Under Wolfe's Flag; or, The Fight for the Canadas

As soon, therefore, as their janitors were out of hearing, they set to work again with the rusty old file, which by this time had lost much of its rust and had begun to bite keenly. It was hard work, but their freedom and their future were at stake. They were hungry, too, for since dinner they had tasted nothing but those few trout which they had taken from the burn.

It was damp and chilly too, but they did not feel the cold, for they were aglow with the exercise and flushed with the promise of victory.

"Hurrah! It's through at last!" exclaimed Jamie, as the file slipped and the heavy bar fell upon the floor with a jangle and a jar.

"Bravo, old fellow! Well done."

Jamie put the file in his pocket, and swung himself up by the remaining bars. There was now an aperture about eleven inches square, and though it required a bit of a struggle to squeeze through that awkward gap, yet they had both done more difficult things than that in the past, and so within five minutes they were both standing in the road outside the lock-up.

CHAPTER III
A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA

The village clock in the old church tower was striking eleven. It was dreadfully dark, but the lads were not afraid, and they started off at a sharp trot, as soon as they had regained their liberty. For some distance they followed the tree-lined road that led away from the village. They kept on in silence till they reached the outskirts of Bogden Woods, then they took one of the narrow, winding paths that led down through the thicket, crossed the stream at the bottom of the dell, and ascended the opposite hill-side.

Still they kept on–now through the more open country, over hill and dale, until at the end of two hours, despite the darkness, they had put six good miles between themselves and the lock-up.

At last, fatigued beyond measure, they halted for a rest below Lin-Crag, one of the highest peaks in the Pennine Chain. Here, on the lower reaches of the moor, they made for themselves a bed of dried heather, where they could lie down.

"Here, let us rest awhile, Jack, for I'm dead beat," said Jamie.

"Right!" said his companion, "No one will discover us here."

After a short breathing space, they began to take stock of their possessions. Alas! Jamie had but a few pennies and half-pence, a piece of tar-band and a tinder-box, while Jack could only find a penknife, a pocket compass and a sixpence. This, then, was their stock-in-trade, and it did not promise them much luxury on their way to the sea.

"Now," said Jack, "I have an uncle who is captain of a ship that trades between the River Plate and Liverpool–Captain Elliot is his name, and the ship is called the Ilawara. If, when we get to Liverpool, he should happen to be in port, I am sure that he would give us both a berth aboard, for once, when father took me to see him, he advised me to become a sailor, when I had grown up."

"Capital! But let's see, how far away is Liverpool?"

"It must be about sixty miles away, and almost due west, right over the moors there, for I've often measured it roughly on the map. I think that's the west, though I can't quite see the needle of the compass in the dark."

"Yes, Jack, that's the west, right over the moors and over Lin-Crag too, and there are about twelve miles of moorland, with plenty of peat-bog, and soft ground, so that it will not be safe to go much further till daybreak."

"You're sure that's the west, Jamie?"

"Yes, certain. Why, look, you don't need a compass! There's the North Star, and the Cassiopean Guards, and right opposite is the south, and over there must be the east, as you'll soon see when the day breaks."

"Bravo, Jamie! You're as good as a compass."

"Then we'll sleep here, and at sunrise we'll get some food and start for Liverpool, and there'll be no going back for either of us. The die is cast, old fellow. What say you?"

"The die is cast! We will not go back."

They both laid themselves down on a couch of heather, there to spend the rest of the night, but they were too excited to sleep–the events of the past twenty-four hours chased each other through their brains. Jamie was nearly dozing off, however, when Jack suddenly leapt to his feet, and exclaimed–

"Here's a piece of luck, Jamie!"

"Why, what's the matter? How you did startle me!" cried the other.

"Just look here!" said Jack, ripping open the lining of his jacket, and taking out something that gleamed bright, even in the starlight.

"Why–it's a guinea! Where did you get it?"

"I'd forgotten all about it myself. About a month ago, Aunt Emma drove over from Honley, to see father, and when she went away, she said something about my being a poor motherless bairn, and she slipped this into my hand as she left. She asked me to buy myself a present with it."

"But you didn't?"

