By Conduct and Courage: A Story of the Days of Nelson

  CHAPTER I

  AN ORPHAN

  A wandering musician was a rarity in the village of Scarcombe. In fact,such a thing had not been known in the memory of the oldest inhabitant.What could have brought him here? men and women asked themselves. Therewas surely nobody who could dance in the village, and the few coppers hewould gain by performing on his violin would not repay him for histrouble. Moreover, Scarcombe was a bleak place, and the man looked sorelyshaken with the storm of life. He seemed, indeed, almost unable to holdout much longer; his breath was short, and he had a hacking cough.

  To the surprise of the people, he did not attempt to play for theiramusement or to ask, in any way, for alms. He had taken a lodging in thecottage of one of the fishermen, and on fine days he would wander out withhis boy, a child some five years old, and, lying down on the moorland,would play soft tunes to himself. So he lived for three weeks; and thenthe end came suddenly. The child ran out one morning from his room cryingand saying that daddy was asleep and he could not wake him, and on thefisherman going in he saw that life had been extinct for some hours.Probably it had come suddenly to the musician himself, for there was foundamong his scanty effects no note or memorandum giving a clue to theresidence of the child's friends, or leaving any direction concerning him.The clergyman was, of course, called in to advise as to what should bedone. He was a kind-hearted man, and volunteered to bury the dead musicianwithout charging any fees.

  After the funeral another question arose. What was to be done with thechild?

  He was a fine-looking, frank boy, who had grown and hardened beyond hisyears by the life he had led with his father. Fifteen pounds had beenfound in the dead man's kit. This, however, would fall to the share of theworkhouse authorities if they took charge of him. A sort of informalcouncil was held by the elder fishermen.

  "It is hard on the child," one of them said. "I have no doubt his fatherintended to tell him where to find his friends, but his death came toosuddenly. Here is fifteen pounds. Not much good, you will say; and itisn't. It might last a year, or maybe eighteen months, but at the end ofthat time he would be as badly off as he is now."

  "Maybe John Hammond would take him," another suggested. "He lost his boatand nets three weeks ago, and though he has a little money saved up, it isnot enough to replace them. Perhaps he would take the child in return forthe fifteen pounds. His old woman could do with him, too, and would soonmake him a bit useful. John himself is a kind-hearted chap, and wouldtreat him well, and in a few years the boy would make a useful nipper onboard his boat."

  John Hammond was sent for, and the case was put to him. "Well," he said,"I think I could do with him, and the brass would be mighty useful to mejust now; but how does the law stand? If it got to be talked about, theparish might come down upon me for the money."

  "That is so, John," one of the others said. "The best plan would be foryou, and two of us, to go up to parson, and ask him how the matter stands.If he says that it is all right, you may be sure that you would be quitesafe."

  The clergyman, upon being consulted, said that he thought the arrangementwas a very good one. The parish authorities had not been asked to find anymoney for the father's funeral, and had therefore no say in the matter,unless they were called upon to take the child. Should any question beasked, he would state that he himself had gone into the matter and hadstrongly approved of the arrangement, which he considered was to theiradvantage as well as the child's; for if they took charge of the boy theywould have to keep him at least ten years, and then pay for apprenticinghim out.

  Accordingly the boy was handed over to John Hammond. With the buoyancy ofchildhood, William Gilmore, which was the best that could be made of whathe gave as his name, soon felt at home in the fisherman's cottage. It wasa pleasant change to him after having been a wanderer with his father foras far back as he could remember. The old woman was kind in her rough way,and soon took to sending him on small errands. She set him on washing-daysto watch the pot and tell her when it boiled. When not so employed sheallowed him to play with other children of his own age.

  Sometimes when the weather was fine, John, who had come to be very fond ofthe boy, never having had any children of his own, would take him out withhim fishing, to the child's supreme enjoyment. After a year of this lifehe was put to the village school, which was much less to his liking. Here,fortunately for himself, he attracted the notice of the clergyman'sdaughter, a girl of sixteen. She, of course, knew his story, and wasfilled with a great pity for him. She was a little inclined to romance,and in her own mind invented many theories to account for his appearancein the village. Her father would laugh sometimes when she related some ofthese to him.

