“Hold your confounded bawling,” cried the gunner, “or you’ll have the guard down here: you’re not hurt.”

  “Han’t hi?” roared the steward. “Oh, let me die, let me die; don’t move me!”

  “Nonsense,” cried the gunner, “you must get up and walk down to the boat; if you don’t we’ll leave you — hold your tongue, confound you. You won’t? then I’ll give you something to halloo for.”

  Whereupon Mr Tallboys commenced cuffing the poor wretch right and left, who received so many swinging boxes of the ear, that he was soon reduced to merely pitiful plaints of “Oh, dear! — such inhumanity — I purtest — oh, dear! must I get up? I can’t, indeed.”

  “I do not think he can move, Mr Tallboys,” said Gascoigne; “I should think the best plan would be to call up two of the men from the cooperage, and let them take him at once to the hospital.”

  The gunner went down to the cooperage to call the men. Mr Biggs, who had bound up his face as if he had a toothache for the bleeding had been very slight, came up to the purser’s steward.

  “What the hell are you making such a howling about? Look at me, with two shot-holes through my figure-head, while you have only got one in your stern: I wish I could change with you, by heavens, for I could use my whistle then — now if I attempt to pipe, there will be such a wasteful expenditure of his Majesty’s stores of wind, that I never shall get out a note. A wicked shot of yours, Mr Easy.”

  “I really am very sorry,” replied Jack, with a polite bow, “and I beg to offer my best apology.”

  During this conversation, the purser’s steward felt very faint, and thought he was going to die.

  “Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a fool I was; I never was a gentleman — only a swell: I shall die; I never will pick a pocket again — never — never — God forgive me!”

  “Why, confound the fellow,” cried Gascoigne, “so you were a pickpocket, were you?”

  “I never will again,” replied the fellow, in a faint voice: “Hi’ll hamend and lead a good life — a drop of water — oh! lagged at last!”

  Then the poor wretch fainted away: and Tallboys coming up with the men, he was taken on their shoulders and walked off to the hospital, attended by the gunner and also the boatswain, who thought he might as well have a little medical advice before he went on board.

  “Well, Easy,” said Gascoigne, collecting the pistols and tying them up in his handkerchief, “I’ll be shot, but we’re in a pretty scrape; there’s no hushing this up. I’ll be hanged if I care, it’s the best piece of fun I ever met with.” And at the remembrance of it Gascoigne laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Jack’s mirth was not quite so excessive, as he was afraid that the purser’s steward was severely hurt, and expressed his fears.

  “At all events, you did not hit him,” replied Gascoigne; “all you have to answer for is the boatswains’s mug — I think you’ve stopped his jaw for the future.”

  “I’m afraid that our leave will be stopped for the future,” replied Jack.

  “That we may take our oaths of,” replied Gascoigne.

  “Then look you, Ned,” said Easy; “I’ve lots of dollars; we may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, as the saying is; I vote that we do not go on board.”

  “Sawbridge will send and fetch us,” replied Ned; “but he must find us first.”

  “That won’t take long, for the soldiers will soon have our description and rout us out — we shall be pinned in a couple of days.”

  “Confound it, and they say that the ship is to be hove down, and that we shall be here six weeks at least, cooped up on board in a broiling sun, and nothing to do but to watch the pilot fish playing round the rudder, and munch bad apricots. I won’t go on board; look ye, Jack,” said Gascoigne, “have you plenty of money?”

  “I have twenty doubloons, besides dollars,” replied Jack.

  “Well, then we will pretend to be so much alarmed at the result of this duel, that we dare not show ourselves, lest we should be hung. I will write a note, and send it to Jolliffe, to say that we have hid ourselves until the affair is blown over, and beg him to intercede with the captain and first lieutenant. I will tell him all the particulars, and refer to the gunner for the truth of it; and then I know that, although we should be punished, they will only laugh; but I will pretend that Easthupp is killed, and we are frightened out of our lives. That will be it; and then let’s get on board one of the speronares which come with fruit from Sicily, sail in the night for Palermo, and then we’ll have a cruise for a fortnight, and when the money is all gone we’ll come back.”

