Chapter V: Part 5

When Arthur came into the cabin, his father was sitting up in his berth, with a very discontented air; and, after making a sour face or two, began to complain of being neglected. He told Arthur that he could have sat up a few hours, if he had been there to dress and assist him. "I have just been wakened," said he, "by those detestable Frenchmen making the most hateful noise I ever heard: I thought they were certainly murdering you all."

"Come, come, Walter!" said Travers; "don't look so sulky at the most noble boy that ever a father was blessed with: but take Arthur in your arms, and thank him for the recovery of your ship and of your liberty."

"What!" said Captain Ridley; "have we met with one of our cruisers? And are we retaken? Well, Travers, if you are in your right wits, and know what you are talking of, this is the news that will presently make me well again."

"Did I say that we had fallen in with any of our ships?" answered Travers. "But I tell you now, in plain English, that by the prudence and courage of your brave boy, your ship is your own again: we are all free; the Frenchmen are in irons; and we have tacked about for Old England, instead of being carried into Dunkirk."

"And _Arthur_, you say, has done all this; but how?--You are not given to tell lies, Jack Travers,--and yet I can hardly believe it."

"I don't wonder that you can't," returned Travers, "for I can scarcely trust my own senses that it is so. But this is the short of the matter: Arthur, this morning, contrived a scheme for fastening the Frenchmen in their berths when they were asleep. He went away to prepare matters for it. The attempt was not to have been made till night. But, to my surprise, he came to me, an hour ago, and told me he had all our enemies secure, except two. Those we easily managed; and, after getting the assistance of our two men, we as easily mastered the others. How Arthur contrived to execute his plan so soon, he can best tell you, for I have not yet heard."

But Arthur could not just then speak. He had thrown himself into his father's extended arms, and given ease to the fulness of his heart in a burst of tears. It was some moments before he raised his head from his father's bosom, who thanked and blessed him, and declared that were everything in the world taken from him and his gallant boy spared, he should still consider himself the happiest and richest of men.

When Arthur had recovered from the agitation that had deprived him of his voice, Travers again pressed him to tell by what means he had secured the Frenchmen.

"You know," said Arthur, "I left you with the intention of fitting the nails into the panels. I got safely into the cabin, where they slept, and soon bored all the holes; but when I came to fit in my nails, I found they might be pushed out with a violent shake; and, you know, they could not be knocked in tight without a great noise. For some minutes I thought our scheme was at an end; but at last I remembered there was a paper of large screws in the locker. These I soon found, and made holes in the top and bottom of each panel, and then greased the screws; so that I could put them all in with a screw-driver without the least noise. I likewise greased the slides of the panels, that they might slip easily. Well, while I was at work, I recollected that the Frenchmen were in the habit of sleeping for an hour or two in the middle of the day, leaving only two men on deck. This, therefore, appeared the best time for the execution of our plan; for it was likely we might blunder in the dark, and they were off their guard and in such security in the middle of the day, that I was determined to try. About three o'clock, they all came down and tumbled into their berths. I waited more than half an hour, and then stole into the cabin, hoping they were asleep. Some of the panels were open; my hands trembled as I closed them; but fortunately I made no noise. After I had put in the screws, I tried every panel, and found that all were well secured. I then went to you: and, by the blessing of Heaven, everything has thus far gone prosperously!"

"And all we have now to do," said Travers, "is to keep what we have gained; that, Arthur, is not the least part of the work: but there shall be no exertion wanting on my part to bring the good ship safe into an English port."