  "My dear child," he said, "it is not necessary to go so far to account forthe history of this poor wandering musician. You say that he looked to youlike a broken-down gentleman; there are thousands of such men in thecountry, ne'er-do-wells, who have tired out all their friends, and havetaken at last to a life that permits a certain amount of freedom andfurnishes them with a living sufficient for necessary wants. It is fromsuch men as these that the great body of tramps is largely recruited. Manysuch men drive hackney-coaches in our large towns; some of them enlist inthe army; but wherever they are, and whatever they take up, they are sureto stay near the foot of the tree. They have no inclination for betterthings. They work as hard as men who have steady employment, but theyprefer their own liberty with a crust to a solid meal regularly earned. Iagree with you myself that there was an appearance of having seen bettertimes about this man; I can go so far with you as to admit that I thinkthat at some time or other he moved in decent circles; but if we could getat the truth I have no doubt whatever that we should find that he hadthrown away every opportunity, alienated every friend, and, having cuthimself adrift from all ties, took to the life of a wanderer. For such aman nothing could be done; but I hope that the boy, beginning in vastlypoorer circumstances than his father, will some day come to earn hisliving honestly in the position of life in which he is placed."

  The interest, however, which Miss Warden took in the boy remainedunabated, and had a very useful effect upon him. She persuaded him to comeup every day for half an hour to the rectory, and then instructed him inhis lessons, educating him in a manner very different from the perfunctoryteaching of the old dame at the school. She would urge him on by tellinghim that if he would attend to his lessons he would some day be able torise to a better position than that of a village fisherman. His father, nodoubt, had had a good education, but from circumstances over which he hadhad no control he had been obliged to take to the life of a strollingmusician, and she was sure that he would have wished of all things thathis son should be able to obtain a good position in life when he grew up.

  Under Miss Warden's teaching the boy made very rapid progress, and was,before two more years had passed, vastly in advance of the rest of thechildren of the village. As to this, however, by Miss Warden's advice, heremained silent. When he was ten his regular schooling was a great dealinterrupted, as it was considered that when a boy reached that age it washigh time that he began to assist his father in the boat. He was glad ofhis freedom and the sense that he was able to make himself useful, but ofan evening when he was at home, or weather prevented the boat from goingout, he went up for his lesson to Miss Warden, and, stealing away from theothers, would lie down on the moor and work at his books.

  He was now admitted to the society of watchers. He had often heardwhispers among other boys of the look-out that had to be kept upon thecustom-house officers, and heard thrilling tales of adventure and escapeon the part of the fishermen. Smuggling was indeed carried on on a largescale on the whole Yorkshire coast, and cargoes were sometimes run underthe very noses of the revenue officers, who were put off the scent by manyingenious contrivances. Before a vessel was expected in, rumours would becirculated of an intention to land the cargo on some distant spot, and amysterious light would be shown in that directi
on by fishing-boats.Sometimes, however, the smugglers were caught in the act, and then therewould be a fierce fight, ending in some, at least, of those engaged beingtaken off to prison and afterwards sent on a voyage in a ship of war.

  Will Gilmore was now admitted as a helper in these proceedings, and oftenat night would watch one or other of the revenue men, and if he saw himstir beyond his usual beat would quickly carry the news to the village. Ascore of boys were thus employed, so that any movement which seemed toevidence a concentration of the coast-guard men was almost certain to bethwarted. Either the expected vessel was warned off with lights, or, ifthe concentration left unguarded the place fixed upon for landing, thecargo would be immediately run.

  Thus another five years passed. Will was now a strong lad. His friend,Miss Warden, could teach him but little more, but she often had him up ofan evening to have a chat with him.

  "I am afraid, William," she said one evening, "that a good deal ofsmuggling is carried on here. Last week there was a fight, and three ofthe men of the village were killed and several were taken away to prison.It is a terrible state of affairs."

