Part 16 (1/2)

”Tom,” he continued, after a pause of about a minute, ”on board the old _Ocean Pride_ I once told you the story of my love for Gerty; and I told you also all I knew about dear father's difficulties. We both know now how complete daddy's financial ruin is, but I have never yet told you the true story of Gerty's engagement to Sir Digby Auld. I'll tell you now, and you won't think so hard of the poor girl when I have finished.”

Jack Mackenzie spoke for fully a quarter of an hour without intermission, ending with these words: ”So you see, brother, the dear girl is positively immolating herself on the altar of filial love, and what she considers duty. She loves the old man Keane surely more dearly than daughter has any right to love a father; and her main ambition and object in life is to see the lonely man happy and respected in his old age. So, dear Tom, don't bid me leave my fool's paradise yet a while.

You have _your_ happiness; I--”

He paused, and sighed a weary kind of sigh.

Tom was touched to the very bottom of his heart. He stretched his arm across the walnuts and grasped his friend's hand.

”Poor Jack!” he said. ”Live in your paradise and be happy. Would that I could give you hopes that your lease will be a very long one.”

”Besides,” continued Jack, excusing himself a little more, ”with a light heart I shall be able to drub the French more cheerfully.”

Tom's eyes sparkled.

”Ah yes!” he said; ”and for the very same reason I too feel in the finest of form for drubbing the French.”

”And we've had no single-s.h.i.+p action with the Dons yet.”

”Their time is coming.”

”Yes, their time is coming. A man never swings a sword half so well, nor sails and fights a s.h.i.+p so well, as when he is in love and happy:

'For mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel.'”

CHAPTER XVIII.

”WOULD HE EVER COME AGAIN?”

”A sailor's life's the life for me, He takes his duty merrily; If bullets whistle, Jack can sing, Still faithful to his friend and king.”

DIBDIN.

Jack was right about love and ”the creel,” or rather, I should say, the old song is right,--

”Mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel.”

For the next three months the swift _Tonneraire_ was here, there, and everywhere--except in England. She cruised much farther south, and chiefly along the coast of France, and seldom put into harbour except to cut out some merchantman, snugly ensconced, perhaps, under the guns of a fort, and deeming herself in a very safe position. It was, unfortunately for her, the feeling of security that proved her ruin.

Three or four several times did the _Tonneraire_ thus prove herself a crack s.h.i.+p. A crack s.h.i.+p with a crack crew and officers, remember; for the best of s.h.i.+ps is but a drone unless well managed. Not even a drone, indeed; for a drone is a most duty-full bee, and a most respectable member of the apiarian republic. There is a vast deal of very indifferent music in the very best of fiddles, and I feel quite convinced that had some less active officer commanded even the _Tonneraire_, he would have had little to show at the end of his cruise.

In his daring cutting-out expeditions Jack had been invariably successful. First and foremost he chased the vessel, and failing to overhaul her, he bore away seawards again, as if he had given up all hope, she perhaps taking refuge under the guns of a fort. But although he might sail out of sight of land, soon as the shades of evening began to fall the _Tonneraire_ came round. Then all depended on cleverness and pluck.

The _Ferdinand_ was a gun-brig that, on the morning of the 12th of June '97, had saucily fired at the _Tonneraire_, then shown her a clean pair of heels. She was near to the port of T----, so could afford to be insolent. Jack sent a fifty-six pound shot tearing through her rigging, without doing much damage, on which the _Ferdinand_ fired again from her stern. Only a puff of white smoke, only a ten-pound shot, with a sound withal like that of a boy's pop-gun. But it was enough. Jack's Highland blood was up; and he said to M'Hearty, who was near him on the p.o.o.p, ”I'll have her, if only for her insolence.”

M'Hearty laughed. It was not polite; but he couldn't help it. For the doctor and captain of the _Tonneraire_ were the dearest friends.

”You've been much livelier and happier within this last month or two,”

said M'Hearty. ”Tell me, sir, are you in love?”

”What would you do if I were?”