Travers faithfully kept his word: for he paced the deck of the Aurora, with pistols in his hands, almost night and day; and when he was compelled to take a little rest, Arthur kept watch with equal vigilance. Two desperate attempts were made by the French crew to regain their liberty: the last time, Captain Ridley (who was now able to walk about and come on deck) was greatly inclined to send a volley of musket-balls among them; but Arthur and Travers both implored him to shed no blood, if it were possible to avoid it. After a few days of incessant toil and anxiety, a favourable gale carried them into the Thames; and, a few hours after their arrival at Sheerness, they had the pleasure of seeing the privateer which had captured them brought in as a prize, at the stern of a British frigate. She had been taken whilst cruising in the Channel: and thus the whole of the crew of the Aurora were delivered from their anticipated sufferings in a French prison. Captain Ridley lost no time in disposing of the Aurora and her cargo. He said he would tempt the sea no longer, but remain peacefully in the quiet home he was so fortunate as to possess. "And, Travers, my friend," said he, "I need hardly tell you, that whilst I have a guinea, you shall share it; and whilst I have a home, it shall shelter you." Half of the money which the cargo produced, Captain Ridley settled on Travers: he rewarded the two men who had assisted in bringing home the Aurora, and made a present to all his sailors who had been retaken in the privateer.

During their stay in London, their story was the news of the day; and much admiration was excited by the conduct of Travers and Arthur; and Captain Ridley was given to understand, from high authority, that if his son chose to enter the navy, he should be peculiarly marked for promotion.

Walter Ridley no longer wished to control his son. He respected his courage and high principles; and left it to his choice, whether he would return and cultivate the farm, or accept the offer that had been made him.

"Father," said Arthur, "I am very young, and have a life before me that I am now convinced may be more usefully employed than in a state of inactive ease. I will serve my country with alacrity; and I pray God I may be able to do something for her service."

I will not stay to describe their arrival at Alston Moor, nor the joyful meeting between Arthur and his aunt and cousin. Many years have rolled on since Arthur went through his service as midshipman, and passed as lieutenant with the greatest credit: he is now a gallant and distinguished officer,--the pride of his father, the delight of his old friend Travers, an honour to his country, and the husband of his pretty cousin Phoebe.

The picture I have drawn is not exaggerated. Arthur is no creature of my imagination; it was drawn from life, and may be realized by any youth who takes for his rule of life the maxim of our Church: "Do thy duty in that state of life unto which it shall please God to call thee."

* * * * *

This tale is founded on facts: and the recapture of the ship, extraordinary as it may seem, is a simple relation of occurrences that really happened, in the beginning of the American war, when the Lark merchant-ship was taken by a French privateer, and retaken by her captain, having no English on board, but a boy, and an English merchant, one of the Society of Friends. This gentleman refused to stain his hands with blood: but assisted in this peaceable recapture with great firmness and resolution. The underwriters presented the captain with L100, as a small reward for his intrepidity.

THE FISHERMAN'S COTTAGE.

Nearly a century and a half ago, there lived, in a little cottage on the eastern coast, an aged widow and her two grandsons. Although neither carpenter nor bricklayer was employed in the construction of this cottage, it was as neat a fisherman's cabin as any in that part of England. James Mayhew, the widow's son, had ingeniously built it on the sea-beach, under the cliffs. It was formed of pebbles and sea-stones; and he had, with great toil and labour, carried down earth from the cliffs, and made a nice little kitchen-garden, which formed a pleasing contrast with the barren sands that surrounded the cottage; and this, with a shed for a cow, (which got her living on the common belonging to the adjacent town,) made a very comfortable little dwelling place. It was poor James's summer work; and at Michaelmas he brought to live in it his widowed mother, old Amy Mayhew, and his wife, who had formerly been a tidy dairy-maid, and to whom he had been married just a twelvemonth. Now James was very clever and industrious; he could turn his hand to any sort of work; he would labour for the farmers at harvest and seed-time, and pursued the trade of a fisherman the rest of the year. He made one harvest on the land, and two more from the sea; for he used to go out in a boat and catch herrings and mackerel at those seasons when they abound so plentifully on our coasts. James was an excellent son and husband, and would, no doubt, have been as good a father. His wife had just presented him with two twin little boys, when James was forced to leave her, to go to sea for the herring-fishery; and, sad it is to tell what followed! though such events are too common on these coasts. From the cottage window, his boat was seen to founder; and the wife never beheld her husband, nor the mother her son, until the tide threw up his corpse within a few yards of his own door. His poor wife, in her weak state, was unable to bear so severe a shock, and sank into a state of stupefaction, which was soon succeeded by death. The neighbouring townsmen contributed a sum to bury the poor young people: and many, who were standing by at the funeral, and saw the sorrow of the aged Amy, and thought of the hard trial which had befallen her, said it would have been a mercy if the orphan little twins had been buried in the same grave with their unfortunate parents! But Amy did not think so. "God bless the poor babes!" she said; "they are all that is left me of my good dutiful James: I will do my best to bring them up; and, if my life be spared so long, I may see them prove a blessing and a comfort to me; and, perhaps, they may lay my head in the same grave with my poor son!"