  William did not for a moment answer. It was something entirely new to himthat there was anything wrong in smuggling. He regarded it as a merecontest of wits between the coast-guard and the fishermen, and had taken akeen pleasure in outwitting the former.

  "But there is no harm in smuggling, Miss Warden. Almost everyone takespart in it, and the farmers round all send their carts in when a run isexpected."

  "But it is very wrong, William, and the fact that so many people are readyto aid in it is no evidence in its favour. People band together to cheatthe King's Revenue, and thereby bring additional taxation upon those whodeal fairly. It is as much robbery to avoid the excise duties as it is tocarry off property from a house, and it has been a great grief to myfather that his parishioners, otherwise honest and God-fearing people,should take part in such doings, as is evidenced by the fact that so manyof them were involved in the fray last week. He only abstains fromdenouncing it in the pulpit because he fears that he might thereby losethe affection of the people and impair his power of doing good in otherrespects."

  "I never thought of it in that way, miss," the lad said seriously.

  "Just think in your own case, William: suppose you were caught and sentoff to sea; there would be an end of the work you have been doing. Youwould be mixed up with rough sailors, and, after being away on a longvoyage, you would forget all that you have learnt, and would be as roughas themselves. This would be a poor ending indeed to all the pains I havetaken with you, and all the labour you have yourself expended in trying toimprove yourself. It would be a great grief to me, I can assure you, and acruel disappointment, to know that my hopes for you had all come tonaught."

  "They sha'n't, Miss Warden," the boy said firmly. "I know it will be hardfor me to draw back, but, if necessary, I will leave the village now thatyou are going to be married. If you had been going to stay I would havestopped too, but the village will not be like itself to me after you haveleft."

  "I am glad to think you mean that. I have remained here as long as I couldbe of use to you, for though I have taught you as much as I could in allbranches of education that would be likely to be useful to you, have lentyou my father's books, and pushed you forward till I could no longer leadthe way, there are still, of course, many things for you to learn. Youhave got a fair start, but you must not be content with that. If you haveto leave, and I don't think a longer stay here would be of use to you, Iwill endeavour to obtain some situation for you at Scarborough or Whitby,where you could, after your work is done, continue your education. But Ibeg you to do nothing rashly. It would be better if you could stay herefor another year or so. We may hope that the men will not be so annoyed asyou think at your refusal to take further part in the smugglingoperations. At any rate, stay if you can for a time. It will be two monthsbefore I leave, and three more before I am settled in my new home atScarborough. When I am so I have no doubt that my husband will aid me inobtaining a situation for you. He has been there for years, and will, ofcourse, have very many friends and acquaintances who would interestthemselves in you. If, however, you find that your position would beintolerable, you might remain quiet as to your determination. After thefight of last week it is not likely that there will be any attempt at alanding for some little time to come, and I shall not blame you,therefore, if you at least keep up the semblance of still taking part intheir proceedings."

  "No, Miss Warden," the boy said sturdily, "I didn't know that it waswrong, and therefore joined in it willingly enough, but now you tell methat it is so I will take no further share in it, whatever comes of it."

  "I am glad to hear you say so, William, for it shows that the aid I havegiven you has not been thrown away. What sort of work would you likeyourself, if we can get it for you?"

  "I would rather go to sea, Miss Warden, than do anything else. I have, forthe last year, taken a lot of pains to understand those books ofnavigation you bought for me. I don't say that I have mastered them all,but I understand a good deal, and feel sure that after a few years at seaI shall be able to pass as a mate."

  "Well, William, you know that, when I got the books for you, I told youthat I could not help you with them, but I can quite understand that withyour knowledge of mathematics you would be able at any rate to grasp agreat deal of the subject. I was afraid then that you would take to thesea. It is a hard life, but one in which a young man capable of navigatinga ship should be able to make his way. Brought up, as you have been, onthe sea, it is not wonderful that you should choose it as a profession,and, though I may regret it, I should not think of trying to turn you fromit. Very well, then, I will endeavour to get you apprenticed. It is a hardlife, but not harder than that of a fisherman, to which you areaccustomed."

