be
fulfilling the intentions of your mother. If you like, I will keep the
money in my hands, serving it out to you as you need it; and in order that
you may keep the matter a secret, I will myself go to Baudoin, and tell
him that he need not be disquieted as to the cost of your maintenance, for
that I have money in hand with which to discharge your expenses, so long
as you may remain with him."

The next day the Curé informed Cyril that he had disposed of the necklace
for fifty louis. Upon this sum Cyril lived for two years.

Things had gone very hardly with Sir Aubrey Shenstone. The King had a
difficult course to steer. To have evicted all those who had obtained
possession of the forfeited estates of the Cavaliers would have been to
excite a deep feeling of resentment among the Nonconformists. In vain Sir
Aubrey pressed his claims, in season and out of season. He had no powerful
friends to aid him; his conduct had alienated the men who could have
assisted him, and, like so many other Cavaliers who had fought and
suffered for Charles I., Sir Aubrey Shenstone found himself left
altogether in the cold. For a time he was able to keep up a fair
appearance, as he obtained loans from Prince Rupert and other Royalists
whom he had known in the old days, and who had been more fortunate than
himself; but the money so obtained lasted but a short time, and it was not
long before he was again in dire straits.

Cyril had from the first but little hope that his father would recover his
estates. He had, shortly before his father left France, heard a
conversation between Sir John Parton and a gentleman who was in the inner
circle of Charles's advisers. The latter had said,—

"One of the King's great difficulties will be to satisfy the exiles.
Undoubtedly, could he consult his own inclinations only, he would on his
return at once reinstate all those who have suffered in their estates from
their loyalty to his father and himself. But this will be impossible. It
was absolutely necessary for him, in his proclamation at Breda, to promise
an amnesty for all offences, liberty of conscience and an oblivion as to
the past, and he specially says that all questions of grants, sales and
purchases of land, and titles, shall be referred to Parliament. The
Nonconformists are at present in a majority, and although it seems that
all parties are willing to welcome the King back, you may be sure that no
Parliament will consent to anything like a general disturbance of the
possessors of estates formerly owned by Royalists. In a vast number of
cases, the persons to whom such grants were made disposed of them by sale
to others, and it would be as hard on them to be ousted as it is upon the
original proprietors to be kept out of their possession. Truly it is a
most difficult position, and one that will have to be approached with
great judgment, the more so since most of those to whom the lands were
granted were generals, officers, and soldiers of the Parliament, and Monk
would naturally oppose any steps to the detriment of his old comrades.

"I fear there will be much bitter disappointment among the exiles, and
that the King will be charged with ingratitude by those who think that he
has only to sign an order for their reinstatement, whereas Charles will
have himself a most difficult course to steer, and will have to govern
himself most circumspectly, so as to give offence to none of the governing
parties. As to his granting estates, or dispossessing their holders, he
will have no more power to do so than you or I. Doubtless some of the
exiles will be restored to their estates; but I fear that the great bulk
are doomed to disappointment. At any rate, for a time no extensive changes
can be made, though it may be that in the distance, when the temper of the
nation at large is better understood, the King will be able to do
something for those who suffered in the cause.

"It was all very well for Cromwell, who leant solely on the Army, to
dispense with a Parliament, and to govern far more autocratically than
James or Charles even dreamt of doing; but the Army that supported
Cromwell would certainly not support Charles. It is composed for the most
part of stern fanatics, and will be the first to oppose any attempt of the
King to override the law. No doubt it will erelong be disbanded; but you
will see that Parliament will then recover the authority of which Cromwell
deprived it; and Charles is a far wiser man than his father, and will
never set himself against the feeling of the country. Certainly, anything
like a general reinstatement of the men who have been for the last ten
years haunting the taverns of the Continent is out of the question; they
would speedily create such a revulsion of public opinion as might bring
about another rebellion. Hyde, staunch Royalist as he is, would never
suffer the King to make so grievous an error; nor do I think for a moment
that Charles, who is shrewd and politic, and above all things a lover of
ease and quiet, would think of bringing such a nest of hornets about his
ears."

When, after his return to England, it became evident that Sir Aubrey had
but small chance of reinstatement in his lands, his former friends began
to close their purses and to refuse to grant further loans, and he was
presently reduced to straits as severe as those he had suffered during his
exile. The good spirits that had borne him up so long failed now, and he
grew morose and petulant. His loyalty to the King was unshaken; Charles
had several times granted him audiences, and had assured him that, did it
rest with him, justice should be at once dealt to him, but that he was
practically powerless in the matter, and the knight's resentment was
concentrated upon Hyde, now Lord Clarendon, and the rest of the King's
advisers. He wrote but seldom to Cyril; he had no wish to have the boy
with him until he could take him down with him in triumph to Norfolk, and
show him to the tenants as his heir. Living from hand to mouth as he did,
he worried but little as to how Cyril was getting on.

"The lad has fallen on his feet somehow," he said, "and he is better where
he is than he would be with me. I suppose when he wants money he will
write and say so, though where I should get any to send to him I know not.
Anyhow, I need not worry about him at present."

Cyril, indeed, had written to him soon after the sale of the necklace,
telling him that he need not distress himself about his condition, for
that he had obtained sufficient money for his present necessities from the
sale of a small trinket his mother had given him before her death, and
that when this was spent he should doubtless find some means of earning
his living until he could rejoin him. His father never inquired into the
matter, though he made a casual reference to it in his next letter, saying
that he was glad Cyril had obtained some money, as it would, at the
moment, have been inconvenient to him to send any over.

Cyril worked assiduously at the school that had been recommended to him by
the Curé, and at the end of two years he had still twenty louis left. He
had several conversations with his adviser as to the best way of earning
his living.

"I do not wish to spend any more, Father," he said, "and would fain keep
this for some future necessity."

The Curé agreed with him as to this, and, learning from his master that he
was extremely quick at figures and wrote an excellent hand, he obtained a
place for him with one of the principal traders of the town. He was to
receive no salary for a year, but was to learn book-keeping and accounts.
Although but fourteen, the boy was so intelligent and zealous that his
employer told the Curé that he found him of real service, and that he was
able to entrust some of his books entirely to his charge.

Six months after entering his service, however, Cyril received a letter
from his father, saying that he believed his affairs were on the point of
settlement, and therefore wished him to come over in the first ship
sailing. He enclosed an order on a house at Dunkirk for fifty francs, to
pay his passage. His employer parted with him with regret, and the kind
Curé bade him farewell in terms of real affection, for he had come to take
a great interest in him.

"At any rate, Cyril," he said, "your time here has not been wasted, and
your mother's gift has been turned to as much advantage as even she can
have hoped that it would be. Should your father's hopes be again
disappointed, and fresh delays arise, you may, with the practice you have
had, be able to earn your living in London. There must be there, as in
France, many persons in trade who have had but little education, and you
may be able to obtain employment in keeping the books of such people, who
are, I believe, more common in England than here. Here are the sixteen
louis that still remain; put them aside, Cyril, and use them only for
urgent necessity."

Cyril, on arriving in London, was heartily welcomed by his father, who
had, for the moment, high hopes of recovering his estates. These, however,
soon faded, and although Sir Aubrey would not allow it, even to himself,
no chance remained of those Royalists, who had, like him, parted with
their estates for trifling sums, to be spent in the King's service, ever
regaining possession of them.

It was not long before Cyril perceived that unless he himself obtained
work of some sort they would soon be face to face with actual starvation.
He said nothing to his father, but started out one morning on a round of
visits among the smaller class of shopkeepers, offering to make up their
books and write out their bills and accounts for a small remuneration. As
he had a frank and pleasant face, and his foreign bringing up had given
him an ease and politeness of manner rare among English lads of the day,
it was not long before he obtained several clients. To some of the smaller
class of traders he went only for an hour or two, once a week, while
others required their bills and accounts to be made out daily. The pay was
very small, but it sufficed to keep absolute want from the door. When he
told his father of the arrangements he had made, Sir Aubrey at first raged
and stormed; but he had come, during the last year or two, to recognise
the good sense and strong will of his son, and although he never verbally
acquiesced in what he considered a degradation, he offered no actual
opposition to a plan that at least enabled them to live, and furnished him
occasionally with a few groats with which he could visit a tavern.

So things had gone on for more than a year. Cyril was now sixteen, and his
punctuality, and the neatness of his work, had been so appreciated by the
tradesmen who first employed him, that his time was now fully occupied,
and that at rates more remunerative than those he had at first obtained.
He kept the state of his resources to himself, and had no difficulty in
doing this, as his father never alluded to the subject of his work. Cyril
knew that, did he hand over to him all the money he made, it would be
wasted in drink or at cards; consequently, he kept the table furnished as
modestly as at first, and regularly placed after dinner on the corner of
the mantel a few coins, which his father as regularly dropped into his
pocket.

A few days before the story opens, Sir Aubrey had, late one evening, been
carried upstairs, mortally wounded in a brawl; he only recovered
consciousness a few minutes before his death.

"You have been a good lad, Cyril," he said faintly, as he feebly pressed
the boy's hand; "far better than I deserve to have had. Don't cry, lad;
you will get on better without me, and things are just as well as they
are. I hope you will come to your estates some day; you will make a better
master than I should ever have done. I hope that in time you will carry
out your plan of entering some foreign service; there is no chance here. I
don't want you to settle down as a city scrivener. Still, do as you like,
lad, and unless your wishes go with mine, think no further of service."

"I would rather be a soldier, father. I only undertook this work because I
could see nothing else."

"That is right, my boy, that is right. I know you won't forget that you
come of a race of gentlemen."

He spoke but little after that. A few broken words came from his lips that
showed that his thoughts had gone back to old times. "Boot and saddle," he
murmured. "That is right. Now we are ready for them. Down with the
prick-eared knaves! God and King Charles!" These were the last words he
spoke.

Cyril had done all that was necessary. He had laid by more than half his
earnings for the last eight or nine months. One of his clients, an
undertaker, had made all the necessary preparations for the funeral, and
in a few hours his father would be borne to his last resting-place. As he
stood at the open window he thought sadly over the past, and of his
father's wasted life. Had it not been for the war he might have lived and
died a country gentleman. It was the war, with its wild excitements, that
had ruined him. What was there for him to do in a foreign country, without
resource or employment, having no love for reading, but to waste his life
as he had done? Had his wife lived it might have been different. Cyril had
still a vivid remembrance of his mother, and, though his father had but
seldom spoken to him of her, he knew that he had loved her, and that, had
she lived, he would never have given way to drink as he had done of late
years.

To his father's faults he could not be blind; but they stood for nothing
now. He had been his only friend, and of late they had been drawn closer
to each other in their loneliness; and although scarce a word of
endearment had passed between them, he knew that his father had cared for
him more than was apparent in his manner.

A few hours later, Sir Aubrey Shenstone was laid to rest in a little
graveyard outside the city walls. Cyril was the only mourner; and when it
was over, instead of going back to his lonely room, he turned away and
wandered far out through the fields towards Hampstead, and then sat
himself down to think what he had best do. Another three or four years
must pass before he could try to get service abroad. When the time came he
should find Sir John Parton, and beg him to procure for him some letter of
introduction to the many British gentlemen serving abroad. He had not seen
him since he came to England. His father had met him, but had quarrelled
with him upon Sir John declining to interest himself actively to push his
claims, and had forbidden Cyril to go near those who had been so kind to
him.

The boy had felt it greatly at first, but he came, after a time, to see
that it was best so. It seemed to him that he had fallen altogether out of
their station in life when the hope of his father's recovering his estates
vanished, and although he was sure of a kindly reception from Lady Parton,
he shrank from going there in his present position. They had done so much
for him already, that the thought that his visit might seem to them a sort
of petition for further benefits was intolerable to him.

For the present, the question in his mind was whether he should continue
at his present work, which at any rate sufficed to keep him, or should
seek other employment. He would greatly have preferred some life of
action,—something that would fit him better to bear the fatigues and
hardships of war,—but he saw no prospect of obtaining any such
position.

"I should be a fool to throw up what I have," he said to himself at last.
"I will stick to it anyhow until some opportunity offers; but the sooner I
leave it the better. It was bad enough before; it will be worse now. If I
had but a friend or two it would not be so hard; but to have no one to
speak to, and no one to think about, when work is done, will be lonely
indeed."

At any rate, he determined to change his room as soon as possible. It
mattered little where he went so that it was a change. He thought over
various tradesmen for whom he worked. Some of them might have an attic, he
cared not how small, that they might let him have in lieu of paying him
for his work. Even if they never spoke to him, it would be better to be in
a house where he knew something of those downstairs, than to lodge in one
where he was an utter stranger to all. He had gone round to the shops
where he worked, on the day after his father's death, to explain that he
could not come again until after the funeral, and he resolved that next
morning he would ask each in turn whether he could obtain a lodging with
them.

The sun was already setting when he rose from the bank on which he had
seated himself, and returned to the city. The room did not feel so lonely
to him as it would have done had he not been accustomed to spending the
evenings alone. He took out his little hoard and counted it. After paying
the expenses of the funeral there would still remain sufficient to keep
him for three or four months should he fall ill, or, from any cause, lose
his work. He had one good suit of clothes that had been bought on his
return to England,—when his father thought that they would assuredly
be going down almost immediately to take possession of the old Hall,—and
the rest were all in fair condition.

The next day he began his work again; he had two visits to pay of an hour
each, and one of two hours, and the spare time between these he filled up
by calling at two or three other shops to make up for the arrears of work
during the last few days.

The last place he had to visit was that at which he had the longest task
to perform. It was at a ship-chandler's in Tower Street, a large and dingy
house, the lower portion being filled with canvas, cordage, barrels of
pitch and tar, candles, oil, and matters of all sorts needed by
ship-masters, including many cannon of different sizes, piles of balls,
anchors, and other heavy work, all of which were stowed away in a yard
behind it. The owner of this store was a one-armed man. His father had
kept it before him, but he himself, after working there long enough to
become a citizen and a member of the Ironmongers' Guild, had quarrelled
with his father and had taken to the sea. For twenty years he had voyaged
to many lands, principally in ships trading in the Levant, and had passed
through a great many adventures, including several fights with the Moorish
corsairs. In the last voyage he took, he had had his arm shot off by a
ball from a Greek pirate among the Islands. He had long before made up his
differences with his father, but had resisted the latter's entreaties that
he should give up the sea and settle down at the shop; on his return after
this unfortunate voyage he told him that he had come home to stay.

"I shall be able to help about the stores after a while," he said, "but I
shall never be the man I was on board ship. It will be hard work to take
to measuring out canvas and to weighing iron, after a free life on the
sea, but I don't so much mind now I have had my share of adventures;
though I dare say I should have gone on for a few more years if that
rascally ball had not carried away my arm. I don't know but that it is
best as it is, for the older I got the harder I should find it to fall
into new ways and to settle down here."

"Anyhow, I am glad you are back, David," his father said.

"You are forty-five, and though I don't say it would not have been better
if you had remained here from the first, you have learnt many things you
would not have learnt here. You know just the sort of things that masters
of ships require, and what canvas and cables and cordage will suit their
wants. Besides, customers like to talk with men of their own way of
thinking, and sailors more, I think, than other men. You know, too, most
of the captains who sail up the Mediterranean, and may be able to bring
fresh custom into the shop. Therefore, do not think that you will be of no
use to me. As to your wife and child, there is plenty of room for them as
well as for you, and it will be better for them here, with you always at
hand, than it would be for them to remain over at Rotherhithe and only to
see you after the shutters are up."

Eight years later Captain Dave, as he was always called, became sole owner
of the house and business. A year after he did so he was lamenting to a
friend the trouble that he had with his accounts.

"My father always kept that part of the business in his own hands," he
said, "and I find it a mighty heavy burden. Beyond checking a bill of
lading, or reading the marks on the bales and boxes, I never had occasion
to read or write for twenty years, and there has not been much more of it
for the last fifteen; and although I was a smart scholar enough in my
young days, my fingers are stiff with hauling at ropes and using the
marling-spike, and my eyes are not so clear as they used to be, and it is
no slight toil and labour to me to make up an account for goods sold. John
Wilkes, my head shopman, is a handy fellow; he was my boatswain in the Kate,
and I took him on when we found that the man who had been my father's
right hand for twenty years had been cheating him all along. We got on
well enough as long as I could give all my time in the shop; but he is no
good with the pen—all he can do is to enter receipts and sales.

"He has a man under him, who helps him in measuring out the right length
of canvas and cables or for weighing a chain or an anchor, and knows
enough to put down the figures; but that is all. Then there are the two
smiths and the two apprentices; they don't count in the matter. Robert
Ashford, the eldest apprentice, could do the work, but I have no fancy for
him; he does not look one straight in the face as one who is honest and
above board should do. I shall have to keep a clerk, and I know what it
will be—he will be setting me right, and I shall not feel my own
master; he will be out of place in my crew altogether. I never liked
pursers; most of them are rogues. Still, I suppose it must come to that."

"I have a boy come in to write my bills and to make up my accounts, who
would be just the lad for you, Captain Dave. He is the son of a
broken-down Cavalier, but he is a steady, honest young fellow, and I fancy
his pen keeps his father, who is a roystering blade, and spends most of
his time at the taverns. The boy comes to me for an hour, twice a week; he
writes as good a hand as any clerk and can reckon as quickly, and I pay
him but a groat a week, which was all he asked."

"Tell him to come to me, then. I should want him every day, if he could
manage it, and it would be the very thing for me."

"I am sure you would like him," the other said; "he is a good-looking
young fellow, and his face speaks for him without any recommendation. I
was afraid at first that he would not do for me; I thought there was too
much of the gentleman about him. He has good manners, and a gentle sort of
way. He has been living in France all his life, and though he has never
said anything about his family—indeed he talks but little, he just
comes in and does his work and goes away—I fancy his father was one
of King Charles's men and of good blood."

"Well, that doesn't sound so well," the sailor said, "but anyhow I should
like to have a look at him."

"He comes to me to-morrow at eleven and goes at twelve," the man said,
"and I will send him round to you when he has done."

Cyril had gone round the next morning to the ships' store.

"So you are the lad that works for my neighbour Anderson?" Captain Dave
said, as he surveyed him closely. "I like your looks, lad, but I doubt
whether we shall get on together. I am an old sailor, you know, and I am
quick of speech and don't stop to choose my words, so if you are quick to
take offence it would be of no use your coming to me."

"I don't think I am likely to take offence," Cyril said quietly; "and if
we don't get on well together, sir, you will only have to tell me that you
don't want me any longer; but I trust you will not have often the occasion
to use hard words, for at any rate I will do my best to please you."

"You can't say more, lad. Well, let us have a taste of your quality. Come
in here," and he led him into a little room partitioned off from the shop.
"There, you see," and he opened a book, "is the account of the sales and
orders yesterday; the ready-money sales have got to be entered in that
ledger with the red cover; the sales where no money passed have to be
entered to the various customers or ships in the ledger. I have made out a
list—here it is—of twelve accounts that have to be drawn out
from that ledger and sent in to customers. You will find some of them are
of somewhat long standing, for I have been putting off that job. Sit you
down here. When you have done one or two of them I will have a look at
your work, and if that is satisfactory we will have a talk as to what
hours you have got disengaged, and what days in the week will suit you
best."

It was two hours before Captain Dave came in again. Cyril had just
finished the work; some of the accounts were long ones, and the writing
was so crabbed that it took him some time to decipher it.

"Well, how are you getting on, lad?" the Captain asked.

"I have this moment finished the last account."

"What! Do you mean to say that you have done them all! Why, it would have
taken me all my evenings for a week. Now, hand me the books; it is best to
do things ship-shape."

He first compared the list of the sales with the entries, and then Cyril
handed him the twelve accounts he had drawn up. Captain David did not
speak until he had finished looking through them.

"I would not have believed all that work could have been done in two
hours," he said, getting up from his chair. "Orderly and well written, and
without a blot. The King's secretary could not have done better! Well, now
you have seen the list of sales for a day, and I take it that be about the
average, so if you come three times a week you will always have two days'
sales to enter in the ledger. There are a lot of other books my father
used to keep, but I have never had time to bother myself about them, and
as I have got on very well so far, I do not see any occasion for you to do
so, for my part it seems to me that all these books are only invented by
clerks to give themselves something to do to fill up their time. Of
course, there won't be accounts to send out every day. Do you think with
two hours, three times a week, you could keep things straight?"

"I should certainly think so, sir, but I can hardly say until I try,
because it seems to me that there must be a great many items, and I can't
say how long it will take entering all the goods received under their
proper headings; but if the books are thoroughly made up now, I should
think I could keep them all going."

"That they are not," Captain David said ruefully; "they are all horribly
in arrears. I took charge of them myself three years ago, and though I
spend three hours every evening worrying over them, they get further and
further in arrears. Look at those files over there," and he pointed to
three long wires, on each of which was strung a large bundle of papers; "I
am afraid you will have to enter them all up before you can get matters
into ship-shape order. The daily sale book is the only one that has been
kept up regularly."

"But these accounts I have made up, sir? Probably in those files there are
many other goods supplied to the same people."

"Of course there are, lad, though I did not think of it before. Well, we
must wait, then, until you can make up the arrears a bit, though I really
want to get some money in."

"Well, sir, I might write at the bottom of each bill 'Account made up to,'
and then put in the date of the latest entry charged."

"That would do capitally, lad—I did not think of that. I see you
will be of great use to me. I can buy and sell, for I know the value of
the goods I deal in; but as to accounts, they are altogether out of my
way. And now, lad, what do you charge?"

"I charge a groat for two hours' work, sir; but if I came to you three
times a week, I would do it for a little less."

"No, lad, I don't want to beat you down; indeed, I don't think you charge
enough. However, let us say, to begin with, three groats a week."

This had been six weeks before Sir Aubrey Shenstone's death; and in the
interval Cyril had gradually wiped off all the arrears, and had all the
books in order up to date, to the astonishment of his employer.

CHAPTER II — A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

"I am glad to see you again, lad," Captain David said, when Cyril entered
his shop. "I have been thinking of the news you gave me last week, and the
mistress and I have been talking it over. Where are you lodging?"

"I have been lodging until now in Holborn," Cyril replied; "but I am going
to move."

"Yes; that is what we thought you would be doing. It is always better to
make a change after a loss. I don't want to interfere in your business,
lad, but have you any friends you are thinking of going to?"

"No, sir; I do not know a soul in London save those I work for."

"That is bad, lad—very bad. I was talking it over with my wife, and
I said that maybe you were lonely. I am sure, lad, you are one of the
right sort. I don't mean only in your work, for as for that I would back
you against any scrivener in London, but I mean about yourself. It don't
need half an eye to see that you have not been brought up to this sort of
thing, though you have taken to it so kindly, but there is not one in a
thousand boys of your age who would have settled down to work and made
their way without a friend to help them as you have done; it shows that
there is right good stuff in you. There, I am so long getting under weigh
that I shall never get into port if I don't steer a straight course. Now,
my ideas and my wife's come to this: if you have got no friends you will
have to take a lodging somewhere among strangers, and then it would be one
of two things—you would either stop at home and mope by yourself, or
you would go out, and maybe get into bad company. If I had not come across
you I should have had to employ a clerk, and he would either have lived
here with us or I should have had to pay him enough to keep house for
himself. Now in fact you are a clerk; for though you are only here for six
hours a week—you do all the work there is to do, and no clerk could
do more. Well, we have got an attic upstairs which is not used, and if you
like to come here and live with us, my wife and I will make you heartily
welcome."

"Thank you, indeed," Cyril said warmly. "It is of all things what I should
like; but of course I should wish to pay you for my board. I can afford to
do so if you will employ me for the same hours as at present."

"No, I would not have that, lad; but if you like we can reckon your board
against what I now pay you. We feed John Wilkes and the two apprentices,
and one mouth extra will make but little difference. I don't want it to be
a matter of obligation, so we will put your board against the work you do
for me. I shall consider that we are making a good bargain."

"It is your pleasure to say so, sir, but I cannot tell you what a load
your kind offer takes off my mind. The future has seemed very dark to me."

"Very well. That matter is settled, then. Come upstairs with me and I will
present you to my wife and daughter; they have heard me speak of you so
often that they will be glad to see you. In the first place, though, I
must ask you your name. Since you first signed articles and entered the
crew I have never thought of asking you."

"My name is Cyril, sir—Cyril Shenstone."

His employer nodded and at once led the way upstairs. A motherly looking
woman rose from the seat where she was sitting at work, as they entered
the living-room.

"This is my Prince of Scriveners, Mary, the lad I have often spoken to you
about. His name is Cyril; he has accepted the proposal we talked over last
night, and is going to become one of the crew on board our ship."

"I am glad to see you," she said to Cyril, holding out her hand to him. "I
have not met you before, but I feel very grateful to you. Till you came,
my husband was bothered nearly out of his wits; he used to sit here
worrying over his books, and writing from the time the shop closed till
the hour for bed, and Nellie and I dared not to say as much as a word. Now
we see no more of his books, and he is able to go out for a walk in the
fields with us as he used to do before."

"It is very kind of you to say so, Mistress," Cyril said earnestly; "but
it is I, on the contrary, who am deeply grateful to you for the offer
Captain Dave has been good enough to make me. You cannot tell the pleasure
it has given me, for you cannot understand how lonely and friendless I
have been feeling. Believe me, I will strive to give you as little trouble
as possible, and to conform myself in all ways to your wishes."

At this moment Nellie Dowsett came into the room. She was a pretty girl
some eighteen years of age.

"This is Cyril, your father's assistant, Nellie," her mother said.

"You are welcome, Master Cyril. I have been wanting to see you. Father has
been praising you up to the skies so often that I have had quite a
curiosity to see what you could be like."

"Your father is altogether too good, Mistress Nellie, and makes far more
of my poor ability than it deserves."

"And is he going to live with us, mother?" Nellie asked.

"Yes, child; he has accepted your father's offer."

Nellie clapped her hands.

"That is good," she said. "I shall expect you to escort me out sometimes,
Cyril. Father always wants me to go down to the wharf to look at the ships
or to go into the fields; but I want to go sometimes to see the fashions,
and there is no one to take me, for John Wilkes always goes off to smoke a
pipe with some sailor or other, and the apprentices are stupid and have
nothing to say for themselves; and besides, one can't walk alongside a boy
in an apprentice cap."

"I shall be very happy to, Mistress, when my work is done, though I fear
that I shall make but a poor escort, for indeed I have had no practice
whatever in the esquiring of dames."

"I am sure you will do very well," Nellie said, nodding approvingly. "Is
it true that you have been in France? Father said he was told so."

"Yes; I have lived almost all my life in France."

"And do you speak French?"

"Yes; I speak it as well as English."

"It must have been very hard to learn?"

"Not at all. It came to me naturally, just as English did."

"You must not keep him any longer now, Nellie; he has other appointments
to keep, and when he has done that, to go and pack up his things and see
that they are brought here by a porter. He can answer some more of your
questions when he comes here this evening."

Cyril returned to Holborn with a lighter heart than he had felt for a long
time. His preparations for the move took him but a short time, and two
hours later he was installed in a little attic in the ship-chandler's
house. He spent half-an-hour in unpacking his things, and then heard a
stentorian shout from below,—

"Masthead, ahoy! Supper's waiting."

Supposing that this hail was intended for himself, he at once went
downstairs. The table was laid. Mistress Dowsett took her seat at the
head; her husband sat on one side of her, and Nellie on the other. John
Wilkes sat next to his master, and beyond him the elder of the two
apprentices. A seat was left between Nellie and the other apprentice for
Cyril.

"Now our crew is complete, John," Captain Dave said. "We have been wanting
a supercargo badly."

"Ay, ay, Captain Dave, there is no doubt we have been short-handed in that
respect; but things have been more ship-shape lately."

"That is so, John. I can make a shift to keep the vessel on her course,
but when it comes to writing up the log, and keeping the reckoning, I make
but a poor hand at it. It was getting to be as bad as that voyage of the
Jane in the Levant, when the supercargo had got himself stabbed at
Lemnos."

"I mind it, Captain—I mind it well. And what a trouble there was
with the owners when we got back again!"

"Yes, yes," the Captain said; "it was worse work than having a brush with
a Barbary corsair. I shall never forget that day. When I went to the
office to report, the three owners were all in.

"'Well, Captain Dave, back from your voyage?' said the littlest of the
three. 'Made a good voyage, I hope?'

"First-rate, says I, except that the supercargo got killed at Lemnos by
one of them rascally Greeks.

"'Dear, dear,' said another of them—he was a prim, sanctimonious
sort—'Has our brother Jenkins left us?'