  “That’s a capital idea, Ned, and the sooner we do it the better. I will write to the captain, begging him to get me off from being hung, and telling him where we have fled to, and that letter shall be given after we have sailed.”

  They were two very nice lads — our hero and Gascoigne.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  In which our hero sets off on another cruise, in which he is not blown off shore.

  Gascoigne and our hero were neither of them in uniform, and they hastened to Nix Mangare stairs where they soon picked up the padrone of a speronare. They went with him into a wine-shop, and with the assistance of a little English from a Maltese boy, whose shirt hung out of his trousers, they made a bargain, by which it was agreed that, for the consideration of two doubloons, he would sail that evening and land them at Gergenti or some other town in Sicily, providing them with something to eat and gregos to sleep upon.

  Our two midshipmen then went back to the tavern from which they had set off to fight the duel, and ordering a good dinner to be served in a back room, they amused themselves with killing flies, as they talked over the events of the day, and waited for their dinner.

  As Mr Tallboys did not himself think proper to go on board till the evening, and Mr Biggs also wished it to be dark before he went up the ship’s side, the events of the duel did not transpire till the next morning. Even then it was not known from the boatswain or gunner, but by a hospital mate coming on board to inform the surgeon that there was one of their men wounded under their charge, but that he was doing very well.

  Mr Biggs had ascended the side with his face bound up.

  “Confound that Jack Easy,” said he, “I have only been on leave twice since I sailed from Portsmouth — once I was obliged to come up the side without my trousers, and show my bare stern to the whole ship’s company, and now I am coming up, and dare not show my figure-head.” He reported himself to the officer of the watch, and hasting to his cabin, went to bed, and lay the whole night awake from pain, thinking what excuse he could possibly make for not coming on deck next morning to his duty.

  He was, however, saved this trouble, for Mr Jolliffe brought the letter of Gascoigne up to Mr Sawbridge, and the captain had received that of our hero.

  Captain Wilson came on board, and found that Mr Sawbridge could communicate all the particulars of which he had not been acquainted by Jack; and after they had read over Gascoigne’s letter in the cabin, and interrogated Mr Tallboys, who was sent down under an arrest, they gave free vent to their mirth.

  “Upon my soul, there’s no end to Mr Easy’s adventures,” said the captain. “I could laugh at the duel, for after all, it is nothing — and he would have been let off with a severe reprimand; but the foolish boys have set off in a speronare to Sicily, and how the devil are we to get them back again?”

  “They’ll come back, sir,” replied Sawbridge, “when all their money’s gone.”

  “Yes, if they do not get into any more scrapes — that young scamp Gascoigne is as bad as Easy, and now they are together there’s no saying what may happen. I dine at the Governor’s to-day; how he will laugh when I tell him of this new way of fighting a duel!”

  “Yes, sir, it is just the thing that will tickle old Tom.”

  “We must find out if they have got off the island, Sawbridge, which may not be the case.”

  But it was the case. Jack and Gascoigne had eaten a very good dinner, sent for the monkey to amuse them till it was dark, and there had waited till the padrone came to them.

  “What shall we do with the pistols, Easy?”

  “Take them with us, and load them before we go — we may want them: who knows but there may be a mutiny on board of the speronare? — I wish we had Mesty with us.”

  They loaded the pistols, took a pair each and put them in their waists, concealed under their clothes — divided the ammunition between them, and soon afterwards the padrone came to tell them all was ready.

  Whereupon Messrs Gascoigne and Easy paid their bill and rose to depart, but the padrone informed them that he should like to see the colour of their money before they went on board. Jack, very indignant at the insinuation that he had not sufficient cash, pulled out a handful of doubloons, and tossing two to the padrone, asked him if he was satisfied.