  When William returned to his foster-father he informed him that he did notmean to have anything more to do with the smuggling.

  The old man looked at him in astonishment. "Are you mad?" he said. "Don'tI get five shillings for every night you are out, generally four or fivenights a month, which pays for all your food."

  "I am sorry," the lad said, "but I never knew that it was wrong before,and now I know it I mean to have nothing more to do with it. What goodcomes of it? Here we have three empty cottages, and five or six othersfrom which the heads will be absent for years. It is dear at any price. Iwork hard with you, father, and am never slack; surely the money I earn inthe boat more than pays for my grub."

  "I can guess who told you this," the old man said angrily. "It was thatparson's daughter you are always with."

  "Don't say anything against her," the boy said earnestly; "she has beenthe best friend to me that ever a fellow had, and as long as I live Ishall feel grateful to her. You know that I am not like the other boys ofthe village; I can read and write well, and I have gathered a lot ofknowledge from books. Abuse me as much as you like, but say nothingagainst her. You know that the terms on which you took me expired a yearago, but I have gone on just as before and am ready to do the same for atime."

  "You have been a good lad," the old man said, mollified, "and I don't knowwhat I should have done without you. I am nigh past work now, but in theten years you have been with me things have always gone well with me, andI have money enough to make a shift with for the rest of my life, even ifI work no longer. But I don't like this freak that you have taken intoyour head. It will mean trouble, lad, as sure as you are standing there.The men here won't understand you, and will like enough think that therevenue people have got hold of you. You will be shown the cold shoulder,and even worse than that may befall you. We fisher-folk are rough andready in our ways, and if there is one thing we hate more than another itis a spy."

  "I have no intention of being a spy," the boy said. "I have spoken to noneof the revenue men, and don't mean to do so, and I would not peach even ifI were certain that a cargo was going to be landed. Surely it is possibleto stand aside from it all without being suspected
of having gone over tothe enemy. No gold that they could give me would tempt me to say a wordthat would lead to the failure of a landing, and surely there can be nogreat offence in declining to act longer as a watcher."

  The old man shook his head.

  "A wilful man must have his way," he said; "but I know our fellows betterthan you do, and I foresee that serious trouble is likely to come ofthis."

  "Well, if it must be, it must," the boy said doggedly. "I mean, if I live,to be a good man, and now that I know that it is wrong to cheat therevenue I will have no more to do with it. It would be a nice reward forall the pains Miss Warden has spent upon me to turn round and do what shetells me is wrong."

  John Hammond was getting to the age when few things excite more than afeeble surprise. He felt that the loss of the boy's assistance would be aheavy one, for he had done no small share of the work for the past twoyears. But he had more than once lately talked to his wife of thenecessity for selling his boat and nets and remaining at home. With thisdecision she quite agreed, feeling that he was indeed becoming incapableof doing the work, and every time he had gone out in anything but thecalmest weather she had been filled with apprehension as to what wouldhappen if a storm were to blow up. He was really sorry for the boy, beingconvinced that harm would befall him as the result of this, to him,astonishing decision. To John Hammond smuggling appeared to be quitejustifiable. The village had always been noted as a nest of smugglers, andto him it came as natural as fishing. It was a pity, a grievous pity, thatthe boy should have taken so strange a fancy.

  He was a good boy, a hard-working boy, and the only fault he had to findwith him was his unaccountable liking for study. John could neither readnor write, and for the life of him could not see what good came of it. Hehad always got on well without it, and when the school was first startedhe and many others shook their heads gravely over it, and regarded it as afad of the parson's. Still, as it only affected children too young to beuseful in the boats, they offered no active opposition, and in time theschool had come to be regarded as chiefly a place where the youngsterswere kept out of their mothers' way when washing and cooking were goingon.

  He went slowly back into the cottage and acquainted his wife with this newand astonishing development on the part of the boy. His wife was full ofindignation, which was, however, modified at the thought that she wouldnow have her husband always at home with her.

  "I shall speak my mind to Miss Warden," she said, "and tell her how muchharm her advice has done."