"I don't know about his leaving us, says I, but we left him sure enough in
a burying-place there.

"'And how did you manage without him?'

"I made as good a shift as I could, I said. I have sold all the cargo, and
I have brought back a freight of six tons of Turkey figs, and four hundred
boxes of currants. And these two bags hold the difference.

"'Have you brought the books with you, Captain?'

"Never a book, said I. I have had to navigate the ship and to look after
the crew, and do the best I could at each port. The books are on board,
made out up to the day before the supercargo was killed, three months ago;
but I have never had time to make an entry since.

"They looked at each other like owls for a minute or two, and then they
all began to talk at once. How had I sold the goods? had I charged the
prices mentioned in the invoice? what percentage had I put on for profit?
and a lot of other things. I waited until they were all out of breath, and
then I said I had not bothered about invoices. I knew pretty well the
prices such things cost in England. I clapped on so much more for the
expenses of the voyage and a fair profit. I could tell them what I had
paid for the figs and the currants, and for some bags of Smyrna sponges I
had bought, but as to the prices I had charged, it was too much to expect
that I could carry them in my head. All I knew was I had paid for the
things I had bought, I had paid all the port dues and other charges, I had
advanced the men one-fourth of their wages each month, and I had brought
them back the balance.

"Such a hubbub you never heard. One would have thought they would have
gone raving mad. The sanctimonious partner was the worst of the lot. He
threatened me with the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen, and went on till I
thought he would have had a fit.

"Look here, says I, at last, I'll tell you what I will do. You tell me
what the cargo cost you altogether, and put on so much for the hire of the
ship. I will pay you for them and settle up with the crew, and take the
cargo and sell it. That is a fair offer. And I advise you to keep civil
tongues in your heads, or I will knock them off and take my chance before
the Lord Mayor for assault and battery.

"With that I took off my coat and laid it on a bench. I reckon they saw
that I was in earnest, and they just sat as mum as mice. Then the little
man said, in a quieter sort of voice,—

"'You are too hasty, Captain Dowsett. We know you to be an honest man and
a good sailor, and had no suspicion that you would wrong us; but no
merchant in the City of London could hear that his business had been
conducted in such a way as you have carried it through without for a time
losing countenance. Let us talk the matter over reasonably and quietly.'

"That is just what I am wanting, I said; and if there hasn't been reason
and quiet it is from no fault of mine.

"'Well, please to put your coat on again, Captain, and let us see how
matters stand!'

"Then they took their ink-horns and pens, and, on finding out what I had
paid for the figs and other matters, they reckoned them up; then they put
down what I said was due to the sailors and the mate and myself; then they
got out some books, and for an hour they were busy reckoning up figures;
then they opened the bags and counted up the gold we had brought home.
Well, when they had done, you would hardly have known them for the same
men. First of all, they went through all their calculations again to be
sure they had made no mistake about them; then they laid down their pens,
and the sanctimonious man mopped the perspiration from his face, and the
others smiled at each other. Then the biggest of the three, who had
scarcely spoken before, said,—

"'Well, Captain Dowsett, I must own that my partners were a little hasty.
The result of our calculations is that the voyage has been a satisfactory
one, I may almost say very satisfactory, and that you must have disposed
of the goods to much advantage. It has been a new and somewhat
extraordinary way of doing business, but I am bound to say that the result
has exceeded our expectations, and we trust that you will command the Jane
for many more voyages.'

"Not for me, says I. You can hand me over the wages due to me, and you
will find the Jane moored in the stream just above the Tower. You
will find her in order and shipshape; but never again do I set my foot on
board her or on any other vessel belonging to men who have doubted my
honesty.

"Nor did I. I had a pretty good name among traders, and ten days later I
started for the Levant again in command of a far smarter vessel than the
Jane had ever been."

"And we all went with you, Captain," John Wilkes said, "every man jack of
us. And on her very next voyage the Jane was captured by the
Algerines, and I reckon there are some of the poor fellows working as
slaves there now; for though Blake did blow the place pretty nigh out of
water a few years afterwards, it is certain that the Christian slaves
handed over to him were not half those the Moors had in their hands."

"It would seem, Captain Dowsett, from your story, that you can manage very
well without a supercargo?" Cyril said quietly.

"Ay, lad; but you see that was a ready-money business. I handed over the
goods and took the cash; there was no accounts to be kept. It was all
clear and above board. But it is a different thing in this ship
altogether, when, instead of paying down on the nail for what they get,
you have got to keep an account of everything and send in all their items
jotted down in order. Why, Nellie, your tongue seems quieter than usual."

"You have not given me a chance, father. You have been talking ever since
we sat down to table."

Supper was now over. The two apprentices at once retired. Cyril would have
done the same, but Mistress Dowsett said,—

"Sit you still, Cyril. The Captain says that you are to be considered as
one of the officers of the ship, and we shall be always glad to have you
here, though of course you can always go up to your own room, or go out,
when you feel inclined."

"I have to go out three times a week to work," Cyril said; "but all the
other evenings I shall be glad indeed to sit here, Mistress Dowsett. You
cannot tell what a pleasure it is to me to be in an English home like
this."

It was not long before John Wilkes went out.

"He is off to smoke his pipe," the Captain said. "I never light mine till
he goes. I can't persuade him to take his with me; he insists it would not
be manners to smoke in the cabin."

"He is quite right, father," Nellie said. "It is bad enough having you
smoke here. When mother's friends or mine come in they are well-nigh
choked; they are not accustomed to it as we are, for a respectable London
citizen does not think of taking tobacco."

"I am a London citizen, Nellie, but I don't set up any special claim to
respectability. I am a sea-captain, though that rascally Greek cannon-ball
and other circumstances have made a trader of me, sorely against my will;
and if I could not have my pipe and my glass of grog here I would go and
sit with John Wilkes in the tavern at the corner of the street, and I
suppose that would not be even as respectable as smoking here."

"Nellie doesn't mean, David, that she wants you to give up smoking; only
she thinks that John is quite right to go out to take his pipe. And I must
say I think so too. You know that when you have sea-captains of your
acquaintance here, you always send the maid off to bed and smoke in the
kitchen."

"Ay, ay, my dear, I don't want to turn your room into a fo'castle. There
is reason in all things. I suppose you don't smoke, Master Cyril?"

"No, Captain Dave, I have never so much as thought of such a thing. In
France it is the fashion to take snuff, but the habit seemed to me a
useless one, and I don't think that I should ever have taken to it."

"I wonder," Captain Dave said, after they had talked for some time, "that
after living in sight of the sea for so long your thoughts never turned
that way."

"I cannot say that I have never thought of it," Cyril said. "I have
thought that I should greatly like to take foreign voyages, but I should
not have cared to go as a ship's boy, and to live with men so ignorant
that they could not even write their own names. My thoughts have turned
rather to the Army; and when I get older I think of entering some foreign
service, either that of Sweden or of one of the Protestant German princes.
I could obtain introductions through which I might enter as a cadet, or
gentleman volunteer. I have learnt German, and though I cannot speak it as
I can French or English, I know enough to make my way in it."

"Can you use your sword, Cyril?" Nellie Dowsett asked.

"I have had very good teaching," Cyril replied, "and hope to be able to
hold my own."

"Then you are not satisfied with this mode of life?" Mistress Dowsett
said.

"I am satisfied with it, Mistress, inasmuch as I can earn money sufficient
to keep me. But rather than settle down for life as a city scrivener, I
would go down to the river and ship on board the first vessel that would
take me, no matter where she sailed for."

"I think you are wrong," Mistress Dowsett said gravely. "My husband tells
me how clever you are at figures, and you might some day get a good post
in the house of one of our great merchants."

"Maybe it would be so," Cyril said; "but such a life would ill suit me. I
have truly a great desire to earn money: but it must be in some way to
suit my taste."

"And why do you want to earn a great deal of money, Cyril?" Nellie
laughed, while her mother shook her head disapprovingly.

"I wish to have enough to buy my father's estate back again," he said,
"and though I know well enough that it is not likely I shall ever do it, I
shall fight none the worse that I have such a hope in my mind."

"Bravo, lad!" Captain Dave said. "I knew not that there was an estate in
the case, though I did hear that you were the son of a Royalist. It is a
worthy ambition, boy, though if it is a large one 'tis scarce like that
you will get enough to buy it back again."

"It is not a very large one," Cyril said. "'Tis down in Norfolk, but it
was a grand old house—at least, so I have heard my father say,
though I have but little remembrance of it, as I was but three years old
when I left it. My father, who was Sir Aubrey Shenstone, had hoped to
recover it; but he was one of the many who sold their estates for far less
than their value in order to raise money in the King's service, and, as
you are aware, none of those who did so have been reinstated, but only
those who, having had their land taken from them by Parliament, recovered
them because their owners had no title-deeds to show, save the grant of
Parliament that was of no effect in the Courts. Thus the most loyal men—those
who sold their estates to aid the King—have lost all, while those
that did not so dispossess themselves in his service are now replaced on
their land."

"It seems very unfair," Nellie said indignantly.

"It is unfair to them, assuredly, Mistress Nellie. And yet it would be
unfair to the men who bought, though often they gave but a tenth of their
value, to be turned out again unless they received their money back. It is
not easy to see where that money could come from, for assuredly the King's
privy purse would not suffice to pay all the money, and equally certain is
it that Parliament would not vote a great sum for that purpose."

"It is a hard case, lad—a hard case," Captain Dave said, as he
puffed the smoke from his pipe. "Now I know how you stand, I blame, you in
no way that you long more for a life of adventure than to settle down as a
city scrivener. I don't think even my wife, much as she thinks of the
city, could say otherwise."

"It alters the case much," Mistress Dowsett said. "I did not know that
Cyril was the son of a Knight, though it was easy enough to see that his
manners accord not with his present position. Still there are fortunes
made in the city, and no honest work is dishonouring even to a gentleman's
son."

"Not at all, Mistress," Cyril said warmly. "'Tis assuredly not on that
account that I would fain seek more stirring employment; but it was always
my father's wish and intention that, should there be no chance of his ever
regaining the estate, I should enter foreign service, and I have always
looked forward to that career."

"Well, I will wager that you will do credit to it, lad," Captain Dave
said. "You have proved that you are ready to turn your hand to any work
that may come to you. You have shown a manly spirit, my boy, and I honour
you for it; and by St. Anthony I believe that some day, unless a
musket-ball or a pike-thrust brings you up with a round turn, you will
live to get your own back again."

Cyril remained talking for another two hours, and then betook himself to
bed. After he had gone, Mistress Dowsett said, after a pause,—

"Do you not think, David, that, seeing that Cyril is the son of a Knight,
it would be more becoming to give him the room downstairs instead of the
attic where he is now lodged?"

The old sailor laughed.

"That is woman-kind all over," he said. "It was good enough for him
before, and now forsooth, because the lad mentioned, and assuredly in no
boasting way, that his father had been a Knight, he is to be treated
differently. He would not thank you himself for making the change, dame.
In the first place, it would make him uncomfortable, and he might make an
excuse to leave us altogether; and in the second, you may be sure that he
has been used to no better quarters than those he has got. The Royalists
in France were put to sore shifts to live, and I fancy that he has fared
no better since he came home. His father would never have consented to his
going out to earn money by keeping the accounts of little city traders
like myself had it not been that he was driven to it by want. No, no,
wife; let the boy go on as he is, and make no difference in any way. I
liked him before, and I like him all the better now, for putting his
gentlemanship in his pocket and setting manfully to work instead of
hanging on the skirts of some Royalist who has fared better than his
father did. He is grateful as it is—that is easy to see—for
our taking him in here. We did that partly because he proved a good worker
and has taken a lot of care off my shoulders, partly because he was
fatherless and alone. I would not have him think that we are ready to do
more because he is a Knight's son. Let the boy be, and suffer him to steer
his ship his own course. If, when the time comes, we can further his
objects in any way we will do it with right good will. What do you think
of him, Nellie?" he asked, changing the subject.

"He is a proper young fellow, father, and I shall be well content to go
abroad escorted by him instead of having your apprentice, Robert Ashford,
in attendance on me. He has not a word to say for himself, and truly I
like him not in anyway."

"He is not a bad apprentice, Nellie, and John Wilkes has but seldom cause
to find fault with him, though I own that I have no great liking myself
for him; he never seems to look one well in the face, which, I take it, is
always a bad sign. I know no harm of him; but when his apprenticeship is
out, which it will be in another year, I shall let him go his own way, for
I should not care to have him on the premises."

"Methinks you are very unjust, David. The lad is quiet and regular in his
ways; he goes twice every Sunday to the Church of St. Alphage, and always
tells me the texts of the sermons."

The Captain grunted.

"Maybe so, wife; but it is easy to get hold of the text of a sermon
without having heard it. I have my doubts whether he goes as regularly to
St. Alphage's as he says he does. Why could he not go with us to St.
Bennet's?"

"He says he likes the administrations of Mr. Catlin better, David. And, in
truth, our parson is not one of the stirring kind."

"So much the better," Captain Dave said bluntly. "I like not these men
that thump the pulpit and make as if they were about to jump out head
foremost. However, I don't suppose there is much harm in the lad, and it
may be that his failure to look one in the face is not so much his fault
as that of nature, which endowed him with a villainous squint. Well, let
us turn in; it is past nine o'clock, and high time to be a-bed."

Cyril seemed to himself to have entered upon a new life when he stepped
across the threshold of David Dowsett's store. All his cares and anxieties
had dropped from him. For the past two years he had lived the life of an
automaton, starting early to his work, returning in the middle of the day
to his dinner,—to which as often as not he sat down alone,—and
spending his evenings in utter loneliness in the bare garret, where he was
generally in bed long before his father returned. He blamed himself
sometimes during the first fortnight of his stay here for the feeling of
light-heartedness that at times came over him. He had loved his father in
spite of his faults, and should, he told himself, have felt deeply
depressed at his loss; but nature was too strong for him. The pleasant
evenings with Captain Dave and his family were to him delightful; he was
like a traveller who, after a cold and cheerless journey, comes in to the
warmth of a fire, and feels a glow of comfort as the blood circulates
briskly through his veins. Sometimes, when he had no other engagements, he
went out with Nellie Dowsett, whose lively chatter was new and very
amusing to him. Sometimes they went up into Cheapside, and into St.
Paul's, but more often sallied out of the city at Aldgate, and walked into
the fields. On these occasions he carried a stout cane that had been his
father's, for Nellie tried in vain to persuade him to gird on a sword.

"You are a gentleman, Cyril," she would argue, "and have a right to carry
one."

"I am for the present a sober citizen, Mistress Nellie, and do not wish to
assume to be of any other condition. Those one sees with swords are either
gentlemen of the Court, or common bullies, or maybe highwaymen. After
nightfall it is different; for then many citizens carry their swords,
which indeed are necessary to protect them from the ruffians who, in spite
of the city watch, oftentimes attack quiet passers-by; and if at any time
I escort you to the house of one of your friends, I shall be ready to take
my sword with me. But in the daytime there is no occasion for a weapon,
and, moreover, I am full young to carry one, and this stout cane would,
were it necessary, do me good service, for I learned in France the
exercise that they call the bâton, which differs little from our
English singlestick."

While Cyril was received almost as a member of the family by Captain Dave
and his wife, and found himself on excellent terms with John Wilkes, he
saw that he was viewed with dislike by the two apprentices. He was
scarcely surprised at this. Before his coming, Robert Ashford had been in
the habit of escorting his young mistress when she went out, and had no
doubt liked these expeditions, as a change from the measuring out of ropes
and weighing of iron in the store. Then, again, the apprentices did not
join in the conversation at table unless a remark was specially addressed
to them; and as Captain Dave was by no means fond of his elder apprentice,
it was but seldom that he spoke to him. Robert Ashford was between
eighteen and nineteen. He was no taller than Cyril, but it would have been
difficult to judge his age by his face, which had a wizened look; and, as
Nellie said one day, in his absence, he might pass very well for sixty.

It was easy enough for Cyril to see that Robert Ashford heartily disliked
him; the covert scowls that he threw across the table at meal-time, and
the way in which he turned his head and feigned to be too busy to notice
him as he passed through the shop, were sufficient indications of
ill-will. The younger apprentice, Tom Frost, was but a boy of fifteen; he
gave Cyril the idea of being a timid lad. He did not appear to share his
comrade's hostility to him, but once or twice, when Cyril came out from
the office after making up the accounts of the day, he fancied that the
boy glanced at him with an expression of anxiety, if not of terror.

"If it were not," Cyril said to himself, "that Tom is clearly too nervous
and timid to venture upon an act of dishonesty, I should say that he had
been pilfering something; but I feel sure that he would not attempt such a
thing as that, though I am by no means certain that Robert Ashford, with
his foxy face and cross eyes, would not steal his master's goods or any
one else's did he get the chance. Unless he were caught in the act, he
could do it with impunity, for everything here is carried on in such a
free-and-easy fashion that any amount of goods might be carried off
without their being missed."

After thinking the matter over, he said, one afternoon when his employer
came in while he was occupied at the accounts,—

"I have not seen anything of a stock-book, Captain Dave. Everything else
is now straight, and balanced up to to-day. Here is the book of goods
sold, the book of goods received, and the ledger with the accounts; but
there is no stock-book such as I find in almost all the other places where
I work."

"What do I want with a stock-book?" Captain Dave asked.

"You cannot know how you stand without it," Cyril replied. "You know how
much you have paid, and how much you have received during the year; but
unless you have a stock-book you do not know whether the difference
between the receipts and expenditure represents profit, for the stock may
have so fallen in value during the year that you may really have made a
loss while seeming to make a profit."

"How can that be?" Captain Dave asked. "I get a fair profit on every
article."

"There ought to be a profit, of course," Cyril said; "but sometimes it is
found not to be so. Moreover, if there is a stock-book you can tell at any
time, without the trouble of opening bins and weighing metal, how much
stock you have of each article you sell, and can order your goods
accordingly."

"How would you do that?"

"It is very simple, Captain Dave," Cyril said. "After taking stock of the
whole of the goods, I should have a ledger in which each article would
have a page or more to itself, and every day I should enter from John
Wilkes's sales-book a list of the goods that have gone out, each under its
own heading. Thus, at any moment, if you were to ask how much chain you
had got in stock I could tell you within a fathom. When did you take stock
last?"

"I should say it was about fifteen months since. It was only yesterday
John Wilkes was saying we had better have a thorough overhauling."

"Quite time, too, I should think, Captain Dave. I suppose you have got the
account of your last stock-taking, with the date of it?"

"Oh, yes, I have got that;" and the Captain unlocked his desk and took out
an account-book. "It has been lying there ever since. It took a wonderful
lot of trouble to do, and I had a clerk and two men in for a fortnight,
for of course John and the boys were attending to their usual duties. I
have often wondered since why I should have had all that trouble over a
matter that has never been of the slightest use to me."

"Well, I hope you will take it again, sir; it is a trouble, no doubt, but
you will find it a great advantage."

"Are you sure you think it needful, Cyril?"

"Most needful, Captain Dave. You will see the advantage of it afterwards."

"Well, if you think so, I suppose it must be done," the Captain said, with
a sigh; "but it will be giving you a lot of trouble to keep this new book
of yours."

"That is nothing, sir. Now that I have got all the back work up it will be
a simple matter to keep the daily work straight. I shall find ample time
to do it without any need of lengthening my hours."

Cyril now set to work in earnest, and telling Mrs. Dowsett he had some
books that he wanted to make up in his room before going to bed, he asked
her to allow him to keep his light burning.

Mrs. Dowsett consented, but shook her head and said he would assuredly
injure his health if he worked by candle light.

Fortunately, John Wilkes had just opened a fresh sales-book, and Cyril
told him that he wished to refer to some particulars in the back books. He
first opened the ledger by inscribing under their different heads the
amount of each description of goods kept in stock at the last
stock-taking, and then entered under their respective heads all the sales
that had been made, while on an opposite page he entered the amount
purchased. It took him a month's hard work, and he finished it on the very
day that the new stock-taking concluded.

CHAPTER III — A THIEF SOMEWHERE

Two days after the conclusion of the stock-taking, Cyril said, after
breakfast was over,—

"Would it trouble you, Captain Dave, to give me an hour up here before you
go downstairs to the counting-house. I am free for two hours now, and
there is a matter upon which I should like to speak to you privately."

"Certainly, lad," the old sailor said, somewhat surprised. "We shall be
quiet enough here, as soon as the table is cleared. My dame and Nellie
will be helping the maid do up the cabins, and will then be sallying out
marketing."

When the maid had cleared the table, Cyril went up to his room and
returned with a large ledger and several smaller books.

"I have, for the last month, Captain Dave, been making up this stock-book
for my own satisfaction."

"Bless me, lad, why have you taken all that trouble? This accounts, then,
for your writing so long at night, for which my dame has been quarrelling
with you!"

"It was interesting work," Cyril said quietly. "Now, you see, sir," he
went on, opening the big ledger, "here are the separate accounts under
each head. These pages, you see, are for heavy cables for hawsers; of
these, at the date of the last stock-taking, there were, according to the
book you handed to me, five hundred fathoms in stock. These are the
amounts you have purchased since. Now, upon the other side are all the
sales of this cable entered in the sales-book. Adding them together, and
deducting them from the other side, you will see there should remain in
stock four hundred and fifty fathoms. According to the new stock-taking
there are four hundred and thirty-eight. That is, I take it, as near as
you could expect to get, for, in the measuring out of so many thousand
fathoms of cable during the fifteen months between the two stock-takings,
there may well have been a loss of the twelve fathoms in giving good
measurement."

"That is so," Captain Dave said. "I always say to John Wilkes, 'Give good
measurement, John—better a little over than a little under.' Nothing
can be clearer or more satisfactory."

Cyril closed the book.

"I am sorry to say, Captain Dave, all the items are not so satisfactory,
and that I greatly fear that you have been robbed to a considerable
amount."

"Robbed, lad!" the Captain said, starting up from his chair. "Who should
rob me? Not John Wilkes, I can be sworn! Not the two apprentices for a
surety, for they never go out during the day, and John keeps a sharp
look-out upon them, and the entrance to the shop is always locked and
barred after work is over, so that none can enter without getting the key,
which, as you know, John always brings up and hands to me as soon as he
has fastened the door! You are mistaken, lad, and although I know that
your intentions are good, you should be careful how you make a charge that
might bring ruin to innocent men. Carelessness there may be; but robbery!
No; assuredly not."

"I have not brought the charge without warrant, Captain Dave," Cyril said
gravely, "and if you will bear with me for a few minutes, I think you will
see that there is at least something that wants looking into."

"Well, it is only fair after the trouble you have taken, lad, that I
should hear what you have to say; but it will need strong evidence indeed
to make me believe that there has been foul play."

"Well, sir," Cyril said, opening the ledger again, "in the first place, I
would point out that in all the heavy articles, such as could not
conveniently be carried away, the tally of the stock-takers corresponds
closely with the figures in this book. In best bower anchors the figures
are absolutely the same and, as you have seen, in heavy cables they
closely correspond. In the large ship's compasses, the ship's boilers, and
ship's galleys, the numbers tally exactly. So it is with all the heavy
articles; the main blocks are correct, and all other heavy gear. This
shows that John Wilkes's book is carefully kept, and it would be strange
indeed if heavy goods had all been properly entered, and light ones
omitted; but yet when we turn to small articles, we find that there is a
great discrepancy between the figures. Here is the account, for instance,
of the half-inch rope. According to my ledger, there should be eighteen
hundred fathoms in stock, whereas the stock-takers found but three hundred
and eighty. In two-inch rope there is a deficiency of two hundred and
thirty fathoms, in one-inch rope of six hundred and twenty. These sizes,
as you know, are always in requisition, and a thief would find ready
purchasers for a coil of any of them. But, as might be expected, it is in
copper that the deficiency is most serious. Of fourteen-inch bolts,
eighty-two are short, of twelve-inch bolts a hundred and thirty, of
eight-inch three hundred and nine; and so on throughout almost all the
copper stores. According to your expenditure and receipt-book, Captain
Dave, you have made, in the last fifteen months, twelve hundred and thirty
pounds; but according to this book your stock is less in value, by two
thousand and thirty-four pounds, than it should have been. You are,
therefore, a poorer man than you were at the beginning of this fifteen
months' trading, by eight hundred and four pounds."

Captain Dave sat down in his chair, breathing hard. He took out his
handkerchief and wiped the drops of perspiration from his forehead.

"Are you sure of this, boy?" he said hoarsely. "Are you sure that you have
made no mistake in your figures?"

"Quite sure," Cyril said firmly. "In all cases in which I have found
deficiencies I have gone through the books three times and compared the
figures, and I am sure that if you put the books into the hands of any
city accountant, he will bear out my figures."

For a time Captain Dave sat silent.

"Hast any idea," he said at last, "how this has come about?"

"I have none," Cyril replied. "That John Wilkes is not concerned in it I
am as sure as you are; and, thinking the matter over, I see not how the
apprentices could have carried off so many articles, some heavy and some
bulky, when they left the shop in the evening, without John Wilkes
noticing them. So sure am I, that my advice would be that you should take
John Wilkes into your confidence, and tell him how matters stand. My only
objection to that is that he is a hasty man, and that I fear he would not
be able to keep his countenance, so that the apprentices would remark that
something was wrong. I am far from saying that they have any hand in it;
it would be a grievous wrong to them to have suspicions when there is no
shadow of evidence against them; but at any rate, if this matter is to be
stopped and the thieves detected, it is most important that they should
have, if they are guilty, no suspicion that they are in any way being
watched, or that these deficiencies have been discovered. If they have had
a hand in the matter they most assuredly had accomplices, for such goods
could not be disposed of by an apprentice to any dealer without his being
sure that they must have been stolen."

"You are right there, lad—quite right. Did John Wilkes know that I
had been robbed in this way he would get into a fury, and no words could
restrain him from falling upon the apprentices and beating them till he
got some of the truth out of them."

"They may be quite innocent," Cyril said. "It may be that the thieves have
discovered some mode of entry into the store either by opening the
shutters at the back, or by loosening a board, or even by delving up under
the ground. It is surely easier to believe this than that the boys can
have contrived to carry off so large a quantity of goods under John
Wilkes's eye."

"That is so, lad. I have never liked Robert Ashford, but God forbid that I
should suspect him of such crime only because his forehead is as wrinkled
as an ape's, and Providence has set his eyes crossways in his head. You
cannot always judge a ship by her upper works; she may be ugly to the eye
and yet have a clear run under water. Still, you can't help going by what
you see. I agree with you that if we tell John Wilkes about this, those
boys will know five minutes afterwards that the ship is on fire; but if we
don't tell him, how are we to get to the bottom of what is going on?"

"That is a difficult question, but a few days will not make much
difference, when we know that it has been going on for over a year, and
may, for aught we know, have been going on much longer. The first thing,
Captain Dave, is to send these books to an accountant, for him to go
through them and check my figures."

"There is no need for that, lad. I know how careful you are, and you
cannot have gone so far wrong as all this."

"No, sir, I am sure that there is no mistake; but, for your own sake as
well as mine, it were well that you should have the signature of an
accountant to the correctness of the books. If you have to lay the matter
before the magistrates, they would not take my testimony as to your
losses, and might even say that you were rash in acting upon the word of a
boy like myself, and you might then be obliged to have the accounts made
up anew, which would cost you more, and cause much delay in the process;
whereas, if you put in your books and say that their correctness is
vouched for by an accountant, no question would arise on it; nor would
there be any delay now, for while the books are being gone into, we can be
trying to get to the bottom of the matter here."

"Ay, ay, it shall be done, Master Cyril, as you say. But for the life of
me I don't see how we are to get at the bottom of the ship to find out
where she is leaking!"

"It seems to me that the first thing, Captain Dave, is to see to the
warehouse. As we agreed that the apprentices cannot have carried out all
these goods under John Wilkes's eye, and cannot have come down night after
night through the house, the warehouse must have been entered from
without. As I never go in there, it would be best that you should see to
this matter yourself. There are the fastenings of the shutters in the
first place, then the boardings all round. As for me, I will look round
outside. The window of my room looks into the street, but if you will take
me to one of the rooms at the back we can look at the surroundings of the
yard, and may gather some idea whether the goods can have been passed over
into any of the houses abutting on it, or, as is more likely, into the
lane that runs up by its side."

The Captain led the way into one of the rooms at the back of the house,
and opening the casement, he and Cyril leaned out. The store occupied
fully half the yard, the rest being occupied by anchors, piles of iron,
ballast, etc. There were two or three score of guns of various sizes piled
on each other. A large store of cannon-ball was ranged in a great pyramid
close by. A wall some ten feet high separated the yard from the lane Cyril
had spoken of. On the left, adjoining the warehouse, was the yard of the
next shop, which belonged to a wool-stapler. Behind were the backs of a
number of small houses crowded in between Tower Street and Leadenhall
Street.