"No! I had a presentiment that when we ran away, we should want it, so I just sewed it into the lining of my coat, and till this moment, I'd entirely forgotten it."

"We're rich men, Jack. We are indeed in luck."

They were doubly excited now and quite unable to sleep, so they talked on about the future that lay before them, full of golden promise, when once they reached Liverpool. Then two hours before the dawn they fell fast asleep, and they slept so soundly that when at length they awoke the sun was nearly half-way to the meridian. Even then they were wakened by a rough but kindly voice that sounded in their ears–

"Here's a pretty sight, Jane! Come and see it. Here are two young gen'elmen, sleeping out o' doors." Then giving them both a hearty shake, he exclaimed, "What's the meaning o' this, young gen'elmen? Have you run away from school?"

Both boys sat up quickly, and rubbed their eyes. Then they looked around them, bewildered and astonished. Where were they? How came they here? Who was this big, burly-looking farmer before them?

It was a full half minute before they became fully conscious of all that had happened. At length they looked at each other, and then burst out laughing, for they were both relieved to find that the intruder was neither Old Click nor Beagle. Jane the milkmaid came over to the spot, leaving the cow that she had been milking, some twenty yards away.

The boys looked around them again to take their bearings before they replied to the farmer. A dozen cattle stood round about, chewing their cud lazily, and flicking off, with their long tails, the flies that had already begun to bother them, while beside the farmer stood his faithful sheep-dog, which had really first attracted his master's attention to the spot. The place where they had been sleeping was a sheltered little hollow, where the meadow joined the moor, while about two hundred yards away was a long, low farmhouse.

"I see you're running away from school, gen'elmen," repeated the farmer, good-humouredly, for there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir," replied Jack, thinking it best to let it stop at that.

"An' where are you goin' to?"

"Liverpool–to the sea–"

A burst of laughter, like a minor explosion, came from the farmer. "Ah, I see. But ye'll be glad to get home before to-morrow night. I once tried it myself, I did. Walked all the way to Liverpool, and when I got there–ha! ha! ha!–the sea was rough, and I was 'skeered' an' I didn't like the look of it, and I turned back home, an' I tell ye, that for four days and for four nights I had nothing to eat, 'cept a few raw turnips. My poor feet were that sore an' blistered that I sometimes lay down and cried, and when at last, after six days, I limped back into the farm-yard yonder, my faither said–

"'What! Home again so soon, Jock? I didn't expect ye for anither week, lad!'

"'Could I ha' a basin o' porridge, faither?' I said meekly.

"'Jock,' he said, 'afore ye touch ony porridge, ye mun' earn it. Do ye see that heap o' stones there? Well, ye mun' wheel 'em across the yard there afore ye touch ony porridge here.'

"It was the same heap of stones that I had refused to wheel, and which had been the cause o' my setting off to Liverpool. I were that tired and faint an' hungry that I were ready to drop, but I simply said–

"'All right, faither,' and I began the task; but when I had wheeled a dozen barrow-loads or so, the old man saw me stagger once or twice.

"'That'll do! Porridge is ready, Jock, lad.' An' to my dying day I shall never taste anither meal half so foine as yon basin o' porridge, an' if ye lads 'll take my advice, ye'll just turn back, and go home again, for it'll come to that later, only then ye'll be footsore and tired and hungry. But please yersel's, I don't suppose ye'll listen to an old man," he added, as he saw a clouded and uneasy look come over their faces.

"We're not going back," said Jamie boldly. "Are we, Jack?"

"No! We'll die first."

"I thought so. Maybe you're hungry, and could do with a little breakfast, lads."

"Indeed, we could, sir, and we're willing to pay for it."

"Tut! tut! Come into the house, then." And the kindly old man led them to the farmhouse, where his wife simply said, "Puir lads," and soon provided for them a substantial meal.

A large steaming basin of oatmeal porridge was soon laid before each of them, made from rich milk, instead of water. They soon made short work of this. Then Jane brought in a plate of home-made cakes, well-buttered, but still their hunger did not abate one jot. The farmer was used to big appetites, and neither his wife nor Jane expressed any surprise. Then their host took out his huge clasp knife and cut several rashers from a flitch of bacon that hung suspended from the ceiling. These were fried along with a few eggs, and when they had cleared this third dish, the keen edge was taken from their appetites, and they declared that they were satisfied.

