ON BOARD THE SAUCY “TONNERAIRE.”

“O’er the wide wave-swelling ocean,
Tossed aloft or humbled low—
As to fear ’tis all a notion—
When duty calls we’re bound to go.”—Dibdin.

Tonneraire lay at anchor just off the Hoe in Plymouth Sound, as pretty a craft as any sailor need care to look at. Plymouth was an amphibious sort of a place even in those days; and there was not a landsman who had ever been in blue water that, having once caught sight of the saucy Tonneraire, did not stop to stare at and admire her as he crossed the Hoe. Some, indeed, even sat quietly down and lighted up their pipes, the better to consider the bonnie ship. Long and low and dark was she, and though a frigate, the poop was not high enough to interfere with her taking lines of beauty. She carried splendid spars, and from their tapering height it was evident she was built either to fight or to chase a flying Frenchman. But her maintop-gallant masts were at present below, for the ship was not quite ready for sea. She seemed impatient enough, however, to get away. The wind blew pretty high, right in off the Channel, and the frigate jerked and tugged at her anchors like a hound on leash that longs to be loose and away scouring the plains in search of game. Everything on board was taut and trim and neat: not a yard out of the square, not a rope out of place, the decks as white as old ivory, the polished woodwork glittering like glass, the brass all gold apparently, the guns like ebony, and the very lanyards pipeclayed till they looked like coils of driven snow.

Post-Captain Mackenzie was walking to and fro on the poop-deck all alone, but casting many an anxious glance shorewards, or upwards at the evening sun that soon would sink over the beautiful wooded Cornish hills.

“There’s a boat coming out yonder now, sir,” said the signalman.

“Ah! is there, Wilson? Well, pray Heaven it may be the first lieutenant, and that he may have had luck.” Twenty minutes afterwards, Tom Fairlie, lieutenant in his Majesty’s navy, but acting-commander under Captain Mackenzie, was alongside in the first cutter. He was not alone, for several other officers were with him, and among them our old friend M?Hearty. Jack welcomed the latter, figuratively speaking, with open arms, then went to his private cabin, accompanied by Tom, who had been on shore on duty since early morning.

“Sit down, Tom. Now we’re off the quarter-deck there is no need for ceremony. You look tired and starved. Help yourself to wine and biscuits there before you say a single word.”

Tom poured out a glass, smiling as he did so.

“Ah!” cried Jack, “I know you have good news.”

“Ay, Jack, lots of it. I’ve been everywhere and I’ve done everything, and I’ve had good luck in the whole.”

“Wait a moment, Tom.—Steward!”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“I’m engaged for the next half-hour unless any one desires to see me on duty.—Now, Tom, I shall light my pipe. Follow my example. It wants an hour to dinner, and you are my guest to-night. No one else save our two selves and M?Hearty, I believe.” “Well, Jack,” said Tom Fairlie, after he had smoked in silence for a few moments, “first I went to the port-admiral’s office and saw Secretary Byng. He knows everything. Told me your father was gazetted, and would sail with his command in a few months’ time.”

“Glorious news, Tom. How pleased father will be!”

“Byng told me further that we must get men to fill up our complement, and fifty over, by hook or by crook.”

“Fifty over! that means fighting, Tom. Go on.”

“The hook and crook means pressment, Jack.”

“Well, well, I don’t like it; but it is all for the good of the service. Heave round, Tom.”

“Then I went to the post-office. Sly dog, am I? Well, perhaps. A letter from Flora, and one for you.”

Jack tore his open.

“Why, she has gone to live with dear old Father Spence at Torquay, Tom.”

“Yes, Jack, till the war is over. Then, if God but spares us all, I shall be your brother.”

“Dear girl,” said Jack. “Ah, Tom, what a noble courage she possesses! You and I can meet the foe face to face and fight well; but that is under excitement. But dear Flora needed more courage than ours to leave Grantley Hall so bravely as she did. Never a tear, Tom, never a tear; and I even saw my father’s eyes wet. Ah well. It is the fortune of war. Heigh-ho!”

“Cheer up, Jack. Somehow, my friend, I think that Grantley Hall will come back to the Mackenzies yet.”

“Ah, never, Tom, never! The dear old place where Flora and I spent our childhood, only to think it should come at last into the clutches of the plausible skinflint Keane; the father, though, of—but go on, Tom, go on.”

“I next saw two gentlemen of the ‘sailors’ friend’ persuasion.”

“Crimps? Scoundrels!”

“Well, anyhow, they are good for forty between them.”

“Bravo! Things are looking up. What a capital fellow you are, Tom! But, stay; let me reckon. We still want twenty more.”

“And these, Jack, shall be no mere top hampers, I can assure you. I have arranged to lay hands on fifteen at least of thorough dare-any-things—fellows who look upon fighting as mere fun, and can face the billows as well as tackle a foe.”

“You interest me. Proceed.”

“What say you to pirates, then?”

“Come, come, Tom.”

“Well, they are the next thing to it. They are sea-smugglers. I met One-legged Butler to-day, the king of coastguardsmen; and if we lend him nets, he will land the fish.”

“You mean seamen and cutlasses. Well, he’ll have them; and I’ll trust the matter all to you.”

“Nay, Jack, nay; the second lieutenant must be left in charge, and you must come. Flora must see you.”

“Flora?” cried Jack.

“Yes; we are to cut out the smuggler in Tor Bay.”

“I’m with you, Tom. Well, we shall meet at dinner. Au revoir.”

One-legged Butler was quite a character in his way. He had been in the service in his very young days, and had lost a limb while fighting bravely for king and country. But for this stroke of bad luck he might have been an admiral, and there is little doubt he would have been a brave one too. Appointed to the revenue service, he soon proved that, in addition to cunning, tact, and bravery, he possessed detective qualities of no mean order. His timber toe, as the sailors called his wooden leg, was no drawback to him. Timber toes in those stirring times were as common as sea-gulls in every British sea-port; and Butler’s powers of disguising himself, or making up to act a part in order to gain information, were simply marvellous.

On the day Tom Fairlie made his acquaintance, he had been singing “Tom Bowling” on the street in front of a public-house, and our Tom had gone up to give him a penny. Like the Ancient Mariner, he had held Tom with his glittering eye; and a very few moments’ conversation was sufficient to arrange for one of the cleverest and most daring little adventures that ever supplied a man-o’-war with gallant “volunteers,” as pressed men were often ironically termed in those days.

They were a very merry party at dinner that day around the captain’s table. Not a large one, however; only Jack Mackenzie himself, his friend Tom Fairlie, M?Hearty, one “middie,” and bold Captain Butler, all good men and true; and the servant who waited at table was one to be trusted. Despite the fact that he was a Spaniard, he was most faithful, so that the conversation could take any turn without danger of a word being repeated either forward or to the servants below in the ward-room.

In talking and yarning right quickly passed the evening in the captain’s cabin; but everywhere fore and aft to-night both officers and crew were hearty. They had already bidden farewell to friends and home, soon their country too would fade far away from sight, and then—the glories of war. Ah! never mind about its horrors; what brave young British sailor ever thought of these?