"I suppose you do not know who lives in those houses, Captain Dave?"

"No, indeed. The land is not like the sea. Afloat, when one sees a sail,
one wonders what is her nationality, and whither she is bound, and still
more whether she is an honest trader or a rascally pirate; but here on
land, one scarcely gives a thought as to who may dwell in the houses
round."

"I will walk round presently," Cyril said, "and gather, as far as I can,
who they are that live there; but, as I have said, I fancy it is over that
wall and into the alley that your goods have departed. The apprentices'
room is this side of the house, is it not?"

"Yes; John Wilkes sleeps in the room next to yours, and the door opposite
to his is that of the lads' room."

"Do the windows of any of the rooms look into that lane?"

"No; it is a blank wall on that side."

"There is the clock striking nine," Cyril said, starting. "It is time for
me to be off. Then you will take the books to-day, Captain Dave?"

"I will carry them off at once, and when I return will look narrowly into
the fastenings of the two windows and door from the warehouse into the
yard; and will take care to do so when the boys are engaged in the front
shop."

When his work was done, Cyril went round to the houses behind the yard,
and he found that they stood in a small court, with three or four trees
growing in the centre, and were evidently inhabited by respectable
citizens. Over the door of one was painted, "Joshua Heddings, Attorney";
next to him was Gilbert Gushing, who dealt in jewels, silks, and other
precious commodities from the East; next to him was a doctor, and beyond a
dealer in spices. This was enough to assure him that it was not through
such houses as these that the goods had been carried.

Cyril had not been back at the mid-day meal, for his work that day lay up
by Holborn Bar, where he had two customers whom he attended with but half
an hour's interval between the visits, and on the days on which he went
there he was accustomed to get something to eat at a tavern hard by.

Supper was an unusually quiet meal. Captain Dave now and then asked John
Wilkes a question as to the business matters of the day, but evidently
spoke with an effort. Nellie rattled on as usual; but the burden of
keeping up the conversation lay entirely on her shoulders and those of
Cyril. After the apprentices had left, and John Wilkes had started for his
usual resort, the Captain lit his pipe. Nellie signed to Cyril to come and
seat himself by her in the window that projected out over the street, and
enabled the occupants of the seats at either side to have a view up and
down it.

"What have you been doing to father, Cyril?" she asked, in low tones; "he
has been quite unlike himself all day. Generally when he is out of temper
he rates everyone heartily, as if we were a mutinous crew, but to-day he
has gone about scarcely speaking; he hasn't said a cross word to any of
us, but several times when I spoke to him I got no answer, and it is easy
to see that he is terribly put out about something. He was in his usual
spirits at breakfast; then, you know, he was talking with you for an hour,
and it does not take much guessing to see that it must have been something
that passed between you that has put him out. Now what was it?"

"I don't see why you should say that, Mistress Nellie. It is true we did
have a talk together, and he examined some fresh books I have been making
out and said that he was mightily pleased with my work. I went away at
nine o'clock, and something may have occurred to upset him between that
and dinner."

"All which means that you don't mean to tell me anything about it, Master
Cyril. Well, then, you may consider yourself in my black books
altogether," she said petulantly.

"I am sorry that you should say so," he said. "If it were true that
anything that I had said to him had ruffled him, it would be for him to
tell you, and not for me."

"Methinks I have treated Robert Ashford scurvily, and I shall take him for
my escort to see His Majesty attend service at St. Paul's to-morrow."

Cyril smiled.

"I think it would be fair to give him a turn, Mistress, and I am glad to
see that you have such a kind thought."

Nellie rose indignantly, and taking her work sat down by the side of her
mother.

"It is a fine evening," Cyril said to Captain Dave, "and I think I shall
take a walk round. I shall return in an hour."

The Captain understood, by a glance Cyril gave him, that he was going out
for some purpose connected with the matter they had in hand.

"Ay, ay, lad," he said. "It is not good for you to be sitting moping at
home every evening. I have often wondered before that you did not take a
walk on deck before you turned in. I always used to do so myself."

"I don't think there is any moping in it, Captain Dave," Cyril said, with
a laugh. "If you knew how pleasant the evenings have been to me after the
life I lived before, you would not say so."

Cyril's only object in going out, however, was to avoid the necessity of
having to talk with Dame Dowsett and Nellie. His thoughts were running on
nothing but the robbery, and he had found it very difficult to talk in his
usual manner, and to answer Nellie's sprightly sallies. It was dark
already. A few oil lamps gave a feeble light here and there. At present he
had formed no plan whatever of detecting the thieves; he was as much
puzzled as the Captain himself as to how the goods could have been
removed. It would be necessary, of course, to watch the apprentices, but
he did not think that anything was likely to come out of this. It was the
warehouse itself that must be watched, in order to discover how the
thieves made an entry. His own idea was that they got over the wall by
means of a rope, and in some way managed to effect an entry into the
warehouse. The apprentices could hardly aid them unless they came down
through the house.

If they had managed to get a duplicate key of the door leading from the
bottom of the stairs to the shop, they could, of course, unbar the
windows, and pass things out—that part of the business would be
easy; but he could not believe that they would venture frequently to pass
down through the house. It was an old one, and the stairs creaked. He
himself was a light sleeper; he had got into the way of waking at the
slightest sound, from the long watches he had had for his father's return,
and felt sure that he should have heard them open their door and steal
along the passage past his room, however quietly they might do it. He
walked up the Exchange, then along Cheapside as far as St. Paul's, and
back. Quiet as it was in Thames Street there was no lack of animation
elsewhere. Apprentices were generally allowed to go out for an hour after
supper, the regulation being that they returned to their homes by eight
o'clock. Numbers of these were about. A good many citizens were on their
way home after supping with friends. The city watch, with lanterns,
patrolled the streets, and not infrequently interfered in quarrels which
broke out among the apprentices. Cyril felt more solitary among the knots
of laughing, noisy lads than in the quiet streets, and was glad to be home
again. Captain Dave himself came down to open the door.

"I have just sent the women to bed," he said. "The two boys came in five
minutes ago. I thought you would not be long."

"I did not go out for anything particular," Cyril said; "but Mistress
Nellie insisted that there was something wrong with you, and that I must
know what it was about, so, feeling indeed indisposed to talk, I thought
it best to go out for a short time."

"Yes, yes. Women always want to know, lad. I have been long enough at sea,
you may be sure, to know that when anything is wrong, it is the best thing
to keep it from the passengers as long as you can."

"You took the books away this morning, Captain Dave?" Cyril asked as they
sat down.

"Ay, lad, I took them to Master Skinner, who bears as good a reputation as
any accountant in the city, and he promised to take them in hand without
loss of time; but I have been able to do nothing here. John, or one or
other of the boys, was always in the warehouse, and I have had no
opportunity of examining the door and shutters closely. When the house is
sound asleep we will take a lantern and go down to look at them. I have
been thinking that we must let John Wilkes into this matter; it is too
much to bear on my mind by myself. He is my first mate, you see, and in
time of danger, the first mate, if he is worth anything, is the man the
captain relies on for help."

"By all means tell him, then," Cyril said. "I can keep books, but I have
no experience in matters like this, and shall be very glad to have his
opinion and advice."

"There he is—half-past eight. He is as punctual as clockwork."

Cyril ran down and let John in.

"The Captain wants to speak to you," he said, "before you go up to bed."

John, after carefully bolting the door, followed him upstairs.

"I have got some bad news for you, John. There, light your pipe again, and
sit down. My good dame has gone off to bed, and we have got the cabin to
ourselves."

John touched an imaginary hat and obeyed orders.

"The ship has sprung a bad leak, John. This lad here has found it out, and
it is well he did, for unless he had done so we should have had her
foundering under our feet without so much as suspecting anything was going
wrong."

The sailor took his newly-lighted pipe from between his lips and stared at
the Captain in astonishment.

"Yes, it is hard to believe, mate, but, by the Lord Harry, it is as I say.
There is a pirate about somewhere, and the books show that, since the
stock-taking fifteen months ago, he has eased the craft of her goods to
the tune of two thousand pounds and odd."

John Wilkes flung his pipe on to the table with such force that it
shivered into fragments.

"Dash my timbers!" he exclaimed. "Who is the man? You only give me the
orders, sir, and I am ready to range alongside and board him."

"That is what we have got to find out, John. That the goods have gone is
certain, but how they can have gone beats us altogether."

"Do you mean to say, Captain, that they have stolen them out of the place
under my eyes and me know nothing about it? It can't be, sir. There must
be some mistake. I know naught about figures, save enough to put down the
things I sell, but I don't believe as a thing has gone out of the shop
unbeknown to me. That yarn won't do for me, sir," and he looked angrily at
Cyril.

"It is true enough, John, for all that. The books have been balanced up.
We knew what was in stock fifteen months ago, and we knew from your
sale-book what has passed out of the shop, and from your entry-book what
has come in. We know now what there is remaining. We find that in bulky
goods, such as cables and anchors and ships' boilers and suchlike, the
accounts tally exactly, but in the small rope, and above all in the
copper, there is a big shrinkage. I will read you the figures of some of
them."

John's face grew longer and longer as he heard the totals read.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" he said, when the list was concluded. "I could have
sworn that the cargo was right according to the manifest. Well, Captain,
all I can say is, if that 'ere list be correct, the best thing you can do
is to send me adrift as a blind fool. I have kept my tallies as correct as
I could, and I thought I had marked down every package that has left the
ship, and here they must have been passing out pretty nigh in cart-loads
under my very eyes, and I knew nothing about it."

"I don't blame you, John, more than I blame myself. I am generally about
on deck, and had no more idea that the cargo was being meddled with than
you had. I have been wrong in letting matters go on so long without taking
stock of them and seeing that it was all right; but I never saw the need
for it. This is what comes of taking to a trade you know nothing about; we
have just been like two children, thinking that it was all plain and above
board, and that we had nothing to do but to sell our goods and to fill up
again when the hold got empty. Well, it is of no use talking over that
part of the business. What we have got to do is to find out this leak and
stop it. We are pretty well agreed, Cyril and me, that the things don't go
out of the shop by daylight. The question is, how do they go out at
night?"

"I always lock up the hatches according to orders, Captain."

"Yes, I have no doubt you do, John; but maybe the fastenings have been
tampered with. The only way in which we see it can have been managed is
that someone has been in the habit of getting over the wall between the
yard and the lane, and then getting into the warehouse somehow. It must
have been done very often, for if the things had been taken in
considerable quantities you would have noticed that the stock was short
directly the next order came in. Now I propose we light these two lanterns
I have got here, and that we go down and have a look round the hold."

Lighting the candles, they went downstairs. The Captain took out the key
and turned the lock. It grated loudly as he did so.

"That is a noisy lock," Cyril said.

"It wants oiling," John replied. "I have been thinking of doing it for the
last month, but it has always slipped out of my mind."

"At any rate," Cyril said, "it is certain that thieves could not have got
into the shop this way, for the noise would have been heard all over the
house."

The door between the shop and the warehouse was next unlocked. The
fastenings of the shutters and doors were first examined; there was no
sign of their having been tampered with. Each bolt and hasp was tried, and
the screws examined. Then they went round trying every one of the stout
planks that formed the side; all were firm and in good condition.

"It beats me altogether," the Captain said, when they had finished their
examination. "The things cannot walk out of themselves; they have got to
be carried. But how the fellows who carry them get in is more than I can
say. There is nowhere else to look, is there, John?"

"Not that I can see, Captain."

They went to the door into the shop, and were about to close it, when
Cyril said,—

"Some of the things that are gone are generally kept in here, Captain—the
rope up to two inch, for example, and a good deal of canvas, and most of
the smaller copper fittings; so that, whoever the thief is, he must have
been in the habit of coming in here as well as into the warehouse."

"That is so, lad. Perhaps they entered from this side."

"Will you hold the lantern here, John?" Cyril said.

The sailor held the lantern to the lock.

"There are no scratches nor signs of tools having been used here," Cyril
said, examining both the lock and the door-post. "Whether the thief came
into the warehouse first, or not, he must have had a key."

The Captain nodded.

"Thieves generally carry a lot of keys with them, Cyril; and if one does
not quite fit they can file it until it does."

The shutters of the shop window and its fastenings, and those of the door,
were as secure as those of the warehouse, and, completely puzzled, the
party went upstairs again.

"There must be some way of getting in and out, although we can't find it,"
Captain Dave said. "Things can't have gone off by themselves."

"It may be, Captain," John Wilkes said, "that some of the planks may be
loose."

"But we tried them all, John."

"Ay, they seem firm enough, but it may be that one of them is wedged in,
and that when the wedges are taken out it could be pulled off."

"I think you would have noticed it, John. If there was anything of that
sort it must be outside. However, we will take a good look round the yard
to-morrow. The warehouse is strongly built, and I don't believe that any
plank could be taken off and put back again, time after time, without
making a noise that would be heard in the house. What do you think,
Cyril?"

"I agree with you, Captain Dave. How the thieves make an entry I can't
imagine, but I don't believe that it is through the wall of the warehouse.
I am convinced that the robberies must have been very frequent. Had a
large amount been taken at a time, John Wilkes would have been sure to
notice it. Then, again, the thieves would not come so often, and each time
for a comparatively small amount of booty, unless it could be managed
without any serious risk or trouble. However, now that we do know that
they come, we shall have, I should think, very little difficulty in
finding out how it is done."

"You may warrant we will keep a sharp look-out," John Wilkes said
savagely. "If the Captain will give me the use of a room at the back of
the house, you may be sure I shan't close an eye till I have got to the
bottom of the matter. I am responsible for the cargo below, and if I had
kept as sharp an eye on the stores as I ought to have done, this would not
have happened. Only let me catch them trying to board, and I will give
them such a reception that I warrant me they will sheer off with a bullet
or two in them. I have got that pair of boarding pistols, and a cutlass,
hung up over my bed."

"You must not do that, John," the Captain said. "It isn't a matter of
beating off the pirates by pouring a broadside into them. Maybe you might
cripple them, more likely they would make off, and we want to capture
them. Therefore, I say, let us watch, and find out how they do it. When we
once know that, we can lay our plans for capturing them the next time they
come. I will take watch and watch with you."

"Well, if it goes on long, Captain, I won't say no to that; but for
to-night anyhow I will sit up alone."

"Very well, let it be so, John. But mind, whatever you see, you keep as
still as a mouse. Just steal to my room in your stockinged feet directly
you see anything moving. Open the door and say, 'Strange sail in sight!'
and I will be over at your window in no time. And now, Cyril, you and I
may as well turn in."

The night passed quietly.

"You saw nothing, I suppose, John?" the Captain said next morning, after
the apprentices had gone down from breakfast.

"Not a thing, Captain."

"Now we will go and have a look in the yard. Will you come, Cyril?"

"I should like to come," Cyril replied, "but, as I have never been out
there before, had you not better make some pretext for me to do so. You
might say, in the hearing of the apprentices, 'We may as well take the
measurements for that new shed we were talking about, and see how much
boarding it will require.' Then you can call to me out from the office to
come and help you to measure."

"Then you still think the apprentices are in it?" John Wilkes asked
sharply.

"I don't say I think so, John. I have nothing against them. I don't
believe they could come down at night without being heard; I feel sure
they could not get into the shop without that stiff bolt making a noise.
Still, as it is possible they may be concerned in the matter, I think
that, now we have it in good train for getting to the bottom of it, it
would be well to keep the matter altogether to ourselves."

"Quite right," Captain Dave said approvingly. "When you suspect treachery,
don't let a soul think that you have got such a matter in your mind, until
you are in a position to take the traitor by the collar and put a pistol
to his ear. That idea of yours is a very good one; I will say something
about the shed to John this morning, and then when you go down to the
counting-house after dinner I will call to you to come out to the yard
with us."

After dinner, Captain Dave went with Cyril into the counting-house.

"We had an order in this morning for a set of ship's anchors, and John and
I have been in the yard looking them out; we looked over the place pretty
sharply, as you may be sure, but as far as we could see the place is as
solid as when it was built, fifty years ago, by my father."

The Captain went out into the store, and ten minutes afterwards re-entered
the shop and shouted,—

"Come out here, Cyril, and lend a hand. We are going to take those
measurements. Bring out your ink-horn, and a bit of paper to put them down
as we take them."

The yard was some sixty feet long by twenty-five broad, exclusive of the
space occupied by the warehouse. This, as Cyril had observed from the
window above, did not extend as far as the back wall; but on walking round
there with the two men, he found that the distance was greater than he had
expected, and that there was a space of some twenty feet clear.

"This is where we are thinking of putting the shed," the Captain said in a
loud voice.

"But I see that you have a crane and door into the loft over the warehouse
there," Cyril said, looking up.

"We never use that now. When my father first began business, he used to
buy up old junk and such-like stores, and store them up there, but it
didn't pay for the trouble; and, besides, as you see, he wanted every foot
of the yard room, and of course at that time they had to leave a space
clear for the carts to come up from the gate round here, so it was given
up, and the loft is empty now."

Cyril looked up at the crane. It was swung round so as to lie flat against
the wooden shutters. The rope was still through the block, and passed into
the loft through a hole cut at the junction of the shutters.

They now measured the space between the warehouse and the wall, the
Captain repeating the figures, still in a loud voice; then they discussed
the height of the walls, and after some argument between the Captain and
John Wilkes agreed that this should be the same as the rest of the
building. Still talking on the subject, they returned through the
warehouse, Cyril on the way taking a look at the massive gate that opened
into the lane. In addition to a heavy bar it had a strong hasp, fastened
by a great padlock. The apprentices were busy at work coiling up some rope
when they passed by.

"When we have knocked a door through the end there, John," Captain Dave
said, "it will give you a deal more room, and you will be able to get rid
of all these cables and heavy dunnage, and to have matters more ship-shape
here."

While they had been taking the measurements, all three had carefully
examined the wall of the warehouse.

"There is nothing wrong there, Cyril," his employer said, as, leaving John
Wilkes in the warehouse, they went through the shop into the little
office.

"Certainly nothing that I could see, Captain Dave. I did not before know
the loft had any opening to the outside. Of course I have seen the ladder
going up from the warehouse to that trap-door; but as it was closed I
thought no more of it."

"I don't suppose anyone has been up there for years, lad. What, are you
thinking that someone might get in through those shutters? Why, they are
twenty feet from the ground, so that you would want a long ladder, and
when you got up there you would find that you could not open the shutters.
I said nobody had been up there, but I did go up myself to have a look
round when I first settled down here, and there is a big bar with a
padlock."

Cyril thought no more about it, and after supper it was arranged that he
and Captain Dave should keep watch by turns at the window of the room that
had been now given to John Wilkes, and that the latter should have a night
in his berth, as the Captain expressed it. John Wilkes had made some
opposition, saying that he would be quite willing to take his watch.

"You will just obey orders, John," the Captain said. "You have had
thirty-six hours off the reel on duty, and you have got to be at work all
day to-morrow again. You shall take the middle watch to-morrow night if
you like, but one can see with half an eye that you are not fit to be on
the lookout to-night. I doubt if any of us could see as far as the length
of the bowsprit. It is pretty nearly pitch dark; there is not a star to be
seen, and it looked to me, when I turned out before supper, as if we were
going to have a storm."

CHAPTER IV — CAPTURED

It was settled that Cyril was to take the first watch, and that the
Captain should relieve him at one o'clock. At nine, the family went to
bed. A quarter of an hour later, Cyril stole noiselessly from his attic
down to John Wilkes's room. The door had been left ajar, and the candle
was still burning.

"I put a chair by the window," the sailor said, from his bed, "and left
the light, for you might run foul of something or other in the dark,
though I have left a pretty clear gangway for you."

Cyril blew out the candle, and seated himself at the window. For a time he
could see nothing, and told himself that the whole contents of the
warehouse might be carried off without his being any the wiser.

"I shall certainly see nothing," he said to himself; "but, at least, I may
hear something."

So saying, he turned the fastening of the casement and opened it about
half an inch. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he was able
to make out the line of the roof of the warehouse, which was some three or
four feet below the level of his eyes, and some twenty feet away on his
left. The time passed slowly. He kept himself awake by thinking over the
old days in France, the lessons he had learnt with his friend, Harry
Parton, and the teaching of the old clergyman.

He heard the bell of St. Paul's strike ten and eleven. The last stroke had
scarcely ceased to vibrate when he rose to his feet suddenly. He heard, on
his left, a scraping noise. A moment later it ceased, and then was renewed
again. It lasted but a few seconds; then he heard an irregular, shuffling
noise, that seemed to him upon the roof of the warehouse. Pressing his
face to the casement, he suddenly became aware that the straight line of
the ridge was broken by something moving along it, and a moment later he
made out a second object, just behind the first. Moving with the greatest
care, he made his way out of the room, half closed the door behind him,
crossed the passage, and pushed at a door opposite.

"Captain Dave," he said, in a low voice, "get up at once, and please don't
make a noise."

"Ay, ay, lad."

There was a movement from the bed, and a moment later the Captain stood
beside him.

"What is it, lad?" he whispered.

"There are two figures moving along on the ridge of the roof of the
warehouse. I think it is the apprentices. I heard a slight noise, as if
they were letting themselves down from their window by a rope. It is just
over that roof, you know."

There was a rustling sound as the Captain slipped his doublet on.

"That is so. The young scoundrels! What can they be doing on the roof?"

They went to the window behind. Just as they reached it there was a vivid
flash of lightning. It sufficed to show them a figure lying at full length
at the farther end of the roof; then all was dark again, and a second or
two later came a sharp, crashing roar of thunder.

"We had better stand well back from the window," Cyril whispered. "Another
flash might show us to anyone looking this way."

"What does it mean, lad? What on earth is that boy doing there? I could
not see which it was."

"I think it is Ashford," Cyril said. "The figure in front seemed the
smaller of the two."

"But where on earth can Tom have got to?"

"I should fancy, sir, that Robert has lowered him so that he can get his
feet on the crane and swing it outwards; then he might sit down on it and
swing himself by the rope into the loft if the doors are not fastened
inside. Robert, being taller, would have no difficulty in lowering himself—There!"
he broke off, as another flash of lightning lit up the sky. "He has gone,
now; there is no one on the roof."

John Wilkes was by this time standing beside them, having started up at
the first flash of lightning.

"Do you go up, John, into their room," the Captain said. "I think there
can be no doubt that these fellows on the roof are Ashford and Frost, but
it is as well to be able to swear to it."

The foreman returned in a minute or two.

"The room is empty, Captain; the window is open, and there is a rope
hanging down from it. Shall I cast it adrift?"

"Certainly not, John. We do not mean to take them tonight, and they must
be allowed to go back to their beds without a suspicion that they have
been watched. I hope and trust that it is not so bad as it looks, and that
the boys have only broken out from devilry. You know, boys will do things
of that sort just because it is forbidden."

"There must be more than that," John Wilkes said. "If it had been just
after they went to their rooms, it might be that they went to some tavern
or other low resort, but the town is all asleep now."

They again went close to the window, pushed the casement a little more
open, and stood listening there. In two or three minutes there was a very
slight sound heard.

"They are unbolting the door into the yard," John Wilkes whispered. "I
would give a month's pay to be behind them with a rope's end."

Half a minute later there was a sudden gleam of light below, and they
could see the door open. The light disappeared again, but they heard
footsteps; then they saw the light thrown on the fastening to the outer
gate, and could make out that two figures below were applying a key to the
padlock. This was taken off and laid down; then the heavy wooden bar was
lifted, and also laid on the ground. The gate opened as if pushed from the
other side. The two figures went out; the sound of a low murmur of
conversation could be heard; then they returned, the gate was closed and
fastened again, they entered the warehouse, the light disappeared, and the
door was closed.

"That's how the things went, John."

"Ay, ay, sir," the foreman growled.

"As they were undoing the gate, the light fell on a coil of rope they had
set down there, and a bag which I guess had copper of some kind in it.
They have done us cleverly, the young villains! There was not noise enough
to wake a cat. They must have had every bolt and hinge well oiled."

"We had better close the casement now, sir, for as they come back along
the ridge they will be facing it, and if a flash of lightning came they
would see that it was half open, and even if they did not catch sight of
our faces they would think it suspicious that the window should be open,
and it might put them on their guard."

"Yes; and we may as well turn in at once, John. Like enough when they get
back they will listen for a bit at their door, so as to make sure that
everything is quiet before they turn in. There is nothing more to see now.
Of course they will get in as they got out. You had better turn in as you
are, Cyril; they may listen at your door."

Cyril at once went up to his room, closed the door, placed a chair against
it, and then lay down on his bed. He listened intently, and four or five
minutes later thought that he heard a door open; but he could not be sure,
for just at that moment heavy drops began to patter down upon the tiles.
The noise rose louder and louder until he could scarce have heard himself
speak. Then there was a bright flash and the deep rumble of the thunder
mingled with the sharp rattle of the raindrops overhead. He listened for a
time to the storm, and then dropped off to sleep.

Things went on as usual at breakfast the next morning. During the meal,
Captain Dave gave the foreman several instructions as to the morning's
work.

"I am going on board the Royalist," he said. "John Browning wants
me to overhaul all the gear, and see what will do for another voyage or
two, and what must be new. His skipper asked for new running rigging all
over, but he thinks that there can't be any occasion for its all being
renewed. I don't expect I shall be in till dinner-time, so anyone that
wants to see me must come again in the afternoon."

Ten minutes later, Cyril went out, on his way to his work. Captain Dave
was standing a few doors away.

"Before I go on board the brig, lad, I am going up to the Chief
Constable's to arrange about this business. I want to get four men of the
watch. Of course, it may be some nights before this is tried again, so I
shall have the men stowed away in the kitchen. Then we must keep watch,
and as soon as we see those young villains on the roof, we will let the
men out at the front door. Two will post themselves this end of the lane,
and two go round into Leadenhall Street and station themselves at the
other end. When the boys go out after supper we will unlock the door at
the bottom of the stairs into the shop, and the door into the warehouse.
Then we will steal down into the shop and listen there until we hear them
open the door into the yard, and then go into the warehouse and be ready
to make a rush out as soon as they get the gate open. John will have his
boatswain's whistle ready, and will give the signal. That will bring the
watch up, so they will be caught in a trap."

"I should think that would be a very good plan, Captain Dave, though I
wish that it could have been done without Tom Frost being taken. He is a
timid sort of boy, and I have no doubt that he has been entirely under the
thumb of Robert."

"Well, if he has he will get off lightly," the Captain said. "Even if a
boy is a timid boy, he knows what will be the consequences if he is caught
robbing his master. Cowardice is no excuse for crime, lad. The boys have
always been well treated, and though I dare say Ashford is the worst of
the two, if the other had been honest he would not have seen him robbing
me without letting me know."

For six nights watch was kept without success. Every evening, when the
family and apprentices had retired to rest, John Wilkes went quietly
downstairs and admitted the four constables, letting them out in the
morning before anyone was astir. Mrs. Dowsett had been taken into her
husband's confidence so far as to know that he had discovered he had been
robbed, and was keeping a watch for the thieves. She was not told that the
apprentices were concerned in the matter, for Captain Dave felt sure that,
however much she might try to conceal it, Robert Ashford would perceive,
by her looks, that something was wrong.

Nellie was told a day or two later, for, although ignorant of her father's
nightly watchings, she was conscious from his manner, and that of her
mother, that something was amiss, and was so persistent in her inquiries,
that the Captain consented to her mother telling her that he had a
suspicion he was being robbed, and warning her that it was essential that
the subject must not be in any way alluded to.

"Your father is worrying over it a good deal, Nellie, and it is better
that he should not perceive that you are aware of it. Just let things go
on as they were."

"Is the loss serious, mother?"

"Yes; he thinks that a good deal of money has gone. I don't think he minds
that so much as the fact that, so far, he doesn't know who the people most
concerned in it may be. He has some sort of suspicion in one quarter, but
has no clue whatever to the men most to blame."

"Does Cyril know anything about it?" Nellie asked suddenly.

"Yes, he knows, my dear; indeed, it was owing to his cleverness that your
father first came to have suspicions."

"Oh! that explains it," Nellie said. "He had been talking to father, and I
asked what it was about and he would not tell me, and I have been very
angry with him ever since."

"I have noticed that you have been behaving very foolishly," Mrs. Dowsett
said quietly, "and that for the last week you have been taking Robert with
you as an escort when you went out of an evening. I suppose you did that
to annoy Cyril, but I don't think that he minded much."

