The Adventures of Doctor Brady

by W.H. Russell, LL.D.
Author of "The Crimean War," "My Diary in India," etc.

Originally published in Tinsley's Magazine (Tinsley Bros.) vol.1 #2 (Sep 1867).

Chapter VI.

The School

We forget the tears and terrors through which we have passed, or, remembering, smile at our sufferings, exquisite as they were at the time, when we speak of our schoolboy life. It was with a feeling of something like dismay that I contemplated the expanse of dark brick, lighted by a solitary lamp over the hall window, which was announced by the Doctor's man as the schoolhouse; nor was it diminished when the drawing of bolts and the grating of locks ceased, and a door, partially opened, permitted a fierce face to be seen by the gleam of a candle held high in air, and a gruff voice inquired:
        "What kept ye so late, sir?"
        "It's the mail was late, Mr. Cuffe—that's what it was. An' there's a lot of luggidge too, for such gossoons."
        I had had visions of a hot supper—of blazing fires—of well-lighted rooms, on my arrival; and now I stood with my companion, shivering and hungry, by the yawning expanse of an empty grate, in a gaunt hall, provided with four ancient leather-backed chairs, in which ticked a wheezy but loud-toned clock. The man had deposited our impedimenta, and Mr. Cuffe, who had been surveying it in intervals of his close examination of ourselves, having shut and bolted the door, said:
        "Now, Brady! now Prendergast! which is which? Very well; each of you take up his own things, whatever you want for the night, and I'll show you the way to bed. Don't make a noise, though; do you hear?"
        And without waiting a moment Mr. Cuffe's heels, projecting over the ledge of his slippers, began to move rapidly towards a staircase in the distance, and the receding light of his candle told us there was no time to be lost if we did not desire to be left in darkness. Maurice and I seized on a box apiece, and were pattering over the oilcloth, when Mr. Cuffe, turning on the staircase, hissed out:
        "Hish, there! What d'ye mean by all that noise? Pull off your brogues, you fellows, or you'll have the whole house awake. You must come up the front way."
        Maurice and I did as we were told; we were tired, cold, sleepy, and obedient. Again Mr. Cuffe continued his career—one stair—a vault-like landing—a corridor with polished doors, from which the candle-light was reflected on grim portraits against the wall, terminating in black night—a carpeted floor.
        "Make no noise here," whispered Mr. Cuffe. "This is the Doctor's shoot."
        There was next a carpeted staircase; then another corridor. Mr. Cuffe turned to the left, and at the end halted at a door covered with green baize, which he unlocked, motioning us to pass through, and then locked at the other side. We were in a low whitewashed hall with doors on both sides, and outside each door was a little mound of shoes and boots of all sorts. A sound like the echoes of some distant surf saluted our ears; and Maurice, answering my look of wonder with a nod, said, as we walked along:
        "Do you hear them snoring? What a lot of them there must be!"
        As Mr. Cuffe proceeded down the passage, he halted now and then and listened at the doors, and I was aware, as we proceeded, of creakings behind us as if one were gently opened.
        "This," said Mr. Cuffe, "is your room—No. 7. You have the best in the lot. Boyd is away—Putland is in the sick dormitory; and there's only Grierson and—"
        Just at this moment some heavy body, flying through the air and skimming over my head, came from behind. In an instant we were in darkness, as Mr. Cuffe, with one hand on the door-handle, was lighting us into our bedroom.
        "I'll pay you off for that! I know you, my boy," gasped the tutor, who had been knocked against the door by a hard bolster "You boys, go in, and wait till I come with the light. Just lock out, O'Brien, for that."
        As Mr. Cuffe groped his way along the passage, we heard the door at the end open and shut. In a moment there was a pattering of many feet, and a rustling as of a storm in the air. The noise enveloped us. I was caught by the hair just as I heard Maurice shout out:
        "I say, none of that! If you hurt me again, I'll knock you down."
        It was a rash threat, and I suffered for it as well as he. The urchins who were around us knew no mercy, and did know the room; and joined by the two boys who were in it, furious at being roused from their sleep, Maurice and I, striking out blindly, were pinched, cuffed, bolstered, and throttled by unseen arms, till a whistle sounded at the end of the passage, when the pattering, rustling, and thumping sound was renewed, and died out in a creaking of doors, and in a minute more a light and Mr. Cuffe, with a candle in a lantern in one hand, and a cane in the other, appeared.
        "Och ! och! and so they've been bolstering you, have they! You must put a penny to your eye, Brady. Now, you Grierson—you Cole! don't be shamming there. You'll have to report who did it in the morning to the Doctor."
        Grierson and Cole were very fast asleep indeed—Cole's snoring was of the most solid and portentous character, indicative of apoplexy; Grierson, who lay in the next crib, had a sweet unconscious expression on his face, which was, however, scarce in character with his puckered-up mouth and shut eye.
        "That's your bed, Brady; that's yours, Prendergast. You may lock yourself in to-night. There's your candle. The first bell will ring at half-past six; prayers at seven."
        Mr. Cuffe shut the door and retired; and Maurice and I were left to our meditations.
        "You'll have a black eye, Terry," said he, "from those blackguards."
        "And your mouth is cut, Maurice," returned I. "Let us get to bed; I feel so tired."
        As I turned to my box I was aware that Grierson was sitting up in bed, and that Cole had both eyes wide open.
        "I say, did I hear you call me a blackguard?" asked Grierson.
        "Yes," returned Maurice fiercely; "you or anyone who'd attack two strange fellows in the dark like that for nothing."
        "Will you be licked to-morrow, or will you have it now?" asked Master Grierson, with much earnestness, getting out of bed as he spoke, and advancing towards Maurice.
        I saw that he was a stout, tall, fair-haired chap, with a flat flabby face, at least an inch taller than Prendergast, and I ran in between them, saying:
        "No; you shall not hit him. You are a cur; and if you want to fight, you must fight me."
        Master Grierson saw, perhaps, I was a little more of his match, though still a year younger and somewhat lighter than he was.
        "You're a cocky cub enough, I daresay. Now then, Cole, you hide that fellow, and I'll manage this," and, squaring his arms, he commenced his preparations for battle. Whilst we were parleying in elegant prelude, Maurice had gone to the door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, and coming alongside me, said:
        "Terry, I'll stand by you to the last, and we will give them a thrashing for the honour of Kilmoyle. Now come on."
        His face was dark with passion; the blood stealing over his lip gave him a savage look; and Cole, who did not quite understand why he should be called on to break his night's sleep, suggested a basis for negotiations of peace.
        "If you have got anything in your boxes, we will let you off," he said. "Sha'n't we, Daddy?"
        "Let us see what the louts have first, and if it's worth taking, we sha'n't lick them."
        And acting in that spirit, Grierson made a rush at the box which stood beside my bed, and which I had been uncording when he thought fit to rouse up. With a spring I stood before him, and shouted:
        "You musn't touch my things; and as I said so, received a blow in the face which sent me staggering towards the middle of the room. It was but for a second. I knew nothing of boxing, but I was strong and active, and in the twinkling of an eye my knuckles tingled with the sharp, quick jar produced by a blow delivered on a bone, and blood ran from Grierson's lip.
        I cannot tell what followed. I was aware that Cole and Maurice were engaged in a similar struggle; whilst Grierson and I pummeled and cuffed each other, and scuffled and wrestled all over the room.
        Chairs were overturned—water-bottles and basins and basin-stands went crashing on the floor. Like most Irish boys, we were unacquainted with any scientific mode of giving black eyes and bloody noses, but eyes were puffing and swelling, and noses and lips were bleeding on both sides.
        My antagonist was more used to such encounters; but I had learnt a little of a rude sort of wrestling. I had the advantage, besides, of being dressed, whilst he was in his shirt; so, whenever we closed, I generally managed to throw him. Once his head came with force against the edge of my box, and I gasped out, "Do you give in?" and was answered by a feeble blow in the ribs. Still, his strength was failing, and fall after fall brought him nearer to submission; Maurice and Cole, better matched, perhaps, were whirling in the eddies of combat among the beds and overturned chairs.
        "Let us in to see fair play." Gentle knocks and urgent entreaties proclaimed the anxiety of the boys, who had been aroused by the scuffle, to join in the fray. But we were little inclined to listen to such appeals. With nostrils distended, fast-closing eyes, dishevelled hair, swollen hands and lips and cheeks, and torn clothes,—the only sounds inside the room being our heavy breathing and the thumps of fists, and the knocking about of the scanty furniture,—we fought on till a sharp cry escaped from my opponent; and he exclaimed, "O, my foot! my foot! He had trodden on a piece of glass. I was terrified. Cole, hastening to his friend, who was sitting on the bed in agony, ran to the door and cried out:
        "Some of you ring the doctor's bell; here's Dick Grierson cut his foot open."
        I had seen at my grandfather's people brought in with accidents, and in imitation of what I had observed, I poured out water in a basin, tore a strip off one of the shirts in my box, and bathed the cut; but the glass was inside, and I could not staunch the wound.
        Maurice had unlocked the door, and was standing beside Cole, watching the fainting boy with terror and pity, when we were aware of a tall man gliding among us; his white hair flowing over his shoulders from the silver band of a large black velvet cap; his face round and florid and smooth, animated by an expression full of repose and calmness. His figure was shrouded in a dark velvet dressing-gown; and although he had not long been roused, Dr. Ball looked as if he were quite ready to sit for his portrait; his theory, indeed, being, that no one should ever be in such a hurry as not to be able to appear in the utmost propriety of dress. He looked at the scene before him with some kind of curiosity, if not surprise, set down his candlestick with deliberation, and sitting down on the bed beside Grierson, having previously placed a handkerchief across his own knees, took his leg upon his lap, and examined the cut in silence. Then he put his hand into his breast, drew out a small case, and produced from it a spiteful-looking, shining implement of steel, with which he firmly seized the glass, and by a steady tug, which made the lad utter a bitter cry, pulled it out of the wound. At the doorway were shadowy faces; a faint murmur came from the passage as the doctor, selecting another implement from his case, passed it to and fro in the fissure. Then with lint from the same inexhaustible case, and with water and scissors, he made a bandage round the wound, placed the limb on the bed, took up his candle, and surveyed us slowly one after the other.
        "Such are the fruits of disobedience—the results of strife and contention," he said at last. "If you were the beasts of the field, you could not tear and wound each other more cruelly; but the beasts have none to guide them—you have. They have none to correct them—you shall find that you have.—Mr. Cuffe," he added, "stay in this cubicle to-night in one of the spare beds. The surgeon must see Grierson early in the morning." And the tall figure vanished.
        I felt relieved when he went; and yet I wished he had said something to me. There was a cold displeasure in his eye as he looked into my face, more hard to bear than words. It was a keen reproach to be stared at with such haughty contempt; and as I looked at my face in the glass, and turned to Maurice, who had got into bed, and had sullenly given his hand to me, I became aware that our first interview with Dr. Ball was not of a nature to impress him in our favour. My eyes were puffed and painful, and my cheeks shining and swelled out with blows; my lips like a negro's. Maurice was not much better; Cole and Grierson bore similar marks of the fray; and Mr. Cuffe, as he walked round us with his candle, had some reason for saying, "Our mothers would not know us;" though he little understood the significance of his remark in regard to myself.
        Dr. Ball began his college career as a Fellow Commoner and an idler; of a fine person and manner, he associated with the wildest set of his year in days when there were really wild young men in Trinity, and ere it had ceased to be a staid training-school sort of place; and he drank, hunted, and played with the blue bloods of the Irish university, before Oxford and Cambridge came into fashion for Irish students, and such appearances in the world as Swift, Goldsmith, Sterne, and Burke became impossible. It was supposed old Mick Ball, the linen-merchant, would leave his only son all his money. His son acted on the supposition. One day old Mick called in on him in Botany-Bay-square, and found the young gentleman sitting at a well-appointed table. It was twelve o'clock, and old Mr. Mick Ball glowered at the silver on the cloth, and the decanter of claret, and the tea-things, with a puzzled, discontented look.
        "Is it breakfast or dinner yer atin, Dinny?"
        "Well, sir, you see it's a sort of composition between the two—a snack you would call it in the old time—lunch, let us say. How very well you are looking, to be sure, this morning!"
        "Am I, Dinny? I don't feel so. I've been over to yer chewther's" (Dinny's face slightly moved), "and what he tells me isn't like to make me feel pleasant."
        "Indeed, sir! Some wars, or rumours of wars. Apprehensions concerning flax, or combinations in the political world affecting linen? I hope not."
        "No, Dinny; it's rhumers about yerself, an' it's combinations affectin' my pocket, that thrubbels me. Now listin awhile. The divil an honour ye'v tuk since ye inthered. You ought to be a scholar this year, yer chewther tells me. There's young Brophy, of Skinner's-alley, got one, an' is always gettin' honours, and he'll be a Fellow, an' may be a bishop before he sthops. It's nearer pluckin' you get every time, and fine feathers they'd get off you! Here have I been slavin' an' toilin' an' moilin' early and late up in the office, an' goin' about thinkin' of nothin' but webs and yarns and flax, that you might turn out a credit to me an' to the poor mother that's dead an' gone. I've been proud of seein' you wid the bucks, tho' you and young Thrimblestone nigh rode over me last week as I was crossing Grafton-street, widout by yer leave, in yer red coats, I've paid all your debts, and given you a fine allowance—an' yer had the best of cattle to ride; an' all I asked in return was that you'd just get an honour, and do something for the family, like young Plunkett, and lots of others. An' Mr. Nagel says you're as clever as any of them, wid a good head for mathematics and larnin' of all kinds. An' what have you done? Answer me that! I'll tell you. Ye'v been givin' the supper parties that's breakin' the hearts of the Dane and faculty. Ye'v been neglectin' the lecthers and chapels. Ye'v been out wherever there's the sportin' an' gamblin' goin' on; keepin' dreadful hours. Ye'v been givin' post-obits, an' things of that kind, speculatin' on yer father's death. Yer deep in debt to all the money-linders in Eustacestreet. An' what am I come for now?—to ask you to sthop in time, an' behave well to me, an' I'll behave well to you."
        "My dear father, believe me—"
        "No; Ill believe nothin' but deeds. Go on as you like—do as you like—but a return for my money out of you I expect, or you'll be disappointed when I'm gone, Dinny. To show you I'm in earnest I've brought you these."
        The old man produced a pocketbook of many pockets from an old case.
        "There's yer acceptance to Mulloy for 200l.—paid; there's yer account with Hennessy, for horses, 427l. 16s.—paid; there's French's account, 180l.—paid; there's another of Mulloy's—there's one of Tuke's—here's O'Neale's—there's Dempsey's—a nice lot, 'pon me word!—to the valley of 903l. paid—that's gettin' on to two thousand pounds, Dinny. And here's an order on Latouche for 300l. for debts I want to know nothing of. I start you fair, I hope? And now no speeches. Burn those blaggard papers. Ye'v three months to the next examination, and I expect to hear of you thin. Good-bye. God bless you. Go on and finish yer—breakfast, Dinny. And remimber—ye can't ate yer cake and have it."
        The old man kept his word. On a certain morning in the month of July the Dublin papers contained an advertisement:
        "Notice.—I hereby give notice that I will not be responsible for the debts contracted by my son, Dionysius Ball, Undergraduate, Trinity College, the said Dionysius being of full age.—(Signed) M. Ball, Linen Hall, Dublin."
        Another notice announced that "M. Ball, linen manufacturer, having retired from business, had made over the whole of his interest in the Ballyvogue and Ballymena mills and factories, and in the stores in Belfast and Dublin, to his nephew, James Grabb, for whom he requested the support of his old connexion."
        When Mr. Dionysius Ball had arrived near the end of his college course his father died. His will was opened, and it was found, that, having paid to his son, and on his account, the sum of 11,703l. 10s. 6d., he, Michael Ball, bequeathed to him the sum of 3,966l. gs. 6d., to complete his education in college, and left the rest of his estate to his wife's relations.