  The padrone untied his sash, put in the money, and with many thanks and protestations of service, begged our young gentlemen to accompany him: they did so, and in a few minutes were clear of Nix Mangare stairs, and, passing close to his Majesty’s ship Harpy, were soon out of the harbour of Vallette.

  Of all the varieties of vessels which float upon the wave, there is not, perhaps, one that bounds over the water so gracefully or so lightly as a speronare, or any one so picturesque and beautiful to the eye of those who watch its progress.

  The night was clear, and the stars shone out brilliantly as the light craft skimmed over the water, and a fragment of a descending and waning moon threw its soft beams upon the snow-white sail. The vessel, which had no neck, was full of baskets, which had contained grapes and various fruits brought from the ancient granary of Rome, still as fertile and as luxuriant as ever. The crew consisted of the padrone, two men and a boy; the three latter, with their gregos, or night greatcoats with hoods, sitting forward before the sail, with their eyes fixed on the land as they flew past point after point, thinking perhaps of their wives, or perhaps of their sweethearts, or perhaps not thinking at all.

  The padrone remained aft at the helm, offering every politeness to our two young gentlemen, who only wished to be left alone. At last they requested the padrone to give them gregos to lie down upon, as they wished to go to sleep. He called the boy to take the helm, procured them all they required, and then went forward. And our two midshipmen laid down looking at the stars above them, for some minutes, without exchanging a word. At last Jack commenced.

  “I have been thinking, Gascoigne, that this is very delightful. My heart bounds with the vessel, and it almost appears to me as if the vessel herself was rejoicing in her liberty. Here she is capering over the waves instead of being tied by the nose with a cable and anchor.”

  “That’s a touch of the sentimental, Jack,” replied Gascoigne; “but she is no more free than she was when at anchor, for she now is forced to act in obedience to her steersman, and go just where he pleases. You may just as well say that a horse, if taken out of the stable, is free, with the curb and his rider on his back.”

  “That’s a touch of the rational, Ned, which destroys the illusion. Never mind, we are free, at all events. What machines we are on board of a man-of-war! We walk, talk, eat, drink, sleep, and get up, just like clock-work; we are wound up to go the twenty-four hours, and then wound up again; just like old Smallsole does the chronometers.”

  “Very true, Jack; but it does not appear to me, that, hitherto, you have kept very good time: you require a little more regulating,” said Gascoigne.

  “How can you expect any piece of machinery to go well, so damnably knocked about as a midshipman is?” replied our hero.

  “Very true, Jack; but sometimes you don’t keep any time, for you don’t keep any watch. Mr Asper don’t wind you up. You don’t go at all.”

  “No; because he allows me to go down; but still I do go, Ned.”

  “Yes, to your hammock — but it’s no go with old Smallsole, if I want a bit of caulk. But, Jack, what do you say — shall we keep watch to-night?”

  “Why, to tell you the truth, I have been thinking the same thing — I don’t much like the looks of the padrone — he squints.”

  “That’s no proof of anything, Jack, except that his eyes are not straight; but if you do not like the look of him, I can tell you that he very much liked the look of your doubloons — I saw him start, and his eyes twinkled, and I thought at the time it was a pity you had not paid him in dollars.”

  “It was very foolish in me; but at all events he has not seen all.”

  “He saw quite enough, Ned.”

  “Very true, but you should have let him see the pistols, and not have let him see the doubloons.”

  “Well, if he wishes to take what he has seen, he shall receive what he has not seen — why, there are only four of them?”

  “Oh, I have no fear of them, only it may be as well to sleep with one eye open.”

  “When shall we make the land?”

  “To-morrow evening with this wind, and it appears to be steady. Suppose we keep watch and watch, and have our pistols out ready, with the greatcoats just turned over them, to keep them out of sight?”

  “Agreed — it’s about twelve o’clock now — who shall keep the middle watch?”

  “I will, Jack, if you like it.”

  “Well, then, mind you kick me hard, for I sleep devilish sound. Good — night, and keep a sharp lookout.”

  Jack was fast asleep in less than ten minutes; and Gascoigne, with his pistols lying by him all ready for each hand, sat up at the bottom of the boat.