"I don't think he did, mother," Nellie agreed, with a laugh which betrayed
a certain amount of irritation. "I saw that he smiled, two or three
evenings back, when I told Robert at supper that I wanted him to go out
with me, and I was rarely angry, I can tell you."

Cyril had indeed troubled himself in no way about Nellie's coolness; but
when she had so pointedly asked Robert to go with her, he had been amused
at the thought of how greatly she would be mortified, when Robert was
haled up to the Guildhall for robbing her father, at the thought that he
had been accompanying her as an escort.

"I rather hope this will be our last watch, Captain Dave," he said, on the
seventh evening.

"Why do you hope so specially to-night, lad?"

"Of course I have been hoping so every night. But I think it is likely
that the men who take the goods come regularly once a week; for in that
case there would be no occasion for them to meet at other times to arrange
on what night they should be in the lane."

"Yes, that is like enough, Cyril; and the hour will probably be the same,
too. John and I will share your watch to-night, so as to be ready to get
the men off without loss of time."

Cyril had always taken the first watch, which was from half-past nine till
twelve. The Captain and Wilkes had taken the other watches by turns.

As before, just as the bell finished striking eleven, the three watchers
again heard through the slightly open casement the scraping noise on the
left. It had been agreed that they should not move, lest the sound should
be heard outside. Each grasped the stout cudgel he held in his hand, and
gazed at the roof of the warehouse, which could now be plainly seen, for
the moon was half full and the sky was clear. As before, the two figures
went along, and this time they could clearly recognise them. They were
both sitting astride of the ridge tiles, and moved themselves along by
means of their hands. They waited until they saw one after the other
disappear at the end of the roof, and then John Wilkes quietly stole
downstairs. The four constables had been warned to be specially wakeful.

"They are at it again to-night," John said to them, as he entered. "Now,
do you two who go round into Leadenhall Street start at once, but don't
take your post at the end of the lane for another five or six minutes. The
thieves outside may not have come up at present. As you go out, leave the
door ajar; in five minutes you others should stand ready. Don't go to the
corner, but wait in the doorway below until you hear the whistle. They
will be only fifteen or twenty yards up the lane, and would see you if you
took up your station at the corner; but the moment you hear the whistle,
rush out and have at them. We shall be there before you will."

John went down with the last two men, entered the shop, and stood there
waiting until he should be joined by his master. The latter and Cyril
remained at the window until they saw the door of the warehouse open, and
then hurried downstairs. Both were in their stockinged feet, so that their
movements should be noiseless.

"Come on, John; they are in the yard," the Captain whispered; and they
entered the warehouse and went noiselessly on, until they stood at the
door. The process of unbarring the gate was nearly accomplished. As it
swung open, John Wilkes put his whistle to his lips and blew a loud,
shrill call, and the three rushed forward. There was a shout of alarm, a
fierce imprecation, and three of the four figures at the gate sprang at
them. Scarce a blow had been struck when the two constables ran up and
joined in the fray. Two men fought stoutly, but were soon overpowered.
Robert Ashford, knife in hand, had attacked John Wilkes with fury, and
would have stabbed him, as his attention was engaged upon one of the men
outside, had not Cyril brought his cudgel down sharply on his knuckles,
when, with a yell of pain, he dropped the knife and fled up the lane. He
had gone but a short distance, however, when he fell into the hands of the
two constables, who were running towards him. One of them promptly knocked
him down with his cudgel, and then proceeded to bind his hands behind him,
while the other ran on to join in the fray. It was over before he got
there, and his comrades were engaged in binding the two robbers. Tom Frost
had taken no part in the fight. He stood looking on, paralysed with
terror, and when the two men were overpowered he fell on his knees
beseeching his master to have mercy on him.

"It is too late, Tom," the Captain said. "You have been robbing me for
months, and now you have been caught in the act you will have to take your
share in the punishment. You are a prisoner of the constables here, and
not of mine, and even if I were willing to let you go, they would have
their say in the matter. Still, if you make a clean breast of what you
know about it, I will do all I can to get you off lightly; and seeing that
you are but a boy, and have been, perhaps, led into this, they will not be
disposed to be hard on you. Pick up that lantern and bring it here, John;
let us see what plunder, they were making off with."

There was no rope this time, but a bag containing some fifty pounds'
weight of brass and copper fittings. One of the constables took possession
of this.

"You had better come along with us to the Bridewell, Master Dowsett, to
sign the charge sheet, though I don't know whether it is altogether
needful, seeing that we have caught them in the act; and you will all
three have to be at the Court to-morrow at ten o'clock."

"I will go with you," the Captain said; "but I will first slip in and put
my shoes on; I brought them down in my hand and shall be ready in a
minute. You may as well lock up this gate again, John. I will go out
through the front door and join them in the lane." As he went into the
house, John Wilkes closed the gate and put up the bar, then took up the
lantern and said to Cyril,—

"Well, Master Cyril, this has been a good night's work, and mighty
thankful I am that we have caught the pirates. It was a good day for us
all when you came to the Captain, or they might have gone on robbing him
till the time came that there was nothing more to rob; and I should never
have held up my head again, for though the Captain would never believe
that I had had a hand in bringing him to ruin, other people would not have
thought so, and I might never have got a chance of proving my innocence.
Now we will just go to the end of the yard and see if they did manage to
get into the warehouse by means of that crane, as you thought they did."

They found that the crane had been swung out just far enough to afford a
foot-hold to those lowering themselves on to it from the roof. The door of
the loft stood open.

"Just as you said. You could not have been righter, not if you had seen
them at it. And now I reckon we may as well lock up the place again, and
turn in. The Captain has got the key of the front door, and we will leave
the lantern burning at the bottom of the stairs."

Cyril got up as soon as he heard a movement in the house, and went down to
the shop, which had been already opened by John Wilkes.

"It seems quiet here, without the apprentices, John. Is there any way in
which I can help?"

"No, thank you, sir. We shan't be moving the goods about till after
breakfast, and then, no doubt, the Captain will get an extra man in to
help me. I reckon he will have to get a neighbour in to give an eye to the
place while we are all away at the Court."

"I see there is the rope still hanging from their window," Cyril said, as
he went out into the yard.

"I thought it best to leave it there," John Wilkes replied, "and I ain't
been up into the loft either. It is best to leave matters just as they
were. Like enough, they will send an officer down from the Court to look
at them."

When the family assembled at breakfast, Mrs. Dowsett was looking very
grave. The Captain, on the other hand, was in capital spirits. Nellie, as
usual, was somewhat late.

"Where is everybody?" she asked in surprise, seeing that Cyril alone was
in his place with her father and mother.

"John Wilkes is downstairs, looking after the shop, and will come up and
have his breakfast when we have done," her father replied.

"Are both the apprentices out, then?" she asked.

"The apprentices are in limbo," the Captain said grimly.

"In limbo, father! What does that mean?"

"It means that they are in gaol, my dear."

Nellie put down the knife and fork that she had just taken up.

"Are you joking, father?"

"Very far from it, my dear; it is no joke to any of us—certainly not
to me, and not to Robert Ashford, or Tom Frost. They have been robbing me
for the last year, and, for aught I know, before that. If it had not been
for Master Cyril it would not have been very long before I should have had
to put my shutters up."

"But how could they rob you, father?"

"By stealing my goods, and selling them, Nellie. The way they did it was
to lower themselves by a rope from their window on to the roof of the
warehouse, and to get down at the other end on to the crane, and then into
the loft. Then they went down and took what they had a fancy to, undid the
door, and went into the yard, and then handed over their booty to the
fellows waiting at the gate for it. Last night we caught them at it, after
having been on the watch for ten days."

"That is what I heard last night, then," she said. "I was woke by a loud
whistle, and then I heard a sound of quarrelling and fighting in the lane.
I thought it was some roysterers going home late. Oh, father, it is
dreadful to think of! And what will they do to them?"

"It is a hanging matter," the Captain said; "it is not only theft, but
mutiny. No doubt the judges will take a lenient view of Tom Frost's case,
both on the ground of his youth, and because, no doubt, he was influenced
by Ashford; but I would not give much for Robert's chances. No doubt it
will be a blow to you, Nellie, for you seem to have taken to him mightily
of late."

Nellie was about to give an emphatic contradiction, but as she remembered
how pointedly she had asked for his escort during the last few days, she
flushed up, and was silent.

"It is terrible to think of," she said, after a pause. "I suppose this is
what you and Cyril were consulting about, father. I have to ask your
pardon, Master Cyril, for my rudeness to you; but of course I did not
think it was anything of consequence, or that you could not have told me
if you had wished to do so."

"You need not beg my pardon, Mistress Nellie. No doubt you thought it
churlish on my part to refuse to gratify your curiosity, and I am not
surprised that you took offence. I knew that when you learned how
important it was to keep silence over the matter, that you would acquit me
of the intention of making a mystery about nothing."

"I suppose you knew, mother?" Nellie asked.

"I knew that your father believed that he was being robbed, Nellie, and
that he was keeping watch for some hours every night, but I did not know
that he suspected the apprentices. I am glad that we did not, for
assuredly we should have found it very hard to school our faces so that
they should not guess that aught was wrong."

"That was why we said nothing about it, Nellie. It has been as much as I
have been able to do to sit at table, and talk in the shop as usual, with
boys I knew were robbing me; and I know honest John Wilkes must have felt
it still more. But till a week ago we would not believe that they had a
hand in the matter. It is seven nights since Cyril caught them creeping
along the roof, and called me to the window in John Wilkes's room, whence
he was watching the yard, not thinking the enemy was in the house."

"And how did you come to suspect that robbery was going on, Cyril?"

"Simply because, on making up the books, I found there was a great
deficiency in the stores."

"That is what he was doing when he was sitting up at night, after you were
in bed, Miss Nellie," her father said. "You may thank your stars that he
took a berth in this ship, for the scoundrels would have foundered her to
a certainty, if he had not done so. I tell you, child, he has saved this
craft from going to the bottom. I have not said much to him about it, but
he knows that I don't feel it any the less."

"And who were the other men who were taken, father?"

"That I can't tell you, Nellie. I went to the Bridewell with them, and as
soon as I saw them safely lodged there I came home. They will be had up
before the Lord Mayor this morning, and then I dare say I shall know all
about them. Now I must go and take my watch below, and let John Wilkes
come off duty."

"Why, John, what is the matter?" Mrs. Dowsett said, when the foreman
entered.

"Nothing worth speaking of, Mistress. I got a clip over the eye from one
of the pirates we were capturing. The thing mattered nothing, one way or
the other, but it might have cost me my life, because, for a moment, it
pretty well dazed me. That young villain, Bob, was just coming at me with
his knife, and I reckon it would have gone hard with me if Master Cyril
here hadn't, just in the nick of time, brought his stick down on Robert's
knuckles, and that so sharply that the fellow dropped his knife with a
yell, and took to his heels, only to fall into the hands of two of the
watch coming from the other end of the lane. You did me a good turn, lad,
and if ever I get the chance of ranging up alongside of you in a fray, you
may trust me to return it."

He held out his hand to Cyril, and gave a warm grip to the hand the latter
laid in it.

"It is a rum start, Mistress," John went on, as he sat down to his meal,
"that two old hands like the Captain and I were sailing on, not dreaming
of hidden rocks or sand-banks, when this lad, who I used to look upon as a
young cockerel who was rather above his position, should come forward and
have saved us all from shipwreck."

"It is indeed, John," his mistress said earnestly, "and I thank God indeed
that He put the thought into the minds of Captain Dave and myself to ask
him to take up his abode with us. It seemed to us then that we were doing
a little kindness that would cost us nothing, whereas it has turned out
the saving of us."

"Dear, dear!" Nellie, who had been sitting with a frown on her pretty
face, said pettishly. "What a talk there will be about it all, and how
Jane Greenwood and Martha Stebbings and the rest of them will laugh at me!
They used to say they wondered how I could go about with such an ugly
wretch behind me, and of course I spoke up for him and said that he was an
honest knave and faithful; and now it turns out that he is a villain and a
robber. I shall never hear the last of him."

"You will get over that, Nellie," her mother said severely. "It would be
much better if, instead of thinking of such trifles, you would consider
how sad a thing it is that two lads should lose their character, and
perhaps their lives, simply for their greed of other people's goods. I
could cry when I think of it. I know that Robert Ashford has neither
father nor mother to grieve about him, for my husband's father took him
out of sheer charity; but Tom's parents are living, and it will be
heart-breaking indeed to them when they hear of their son's misdoings."

"I trust that Captain Dave will get him off," Cyril said. "As he is so
young he may turn King's evidence, and I feel sure that he did not go
willingly into the affair. I have noticed many times that he had a
frightened look, as if he had something on his mind. I believe that he
acted under fear of the other."

As soon as John Wilkes had finished his breakfast he went with Captain
Dave and Cyril to the Magistrates' Court at the Guildhall. Some other
cases were first heard, and then the apprentices, with the two men who had
been captured in the lane, were brought in and placed in the dock. The men
bore marks that showed they had been engaged in a severe struggle, and
that the watch had used their staves with effect. One was an elderly man
with shaggy grey eyebrows; the other was a very powerfully built fellow,
who seemed, from his attire, to follow the profession of a sailor. Tom
Frost was sobbing bitterly. One of Robert Ashford's hands was bandaged up.
As he was placed in the dock he cast furtive glances round with his shifty
eyes, and as they fell upon Cyril an expression of deadly hate came over
his face. The men of the watch who had captured them first gave their
evidence as to finding them in the act of robbery, and testified to the
desperate resistance they had offered to capture. Captain Dave then
entered the witness-box, and swore first to the goods that were found on
them being his property, and then related how, it having come to his
knowledge that he was being robbed, he had set a watch, and had, eight
days previously, seen his two apprentices getting along the roof, and how
they had come out from the warehouse door, had opened the outer gate, and
had handed over some goods they had brought out to persons unknown waiting
to receive them.

"Why did you not stop them in their commission of the theft?" the Alderman
in the Chair asked.

"Because, sir, had I done so, the men I considered to be the chief
criminals, and who had doubtless tempted my apprentices to rob me, would
then have made off. Therefore, I thought it better to wait until I could
lay hands on them also, and so got four men of the watch to remain in the
house at night."

Then he went on to relate how, after watching seven nights, he had again
seen the apprentices make their way along the roof, and how they and the
receivers of their booty were taken by the watch, aided by himself, his
foreman, and Master Cyril Shenstone, who was dwelling in his house.

After John Wilkes had given his evidence, Cyril went into the box and
related how, being engaged by Captain David Dowsett to make up his books,
he found, upon stock being taken, that there was a deficiency to the
amount of many hundreds of pounds in certain stores, notably such as were
valuable without being bulky.

"Is anything known as to the prisoners?" the magistrate asked the officer
of the city watch in charge of the case.

"Nothing is known of the two boys, your honour; but the men are well
known. The elder, who gave the name of Peter Johnson, is one Joseph
Marner; he keeps a marine shop close to the Tower. For a long time he has
been suspected of being a receiver of stolen goods, but we have never been
able to lay finger on him before. The other man has, for the last year,
acted as his assistant in the shop; he answers closely to the description
of a man, Ephraim Fowler, who has long been wanted. This man was a seaman
in a brig trading to Yarmouth. After an altercation with the captain he
stabbed him, and then slew the mate who was coming to his assistance; then
with threats he compelled the other two men on board to let him take the
boat. When they were off Brightlingsea he rowed away, and has not been
heard of since. If you will remand them, before he comes up again I hope
to find the men who were on board, and see if they identify him. We are in
possession of Joseph Marner's shop, and have found large quantities of
goods that we have reason to believe are the proceeds of these and other
robberies."

After the prisoners had left the dock, Captain Dave went up to the
officer.

"I believe," he said, "that the boy has not voluntarily taken part in
these robberies, but has been led away, or perhaps obliged by threats to
take part in them; he may be able to give you some assistance, for maybe
these men are not the only persons to whom the stolen goods have been
sold, and he may be able to put you on the track of other receivers."

"The matter is out of my hands now," the officer said, "but I will
represent what you say in the proper quarter; and now you had better come
round with me; you may be able to pick out some of your property. We only
made a seizure of the place an hour ago. I had all the men who came in on
duty this morning to take a look at the prisoners. Fortunately two or
three of them recognised Marner, and you may guess we lost no time in
getting a search warrant and going down to his place. It is the most
important capture we have made for some time, and may lead to the
discovery of other robberies that have been puzzling us for months past.
There is a gang known as the Black Gang, but we have never been able to
lay hands on any of their leaders, and such fellows as have been captured
have refused to say a word, and have denied all knowledge of it. There
have been a number of robberies of a mysterious kind, none of which have
we been able to trace, and they have been put down to the same gang. The
Chief Constable is waiting for me there, and we shall make a thorough
search of the premises, and it is like enough we shall come across some
clue of importance. At any rate, if we can find some of the articles
stolen in the robberies I am speaking of, it will be a strong proof that
Marner is one of the chiefs of the gang, and that may lead to further
discoveries."

"You had better come with us, John," Captain Dave said. "You know our
goods better than I do myself. Will you come, Cyril?"

"I should be of no use in identifying the goods, sir, and I am due in half
an hour at one of my shops."

The search was an exhaustive one. There was no appearance of an
underground cellar, but on some of the boards of the shop being taken up,
it was found that there was a large one extending over the whole house.
This contained an immense variety of goods. In one corner was a pile of
copper bolts that Captain Dave and John were able to claim at once, as
they bore the brand of the maker from whom they obtained their stock.
There were boxes of copper and brass ship and house fittings, and a very
large quantity of rope, principally of the sizes in which the stock had
been found deficient; but to these Captain Dave was unable to swear. In
addition to these articles the cellar contained a number of chests, all of
which were found to be filled with miscellaneous articles of wearing
apparel—rolls of silk, velvet, cloth, and other materials—curtains,
watches, clocks, ornaments of all kinds, and a considerable amount of
plate. As among these were many articles which answered to the
descriptions given of goods that had been stolen from country houses, the
whole were impounded by the Chief Constable, and carried away in carts.
The upper part of the house was carefully searched, the walls tapped,
wainscotting pulled down, and the floors carefully examined. Several
hiding-places were found, but nothing of any importance discovered in
them.

"I should advise you," the Chief Constable said to Captain Dave, "to put
in a claim for every article corresponding with those you have lost. Of
course, if anyone else comes forward and also puts in a claim, the matter
will have to be gone into, and if neither of you can absolutely swear to
the things, I suppose you will have to settle it somehow between you. If
no one else claims them, you will get them all without question, for you
can swear that, to the best of your knowledge and belief, they are yours,
and bring samples of your own goods to show that they exactly correspond
with them. I have no doubt that a good deal of the readily saleable stuff,
such as ropes, brass sheaves for blocks, and things of that sort, will
have been sold, but as it is clear that there is a good deal of your stuff
in the stock found below, I hope your loss will not be very great. There
is no doubt it has been a splendid find for us. It is likely enough that
we shall discover among those boxes goods that have been obtained from a
score of robberies in London, and likely enough in the country. We have
arrested three men we found in the place, and two women, and may get from
some of them information that will enable us to lay hands on some of the
others concerned in these robberies."

CHAPTER V — KIDNAPPED

That afternoon Captain Dave went down to the Bridewell, and had an
interview with Tom Frost, in the presence of the Master of the prison.

"Well, Tom, I never expected to have to come to see you in a place like
this."

"I am glad I am here, master," the boy said earnestly, with tears in his
eyes. "I don't mind if they hang me; I would rather anything than go on as
I have been doing. I knew it must come, and whenever I heard anyone walk
into the shop I made sure it was a constable. I am ready to tell
everything, master; I know I deserve whatever I shall get, but that won't
hurt me half as much as it has done, having to go on living in the house
with you, and knowing I was helping to rob you all along."

"Anything that you say must be taken down," the officer said; "and I can't
promise that it will make any difference in your sentence."

"I do not care anything about that; I am going to tell the truth."

"Very well, then, I will take down anything you say. But wait a minute."

He went to the door of the room and called.

"Is the Chief Constable in?" he asked a man who came up. "If he is, ask
him to step here."

A minute later the Chief Constable came in.

"This prisoner wishes to make a confession, Master Holmes. I thought it
best that you should be here. You can hear what he says then, and it may
help you in your inquiry. Besides, you may think of questions on points he
may not mention; he understands that he is speaking entirely of his own
free will, and that I have given him no promise whatever that his so doing
will alter his sentence, although no doubt it will be taken into
consideration."

"Quite so," the constable said. "This is not a case where one prisoner
would be ordinarily permitted to turn King's evidence against the others,
because, as they were caught in the act, no such evidence is necessary. We
know all about how the thing was done, and who did it."

"I want to tell how I first came to rob my master," the boy said. "I never
thought of robbing him. When I came up to London, my father said to me,
'Whatever you do, Tom, be honest. They say there are rogues up in London;
don't you have anything to do with them.' One evening, about a year ago I
went out with Robert, and we went to a shop near the wall at Aldgate. I
had never been there before, but Robert knew the master, who was the old
man that was taken in the lane. Robert said the man was a relation of his
father's, and had been kind to him. We sat down and talked for a time, and
then Robert, who was sitting close to me, moved for something, and put his
hand against my pocket.

"'Hullo!' he said; 'what have you got there?'

"'Nothing,' I said.

"'Oh, haven't you?' and he put his hand in my pocket, and brought out ten
guineas. 'Hullo!' he said; 'where did you get these? You told me yesterday
you had not got a groat. Why, you young villain, you must have been
robbing the till!'

"I was so frightened that I could not say anything, except that I did not
know how they came there and I could swear that I had not touched the
till. I was too frightened to think then, but I have since thought that
the guineas were never in my pocket at all, but were in Robert's hand.

"'That won't do, boy,' the man said. 'It is clear that you are a thief. I
saw Robert take them from your pocket, and, as an honest man, it is my
duty to take you to your master and tell him what sort of an apprentice he
has. You are young, and you will get off with a whipping at the pillory,
and that will teach you that honesty is the best policy.'

"So he got his hat and put it on, and took me by the collar as if to haul
me out into the street. I went down on my knees to beg for mercy, and at
last he said that he would keep the matter quiet if I would swear to do
everything that Robert told me; and I was so frightened that I swore to do
so.

"For a bit there wasn't any stealing, but Robert used to take me out over
the roof, and we used to go out together and go to places where there were
two or three men, and they gave us wine. Then Robert proposed that we
should have a look through the warehouse. I did not know what he meant,
but as we went through he filled his pockets with things and told me to
take some too. I said I would not. Then he threatened to raise the alarm,
and said that when Captain Dave came down he should say he heard me get up
to come down by the rope on to the warehouse, and that he had followed me
to see what I was doing, and had found me in the act of taking goods, and
that, as he had before caught me with money stolen from the till, as a
friend of his could testify, he felt that it was his duty to summon you at
once. I know I ought to have refused, and to have let him call you down,
but I was too frightened. At last I agreed to do what he told me, and ever
since then we have been robbing you."

"What have you done with the money you got for the things?" the constable
asked.

"I had a groat sometimes," the boy said, "but that is all. Robert said
first that I should have a share, but I said I would have nothing to do
with it. I did as he ordered me because I could not help it. Though I have
taken a groat or two sometimes, that is all I have had."

"Do you know anything about how much Robert had?"

"No, sir; I never saw him paid any money. I supposed that he had some
because he has said sometimes he should set up a shop for himself, down at
some seaport town, when he was out of his apprenticeship; but I have never
seen him with any money beyond a little silver. I don't know what he used
to do when we had given the things to the men that met us in the lane. I
used always to come straight back to bed, but generally he went out with
them. I used to fasten the gate after him, and he got back over the wall
by a rope. Most times he didn't come in till a little before daybreak."

"Were they always the same men that met you in the lane?"

"No, sir. The master of the shop was very seldom there. The big man has
come for the last three or four months, and there were two other men. They
used to be waiting for us together until the big man came, but since then
one or other of them came with him, except when the master of the shop was
there himself."

"Describe them to me."

The boy described them as well as he could.

"Could you swear to them if you saw them?"

"I think so. Of course, sometimes it was moonlight, and I could see their
faces well; and besides, the light of the lantern often fell upon their
faces."

The constable nodded.

"The descriptions answer exactly," he said to Captain Dave, "to the two
men we found in the shop. The place was evidently the headquarters of a
gang of thieves."

"Please, sir," the boy said, "would you have me shut up in another place?
I am afraid of being with the others. They have sworn they will kill me if
I say a word, and when I get back they will ask me who I have seen and
what I have said."

Captain Dave took the other two men aside.

"Could you not let the boy come home with me?" he said. "I believe his
story is a true one. He has been terrified into helping that rascal,
Robert Ashford. Of course he himself was of no good to them, but they were
obliged to force him into it, as otherwise he would have found out
Robert's absences and might have reported them to me. I will give what
bail you like, and will undertake to produce him whenever he is required."

"I could not do that myself," the constable said, "but I will go round to
the Court now with the boy's confession, and I have no doubt the Alderman
will let him go. But let me give you a word of advice: don't let him stir
out of the house after dark. We have no doubt that there is a big gang
concerned in this robbery, and the others of which we found the booty at
the receiver's. They would not know how much this boy could tell about
them, but if he went back to you they would guess that he had peached. If
he went out after dark, the chances would be against his ever coming back
again. No, now I think of it, I am sure you had better let him stay where
he is. The Master will put him apart from the others, and make him
comfortable. You see, at present we have no clue as to the men concerned
in the robberies. You may be sure that they are watching every move on our
part, and if they knew that this boy was out, they might take the alarm
and make off."

"Well, if you think so, I will leave him here."

"I am sure that it would be the best plan."

"You will make him comfortable, Master Holroyd?"

"Yes; you need not worry about him, Captain Dowsett."

They then turned to the boy.

"You will be moved away from the others, Tom," Captain Dave said, "and Mr.
Holroyd has promised to make you comfortable."

"Oh, Captain Dave," the boy burst out, "will you forgive me? I don't mind
being punished, but if you knew how awfully miserable I have been all this
time, knowing that I was robbing you while you were so kind to me, I think
you would forgive me."

"I forgive you, Tom," Captain Dave said, putting his hand on the boy's
shoulder. "I hope that this will be a lesson to you, all your life. You
see all this has come upon you because you were a coward. If you had been
a brave lad you would have said, 'Take me to my master.' You might have
been sure that I would have heard your story as well as theirs, and I
don't think I should have decided against you under the circumstances. It
was only your word against Robert's; and his taking you to this man's, and
finding the money in your pocket in so unlikely a way, would certainly
have caused me to have suspicions. There is nothing so bad as cowardice;
it is the father of all faults. A coward is certain to be a liar, for he
will not hesitate to tell any falsehood to shelter him from the
consequences of a fault. In your case, you see, cowardice has made you a
thief; and in some cases it might drive a man to commit a murder. However,
lad, I forgive you freely. You have been weak, and your weakness has made
you a criminal; but it has been against your own will. When all this is
over, I will see what can be done for you. You may live to be an honest
man and a good citizen yet."

Two days later Cyril was returning home late in the evening after being
engaged longer than usual in making up a number of accounts for one of his
customers. He had come through Leadenhall Street, and had entered the lane
where the capture of the thieves had been made, when he heard a footstep
behind him. He turned half round to see who was following him, when he
received a tremendous blow on the head which struck him senseless to the
ground.

After a time he was dimly conscious that he was being carried along. He
was unable to move; there was something in his mouth that prevented him
from calling out, and his head was muffled in a cloak. He felt too weak
and confused to struggle. A minute later he heard a voice, that sounded
below him, say,—

"Have you got him?"

"I have got him all right," was the answer of the man who was carrying
him.

Then he felt that he was being carried down some stairs.

Someone took him, and he was thrown roughly down; then there was a slight
rattling noise, followed by a regular sound. He wondered vaguely what it
was, but as his senses came back it flashed upon him; it was the sound of
oars; he was in a boat. It was some time before he could think why he
should be in a boat. He had doubtless been carried off by some of the
friends of the prisoners', partly, perhaps, to prevent his giving evidence
against them, partly from revenge for the part he had played in the
discovery of the crime.

In a few minutes the sound of oars ceased, and there was a bump as the
boat struck against something hard. Then he was lifted up, and someone
took hold of him from above. He was carried a few steps and roughly thrust
in somewhere. There was a sound of something heavy being thrown down above
him, and then for a long time he knew nothing more.