Amy did, indeed, strive to do her best to rear her poor little grandsons. She was often seen with a baby on each arm coming into the town to fetch the cow off the common; and then the good-hearted sailors, who had known her son, would give her a white loaf for the babes, or a piece of meat or cheese for herself. With these helps, and with the milk from the cow and the vegetables from the garden, she contrived to get through that trying year. "Before the winter comes again," she said to a friendly old pilot who had called to see her, "my little boys will run alone; and when these aged arms are relieved from their heavy burden, I shall be able to work hard for their living."

Amy was firm in her resolution: and, by her good nursing, the little orphans throve and grew nicely,--so that by the end of the next summer they could run about, holding by each other, to assist their steps. They were very good and quiet, and fond of each other, and gave much less trouble than could have been expected.

Amy was now able to earn a little money by netting; and by the time the children were three years old, James and Michael learned to fill her netting needles with the twine she made the herring-nets of; and the little creatures would stand by her the whole day, each watching until his turn came to fill granny's needle. When they grew a little older, they used to pick up stones on the beach, which were wanted in the town for building. They carried them up the cliffs by little baskets-full at a time, and laid them in a heap, and then the bricklayers gave for them a halfpenny a bushel. And when the cold snowy winter nights came, they learned to net, and helped their grandmother a great deal. By the time they were twelve years old, the boys nearly earned their living. James got something every week, by fetching his neighbours' cows off the common: he was always up by five in the summer, and before light in the winter, that he might not be too late. He soon got work at the Hall farm, in the next parish; and though it was a long way to walk, night and morning, he was always there in time, and contrived to do some work for his grandmother in the hours he had for his meals. James took delight in the quiet employments of the country; he greatly preferred the husbandman's life to the unsettled condition of the fisherman or sailor. Michael, on the contrary, loved the sea, and always tried, in getting his daily bread, to remain, if possible, by the beach, as it was his most ardent desire to be a sailor. It may be supposed this wish gave pain to his poor grandmother, who never heard him express it without thinking of the death of his father. To divert him from his inclination, she did her best to teach him to read; but, though both he and his brother were very apt, and could soon read a chapter in the Bible, yet, even in that holy book, Michael contrived to find something to flatter his passion for ships and sailors. By the time the boys had attained the age of fourteen, James had learned so much of the duties of husbandry, that his employer, as a reward for his diligence and industry, promised to hire him for the following year at man's wages. Poor Michael was much hurt that his brother would now be able to maintain his grandmother, and give her those comforts that her age required, whilst he could merely fish on the beach with lines for whiting or cod, or pick up stones for the bricklayers; and that he could do when he was but seven years old. He was so ashamed of his inferiority, that he made a resolution of going to labourer's work with his brother, and was determined to give up his favourite wish, to please his good grandmother; but an accident which happened that winter altered his intention.

The day had closed-in some time, on the Christmas eve; and, though the moon showed a bright light, yet the wind had risen as the night came on, and soon blew a furious easterly gale directly on to this dangerous coast. Amy had swept her cottage clean, and looked out some time for her grandsons, when James trudged in with a billet of wood on his shoulder, which he threw on the hearth. "I have staid later than usual, granny," he said, "to look after the horses of some gentry, who have just arrived at the Hall to spend the Christmas holidays; but the good 'Squire has sent you this nice piece of beef for your dinner to-morrow, and this wood to warm your poor limbs this bitter weather."

