CHAPTER II.

THE FIGHT ON BLACKMUIR MARSH.

"It is the very captain of the thieves."--TENNYSON.

The sun was setting by the time the carriage reached Blackmuir; going down in a sky of great rolling snow-laden clouds, with here and there a rift of blue between; going down with a yellow, angry glare, that boded no good for the travellers. A more dreary waste than this wind-swept moor, on such a wintry afternoon, it would be difficult to conceive. Lonesome and lovely it would be in summer time, when the linnets sang among the patches of golden furze, when the partridges called to each other among the grass, and water birds made love in the reedy ponds, while the blackbird's mellow music, and the wild lilts of the mavis, made the echoes ring in copse and woodland. But the pools were now frozen, the bushes were but ghostly shapes, the spruce trees and pines pointed their snow-laden branches groundwards and looked like sheeted spectres; and when the carriage pulled up for a short time, before plunging down into a wooded ravine, there was no sound to be heard save the moan of the wintry wind.

The forest they soon entered was fully two miles in extent--tall beech trees, oaks, elms, and pines, but with here and there an ocean of undergrowth that would afford excellent ambush for a footpad.

Slowly the carriage descended the hill. There was a bridge at the bottom that crossed a rushing stream, then the hill began to ascend again. But here the trees almost overhung the road.

No one spoke. The postillions kept their heads constantly on the move. Tom was kneeling on the front seat of the carriage, which was an open one, and peeping into the semi-darkness of the wood. Raventree and Merryweather sat behind, each grasping a pistol, while several more lay handy.

"If we are attacked," said Merryweather quietly, "take good aim, lads, each at the man nearest to him. Keep steady, and we'll beat the rascals off if there be fifty----."

Crack, crack, crack. Smoke and flame came from a thicket near. The leading off horse stumbled and fell, and the postillion came tumbling to the ground with him.

"Hold your fire," cried Merryweather.

There was a shout from the wood, and six armed and masked men suddenly sprang into view.

"Give them fits now," roared Merryweather.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, went a volley, and two men fell. The others rushed in.

"Hold and deliver!" cried one. "If you fire again you are dead men."

At that moment the other postillion fell, and horses and men were now so mixed up that to fire at the ruffians was impossible, with any degree of safety to the postillions or horses.

Four huge pistols were levelled at the carriage, and its occupants seemed marked.

"You haven't a show for it, Merryweather," cried one of the footpads.

But the fellow's voice, instead of cowing the sailors, appeared to act like the match that fires a mine.

"By Jove! I know you, Jones," cried Merryweather.

He kicked the door of the carriage open as he spoke, and sprang like a deer into the road. The wooden-leg seemed an advantage rather than a drawback.

Pistols cracked again, swords clashed, and horses plunged. There were shouts, oaths, and screams. Then high above the din of battle a wild huzza from the woods, and two new combatants, armed with cudgels, rushed upon the stage of battle.

Were they footpads? No; but gipsies, and right sturdily they laid around them. In two minutes more the battle was decided, every robber _hors de combat_ or pleading for mercy, and Tom and Raventree shaking hands with the two swarthy Romany Ryes they had been kind to three weeks before.

Merryweather had torn the mask from the face of one of the robbers with no very gentle hand, and there stood revealed the villainous face of David Jones, the Welsh smuggler.

Merryweather was angry, virtuously, but _very_ angry. He clenched his fist, and for a moment it seemed he was about to dash it at the scoundrel's head; but he restrained himself.

"This is the second time you've attempted my life, Jones," he said, "you cowardly rascal."

"The third'll come," was the cool reply, "if I have the chance."

"That you never shall. You'll hang as high as Haman."

"We'll see," said the fellow. "If I'm hanged my ghost shall haunt you."

The prisoners were now secured--death indeed had secured two--and the postillions once more mounted, much afraid still, but all intact. One horse had been killed, and this was the only fatality on the side of the sailors, although the carriage was riddled with bullets.

The gipsy caravan was not far away, and this was requisitioned next day, and a start made from the nearest inn, for Yarmouth; the prisoners being shut up in the van, and safely guarded by the sturdy gipsies.

At Yarmouth three prisoners were handed over to the authorities. No, not four. Jones was found dying in the caravan the evening before they reached town. He had loosened one hand, found a small knife, and therewith done the deed that soon hurried him into the presence of Him who made him.

* * * *

Every man Jack in those dashing days, who could wave sword or cutlass or trail a pike, was needed by the service, so it was unlikely that Raventree or Tom would be allowed to rest at home.

Nelson himself, minus an arm, minus an eye, had once more joined the service, and was on duty at this time in the Mediterranean.

So Raventree and Tom Bure, who had both passed their examinations with flying colours, and were therefore full-blown lieutenants, were appointed to a ship then fitting out for sea at Portsmouth.

Nor was Merryweather entirely overlooked. He was overhauled, however, by a body of bold ship's doctors. They agreed that, although a wooden leg would be awkward on board a ship, it would not incapacitate its wearer from certain kinds of duty on shore. So Merryweather found himself in command of as brave and reckless a lot of blue-jackets as ever reefed a topsail. They were nominally called coast-guardsmen, but no one knew better than the townspeople of Portsmouth, that their principal mission was connected with the pressgang.