        Dionysius Ball set to work; but it was too late. One day a feeble man, nearly blind from study, was led in, with a shade over his eyes, to the Hall in which the Fellowship Examinations are held, and more than usual interest was evinced, as it became known that "Dandy Ball was going in for a Fellowship." There were five competitors for the golden prize. Dandy Ball was second. Again and again he tried; always some more brilliant scholar or riper student stood just above him. The examiners, touched by his perseverance, would have gladly seen him win, but it was not to be. After four great efforts he resigned himself to his fate, and became a "grinder," and eventually a schoolmaster, having taken out his degree in laws. He was distinguished for a melancholy gravity, stately manners, and elegance of dress which seemed out of place in a Dublin dominie. His sole pleasure was found, strangely enough, in assiduous devotion to his pupils, in the study of mathematical problems, and in preparing editions of the classics, more remarkable for fine type, paper, and binding, than for great learning or ingenuity. He had a small living, and refreshed himself on Sunday by preaching highly ornate and polished sermons, which principally dealt with the theories of heathen philosophers, and showed their general inferiority to the Christian scheme in their relations to life on earth.
        "An' so you've been fightin' already, and have bet Grierson and Cole secundus," said Larry, as he brought in our shoes, and roused us in the morning. "Faix, purty black eyes as ever I've seed at Donnybrook! It's a nate beginnin you've med, Prendergast and Brady. Hurry on, and dhress. Dr. Ball wants to see you afore prayers, and thin you've to sthay up here till yer eyes goes out of mourning. Mister Grierson, I'm to have you remov'd to the sick-ward, and Cole's to shift to No. 8 crib, next dure."
        "It is a bad beginning indeed, Maurice," I muttered, as we stood, afraid to knock, outside the door to which we had been shown. "Do you think he'll flog us?"
        "Not if he's just. The two big bullies above should get it if anyone. I don't intend to be touched, I can tell you." As we spoke, the door was opened from the inside, and the Doctor stood before us: the black velvet cap still on his head—for in my day trencher caps were never used out of college—and a sort of black silk cassock, with upright collar, fitting very tight, fastened round the waist by a band, and coming down so low as only to show the buckles of his shoes, gave him the air of some mediæval ecclesiastic—and the similitude was increased by the flowing white hair, and the snowy turned-over collar and cuffs, which contrasted with his sombre dress.
"        Come in, Terence Brady and Maurice Prendergast." We stood in the Sanctum and the Inferno—at once the place of rewards and of punishments—the doctor's study: a wilderness of books—the neatness of his person was by no means indicative of habits of order with books on shelves, books on chairs, on tables, on the carpet, on the chimney-piece. He drew up with his back to the fire, one hand on his hip, the other outstretched, with the finger pointed to me. "Now, Terence Brady, as you are the elder, give me an account of the manner in which the proceedings of last night beg2n. I will not say it is your interest to tell the truth, for I would not appeal to a base motive when you stand in my presence."
        I told him the truth. As I spoke, he listened attentively, and turned his eyes from me to Maurice, and never asked a question till the close, and then he said—"Brady, do you forgive the boy who began this trouble freely and fully from your heart?"
        "I do, sir."
        "Prendergast, I ask same question."
        Maurice hesitated. He looked down and was silent.
        "It is not necessary for you to answer me. I regret you still feel enmity to Cole; depend on it you would be happier if you could say as your friend has done. You may go."
        If any dreamer cherishes visions of Utopia as possible realities, let him remember what his life was at a school, and cease to hope. Who can withstand the tyranny of that oligarchy which arises in the little republic, and which has ever a despot of its own? For two years my life was as bearable, in virtue of my prowess on the night of my arrival, as the duresse of attendance and compulsory learning could make it. I was chosen into the upper twenty for our hurling matches after one or two hard fights. Daddy Grierson, the very first day he came into the green where we played, pale and limping as he was, shook hands with me coram publico, and declared—"Brady is one of the old stock." "The doctor told me he took all the blame on himself." My reputation was made by the stories which had gone abroad over the school, for Grierson was one of the Ajaxes of the field. Maurice Prendergast did not fare so well. He had refused to make it up with Cole, and the result was a pitched battle, in which Maurice got rather the worst of it, and he was unfortunate enough to appear as if he did not accept the public judgment with good grace. Dr. Ball heard of the encounter, and in ordering him and his antagonist punishment, publicly expressed his regret that one of his boys exhibited such vindictiveness.
        Maurice had in him some unhappy knack of thinking everything which occurred in the world of an unpleasant nature was specially ordered with reference to himself—that all around were plotting to do him mischief—that he alone was singled out for annoyance, and perchance for punishment. His spirit was dark and moody. He had listened at home to old stories about the greatness of the family of Prendergast in the tame of Strongbow, till he believed their present poverty was the result of a great conspiracy on the part of King, Lords, and Commons; and he was continually revolving schemes in his head for their restoration to the lordship of barbarously-named regions which had long since merged into baronies and counties. The mind of the boy, in fact, was warped by this one idea—that he was the victim of wrong and injustice; and as he was of a studious turn, and read more than most boys of his years, turning his attention to what may be called the fabulous history of Ireland, and swallowing without hesitation the preparations of the annalists and national historians who doctor facts or invent nostrums to suit their theories, he became an eager politician.
        There were Repealers and Reformers in those days. Dr. Ball's was an eminently Protestant academy, and Maurice Prendergast chose to avow himself a Repealer and a Reformer, and to stand in a minority of one. You know what the toleration of a school is. It is there that the philosopher may study the way in which the will of a majority, without checks, becomes a cruel despotism. Maurice clung to his faith, and took a gloomy delight in suffering persecution, which was moral rather than physical. There is no misery so great as to burn with the love of country which is treason—to be possessed with the patriotism of a broken nationality, which is sustained by dreams, and visions, and hopes—lives and dies again till the end, whatever that may be—extinction and oblivion—or resurrection. Maurice believed that petitions, and public meetings, and processions of ill-clad citizens, with bad bands and worse banners, would induce the British Government to restore a native legislature to Ireland. He wore a green ribbon in his cap, and gilt buttons, with a harp and crown, and the device of Repeal, on his coat. He read immense quantities of speeches, and learnt whole Iliads of national poetry, and was looked on as a vulgar malcontent, who must be a rebel at heart, as well as a Papist. He was cut out of our games, and placed under a proscription, which he resented by aggressive war whenever he got a chance. It was with difficulty I could keep on good terms with him because I would not join him in ostracising the whole school; but at night, ere we closed our eyes, we were generally good friends again. I pitied him greatly, for often and often I heard his suppressed sobbing, and his cries in his sleep, and knew how much he endured in his gloomy spirit.
        I had my own sorrows. There was for ever, when I was alone, no thought but that one wearing, wearying solicitude that was the morbid centre around which all my future plans were woven. I had a faith that my mother lived. The more I reasoned on the subject, the greater seemed the improbability—the larger and firmer grew the faith. I had of course given up all idea of taking the picture to Dublin the moment I had seen my room and understood the nature of boys at school; but every trait was preserved in my memory, and I made endless efforts to put them on paper, destroying the scraps as fast as I drew them. I grew strong and tall, was famous at hurling, football, and prison-bar, which are the substitutes for cricket. On my half-holidays I went up the little stream which passed the school-gates on its way from the mountains to Dublin Bay. Faithful to my early love, I fished away till night approached, returning, happy, but foot-sore, with my creel pretty well stocked with trout, which the Doctor used to take tithe of for his Sunday morning's breakfast ere he proceeded to his church, a quarter of an hour in advance of the column led by Mr. Cuffe, and closed by the rear-guard under Monsieur Lebœuf. Sometimes Maurice came with me; but he was so immersed in his ridiculous books that he was not much of a companion. Besides, he was always fancying that the boys he met intended to affront him, and was getting into endless rows, in which black eyes and bloody noses were ingredients; and if he took to fishing, it was in a passionate spirit, quite unsuited to the contemplative man's recreation. If the fish were rising, he was in the greatest spirits. The little ones went flourishing in the air over his head, coming down far behind him on the stones with a whack which left them hardly time to shiver ere they died: the big ones, not numerous, carried away gut or flies, or broke tops, or lost their snouts—rarely were they landed; and when Maurice executed a feat of this kind he hopped and jumped about with rage. When an east wind, or a general indigestion, or some mysterious agency only known to fishes, kept them with their heads below the surface, Maurice, after a few impatient casts—well thrown and fine for the matter of that—would put up his rod in dudgeon, swear there was no use in trying any more, and be greatly surprised when he found my creel pretty full at night. So I was often left alone in my excursions into the mountain valley, where the little stream became a succession of pools of dark peat-coloured water, swarming with tiny hungry trout. Latterly I often met a broad, stout man, of some thirty or five-and-thirty years of age, fishing with more perseverance than success. He had a swarthy, sunburnt visage, black whiskers and eyes, shining white teeth, and a pleasant look and smile—so frank and kindly, that at last I ventured to fish in the pools below him, and to take the liberty of crossing behind and going above him when I saw he took no notice. And then we got on nodding terms.
        I was quite glad to hear his cheery voice, although it was only—"Hullo! youngster; and so here you are again. We won't leave a trout in the river between us, though I know who'll take most of them."
        And his laugh was delightful as he compared his basket with mine after a while. "Well done, youngster! Two dozen and three. And a couple of whoppers! Just see what I've done—only seven. But I'm getting on—I'm getting on, and I'll beat you at last."
        I showed him my flies, and told him what I thought hindered him from being a great angler: he would persist in standing close to the banks, and hopping about from stone to stone, like an ouzel. His delight was great when one day he succeeded in hooking and killing a two-pounder at the tail of a dam. "Dash my wig! but you are right. I've been trying for that fellow ever since I began at this work, and only for you I'd never have caught him. Isn't he a beauty? Talk of dolphins—stuff! There's colour for you—there's speckled sides. I wouldn't take ten gold mohurs for him this moment."
        The word "mohur" struck me at once. I had heard it often from Mohun. "Were you ever in India, sir?" I asked.
        "Yes, my lad. That is, I've been cruising about in the Indian Ocean—served on the station some time; but beyond a day or two at Madras and at Galle, a sail up the Hooghly, and a short time at Calcutta, I can't say I know much of the land."
        "Did you ever know Captain Brady out there, sir?"
        "Brady! Brady! What was he, a soldier or a sailor?"
        "O, sir, my father was a gentleman: Captain Brady, of the King's own Regiment," said I, offended at the idea of its being supposed he was a sailor.
        "Faith, I beg your pardon; I forgot our profession is not thought much of in these parts. And so your name's Brady, is it? And you're at school near here, learning your propria quæ maribus—'things proper to the seas,' as I translated it, and got a hiding eh? Where is it?"
        "I am at Dr. Ball's, of Hume Grove."
        "Are you going to be a soldier, like your father?"
        "I don't know, sir. I should like to be a soldier, but my grandfather will not hear of it."
        "Grandfather won't hear of it? Rich old codger; must have his way. And what does your governor say of it, eh?"
        "My father is dead; he died in India several years ago, when I was but a baby."
        "And of course mamma sides with grandpapa; does she?"
        "I cannot say, sir. I have not seen my mother. It is supposed she is dead; but I don't think so."
        We had been walking along as we talked; but as I uttered these words my interlocutor turned round briskly, with a look of surprise on his honest brown face. "Say that again, till I just get its bearings. You haven't seen your mother, and it is supposed she is dead, but you don't think so! That's a rum sort of thing to say, my lad."
        "Well, it is true, sir. They all believe mamma was drowned coming home from India; but I feel—I feel it here," I said, laying my hand on my heart—"that I shall see her, and that she is alive."
        "Dash my wig, Master Brady, but you are puzzling me. And so," he added, with a look of softness in his big round eyes, "you don't like to believe your mother is down among—hem—I mean is drowned? Why so, if everyone else says she was?"
        "Because no one can be sure of it. When the ship struck she was washed off with ever so many others, and they say she was lost. But the ship was near an island—near Les Basses rocks, off the coast of Ceylon."
        "And the ship's name was?"
        "The Ross-shire, Indiaman."
        The angler struck the butt of his rod against the ground and whistled out a prolonged whew-w-w, and repeated my words—"The Ross-shire! The Basses! Why, to be sure! to be sure! I remember it well. I was lying in Galle at the time in the Calypso, on my first long cruise, and saw her come in after she was got off by the skipper. They made a jolly fuss about his getting her off. He ought to have been reprimanded for getting her on, say I. And Mrs. Brady—the beautiful Mrs. Brady—was your mother, my poor lad? How very, very odd to meet you here!"
        My heart was beating so that I could hear it like the wheel of the mill close at hand. "O dear, dear sir, did you ever see my mamma?"
        "No," he answered shortly, "never—often heard of her. But if that Brady was your father, I remember him well when he was a sub at Malta and I was a middy; and a better fellow never lived; for a soldier, no better. I heard of his marriage, of his death, and of his wife's being drowned from the Ross-shire; and I remember well hearing that their infant was on board—wretched little beggar!—on his way to Ireland. O Lord, to think I should meet you this way, on the banks of the Dodder, in this confounded country." He looked at me so kindly, I took his hand and pressed it, and the honest fellow returned the pressure with a gripe of irresistible vigour. "Here," cried he, "sit down on this bank, and let us talk about everything. It is so very odd to think how things come about. I wish I could recollect all I heard about Brady and his wife. There were lots of stories; but that's of no consequence. The strange thing is, you should persist in it that she's alive, my boy; as if it would be any advantage to you if she were, by all accounts. My belief is that she's just as dead—as dead," he said, taking up a pebble and throwing it into the pool at our feet, "as that stone."
        I said nothing, but sat looking into the bright stream.
        "I tell you what, my lad," he continued, "you go moping about by yourself too much. I'll ask your master to let me give you a cruise now and then in the Bay. Wouldn't that be jolly! My name is Window; any fellow can see through me, they say, and I command the Merlin cutter for my sins—a revenue cruiser, if you know what that means. Here, take this card to your schoolmaster, and tell him I will call on him to ask leave to take you out now and then—from Saturday till Monday, you see. We have prayers on board on Sundays—capital chaplain; read service myself; and we'll have a run down to Wicklow and back, if you like."
        On the card was "Lieutenant John Window, R.N., H.M.C. Merlin." I knew nothing of the sea; I could indeed see the blue waters of the Bay from my bedroom-window, and the white sails of the ships as they slid along from one headland to the other. Oftentimes I noted the trails of smoke from the packets and watched the funnels and masts as they came in sight from behind trees and chimneys; but of the sea itself I had a secret, subtle terror. I remembered little of my early voyage. But the impressions of its force, its cruelty, its irresponsible power, its sullen anger and destroying rage, were derived somehow from the very beginning of my existence, and were mingled with a sort of antipathy to a thing which had done me irreparable wrong. However, the love of adventures such as this, and the getting away from school, were very strong inducements to say "yes," and I expressed my thanks to Lieutenant Window, R.N., for his kindness.
        "And now," said he, "I must be off. I have to walk across to the coast near Bray, and I don't want to run out my daylight. I will call soon on old Ball and get leave for you. Good-bye, my lad; you had better top your boom and make sail too." And with a smile which showed his white teeth the sailor turned from the stream, putting up his rod as he went, and was soon making his way with light and active step up the hill-side towards the Three Rock mountain. My path lay towards Dublin, in the outskirts of which the school was situated; and as I trudged back my mind was full of questions which were to be put to my new acquaintance at our next meeting.