"May heaven bless both you and your good master!" said the grateful Amy: "and may both he and his ever have good cheer and warm fires, when the cold and hard weather comes on! But, James, have you seen your brother?"

At that minute, Michael opened the door: he brought with him some fine whiting on the lid of an old basket. "I have been lucky to-day, grandmother," said he; "I have caught as many fish along-shore as I sold in the town for seven groats. Here is the money; let it be put in the earthen pot, with the rest that is to buy you a red cloak this cold weather."

"Thank you, my dear Michael," said Amy: "how good and dutiful you both are! The time was, when I thought that the Almighty had dealt hardly in taking from the lone widow her only son,--but he has restored me that blessing in a twofold degree; and if I could but see you take to quiet farming-work like James--"

"Well," said Michael, "I will do my best to like it: though, I am afraid, I shall never get over my wish to be a sailor. But look at these fine fish! I might have sold them in town; but, I thought, as it was Christmas-tide, that you should have them for supper."

Amy now began to bestir herself to dress the supper. She soon raised a cheerful blaze; but just as she was putting on the fish, the loud report of a gun at sea made her start and drop them. It seemed so close to the cottage, that the concussion made everything rattle and ring around.

"Heaven help them!" said Amy; "it is some poor distressed ship's crew at sea, firing guns for help this stormy night. Oh, Michael! this is what you wish for! This is the life you love so much! Can you say you wish to be a sailor now?"

"I wish," answered Michael, "I had been sailor enough to go off in the pilot-boat I saw trying to put off just now as I came under the cliffs. There's a brave ship--a king's ship, I believe,--has been in distress all the evening; and they want a pilot to go to her, for they fear she will be driven by the gale right on to the bar;--but the wind and waves run so contrary, that though they have been trying for this hour, they cannot get the boat off. Hark! there is another gun! She has certainly struck! Oh that I could help them!"

Michael now started up, and sprang to the door; but Amy ran after him, and held him back. "Oh, stay, my dear boy," she cried; "don't go off to sea! Don't let me see another child perish before these old eyes!"

"No," said Michael, turning round, "I will not disobey you; besides, I have not experience enough to be of any great use. Our brave pilots would help them, if help were possible."

"See, brother!" said James, "there lies the ship; she is beating on the Barnet-reef, sure enough; and yet the moon shines bright through the storm."

"Yes," said Michael; "and could they have got a pilot that knew the coast, they might have been saved. Look! they are putting out boats. See! There are two!"

"Where? where?" asked James: "the white flashing billows dazzle my eyes. I can see but one little black speck dancing among the waves."

"Oh, yes!" said Amy, "even I can see two; but they will never reach the shore. See, there goes down one of them!"

"No, no! I hope not," said James; "it is only hidden for a moment between the high waves."

"I tell you it is gone," said Amy. "Alas! I know that shocking sight too well?--Don't I _know_ what it is to see a boat swallowed by the sea? Come in, boys, or I shall think I see your father again washed on shore at my feet."

"Go you in," said Michael; "but I will stay and see if indeed some one be thrown on shore; for we may give timely help."

As he spoke, he plainly discovered some one struggling with the waves at a little distance. The brothers hastened to the spot just as the man was thrown with violence on the sands by the huge breakers; they seized and dragged him out of the reach of the waves, and Amy ran out of the cottage to help them.

"Is he dead?" said she, fearfully.

"I am afraid," said Michael, "that the waves, in throwing him ashore, have beaten the breath out of him; but he was alive just now, for I saw him struggle with the breakers."

They carried the poor man into the cottage, and tried every means in their power to revive him; but Amy had nothing better than a little elder wine to give him. This she hastened to warm; and James ran to the town to borrow or buy a little brandy, and to get medical assistance. He soon procured the liquor; but the doctor was so busy attending other sufferers who had been washed ashore, that he could not leave them. James thought it best to return quickly with the spirits; and he had the pleasure to see the person they had saved sitting in the chimney-corner; and after he had taken the brandy which James had brought, he seemed considerably revived.