They thanked the farmer for his great kindness, and asked him how much they were indebted to him, but when they offered to pay, he held up both hands, and exclaimed–

"Not a penny! Keep your money. You'll want it all before long. It does me good to see lads with pluck like yours. Maybe you'll get further than I did. I think you're made of different stuff, and I ha' quite ta'en a fancy to you. While we've lads like you, we shall never want men to fight the Frenchers."

"I have a brother fighting under Clive now, in India!" exclaimed Jack, with a touch of family pride.

"Oh, maybe you're Squire Elliot's son, then!"

At this Jack's face fell, for he saw that he had well-nigh given away his identity.

"Ah well, never mind! Perhaps ye did not get on very well with the old squire. He was a harder man after your poor mother died."

The mention of his mother gave Jack a twinge of pain, and caused a lump to rise in his throat. His mother's early death had removed his guardian angel. Perhaps he would have been a better lad if she had lived; more tame and docile, like other boys.

"Puir lad!" exclaimed the farmer's wife; "and has he no mother then? He ma' weel run away."

Jack's tears were very near the surface, but he forced them back with an effort, for he considered it a great weakness to give way to his feelings.

As they left the old farmhouse, yet another kindness was shown to them, for Jane, secretly bidden by the farmer's wife, had made up a bundle of substantial oat-cakes, with a large piece of cheese, and as they passed out of the door she handed it to them.

This last act of kindness to these two poor motherless lads touched their hearts as perhaps nothing else could have done. They had not been used to such kindness, and they expressed their gratitude, not by words, for they couldn't speak, but by the great, big tears that welled up in their eyes, despite their every effort to keep them back now. Ah! nothing penetrates a boy's heart like kindness.

The old farmer pointed out the way, across the moors, and over Lin-Crag–the way he had trodden fifty years ago, and soon they were climbing the steep hill-side, knee-deep in heather, and following the winding sheep tracks. Again and again they turned round to wave their handkerchiefs at the trio standing by the farm-yard gate now far beneath them, until at last, as they stood on the summit of the crag, the house looked like a little speck in the distance and soon disappeared.

Then they footed it gaily across the lonely blue moorlands. Sometimes they started a covey of young grouse, hidden amongst the heather; then the peewits wheeled around them, uttering plaintive cries, as though bidding them good-bye. The scenes of their childhood, and the landscape on which their infant eyes had first gazed, were now left behind. The little lambs frisked about playfully, or cropped the short, green patches of tough grass near the water-courses, while overhead the larks sang joyously, continuously, and the sun shone brilliantly down from that wide expanse of azure dome.

The lads sang, too, blithely, lustily, for nothing could repress that feeling that was bubbling up within them; they trod the earth lightly, for they were in the "Land of Havilah," which is the "Golden Land of Youth," where the sun is always shining, where all the visions and ideals are golden, the enthusiasm and the energy boundless. So life with all its charm was opening out to them, but what was that life to be?

"Let us halt beside this spring, Jamie, for we have come twelve miles since morning," said Jack, about an hour after mid-day.

So they rested awhile, and ate some of the oat-cakes, and drank at the spring, where commenced a little stream of clear water, which sang its way down to the sea. Soon they left the wild moorlands behind them, and descending the western slopes of the Pennines, they entered the county of Lancaster, and passed through several hamlets and villages, where the rude country people spoke a dialect which they could scarcely understand.

Towards evening their footsteps began to lag. They had long ago ceased to sing, or even to whistle. They were tired and footsore, and for the last hour they had trudged on in silence, for they were both very brave, and neither would confess fatigue.

That night they slept under a hayrick in the corner of a field. They slept soundly, too, but next morning they were up early, and after performing their ablutions, and cooling their blistered feet in a neighbouring pond, they finished the oat-cakes and cheese, and started again.