When he became conscious again, he was able, as he lay there, to come to a
distinct conclusion as to where he was. He had been kidnapped, carried
off, taken out in a boat to some craft anchored in the river, and was now
in the hold. He felt almost suffocated. The wrap round his head prevented
his breathing freely, the gag in his mouth pressed on his tongue, and gave
him severe pain, while his head ached acutely from the effects of the
blow.

The first thing to do was, if possible, to free his hands, so as to
relieve himself from the gag and muffling. An effort or two soon showed
him that he was but loosely bound. Doubtless the man who had attacked him
had not wasted much time in securing his arms, believing that the blow
would be sufficient to keep him quiet until he was safe on board ship. It
was, therefore, without much difficulty that he managed to free one of his
hands, and it was then an easy task to get rid of the rope altogether. The
cloak was pulled from his face, and, feeling for his knife, he cut the
lashings of the gag and removed it from his mouth. He lay quiet for a few
minutes, panting from his exhaustion. Putting up his hand he felt a beam
about a foot above his body. He was, then, in a hold already stored with
cargo. The next thing was to shift his position among the barrels and
bales upon which he was lying, until he found a comparatively level spot.
He was in too great pain to think of sleep; his head throbbed fiercely,
and he suffered from intense thirst.

From time to time heavy footsteps passed overhead. Presently he heard a
sudden rattling of blocks, and the flapping of a sail. Then he noticed
that there was a slight change in the level of his position, and knew that
the craft was under way on her voyage down the river.

It seemed an immense time to him before he saw a faint gleam of light, and
edging himself along, found himself again under the hatchway, through a
crack in which the light was shining. It was some hours before the hatch
was lifted off, and he saw two men looking down.

"Water!" he said. "I am dying of thirst."

"Bring a pannikin of water," one of the men said, "but first give us a
hand, and we will have him on deck."

Stooping down, they took Cyril by the shoulders and hoisted him out.

"He is a decent-looking young chap," the speaker went on. "I would have
seen to him before, if I had known him to be so bad. Those fellows didn't
tell us they had hurt him. Here is the water, young fellow. Can you sit up
to drink it?"

Cyril sat up and drank off the contents of the pannikin.

"Why, the back of your head is all covered with blood!" the man who had
before spoken said. "You must have had an ugly knock?"

"I don't care so much for that," Cyril replied. "It's the gag that hurt
me. My tongue is so much swollen I can hardly speak."

"Well, you can stay here on deck if you will give me your promise not to
hail any craft we may pass. If you won't do that I must put you down under
hatches again."

"I will promise that willingly," Cyril said; "the more so that I can
scarce speak above a whisper."

"Mind, if you as much as wave a hand, or do anything to bring an eye on
us, down you go into the hold again, and when you come up next time it
will be to go overboard. Now just put your head over the rail, and I will
pour a few buckets of water over it. I agreed to get you out of the way,
but I have got no grudge against you, and don't want to do you harm."

Getting a bucket with a rope tied to the handle, he dipped it into the
river, and poured half-a-dozen pailfuls over Cyril's head. The lad felt
greatly refreshed, and, sitting down on the deck, was able to look round.
The craft was a coaster of about twenty tons burden. There were three men
on deck besides the man who had spoken to him, and who was evidently the
skipper. Besides these a boy occasionally put up his head from a hatchway
forward. There was a pile of barrels and empty baskets amidship, and the
men presently began to wash down the decks and to tidy up the ropes and
gear lying about. The shore on both sides was flat, and Cyril was
surprised at the width of the river. Behind them was a small town,
standing on higher ground.

"What place is that?" he asked a sailor who passed near him.

"That is Gravesend."

A few minutes afterwards the boy again put his head out of the hatchway
and shouted,—

"Breakfast!"

"Can you eat anything, youngster?" the skipper asked Cyril.

"No, thank you, my head aches too much; and my mouth is so sore I am sure
I could not get anything down."

"Well, you had best lie down, then, with your head on that coil of rope; I
allow you did not sleep much last night."

In a few minutes Cyril was sound asleep, and when he awoke the sun was
setting.

"You have had a good bout of it, lad," the skipper said, as he raised
himself on his elbow and looked round. "How are you feeling now?"

"A great deal better," Cyril said, as he rose to his feet.

"Supper will be ready in a few minutes, and if you can manage to get a bit
down it will do you good."

"I will try, anyhow," Cyril said. "I think that I feel hungry."

The land was now but a faint line on either hand. A gentle breeze was
blowing from the south-west, and the craft was running along over the
smooth water at the rate of three or four miles an hour. Cyril wondered
where he was being taken to, and what was going to be done with him, but
determined to ask no questions. The skipper was evidently a kind-hearted
man, although he might be engaged in lawless business, but it was as well
to wait until he chose to open the subject.

As soon as the boy hailed, the captain led the way to the hatchway. They
descended a short ladder into the fo'castle, which was low, but roomy.
Supper consisted of boiled skate—a fish Cyril had never tasted
before—oaten bread, and beer. His mouth was still sore, but he
managed to make a hearty meal of fish, though he could not manage the hard
bread. One of the men was engaged at the helm, but the other two shared
the meal, all being seated on lockers that ran round the cabin. The fish
were placed on an earthenware dish, each man cutting off slices with his
jack-knife, and using his bread as a platter. Little was said while the
meal went on; but when they went on deck again, the skipper, having put
another man at the tiller, while the man released went forward to get his
supper, said,—

"Well, I think you are in luck, lad."

Cyril opened his eyes in surprise.

"You don't think so?" the man went on. "I don't mean that you are in luck
in being knocked about and carried off, but that you are not floating down
the river at present instead of walking the deck here. I can only suppose
that they thought your body might be picked up, and that it would go all
the harder with the prisoners, if it were proved that you had been put out
of the way. You don't look like an informer either!"

"I am not an informer," Cyril said indignantly. "I found that my employer
was being robbed, and I aided him to catch the thieves. I don't call that
informing. That is when a man betrays others engaged in the same work as
himself."

"Well, well, it makes no difference to me," the skipper said. "I was
engaged by a man, with whom I do business sometimes, to take a fellow who
had been troublesome out of the way, and to see that he did not come back
again for some time. I bargained that there was to be no foul play; I
don't hold with things of that sort. As to carrying down a bale of goods
sometimes, or taking a few kegs of spirits from a French lugger, I see no
harm in it; but when it comes to cutting throats, I wash my hands of it. I
am sorry now I brought you off, though maybe if I had refused they would
have put a knife into you, and chucked you into the river. However, now
that I have got you I must go through with it. I ain't a man to go back
from my word, and what I says I always sticks to. Still, I am sorry I had
anything to do with the business. You look to me a decent young gentleman,
though your looks and your clothes have not been improved by what you have
gone through. Well, at any rate, I promise you that no harm shall come to
you as long as you are in my hands."

"And how long is that likely to be, captain?"

"Ah! that is more than I can tell you. I don't want to do you harm, lad,
and more than that, I will prevent other people from doing you harm as
long as you are on board this craft. But more than that I can't say. It is
likely enough I shall have trouble in keeping that promise, and I can't go
a step farther. There is many a man who would have chucked you overboard,
and so have got rid of the trouble altogether, and of the risk of its
being afterwards proved that he had a hand in getting you out of the way."

"I feel that, captain," Cyril said, "and I thank you heartily for your
kind treatment of me. I promise you that if at any time I am set ashore
and find my way back to London, I will say no word which can get you into
trouble."

"There is Tom coming upon deck. You had better turn in. You have had a
good sleep, but I have no doubt you can do with some more, and a night's
rest will set you up. You take the left-hand locker. The boy sleeps on the
right hand, and we have bunks overhead."

Cyril was soon soundly asleep, and did not wake when the others turned in.
He was alone in the cabin when he opened his eyes, but the sun was shining
brightly through the open hatchway. He sprang up and went on deck. The
craft was at anchor. No land could be seen to the south, but to the north
a low shore stretched away three or four miles distant. There was scarcely
a breath of wind.

"Well, you have had a good sleep, lad," the captain said. "You had best
dip that bucket overboard and have a wash; you will feel better after it.
Now, boy, slip down and get your fire going; we shall be ready for
breakfast as soon as it is ready for us."

Cyril soused his head with the cold water, and felt, as the captain had
said, all the better for it, for the air in the little cabin was close and
stuffy, and he had felt hot and feverish before his wash.

"The wind died out, you see," the captain said, "and we had to anchor when
tide turned at two o'clock. There is a dark line behind us, and as soon as
the wind reaches us, we will up anchor. The force of the tide is spent."

The wind, however, continued very light, and the vessel did little more
than drift with the tide, and when it turned at two o'clock they had to
drop anchor again close under some high land, on the top of which stood a
lofty tower.

"That is a land-mark," the captain said. "There are some bad sands outside
us, and that stands as a mark for vessels coming through."

Cyril had enjoyed the quiet passage much. The wound at the back of his
head still smarted, and he had felt disinclined for any exertion. More
than once, in spite of the good allowance of sleep he had had, he dozed
off as he sat on the deck with his back against the bulwark, watching the
shore as they drifted slowly past it, and wondering vaguely, how it would
all end. They had been anchored but half an hour when the captain ordered
the men to the windlass.

"There is a breeze coming, lads," he said; "and even if it only lasts for
an hour, it will take us round the head and far enough into the bay to get
into the tide running up the rivers."

The breeze, however, when it came, held steadily, and in two hours they
were off Harwich; but on coming opposite the town they turned off up the
Orwell, and anchored, after dark, at a small village some six miles up the
river.

"If you will give me your word, lad, that you will not try to escape, and
will not communicate with anyone who may come off from the shore, I will
continue to treat you as a passenger; but if not, I must fasten you up in
the cabin, and keep a watch over you."

"I will promise, captain. I should not know where to go if I landed. I
heard you say, 'There is Harwich steeple,' when we first came in sight of
it, but where that is I have no idea, nor how far we are from London. As I
have not a penny in my pocket, I should find it well-nigh impossible to
make my way to town, which may, for aught I know, be a hundred miles away;
for, in truth, I know but little of the geography of England, having been
brought up in France, and not having been out of sight of London since I
came over."

Just as he was speaking, the splash of an oar was heard close by.

"Up, men," the captain said in a low tone to those in the fo'castle.
"Bring up the cutlasses. Who is that?" he called, hailing the boat.

"Merry men all," was the reply.

"All right. Come alongside. You saw our signal, then?"

"Ay, ay, we saw it; but there is an officer with a boat-load of sailors
ashore from the King's ship at Harwich. He is spending the evening with
the revenue captain here, and we had to wait until the two men left in
charge of the boat went up to join their comrades at the tavern. What have
you got for us?"

"Six boxes and a lot of dunnage, such as cables, chains, and some small
anchors."

"Well, you had better wait for an hour before you take the hatches off.
You will hear the gig with the sailors row past soon. The tide has begun
to run down strong, and I expect the officer won't be long before he
moves. As soon as he has gone we will come out again. We shall take the
goods up half a mile farther. The revenue man on that beat has been paid
to keep his eyes shut, and we shall get them all stored in a hut, a mile
away in the woods, before daybreak. You know the landing-place; there will
be water enough for us to row in there for another two hours."

The boat rowed away to the shore, which was not more than a hundred yards
distant. A little later they heard a stir on the strand, then came the
sound of oars, and two minutes later a boat shot past close to them, and
then, bearing away, rowed down the river.

"Now, lads," the captain said, "get the hatches off. The wind is coming
more offshore, which is all the better for us, but do not make more noise
than you can help."

The hatches were taken off, and the men proceeded to get up a number of
barrels and bales, some sail-cloth being thrown on the deck to deaden the
sound. Lanterns, passed down into the hold, gave them light for their
operations.

"This is the lot," one of the sailors said presently.

Six large boxes were then passed up and put apart from the others. Then
followed eight or ten coils of rope, a quantity of chain, some kedge
anchors, a number of blocks, five rolls of canvas, and some heavy bags
that, by the sound they made when they were laid down, Cyril judged to
contain metal articles of some sort. Then the other goods were lowered
into the hold and the hatches replaced. The work had scarcely concluded
when the boat again came alongside, this time with four men on board.
Scarcely a word was spoken as the goods were transferred to the boat.

"You will be going to-morrow?" one of the men in the boat asked.

"Yes, I shall get up to Ipswich on the top of the tide—that is, if I
don't stick fast in this crooked channel. My cargo is all either for
Ipswich or Aldborough. Now let us turn in," as the boatmen made their way
up the river. "We must be under way before daylight, or else we shall not
save the tide down to-morrow evening. I am glad we have got that lot
safely off. I always feel uncomfortable until we get rid of that part of
the cargo. If it wasn't that it paid better than all the rest together I
would not have anything to do with it."

Cyril was very glad to lie down on the locker, while the men turned into
their berths overhead. He had not yet fully recovered from the effects of
the blow he had received, but in spite of the aching of his head he was
soon sound asleep. It seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes
when he was roused by the captain's voice,—

"Tumble up, lads. The light is beginning to show."

Ten minutes later they were under way. The breeze had almost died out, and
after sailing for some two miles in nearly a straight course, the boat was
thrown over, two men got into it, and, fastening a rope to the ketch's
bow, proceeded to tow her along, the captain taking the helm.

To Cyril's surprise, they turned off almost at right angles to the course
they had before been following, and made straight for the opposite shore.
They approached it so closely that Cyril expected that in another moment
the craft would take ground, when, at a shout from the captain, the men in
the boat started off parallel with the shore, taking the craft's head
round. For the next three-quarters of an hour they pursued a serpentine
course, the boy standing in the chains and heaving the lead continually.
At last the captain shouted,—"You can come on board now, lads. We
are in the straight channel at last." Twenty minutes later they again
dropped their anchor opposite a town of considerable size.

"That is Ipswich, lad," the captain said. "It is as nasty a place to get
into as there is in England, unless you have got the wind due aft."

The work of unloading began at once, and was carried on until after dark.

"That is the last of them," the captain said, to Cyril's satisfaction. "We
can be off now when the tide turns, and if we hadn't got clear to-night we
might have lost hours, for there is no getting these people on shore to
understand that the loss of a tide means the loss of a day, and that it is
no harder to get up and do your work at one hour than it is at another. I
shall have a clean up, now, and go ashore. I have got your promise, lad,
that you won't try to escape?"

Cyril assented. Standing on the deck there, with the river bank but twenty
yards away, it seemed hard that he should not be able to escape. But, as
he told himself, he would not have been standing there if it had not been
for that promise, but would have been lying, tightly bound, down in the
hold.

Cyril and the men were asleep when the captain came aboard, the boy alone
remaining up to fetch him off in the boat when he hailed.

"There is no wind, captain," Cyril said, as the anchor was got up.

"No, lad, I am glad there is not. We can drop down with the tide and the
boat towing us, but if there was a head wind we might have to stop here
till it either dropped or shifted. I have been here three weeks at a
spell. I got some news ashore," he went on, as he took his place at the
helm, while the three men rowed the boat ahead. "A man I sometimes bring
things to told me that he heard there had been an attempt to rescue the
men concerned in that robbery. I heard, before I left London, it was
likely that it would be attempted."

There were a lot of people concerned in that affair, one way and another,
and I knew they would move heaven and earth to get them out, for if any of
them peached there would be such a haul as the constables never made in
the city before. Word was passed to the prisoners to be ready, and as they
were being taken from the Guildhall to Newgate there was a sudden rush
made. The constables were not caught napping, and there was a tough fight,
till the citizens ran out of their shops and took part with them, and the
men, who were sailors, watermen, 'longshore-men, and rascals of all sorts,
bolted.

"But two of the prisoners were missing. One was, I heard, an apprentice
who was mixed up in the affair, and no one saw him go. They say he must
have stooped down and wriggled away into the crowd. The other was a man
they called Black Dick; he struck down two constables, broke through the
crowd, and got clean away. There is a great hue and cry, but so far
nothing has been heard of them. They will be kept in hiding somewhere till
there is a chance of getting them through the gates or on board a craft
lying in the river. Our men made a mess of it, or they would have got them
all off. I hear that they are all in a fine taking that Marner is safely
lodged in Newgate with the others taken in his house; he knows so much
that if he chose to peach he could hang a score of men. Black Dick could
tell a good deal, but he wasn't in all the secrets, and they say Marner is
really the head of the band and had a finger in pretty nigh every robbery
through the country. All those taken in his place are also in Newgate, and
they say the constables are searching the city like ferrets in a
rabbit-warren, and that several other arrests have been made."

"I am not sorry the apprentice got away," Cyril said. "He is a bad fellow,
there is no doubt, and, by the look he gave me, he would do me harm if he
got a chance, but I suppose that is only natural. As to the other man, he
looked to me to be a desperate villain, and he also gave me so evil a look
that, though he was in the dock with a constable on either side of him, I
felt horribly uncomfortable, especially when I heard what sort of man he
was."

"What did they say of him?"

"They said they believed he was a man named Ephraim Fowler, who had
murdered the skipper and mate of a coaster and then went off in the boat."

"Is that the man? Then truly do I regret that he has escaped. I knew both
John Moore, the master, and George Monson, the mate, and many a flagon of
beer we have emptied together. If I had known the fellow's whereabouts, I
would have put the constables on his track. I am heartily sorry now, boy,
that I had a hand in carrying you off, though maybe it is best for you
that it has been so. If I hadn't taken you someone else would, and more
than likely you would not have fared so well as you have done, for some of
them would have saved themselves all further trouble and risk, by chucking
you overboard as soon as they were well out of the Pool."

"Can't you put me ashore now, captain?"

"No, boy; I have given my word and taken my money, and I am not one to
fail to carry out a bargain because I find that I have made a bad one.
They have trusted me with thousands of pounds' worth of goods, and I have
no reason to complain of their pay, and am not going to turn my back on
them now they have got into trouble; besides, though I would trust you not
to round upon me, I would not trust them. If you were to turn up in London
they would know that I had sold them, and Marner would soon hear of it.
There is a way of getting messages to a man even in prison. Then you may
be sure that, if he said nothing else, he would take good care to let out
that I was the man who used to carry their booty away, sometimes to quiet
places on the coast, and sometimes across to Holland, and the first time I
dropped anchor in the Pool I should find myself seized and thrown into
limbo. No, lad; I must carry out my agreement—which is that I am not
to land you in England, but that I am to take you across to Holland or
elsewhere—the elsewhere meaning that if you fall overboard by the
way there will be no complaints as to the breach of the agreement. That
is, in fact, what they really meant, though they did not actually put it
into words. They said, 'We have a boy who is an informer, and has been the
means of Marner being seized and his place broken up, and there is no
saying that a score of us may not get a rope round our necks. In
consequence, we want him carried away. What you do with him is nothing to
us so long as he don't set foot in England again.' 'Will Holland suit you?
I am going across there,' I said, 'after touching at Ipswich and
Aldborough.' 'It would be much safer for you and everyone else if it
happen that he falls over before he gets there. However, we will call it
Holland.'"

"Then if I were to fall overboard," Cyril said, with a smile, "you would
not be breaking your agreement, captain? I might fall overboard to-night,
you know."

"I would not advise it, lad. You had much better stay where you are. I
don't say I mightn't anchor off Harwich, and that if you fell overboard
you couldn't manage to swim ashore, but I tell you I would not give
twopence for your life when you got back to London. It is to the interest
of a score of men to keep Marner's mouth shut. They have shown their
willingness to help him as far as they could, by getting you out of the
way, and if you got back they would have your life the first time you
ventured out of doors after dark; they would be afraid Marner would
suppose they had sold him if you were to turn up at his trial, and as like
as not he would round on the whole lot. Besides, I don't think it would be
over safe for me the first time I showed myself in London afterwards, for,
though I never said that I would do it, I have no doubt they reckoned that
I should chuck you overboard, and if you were to make your appearance in
London they would certainly put it down that I had sold them. You keep
yourself quiet, and I will land you in Holland, but not as they would
expect, without a penny or a friend; I will put you into good hands, and
arrange that you shall be sent back again as soon as the trial is over."

"Thank you very much, captain. I have no relations in London, and no
friends, except my employer, Captain David Dowsett, and by this time he
will have made up his mind that I am dead, and it won't make much
difference whether I return in four or five days or as many weeks."

CHAPTER VI — A NARROW ESCAPE

The Eliza, for this Cyril, after leaving Ipswich, learnt was her
name, unloaded the rest of her cargo at Aldborough, and then sailed across
to Rotterdam. The skipper fulfilled his promise by taking Cyril to the
house of one of the men with whom he did business, and arranging with him
to board the boy until word came that he could safely return to England.
The man was a diamond-cutter, and to him packets of jewellery and gems
that could not be disposed of in England had often been brought over by
the captain. The latter had nothing to do with the pecuniary arrangements,
which were made direct by Marner, and he had only to hand over the packets
and take back sums of money to England.

"You understand," the captain said to Cyril, "that I have not said a word
touching the matter for which you are here. I have only told him that it
had been thought it was as well you should be out of England for a time.
Of course, he understood that you were wanted for an affair in which you
had taken part; but it matters not what he thinks. I have paid him for a
month's board for you, and here are three pounds, which will be enough to
pay for your passage back if I myself should not return. If you do not
hear from me, or see the Eliza, within four weeks, there is no
reason why you should not take passage back. The trial will be over by
that time, and as the members of the gang have done their part in
preventing you from appearing, I see not why they should have further
grudge against you."

"I cannot thank you too much for your kindness, captain. I trust that when
I get back you will call at Captain Dowsett's store in Tower Street, so
that I may see you and again thank you; I know that the Captain himself
will welcome you heartily when I tell him how kindly you have treated me.
He will be almost as glad as I shall myself to see you. I suppose you
could not take him a message or letter from me now?"

"I think not, lad. It would never do for him to be able to say at the
trial that he had learnt you had been kidnapped. They might write over
here to the Dutch authorities about you. There is one thing further. From
what I heard when I landed yesterday, it seems that there is likely to be
war between Holland and England."

"I heard a talk of it in London," Cyril said, "but I do not rightly
understand the cause, nor did I inquire much about the matter."

"It is something about the colonies, and our taxing their goods, but I
don't rightly understand the quarrel, except that the Dutch think, now
that Blake is gone and our ships for the most part laid up, they may be
able to take their revenge for the lickings we have given them. Should
there be war, as you say you speak French as well as English, I should
think you had best make your way to Dunkirk as a young Frenchman, and from
there you would find no difficulty in crossing to England."

"I know Dunkirk well, captain, having indeed lived there all my life. I
should have no difficulty in travelling through Holland as a French boy."

"If there is a war," the captain said, "I shall, of course, come here no
more; but it may be that you will see me at Dunkirk. French brandy sells
as well as Dutch Schiedam, and if I cannot get the one I may perhaps get
the other; and there is less danger in coming to Dunkirk and making across
to Harwich than there is in landing from Calais or Nantes on the south
coast, where the revenue men are much more on the alert than they are at
Harwich."

"Are you not afraid of getting your boat captured? You said it was your
own."

"Not much, lad. I bring over a regular cargo, and the kegs are stowed away
under the floor of the cabin, and I run them at Pin-mill—that is the
place we anchored the night before we got to Ipswich. I have been
overhauled a good many times, but the cargo always looks right, and after
searching it for a bit, they conclude it is all regular. You see, I don't
bring over a great quantity—fifteen or twenty kegs is as much as I
can stow away—and it is a long way safer being content with a small
profit than trying to make a big one."

Cyril parted with regret from the captain, whose departure had been
hastened by a report that war might be declared at any moment, in which
case the Eliza might have been detained for a considerable time. He
had, therefore, been working almost night and day to get in his cargo, and
Cyril had remained on board until the last moment. He had seen the diamond
dealer but once, and hoped that he should not meet him often, for he felt
certain that awkward questions would be asked him. This man was in the
habit of having dealings with Marner, and had doubtless understood from
the captain that he was in some way connected with his gang; and were he
to find out the truth he would view him with the reverse of a friendly
eye. He had told him that he was to take his meals with his clerk, and
Cyril hoped, therefore, that he should seldom see him.

He wandered about the wharf until it became dark. Then he went in and took
supper with the clerk. As the latter spoke Dutch only, there was no
possibility of conversation. Cyril was thinking of going up to his bed
when there was a ring at the bell. The clerk went to answer it, leaving
the door open as he went out, and Cyril heard a voice ask, in English, if
Herr Schweindorf was in. The clerk said something in Dutch.

"The fool does not understand English, Robert," the man said.

"Tell him," he said, in a louder voice, to the clerk, "that two persons
from England—England, you understand—who have only just
arrived, want to see him on particular business. There, don't be blocking
up the door; just go and tell your master what I told you."

He pushed his way into the passage, and the clerk, seeing that there was
nothing else to do, went upstairs.

A minute later he came down again, and made a sign for them to follow him.
As they went up Cyril stole out and looked after them. The fact that they
had come from England, and that one of them was named Robert, and that
they had business with this man, who was in connection with Marner, had
excited his suspicions, but he felt a shiver of fear run through him as he
recognised the figures of Robert Ashford and the man who was called Black
Dick. He remembered the expression of hatred with which they had regarded
him in the Court, and felt that his danger would be great indeed did they
hear that he was in Rotterdam. A moment's thought convinced him that they
would almost certainly learn this at once from his host. The letter would
naturally mention that the captain had left a lad in his charge who was,
as he believed, connected with them. They would denounce him as an enemy
instead of a friend. The diamond merchant would expel him from his house,
terrified at the thought that he possessed information as to his dealings
with this band in England; and once beyond the door he would, in this
strange town, be at the mercy of his enemies. Cyril's first impulse was to
run back into the room, seize his cap, and fly. He waited, however, until
the clerk came down again; then he put his cap carelessly on his head.

"I am going for a walk," he said, waving his hand vaguely.

The man nodded, went with him to the door, and Cyril heard him put up the
bar after he had gone out. He walked quietly away, for there was no fear
of immediate pursuit.

Black Dick had probably brought over some more jewels to dispose of, and
that business would be transacted, before there would be any talk of other
matters. It might be a quarter of an hour before they heard that he was an
inmate of the house; then, when they went downstairs with the dealer, they
would hear that he had gone out for a walk and would await his return, so
that he had two or three hours at least before there would be any search.

It was early yet. Some of the boats might be discharging by torchlight. At
any rate, he might hear of a ship starting in the morning. He went down to
the wharf. There was plenty of bustle here; boats were landing fish, and
larger craft were discharging or taking in cargo; but his inability to
speak Dutch prevented his asking questions. He crossed to the other side
of the road. The houses here were principally stores or drinking taverns.
In the window of one was stuck up, "English and French Spoken Here." He
went inside, walked up to the bar, and called for a glass of beer in
English.

"You speak English, landlord?" he asked, as the mug was placed before him.

The latter nodded.

"I want to take passage either to England or to France," he said. "I came
out here but a few days ago, and I hear that there is going to be trouble
between the two countries. It will therefore be of no use my going on to
Amsterdam. I wish to get back again, for I am told that if I delay I may
be too late. I cannot speak Dutch, and therefore cannot inquire if any
boat will be sailing in the morning for England or Dunkirk. I have
acquaintances in Dunkirk, and speak French, so it makes no difference to
me whether I go there or to England."

"My boy speaks French," the landlord said, "and if you like he can go
along the port with you. Of course, you will give him something for his
trouble?"

"Willingly," Cyril said, "and be much obliged to you into the bargain."

The landlord left the bar and returned in a minute with a boy twelve years
old.

"He does not speak French very well," he said, "but I dare say it will be
enough for your purpose. I have told him that you want to take ship to
England, or that, if you cannot find one, to Dunkirk. If that will not do,
Ostend might suit you. They speak French there, and there are boats always
going between there and England."

"That would do; though I should prefer the other."

"There would be no difficulty at any other time in getting a boat for
England, but I don't know whether you will do so now. They have been
clearing off for some days, and I doubt if you will find an English ship
in port now, though of course there may be those who have been delayed for
their cargo."

Cyril went out with the boy, and after making many inquiries learnt that
there was but one English vessel still in port. However, Cyril told his
guide that he would prefer one for Dunkirk if they could find one, for if
war were declared before the boat sailed, she might be detained. After
some search they found a coasting scow that would sail in the morning.

"They will touch at two or three places," the boy said to Cyril, after a
talk with the captain; "but if you are not in a hurry, he will take you
and land you at Dunkirk for a pound—that is, if he finds food; if
you find food he will take you for eight shillings. He will start at
daybreak."

"Tell him that I agree to his price. I don't want the trouble of getting
food. As he will be going so early, I will come on board at once. I will
get my bundle, and will be back in half an hour."

He went with the boy to one of the sailors' shops near, bought a rough
coat and a thick blanket, had them wrapped up into a parcel, and then,
after paying the boy, went on board.