It was not till he was out of danger that the kind cottagers remarked that the dress and appearance of their guest were far above those of a common seaman. Amy had put him on some dry clothes, which were more comfortable (though very coarse) than his dripping garments; and on holding up the latter to dry, an elegant watch fell from one of the pockets. This she hung up before the fireplace; and soon afterwards the weary stranger retired to rest, the brothers having cheerfully given up their bed, and slept that night on a heap of old nets and sea-weed in the cow-shed.

Early in the morning, the doctor came to visit the shipwrecked stranger, and brought with him one of the sailors, who had got safe to land in the other boat. As soon as they entered the cottage, the seaman cast his eyes on the uniform that hung at the fire, and eagerly asked if the owner of it were alive. He was informed that he was alive, and likely to do well; but that he was then asleep.

"Then the storm has spared one of the bravest captains in his Majesty's fleet," said the sailor.

"What! is he a sea-captain?" asked Michael.

"Yes," answered the sailor: "our brave Captain Lucas."

A voice from the inner room now called, "Is that you, Tom?"

"Yes, your Honour," said the sailor, who immediately recognised the voice of Captain Lucas, his commander. Captain Lucas called the sailor to him, and asked, with much anxiety, how many of the ship's company were lost? "Only ten," said he; "the long-boat came safe ashore; and several of those in the boat with you were picked up by the good town's-people. We thought all night that you were lost: it would have been a bitter loss to us, Captain; for you are, indeed, the sailor's friend. It was a dreadful sight for us to see your boat go down; but your Honour knows that we all begged you to go in the long-boat, for we said the other could not live in such a sea."

"Well, Tom," said the Captain, "mine was but a single life; most of you were fathers and husbands. I am thankful that so many have been spared; and, as for myself, I could not have fallen into better hands. Mind and get a good Christmas dinner, you and your messmates, to cheer your poor hearts; I'll be at the expense: thank God! I have enough to spare a few comforts for my brave sailors, after all their sufferings."

Tom, having made a sailor's acknowledgment, hastened to the town to tell his messmates the joyful news, that their noble captain was saved.

Captain Lucas was so much bruised, that the doctor told him he must keep in bed for a day or two, and take the medicine which he would send him; but the captain seemed averse to physic, and thought that Amy's treacle-possets did him more good. He refused to be removed from the cottage, saying that he could not find better quarters anywhere. Michael attended him with the greatest care, and his sailors came daily to see him.

Michael was delighted with the frankness and noble bearing of the Captain, and with the affection his men bore him: and Captain Lucas was as much pleased with the honest and warm-hearted Michael. "You are the brave fellow," he said to him one day, "that pulled me ashore."

"I helped my brother James," said Michael.

"It is not always," said the Captain, "that shipwrecked men fall into such good hands; but it shall be the better for you, my lad."

Captain Lucas was not a man to keep his bed a long time for a few bruises. He was soon able to walk about; and his first care was to see the bodies of the drowned seamen decently buried. He attended their funeral, with all the surviving crew, and showed himself to be as pious as he was brave.

The night before he departed for London, he handsomely rewarded old Amy and her grandsons for their kindness to him; and as he put some broad pieces into Michael's hand, he said, "My young friend, I thought of giving you and your brother the watch and rings which I had about me when I was thrown ashore; but I think these pieces will be more serviceable: and I give them to you as much for your uncommon honesty as the humanity you have shown to me."

"Ah, Sir!" said Michael, laying the gold on the table, "you could do me a favour, that I should prize more than your little golden clock[12] and all the Caroluses[13] in the world."

[Footnote 12: Watches were only in general use at court, in the time of Charles the Second.]

[Footnote 13: The gold coinage in the reigns of the Stuarts were commonly called Caroluses and Jacobuses.]