---

Chapter VII.

The Cruise.

I had not long to wait. The next week saw the beginning of the short vacation at Easter, and my grandfather had written to say he thought, as the old house was under repair, and the typhus was very bad in the district, I had better stay at Dr. Ball's. "There is no one at the Castle," he added, "and you will have your friend Maurice to keep you company at all events for your week's holiday."
        I was in our cubicle, arranging my flies for a grand excursion which was to last two days, and Maurice was packing up hardboiled eggs, a pot of jam, and other luxuries, when the servant informed me, *The Doctor wants you, Masther Brady." It was rarely we were summoned to the presence, and I scarcely needed the addition, "I think yer goin' off somewhere, and maybe I'd best get ready yer duds, for there's a gintilman on a kyar has come, and they're waiting below."
        When I entered the study the pleasant face of the Lieutenant greeted me. But instead of his fishing suit he had on an undress uniform, and a cap with a gold band in his hand, and looked very smart. Dr. Ball and he had been engaged in looking over the large globe, on which the latter was pointing the course of some voyage in distant seas, and the former was in great good-humour, for he had had an opportunity of astonishing his visitor by the accuracy of his knowledge. "So, Brady, you have met a friend of your father's. I am always glad to promote the education of the gentlemen in my establishment by favouring their intercourse with persons who are able to improve their minds and cultivate their intellects—above all with such enlightened travellers as Mr. Window, a member of a glorious profession, to which England owes so much of its greatness"—here the doctor bowed, and looked as if he had enunciated some striking and novel proposition—"therefore," he continued, with more dignity, "I have yielded to Captain—"
        "Only Lieutenant, if you please, Dr. Ball," interrupted Window, with a laugh.
        "I do not please, sir—I think you ought to be Captain Window; but I admit the propriety of your objecting to the use of a designation which were yours already had services such as we are discussing been duly recognised. Pardon the remark.—I was saying, Brady, that I have yielded to Lieutenant Window's representations, and have permitted you to go from beneath my tutelage, in order that he may take you on a short marine excursion, and impart to you some rudimentary instruction in the art of navigation."
        "Nay, doctor, I'm not quite sure I can promise to do much in that way. You see, when I'm on board I've a good deal to do, though I have no company; and fresh air, plain wholesome food, and a little change, are all I can promise our young friend, though he may study Norie if he likes. We must be pretty sharp," he added, looking at his watch; "the boat is waiting for us at the Pigeon House, and the cutter is inside the Wall lying-to till we come. The tide's running out, and if she has to go outside, we may have a long row, and get wet jackets, for there's been a fresh breeze from the southward, and the sea's not quite gone down."
        The doctor waved his hand, and in a few minutes I was seated on the car beside Lieutenant Window rattling over the road to Ringsend, at the speed which a Dublin jarvey always considers due to an "officer."
        There is ever something or other of acid in the cup of our pleasures: mine was flavoured by a drop distilled from Maurice's eyes. As I hurriedly told him of my little voyage, he looked up from his haversack with a face full of mortification, and said, "I thought so. You might have told me of this before. Just as I am ready for the only little day's pleasure I have had since I came to this horrid place, and was going to see what I was longing for, the Round Tower and all, you throw me over. I can go with no one else. There!" He took up his bag and dashed it against the wall, bursting into tears as he spoke, whilst the blood-red stains of the cherry cordial and the jam on the surbase proclaimed the ruin he had made.
        I set off, wondering whether I was not really a selfish fellow to disappoint Maurice, and full of regrets for the jam and cherry cordial. "Yes, my lad, there will be a little swell on when we get into the Bay, but the wind is light, and we'll take a run down towards the Arklow Banks, and maybe we'll show you some of your favourite sport on a large scale."
        "Are there any whales, sir?" quoth I eagerly. "There are British whales, I know, and I don't see why they should not come to Ireland too."
        "Whales? No, my lad; at least, not to catch. If British whales were wise, they'd keep away from these waters; but there are more sharks than I like—smugglers, in fact. There is a confounded schooner we have heard of, which has run a whole cargo of Yankee tobacco and French brandy lately, between Arklow and this. Stubbs, who had the cutter before me, was removed for that same, and I'm put here to prevent the same occurring again. Hope I may, but can't be sure."
        The car rattled along the South Wall, drove slowly over the Pigeon-house Fort bridge, and I was aroused from my survey of what seemed to me the bustling river, filled with craft running down with the tide for sea, by a—"Look sharp, my lad! here we are. Take these traps, Robert, and stow them away in the gig." Led by Lieutenant Window down the slippery causeway, I took my place where I was told, in the stern of the boat, which was a marvel of whiteness and brightness in wood, and paint, and brass, in my eyes. The crew, with their clean shirts and snowy trousers, were in keeping with the boat. As the Lieutenant said—"Now, give way there!" there was a tone in his voice I had never heard before, not near so pleasant and so soft.—"There, Brady—or, if you'll let me, Terry—there's the Merlin. How do you like her?"
        Alas, how full life is of disappointment! I had had more than my share that week. Of all created things, it appeared to me the elephant and the lion must be the grandest: the size and sagacity of the first, the port and courage of the latter, excited my admiration. I had pored over the Wild Sports of the West, and travels, and natural history, and had formed ideals in my mind, with the help of plates and illustrations, which turned out to be pure illusions the moment I paid my sixpence and entered Wombwell's travelling menagerie. That scrubby, wrinkled, shapeless beast, without any tusks, and with a flabby proboscis, not much taller than our bull "Rogueen"!—that lank-sided, over-grown cat, with a ragged felt of hair over his shoulders, crouching at the sight of the keeper's iron rod!—that an elephant!—that a tiger!—these were bitter things to see and bear. And now there came another shock. My grandfather had once made a voyage on board a transport, forming one of a fleet under a small convoy which was attacked by the French off Ushant. I had often listened to his account of the action, in which not only the men-of-war but the transports behaved so well, that they beat off the enemy, and took Le Grand Condé, of seventy-two guns. A print to commemorate the feat hung in the dining-room, and I had spent many an hour admiring the bulk of the vessel, crowded with troops, and of the line-of-battle ships blazing into each other from their wall-like sides. A man-of-war, to my mind, was a floating castle, with banners and streamers, and figure-heads and stern-galleries—like those in the print, and in the pictures of sea-fights," by the Dutch painters, in the gallery at the Castle—towering above the waters, with rows of ports and grinning cannon-mouths. And now, as I looked in a line with Window's forefinger, I doubted my senses, as I beheld a craft, the size of a fishing-smack, as I thought, about a mile away from us, with foresail aback, and mainsail loose, which lay rising and falling on the swell, and showing us at every rise the sheen of her burnished copper. "Well, and what do you think of her, my lad?"
        "Isn't she very little, sir?" I faltered out.
        "Little? Why she's the largest cutter in the service, my boy; one hundred and ninety tons, and as good as ever was built. Wait till you get on board. Feel at all queer, my boy?"
        The expression of my face referred to my disappointment at the size of H.M.C. Merlin, rather than any other internal discomfort. When I stood on the broad white deck, and looked at the huge mast, and the ponderous boom, I was somewhat comforted; and my peace was perfectly restored when, after an inspection of my cabin, which was a miracle of contrivances and neatness, I patted the long eighteen-pounder forward, and caressed the carronades which formed the broadside guns of the little craft. In a few moments more the uneasy sensation, and the motion which obliged me to catch hold of ropes, or gripe Window's brawny fist, was exchanged for a buoyant, gliding feeling, as the Merlin, clothed in her whole suit of snowy sails, careened over, and bowled past the Lighthouse with a fair breeze on the quarter. It was glorious! To watch the land recede, and the hills, in whose recesses glided my little trout-stream, grow less—the Lighthouse and the long low wall extending into the sea run by us, and the smoke over Dublin become fainter—to skim past the laborious colliers and fishing-smacks, and then, as we slipped by the many-coloured Hill of Howth, and stood towards the south, to gaze on new scenes opening, and the expanse of sea growing wider still. Glorious, too, to see the green waves, with their creamy tops, coming on to meet us, like an army in battle array flouting its banners! glorious to drive them into confused flight of spray and water, and rush on to fresh encounters with the victorious cheering of the wind through our sails. O, terrible sea, you conquer in the end: beaten in the skirmish, you are dreadful and pitiless in the shock of battle.
        "'Pon my word, Terry, you'll make as good a sailor as any of us. How do you like it now?"
        "It's delightful, sir; I'm so thankful to you. Only for this, I would have hated the sea, and feared it too."
        "Well, this is fine-weather sailing, my boy; and I hope we'll have no worse, for your sake. Come down to dinner—it's ready now, and you ought to be ready for it. Mind your head. Mr. Tiller, here's a young friend, Master Brady, who is going to take a cruise with us, and you must give him fine weather, for we are going to have a great haul of fishes."
        Mr. Tiller and his chief and I had a most delightful afternoon. There was beautiful soup—quite different from Mother Murphy's preparations at Dr. Ball's—but it was not so much the excellence of the soup, as the difficulty of getting it to the mouth, which commended itself to me. There was a Dublin-Bay haddock, boiled chicken and bacon, salt beef, and a roly-poly pudding; and then there were Tiller's anecdotes of artful smugglers and more artful revenue-men, in which there was very little bloodshed and a great deal of glory, set off by Tiller in language which was evidently deprived of a natural garniture of an imprecatory nature by the presence of "Captain Window." Up on deck, afterwards, it was of never-ending interest to look through the glass, as soon as I had learned to use it, at the objects on shore, and to pry into the crannies of the Wicklow mountains, to watch the people on the beach, to study the towns and villages, to observe the signals to the cutter from the coastguard stations, and to see our mute speech fluttering up and down as the old quartermaster spelt out the messages and prepared the answers. I went to bed at night, swaying on my knees by the side of my cot as I prayed for those at home, and in the depths of my heart breathed the supplication that Heaven would preserve me till I could penetrate the mystery of my life, and fill the aching void in my heart.
        It was a strange troubled sleep into which I fell. It seemed as though I were awake, and that the vessel gradually grew in height and breadth as she ploughed through the seas, which swelled higher and higher, and rose over her deck, till at last the beating waves rushed over us like mountains, but could not keep the Merlin in their power. The sound of the sea as it swished by my pillow, separated from the power of death by a few planks, was filled, I thought, with voices of crying and lamenting. Looking out into the green depth, I saw there were myriads of people floating in the sea, and holding up their hands in supplication. The waves were crowded with infinite multitudes in white, wafted to and fro in the currents, amid which long seaweeds were waving, and monsters of awful form passed on their way in and out of profound caves in the earth. Many of these ghastly creatures, clutching the ship as she passed, clomb over her sides and got upon the deck, where they sat huddled together. Some came down into the cabin and sat by our little fire. I could not make out their faces, they were so white and expressionless, shifting in feature and in colour every moment. But at last Mohun came down, shivering and wet, and by his side was a tall form swathed in snowy drapery. He pointed tome. My heart gave one great throb, ceased to beat, then struck the sides of its prison with mighty blows. The veiled woman came towards me, and, as I struggled to rise, she lifted her veil, stretched out her arms—ah, that lovely face! "Mother! mother darling!" I cried, and leaped from my cot to meet her; but at the instant the vessel shook as though she would split. I was thrown on my face, and a deluge of water flooded the little cabin.
        "Make fast the deadlights!" shouted Window from the top of the companion. As I got to my feet he came towards the door, with the rays of the lamp shining on his tarpaulin hat, in a thick pea-jacket, on which beads of spray sparkled like diamonds, his whiskers heavy with moisture.
        "Don't be frightened, Terry, my boy," said he, seeing me in my shirt; "go to your blankets again, and to sleep, if you can. But hold on tight by your eyebrows. We are in for a blow; the glass has gone down like a shot, and while we were shortening sail the cutter took in a little more water than we wanted. But she's all snug now; and if you like to see what a good sou'-wester can do in the Irish Channel on a short notice, I have no doubt we'll be able to oblige you. Good-night, my lad. Stea-dy—ah! There now, in you go—good-night."
        Instead of taking easy and rather short dips into the water as she had done, the Merlin was now in for very long plunges and very high flights. I watched from my cot the pier-glass over the little fireplace in the cabin rising higher and higher, till it seemed to be trying to stand over me. Then the glass stood still for a part of a second, as if to make up its mind what to do, and abandoning the effort to mount higher, began to slide downwards, sinking faster and faster, till I could look upon it at my feet. Then a determination to try again set the polished surface and the lamp which was reflected in the centre on the ascent once more.