The first day they had covered nearly half the distance between their home and that rising little sea-port town of Liverpool, whose docks and wharves were now crowded with ships from every part of the globe. The second day, however, they were too footsore to travel half that distance, and they had to break into that golden guinea to buy food, but they still persisted and never spake one word about turning back, and in the afternoon of the fourth day their hearts beat with joy, as they reached the top of a little eminence, that is now part and parcel of the great city of Liverpool, but was then merely a country lane, and their eyes were gladdened by a first glimpse of the forest of masts and spars, that lay in the river beneath them, while out there–beyond the bar, where the breakers were rolling in by the lighthouse–was the sea.

"The sea! the sea!" they both exclaimed.

And in the transport of joy which followed, tired limbs and blistered feet were forgotten, for this was their first glimpse of the sea.

CHAPTER IV
THE WATCH IN THE FORE-TOP

Soon they were down by the Mersey's bank, at a spot where the famous landing-stage has since been erected. Then they passed along the wharves and docks, but recently constructed, where the big ships, with their towering masts and spars, came in to unload their valuable cargoes, for here were ships from the Levant and the Eastern Archipelagoes, from Spain and the West Indies, from the Canadas and the new colonies of America.

Never before had they seen such noble vessels, nor had they dreamt it possible that such leviathans could be built. Never before had they gazed upon such a vast concourse of people, rushing hither and thither, shouting, pushing, loading and unloading, as though every ship must catch the next tide that flowed.

Their hearts swelled with pride as they stood and watched a stately barque, fresh from the River Plate, being warped in to the bank and made fast. Some of her swarthy crew were aloft clewing up the sails, others were below, stowing away, making fast, or squaring the yards, singing snatches of songs, but all of them eager and longing to get ashore and to set foot in Old England again.

Oh, how they envied these men, who had sailed those far-away seas and seen those lands with strangely-sounding names, and islands that gleamed like gems set in the tropical seas. East, west, north and south met here with all their charm and romance, for then Liverpool was rapidly becoming an emporium for the sea-borne commerce of the world.

And so the lads forgot the toil and weariness of the past four days, for they were bewildered by the strange and wonderful scenes which were being enacted before them. They were both romantic and imaginative, and nothing of it was lost upon them, for it all was so new.

They forgot that they were hungry and tired, homeless and friendless, and almost at the end of their tether. It was as though the very ships were speaking to them of the places whence they came. They told them of far eastern seas, of dusky kings and princes, whose palaces, crowned with minarets and towers, lined the golden shores of those far-off lands. They spoke of coral islands which shone like gems in an emerald sea, of shining strands that were edged with fronded palms, of rich and spicy groves that were filled with new and luscious fruits, of the jungle, the prairie and the forest. All these things and more were out there–in the west, beyond the lighthouse and the sunset.

The big ship from the River Plate was alongside now. The merchants were going aboard to see the lading, but the sailors, with merry hearts and other thoughts, were coming ashore, dancing and singing like huge schoolboys set at liberty. One had a parrot that he carried in a cage, another had brought home a monkey, while some had strange curios worked by the natives, but each man seemed to have brought some present or keepsake for those at home. They all seemed so jolly, too, that the boys made up their minds, there and then, that they would take the first ship that offered, whether eastward or westward bound.

'Twas getting toward evening, and in another two hours it would be dark, but they still wandered spellbound about the ships. Several times they had spoken to sailors and officers, and each time Jack had asked after his uncle, Captain Elliot of the Ilawara, but no one seemed to know him. They had now begun to wonder where they would have to spend the night, if no one would take them aboard. They were beginning to feel a little bit uneasy.

In their wanderings they had several times passed and repassed a fine ship that was almost ready for sailing, and they now found themselves close by her again. The men were aboard, and several officers were on the afterdeck, and they had wished very much to hail them, but so far they had not had the temerity to do so.

"I wonder where she's going to, Jack?" said his chum, as they sat down upon a coil of rope just alongside.

"Out west, somewhere. To the Americas, I believe."

"She's going out on this tide. I heard one of the men aboard say so. I wish they'd take us."

"Clear that gangway, lads! Here comes the captain, and the pilot, too!" cried one of the officers.

The lads looked around and saw a smart-looking officer in uniform coming along the quay, accompanied by an older man–a veritable sea-dog, with his arm full of oilskins and a sou'wester on his head.