By no means a very elevating employment was this, nor was it one that Merryweather cared for, only it had to be done by some one. The king needed men for his navy, and Merryweather would have carried a musket for his majesty had he been asked to do so.

In this service--coast-guard--O'Grady, formerly of the ships in which our heroes had fought, was Merryweather's best man, and between the two of them they managed to obtain quite a large number of "volunteers."

They did not confine their operations to any one town or place, however. They would be in Portsmouth one week, probably, and in London or Dover the next, Mr. Merryweather thinking it best not to be too well known in any particular port.

Now the _Highflyer_, in which Tom and Raventree were to take passage to the Levant, in order to join the fleet under the Earl of St. Vincent--Sir John Jervis--was short of men, and what more natural than that Merryweather and O'Grady should undertake to supply them? Both officers knew every corner and alley of old Portsmouth, and what was better still, they knew every crimp therein.

A crimp was a mean kind of a reptile that lived in clover upon the earnings of poor Jack in those days, and that still exists in various forms about the London docks. But the genus is nowadays threatened with extinction, for sailors have grown wiser, and instead of going to low lodging-houses they very frequently are to be found at those very excellent institutions called Sailors' Homes.

When Raventree and Tom, delighted to be together. joined the _Highflyer_, they found everything in the direst confusion. The ship had only just been got out of dock, and the "woodpeckers," as the carpenters were called, were still on board fitting up, the tapping of their hammers resounding fore and aft all day long.

The _Highflyer_ was an old-fashioned gun brig, with strong masts and lofty; capable of good speed under a heavy press of canvas, but at the same time a craft that needed a sailor's eye and a sailor's head to watch and manœuvre, in dirty weather at all events. Just the sort of vessel that, if taken aback suddenly in a squall, was as likely as not to go down stern foremost in five minutes time or far less.

The captain of the _Highflyer_ was a much older man than either of our young heroes. His rank, however, was not post, although he gave himself all the airs of an admiral of the fleet.

Tom and his friend came off in the gig which had been sent for them, and McTough, the captain, condescended to meet them as they came over the side. He smiled as he returned their salute, or rather he made a grimace that was meant for a smile.

A little short dark man he was, with a Highland accent, and a manner that was intended to denote that on his own quarter-deck there was no one in all the wide world to compare with McTough, and that it would only be waste of time to attempt to get to windward of him.

"We're all in blessed confusion at present," he said, "and sure we'll be so too for days and days. Not half my men either; but Merryweather will soon find them. Ah! he's the right sort. I was a middy with him. Come below, gentlemen, to my cabin. It's the only place in the ship that isn't thoroughly thro'-other."

"Steward!" he cried, when they had seated themselves, "bring the wine."

It was Scotch wine that the steward brought--in other words, Highland whisky.

The captain half-filled a tumbler and tossed it off, and seemed a little astonished that Tom and Raventree did not tackle the stuff in the same off-hand way. The captain's first glass was drunk "neat," that is, without water; the second was diluted, and this one was evidently meant only to trifle with as he kept talking, for before they rose to go on deck he helped himself to another, saying, "Pooh! no, it spoils the flavour," as Raventree passed the water across to him.

That evening Merryweather and O'Grady came off, and all four dined in the captain's cabin. There was plenty here to eat and drink, and the wines were of the best vintage; but nothing would Captain McTough touch except the wine of his native land.

"I'll have fifteen as handsome volunteers for you," said Merryweather in the course of the evening, "as ever kept a watch."

"It's me myself that is pleased to hear it," said McTough, ignoring the rules of grammar in his excitement. "And they'll come of their own free will, of course?"

Merryweather smiled.

"Better have your surgeon on board," he said, "for I expect there'll be a broken head or two to see to among the lot."

"And let me just tell you this, Merryweather, I like the men best that come on board with broken heads. It shows they're no hinkumsneevies."*

* Hinkumsneevie--a mean, worthless fellow, with no "go" in him.

"Ah! well, McTough, I like to lay them aboard as easily as possible."

"You always were soft-hearted, Merryweather."

"And, Tom, you'll come with us and see the fun. I know Raventree will."

"Well," said Tom, "I'd just like to know how it is done. But it seems rather hard on the poor sailors."

"For king and country," said Merryweather.

"If that's a toast," said McTough, "we'll drink it."

And he did. McTough never missed an opportunity of drinking a toast.

And soon after he went to sleep in his arm-chair, which was always McTough's way of intimating to his guests that they might leave when they liked.

"Dine with me to-morrow evening at the 'Fountain,' then," said Merryweather, as he shook hands with his friends and went over the side.

"A different kind of craft this from the old _Agamemnon_," said Tom when the boat had shoved off.

"I don't like her, Tom."

"And I don't like McTough."

"Well, suppose we get clear of her as soon as we can."

"Agreed."