        I watched and listened to the dull roar of the waters, and the soughing of the wind mingled with the thud of feet, till I fell asleep, and slept on amid the storm. A hand on my shoulder woke me, and Jack Window's big bright eyes and ever-genial smile glanced in on me. He was still shiny with wet oil-skins, and dripping beard and boots as before; and as he swayed to and fro, it was easy to see the Merlin was yet hawking up and down in the seaway after her unknown prey.
        "By Jove, Terry, you're a trump," he exclaimed; "I'm so glad you've stood it all so well. It has been a snorter, and it's not over yet; but the glass is rising a little, and it's shifting now to the west, so we'll have it off the land, and it can't do us any harm. I needn't ask you how you've slept. I had a few peeps at you after the capsize you got, and you're a credit to Dr. Ball and the Seven Sleepers. And now it's time to rouse out and get breakfast. The steward has got out your oldest clothes, and I've got some tarpaulins for you in case you'd like to look at what's going on outside presently."
        "And did you get up to look at me? How very kind you are, Mr. Window! I am quite ashamed to give you this trouble."
        "Up, my boy! Why, do you think I could turn-in such a night? No; that's the worst of it in a small craft like this. No relief for me. The captain here is his own first luff, keeps his own watch and everyone else's. It's a bad place to lie-to in. No end of great hulking Yankee liners and East and West Indians running up with such a good wind for Liverpool, not caring a dump what they run over—not to talk of Irish pig-boats and rascally steamers from and to all parts of the world. I'll get a good snooze presently; and when you're all right we'll have our breakfast."
        When I put my head above the companion, my first impulse was to rush back to the cabin instantly. A vast pile of water coming towards the little vessel shut out all the sea beside, and left only visible a gray sky, against which its broken fringe, crowned with seething foam, stood out sharp and distinct, as, like some hill-side green and steep, it appeared to roll down on the cutter. But the good sea-bird, just dipping her beak into its base, fanning her tiny wing of canvas, mounted the steep side—up, and up, till she rode midst the hissing foam, and then balancing herself with a slight shiver, and a heave forward, as though she were about to leave the sea, swooped down the other side of the billow, eager to meet its fellow fast following in its course. It was scarcely possible to believe I was on board the same ship. The Merlin had moulted her snowy plumage—her topmast was struck, jib-boom run in, and two tiny sails, wet and dark, represented the volumes of canvas in which she had been clad so gloriously. The smart man-of-wars men, whom I had seen yesterday in turn-down collars, flowing duck trousers, and dandy jackets, were now represented by a few uncouth-looking fellows in heavy jack-boots, with oilskin coats and sou'-westers, crouched down under the bulwarks, or anxiously watching the seas as the helmsman met the rise and fall. From the summit of each wave the scene was ever the same—a circle, with ragged margin, enclosing a raging, tumultuous mass of watery hillocks topped with white, all moving in order onwards, with valleys cleft deep between, the same cold gray sky as a background to fantastic cloud-shapes hurrying on ghost-like as if running races with the waves beneath.
        "Ts this a hurricane, Mr. Window?" I asked; "it is very awful."
        "Lord bless you, this is nothing. It is a strong sou'-wester, that's all. It has come on very suddenly; but, as there was some sea before, there's a pretty run on. It's something more than a strong breeze, and perhaps it's a good half gale of wind. If we were in the old Ramillies, or even my old pet the Phaeton, we'd feel it more, I promise you. There's nothing like a roomy cutter for such weather; and the Merlin is as good a craft as ever Jack Window would like to be in—that is, for bad weather, my lad; for she's no good for pay, promotion, or what you call kudos in your school. Now, then, breakfast. We must do the best we can, as the cook can't work the galley very well."
        And such a breakfast! How the little table was made to look like a window without glass, being covered with a framework, into which our crockery fitted! How my coffee, instead of going into my mouth, was shot down my neck! What desperate work it was to keep in one's seat, though it was bolted to the deck! What infinite delight I took in seeing the Lieutenant holding on to the table, at one time bobbing his head half across it, and the next nearly hitting it against the side! How very clever it was of the steward to take advantage of the pauses in the general unsteadiness, and to make a little run with petit-pas steps, holding a dish in each hand, and to bring himself bolt up, and with an eye on each dish, and his feet apart, to sway gently over to counteract the roll of the ship; and then take a bend to the other side, till he could make good his landing in the cabin! All these things, and many others, made that marine breakfast most agreeable to me, not to speak of the unknown condiments and edibles fished out of tins, and canisters, and jars of many shapes and sizes.
        Mr. Tiller looked in, very like a huge slug, so shiny and black was he.
        "The glass is not what I'd like to see it yet, sir," he said. "I think we're in for a little more of it."
        "Only for my friend here, whom I've taken out for a pleasure cruise, I don't suppose it makes so much difference to you or me, does it?"
        "For pleasure, did he?" said Mr. Tiller, looking at me with evident pity. "He hadn't heard the proverb about those who go to sea for pleasure, I suppose, then? Pervided there was more sea-room, he'd not do badly, would he, sir, for a beginner? It's hard to tell where we are, and there won't be much chance of getting a look at the sun to-day."
        "Perhaps we'll see the land," said I innocently.
        "God forbid!" exclaimed Mr. Tiller. "The worst thing could happen us, unless hitting on it without seeing it."
        Mr. Tiller was right. The weather became worse instead of better; and the wind, veering round towards evening, brought up a cross sea, in which the Merlin laboured frightfully. I could see by the face of the good Lieutenant that it was no laughing matter when a thump and a squashing sound announced the breaking of a wave, which rushed over the deck. The wings of the cutter had been pared and cut down to a mere feather, which, wet and strained to the utmost, seemed bent on flying away altogether, and pulled at the stays in desperation. Nothing so much astonished me as our solitude. I knew we could not be very far from land on one side or the other. Then we were in the highway of ships in the Channel, and yet not a sign of one appeared on the surface of the storm-riven shield. When night set in, the tempest raged more furiously than ever. I began to understand how hard must be the life of men whose business is on the waters. In the darkness of my little manger-like cot I lay awake, watching the lamp in the saloon through the doorway swinging to and fro, and listening to the howling of the wind and the never-ceasing rush of the sea—my thoughts for ever wandering to that Indian shore where all was hidden. The morning came; and, haggard and worn, with bloodshot eyes, my poor Lieutenant greeted me with his cheerful smile.
        "It is well you slept so soundly, Terry. It blew great guns, I can tell you—nearly a gale, my lad. But the wind has suddenly fallen; the sea will soon follow it. You never stirred during the row on deck, when the big steamer came down on us; passed us two boats' lengths off in the middle of the hardest blow."
        The sea was a long time going down, I thought, but towards evening we saw the land on our starboard bow. At nightfall we were running down towards a light, which began to show in the gloaming, flashing out and disappearing, and flashing out again; and as I turned in, the Lieutenant announced we would be in smooth water and lie snugly inside Carnsore in the morning.
        "It is most provoking, Terry. I don't know what Doctor Ball will say to me," said Jack at breakfast, "but I have been signalled from the coast-guard station to go round to Cove for orders. There must be something up, I expect, and I can't land and send you from this fag-end of the world to Dublin by yourself. There is no mistake about it."
        Mr. Tiller made his appearance at the cabin door.
        "They're at it again, sir. They have just signalled for the cutter to stand in, as they want to communicate, and will send off a boat."
        "In other words, Old Grubb wants a yarn, and anything else he can get on board. Run in as close as you can, and call me when he's within hail. Even half an hour or so will refresh a fellow who's been without sleep so long as I have, just enough to make him wish for the other seven hours."
        We were closing in towards the land, which was marked by a belt of foam, and the surf pelting the base of rocky bluff. Above the line of black and white rose the green hillocks, which gradually faded into the purple haze of the mountainous background; and in a cleft in the strong battlements behind which the land resisted the encroaching sea, the bright whitewashed coast-guard station, with many little flags flying from the signal-staff, was visible. A speck on the waters, rising now on the top of a billow, and now lost for an anxious interval, could be made out with the glass; and as the cutter, fast running up sail after sail to make way against the ebb in the faint wind, rolled and lurched, yawed in the trough of the sea, and wabbled about on the top of the waves, there was a thumping of blocks and a flapping of canvas, a creaking of bulkheads, and general unsteadiness about us, which made the calm seem more dangerous than the storm, and gave me the idea that the Merlin, having become hopelessly upset in her behaviour during the last four-and-twenty hours, was determined never to become a sensible, well-regulated cutter again.
        "Did you catch him that time, Grummet?" asked Mr. Tiller of the old Quartermaster, who, with one arm round a rattlin and the other propping the telescope against a shroud, was watching the progress of the boat.
        "No, Mr. Tiller. I saw Mr. Grubb plain enough in the starnsheet, but I couldn't make out the other."
        "Steady! Here she comes again. Ah! it's my opinion as it's the commodore himself is coming aboard."
        In a short time all doubt on the subject of the illustrious visitor's identity was dissipated, and the Lieutenant roused up and went on deck to receive Captain Dumbleton, C.B., chief of all revenue cutters and coast-guards, and their belongings. It was no easy matter to do so, for the cutter rolled savagely in the swell, and Captain Dumbleton was not formed for feats of agility. But after a good deal of approaching and sheering off, fending off and laying hold and letting go, a line was made fast to the coast-guard boat, and presently the good-natured potentate was on the deck of the Merlin, followed by the gentleman I had heard designated as "Old Grubb," who was another stout mariner, with a broad red face and rheumy eyes, and much difficulty of breathing.
        "I never was so pleased in my life, Window, as when we made out your number this morning! The Sarah Sykes has made her appearance again! Before it came on to blow I ordered them at all the stations to send you down at once, but I never expected you so soon. The Hawk left last Thursday night for Cove; the Barnwell has orders to communicate with her, and as you are so handy we really ought to catch her now."
        "The Sarah Sykes! Indeed, sir."
        "Yes. Was seen on Wednesday off the Black Bank; we have heard she left Treport, on her return from America, with a full cargo. That scoundrel Driscoll is in command of her, and he swears he'll land it or fight it on shore; so I have brought you some extra hands, and we must see if we can't catch him this time."
        And Captain Dumbleton, taking the Lieutenant aside, talked to him in whispers, whilst Mr. Grubb and Mr. Tiller entered into a general conversation and gossip of a coast and coast-guard character, to which in my ignorance I paid no great attention.
        "Brady, eh?" quoth old Grubb; "I wonder if he's son of Major Brady of Bradyville, the member for Sligo? I like being civil to Parliament people's sons. When my case comes before the House, it's as well to have them on my side, though I know if it's justice is to be done, I don't need help from anybody after that case is stated.—And so, Master Brady, you've come to sea for a lark? Well, you can tell your father, Major Brady, when you see him, that you had a very nice excursion. Pray remember me to him. My name is Grubb—Grubb, of the coast-guard. He'll know all about my salvage claim."
        "My father," said I, "is not alive; and he was not Major, but Captain Brady."
        "Captain Brady? I knew him too. He was member for Cashel, wasn't he? As good a fellow as ever stepped."
        "No, sir; my father was a member for no place. He was in the King's Own, and died out in India."
        "The very man, I'm sure! Wasn't his father member for Leitrim? I knew both him and his son, and I must have known your mamma very well. If I am not mistaken, she was sister to Sir Thaddeus Standish, the member for Clare, and—"
        "Mr. Grubb," interrupted Captain Dumbleton, who had overheard the last part of the speech, "I'm sure we are about to get on that Parliamentary question; and as I have never been able to tell my county member the full particulars, perhaps you would wait till we get on shore."
        "My mother's name was not Standish, at all events. It was Billing," rejoined I; "she was drowned when the Ross-shire East Indiaman went ashore on the coast of Ceylon."
        "To be sure! to be sure!" continued Captain Dumbleton. "You and I remember it well. You were in Galle, Window, in the Calypso, and I was at Penang, in the Siren, at the time; and I recollect people saying how odd it was that those poor people were lost, and that it was said your mamma was seen alive afterwards."
        Stretching out my hands, I cried
        "O, for pity's sake! tell me, sir—" when a roll of the cutter caused me to lose my balance. Ere I could catch at anything to save myself, I was thrown against the railing of the low bulwark.
        There was a sound as of voices infinite in my ears, and a rushing as if of life, with a thousand feet, towards the portals of its prison. I was a good swimmer; and as soon as the shock was over, I turned and struck up for the green light above me. But what is this which settles on me like a wall, bars out the light, and presses me down and down beneath the cruel waters?