As he expected, he found there were no beds or accommodation for
passengers, so he stretched himself on a locker in the cabin, covered
himself with his blanket, and put the coat under his head for a pillow.
His real reason for choosing this craft in preference to the English ship
was that he thought it probable that, when he did not return to the house,
it would at once be suspected that he had recognised the visitors, and was
not going to return at all. In that case, they might suspect that he would
try to take passage to England, and would, the first thing in the morning,
make a search for him on board any English vessels that might be in the
port.

It would be easy then for them to get him ashore, for the diamond merchant
might accuse him of theft, and so get him handed over to him. Rather than
run that risk, he would have started on foot had he not been able to find
a native craft sailing early in the morning. Failing Dunkirk and Ostend,
he would have taken a passage to any other Dutch port, and run his chance
of getting a ship from there. The great point was to get away from
Rotterdam.

The four men forming the crew of the scow returned late, and by their loud
talk Cyril, who kept his eyes closed, judged that they were in liquor. In
a short time they climbed up into their berths, and all was quiet. At
daybreak they were called up by the captain. Cyril lay quiet until, by the
rippling of the water against the side, he knew that the craft was under
way. He waited a few minutes, and then went up on deck. The scow, clumsy
as she looked, was running along fast before a brisk wind, and in an hour
Rotterdam lay far behind them.

The voyage was a pleasant one. They touched at Dordrecht, at Steenbergen
on the mainland, and Flushing, staying a few hours in each place to take
in or discharge cargo. After this, they made out from the Islands, and ran
along the coast, putting into Ostend and Nieuport, and, four days after
starting, entered the port of Dunkirk.

Cyril did not go ashore at any of the places at which they stopped. It was
possible that war might have been declared with England, and as it might
be noticed that he was a foreigner he would in that case be questioned and
arrested. As soon, therefore, as they neared a quay, he went down to the
cabin and slept until they got under way again. The food was rough, but
wholesome; it consisted entirely of fish and black bread; but the sea air
gave him a good appetite, and he was in high spirits at the thought that
he had escaped from danger and was on his way back again. At Dunkirk he
was under the French flag, and half an hour after landing had engaged a
passage to London on a brig that was to sail on the following day. The
voyage was a stormy one, and he rejoiced in the possession of his
great-coat, which he had only bought in order that he might have a packet
to bring on board the scow, and so avoid exciting any suspicion or
question as to his being entirely unprovided with luggage.

It was three days before the brig dropped anchor in the Pool. As soon as
she did so, Cyril hailed a waterman, and spent almost his last remaining
coin in being taken to shore. He was glad that it was late in the
afternoon and so dark that his attire would not be noticed. His clothes
had suffered considerably from his capture and confinement on board the Eliza,
and his great-coat was of a rough appearance that was very much out of
character in the streets of London. He had, however, but a short distance
to traverse before he reached the door of the house. He rang at the bell,
and the door was opened by John Wilkes.

"What is it?" the latter asked. "The shop is shut for the night, and I
ain't going to open for anyone. At half-past seven in the morning you can
get what you want, but not before."

"Don't you know me, John?" Cyril laughed. The old sailor stepped back as
if struck with a blow.

"Eh, what?" he exclaimed. "Is it you, Cyril? Why, we had all thought you
dead! I did not know you in this dim light and in that big coat you have
got on. Come upstairs, master. Captain Dave and the ladies will be glad
indeed to see you. They have been mourning for you sadly, I can tell you."

Cyril took off his wrap and hung it on a peg, and then followed John
upstairs.

"There, Captain Dave," the sailor said, as he opened the door of the
sitting-room. "There is a sight for sore eyes!—a sight you never
thought you would look on again."

For a moment Captain Dave, his wife, and daughter stared at Cyril as if
scarce believing their eyes. Then the Captain sprang to his feet.

"It's the lad, sure enough. Why, Cyril," he went on, seizing him by the
hand, and shaking it violently, "we had never thought to see you alive
again; we made sure that those pirates had knocked you on the head, and
that you were food for fishes by this time. There has been no comforting
my good wife; and as to Nellie, if it had been a brother she had lost, she
could not have taken it more hardly."

"They did knock me on the head, and very hard too, Captain Dave. If my
skull hadn't been quite so thick, I should, as you say, have been food for
fishes before now, for that is what they meant me for, and there is no
thanks to them that I am here at present. I am sorry that you have all
been made so uncomfortable about me."

"We should have been an ungrateful lot indeed if we had not,
considering that in the first place you saved us from being ruined by
those pirates, and that it was, as we thought, owing to the services
you had done us that you had come to your end."

 "But where have you been, Master Cyril?" Nellie broke in. "What has
happened to you? We have been picturing all sorts of horrors, mother
and I. That evil had befallen you we were sure, for we knew that you
would not go away of a sudden, in this fashion, without so much as
saying goodbye. We feared all the more when, two days afterwards, the
wretches were so bold as to attack the constables, and to rescue
Robert Ashford and another from their hands. Men who would do this in
broad daylight would surely hesitate at nothing."

"Let him eat his supper without asking further questions, Nellie," her
father said. "It is ill asking one with victuals before him to begin a
tale that may, for aught I know, last an hour. Let him have his food,
lass, and then I will light my pipe, and John Wilkes shall light his here
instead of going out for it, and we will have the yarn in peace and
comfort. It spoils a good story to hurry it through. Cyril is here, alive
and well; let that content you for a few minutes."

"If I must, I must," Nellie said, with a little pout. "But you should
remember, father, that, while you have been all your life having
adventures of some sort, this is the very first that I have had; for
though Cyril is the one to whom it befell, it is all a parcel with the
robbery of the house and the capture of the thieves."

"When does the trial come off, Captain Dave?"

"It came off yesterday. Marner is to be hung at the end of the week. He
declared that he was but in the lane by accident when two lads opened the
gate. He and the man with him, seeing that they were laden with goods,
would have seized them, when they themselves were attacked and beaten
down. But this ingenuity did not save him. Tom Frost had been admitted as
King's evidence, and testified that Marner had been several times at the
gate with the fellow that escaped, to receive the stolen goods. Moreover,
there were many articles among those found at his place that I was able to
swear to, besides the proceeds of over a score of burglaries. The two men
taken in his house will have fifteen years in gaol. The women got off
scot-free; there was no proof that they had taken part in the robberies,
though there is little doubt they knew all about them."

"But how did they prove the men were concerned?"

"They got all the people whose property had been found there, and four of
these, on seeing the men in the yard at Newgate, were able to swear to
them as having been among those who came into their rooms and frightened
them well-nigh to death. It was just a question whether they should be
hung or not, and there was some wonder that the Judge let them escape the
gallows."

"And what has become of Tom?"

"They kept Tom in the prison till last night. I saw him yesterday, and I
am sure the boy is mighty sorry for having been concerned in the matter,
being, as I truly believe, terrified into it. I had written down to an old
friend of mine who has set up in the same way as myself at Plymouth. Of
course I told him all the circumstances, but assured him, that according
to my belief, the boy was not so much to blame, and that I was sure the
lesson he had had, would last him for life; so I asked him to give Tom
another chance, and if he did so, to keep the knowledge of this affair
from everyone. I got his answer yesterday morning, telling me to send him
down to him; he would give him a fair trial, and if he wasn't altogether
satisfied with him, would then get him a berth as ship's boy. So, last
night after dark, he was taken down by John Wilkes, and put on board a
coaster bound for Plymouth. I would have taken him back here, but after
your disappearance I feared that his life would not be safe; for although
they had plenty of other cases they could have proved against Marner,
Tom's evidence brought this business home to him."

Captain Dave would not allow Cyril to begin his story until the table had
been cleared and he and John Wilkes had lighted their pipes. Then Cyril
told his adventure, the earlier part of which elicited many exclamations
of pity from Dame Dowsett and Mistress Nellie, and some angry ejaculations
from the Captain when he heard that Black Dick and Robert Ashford had got
safely off to Holland.

"By St. Anthony, lad," he broke out, when the story was finished, "you had
a narrow escape from those villains at Rotterdam. Had it chanced that you
were out at the time they came, I would not have given a groat for your
life. By all accounts, that fellow Black Dick is a desperate villain. They
say that they had got hold of evidence enough against him to hang a dozen
men, and it seems that there is little doubt that he was concerned in
several cases, where, not content with robbing, the villain had murdered
the inmates of lonely houses round London. He had good cause for hating
you. It was through you that he had been captured, and had lost his share
in all that plunder at Marner's. Well, I trust the villain will never
venture to show his face in London again; but there is never any saying. I
should like to meet that captain who behaved so well to you, and I will
meet him too, and shake him by the hand and tell him that any gear he may
want for that ketch of his, he is free to come in here to help himself.
There is another thing to be thought of. I must go round in the morning to
the Guildhall and notify the authorities that you have come back. There
has been a great hue and cry for you. They have searched the thieves' dens
of London from attic to cellar; there have been boats out looking for your
body; and on the day after you were missing they overhauled all the ships
in the port. Of course the search has died out now, but I must go and tell
them, and you will have to give them the story of the affair."

"I shan't say a word that will give them a clue that will help them to lay
hands on the captain. He saved my life, and no one could have been kinder
than he was. I would rather go away for a time altogether, for I don't see
how I am to tell the story without injuring him."

"No; it is awkward, lad. I see that, even if you would not give them the
name of the craft, they might find out what vessels went into Ipswich on
that morning, and also the names of those that sailed from Rotterdam on
the day she left."

"It seems to me, Captain, that the only way will be for me to say the
exact truth, namely, that I gave my word to the captain that I would say
naught of the matter. I could tell how I was struck down, and how I did
not recover consciousness until I found myself in a boat, and was lifted
on board a vessel and put down into the hold, and was there kept until
morning. I could say that when I was let out I found we were far down the
river, that the captain expressed great regret when he found that I had
been hurt so badly, that he did everything in his power for me, and that
after I had been some days on board the ship he offered to land me in
Holland, and to give me money to pay my fare back here if I would give him
my word of honour not to divulge his name or the name of the ship, or that
of the port at which he landed me. Of course, they can imprison me for a
time if I refuse to tell, but I would rather stay in gaol for a year than
say aught that might set them upon the track of Captain Madden. It was not
until the day he left me in Holland that I knew his name, for of course
the men always called him captain, and so did I."

"That is the only way I can see out of it, lad. I don't think they will
imprison you after the service you have done in enabling them to break up
this gang, bring the head of it to justice, and recover a large amount of
property."

So indeed, on their going to the Guildhall next morning, it turned out.
The sitting Alderman threatened Cyril with committal to prison unless he
gave a full account of all that had happened to him, but Captain Dowsett
spoke up for him, and said boldly that instead of punishment he deserved
honour for the great service he had done to justice, and that, moreover,
if he were punished for refusing to keep the promise of secrecy he had
made, there was little chance in the future of desperate men sparing the
lives of those who fell into their hands. They would assuredly murder them
in self-defence if they knew that the law would force them to break any
promise of silence they might have made. The Magistrate, after a
consultation with the Chief Constable, finally came round to this view,
and permitted Cyril to leave the Court, after praising him warmly for the
vigilance he had shown in the protection of his employer's interests. He
regretted that he had not been able to furnish them with the name of a man
who had certainly been, to some extent, an accomplice of those who had
assaulted him, but this was not, however, so much to be regretted, since
the man had done all in his power to atone for his actions.

"There is no further information you can give us, Master Cyril?"

"Only this, your worship: that on the day before I left Holland, I caught
sight of the two persons who had escaped from the constables. They had
just landed."

"I am sorry to hear it," the Alderman said. "I had hoped that they were
still in hiding somewhere in the City, and that the constables might yet
be able to lay hands on them. However, I expect they will be back again
erelong. Your ill-doer is sure to return here sooner or later, either with
the hope of further gain, or because he cannot keep away from his old
haunts and companions. If they fall into the hands of the City Constables,
I will warrant they won't escape again."

He nodded to Cyril, who understood that his business was over and left the
Court with Captain Dave.

"I am not so anxious as the Alderman seemed to be that Black Dick and
Robert Ashford should return to London, Captain Dave."

"No; I can understand that, Cyril. And even now that you know they are
abroad, it would be well to take every precaution, for the others whose
business has been sorely interrupted by the capture of that villain Marner
may again try to do you harm. No doubt other receivers will fill his place
in time, but the loss of a ready market must incommode them much. Plate
they can melt down themselves, and I reckon they would have but little
difficulty in finding knaves ready to purchase the products of the
melting-pot; but it is only a man with premises specially prepared for it
who will buy goods of all kinds, however bulky, without asking questions
about them."

Cyril was now in high favour with Mistress Nellie, and whenever he was not
engaged when she went out he was invited to escort her.

One day he went with her to hear a famous preacher hold forth at St.
Paul's. Only a portion of the cathedral was used for religious services;
the rest was utilised as a sort of public promenade, and here people of
all classes met—gallants of the Court, citizens, their wives and
daughters, idlers and loungers, thieves and mendicants.

As Nellie walked forward to join the throng gathered near the pulpit,
Cyril noticed a young man in a Court suit, standing among a group who were
talking and laughing much louder than was seemly, take off his plumed hat,
and make a deep bow, to which she replied by a slight inclination of the
head, and passed on with somewhat heightened colour.

Cyril waited until the service was over, when, as he left the cathedral
with her, he asked,—

"Who was that ruffler in gay clothes, who bowed so deeply to you, Mistress
Nellie?—that is, if there is no indiscretion in my asking."

"I met him in a throng while you were away," she said, with an attempt at
carelessness which he at once detected. "There was a great press, and I
well-nigh fainted, but he very courteously came to my assistance, and
brought me safely out of the crowd."

"And doubtless you have seen him since, Mistress?"

Nellie tossed her head.

"I don't see what right you have to question me, Master Cyril?"

"No right at all," Cyril replied good-temperedly, "save that I am an
inmate of your father's house, and have received great kindness from him,
and I doubt if he would be pleased if he knew that you bowed to a person
unknown to him and unknown, I presume, to yourself, save that he has
rendered you a passing service."

"He is a gentleman of the Court, I would have you know," she said angrily.

"I do not know that that is any great recommendation if the tales one
hears about the Court are true," Cyril replied calmly. "I cannot say I
admire either his companions or his manners, and if he is a gentleman he
should know that if he wishes to speak to an honest citizen's daughter it
were only right that he should first address himself to her father."

"Heigh ho!" Nellie exclaimed, with her face flushed with indignation. "Who
made you my censor, I should like to know? I will thank you to attend to
your own affairs, and to leave mine alone."

"The affairs of Captain Dave's daughter are mine so long as I am abroad
with her," Cyril said firmly. "I am sorry to displease you, but I am only
doing what I feel to be my duty. Methinks that, were John Wilkes here in
charge of you, he would say the same, only probably he would express his
opinion as to yonder gallant more strongly than I do;" he nodded in the
direction of the man, who had followed them out of the cathedral, and was
now walking on the other side of the street and evidently trying to
attract Nellie's attention.

Nellie bit her lips. She was about to answer him passionately, but
restrained herself with a great effort.

"You are mistaken in the gentleman, Cyril," she said, after a pause; "he
is of a good family, and heir to a fine estate."

"Oh, he has told you as much as that, has he? Well, Mistress Nellie, it
may be as he says, but surely it is for your father to inquire into that,
when the gentleman comes forward in due course and presents himself as a
suitor. Fine feathers do not always make fine birds, and a man may ruffle
it at King Charles's Court without ten guineas to shake in his purse."

At this moment the young man crossed the street, and, bowing deeply to
Nellie, was about to address her when Cyril said gravely,—

"Sir, I am not acquainted with your name, nor do I know more about you
save that you are a stranger to this lady's family. That being so, and as
she is at present under my escort, I must ask you to abstain from
addressing her."

"You insolent young varlet!" the man said furiously. "Had I a cane instead
of a sword I would chastise you for your insolence."

"That is as it may be," Cyril said quietly. "That sort of thing may do
down at Whitehall, but if you attempt to make trouble here in Cheapside
you will very speedily find yourself in the hands of the watch."

"For Heaven's sake, sir," Nellie said anxiously, as several passers-by
paused to see what was the matter, "do not cause trouble. For my sake, if
not for your own, pray leave me."

"I obey you, Mistress," the man said again, lifting his hat and bowing
deeply. "I regret that the officiousness of this blundering varlet should
have mistaken my intentions, which were but to salute you courteously."

So saying, he replaced his hat, and, with a threatening scowl at Cyril,
pushed his way roughly through those standing round, and walked rapidly
away.

Nellie was very pale, and trembled from head to foot.

"Take me home, Cyril," she murmured.

He offered her his arm, and he made his way along the street, while his
face flushed with anger at some jeering remarks he heard from one or two
of those who looked on at the scene. It was not long before Nellie's anger
gained the upper hand of her fears.

"A pretty position you have placed me in, with your interference!"

"You mean, I suppose, Mistress Nellie, a pretty position that man placed
you in, by his insolence. What would Captain Dave say if he heard that his
daughter had been accosted by a Court gallant in the streets?"

"Are you going to tell him?" she asked, removing her hand sharply from his
arm.

"I have no doubt I ought to do so, and if you will take my advice you will
tell him yourself as soon as you reach home, for it may be that among
those standing round was someone who is acquainted with both you and your
father; and you know as well as I do what Captain Dave would say if it
came to his ears in such fashion."

Nellie walked for some time in silence. Her anger rose still higher
against Cyril at the position in which his interference had placed her,
but she could not help seeing that his advice was sound. She had indeed
met this man several times, and had listened without chiding to his
protestations of admiration and love. Nellie was ambitious. She had been
allowed to have her own way by her mother, whose sole companion she had
been during her father's absence at sea. She knew that she was remarkably
pretty, and saw no reason why she, like many another citizen's daughter,
should not make a good match. She had readily given the man her promise to
say nothing at home until he gave her leave to do so, and she had been
weak, enough to take all that he said for gospel. Now she felt that, at
any rate, she must smooth matters over and put it so that as few questions
as possible should be asked. After a long pause, then, she said,—

"Perhaps you are right, Cyril. I will myself tell my father and mother. I
can assure you that I had no idea I should meet him to-day."

This Cyril could readily believe, for certainly she would not have asked
him to accompany her if she had known. However, he only replied gravely,—

"I am glad to hear that you will tell them, Mistress Nellie, and trust
that you will take them entirely into your confidence."

This Nellie had no idea of doing; but she said no further word until they
reached home.

CHAPTER VII — SAVED FROM A VILLAIN

"I find that I have to give you thanks for yet another service, Cyril,"
Captain Dave said heartily, when they met the next morning. "Nellie tells
me a young Court gallant had the insolence to try to address her yesterday
in Cheapside, on her way back from St. Paul's, that you prevented his
doing so, and that there was quite a scene in the street. If I knew who he
was I would break his sconce for him, were he Rochester himself. A pretty
pass things have come to, when a citizen's daughter cannot walk home from
St. Paul's without one of these impudent vagabonds of the Court venturing
to address her! Know you who he was?"

"No; I have never seen the fellow before, Captain Dave. I do know many of
the courtiers by sight, having, when we first came over, often gone down
to Whitehall with my father when he was seeking to obtain an audience with
the King; but this man's face is altogether strange to me."

"Well, well! I will take care that Nellie shall not go abroad again except
under her mother's escort or mine. I know, Cyril, that she would be as
safe under your charge as in ours, but it is better that she should have
the presence of an older person. It is not that I doubt your courage or
your address, lad, but a ruffling gallant of this sort would know naught
of you, save that you are young, and besides, did you interfere, there
might be a scene that would do serious harm to Nellie's reputation."

"I agree with you thoroughly, Captain Dave," Cyril said warmly. "It will
be far better that you or Mrs. Dowsett should be by her side as long as
there is any fear of further annoyance from this fellow. I should ask
nothing better than to try a bout with him myself, for I have been right
well taught how to use my sword; but, as you say, a brawl in the street is
of all things to be avoided."

Three or four weeks passed quietly. Nellie seldom went abroad; when she
did so her mother always accompanied her if it were in the daytime, and
her father whenever she went to the house of any friend after dusk.

Cyril one day caught sight of the gallant in Tower Street, and although he
was on his way to one of his customers, he at once determined to break his
appointment and to find out who the fellow was. The man sauntered about
looking into the shops for full half an hour, but it was apparent to Cyril
that he paid little attention to their contents, and was really waiting
for someone. When the clock struck three he started, stamped his foot
angrily on the ground, and, walking away rapidly to the stairs of London
Bridge, took a seat in a boat, and was rowed up the river.

Cyril waited until he had gone a short distance, and then hailed a wherry
rowing two oars.

"You see that boat over there?" he said. "I don't wish to overtake it at
present. Keep a hundred yards or so behind it, but row inshore so that it
shall not seem that you are following them."

The men obeyed his instructions until they had passed the Temple; then, as
the other boat still kept in the middle of the stream, Cyril had no doubt
that it would continue its course to Westminster.

"Now stretch to your oars," he said to the watermen. "I want to get to
Westminster before the other boat, and to be well away from the stairs
before it comes up."

The rest of the journey was performed at much greater speed, and Cyril
alighted at Westminster while the other boat was some three or four
hundred yards behind. Paying the watermen, he went up the stairs, walked
away fifty or sixty yards, and waited until he saw the man he was
following appear. The latter walked quietly up towards Whitehall and
entered a tavern frequented by young bloods of the Court. Cyril pressed
his hat down over his eyes. His dress was not the same as that in which he
had escorted Nellie to the cathedral, and he had but small fear of being
recognised.

When he entered he sat down at a vacant table, and, having ordered a stoup
of wine, looked round. The man had joined a knot of young fellows like
himself, seated at a table. They were dissipated-looking blades, and were
talking loudly and boisterously.

"Well, Harvey, how goes it? Is the lovely maiden we saw when we were with
you at St. Paul's ready to drop into your arms?"

"Things are going on all right," Harvey said, with an air of
consciousness; "but she is watched by two griffins, her father and mother.
'Tis fortunate they do not know me by sight, and I have thus chances of
slipping a note in her hand when I pass her. I think it will not be long
before you will have to congratulate me."

"She is an heiress and only daughter, is she not, honest John?" another
asked.

"She is an only child, and her father bears the reputation of doing a good
business; but as to what I shall finally do, I shall not yet determine. As
to that, I shall be guided by circumstances."

"Of course, of course," the one who had first spoken said.

Cyril had gained the information he required. The man's name was John
Harvey, and Nellie was keeping up a clandestine correspondence with him.
Cyril felt that were he to listen longer he could not restrain his
indignation, and, without touching the wine he had paid for, he hastily
left the tavern.

As he walked towards the city, he was unable to decide what he had better
do. Were he to inform Captain Dave of what he had heard there would be a
terrible scene, and there was no saying what might happen. Still, Nellie
must be saved from falling into the hands of this fellow, and if he
abstained from telling her father he must himself take steps to prevent
the possibility of such a thing taking place. The more he thought of it
the more he felt of the heavy responsibility it would be. Anxious as he
was to save Nellie from the anger of her father, it was of far greater
consequence to save her from the consequences of her own folly. At last he
resolved to take John Wilkes into his counsels. John was devoted to his
master, and even if his advice were not of much value, his aid in keeping
watch would be of immense service. Accordingly, that evening, when John
went out for his usual pipe after supper, Cyril, who had to go to a trader
in Holborn, followed him out quickly and overtook him a few yards from the
door.

"I want to have a talk with you, John."

"Ay, ay, sir. Where shall it be? Nothing wrong, I hope? That new
apprentice looks to me an honest sort of chap, and the man we have got in
the yard now is an old mate of mine. He was a ship's boy on board the Dolphin
twenty-five years back, and he sailed under the Captain till he left the
sea. I would trust that chap just as I would myself."

"It is nothing of that sort, John. It is another sort of business
altogether, and yet it is quite as serious as the last. I have got half an
hour before I have to start to do those books at Master Hopkins'. Where
can we have a talk in a quiet place where there is no chance of our being
overheard?"

"There is a little room behind the bar at the place I go to, and I have no
doubt the landlord will let us have it, seeing as I am a regular
customer."

"At any rate we can see, John. It is too cold for walking about talking
here; and, besides, I think one can look at a matter in all lights much
better sitting down than one can walking about."

"That is according to what you are accustomed to," John said, shaking his
head. "It seems to me that I can look further into the innards of a
question when I am walking up and down the deck on night watch with just
enough wind aloft to take her along cheerful, and not too much of it, than
I can at any other time; but then, you see, that is just what one is
accustomed to. This is the place."

He entered a quiet tavern, and, nodding to five or six
weather-beaten-looking men, who were sitting smoking long pipes, each with
a glass of grog before him, went up to the landlord, who formed one of the
party. He had been formerly the master of a trader, and had come into the
possession of the tavern by marriage with its mistress, who was still the
acting head of the establishment.

"We have got a piece of business we want to overhaul, Peter. I suppose we
can have that cabin in yonder for a bit?"

"Ay, ay. There is a good fire burning. You will find pipes on the table.
You will want a couple of glasses of grog, of course?"

John nodded, and then led the way into the little snuggery at the end of
the room. It had a glass door, so that, if desired, a view could be
obtained of the general room, but there was a curtain to draw across this.
There was a large oak settle on either side of the fire, and there was a
table, with pipes and a jar of tobacco standing between them.

"This is a tidy little crib," John said, as he seated himself and began to
fill a pipe. "There is no fear of being disturbed here. There has been
many a voyage talked over and arranged in this 'ere room. They say that
Blake himself, when the Fleet was in the river, would drop in here
sometimes, with one of his captains, for a quiet talk."

A minute later a boy entered and placed two steaming glasses of grog on
the table. The door closed after him, and John said,—

"Now you can get under way, Master Cyril. You have got a fair course now,
and nothing to bring you up."

"It is a serious matter, John. And before I begin, I must tell you that I
rely on your keeping absolute silence as to what I am going to tell you."

"That in course," John said, as he lifted his glass to his lips. "You
showed yourself a first-rate pilot in that last job, and I am content to
sail under you this time without asking any questions as to the ship's
course, and to steer according to orders."

Cyril told the story, interrupted frequently by angry ejaculations on the
part of the old bo'swain.

"Dash my wig!" he exclaimed, when Cyril came to an end. "But this is a bad
business altogether, Master Cyril. One can engage a pirate and beat him
off if the crew is staunch, but when there is treason on board ship, it
makes it an awkward job for those in command."

"The question is this, John: ought we to tell the Captain, or shall we try
to take the affair into our own hands, and so to manage it that he shall
never know anything about it?"

The sailor was silent for a minute or two, puffing his pipe meditatively.

"I see it is an awkward business to decide," he said. "On one side, it
would pretty nigh kill Captain Dave to know that Mistress Nellie has been
steering wild and has got out of hand. She is just the apple of his eye.
Then, on the other hand, if we undertook the job without telling him, and
one fine morning we was to find out she was gone, we should be in a mighty
bad fix, for the Captain would turn round and say, 'Why didn't you tell
me? If you had done so, I would have locked her up under hatches, and
there she would be, safe now.'"

"That is just what I see, and it is for that reason I come to you. I could
not be always on the watch, but I think that you and I together would keep
so sharp a look-out that we might feel pretty sure that she could not get
away without our knowledge."

"We could watch sharply enough at night, Master Cyril. There would be no
fear of her getting away then without our knowing it. But how would it be
during the day? There am I in the shop or store from seven in the morning
until we lock up before supper-time. You are out most of your time, and
when you are not away, you are in the office at the books, and she is free
to go in and out of the front door without either of us being any the
wiser."

"I don't think he would venture to carry her off by daylight," Cyril said.
"She never goes out alone now, and could scarcely steal away unnoticed.
Besides, she would know that she would be missed directly, and a hue and
cry set up. I should think she would certainly choose the evening, when we
are all supposed to be in bed. He would have a chair waiting somewhere
near; and there are so often chairs going about late, after city
entertainments, that they would get off unnoticed. I should say the most
dangerous time is between nine o'clock and midnight. She generally goes
off to bed at nine or soon after, and she might very well put on her hood
and cloak and steal downstairs at once, knowing that she would not be
missed till morning. Another dangerous time would be when she goes out to
a neighbour's. The Captain always takes her, and goes to fetch her at nine
o'clock, but she might make some excuse to leave quite early, and go off
in that way."

