“Remember you are to be dumb,” said Captain Falwasser. “If you keep close to me no harm will come to you.”
A light was shown on board the vessel, and was immediately answered by another on shore. Soon afterwards a number of boats were heard approaching. The captain exchanged a signal with one of them, and then continued his course to the shore. After walking some distance they reached a town. The captain paid several visits, and as he spoke French, Harry could not make out what was said. The captain seemed greatly surprised and shocked at some disastrous news he heard. He transacted business with some people on whom he called, and Harry saw him pay away the contents of a large bag of gold. He was more silent than ever on his walk back to the beach. He sighed deeply. “Unhappy France, unhappy France!” he said to himself; “what is to become of you?”
When they got on board the lugger again, she was deeply laden with kegs and bales of goods. That instant her anchor was tripped, and sail being made, she stood back towards the English coast. Daylight soon afterwards broke. She made the land some time before dark, but waited till she could not be seen from the shore before she ran in. Sharp eyes kept looking out for the expected signal: it was made. She ran in till her bows almost touched the sand. Fully three hundred people were waiting on the beach; with wonderful rapidity her cargo was landed, and each cask or bale being put on the broad shoulders of a stout fellow, was carried away instantly up the cliff. Not a yard of silk, a bottle of brandy, nor a pound of tobacco remained on board. Instantly the oars were got out, and before daylight she was once more at the mouth of Lynderton river.
“I have only one request to make,” said the captain to Harry, “that you will promise me faithfully not to tell to any one what you have seen. You came on board the ‘Saucy Sally,’ were away a couple of nights, and were once again put safely on shore at Lynderton. That’s all you may tell, remember.”
Harry gave his promise; he felt grateful to. Captain Falwasser for the kind treatment he had received. Harry begged that Jacob Tuttle might be forgiven. The captain replied he would consider the matter; but Jacob did not seem inclined to trust to him, and soon afterwards entered on board a man-of-war.
This was Harry’s first adventure. He was somewhat disappointed in the result. It was some time before he engaged in another.
There were a good many country houses scattered about in the neighbourhood of Lynderton; and at most of them Harry, who was growing into a remarkably fine-looking young man, had become a great favourite. He danced well, could talk agreeably, and was always ready to make himself useful. He was a welcome guest, especially at Stanmore Park, the residence of Colonel Everard. The Colonel was one of the representatives of the oldest and most influential families in that part of the country. General Tryon had been an old friend of his, and he was very glad when Lady Tryon acknowledged her grandson, and took him under her protecting wing. Had the Colonel been a more acute observer than he was, he might not have so readily congratulated the boy on his good fortune. Colonel Everard had an only daughter, Lucy; and a niece, Mabel, who resided with him. The latter was the daughter of his brother, Captain Digby Everard, who was constantly at sea. When he came on shore for a short period he took up his residence at Stanmore Park. A maiden sister, always called Madam Everard, who superintended his household, was the only other constant member of his family. Stanmore Park was a fine old place of red brick, with spreading wings. A long drive under an avenue of noble trees led up to the front of the house, and looked out on a wide extent of park land. There was a beautiful view of the sea from the windows on the opposite side. There was a magnificent lawn of thick shrubberies, and lofty umbrageous trees, and extensive lakes, across which were bits of woodland scenery, the graceful trees of varied foliage being reflected in the calm water. Altogether, Stanmore Park was a very delightful place. Harry, however, although he was very fond of going there, liked the inhabitants even more than the place itself. Madam Everard was a good kind woman who, though advanced in life, had feelings almost as fresh as those of her young nieces, who were pretty, attractive girls. Harry thought so, and as he saw a good deal of them, he was well able to judge. His happiest days were spent in their society; sometimes attending them on horseback, sometimes fishing with them in the lake, sometimes rowing them in a boat on the largest piece of water. Captain Everard had had a miniature frigate placed on the lake; and Harry was present while it was being fitted out and rigged, so that he learnt the name of every rope and sail belonging to her. It was wonderful how much nautical knowledge he gained on that occasion.
Chapter Five.
Two Young Fire-Eaters Out-Generalled
Lynderton was about that time made a depot of a foreign legion, and although the presence of a large body of military did not add much to the morality of the place, there was a considerable number of talented persons among the officers and their wives. Instruction could now be procured in abundance, in foreign languages, dancing, singing, in the use of all sorts of instruments, from pianos down to flageolets, and in drawing and painting. Counts and barons were glad to obtain remuneration for their talents, and many a butcher’s or grocer’s bill was liquidated by the instruction afforded to the female portions of the commercial families of the place in dancing and singing. Colonel Everard engaged a very charming countess to instruct his daughter and niece in dancing, and as it was convenient to have a third person, Harry was invited over to join the lessons. The name of the French lady who taught them dancing was Countess de Thaonville. She was a very handsome person, but there was a deep shade of melancholy on her countenance. No wonder. Her history was a sad one, as was that of many of her countrywomen and countrymen, now exiles in a foreign land. Harry benefited greatly by these lessons. They contributed to civilise and refine him. Had, however, Madam Everard known a little more of the world, as years rolled on, she would probably not have invited him so often to come to the house. In his young days he had looked on Lucy and Mabel very much in the light of sisters, but somehow or other he began to prefer one to the other. Mabel was certainly his favourite. How it came to pass he could not tell, but he was happier in her society than in that of her cousin, or in that of anybody else. He was only about two years her senior, while Lucy was several years older. This might have made some difference. Occasionally the Countess brought a young officer of the legion, Baron de Ruvigny, to the house to assist in the music, as he played the violin well. He was a mere youth, but very gentlemanly and pleasing, and he became a great favourite with Madam Everard. Harry did not quite like his coming; he thought he seemed rather too attentive to Mabel. However, he was a very good fellow, although he could not play cricket or row a boat, and as Mabel certainly gave him no encouragement, Harry began to like him.
By the time Harry was eighteen Mabel had become a lovely and an amiable girl. No wonder that being much in her society he should have loved her. Lady Tryon, who had always indulged him, was not long in discovering the state of his affections, and instead or attempting to check him, she encouraged him in his wish to obtain the hand of Mabel Everard.
Colonel Everard, like many old soldiers, was an early riser. He usually, in the summer, took a walk before breakfast through the grounds. His figure was tall and commanding. Although considerably more than seventy, he still walked with an upright carriage and soldier-like air. He carried a stick in his hand, but often placed it under his arm, as he was wont in his youth to carry his sword. The front part of his head was bald, and his silvery locks were secured behind in a queue, neatly tied with black ribbon. His features were remarkably fine, and age had failed to dim the brightness of his blue eye. His invariable morning costume was an undress military coat, which had seen some service, while no one could look at him without seeing that he was a man accustomed to courts as well as camps. One morning he was stopping to look at a flower-bed lately laid out by his daughter Lucy, when he heard footsteps approaching him. A turn of the walk concealed him from the house.
“Well, Paul, what is it?” he asked, looking up.
“I have something to communicate, Colonel.”
The speaker was a tall thin man, with a mark of a sword-cut on one of his well-bronzed and weather-beaten cheeks, which had not added to his beauty. There was, notwithstanding this, an honest, pleasant expression in his countenance which was sure to command confidence. His air was that of an old soldier; indeed, as he spoke, his hand went mechanically up to his hat, while as he