*                *                *                *                *

        "You had indeed a narrow squeak of it! I could not see you when I dived, and I don't think I ever was so happy in my life as when I rose, and heard them sing out from the cutter that they had you. My poor boy!—what would I have done? But what signifies that? What would your grandfather and all your friends have done, if you had been drowned under my very eyes? Thank God, my boy, thank God! I never will, I swear, take man, woman, or child on a cruise again!"
        The voice was dear old Jack's, as he sat beside me in my cot.
        I had come up under the counter at the opposite side of the cutter, and as the Merlin heeled over she pressed me down, and was drowning me, when the next roll liberated me, nearly lifeless as I was; I was just seen in time by one of the men in the coast-guard boat, who, with a lucky thrust of the boathook with which he was fending off, grappled my clothes and hauled me to the surface, where I was secured and hoisted on board, rubbed, and dosed with brandy, and covered with blankets, till I began to undergo the horrors of "coming-to," from which I had emerged as Jack sat with my hand in his, and his arm under my head.
        "And now we must do the best we can. The Commodore, as we call him, would not wait, as soon as he saw you were all right, or I would have sent you on shore and trusted him to restore you to the arms of Dr. Ball. We are running down the coast, keeping a sharp look-out for a rascally smuggler—the only real one of the sort we have had to deal with for many a year—a Baltimore clipper, sailed by one Mr. Driscoll, an Irish American—and if it falls to my lot to sight the gentleman, he won't find it easy to escape. It's not glorious work, Terry, but it may do me good—and God knows I want something to do that."
        In the evening, when I got upon deck, the sun was sinking over the hills of Waterford, and cast its last beams over the heaving sea, which still felt the passion of its conflict. The brown-faced sailors, once more in their blue jackets and easy dress, seemed half inclined to cheer me as my curly pate rose above the companion-hatch; and Mr. Tiller, who had been assiduous in his attention, bobbing in and out of my berth all the day, gave me a squeeze of his paw which set my fingers tingling with pain. When night fell, the Merlin, in smoother water, kept close in shore with a fine favouring breeze. I was fast asleep—too tired for dreams.
        Heavens! what is that? The cutter has gone on a rock, and we are lost! I was out of my berth and on deck in an instant. The first glance told me that the Merlin, under a mighty spread of canvas, was tearing through the sea far from shore. Some unusual event was taking place which had summoned all the crew forward except Mr. Tiller and the man who was steering.
        Jack, glass in hand, was looking out by the side of the old quartermaster, who had screwed his eye into the end of the large telescope, and was on one knee peering into darkness. The men of the watch were all looking in the same direction. There was a strange sulphurous smell hanging about the deck, and two of the sailors were training one of the guns on our broadside up to the port again.
        Mr. Tiller was rubbing his hands in great delight. "There'll be luck, after all, if we lay hold of her full of brandy and baccy, and maybe silk. I do think you may have brought us in fortune's way after all. Steady, Perks, steady; I'd give her something solid this time, to make her see we'll stand no nonsense."
        It was the report and concussion of the gun fired with a blank charge over my head, which had roused me from my slumbers.
        As Mr. Tiller spoke, a blinding flash lighted up the deck for a moment, and the carronade hopped in its carriage as it delivered the second angry message of the Merlin into darkness.
        "Carrying on still, sir," cried a voice from the crosstrees, where one of the men was stationed, "and running up her gaff-topsail."
        "By Jove, then, we must talk to her in earnest. Grimston, clear away the bow-gun, and give her a shot pretty close to her bows." By dint of hard looking and the guidance of many fingers I could make out a schooner, which seemed to me somewhat larger than the Merlin, running on the same course as ourselves, but well to windward.
        "I can't see anyone on her decks," whispered Window, "except that fellow beside the steersman; but I daresay there's a pretty nest of vagabonds on board, for all that. She's drawing on us, by Jove! has her sails flat as boards. Now to stop her capers. Are you ready there, Grimston?"
        "Ay, ay, sir; all right here. We want to fall away a point, if you please, sir, to shave her nicely."
        And as the Merlin fell off I saw old Grimston take another look along his sights. The lanyard was pulled. Again the flash lighted up the eager faces—the Merlin quivered from the shock, and ere the crashing roar of the eighteen-pounder had well smitten our ears, the rush of the shot through the air boomed in a long hollow sound, tapering as it wore away till it was lost.
        "Well done, Grimston! Well done indeed! Not twenty yards in front of her cutwater, I should think, at the second ricochet," shouted Window. "Hang me if the fellow minds us a bit. Phew—this smoke! Aloft there. What's the schooner at?"
        "Running up her fore and aft staysail, and keeping on the same course, sir."
        "We've lost by this trifling. This time we'll show you we're in earnest, my man. Let her have it right across the beam, and if a spar goes, she's only herself to blame."
        Again the long gun spoke out. In a few seconds a suppressed exclamation from the men told the ball had missed its mark. The schooner still held on, and under her additional canvas was flying fast ahead, whilst the Merlin had lost way in yawing to train her gun.
        "I don't think she can stand a stitch more canvas, sir," said Mr. Tiller, "if we were to carry all away. "The wind is rising again as it is."
        "Try her again, Grimston. I'll lay the gun myself." Window, full of the excitement, proceeded to cover the imperturbable schooner, now pronounced without doubt to be the Sarah Sykes, of Baltimore, U.S. Just as the lanyard was pulled, the cutter gave a quick lurch; the shot, striking far short of the schooner, threw up a pillar of spray and was lost from sight.
        "She's gaining on us fast. I would sink her if I could, for there's no chance of coming up with her;" and Lieutenant Jack this time spoke with clenched teeth, and uttered something very like a strong objurgation. "Now then, Mr. Grimston, do your best this time. Plump it right into her."
        Whether the distance deceived the old gunner or not, the shot again fell short. Window now directed the elevation of the gun and revised the aim. As the Merlin steadied herself for a moment, he gave the word "Fire!" Once more the shot struck short between us and the schooner, and flew astern of her, as I could see through the telescope by the white splashes in the water.
        The schooner, careening over to the increasing breeze, calmly took in her staysail, as if to mock our efforts. It was evident the Merlin was letting her slip out of her claws by firing at such long bowls. The chance of hitting her decreased—that of overtaking her would soon be gone altogether. Window determined to lay his course again, hoping that one of his colleagues might block the bold smuggler, and that the sound of the firing at sea would arouse the coastguard to signal to the stations to be on the alert.
        "She's making for the French coast, I think," said Mr. Tiller, "though, then, as I say to myself, if that's her game, why does she keep so much to the west'ard? Driscoll can't hope to run a cargo with us after him, and all the stations roused. Maybe it's her best point of sailing."
        "Anyway, Tiller, it's too good for us," said Jack Window. "How she is walking along, to be sure!"
        And so with much reluctance he was obliged to give up his hope of crippling the "enemy," as old Tiller called her. With very small chance of overtaking her, he resolved to pursue and keep the schooner in sight at all events. To me the whole scene was "great fun." It was full of excitement. I thought little of the horror which would have been worked had one of the missiles crashed into that solitary craft, smashing up wood and iron and the miserable wretches who were cowering behind the bulwarks, and yet held on their course. I could not see the pale resolute man, with compressed lips and frowning brow, who, grasping the tiller, was looking now aloft to the draw of his sails, and now to the dark side of the angry cutter, from which, as the flash came, he might expect that he and his venture were about to meet their fate.
        Morning was breaking when I went up to have another look at the Sarah Sykes.
        "Where is she now, Mr. Window?"
        There was a look of undisguised vexation on his face as he pointed out a snow-white speck far away on the horizon, which the morning light threw in relief on the clouds and sea-surge.
        "Running away from us hand over hand; and what's worse, my lad, she's making right down Channel, as if going to run for Brest—maybe across the Bay of Biscay. She is keeping away now from the Irish coast, and will, if she lies on her course, run pretty close to the Land's End. I can't lose sight of her, for Mister Driscoll knows what he's about; if he could dodge us he would very likely bout ship and make another run to land his cargo, knowing well the cutters are nearly all down about here. Confound you!" continued he, shaking his fist; "I'll follow you till you're inside your bounds, as long as I'm afloat. Well, it's a longer holiday than we reckoned on. There is every sign of another breeze of wind springing up; and if it's a rattler, we may run down on him after all."
        All day at sea—the centre of the shield on the outer rim of which, glinting like the wing of the mew, danced in the growing roll of the waves the object of our pursuit! Ships came in sight and sank beneath the horizon here and there, but every eye was turned on that tiny speck. And as night set in, and the wind rose still higher, and the Merlin lay over under a press of canvas which made every spar scream as if in suffering, whilst the foam bubbled along the top of her lee bulwarks, Jack Window, very anxious, and rather more stern and curt than I had seen him, held a council with his trusty aid, the result of which was that they would hold on in their pursuit, and that, if the Sarah Sykes got away, it should be no fault of his.
        "If she was to lie-to now, I don't see what harm we could do her, supposing Driscoll has any papers at all. He might say he was going from Baltimore to Brest, and that he took a fancy to come round by the North Passage. As he's up to every trick on the cards, I can only suppose he has no papers to clear himself. He was certainly inside the line when we sighted him, and he refused to lie-to when fired at. No, depend on it, he is playing some deep and desperate game—something more than a mere affair of tobacco and brandy."
        And so Jack sat over his rum-and-water ruminating, and looking at the glass from time to time, and cheering up as he saw it falling—for after a temporary rise the mercury began to go down again. He rubbed his hands now and then, and with an inquiring glance at Mr. Tiller, murmured, with an air of satisfaction, "We may catch him yet—we may catch him yet. I'll carry on till the sticks are in danger, I can tell you, Tiller."
        And so he did. That night was terrible. Before it was over, the Merlin was plunging in a sea of which the roll was grander and deeper than that I had witnessed with so much awe. As the gale grew in strength the cutter proved the correctness of the Lieutenant's prophecy, or at least of his hopes, and the distance between her and the schooner was obviously diminishing; but the Sarah Sykes altered her course towards evening.
        "I'm darned if she's not going back to Amerikey, as certain as I live," grunted the old sailor at the helm; "we're going to have a spree in the Atlantic, young gentleman."