"That would be awkward, Mr. Cyril, for neither you nor I could be away at
supper-time without questions being asked. It seems to me that I had
better take Matthew into the secret. As he don't live in the house he
could very well watch wherever she is, till I slip round after supper to
relieve him, and he could watch outside here in the evening till either
you or I could steal downstairs and take his place. You can count on him
keeping his mouth shut just as you can on me. The only thing is, how is he
to stop her if he finds her coming out from a neighbour's before the
Captain has come for her?"

"If he saw her coming straight home he could follow her to the door
without being noticed, John, but if he found her going some other way he
must follow her till he sees someone speak to her, and must then go
straight up and say, 'Mistress Dowsett, I am ready to escort you home.' If
she orders him off, or the man she meets threatens him, as is like enough,
he must say, 'Unless you come I shall shout for aid, and call upon
passers-by to assist me'; and, rather than risk the exposure, she would
most likely return with him. Of course, he would carry with him a good
heavy cudgel, and choose a thoroughfare where there are people about to
speak to her, and not an unfrequented passage, for you may be sure the
fellow would have no hesitation in running him through if he could do so
without being observed."

"Matthew is a stout fellow," John Wilkes said, "and was as smart a sailor
as any on board till he had his foot smashed by being jammed by a spare
spar that got adrift in a gale, so that the doctors had to cut off the leg
under the knee, and leave him to stump about on a timber toe for the rest
of his life. I tell you what, Master Cyril: we might make the thing safer
still if I spin the Captain a yarn as how Matthew has strained his back
and ain't fit to work for a bit; then I can take on another hand to work
in the yard, and we can put him on watch all day. He might come on duty at
nine o'clock in the morning, and stop until I relieve him as soon as
supper is over. Of course, he would not keep opposite the house, but might
post himself a bit up or down the street, so that he could manage to keep
an eye on the door."

"That would be excellent," Cyril said. "Of course, at the supper-hour he
could go off duty, as she could not possibly leave the house between that
time and nine o'clock. You always come in about that hour, and I hear you
go up to bed. When you get there, you should at once take off your boots,
slip downstairs again with them, and go quietly out. I often sit talking
with Captain Dave till half-past nine or ten, but directly I can get away
I will come down and join you. I think in that way we need feel no
uneasiness as to harm coming from our not telling Captain Dave, for it
would be impossible for her to get off unnoticed. Now that is all arranged
I must be going, for I shall be late at my appointment unless I hurry."

"Shall I go round and begin my watch at once, Master Cyril?".

"No, there is no occasion for that. We know that he missed her to-day, and
therefore can have made no appointment; and I am convinced by what he said
to the fellows he met, that matters are not settled yet. However, we will
begin to-morrow. You can take an opportunity during the day to tell
Matthew about it, and he can pretend to strain his back in the afternoon,
and you can send him away. He can come round again next morning early, and
when the Captain comes down you can tell him that you find that Matthew
will not be able to work for the present, and ask him to let you take
another man on until he can come back again."

Cyril watched Nellie closely at meal-times and in the evening for the next
few days. He thought that he should be certain to detect some slight
change in her manner, however well she might play her part, directly she
decided on going off with this man. She would not dream that she was
suspected in any way, and would therefore be the less cautious. Matthew
kept watch during the day, and followed if she went out with her father to
a neighbour's, remaining on guard outside the house until John Wilkes
relieved him as soon as he had finished his supper. If she remained at
home in the evening John went out silently, after his return at his usual
hour, and was joined by Cyril as soon as Captain Dave said good-night and
went in to his bedroom. At midnight they re-entered the house and stole up
to their rooms, leaving their doors open and listening attentively for
another hour before they tried to get to sleep.

On the sixth morning Cyril noticed that Nellie was silent and abstracted
at breakfast-time. She went out marketing with her mother afterwards, and
at dinner her mood had changed. She talked and laughed more than usual.
There was a flush of excitement on her cheeks, and he drew the conclusion
that in the morning she had not come to an absolute decision, but had
probably given an answer to the man during the time she was out with her
mother, and that she felt the die was now cast.

"Pass the word to Matthew to keep an extra sharp watch this afternoon and
to-morrow, John. I think the time is close at hand," he said, as they went
downstairs together after dinner.

"Do you think so? Well, the sooner the better. It is trying work, this
here spying, and I don't care how soon it is over. I only hope it will end
by our running down this pirate and engaging him."

"I hope so too, John. I feel it very hard to be sitting at table with her
and Captain Dave and her mother, and to know that she is deceiving them."

"I can't say a word for her," the old sailor said, shaking his head. "She
has as good parents as a girl could want to have. They would give their
lives for her, either of them, cheerful, and there she is thinking of
running away from them with a scamp she knows nothing of and has probably
never spoken with for an hour. I knew her head was a bit turned with young
fellows dangling after her, and by being noticed by some of the Court
gallants at the last City ball, and by being made the toast by many a
young fellow in City taverns—'Pretty Mistress Nellie Dowsett'; but I
did not think her head was so turned that she would act as she is doing.
Well, well, we must hope that this will be a lesson, Master Cyril, that
she will remember all her life."

"I hope so, John, and I trust that we shall be able to manage it all so
that the matter will never come to her parents' ears."

"I hope so, and I don't see why it should. The fellow may bluster, but he
will say nothing about it because he would get into trouble for trying to
carry off a citizen's daughter."

"And besides that, John,—which would be quite as serious in the eyes
of a fellow of this sort,—he would have the laugh against him among
all his companions for having been outwitted in the City. So I think when
he finds the game is up he will be glad enough to make off without causing
trouble."

"Don't you think we might give him a sound thrashing? It would do him a
world of good."

"I don't think it would do a man of that sort much good, John, and he
would be sure to shout, and then there would be trouble, and the watch
might come up, and we should all get hauled off together. In the morning
the whole story would be known, and Mistress Nellie's name in the mouth of
every apprentice in the City. No, no; if he is disposed to go off quietly,
by all means let him go."

"I have no doubt that you are right, Master Cyril, but it goes mightily
against the grain to think that a fellow like that is to get off with a
whole skin. However, if one should fall foul of him some other time, one
might take it out of him."

Captain Dave found Cyril but a bad listener to his stories that evening,
and, soon after nine, said he should turn in.

"I don't know what ails you to-night, Cyril," he said. "Your wits are
wool-gathering, somewhere. I don't believe that you heard half that last
story I was telling you."

"I heard it all, sir; but I do feel a little out of sorts this evening."

"You do too much writing, lad. My head would be like to go to pieces if I
were to sit half the hours that you do at a desk."

When Captain Dave went into his room, Cyril walked upstairs and closed his
bedroom door with a bang, himself remaining outside. Then he took off his
boots, and, holding them in his hand, went noiselessly downstairs to the
front door. The lock had been carefully oiled, and, after putting on his
boots again, he went out.

"You are right, Master Cyril, sure enough," John Wilkes said when he
joined him, fifty yards away from the house. "It is to-night she is going
to try to make off. I thought I had best keep Matthew at hand, so I bid
him stop till I came out, then sent him round to have a pint of ale at the
tavern, and when he came back told him he had best cruise about, and look
for signs of pirates. He came back ten minutes ago, and told me that a
sedan chair had just been brought to the other end of the lane. It was set
down some thirty yards from Fenchurch Street. There were the two chairmen
and three fellows wrapped up in cloaks."

"That certainly looks like action, John. Well, I should say that Matthew
had better take up his station at the other end of the lane, there to
remain quiet until he hears an uproar at the chair; then he can run up to
our help if we need it. We will post ourselves near the door. No doubt
Harvey, and perhaps one of his friends, will come and wait for her. We
can't interfere with them here, but must follow and come up with her just
before they reach the chair. The further they are away from the house the
better. Then if there is any trouble Captain Dave will not hear anything
of it."

"That will be a good plan of operations," John agreed. "Matthew is just
round the next corner. I will send him to Fenchurch Street at once."

He went away, and rejoined Cyril in two or three minutes. They then went
along towards the house, and took post in a doorway on the other side of
the street, some thirty yards from the shop. They had scarcely done so,
when they heard footsteps, and presently saw two men come along in the
middle of the street. They stopped and looked round.

"There is not a soul stirring," one said. "We can give the signal."

So saying, he sang a bar or two of a song popular at the time, and they
then drew back from the road into a doorway and waited.

Five minutes later, Cyril and his fellow-watcher heard a very slight
sound, and a figure stepped out from Captain Dowsett's door. The two men
crossed at once and joined her. A few low words were spoken, and they
moved away together, and turned up the lane.

As soon as they disappeared from sight, Cyril and John Wilkes issued out.
The latter had produced some long strips of cloth, which he wound round
both their boots, so as, he said, to muffle the oars. Their steps,
therefore, as they followed, were almost noiseless. Walking fast, they
came up to the three persons ahead of them just as they reached the sedan
chair. The two chairmen were standing at the poles, and a third man was
holding the door open with his hat in his hand.

"Avast heaving, mates!" John Wilkes said. "It seems to me as you are
running this cargo without proper permits."

Nellie gave a slight scream on hearing the voice, while the man beside her
stepped forward, exclaiming furiously:

"S" death, sir! who are you, and what are you interfering about?"

"I am an honest man I hope, master. My name is John Wilkes, and, as that
young lady will tell you, I am in the employ of her father."

"Then I tell you, John Wilkes, or John the Devil, or whatever your name
maybe, that if you don't at once take yourself off, I will let daylight
into you," and he drew his sword, as did his two companions.

John gave a whistle, and the wooden-legged man was heard hurrying up from
Fenchurch Street.

"Cut the scoundrel down, Penrose," Harvey exclaimed, "while I put the lady
into the chair."

The man addressed sprang at Wilkes, but in a moment his Court sword was
shivered by a blow from the latter's cudgel, which a moment later fell
again on his head, sending him reeling back several paces.

"Stay, sir, or I will run you through," Cyril said, pricking Harvey
sharply in the arm as he was urging Nellie to enter the chair.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" the other exclaimed, in a tone of fury. "My boy of
Cheapside! Well, I can spare a moment to punish you."

"Oh, do not fight with him, my lord!" Nellie exclaimed.

"My lord!" Cyril laughed. "So he has become a lord, eh?"

Then he changed his tone.

"Mistress Nellie, you have been deceived. This fellow is no lord. He is a
hanger-on of the Court, one John Harvey, a disreputable blackguard whom I
heard boasting to his boon-companions of his conquest. I implore you to
return home as quietly as you went. None will know of this."

He broke off suddenly, for, with an oath, Harvey rushed at him. Their
swords clashed, there was a quick thrust and parry, and then Harvey
staggered back with a sword-wound through the shoulder, dropping his sword
to the ground.

"Your game is up, John Harvey," Cyril said. "Did you have your deserts I
would pass my sword through your body. Now call your fellows off, or it
will be worse for them."

"Oh, it is not true? Surely it cannot be true?" Nellie cried, addressing
Harvey. "You cannot have deceived me?"

The fellow, smarting with pain, and seeing that the game was up, replied
with a savage curse.

"You may think yourself lucky that you are only disabled, you villain!"
Cyril said, taking a step towards him with his sword menacingly raised.
"Begone, sir, before my patience is exhausted, or, by heaven! it will be
your dead body that the chairmen will have to carry away."

"Disabled or not," John Wilkes exclaimed, "I will have a say in the
matter;" and, with a blow with his cudgel, he stretched Harvey on the
ground, and belaboured him furiously until Cyril dragged him away by
force. Harvey rose slowly to his feet.

"Take yourself off, sir," Cyril said. "One of your brave companions has
long ago bolted; the other is disarmed, and has his head broken. You may
thank your stars that you have escaped with nothing worse than a
sword-thrust through your shoulder, and a sound drubbing. Hanging would be
a fit punishment for knaves like you. I warn you, if you ever address or
in any way molest this lady again, you won't get off so easily."

Then he turned and offered his arm to Nellie, who was leaning against the
wall in a half-fainting state. Not a word was spoken until they emerged
from the lane.

"No one knows of this but ourselves, Mistress Nellie, and you will never
hear of it from us. Glad indeed I am that I have saved you from the misery
and ruin that must have resulted from your listening to that plausible
scoundrel. Go quietly upstairs. We will wait here till we are sure that
you have gone safely into your room; then we will follow. I doubt not that
you are angry with me now, but in time you will feel that you have been
saved from a great danger."

The door was not locked. He lifted the latch silently, and held the door
open for her to pass in. Then he closed it again, and turned to the two
men who followed them.

"This has been a good night's work, John."

"That has it. I don't think that young spark will be coming after City
maidens again. Well, it has been a narrow escape for her. It would have
broken the Captain's heart if she had gone in that way. What strange
things women are! I have always thought Mistress Nellie as sensible a girl
as one would want to see. Given a little over-much, perhaps, to thinking
of the fashion of her dress, but that was natural enough, seeing how
pretty she is and how much she is made of; and yet she is led, by a few
soft speeches from a man she knows nothing of, to run away from home, and
leave father, and mother, and all. Well, Matthew, lad, we sha'n't want any
more watching. You have done a big service to the master, though he will
never know it. I know I can trust you to keep a stopper on your jaws.
Don't you let a soul know of this—not even your wife."

"You trust me, mate," the man replied. "My wife is a good soul, but her
tongue runs nineteen to the dozen, and you might as well shout a thing out
at Paul's Cross as drop it into her ear. I think my back will be well
enough for me to come to work again to-morrow," he added, with a laugh.

"All right, mate. I shall be glad to have you again, for the chap who has
been in your place is a landsman, and he don't know a marling-spike from
an anchor. Good-night, mate."

"Well, Master Cyril," he went on, as the sailor walked away, "I don't
think there ever was such a good wind as that which blew you here. First
of all you saved Captain Dave's fortune, and now you save his daughter. I
look on Captain Dave as being pretty nigh the same as myself, seeing as I
have been with him man and boy for over thirty years, and I feel what you
have done for him just as if you had done it for me. I am only a rough
sailor-man, and I don't know how to put it in words, but I feel just full
up with a cargo of thankfulness."

"That is all right," Cyril said, holding out his hand, which John Wilkes
shook with a heartiness that was almost painful. "Captain Dave offered me
a home when I was alone without a friend in London, and I am glad indeed
that I have been able to render him service in return. I myself have done
little enough, though I do not say that the consequences have not been
important. It has been just taking a little trouble and keeping a few
watches—a thing not worth talking about one way or the other. I hope
this will do Mistress Nellie good. She is a nice girl, but too fond of
admiration, and inclined to think that she is meant for higher things than
to marry a London citizen. I think to-night's work will cure her of that.
This fellow evidently made himself out to her to be a nobleman of the
Court. Now she sees that he is neither a nobleman nor a gentleman, but a
ruffian who took advantage of her vanity and inexperience, and that she
would have done better to have jumped down the well in the yard than to
have put herself in his power. Now we can go up to bed. There is no more
probability of our waking the Captain than there has been on other nights;
but mind, if we should do so, you stick to the story we agreed on, that
you thought there was someone by the gate in the lane again, and so called
me to go down with you to investigate, not thinking it worth while to
rouse up the Captain on what might be a false alarm."

Everything remained perfectly quiet as they made their way upstairs to
their rooms as silently as possible.

"Where is Nellie?" Captain Dave asked, when they assembled at breakfast.

"She is not well," his wife replied, "I went to her room just now and
found that she was still a-bed. She said that she had a bad headache, and
I fear that she is going to have a fever, for her face is pale and her
eyes red and swollen, just as if she had been well-nigh crying them out of
her head; her hands are hot and her pulse fast. Directly I have had
breakfast I shall make her some camomile tea, and if that does not do her
good I shall send for the doctor."

"Do so, wife, without delay. Why, the girl has never ailed a day for
years! What can have come to her?"

"She says it is only a bad headache—that all she wants is to be left
alone."

"Yes, yes; that is all very well, but if she does not get better soon she
must be seen to. They say that there were several cases last week of that
plague that has been doing so much harm in foreign parts, and if that is
so it behoves us to be very careful, and see that any illness is attended
to without delay."

"I don't think that there is any cause for alarm," his wife said quietly.
"The child has got a headache and is a little feverish, but there is no
occasion whatever for thinking that it is anything more. There is nothing
unusual in a girl having a headache, but Nellie has had such good health
that if she had a prick in the finger you would think it was serious."

"By the way, John," Captain Dave said suddenly, "did you hear any noise in
the lane last night? Your room is at the back of the house, and you were
more likely to have heard it than I was. I have just seen one of the
watch, and he tells me that there was a fray there last night, for there
is a patch of blood and marks of a scuffle. It was up at the other end.
There is some mystery about it, he thinks, for he says that one of his
mates last night saw a sedan chair escorted by three men turn into the
lane from Fenchurch Street just before ten o'clock, and one of the
neighbours says that just after that hour he heard a disturbance and a
clashing of swords there. On looking out, he saw something dark that might
have been a chair standing there, and several men engaged in a scuffle. It
seemed soon over, and directly afterwards three people came down the lane
this way. Then he fancied that someone got into the chair, which was
afterwards carried out into Fenchurch Street."

"I did hear something that sounded like a quarrel or a fray," John Wilkes
said, "but there is nothing unusual about that. As everything was soon
quiet again, I gave no further thought to it."

"Well, it seems a curious affair, John. However, it is the business of the
City watch and not mine, so we need not bother ourselves about it. I am
glad to see you have got Matthew at work again this morning. He tells me
that he thinks he has fairly got over that sprain in his back."

CHAPTER VIII — THE CAPTAIN'S YARN

Mindful of the fact that this affair had added a new enemy to those he had
acquired by the break-up of the Black Gang, Cyril thought it as well to go
round and give notice to the two traders whose books he attended to in the
evening, that unless they could arrange for him to do them in the daytime
he must give up the work altogether. Both preferred the former
alternative, for they recognised the advantage they had derived from his
work, and that at a rate of pay for which they could not have obtained the
services of any scrivener in the City.

It was three or four days before Nellie Dowsett made her appearance at the
general table.

"I can't make out what ails the girl," her mother said, on the previous
evening. "The fever speedily left her, as I told you, but she is weak and
languid, and seems indisposed to talk."

"She will soon get over that, my dear," Captain Dave said. "Girls are not
like men. I have seen them on board ship. One day they are laughing and
fidgeting about like wild things, the next day they are poor, woebegone
creatures. If she gets no better in a few days, I will see when my old
friend, Jim Carroll, is starting in his brig for Yarmouth, and will run
down with her myself—and of course with you, wife, if you will go—and
stay there a few days while he is unloading and filling up again. The
sea-air will set her up again, I warrant."

"Not at this time of year," Dame Dowsett said firmly. "With these bitter
winds it is no time for a lass to go a-sailing; and they say that Yarmouth
is a great deal colder than we are here, being exposed to the east winds."

"Well, well, Dame, then we will content ourselves with a run in the hoy
down to Margate. If we choose well the wind and tide we can start from
here in the morning and maybe reach there late in the evening, or, if not,
the next morning to breakfast. Or if you think that too far we will stop
at Sheerness, where we can get in two tides easily enough if the wind be
fair."

"That would be better, David; but it were best to see how she goes on. It
may be, as you say, that she will shortly gain her strength and spirits
again."

It was evident, when Nellie entered the room at breakfast-time the next
morning, that her mother's reports had not been exaggerated. She looked,
indeed, as if recovering from a severe illness, and when she said
good-morning to her father her voice trembled and her eyes filled with
tears.

"Tut, tut, lass! This will never do. I shall soon hardly own you for my
Nellie. We shall have to feed you up on capons and wine, child, or send
you down to one of the baths for a course of strengthening waters."

She smiled faintly, and then turning, gave her hand to Cyril. As she did
so, a slight flush of colour came into her cheeks.

"I am heartily glad to see you down again, Mistress Nellie," he said, "and
wish you a fair and speedy recovery."

"I shall be better presently," she replied, with an effort. "Good-morning,
John."

"Good-morning, Mistress Nellie. Right glad are we to see you down again,
for it makes but a dull table without your merry laugh to give an edge to
our appetites."

She sat down now, and the others, seeing that it was best to let her alone
for a while, chatted gaily together.

"There is no talk in the City but of the war, Cyril," the Captain said
presently. "They say that the Dutch make sure of eating us up, but they
won't find it as easy a job as they fancy. The Duke of York is to command
the Fleet. They say that Prince Rupert will be second. To my mind they
ought to have entrusted the whole matter to him. He proved himself as
brave a captain at sea as he was on land, and I will warrant he would lead
his ships into action as gallantly as he rode at the head of his Cavaliers
on many a stricken field. The ships are fitting out in all haste, and they
are gathering men at every sea-port. I should say they will have no lack
of hands, for there are many ships laid up, that at other times trade with
Holland, and Dantzic, and Dunkirk, and many a bold young sailor who will
be glad to try whether he can fight as stoutly against the Dutch under
York and Rupert as his father did under Blake."

"For my part," Cyril said, "I cannot understand it; for it seems to me
that the English and Dutch have been fighting for the last year. I have
been too busy to read the Journal, and have not been in the way of hearing
the talk of the coffeehouses and taverns; but, beyond that it is some
dispute about the colonies, I know little of the matter."

"I am not greatly versed in it myself, lad. Nellie here reads the Journal,
and goes abroad more than any of us, and should be able to tell us
something about it. Now, girl, can't you do something to set us right in
this matter, for I like not to be behind my neighbours, though I am such a
stay-at-home, having, as I thank the Lord, much happiness here, and no
occasion to go out to seek it."

"There was much discourse about it, father, the evening I went to Dame
King's. There were several gentlemen there who had trade with the East,
and one of them held shares in the English Company trading thither. After
supper was over, they discoursed more fully on the matter than was
altogether pleasing to some of us, who would much rather that, as we had
hoped, we might have dancing or singing. I could see that Dame King
herself was somewhat put out that her husband should have, without her
knowing of his intention, brought in these gentlemen. Still, the matter of
their conversation was new to us, and we became at last so mightily
interested in it that we listened to the discourse without bemoaning
ourselves that we had lost the amusement we looked for. I know I wished at
the time that you had been there. I say not that I can repeat all that I
heard, but as I had before read some of the matters spoken of in the
Journal, I could follow what the gentlemen said more closely. Soon after
the coming of the King to the throne the friendship between us and the
Spaniards, that had been weakened during the mastership of Cromwell, was
renewed, and they gave our ships many advantages at their ports, while, on
the other hand, they took away the privileges the Dutch had enjoyed there,
and thus our commerce with Spain increased, while that of the Dutch
diminished."

"That is certainly true, Nellie," her father said. "We have three ships
sailing through the Mediterranean now to one that sailed there ten years
ago, and doubtless the Dutch must have suffered by the increase in our
trade."

"Then he said that, as we had obtained the Island of Bombay in the East
Indies and the City of Tangier in Africa as the dowry of the Queen, and
had received the Island of Poleron for our East India Company by the
treaty with Holland, our commerce everywhere increased, and raised their
jealousy higher and higher. There was nothing in this of which complaint
could be made by the Dutch Government, but nevertheless they gave
encouragement to their East and West India Companies to raise trouble.
Their East India Company refused to hand over the Island, and laid great
limitations as to the places at which our merchants might trade in India.
The other Company acted in the same manner, and lawlessly took possession
of Cape Coast Castle, belonging to our English Company.

"The Duke of York, who was patron and governor of our African Company,
sent Sir Robert Holmes with four frigates to Guinea to make reprisals. He
captured a place from the Dutch and named it James's Fort, and then,
proceeding to the river Gambia, he turned out the Dutch traders there and
built a fort. A year ago, as the Dutch still held Cape Coast Castle, Sir
Robert was sent out again with orders to take it by force, and on the way
he overhauled a Dutch ship and found she carried a letter of secret
instructions from the Dutch Government to the West India Company to take
the English Fort at Cormantin. Seeing that the Hollanders, although
professing friendship, were thus treacherously inclined, he judged himself
justified in exceeding the commission he had received, and on his way
south he touched at Cape Verde. There he first captured two Dutch ships
and then attacked their forts on the Island of Gorse and captured them,
together with a ship lying under their guns.

"In the fort he found a great quantity of goods ready to be shipped. He
loaded his own vessels, and those that he had captured, with the
merchandise, and carried it to Sierra Leone. Then he attacked the Dutch
fort of St. George del Mena, the strongest on the coast, but failed there;
but he soon afterwards captured Cape Coast Castle, though, as the
gentlemen said, a mightily strong place. Then he sailed across to America,
and, as you know, captured the Dutch Settlements of New Netherlands, and
changed the name into that of New York. He did this not so much out of
reprisal for the misconduct of the Dutch in Africa, but because the land
was ours by right, having been discovered by the Cabots and taken
possession of in the name of King Henry VII., and our title always
maintained until the Dutch seized it thirty years ago.

"Then the Dutch sent orders to De Ruyter, who commanded the fleet which
was in the Mediterranean, to sail away privately and to make reprisals on
the Coast of Guinea and elsewhere. He first captured several of our
trading forts, among them that of Cormantin, taking great quantities of
goods belonging to our Company; he then sailed to Barbadoes, where he was
beaten off by the forts. Then he captured twenty of our ships off
Newfoundland, and so returned to Holland, altogether doing damage, as the
House of Commons told His Majesty, to the extent of eight hundred thousand
pounds. All this time the Dutch had been secretly preparing for war, which
they declared in January, which has forced us to do the same, although we
delayed a month in hopes that some accommodation might be arrived at. I
think, father, that is all that he told us, though there were many details
that I do not remember."

"And very well told, lass, truly. I wonder that your giddy head should
have taken in so much matter. Of course, now you tell them over, I have
heard these things before—the wrong that the Dutch did our Company
by seizing their post at Cape Coast, and the reprisals that Sir Robert
Holmes took upon them with our Company's ships—but they made no
great mark on my memory, for I was just taking over my father's work when
the first expedition took place. At any rate, none can say that we have
gone into this war unjustly, seeing that the Dutch began it, altogether
without cause, by first attacking our trading posts."

"It seems to me, Captain Dave," John Wilkes said, "that it has been mighty
like the war that our English buccaneers waged against the Spaniards in
the West Indies, while the two nations were at peace at home."

"It is curious," Cyril said, "that the trouble begun in Africa should have
shifted to the other side of the Atlantic."

"Ay, lad; just as that first trouble was at last fought out in the English
Channel, off the coast of France, so this is likely to be decided in
well-nigh the same waters."

"The gentlemen, the other night, were all of opinion," Nellie said, "that
the matter would never have come to such a head had it not been that De
Witt, who is now the chief man in Holland, belongs to the French party
there, and has been urged on by King Louis, for his own interest, to make
war with us."

"That may well be, Nellie. In all our English wars France has ever had a
part either openly or by intrigues. France never seems to be content with
attending to her own business, but is ever meddling with her neighbours',
and, if not fighting herself, trying to set them by the ears against each
other. If I were a bit younger, and had not lost my left flipper, I would
myself volunteer for the service. As for Master Cyril here, I know he is
burning to lay aside the pen and take to the sword."

"That is so, Captain Dave. As you know, I only took up the pen to keep me
until I was old enough to use a sword. I have been two years at it now,
and I suppose it will be as much longer before I can think of entering the
service of one of the Protestant princes; but as soon as I am fit to do
so, I shall get an introduction and be off; but I would tenfold rather
fight for my own country, and would gladly sail in the Fleet, though I
went but as a ship's boy."

"That is the right spirit, Master Cyril," John Wilkes exclaimed. "I would
go myself if the Captain could spare me and they would take such a
battered old hulk."

"I couldn't spare you, John," Captain Dave said. "I have been mighty near
making a mess of it, even with you as chief mate, and I might as well shut
up shop altogether if you were to leave me. I should miss you, too,
Cyril," he went on, stretching his arm across the table to shake hands
with the lad. "You have proved a real friend and a true; but were there a
chance of your going as an officer, I would not balk you, even if I could
do so. It is but natural that a lad of spirit should speak and think as
you do; besides, the war may not last for long, and when you come back,
and the ships are paid off, you would soon wipe off the arrears of work,
and get the books into ship-shape order. But, work or no work, that room
of yours will always stand ready for you while I live, and there will
always be a plate for you on this table."

"Thank you, Captain Dave. You always overrate my services, and forget that
they are but the consequence of the kindness that you have shown to me.
But I have no intention of going. It was but a passing thought. I have but
one friend who could procure me a berth as a volunteer, and as it is to
him I must look for an introduction to some foreign prince, I would not go
to him twice for a favour, especially as I have no sort of claim on his
kindness. To go as a cabin boy would be to go with men under my own
condition, and although I do not shirk hard work and rough usage, I should
not care for them in such fashion. Moreover, I am doing work which, even
without your hospitality, would suffice to keep me comfortably, and if I
went away, though but for a month, I might find that those for whom I work
had engaged other assistance. Spending naught, I am laying by money for
the time when I shall have to travel at my own expense and to provide
myself necessaries, and, maybe, to keep myself for a while until I can
procure employment. I have the prospect that, by the end of another two
years, I shall have gathered a sufficient store for all my needs, and I
should be wrong to throw myself out of employment merely to embark on an
adventure, and so to make a break, perhaps a long one, in my plans."