"Ah!" said the Captain; "and what is that, my lad?"

"To persuade my grandmother to let me go to sea with you."

"Well, my brave boy, I should be glad to have you under my command. What do you say, Amy? You hear your grandson's wish. But, remember, that I will never repay your hospitality so basely, as to take him away without your consent."

Amy sighed. "Well, your Honour, as it is Michael's desire, and as he has wished it for a long time, I wont deny him; for I see his heart is wholly set on being a sailor. I should have thought that the lives he had just seen lost would have shown him his folly; but, as it is, I would rather he should go to sea with such a noble gentleman as yourself than with any one else."

Michael rejoiced that his grandmother had at last given her consent. "While I can have Captain Lucas for a commander, and King Charles for a master," said he, "I never will serve a Suffolk farmer."

The Captain was pleased with his spirit; but Michael's heart rather failed him, when he bade farewell, the next day, to his good grandmother and his twin-brother. "I know the Captain wont despise me for crying," he said to Tom; for "I saw _him_ weep when the poor sailors were buried."

"Ay! ay!" said Tom, "he has a tender heart, and he is the better for it, and so are you; and considering as how you are but a young one, I think you have borne it very well. Why I sometimes pipe a bit myself when I bid good b'ye to my Jane, and mother, and the little ones."

Captain Lucas was soon appointed to another ship; and Michael sent word to Amy and James, that he loved the life he had chosen better than ever, and that he would not change it for any other.

For a long time Michael was sadly missed at the cottage. James and Amy would look sorrowfully at one another, and shake their heads when they saw Michael's empty place at dinner, and the vacant corner where he used to put his three-legged stool by the chimney-side--and it was war-time. England was engaged in a severe struggle with the Dutch for naval pre-eminence in those days; and perhaps she never had to sustain a more arduous maritime contest; and Michael had many perils to encounter besides the danger of the stormy seas; but then he was very punctual in writing to his relatives--they were sure to have a letter from him at every opportunity; and Michael took a pride in sending home a considerable portion of his pay. Amy had so often heard that Michael was safe and well, that it was only after hearing of some sharp engagement that her heart ached for him. James was as diligent and industrious as ever, and kept his old place, and pleased his good master. Poor Amy had nourishing food and warm clothing, and more comforts in her old age than she had ever expected.

Three years passed quickly away, and James had grown a fine-looking young man. Old Amy, though healthy and strong for her years, seemed to fear that she should not see her dear Michael before she died.

The war now raged more fiercely than ever between the English and Dutch; and it was said that the fleets would soon come to action in the seas between England and Holland. James and Amy understood very little about this. All their care was to know whether it was likely for Michael's ship to be in the action: this they could not learn; but they saw a great fleet nearly opposite at sea, hovering to and fro, and many seamen and officers came on shore; but they neither saw nor heard anything of Michael; so they hoped he was not in the fleet.

It was a lovely morning in the latter end of May, and James had been some time at work in his master's fields, when he was suddenly startled with a tremendous noise, louder than any thunder he had ever heard. He looked round about, and up at the heavens; all was blue and serene there, and he could see no traces of a thunder-cloud: still the roar continued in horrid bursts that seemed to shake the shores and the very ground he stood on, and it rang and rebounded through the hollow coast with the most frightful din.[14] At last he cast his eyes towards the East, and there he saw, in the bar, white clouds of smoke, mixed with flashes of flame. "The sea-fight has surely begun," he said aloud, "so near in shore! Our cottage will certainly be knocked down with the balls." This thought induced him to throw down his hoe, and away he ran towards his home, thinking of nothing but his poor grandmother.

[Footnote 14: In an old song, published a few days after Solebay fight, there are the following lines:--

"Well might you hear their guns, I guess,
From Sizewell Gap to Easton Ness;
They fill'd up all the hollow coast,
From Walberswick to Dunwich."]