  "No, no, Jenny," her husband said; "what is the use of that? It is theparson's duty to be meddling in all sorts of matters, and it will do nogood to fight against it. Parson is a good man, all allow, and he alwaysfinishes his sermons in time for us to get home to dinner. I agree withyou that the young madam has done harm, and I greatly fear that troublewill come to the boy. There are places where smuggling is thought to bewrong, but this place ain't among them. I don't know what will happen whenWill says that he doesn't mean to go any more as a watcher, but there issure to be trouble of some sort."

  It was not long indeed before Will felt a change in the village. Previousto this he had been generally popular, now men passed without seeing him.He was glad when John Hammond called upon him to go out in the boat, whenthe weather was fine, but at other times his only recourse was to stealaway to the moors with his books. Presently the elder boys took tothrowing sods at him as he passed, and calling spy and other opprobriousepithets after him. This brought on several severe fights, and as Willmade up for want of weight by pluck and activity his opponents more thanonce found themselves badly beaten. One day he learned from a subduedexcitement in the village that it was time for one of the smugglingvessels to arrive. One of his boyish friends had stuck to him, and washimself almost under a ban for associating with so unpopular a character.

  "Don't you come with me, Stevens," Will had urged again and again; "youwill only make it bad for yourself, and it will do me no good."

  "I don't care," the former said sturdily. "We have always been goodfriends, and you know I don't in the least believe that you have anythingto do with the revenue men. It is too bad of them to say so. I fought TomDickson only this morning for abusing you. He said if you were not workingwith them, why did you give up being on the watch. I told him it was noodds to me why you gave it up, I supposed that you had a right to do asyou liked. Then from words we came to blows. I don't say I beat him, forhe is a good bit bigger than I am, but I gave him as good as I got, and hewas as glad to stop as I was. You talk of going away soon. If you do, andyou will take me, I will go with you."

  "I don't know yet where I am going, Tommy, but if I go to a town I have nodoubt I shall be able in a short time to hear of someone there who wants astrong lad, or perhaps I may be able to get you a berth as cabin-boy inthe ship in which I go. I mean to go for a sailor myself if I can, and Ishall be glad to have you as a chum on board. We have always been greatfriends, and I am sure we always shall be, Tommy. If I were you I wouldthink it over a good many times before you decide upon it. You see I havelearnt a great deal from books to prepare myself for a sea life. MissWarden is going to try to get me taken as an apprentice, and in that caseI may hope to get to be an officer when my time is out, but you would nothave much chance of doing so. Of course if we were together I could helpyou on. So far you have never cared for books or to improve yourself, andwithout that you can never rise to be any more than a common sailor."

  "I hate books," the boy said; "still, I will try what I can do. But at anyrate I don't care much so that I am with you."

  "Well, we will see about it when the time comes, Tommy. Miss Warden wasmarried, as you know, last week. In another three months she will be atScarborough, and she has promised that her husband will try to get meapprenticed either there or at Whitby, which is a large port. Directly Iget on board a ship I will let you know if there is a vacancy in her for acabin-boy. But you think it over well first; you will find it difficult,for I don't expect your uncle will let you go."

  "I don't care a snap about him. He is always knocking me about, and Idon't care what he likes and what he don't. You may be sure that I sha'n'task him, but shall make off at night as soon as I hear from you. You won'tforget me, will you, Will?"

  "Certainly I will not; you may be quite sure of that. Mind, I don'tpromise that I shall be able to get you a berth as cabin-boy at once, oras an apprentice. I only promise that I will do so as soon as I have achance. It may be a month, and it may be a year; it may even be three orfour years, for though there is always a demand for men, at least so Ihave heard, there may not be any demand for boys. But you may be sure thatI will not keep you waiting any longer than I can help."

  One day Will was walking along the cliffs, feeling very solitary, when heheard a faint cry, and, looking down, saw Tom Stevens in a deep pool. Ithad precipitous sides, and he was evidently unable to climb out. "Hold on,Tom," he shouted, "I will come to you."