        The Lieutenant's lips closed tighter than ever, and his brow darkened, as the sky, descending on the sea, poured forth its deluges of rain, and the wind tearing oft the foaming summit of the billows blew them in flying scud over the boiling waters. Still, when the day was over, and the night came, the schooner was there. When the morning dawned she was still in her place. Men shook their heads. Mr. Tiller confessed to me, as we sat below, he would have been glad if she disappeared. "As long as she kept on her present course, the Merlin," he said, "had no chance; and if the wind went down again, the schooner would just slip away again like a greyhound. Supposing the Merlin should come up with her in such a seaway, no boat could board her; and I don't suppose Mr. Window would venture to sink her."
        He was interrupted in his confidences by the appearance of Window's head in the cabin. "I say, Tiller," he exclaimed, "the fellow has, just out of sheer bravado, run up the Yankee flag in blue water. We can just make it out—stars and stripes, sure enough, as big as a mainsail! But Ill make him show his papers, as I live."
        "Yes, that's all very well, sir; but have we the right? We can't board him at sea, as we're only revenue, you know."
        "There's the pendant flying," exclaimed Window, "and, right or wrong, I'll call Mr. Driscoll to account."
        But the passion and determination of man were rebuked by the voice of the storm. The gale increased to a hurricane. The sea, almost beaten down by the force of the wind, had a fearful strength. Again and again ponderous sheets of water rushed over the staggering vessel, and strove as though they would fain press her down for ever. With topmast struck, her trysail reefed to a shred, and a tiny staysail, she struggled on like some drowning bird. At last it became evident that it was madness to continue the contest with the Atlantic, and Window gave orders to lie-to. For three long days and nights the Merlin rode in the midst of the tempest; and there, some four or five miles away, rising and falling at long intervals in the tremendous seas, lay the schooner, oftentimes hidden from us by the scud and by the drift of the tortured waters. All the time I perforce remained in my cabin and in the little saloon, which had become all my world, lighted only by the lamp which burned night and day, with the hatches battened and the dead-lights down. I could hear the seas sweeping over the deck, and the tread of the heavy boots above, and the thumping of coils of rope; the lamp swung backwards and forwards, clicking like the pendulum of a clock, for ever gathering a dank coat of salt dew, which crept down below, and pervaded all things; the timbers creaked and cried aloud, and little streams of water trickling in and down over the paint, showed how the Merlin was tried in the fight with her enemy. I was beginning to consider an angle of forty-five up and down the normal condition of marine life; and our meals, such as they were, becoming worse every day, were eaten under circumstances of contrivance and dexterity almost incredible to the uninitiated. I knew we were in danger, though I could not tell what it was, for I saw Merry, our steward, crying and praying, and drinking a great deal of rum-and-water; and although the latter was natural enough, the former practices were not at all usual with him, as I had heard him more than once larding his speeches to little Dan, the captain's boy, with words which made my hair stand up. Window confessed it was the worst weather he had ever met in these parts—it was as bad as a hard cyclone, and nothing could stand it except such a boat as we were in, and "that confounded Yankee."
        "And where is she now, sir?"
        "She is—will you believe it, Terry?—she is actually quite close to us. We have never lost sight of her all this time, night or day. There's not a soul to be seen except one man on deck, and she is lying-to as comfortable as a duck. You don't know what absurd fellows sailors are. I declare there are some old salts on board who, I'm told, have quite a fear on them about her, and think she is not canny. I expect next they will swear she is the Flying Dutchman. No," he continued, "you must not go up yet: all hands are below whom we don't want. Stay here, my dear boy, and put your trust in Him who watches over the sea and land. You are a brave, stout heart, and, with God's blessing, we will live yet to talk over the time that Jack Window nearly went down with you in the mid-Atlantic in a mad chase after that craft of the evil one—"
        "That the craft and subtlety of the devil be brought to naught, good Lord deliver us!" ejaculated a voice, with a hiccup, from the pantry. Window, who knew the source of the sound, clenched his fist and his teeth.
        "You'll catch it for this, Mr. Merry, I can promise you."
        "Catch it!—and don't you call this catching it? O, Mr. Window, hear me entreat you to give up drink and bad company! Give peace in our time, O Lord." The prayer was interrupted by a cut over the shoulders with a strap, delivered by the Lieutenant with all his might; and Mr. Merry, who sat on the floor of his pantry, with a glass of grog in one hand, and with the leg of the table clutched in the other, then relapsed into a crying fit, and then prayed at intervals in a voice which became more inarticulate, till it graduated into snoring.
        The gale moderated at the end of the third day. The schooner shook out her feathers. Once more the chase was resumed, but with no better fortune. Day after day passed, one like another: the thumping of the waters against the much-vexed sides of the cutter the words of command—the rattling of halyards and sheets on the deck, mingling for ever with the moaning and whistling of the wind all around us a tumultuous sea, above a leaden sky flecked with cloud-shapes, hurrying in a chase as futile as our own. There came into my head a hope that somehow or other we might get to India at last—for my geography was rather vague, and was perverted by sentiment. But all such happy delusions were knocked on the head by old Jack, whom I began to tell all my thoughts to without reserve. The Merlin was fast approaching the shores of the New World.
        "We are on the Banks, and rather astonishing the cod-fishers, I can tell you, Terry. I fear I shall be beaten, after all—be laughed at—and, what is worse, be reprimanded for leaving my station."
        There, far as the eye could reach, were ships of all sizes and rigs lying at anchor in deep water, tossing and pitching in the roll of the sea; and as we passed close by a brig which was tumbling about in an agonising manner, I could see the fishing-lines over her sides, and the men pulling up the cod-fish hand over hand from the depths below. Ahead of us ever was the schooner, flying through the maze of ships. The lights on board the fleet at night looked like lurid stars through the sea-haze.
        "It is all over," said Jack to me, as I put my head out of my crib to inquire after the morning's news. "She is beating us fast, and land is in sight."
        "Land!—what land?"
        "Why, the land of the World, somewhere about Cape Cod, I guess, as the natives would say. There was just a chance that some of our cruisers from Halifax might be knocking about to look at the fishermen, or buzznacking for something or other, which might have helped me to lay hold of that slippery fellow. But no such luck. It's merely that I like to stick to my word, I am carrying on still; and soon we'll have to 'bout ship and make straight back across the Atlantic for Dr. Ball, T.C.D., and his young friends. You'll be able to spin many a tremendous yarn, won't you, Terry, about our cruise? I only hope the Doctor and your grandfather won't prosecute me for running away with you."
        It was as Lieutenant Window said: the cloud I could just discern resting on the sea in the early morning became more distinct and rose higher every hour, and spread away right and left; and fishermen, and coasting vessels with snowy sails, and all the signs of prosperous, busy maritime life, grew upon us; and at last we could see the villages, the "white houses, and the churches on the land.
        "The schooner is lying-to, sir," cried the look-out man; and there, sure enough, was the Sarah Sykes slowly coming round with her broadside to us. In another moment a puff of smoke rose from her side, and as it cleared away, we could see an enormous ensign at her peak—the stars and stripes, flying over a green flag. She was making signals to a sloop-of-war which lay in shore, and presently the latter filled her top-sails and came down towards the smuggler.
        Jack and Mr. Tiller were watching these proceedings through their glasses with an air of intense dissatisfaction. "I only want to give him a bit of my mind, but he will have the best of me; and he's signalling to that swaggering Yankee to come and help him to bully us. I swear I shouldn't be at all surprised if the fellow pretends to have grounds of complaint against us. It is enough to make a man mad, to be led such a wild-goose chase—to be laughed at on this side of the Atlantic—to be near foundering with all on board in the middle of it, and to be certain of coming to grief when I get to the Old World. However, there's no help for it. Mr. Tiller, I shall put about now, for I am not in a humour to stand any of their chaff, and perhaps something worse. No, no!—haul down!" he exclaimed angrily, as the Union Jack was running up; "haul down at once."
        By this time the sloop-of-war and the schooner had come within a mile of each other, and as the Merlin put her bow eastward, we could see a boat push off from the latter, and make the best of her way towards the man-of-war. The wind had fallen light in shore, while there was still a fair leading breeze outside; and the cutter, on her best point of sailing, went buzzing through the water at the rate of twelve knots an hour.
        "It's no use, my friend! It is our turn now," quoth Jack Window, with a little touch of his old smile on his face, as he stood looking over the taffrail, with his glass to his eye. "If you want to catch us, you must send the schooner after us; and I only wish you would dare, that's all; I'd give a year's pay to see it." And in effect the sloop, with all sail set, and a number of signals to which she called attention by gun after gun, seemed to be anxious to overtake the Merlin. But she did not; and as the moon rose in the first cloudless sky we had seen for many a night, the man-of-war was hull down, and in the morning was gone altogether.
        Sixteen long days and nights at sea! How I began to hate the biscuit and the salt pork, and beef and beans, and brown-black coffee, although whales, and porpoises, and albicores, and gannets—nay, a devil-fish and a veritable shark—came to diversify the voyage. The strain and the excitement were all gone. Jack Window was busy with logs, and journals, and writing reports—the latter were never-ending, still beginning, and mostly went fluttering away in fragments over the side.
        "I would sooner write a despatch about a general action," he groaned. *O, how they will pitch into me!" And I sat and looked at him, and sighed to think that I could not help him. There was but a limited library on board—the Nautical Almanac, Navy Lists, Coast-guard Regulations, Orders in Council, Norie's Navigation, a collection of Board-of-Trade and Custom-house circulars and memoranda, the Life of Nelson, the British Worthies—an odd volume of Hakluyt, which was my mainstay. But before the voyage was half done I had finished Hakluyt, and the Worthies, and Nelson, and had ventured on Norie and Navy Lists. Sometimes it occurred to me that Dr. Ball would be rather angry, and that my grandfather would be fretting for my absence, and perhaps uneasy; but I never supposed that there were any downright fears for our safety. It was nearly a month since I set out on my eventful voyage. I could not then—for I had never felt it—imagine how watching and waiting fill the soul with gloom and bury hope at last.