  There certainly is a peculiar providence in favour of midshipmen compared with the rest of mankind; they have more lives than a cat — always in the greatest danger, but always escaping from it.

  The padrone of the vessel had been captivated with the doubloons which Jack had so foolishly exposed to his view, and he had, moreover, resolved to obtain them. At the very time that our two lads were conversing aft, the padrone was talking the matter over with his two men forward, and it was agreed that they should murder, rifle, and then throw them overboard.

  About two o’clock in the morning, the padrone came aft to see if they were asleep, but found Gascoigne watching. He returned aft again and again; but found the young man still sitting up. Tired of waiting, anxious to possess the money, and supposing that the lads were armed, he went once more forward and spoke to the men. Gascoigne had watched his motions; he thought it singular that, with three men in the vessel, the helm should be confided to the boy — and at last he saw them draw their knives. He pushed our hero, who woke immediately Gascoigne put his hand over Jack’s mouth, that he might not speak, and then he whispered his suspicions. Jack seized his pistols — they both cocked them without noise, and then waited in silence, Jack still lying down while Gascoigne continued to sit up at the bottom of the boat. At last Gascoigne saw the three men coming aft — he dropped one of his pistols for a second to give Jack a squeeze of the hand, which was returned, and as Gascoigne watched them making their way through the piles of empty baskets he leaned back as if he was slumbering. The padrone, followed by the two men, was at last aft — they paused a moment before they stepped over the strengthening plank, which ran from side to side of the boat between them and the midshipmen, and as neither of them stirred they imagined that both were asleep — advanced and raised their knives, when Gascoigne and Jack, almost at the same moment, each discharged their pistols into the breast of the padrone and one of the men, who was with him in advance, who both fell with the send aft of the boat, so as to encumber the midshipmen with the weight of their bodies. The third man started back. Jack, who could not rise, from the padrone lying across his legs, took a steady aim with his second pistol, and the third man fell. The boy at the helm, who, it appeared, either was aware of what was to be done, or seeing the men advance with their knives, had acted upon what he saw, also drew his knife and struck at Gascoigne from behind. The knife fortunately, after slightly wounding Gascoigne on the shoulder, had shut on the boy’s hand — Gascoigne sprang up with his other pistol, the boy started back at the sight of it, lost his balance, and fell overboard.

  Our two midshipmen took a few seconds to breathe.

  “I say, Jack,” said Gascoigne at last, “did you ever—”

  “No, I never—” replied Jack.

  “What’s to be done now?”

  “Why, as we’ve got possession, Ned, we had better put a man at the helm — for the speronare is having it all her own way.”

  “Very true,” replied Gascoigne; “and as I can steer better than you, I suppose it must be me.”

  Gascoigne went to the helm, brought the boat up to the wind, and then they resumed their conversation.

  “That rascal of a boy gave me a devil of a lick on the shoulder; I don’t know whether he has hurt me — at all events it’s my left shoulder, so I can steer just as well. I wonder whether the fellows are dead.”

  “The padrone is, at all events,” replied Jack. “It was as much as I could do to get my legs from under him — but we’ll wait till daylight before we see to that — in the meantime, I’ll load the pistols again.”

  “The day is breaking now — it will be light in half an hour or less. What a devil of a spree, Jack!”

  “Yes, but how can one help it? We ran away because two men are wounded — and now we are obliged to kill four in self-defence.”

  “Yes, but that is not the end of it; when we get to Sicily what are we to do? we shall be imprisoned by the authorities — perhaps hung.”

  “We’ll argue that point with them,” replied Jack.

  “We had better argue the point between ourselves, Jack, and see what will be the best plan to get out of our scrape.”

  “I think that we just have got out of it — never fear but we’ll get out of the next. Do you know, Gascoigne, it appears to me very odd, but I can do nothing but there’s a bobbery at the bottom of it.”

  “You certainly have a great talent that way, Jack. Don’t I hear one of these poor fellows groan?”