He got safely down the cliffs, though the cannon-balls were coming on shore very near him, and in some places they actually shattered large pieces of earth and stones from the cliffs. James found poor old Amy kneeling by the bed in the inner room, hiding her face and half dead with terror. He wanted to take her farther up the country, out of the reach of danger; but Amy dared not venture out of the house, and James could not persuade her that the cottage would be no defence in case a cannon-ball should strike it. He determined at first to take her in his arms and carry her away to a place of safety: "But, who knows," thought he, "but I may drag her into the very danger she dreads so much?" So he determined to stay with her at every risk, and they spent the day half-deafened with the roar of the cannon, expecting every moment that their little home would be shattered about them.

Towards evening, the firing grew weaker and weaker, and the people who were beholding the fight from the cliffs, shouted that the Duke of York had gained the victory. But before the action was quite over, a boat was seen making to the shore; it seemed to bear in the direction of Amy's cottage, and actually ran on shore within a few yards of it. The sailors leaped out, and, lifting an officer in their arms, bore him towards the cottage; whilst a young sailor walked slowly after, leaning on an old seaman's arm. James flung open the cottage door, and told them to place the officer on the bed. They accordingly laid him down. He moaned faintly with pain. At the sound of his voice, the young sailor approached the bed with an unsteady step. Amy gazed wistfully on the young man, and then on James;--they were exactly alike. "It is my own boy Michael!" she cried at last.

"Yes, it is Michael!" said James, throwing himself on his neck.

"Ah, my poor grandmother! and my dear James!" said Michael, "I have come home to you in a sorrowful hour! My noble Captain is mortally wounded."

"Is this the brave gentleman who took you away, and behaved so kindly to us? Alas, how wan he looks!" said Amy, looking mournfully on the pale features of Captain Lucas, as he lay fainting on the lowly bed, where they had placed him.

"But you look as white and ill as he does, Michael!"

"Yes," said he faintly, pointing to his side, from which the blood slowly trickled; "I was wounded whilst fighting near him--I return to my home once more; but it is to die. Our Captain's brother took the command of the ship after he fell; and when the fight slackened, he sent the boat ashore with him, in hopes of getting better assistance. He did not know I was wounded, but he told me to go on shore with my master, and take care of him. Instead of suffering the sailors to take him to the town, I bade them steer direct for the cottage on the beach. He laid his noble head there when he was in distress before; and I resolved that he should not die among strangers."

Here Michael's voice faltered with grief and pain; and he was so faint that he would have sunk from his seat, had not James supported him in his arms. A surgeon arrived soon after, and at once pronounced that the Captain's wounds were mortal, and that Michael was in a dangerous state. Before night, Captain Lucas's brother came on shore, and hastened to the cottage: Captain Lucas held out his hand when he saw his brother. "William," said he, "is England victorious?" William Lucas turned from his dying brother, and wept.--"Oh yes, Charles! The Duke has gained the battle, but it is a dearly-purchased victory."

"Many a one has fallen, William, who will be more missed than I shall be," replied the Captain. "I have but one dear brother to weep my loss.--Hear my last request: you know, by my will, you inherit my estates;--but give my faithful Michael the gold in my portmanteau, and a hundred pounds besides, to be divided between him and his brother: if Michael should die, give his share to his grandmother--I fear I have robbed her of one of the props of her age! It is owing to the good inhabitants of this cottage that my death has been a glorious one: three years ago they saved my life from the waves on this coast."

Captain Lucas did not live through that night: and Michael only survived him two days. They were buried together, with many a hero who fell in that engagement. Captain William faithfully executed his brother's dying request. But it was not the riches they obtained that could console Amy and James for the loss of their dear Michael;--it was long before they could think, without extreme sorrow, on his untimely death.

James's good master assisted him with his advice in laying out the Captain's legacy, which amounted to more than five hundred pounds. James took a good farm, and, by his unremitting industry, soon became a rich man; and old Amy had the pleasure of seeing her great grandchildren born to affluence: yet the beautiful month of May never returned but she remembered with sadness the fall of her brave sailor-boy and his noble captain.

THE END

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