"How soon do you hope to reach America, Captain Forbes?" the pilot was asking.

"In five weeks, if this wind holds."

"Have you got a full crew aboard?"

"We're three hands short of a full complement, but I don't intend to wait, with this wind blowing."

"Did you hear that, Jack? Three hands short, and sailing to-night," whispered Jamie.

"Now is the time! Let's try our luck."

"Agreed!"

They boldly approached the captain, and Jack, acting as spokesman, began somewhat nervously thus–

"If you please, sir, we want to go to sea."

"What's that?" snapped the captain. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I heard you say, sir, just now, that you were three hands short aboard your ship. If you will take us we will try hard to serve you in any capacity."

"But, my little man," said the captain, stooping down, for he was very tall, "I don't take babies aboard my ship. You see, we haven't got any nurses to look after them when they cry."

The lads drew themselves up to their full height, and told the captain that they were fifteen, and that they had walked sixty miles to reach Liverpool, and that they meant to go to sea, if not aboard his ship, then aboard some other vessel.

"Take an old sea-captain's advice, lads. Don't go to sea till you're twenty, and then you'll never go at all. The sea's not exactly the place for young gentlemen like you. Go home to your mothers."

"We've got no mothers, or perhaps we shouldn't have come here!" said Jack, flushing up a little at the captain's words.

"Oh, come now, my little bantams. If that's so it alters the case. For the boy who hasn't got a mother the sea's not a bad place. Just tell me who you are, and where you come from?"

So they told him all, for there was a glint of kindness in that stern face, and a twinkle in those clear, grey-blue eyes that gained their confidence. They even told the story of Old Click and Beagle, and the lock-up. When they described the manner in which they had held the keepers at bay with the wood-chunks, till they were burnt out, both the captain and the old pilot laughed heartily, and when they had described their long, wearisome tramp to find Captain Elliot's ship, the skipper clapped them on the shoulder and said–

"Bravo! You've got grit and pluck enough to become admirals. Captain Elliot, did you say?"

"Yes, sir, Captain Elliot."

"Of what ship?"

"The Ilawara. He is my uncle, and he promised I should go to sea with him when I was fifteen. Do you know him, sir?"

"Why, yes! We were boys together aboard the frigate Monmouth. We had many a fight with the French in those days, and many a close shave too. Fancy you being his nephew." Then turning to the old pilot, the captain said, "What say you, William? Shall I take the young gamecocks? I like them, but the sea's a rough place for young lads."

The pilot brought a pair of kindly eyes to bear upon the youngsters, as though he envied their youth and outlook upon life, and longed to be young again, and then said–

"Take 'em, Captain Forbes. A voyage will do them no harm. 'Tisn't as though they were taken crying from their mothers. It'll larn 'em a useful lesson. 'Tis just the way I went to sea meself. Take 'em."

"Get aboard, youngsters, and report yourself to Mr. Rogers, the first mate."

The youngsters did get aboard. Their hearts were thumping with pride and glee, for they had gained their hearts' desire, and before long they had cleared the Mersey bar and were standing out to sea, sailing out into the sunset. When the pilot went overboard, he nodded to them, and hoped that they'd come home some day "Admirals of the Blue."

As soon as his duties permitted, Captain Forbes himself took them in hand and assigned them their work. He supplied them each with a middy's outfit, enrolled their names on the ship's books, and gave them a small cabin near his own. Although the captain had taken a special fancy to them, they were not to find it all honey, however. They were to help the men to take in sail, to share in the watches, to personally attend upon the captain, and to do much monotonous and arduous work, but they never shied at it and never disobeyed a superior officer. Each day, however, several hours were set aside for study, and the captain provided the books and set the lessons, which were in mathematics, navigation and seamanship.

Captain Forbes took a kind and fatherly interest in the lads, though he never relaxed for one moment that stern discipline which is so necessary for a headstrong youth. He taught them that the only way to learn how to command others was by first learning how to command themselves. Nevertheless, to set matters right at home he had sent a letter by the pilot, addressed to Jack's father, telling him where the lads were, and asking him not to be uneasy on their account, as one voyage would soon settle whether their future was to be upon the sea or not. Under these favourable conditions our heroes soon got their "sea-legs," and made rapid progress in their new studies, though they never forget the dreadful fright they received the first time they were sent aloft in bad weather.