---

Chapter VIII.

The Return.

        "We are all so glad to welcome you, old fellow—not a soul ever expected to see one of you alive again. Why, it's famous!" And Captain Buddicombe, who stood on our deck as the Merlin brought to under the guard-ship, off Spike Island, in Cove Harbour, shook his old shipmate by the hand again and again.
        "Lost! why, what else could we think, my dear Window? It is now the 4th of May. You were last seen off Ballycotton on the evening of the 5th of April. There was one of the worst gales we have had on the coast for years. The Cove and Youghal and Kinsale men tell us they never knew a heavier sea on. A vessel dismasted, which looked like the cutter, was seen to go down in the height of it off the Seven Heads. Next day, a larger craft, which had been seen in her company, came ashore at Horse Island, and was of course broken up into firewood; but it was evident she was American-built. She was laden with rum, brandy, tobacco, and French silk; a piece of her stern-board, with the letters a h S y k, in gold, was washed ashore, and a part of a boat, with the letters and words altimore U.S., on it. The bodies that were found could not be identified; but Rattray says, from their clothing and marks, they were mostly Frenchmen and foreigners. It was known you were chasing the Sarah Sykes; and, putting one thing and the other together—although there was great faith in the sea-going qualities of the cutter—when days lengthened into weeks, and still there was no sign of you, the most hopeful agreed there could be only one conclusion. All the papers have been full of the 'Loss of her Majesty's cutter Merlin, J. Window, Lieutenant R.N., commanding, and all hands.' We welcome you as one who has come back from the grave."
        Jack Window, with his eyes wide open, listened to the Captain, and when he had done, putting the paper on his knees, he gave a very gentle and very long whistle.
        "a h, that's the end of Sarah," quoth he; "and S y k, that's the beginning of SyXes, on her stern! a l t i m o r e, U.S., which only wants a B to be Baltimore, on her boat! Then, in the name of all that's wonderful, what have I been running after?" He continued, as if reading from a list:
        "A schooner about two hundred and eighty tons, long and low in the water, with tall raking masts, gilt figure-head a woman's face, fine bow and run, square stern, overhanging counter, coppered to the bends.' If ever a craft answered in all particulars to description, that Yankee I've been making a fool of myself after, is the Sarah Sykes of Baltimore! 'Michael Driscoll, a deserter from the Royal Navy, native of Kinsale, and now citizen of the United States, master, sailing generally with clearances from Boston for Havre.' Well, I know nothing about the last part, for they would not let me near enough to see them.—Hum! and so you all thought we were lost. Here we have it," and Jack Window began to read a newspaper where Captain Buddicombe's finger was resting. "'Loss of his Majesty's cutter Merlin, and all souls;' that's good, to begin with. 'Regret to say—hum!—further accounts—hum!—confirm painful—hum!—total loss. Fine vessel—hum!—deserving, but over-zealous officer.' Over-zealous!—what's that? 'Crew, forty-five souls; widows, children—lament—hum!—'" his face assumed an expression of pain; he read on silently—clasped his hands—let the paper fall at his feet—and looking at me with eyes slowly filling with tears, took me by the hand, and said: "Terry, my dear fellow, I have news for you. Come down with me to the cabin.—Buddicombe, I'm sure you will excuse me for a few minutes; this is the boy who is mentioned—from Dr. Ball's—in the paper, whose grandfather you know—Dr. Brady. All right, Godbless you.—Come, Terry, come along. We have all our trials, and mine and yours began early."
        There was something in his words and manner which made me anxious. I asked, "Is there anything about grandpapa in the papers? Is he quite well?"
        "Quite well, Terry—quite well; better than he has been for many a day." Jack Window was a bad dissembler; I heard him cough in an odd kind of way; the tears were stealing down his cheeks. "Don't ask me yet. We must see if it's true, my lad. Why, here have they been quite sure that we have been all at the bottom of the sea for the last four weeks, and not a hair hurt in the whole crew! Come what will, I must get leave, and we will go up to-night together by the Cork mail."
        "But what is it that is not true? If grandfather is well, that is all right; what does the paper say, Captain Jack?"
        "I will tell you by and by, Terry. You must not believe a word of their confounded story." I felt more uneasy than before. He continued: "You see the papers gave out that we were lost. Dr. Ball wrote to your grandfather to say you had been allowed to go with me on this unlucky cruise; and your grandfather, they go on to say, began to get frightened like the rest at the ridiculous story in the papers. Well, he comes to Dublin to see Dr. Ball, and then he goes to the coastguard stations and worries himself. What is the use of all this talk, my dear boy? Here we are, within a few hours of Dublin. The boy is packing up your clothes. I have sent to engage places, and to-morrow I will restore you to the doctor, and bear my punishment meekly."
        "But what does the paper say about grandpapa? Why should anything be said of him? It makes me so miserable. Do tell me, because I must know."
        Jack Window looked at me straight from his great eyes, and there was a tenderness in his tone as he spoke which sunk into my heart. "What is said is that your grandfather, Terry, has been very ill. With us it would matter little whether an old country doctor was ill or well; but it's something to belong to what they call the 'old stock' here; and there are notices of your family as long as my arm, my dear boy, all turning on the supposed fact that you have gone down, in the thirteenth year of your age, in the ill-fated Merlin. They rake up all the old bones they can find of Generals, Barons, and Counts Brady and O'Brady. And, finally, they give the old gentleman a stroke of apoplexy in order to finish off their article. You may be sure it's not true. But remember, Terry, that, come what may, you must look on me as your friend. I have little kith and less kin, and no friends but myself, and you are a mere boy, on the very outside of the race of life in which you see me winded and beaten; but it is something, nay, a great thing, to have a friend ; and when you are a lion, if ever you get into a net, call on Jack Window, and you may reckon on teeth, and perseverance in the use of them."
        It is one of the many happinesses of youth that its sorrow is not deep or lasting. It is passionate—fervent, whilst it endures; but the sun soon breaks through the clouds. It must be of youth that it is said, "Sorrow endureth for a night; but joy cometh in the morning." So of the anticipations of grief, which make the bulk of the wisdom of old age; there is in youth but a slight leaven—too little, thank Heaven, to leaven the lump. As I rattled away in the inside of the mail with Jack Window, who was full of documents and troubles, I had almost forgotten all my fears and grief, and had brought myself to believe with him that all these rumours of evil were as baseless as my night-dreams.
        It was near nine o'clock next day before Jack and I, on an outside car, were on our way to the suburb of Dublin in which Dr. Ball's establishment was situated. Jack Window was very grave then. I had seen him speaking to a man in the Post-office yard, and noted that his face fell as he spoke; but as he got up beside me he took my hand, and said, "We're in time, my boy. Please God, all will be right yet." When we arrived at the old house Doctor Ball was standing at the door to welcome me, and the windows were filled with faces, for the news of our safety and of our coming had gone through the school. There was less stateliness and more kindness in the Doctor's manner than usual, He held out both hands to welcome me.
        "Ah, Mr. Window, what a time we have had of it! We will hear the story of our young Ulysses presently, when he has seen his grandfather."
        "My grandfather here!" I exclaimed. "O, where is he? Let me go to him at once."
        A quick glance passed between the Doctor and Window, and I heard the latter whisper, "I have not told him all about that."
        "The fact is then, Brady," continued Dr. Ball, turning to me and dusting some snuff off his shirtfrill, "the fact is, your respected grandfather has been and is ill—so ill that the physicians order the greatest quiet and calm to be observed. Nothing must be allowed to agitate him; and we must break the news of your arrival here very gently, in the course of the day. He has been in some degree prepared for good news—not without hesitation among the medical attendants—by being told some doubts are entertained if the vessel seen to go down was the Merlin. Nothing can exceed the kindness of Sir Richard's household. If she had been his daughter, Miss Butler could not be a better nurse—so tender, so thoughtful for her years. You must be patient, my young friend; to-day is almost the crisis of his illness."
        By degrees I heard the whole story.
        Dr. Ball wrote to Lough-na-Carra to say he had given me leave to take a sail along the coast for a couple of days, with a naval officer who had known my father out in India, and that he greatly feared some accident had occurred, as more than a fortnight had elapsed and nothing had been heard of the cutter; that there had been dreadful storms at sea soon after she was seen off Wicklow Head, and that there were reports of a wreck on the south coast. My grandfather posted up to town immediately. Then he went along the coast, travelling from one station to another, making inquiries and sifting the stories of the men and of the country people, till he came to the scene of the wreck, and to the place from which the Merlin was seen to founder. He had overtaxed his powers, journeying without intermission, walking among the cliffs. As he gazed on the sullen ocean beneath which his loved boy was sleeping for ever, the spark of hope dwindled and expired—nature gave way. The sailors who accompanied him to the spot had gone a little way off, for they heard his smothered sobs. When they turned, after a time, he was not in sight. They were horrified to find he had fallen over the cliff and was lying on the beach below, insensible, his white hair soaked in blood. For days he lay between life and death; but he was strong of frame; his natural vigour of constitution came to his aid, his broken arm knitted well, and he slowly recovered the power of utterance. His sole wish was to be brought back to Lough-na-Carra. They heard him in his sleep speaking of some wicked woman who should never touch a farthing of the money; and tossing in troubled dreams, he cried for mercy for his grandson. They carried him on a litter to the beach, and he bore the passage round to Dublin, buoyed up by the desire to return to his home. Sir Richard Desmond insisted on taking the old man to his house in Merrion-square till he could continue his journey to Lough-na-Carra; and although he in the utmost grief told all his friends he did not care to live, he vowed at the same time he must get to his house ere he died. Two days before the Merlin appeared in Cove, as he was seated in his easy-chair, his eye rested on a paragraph in the paper. He uttered a feeble exclamation: "My God! she comes again!" and tried to rise. His servant ran to his assistance, but the old man was speechless and powerless. What it was he had seen to affect him so powerfully no one could say; but his hand clutched the newspaper firmly, and he resisted all attempts to remove it from his feeble grasp.
        This was what I heard with grief—not "too deep for tears." In my inner heart I blamed myself for being the cause of all the suffering which he had undergone.
        I went over to Merrion-square with Jack Window at once, for the honest fellow had come back to bid me good-bye ere he returned to his ship. There was, as he expected, what he called "no end of a row." Most likely he would be keel-hauled by the bigwigs; but it would be just as well, for he had only taken coastguard-service for want of something better; and he didn't much care.