  It was half a mile before he could get to a place where he was able toclimb down, and when he reached the shore he ran with breathless speed tothe spot where Tom's head was still above the water. He saw at once thathis friend's strength was well-nigh spent, and, leaping in, he swam tohim. "Put your arms round my neck," he said. "I will swim down with you tothe point where the creek ends." The boy was too far gone to speak, and itneeded all Will's strength to help him down the deep pool to the pointwhere it joined the sea, and then to haul him ashore.

  "I was nearly gone, Will," the boy said when he recovered a little.

  "Yes, I saw that. But how on earth did you manage to get into the water?"

  "I was running along by the side of the cliff, when my foot slipped. Icame down on my knee and hurt myself frightfully; I was in such pain thatI could not stop myself from rolling over. I tried to swim, which, ofcourse, would have been nothing for me, but I think my knee is smashed,and it hurt me so frightfully that I screamed out with pain, and had togive up. I could not have held on much longer, and should certainly hav
ebeen drowned had you not seen me. I was never so pleased as when I heardyour voice above."

  "Can you walk now, do you think?"

  "No, I am sure I can't walk by myself, but I might if I leant on you. Iwill try anyhow."

  He hobbled along for a short distance, but at last said: "It is of no use,Will, I can't go any farther."

  "Well, get on my back and I will see what I can do for you."

  Slowly and with many stoppages Will got him to the point where hedescended the cliff. "I must get help to carry you up here, Tom; it isvery steep, and I am sure I could not take you myself. I must go into thevillage and bring assistance."

  "I will wait here till morning, Will. There will be no hardship in that,and I know that you don't like speaking to anyone."

  "I will manage it," Will said cheerfully. "I will tell John Hammond, andhe will go to your uncle and get help."

  "Ah, that will do! Most of the men are out, but I dare say there will betwo or three at home."

  Will ran all the way back to the village, which was more than a mile away."Tom Stevens is lying at the foot of the cliff, father. I think he hasbroken his leg, and he has been nearly drowned. Will you go and see hisuncle, and get three or four men to carry him home. You know very well itis no use my going to his uncle. He would not listen to what I have tosay, and would simply shower abuse upon me."

  "I will go," the old man said. "The boy can't be left there."

  In a quarter of an hour the men started. Will went ahead of them for somedistance until he reached the top of the path. "He is down at the bottom,"he said, and turned away. Tom was brought home, and roundly abused by hisuncle for injuring himself so that he would be unable to accompany him inhis boat for some days. He lay for a week in bed, and was then only ableto hobble about with the aid of a stick. When he related how Will hadsaved him there was a slight revulsion of feeling among thebetter-disposed boys, but this was of short duration. It became known thata French lugger would soon be on the coast. Will was not allowed toapproach the edge of the cliff, being assailed by curses and threats if heventured to do so. Every care was taken to throw the coast-guard off thescent, but things went badly. There was some sharp fighting, and aconsiderable portion of the cargo was seized as it was being carried upthe cliff.

  The next day Tom hurried up to Will, who was a short way out on the moor.

  "You must run for your life, Will. There are four or five of the men whosay that you betrayed them last night, and I do believe they will throwyou over the cliff. Here they come! The best thing you can do is to makefor the coast-guard station."

  Will saw that the four men who were coming along were among the roughestin the village, and started off immediately at full speed. With oaths andshouts the men pursued him. The coast-guard station was two miles away,and he reached it fifty yards in front of them. The men stopped, shouting:"You are safe there, but as soon as you leave it we will have you."

  "What is the matter, lad?" the sub-officer in charge of the station said.

  "Those men say that I betrayed them, but you know 'tis false, sir."

  "Certainly I do. I know you well by sight, and believe that you are a goodyoung fellow. I have always heard you well spoken of. What makes themthink that?"

  "It is because I would not agree to go on acting as watcher. I did notknow that there was any harm in it till Miss Warden told me, and then Iwould not do it any longer, and that set all the village against me."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I will stay here to-night if you will let me. I am sure they will keep upa watch for me."

