been often chased by her in days goneby. It was evident enough to the smuggler now that his emissary hadbeen captured or turned traitor; so his mind was made up at once.
"Ready about!" was the order.
The _Sea-horse_, in a few minutes, was cracking on all sail, on her wayback to the island, Bland having determined to remove his littleprisoners therefrom, and sail south with them to France, in spite ofevery risk and danger.
Both vessels were fleet and fast, but if anything, the lugger could sailcloser to the wind.
Several times during the long chase, which lasted for days, the_Firefly_ got near enough to try her guns, but not near enough fordeadly aim. The shots fell short, or passed harmlessly over thesmuggler.
The last day of the chase was drawing to a close. The island wasalready visible, when suddenly Bland altered his plans and tactics,seeing that the _Firefly_ would be on him before he could cast anchor,and effect a shipment of the little hostages. He put about, and borebravely down upon the cruiser, and despite her activity crossed herstern, and poured a broadside of six guns into her. Down went a mast,and the wheel was smashed to atoms.
Bland waited no longer. He had done enough to hang him, and night wascoming on.
Night and storm!
Yonder was the gleam of the lighthouse, however, and he did not despair.
It grew darker and darker, and just as he was abreast of the lighthouse,and bearing down towards it, the storm came on in all its fury, andtwenty minutes afterwards the _Sea-horse_ was a wreck. His hands tookto the boats, or were swept from the decks, leaving him to lie buriedunder the wreck just as Leonard found him.
On the arrival of the _Firefly_, the little wanderers were so overjoyedto see their father, and he to have them safe once more, that the wildescapade of which they had been guilty was entirely forgotten betweenthem.
The old lighthouse-keeper and his wife detailed the circumstances of thewreck of the lugger, but singularly enough they forgot to mention thesaving of the life of Bland himself. He was therefore supposed byCaptain Pim to be drowned.
So ended the wonderful adventures of Leonard and Effie as amateurgipsies.
But about a week after they arrived at home, to the inexpressible joy ofold Peter, to say nothing of the poodle dog, the cat, and all their petsat the Castle Beautiful, after binding papa down to keep a secret,Leonard told him all the rest about Captain Bland, who, Effie assuredhim with tears in her eyes, had been so, _so_ kind to them both.
But long before this Bland was safe in France, and for a time he sailedno more on British coasts. The seas around them being, as he expressedit, too hot to hold him, he determined to let them cool down a bit, sohe took his talents to far-off lands, where we may hear of him again.
Book 2--CHAPTER ONE.
IN DISTANT LANDS.
ON MOORLAND AND MOUNTAIN.
"Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, That nurse in their bosom the youth of the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, And the shepherd tends his flocks as he pipes on his reed. Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charm o' yon wild mossy moors."
Burns.
Scene: The parlour of an old-fashioned hotel in the Scottish Highlands.It is the afternoon of an autumn day; a great round-topped mountain,though some distance off, quite overshadows the window. This window isopen, and the cool evening breeze is stealing in, laden with the perfumeof the honeysuckle which almost covers a solitary pine tree close by.There is the drowsy hum of bees in the air, and now and then themelancholy lilt of the yellow-hammer--last songster of the season. Twogentlemen seated at dessert. For a time both are silent. They arethinking.
"Say, Lyle," says one at last, "you have been staring unremittingly atthe purple heather on yon hill-top for the last ten minutes, duringwhich time, my friend, you haven't spoken one word."
Lyle laughed quietly, and cracked a walnut.
"Do you see," he said, "two figures going on and on upwards through theheather yonder?"
"I see what I take to be a couple of blue-bottle flies creeping up apatch of crimson."
"Those blue-bottles are our boys."
"How small they seem!"
"Yet how plucky! That hill, Fitzroy, is precious nearly a mile inheight above the sea-level, and it is a good ten miles' climb to the topof it. They have the worst of it before them, and they haven't eaten amorsel since morning, but I'll wager the leg of the gauger they won'tgive in."
"Well, Lyle, our boys are chips of the old blocks, so I won't take yourbet. Besides, you know, I am an Englishman, and though I know thegauger is a kind of Scottish divinity, I was unaware you could take suchliberties with his anatomy as to wager one of his legs."
"Seriously talking now, Fitzroy, we are here all alone by our twoselves, though our sons are in sight; has the question ever occurred toyou what we are to do with our boys?"
"No," said Fitzroy, "I haven't given it a thought. Have you?"
"Well, I have, one or two; for my lad, you know, is big enough to makehis father look old. He is fifteen, and yours is a year or two more."
"They've had a good education," said Fitzroy, reflectively.
"True, true; but how to turn it to account?"
"Send them into the army or navy. Honour and glory, you know!"
Lyle laughed.
"Honour and glory! Eh? Why, you and I, Fitzroy, have had a lot ofthat. Much good it has done us. I have a hook for a hand."
"And I have a wooden leg," said Fitzroy, "and that is about all I haveto leave my lad, for I don't suppose they bury a fellow with his woodenleg on. Well, anyhow, that is my boy's legacy; he can hang it behindthe door in the library, and when he has company he can point to itsadly, and say, `Heigho, that's all that is left of poor father!'"
"Yes," said Lyle; "and he can also tell the story of the forlorn hopeyou led when you won that wooden toe. No, Fitzroy, honour and glorywon't do, now that the war is over. It was all very well when you and Iwere boys."
"Well, there is medicine, the law, and the church, and business, andfarming, and what-not."
"Now, my dear friend, which of those on your list do you think your boywould adopt?"
"Well," replied Fitzroy, with a smile, "I fear it would be the`what-not.'"
"And mine, too. Our lads have too much spirit for anything very tame.There is the blood of the old fighting Fitzroys in your boy's veins, andthe blood of the restless, busy Lyles in Leonard's. If you hadn't lostnearly all your estates, and if I were rich, it would be different,wouldn't it, my friend?"
"Yes, Lyle, yes."
Fitzroy jumped up immediately afterwards, and stumped round the roomseveral times, a way he had when thinking.
Then he stopped in front of his friend.
"Bother it all, Lyle," he said; "I think I have it."
"Well," quoth Lyle, "let us hear it."
Then Fitzroy sat down and drew his chair close to Lyle's.
"We love our boys, don't we?"
"Rather!"
"And we have only one each?"
"No more."
"Well, your estate is encumbered?"
"It's all in a heap."
"So is mine, but in a few years both may be clear."
"Yes, please God, unless, you know, my old pike turns his sides up--ha!ha!"
"Well, what I propose is this. Let our lads have their fling for abit."
"What! appoint a tutor to each of them, and let them make the grandtour, see a bit of Europe, and then settle down?"
"Bother tutors and your grand tour! How would we have liked at theirage to have had tutors hung on to us?"
"Well, Lyle, we might have had tutors, but I'll be bound we would havebeen masters."
"Yes. Well, boys will be boys, and I know nothing would please our ladsbetter than seeing the world; so suppose we say to them, We can affordyou a hundred or two a year if you care to go and see a bit of life, anddon't lose yourselves, what do you think they woul
d reply?"
"I don't know exactly what they would reply, but I know they would jumpat the offer, and put us down as model parents. But then, we have theirmothers to consult."
"Well, consult them, but put the matter very straight and clear beforetheir eyes. Explain to our worthy wives that boys cannot always be inleading strings, that the only kind of education a gentleman can have tofit him for the battle of life, is that which he gains from hisexperience in roughing it and in rubbing shoulders with the wide world."
"Good; that ought to fetch them."
"Yes; and we may add that after a young man has seen the world, he ismore likely to settle down, and lead a quiet