One dark night, in a fierce gale off the Irish coast, they were ordered to assist the men in furling the main-top-gallant and main-royal sails. The vessel was creaking and straining beneath them; rolling uneasily in the trough of the sea. Long before they reached the crosstrees their hearts were thumping wildly and their teeth were chattering with fright, and for a moment Jack wished that he were safe ashore, even if in the old village lock-up again; but the worst was yet to come.

Far down beneath them the slippery decks seemed black as night, except when a huge green wave swept it from stem to stern. The captain was shouting orders to the men aloft, as though the lives of all aboard depended upon a ready compliance, and for a while the men in the rigging seemed helpless. The hoarse voice of the first mate was heard calling to the men who were struggling at the wheel, and all seemed confusion.

Still, the lads felt that the eyes of the captain were upon them, and they did not come down till their work was done, although when they reached the yards they thought their last moment had come, as the canvas filled like a huge bladder, and nearly hurled them off into the boiling surf and the destruction that threatened them below. They remained at their posts, assisting the men, hanging on sometimes by their teeth, until the sails were dragged in and furled, and the gaskets made fast and true.

After that experience they soon acquired more confidence and were easily at home, whether aloft or below, in fact, if anything, they preferred to be aloft. 'Tis possible, even, that they might have adopted the sea as a profession, and that their names might have come down to us with some of the illustrious admirals of that period, but for an incident which happened when they had been about four weeks at sea, and which changed the course of their lives once more.

They were within two hundred leagues of Cape Cod on the New England coast, and they were congratulating themselves on having escaped the vigilance of the enemy's cruisers, for they had a valuable cargo aboard, destined for Boston, when the following incident happened. Seven bells had just sounded in the middle watch, and both Jamie and Jack were on duty, perched on the crosstrees in the foretop. It was very cold up there, and they were both longing for the end of the watch that they might descend and warm themselves at the galley fire and appease their ravenous hunger before turning in for a sleep. Day was just breaking away to the east, but ahead it was still dark and a little cloudy. Suddenly, through a rift in the clouds, over there in the north-west, towards the coast of the French Canadas, Jamie saw a tiny speck, low down on the horizon. He was about to hail the deck, but first pointed it out to Jack.

"What can it be?"

"Take the glass, Jamie. My hands are so numbed and cold I cannot keep it still."

Jamie took the telescope, and steadying himself for an instant, he leaned against the mast and held the glass to his eye. As he brought it to bear on that speck, the cry involuntarily burst from his lips–

"A sail! A sail!"

"Where away?" called the first mate from the deck.

"On the starboard bow, sir, north-west by west."

"What do you make of her?"

"Can't raise her hull yet, sir, but she must be a big ship, for she carries a good head of canvas."

Almost instantly the mate was up in the fore-top, carefully examining the stranger. As he did so a grave look crossed his face.

"Anything wrong, sir?" queried Jamie.

"I don't like the look of her. I fear she's no friend. We may have to run." Again he examined her. Then, shutting up the glass with a bang, he said–

"Go down, Elliot, and call the captain."

"Aye, aye, sir."

While the captain was being called, eight bells sounded the end of the watch, and though Jack had been eagerly longing for that blessed sound before, he would now willingly have remained aloft to watch that distant speck, which seemed fraught with such danger.

As he reached the deck he met the captain coming up the companion ladder. The latter immediately called out to the first mate, who had remained aloft–

"Is she showing any colours, Mr. Rogers?"

"Not yet, sir!"

"What do you think she is?"

"She's a cruiser, sir. Of that I'm pretty certain, but whether English or French I can't yet say."

At this alarming news, the captain himself went aloft and keenly examined the movements of the stranger for a few minutes, and then said–

"She's a French cruiser, Mr. Rogers, and a fast one too. We must either fight her or show her a clean pair of heels."

In a few minutes the Duncan's course was altered. Every stitch of canvas that she could carry was flung out. Royals and stuns'ls were set, and with the foam surging under her bows she fairly bounded through the water, leaving a wake astern that was a mile long.