"Don't you worry yourself on that score," Captain Dave said warmly, and
then checked himself. "It will be time to talk about that when the time
comes. But you are right, lad. I like a man who steadfastly holds on the
way he has chosen, and will not turn to the right or left. There is not
much that a man cannot achieve if he keeps his aim steadily in view. Why,
Cyril, if you said you had made up your mind to be Lord Mayor of London, I
would wager that you would some day be elected."

Cyril laughed.

"I shall never set my eyes in that direction, nor do I think the thing I
have set myself to do will ever be in my power—that is, to buy back
my father's estate; but so long as I live I shall keep that in view."

"More unlikely things have happened, lad. You have got first to rise to be
a General; then, what with your pay and your share in the sack of a city
or two, and in other ways, you may come home with a purse full enough even
for that. But it is time for us to be going down below. Matthew will think
that we have forgotten him altogether."

Another fortnight passed. Nellie had, to a considerable extent, recovered
from the shock that she had suffered, but her manner was still quiet and
subdued, her sallies were less lively, and her father noticed, with some
surprise, that she no longer took any great interest in the gossip he
retailed of the gay doings of the Court.

"I can't think what has come over the girl," he said to his wife. "She
seems well in health again, but she is changed a good deal, somehow. She
is gentler and softer. I think she is all the better for it, but I miss
her merry laugh and her way of ordering things about, as if her pleasure
only were to be consulted."

"I think she is very much improved," Mrs. Dowsett said decidedly; "though
I can no more account for it than you can. She never used to have any care
about the household, and now she assists me in my work, and is in all
respects dutiful and obedient, and is not for ever bent upon gadding about
as she was before. I only hope it will continue so, for, in truth, I have
often sighed over the thought that she would make but a poor wife for an
honest citizen."

"Tut, tut, wife. It has never been as bad as that. Girls will be girls,
and if they are a little vain of their good looks, that will soften down
in time, when they get to have the charge of a household. You yourself,
dame, were not so staid when I first wooed you, as you are now; and I
think you had your own little share of vanity, as was natural enough in
the prettiest girl in Plymouth."

When Nellie was in the room Cyril did his best to save her from being
obliged to take part in the conversation, by inducing Captain Dave to tell
him stories of some of his adventures at sea.

"You were saying, Captain Dave, that you had had several engagements with
the Tunis Rovers," he said one evening. "Were they ever near taking you?"

"They did take me once, lad, and that without an engagement; but,
fortunately, I was not very long a prisoner. It was not a pleasant time
though, John, was it?"

"It was not, Captain Dave. I have been in sore danger of wreck several
times, and in three big sea-fights; but never did I feel so out of heart
as when I was lying, bound hand and foot, on the ballast in the hold of
that corsair. No true sailor is afraid of being killed; but the thought
that one might be all one's life a slave among the cruel heathen was
enough to take the stiffness out of any man's courage."

"But how was it that you were taken without an engagement, Captain Dave?
And how did you make your escape?"

"Well, lad, it was the carelessness of my first mate that did it; but as
he paid for his fault with his life let us say naught against him. He was
a handsome, merry young fellow, and had shipped as second mate, but my
first had died of fever in the Levant, and of course he got the step,
though all too young for the responsibility. We had met with some bad
weather when south of Malta, and had had a heavy gale for three days,
during which time we lost our main topmast, and badly strained the mizzen.
The weather abated when we were off Pantellaria, which is a bare rock
rising like a mountain peak out of the sea, and with only one place where
a landing can be safely effected. As the gale had blown itself out, and it
was likely we should have a spell of settled weather, I decided to anchor
close in to the Island, and to repair damages.

"We were hard at work for two days. All hands had had a stiff time of it,
and the second night, having fairly repaired damages, I thought to give
the crew a bit of a rest, and, not dreaming of danger, ordered that half
each watch might remain below. John Wilkes was acting as my second mate.
Pettigrew took the first watch; John had the middle watch; and then the
other came up again. I turned out once or twice, but everything was quiet—we
had not seen a sail all day. There was a light breeze blowing, but no
chance of its increasing, and as we were well sheltered in the only spot
where the anchorage was good, I own that I did not impress upon Pettigrew
the necessity for any particular vigilance. Anyhow, just as morning was
breaking I was woke by a shout. I ran out on deck, but as I did so there
was a rush of dark figures, and I was knocked down and bound before I knew
what had happened. As soon as I could think it over, it was clear enough.
The Moor had been coming into the anchorage, and, catching sight of us in
the early light, had run alongside and boarded us.

"The watch, of course, must have been asleep. There was not a shot fired
nor a drop of blood shed, for those on deck had been seized and bound
before they could spring to their feet, and the crew had all been caught
in their bunks. It was bitter enough. There was the vessel gone, and the
cargo, and with them my savings of twenty years' hard work, and the
prospect of slavery for life. The men were all brought aft and laid down
side by side. Young Pettigrew was laid next to me.

"'I wish to heaven, captain,' he said, 'you had got a pistol and your hand
free, and would blow out my brains for me. It is all my fault, and hanging
at the yard-arm is what I deserve. I never thought there was the slightest
risk—not a shadow of it—and feeling a bit dozy, sat down for
five minutes' caulk. Seeing that, no doubt the men thought they might do
the same; and this is what has come of it. I must have slept half an hour
at least, for there was no sail in sight when I went off, and this Moor
must have come round the point and made us out after that.'

"The corsair was lying alongside of us, her shrouds lashed to ours. There
was a long jabbering among the Moors when they had taken off our hatches
and seen that we were pretty well full up with cargo; then, after a bit,
we were kicked, and they made signs for us to get on our feet and to cross
over into their ship. The crew were sent down into the forward hold, and
some men went down with them to tie them up securely. John Wilkes,
Pettigrew, and myself were shoved down into a bit of a place below the
stern cabin. Our legs were tied, as well as our arms. The trap was shut,
and there we were in the dark. Of course I told Pettigrew that, though he
had failed in his duty, and it had turned out badly, he wasn't to be
blamed as if he had gone to sleep in sight of an enemy.

"'I had never given the Moors a thought myself,' I said, 'and it was not
to be expected that you would. But no sailor, still less an officer, ought
to sleep on his watch, even if his ship is anchored in a friendly harbour,
and you are to blame that you gave way to drowsiness. Still, even if you
hadn't, it might have come to the same thing in the long run, for the
corsair is a large one, and might have taken us even if you had made her
out as she rounded the point.'

"But, in spite of all I could say to cheer him, he took it to heart badly,
and was groaning and muttering to himself when they left us in the dark,
so I said to him,—

"'Look here, lad, the best way to retrieve the fault you have committed is
to try and get us out of the scrape. Set your brains to work, and let us
talk over what had best be done. There is no time to be lost, for with a
fair wind they can run from here to Tunis in four-and-twenty hours, and
once there one may give up all hope. There are all our crew on board this
ship. The Moor carried twice as many men as we do, but we may reckon they
will have put more than half of them on board our barque; they don't
understand her sails as well as they do their own, and will therefore want
a strong prize crew on board.'

"'I am ready to do anything, captain,' the young fellow said firmly. 'If
you were to give me the word, I would get into their magazine if I could,
and blow the ship into the air.'

"'Well, I don't know that I will give you that order, Pettigrew. To be a
heathen's slave is bad, but, at any rate, I would rather try that life for
a bit than strike my colours at once. Now let us think it over. In the
first place we have to get rid of these ropes; then we have to work our
way forward to the crew; and then to get on deck and fight for it. It is a
stiff job, look at it which way one will, but at any rate it will be
better to be doing something—even if we find at last that we can't
get out of this dog-kennel—than to lie here doing nothing.'

"After some talk, we agreed that it was not likely the Moors would come
down to us for a long time, for they might reckon that we could hold on
without food or water easy enough until they got to Tunis; having agreed
as to that point, we set to work to get our ropes loose. Wriggling
wouldn't do it, though we tried until the cords cut into our flesh.

"At last Pettigrew said,—

"'What a fool I am! I have got my knife hanging from a lanyard round my
neck. It is under my blouse, so they did not notice it when they turned my
pockets out.'

"It was a long job to get at that knife. At last I found the string behind
his neck, and, getting hold of it with my teeth, pulled till the knife
came up to his throat. Then John got it in his teeth, and the first part
of the job was done. The next was easy enough. John held the handle of the
knife in his teeth and Pettigrew got hold of the blade in his, and between
them they made a shift to open it; then, after a good deal of trouble,
Pettigrew shifted himself till he managed to get the knife in his hands. I
lay across him and worked myself backwards and forwards till the blade cut
through the rope at my wrist; then, in two more minutes, we were free.
Then we felt about, and found that the boarding between us and the main
hold was old and shaky, and, with the aid of the knife and of our three
shoulders, we made a shift at last to wrench one of the boards from its
place.

"Pettigrew, who was slightest, crawled through, and we soon got another
plank down. The hold was half full of cargo, which, no doubt, they had
taken out of some ship or other. We made our way forward till we got to
the bulkhead, which, like the one we had got through, was but a make-shift
sort of affair, with room to put your fingers between the planks. So we
hailed the men and told them how we had got free, and that if they didn't
want to work all their lives as slaves they had best do the same. They
were ready enough, you may be sure, and, finding a passage between the
planks wider in one place than the rest, we passed the knife through to
them, and told them how to set about cutting the rope. They were a deal
quicker over it than we had been, for in our place there had been no
height where we could stand upright, but they were able to do so. Two men,
standing back to back and one holding the knife, made quick work of
cutting the rope.

"We had plenty of strength now, and were not long in getting down a couple
of planks. The first thing was to make a regular overhaul of the cargo—as
well as we could do it, without shifting things and making a noise—to
look for weapons or for anything that would come in handy for the fight.
Not a thing could we find, but we came upon a lot of kegs that we knew, by
their feel, were powder. If there had been arms and we could have got up,
we should have done it at once, trusting to seize the ship before the
other could come up to her help. But without arms it would be madness to
try in broad daylight, and we agreed to wait till night, and to lie down
again where we were before, putting the ropes round our legs again and our
hands behind our backs, so that, if they did look in, everything should
seem secure.

"'We shall have plenty of time,' one of the sailors said, 'for they have
coiled a big hawser down on the hatch.'

"When we got back to our lazaret, we tried the hatch by which we had been
shoved down, but the three of us couldn't move it any more than if it had
been solid stone. We had a goodish talk over it, and it was clear that the
hatchway of the main hold was our only chance of getting out; and we might
find that a tough job.

"'If we can't do it in any other way,' Pettigrew said, 'I should say we
had best bring enough bales and things to fill this place up to within a
foot of the top; then on that we might put a keg of powder, bore a hole in
it, and make a slow match that would blow the cabin overhead into
splinters, while the bales underneath it would prevent the force of the
explosion blowing her bottom out.'

"We agreed that, if the worst came to the worst, we would try this, and
having settled that, went back to have a look at the main hatch. Feeling
about round it, we found the points of the staple on which the hatchway
bar worked above; they were not fastened with nuts as they would have been
with us, but were simply turned over and clinched. We had no means of
straightening them out, but we could cut through the woodwork round them.
Setting to work at that, we took it by turns till we could see the light
through the wood; then we left it to finish after dark. All this time we
knew we were under sail by the rippling of the water along the sides. The
men on board were evidently in high delight at their easy capture, and
kicked up so much noise that there was no fear of their hearing any slight
stir we made below.

"Very carefully we brought packages and bales under the hatchway, till we
built up a sort of platform about four feet below it. We reckoned that,
standing as thick as we could there, and all lifting together, we could
make sure of hoisting the hatchway up, and could then spring out in a
moment.

"Pettigrew still stuck to his plan, and talked us into carrying it out,
both under the fore and aft hatches, pointing out that the two explosions
would scare the crew out of their wits, that some would be killed, and
many jump overboard in their fright. We came to see that the scheme was
really a good one, so set all the crew to carry out the business, and
they, working with stockinged feet, built up a platform under their hatch,
as well as in our den aft. Then we made holes in two of the kegs of
powder, and, shaking a little out, damped it, and rubbed it into two
strips of cotton. Putting an end of a slow match into each of the holes,
we laid the kegs in their places and waited.

"We made two other fuses, so that a man could go forward, and another aft,
to fire them both together. Two of the men were told off for this job, and
the rest of us gathered under the main hatch, for we had settled now that
if we heard them making any move to open the hatches we would fire the
powder at once, whatever hour it was. In order to be ready, we cut deeper
into the woodwork round the staple till there was but the thickness of a
card remaining, and we could tell by this how light it was above.

"It don't take long to tell you, but all this had taken us a good many
hours; and so baked were we by the heat down below, and parched by thirst,
that it was as much as I could do to persuade the men to wait until
nightfall. At last we saw the light in the cut fade and darken. Again the
men wanted to be at work, but I pointed out that if we waited till the
crew had laid down on the deck, we might carry it through without losing a
life, but if they were all awake, some of them would be sure to come at us
with their weapons, and, unarmed as we were, might do us much harm. Still,
though I succeeded in keeping the men quiet, I felt it was hard work to
put a stopper on my own impatience.

"At last even John here spoke up for action.

"'I expect those who mean to sleep are off by this time,' he said. 'As to
reckoning upon them all going off, there ain't no hope of it; they will
sit and jabber all night. They have made a good haul, and have taken a
stout ship with a full hold, and five-and-twenty stout slaves, and that
without losing a man. There won't be any sleep for most of them. I reckon
it is two bells now. I do think, Captain, we might as well begin, for
human nature can't stand this heat and thirst much longer.'

"'All right, John,' I said. 'Now, lads, remember that when the first
explosion comes—for we can't reckon on the two slow matches burning
just the same time—we all heave together till we find the hatch
lifts; then, when the second comes, we chuck it over and leap out. If you
see a weapon, catch it up, but don't waste time looking about, but go at
them with your fists. They will be scared pretty well out of their senses,
and you will not be long before you all get hold of weapons of some sort.
Now, Pettigrew, shove your blade up through the wood and cut round the
staple. Now, Jack Brown, get out that tinder-box you said you had about
you, and get a spark going.'

"Three or four clicks were heard as the sailor struck his flint against
the steel lid of the tinder-box.

"'All right, yer honour,' he said, 'I have got the spark.'

"Then the two hands we had given the slow matches to, lit them at the
tinder-box, and went fore and aft, while as many of the rest of us as
could crowded under the hatch.

"'Are you ready, fore and aft?' I asked.

"The two men hailed in reply.

"'Light the matches, then, and come here.'

"I suppose it was not above a minute, but it seemed ten before there was a
tremendous explosion aft. The ship shook from stem to stern. There was a
moment's silence, and then came yells and screams mixed with the sound of
timbers and wreckage falling on the deck.

"'Now lift,' I said. 'But not too high. That is enough—she is free.
Wait for the other.'

"There was a rush of feet overhead as the Moors ran forward. Then came the
other explosion.

"'Off with her, lads!' I shouted, and in a moment we flung the hatch off
and leapt out with a cheer. There was no fighting to speak of. The
officers had been killed by the first explosion under their cabin, and
many of the men had either been blown overboard or lay crushed under the
timber and wreckage.

"The second explosion had been even more destructive, for it happened just
as the crew, in their terror, had rushed forward. Many of those unhurt had
sprung overboard at once, and as we rushed up most of the others did the
same. There was no difficulty about arms, for the deck was strewn with
weapons. Few of us, however, stopped to pick one up, but, half mad with
rage and thirst, rushed forward at the Moors. That finished them; and
before we got to them the last had sprung overboard. There was a rush on
the part of the men to the scuttle butt.

"'Take one drink, lads,' I shouted, 'and then to the buckets.'

"It took us a quarter of an hour's hard work to put out the flames, and it
was lucky the powder had blown so much of the decks up that we were
enabled to get at the fire without difficulty, and so extinguish it before
it got any great hold.

"As soon as we had got it out I called a muster. There was only one
missing;—it was Pettigrew, he being the first to leap out and rush
aft. There had been but one shot fired by the Moors. One fellow, as he
leapt on to the rail, drew his pistol from his belt and fired before he
sprang overboard. In the excitement and confusion no one had noticed
whether the shot took effect, for two or three men had stumbled and fallen
over fragments of timber or bodies as we rushed aft. But now we searched,
and soon came on the poor young fellow. The ball had struck him fair on
the forehead, and he had fallen dead without a word or a cry.

"There was, however, no time to grieve. We had got to re-capture the
barque, which had been but a cable's length away when we rushed on deck;
while we had been fighting the fire she had sailed on, regardless of the
shrieks and shouts of the wretches who had sprung overboard from us. But
she was still near us; both vessels had been running before the wind, for
I had sent John Wilkes to the tiller the moment that we got possession of
the corsair, and the barque was but about a quarter of a mile ahead.

"The wind was light, and we were running along at four knots an hour. The
Moors on board the Kate had, luckily, been too scared by the
explosion to think of getting one of the guns aft and peppering us while
we were engaged in putting out the fire; and indeed, they could not have
done us much harm if they had, for the high fo'castle hid us from their
view.

"As soon as we had found Pettigrew's body and laid it on the hatch we had
thrown off, I went aft to John.

"'Are we gaining on her, John?'

"'No; she has drawn away a little. But this craft is not doing her best. I
expect they wanted to keep close to the barque, and so kept her sheets in.
If you square the sails, captain, we shall soon be upon her.'

"That was quickly done, and then the first thing was to see that the men
were all armed. We could have got a gun forward, but I did not want to
damage the Kate, and we could soon see that we were closing on her.
We shoved a bag of musket-balls into each cannon, so as to sweep her decks
as we came alongside, for we knew that her crew was a good deal stronger
than we were. Still, no one had any doubt as to the result, and it was
soon evident that the Moors had got such a scare from the fate of their
comrades that they had no stomach for fighting.

"'They are lowering the boats,' John shouted.

"'All the better,' I said. 'They would fight like rats caught in a trap if
we came up to them, and though we are men enough to capture her, we might
lose half our number.'

"As soon as the boats reached the water they were all pulled up to the
starboard side, and then the helm was put down, and the barque came round
till she was broadside on to us.

"'Down with your helm, John Wilkes!' I shouted. 'Hard down, man!'

"John hesitated, for he had thought that I should have gone round to the
other side of her and so have caught all the boats; but, in truth, I was
so pleased at the thought of getting the craft back again that I was
willing to let the poor villains go, since they were of a mind to do so
without giving us trouble. We had punished them enough, and the shrieks
and cries of those left behind to drown were ringing in my ears then. So
we brought the corsair up quietly by the side of the Kate, lashed
her there, and then, with a shout of triumph, sprang on board the old
barky.

"Not a Moor was left on board. The boats were four or five hundred yards
away, rowing at the top of their speed. The men would have run to the
guns, but I shouted,—

"'Let them go, lads. We have punished them heavily enough; we have taken
their ship, and sent half of them to Eternity. Let them take the tale back
to Tunis how a British merchantman re-captured their ship. Now set to work
to get some of the sail off both craft, and then, when we have got things
snug, we will splice the main brace and have a meal.'

"There is no more to tell. We carried the rover into Gibraltar and sold
her and her cargo there. It brought in a good round sum, and, except for
the death of Pettigrew, we had no cause to regret the corsair having taken
us by surprise that night off Pantellaria."

"That was an exciting business, indeed, Captain Dave," Cyril said, when
the Captain brought his story to a conclusion. "If it had not been for
your good fortune in finding those kegs of powder, and Pettigrew's idea of
using them as he did, you and John might now, if you had been alive, have
been working as slaves among the Moors."

"Yes, lad. And not the least lucky thing was that Pettigrew's knife and
Jack Brown's tinder-box had escaped the notice of the Moors. Jack had it
in an inside pocket sewn into his shirt so as to keep it dry. It was a
lesson to me, and for the rest of the time I was at sea I always carried a
knife, with a lanyard round my neck, and stowed away in an inside pocket
of my shirt, together with a tinder-box. They are two as useful things as
a sailor can have about him, for, if cast upon a desert shore after a
wreck, a man with a knife and tinder-box may make shift to live, when,
without them, he and his comrades might freeze to death."

CHAPTER IX — THE FIRE IN THE SAVOY

The next evening John Wilkes returned after an absence of but half an
hour.

"Why, John, you can but have smoked a single pipe! Did you not find your
cronies there?"

"I hurried back, Captain, because a man from one of the ships in the Pool
landed and said there was a great light in the sky, and that it seemed to
him it was either a big fire in the Temple, or in one of the mansions
beyond the walls; so methought I would come in and ask Cyril if he would
like to go with me to see what was happening."

"I should like it much, John. I saw a great fire in Holborn just after I
came over from France, and a brave sight it was, though very terrible; and
I would willingly see one again."

He took his hat and cloak and was about to be off, when Captain Dave
called after him,—

"Buckle on your sword, lad, and leave your purse behind you. A fire ever
attracts thieves and cut-throats, who flock round in hopes of stealing
something in the confusion. Besides, as I have told you before, you should
never go out after dark without your sword, even were it but to cross the
road."

Cyril ran upstairs to his room, buckled on his weapon, and ran down again.

"The Captain is right," John Wilkes said, as he joined him at the door.
"After your two adventures, it would be folly for you to go out unarmed."

"Oh, I expect they have forgotten about me long ago," Cyril laughed
lightly.

"I don't know," John Wilkes said seriously. "As to Marner's gang, I think
that there is not much fear from them, unless that young rascal Robert and
the scoundrel who was with him have returned from Holland; and that they
are not likely to do for some time to come. But it would not be in human
nature if the man you call John Harvey should take his defeat without
trying to pay you back for that wound you gave him, for getting Mistress
Nellie out of his hands, and for making him the laughing-stock of his
comrades. I tell you that there is scarce an evening that I have gone out
but some fellow passes me before I have gone twenty yards, and, as he
brushes my sleeve, turns his head to look at me. But yesternight I said to
one who so behaved, 'Look here, mate, this is not the first time you have
run against me. I warn you that if it happens again I will crack your head
with my cudgel.' The fellow went off, muttering and grumbling, but I have
no doubt that he and the others, for it certainly was not always the same
man, were watching for you. To-night there was no one about, or, if there
was, he did not come near me, and it may be that, finding you never leave
the house after nightfall, they have decided to give it up for the
present. But I thought I heard a footfall lower down the street, just as
we came out of the house, and it is like enough that we are followed now."

"At any rate, they would scarce attack two of us, John, and I should not
mind if they did. It is a stab in the back that I am afraid of more than
an open quarrel."

"You may have a better swordsman to deal with next time. The fellow
himself would scarcely care to cross swords with you again, but he would
have no difficulty in getting half-a-dozen cut-throats from the purlieus
of the Temple or Westminster, professional bullies, who are ready to use
their swords to those who care to purchase them, and who would cut a
throat for a few crowns, without caring a jot whose throat it was. Some of
these fellows are disbanded soldiers. Some are men who were ruined in the
wars. Some are tavern bullies—broken men, reckless and quarrelsome
gamblers so long as they have a shilling in their pockets, but equally
ready to take to the road or to rob a house when their pockets are empty."

By this time they had passed the Exchange into Cheapside. Many people were
hurrying in the same direction and wondering where the fire was. Presently
one of the Fire Companies, with buckets, ladders, and axes, passed them at
a run. Even in Cheapside the glow in the sky ahead could be plainly seen,
but it was not until they passed St. Paul's and stood at the top of
Ludgate Hill that the flames, shooting up high in the air, were visible.
They were almost straight ahead.

"It must be at the other end of Fleet Street," Cyril said, as they broke
into a run.

"Farther than that, lad. It must be one of the mansions along the Strand.
A fire always looks closer than it is. I have seen a ship in flames that
looked scarce a mile away, and yet, sailing with a brisk wind, it took us
over an hour to come up to it."

The crowd became thicker as they approached Temple Bar. The upper windows
of the houses were all open, and women were leaning out looking at the
sight. From every lane and alley men poured into the street and swelled
the hurrying current. They passed through the Bar, expecting to find that
the fire was close at hand. They had, however, some distance farther to
go, for the fire was at a mansion in the Savoy. Another Fire Company came
along when they were within a hundred yards of the spot.

"Join in with them," Cyril said; and he and John Wilkes managed to push
their way into the ranks, joining in the shout, "Way there, way! Make room
for the buckets!"

Aided by some of the City watch the Company made its way through the
crowd, and hurried down the hill from the Strand into the Savoy. A party
of the King's Guard, who had just marched up, kept back the crowd, and,
when once in the open space, Cyril and his companion stepped out from the
ranks and joined a group of people who had arrived before the constables
and soldiers had come up.

The mansion from which the fire had originated was in flames from top to
bottom. The roof had fallen in. Volumes of flame and sparks shot high into
the air, threatening the safety of several other houses standing near. The
Fire Companies were working their hand-pumps, throwing water on to the
doors and woodwork of these houses. Long lines of men were extended down
to the edge of the river and passed the buckets backwards and forwards.
City officials, gentlemen of the Court, and officers of the troops, moved
to and fro shouting directions and superintending the work. From many of
the houses the inhabitants were bringing out their furniture and goods,
aided by the constables and spectators.

"It is a grand sight," Cyril said, as, with his companion, he took his
place in a quiet corner where a projecting portico threw a deep shadow.

"It will soon be grander still. The wind is taking the sparks and flames
westwards, and nothing can save that house over there. Do you see the
little jets of flame already bursting through the roof?"

"The house seems empty. There is not a window open."

"It looks so, Cyril, but there may be people asleep at the back. Let us
work round and have a look from behind."

They turned down an alley, and in a minute or two came out behind the
house. There was a garden and some high trees, but it was surrounded by a
wall, and they could not see the windows.

"Here, Cyril, I will give you a hoist up. If you stand on my shoulders,
you can reach to the top of the wall and pull yourself up. Come along here
to where that branch projects over. That's it. Now drop your cloak, and
jump on to my back. That is right. Now get on to my shoulders."

Cyril managed to get up.

"I can just touch the top, but I can't get my fingers on to it."

"Put your foot on my head. I will warrant it is strong enough to bear your
weight."

Cyril did as he was told, grasped the top of the wall, and, after a sharp
struggle, seated himself astride on it. Just as he did so, a window in a
wing projecting into the garden was thrown open, and a female voice
uttered a loud scream for help. There was light enough for Cyril to see
that the lower windows were all barred. He shouted back,—

"Can't you get down the staircase?"

"No; the house is full of smoke. There are some children here. Help!
Help!" and the voice rose in a loud scream again.

Cyril dropped down into the roadway by the side of John Wilkes.

"There are some women and children in there, John. They can't get out. We
must go round to the other side and get some axes and break down the
door."

Snatching up his cloak, he ran at full speed to his former position,
followed by Wilkes. The roof of the house was now in flames. Many of the
shutters and window-frames had also caught fire, from the heat. He ran up
to two gentlemen who seemed to be directing the operations.

"There are some women and children in a room at the back of that house,"
he said. "I have just been round there to see. They are in the second
storey, and are crying for help."

"I fear the ladders are too short."

"I can tie two or three of them together," Wilkes said. "I am an old
sailor and can answer for the knots."

The firemen were already dashing water on the lower windows of the front
of the house. A party with axes were cutting at the door, but this was so
massive and solid that it resisted their efforts. One of the gentlemen
went down to them. At his orders eight or ten men seized ladders. Cyril
snatched some ropes from a heap that had been thrown down by the firemen,
and the party, with one of the gentlemen, ran round to the back of the
house. Two ladders were placed against the wall. John Wilkes, running up
one of them, hauled several of the others up, and lowered them into the
garden.

The flames were now issuing from some of the upper windows. Cyril dropped
from the wall into the garden, and, running close up to the house, shouted
to three or four women, who were screaming loudly, and hanging so far out
that he thought they would fall, that help was at hand, and that they
would be speedily rescued. John Wilkes rapidly tied three of the short
ladders together. These were speedily raised, but it was found that they
just reached the window. One of the firemen ran up, while John set to work
to prepare another long ladder. As there was no sign of life at any other
window he laid it down on the grass when finished.

"If you will put it up at the next window," Cyril said, "I will mount it.
The woman said there were children in the house, and possibly I may find
them. Those women are so frightened that they don't know what they are
doing."