        "I will fix myself somewhere near you, Terry, when the old man gets well, and you get your vacation-time—somewhere near a trout-stream, and within sight of the sea; and meantime let me hear from you regularly, and I'll tell you how everything goes on. We will remain friends, won't we, Terry, though I've caused so much trouble?" A silent grasp of the hand was my answer.
        We had just turned into the square, near the corner of which Sir Richard's house was, and Maurice Prendergast was coming down the steps. He had sat with me, listening to my adventures, in my room, and had thrown his arms round my neck and embraced me the moment he saw me; but he had never said a word of visiting Sir Richard Desmond; and now his face reddened, and he stammered and looked down when I exclaimed, "And so you were calling to see how grandpapa was! It is very kind of you, Maurice; I hope you have a good report."
        "I was at Sir Richard's on business," he replied; "that is, I had to try to see him or Miss Desmond about a little matter my sister asked me to get done—something for her school. I couldn't see them, for they both left town this morning; and Miss Butler's gone too. Dr. Brady is better, but still very bad."
        "Will you wait, and we'll walk back together?"
        "No, thank you; I have somewhere else to go to, and the Doctor has only given me leave for two hours;" and he walked away, with his quick step, and his hands in his pockets—there was likely to be little else in them—and his head down, as was his wont. Lieutenant Window stood looking after him, and walked up and down, as I made my inquiries. Vincent, the old porter, though he rarely visited the Castle, knew me well enough, and waddling back to the fire in the hall, which was lighted in spite of its being a fine day in May, patted the coals, wheezing out his news.
        "And that's how it is, Master Brady—'percarious state,' was Sir Philip's words; 'but on the whole a shade of improvement,' says he. Sir Henry was for it that he was a power better, and Graves was for that too; and they'd a great deal of learned talk just at the foot of the stairs there. But I'd back Sir Philip agin all of them. Anyway, the house is just like Madame Stephens', or Mercer's, with the doctors coming and going in their shoots of black, and their big gold watch-chains, and their shining boots that makes no noise. But who'd grudge it if they'd get the darlint ould man all right again?"
        "And Sir Richard and the family are gone, Vincent?"
        "O, ay; one of their sudden moves. Not a word of it did Mounseer Pitty know last night; and Sir Richard had him up at cockcrow, and orders him to pack and be off—and little pity I have for the same conceited Frinchman. Mamselle, I hear, is goin' to give notice—her health can't stand these tremenjous stravagins. Poor Miss Desmond and the young missus had to be nimble, I can tell you. They've left Mrs. Whipple, the housekeeper, in charge, and she's in the ould gentleman's room this minit."
        "Well, say I'll be back again this evening before dusk, and Dr. Ball will let me come whenever I like."
        "I heard them saying you was to stop here as soon as your granddadda was better. It was Miss Mary put that in their heads, I know; but Sir Richard went off so smart he'd no time to think of it."
        As I was walking back towards the house with Jack Window, who seemed as anxious as I was about a man he had never seen, I gave him all the particulars.
        "Who was the lad you met just now, Terry," he continued, "as we were outside the steps?"
        "A schoolfellow, Maurice Prendergast, son of a country gentleman near Lough-na-Carra."
        "I don't know why, Terry, exactly, but somehow I doubt if he's a good fellow. I don't like to see a young chap like that so thoughtful and cautious-like. He's a handsome lad; but there's mischief in those deep-seated black eyes and those thin lips. I'm not more of a judge of men's phizzes than other people who go about the world on their own hook early in life, but I think his figure-head means danger. I must bid you good-bye. Our little excursion, which began so quietly, has grown into a great event; I hope it will have no results which will ever cause you to regret our fishing acquaintance. As a last word, I can only say I shall always look out for your future with interest, and hope to see you making a name for yourself. Don't," he said, after a moment's pause, "mind what I said about your schoolfellow Prendergast. It's just as likely I'm wrong as right. Suspicion and distrust will come soon enough." Another shake of the hand and he was off; but it was only to turn round and impress on me to write, and not mind postage, and let him know how Dr. Brady got on. "I'll send you my address as soon as I know what they are going to do with me. Good-bye, Terence—God bless you; and remember you will ever have a sure, if feeble, friend in Jack Window."
        The turn of the street hid his figure, as, with a light jerky step, he walked briskly away.
        A few days had made a great change in my reflections. Care had come indeed. There was now a real potent cause of solicitude, which I felt was little akin to that fantastic uneasiness which had so long possessed my spirit. The good old man who loved me so, and who had watched over me with such tenderness—I might never see him more. I did not ask what would become of me; but I was full of remorse at the idea that I had been, however innocently, the cause of his illness. My life was about to bear the mark which even youth must feel. Morning and evening I went over regularly for more days than I can remember. I heard the report of the doctors from Vincent or the servant, and sometimes from Mrs. Whipple herself, whose silk dress and white cap and collar were as angular and hard as the good creature herself was round and soft. He was slowly—very slowly—recovering from the sleep so little separated from death—his consciousness returning too—Mrs. Whipple thought if his mind could only be kept quiet he would soon get right. But he was for ever distracting himself about all sorts of people. Mrs. Whipple opined they were creations of his brain: some woman, he thought, was coming to disturb him—to take his son from him, or his grandson—to come to Lough-na-Carra and destroy everyone—a sort of witch she must be; and then he raved so, poor gentleman, it quite put him back again.
        One day Vincent, as he opened the door, had a pleasant look, which almost prepared me for good news. "Sir Philip and all of them is agreed the squire, your granddadda, is a deal better this morning. Faith, it was wantin' to get up and go down to the country he was, poor gentleman, by the night mail. And Sir Philip says he'll be able to judge this evening if it's right to give him another dose of the same medicine. They're jist giving it to him by dhrops—in hints and scraps at a time; and it's all about yourself, and that there are chances of your not being lost after all; they're coming on to the news by degrees, that you're alive and well—and, faith, if he could see you this minute, Master Terence, I think it would do him all the good in the world, for it's well you look, and alive you are, and no mistake about it."
        The first sight of a sick-room makes a deep dent in the memory: the vials on the mantelpiece, the glasses and bottles on the table, the imperfect light, the constrained movements, the quiet noises which dominate the silence. I can see my grandfather now as when my eyes rested on him through the opening door—seated in an easy-chair in his well-known old dressing-gown of faded blue velvet, with its tarnished silver cord; his white hair escaping from beneath a skull-cap, and one foot resting on a cushion; his cheek flushed and thin, his look excited and eager.
        "And they actually said he would be here to-night, Whipple?—the darling boy! Thank God—thank Him for that great mercy." He was silent, and one hand sought its fellow and pressed the fingers as his face was turned towards heaven.
        "Yes, indeed they did, Doctor. And Sir Philip said to me—'if he arrives to-night, and the squire is not asleep, you may let the young gentleman just come in to say goodnight, and go away again. But tell my old friend,' said Sir Philip, 'I'll be very angry if he keeps him longer than that. It will do neither of them any good.'"
        "What time did they say he would be here? If he comes by the day coach, he is very nearly here now"—he examined an old gold watch on the table by his side. "Ah! it will make me quite myself the moment he comes." I heard his anxious inquiries, I could see his face, whilst Mrs. Whipple, half turning to the door as if listening, with her finger raised to impress on me the necessity of caution, controlled the situation.
        Not long after that, I was seated at his feet, with my head on his knee, and his arms round my neck. Alas! one poor hand was gathered up and cold, the fingers bent and stiff, the arm numbed and scarce capable of motion; his figure was inclined and contracted at one side, his face rigid, and the mouth curved downwards—he spoke with difficulty; but for me it was enough to be there—to see him—to return the pressure of his hand, to listen to the broken accents in which he spoke so fondly.
        The summer holidays were so near at hand by the time the doctors considered my grandfather was sufficiently recovered for the journey to Lough-na-Carra, it was proposed to let me go back with him. Was there ever a schoolboy who objected to a longer holiday than he expected?
        "Dr. Ball sees not the least reason why he should not go; and," added Sir Philip, "he seems to be of more service to you than any of us."
        Every day, indeed, I had my visit to the familiar room, and at last the old man was well enough to get downstairs with a little help, and then, by degrees, he ventured on walking in the square, leaning on my arm—walking feebly with a painful effort. A great change had taken place in him. We had become more than friends. Ever since the eventful cruise he seemed uneasy if I were away from his side; and a few minutes' delay in my arrival put him, as Mrs. Whipple said, "quite in a fluster." We were never so happy as when he was sitting in his easy-chair, whilst I was crouched on a stool at his feet reading some of my books, conscious that his eyes were resting on me, and feeling his hand on my shoulder.
        The day of our return to Lough-na-Carra is another of my memories. We posted down from Dublin; and as the postboy led out the horses for the last stage, taking off his cawbeen to my grandfather, he exclaimed, "Long life to yer honour and to the young masther! They're all expectin' you in the town, so they are. God knows the poor has missed yer honour badly!"
        And as we drew up to the Desmond Arms, there, sure enough, were all the old people and the young assembled in the street, and the bells of the church were ringing, and the rector, and the priest, and the curates were ready to welcome the Doctor, and burst into a cheer as they saw his face in the carriage. But when he got down and limped towards the Lough-na-Carra carriage through the little crowd, silence came upon them, mingled with that smart clack of the tongue and skort sucking of the breath which the Irish use to express pity and surprise. He was altered indeed! These little marks of sympathy and regard were too much for his enfeebled nerves; and as his hand was shaken by his neighbours and dependents, I felt his useless arm quiver on mine, and saw the tears stealing down his face.
        "I thank you all, boys and girls, and you, my kind, good friends. You see I have brought him home with me; and there will be some fun in Lough-na-Carra perhaps again when I'm a little stronger."
        Amid the "Amens" of the people, the old mare, roused to unusual vivacity even for her by the cuts of the whip which old Dan gave unconsciously in his excitement, started off down the main street, and we sat together on one side whilst Dan directed his course amid pigs and children to the old lodge, and whirled up to the halldoor, where all the servants were gathered on the steps to greet their master.
        I could not help feeling as if I were to blame, and the secret compunction I experienced was sharpened by the reproachful expression which I fancied I could detect in the looks of the neighbours.