  "I will sling a hammock for you," the man said. "Now we are just going tohave dinner, and I dare say you can eat something. You are the boy theycall Miss Warden's pet, are you not?"

  "Yes, they call me so. She has been very kind to me, and has helped me onwith my books."

  "Ah, well, a boy is sure to get disliked by his fellows when he iscleverer with his books than they are!"

  After dinner the officer said: "It is quite clear that you won't be ableto return to the village. I think I have heard that you have no father. Isit not so?"

  "Yes, he died when I was five years old. He left a little money, and JohnHammond took me in and bought a boat with that and what he had saved. Iwas bound to stay with him until I was fourteen years old, but was soongoing to leave him, for he is really too old to go out any longer."

  "Have you ever thought of going into the royal navy?"

  "I have thought of it, sir, but I have not settled anything. I thought ofgoing into the merchant navy."

  "Bah! I am surprised at a lad of spirit like you thinking of such a thing.If you have learned a lot you will, if you are steady, be sure to get onin time, and may very well become a petty officer. No lad of spirit wouldtake to the life of a merchantman who could enter the navy. I don't saythat some of the Indiamen are not fine ships, but you would find it veryhard to get a berth on one of them. Our lieutenant will be over here in aday or two, and I have no doubt that if I speak to him for you he willship you as a boy in a fine ship."

  "How long does one ship for, sir?"

  "You engage for the time that the ship is in commission, at the outsidefor five years; and if you find that you do not like it, at the end ofthat time it is open to you to choose some other berth."

  "I can enter the merchant navy then if I like?"

  "Of course you could, but I don't think that you would. On a merchantmanyou would be kicked and cuffed all round, whereas on a man-of-war I don'tsay it would be all easy sailing, but if you were sharp and obligingthings would go smoothly enough for you."

  "Well, sir, I will think it over to-night."

  "Good, my boy! you are quite right not to decide in a hurry. It is aserious thing for a young chap to make a choice like that; but it seems tome that, being without friends as you are, and having made enemies of allthe people of your village, it would be better for you to get out of it assoon as possible."

  "I quite see that; and really I think I could not do better than pass afew years on a man-of-war, for after that I should be fit for any work Imight find to do."

  "Well, sleep upon it, lad."

  Will sat down on the low wall in front of the station and thought it over.After all, it seemed to him that it would be better to be on a fine shipand have a chance of fighting with the French than to sail in amerchantman. At the end of five years he would be twenty, and could passas a mate if he chose, or settle on land. He would have liked to consultMiss Warden, but this was out of the question. He knew the men who hadpursued him well enough to be sure that his life would not be safe if theycaught him. He might make his way out of the station at night, but eventhat was doubtful. Besides, if he were to do so he had no one to go to atScarborough; he had not a penny in his pocket, and would find itimpossible to maintain himself until Miss Warden returned. He did not wishto appear before her as a beggar. He was still thinking when a shadow fellacross him, and, looking up, he saw his friend Tom.

  "I have come round to see you, Will," he said. "I don't know what is to bedone. Nothing will convince the village that you did not betray them."

  "The thing is too absurd," Will said angrily. "I never spoke to acoast-guardsman in my life till to-day, except, perhaps, in passing, andthen I would do no more than make a remark about the weather. Besides, noone in the village has spoken to me for a month, so how could I tell thatthe lugger was coming in that night?"

  "Well, I really don't think it would be safe for you to go back."

  "I am not going back. I have not quite settled what I shall do, butcertainly I don't intend to return to the village."

  "Then what are you going to do, Will?"

  "I don't know exactly, but I have half decided to ship as a boy on one ofthe king's ships."

  "I should like to go with you wherever you go, but I should like more thananything to do that."

  "It is a serious business, you know; you would have to make up your mindto be kicked and cuffed."

  "I
get that at home," Tom said; "it can't be harder for me at sea than itis there."

  "Well, I have not got to decide until to-morrow; you go home and think itover, and if you come in the morning with your mind made up, I will speakto the officer here and ask him if they will take us both."