Commodore Junk. Fenn George Manville

draw back among the people gathered together. “She seemed to read me like a book.”

      He caught one more sight of Mary Dell standing at a distance, holding her brother’s arm, as the captain entered the heavy, lumbering coach at the church gate. Then she disappeared, the crowd melted away, and the bells rang a merry peal, the ringers’ muscles having been loosened with ale; and as the bride and bridegroom went off to the lady’s home at an old hall near Slapton Lea, Mary returned slowly to the cottage down in the little cove, and Humphrey went to the wedding breakfast, and afterwards to his ship.

      Chapter Four

      A Month Later

      About a month after the marriage Captain James Armstrong was returning one night on horseback from Dartmouth to the home of his wife’s family, where he was sojourning prior to setting off upon a long voyage, it having been decided that the young couple should not set up in housekeeping till his return from sea, so that the lady might have some companionship during his absence.

      He had been to the principal inn to dine with some officers whose vessels had just touched there from Falmouth, and Humphrey, who had been present, had felt some doubt about letting him go home alone.

      “You’ve had too much punch, Jem,” he said. “Sleep here to-night, and don’t let your young wife see you in that state.”

      “You’re a fool,” was the surly reply.

      “You can get a good bed here, and ride home in the morning,” said Humphrey, quietly. “You had better stay.”

      “Mind your own business, upstart,” cried the captain; and ordering his horse he mounted and set off with a lurch, first on one side, and then on the other, each threatening to send him out of the saddle.

      “He’ll be all right, Armstrong,” said a jovial-looking officer, watching. “Come, have another glass. By the time he is at the top of the long hill he will be sober as a judge.”

      “Perhaps so,” said Humphrey aloud. Then to himself, “I don’t half like it, though. The road’s bad, and I shouldn’t care for anything to happen to him, even if it is to make me heir to the estate. I wish I had not let him go.”

      He returned to the room where the officers had commenced a fresh bowl of punch, for they had no longer journey before them than upstairs to their rooms, and there were plenty of servants to see them safely into bed, as was the custom in dealing with the topers of that day.

      “I’ve done wrong,” said Humphrey Armstrong, after partaking of one glass of punch and smoking a single pipe of tobacco from a tiny bowl of Dutch ware. “He was not fit to go home alone.”

      He said this to himself as an officer was trolling forth an anacreontic song.

      “It’s a long walk, but I shall not feel comfortable unless I see whether he has got home safely; and it will clear away the fumes of the liquor. Here goes.”

      He slipped out of the room, and, taking a stout stick which was the companion of his hat, he started forth into the cool night air, and walked sturdily away in the direction of his cousin’s home.

      About half an hour later the drowsy groom, who was sitting up for the captain’s return, rose with a sigh of satisfaction, for he heard the clattering of hoofs in the stable-yard.

      “At last!” he cried; and, taking a lighted lantern, he hurried out, to stand in dismay staring at the empty saddle, which had been dragged round under the horse’s belly, and at the trembling animal, breathing hard and shaking its head.

      “Why, she’s all of a muck,” muttered the man; “and the captain ar’n’t on her. He be fallen off, I’d zwear.”

      The man stood staring for a few minutes, while the horse pawed impatiently, as if asking to be admitted to its stable. Then he opened the door, the weary beast went in, and the man stood staring with true Devon stolidity before he bethought him of the necessity for removing the saddle from its awkward position.

      This seen to, it suddenly occurred to him that something ought to be done about the captain, and he roused up the coachman to spread the alarm in the house.

      “Nay, we’ll only scare the poor ladies to death,” said the Jehu of the establishment, grey hairs having brought him wisdom. “Let’s zee virst, lad, if there be anything really bad. If he be droonk and valled off, he won’t thank us for telling his wife. Zaddle the dwo coach-horses, Ridgard, and we’ll ride to town and zee.”

      The horses were quickly saddled, and the two men-servants trotted along the Dartmouth road till about half-way, where, in one of the gloomiest parts, their horses began to snort and exhibit signs of fear, and as they drew up a voice shouted —

      “Here! Who’s that! Help!”

      “Why, it be Mr Humphrey,” said the old coachman; and dismounting he gave his rein to his companion, and ran forward. “What be wrong, zir?”

      “The captain. Much hurt,” was the reply.

      “I thought zo, zir. His horse comed home without him. He’s been throwed – or pulled off,” he added to himself.

      “It’s something worse, I’m afraid. Here, help me, and let’s get him home.”

      The old coachman lent his aid, and with some difficulty the captain was placed across one of the horses, the lieutenant mounting to hold him on and support him, while the two servants followed slowly behind.

      “Pulled off?” whispered the groom.

      “Mebbe,” said the old coachman; and then to himself, “Looks bad for Mr Humphrey; and if he died, what should I zay to them as asked how I found ’em?”

      The old man walked slowly on for half an hour before he answered his mental question, and his answer was —

      “They’d make me tell ’em the truth, and it might bring Mr Humphrey to the gallows; and if it did, it would be all through me.”

      Chapter Five

      A Keen Encounter

      The prognostications of his fellow-officer did not prove true, for Captain Armstrong, instead of being sobered by the ride up the hill, grew more drunken. The fresh air blown straight from the ocean seemed to dizzy his muddled brain, and when he rode down the hill he was more drunken than ever, and rolled about in his saddle like his ship in a storm.

      This seemed to amuse the captain, and he talked and chuckled to himself, sang snatches of songs, and woke the echoes of the little village street at the top of the next hill, where the tall, square church tower stood up wind-swept and dreary to show mariners the way to Dartmouth harbour.

      Then came a long ride along a very shelf of a road, where it seemed as if a false step on the part of his horse would send both rolling down the declivity to the edge of the sheer rocks, where they would fall headlong to the fine shingle below.

      But drunken men seem favourites with their horses, for when Captain Armstrong lurched to starboard his nag gave a hitch to keep him in the saddle, and when he gave another lurch to larboard the horse was ready for him again – all of which amused the captain more and more, and he chuckled aloud, and sang, and swore at his cousin for a cold, fishy, sneaking hound.

      “He’d like to see me die, and get the estate,” he said; “but I’ll live to a hundred, and leave half a score of boys to inherit, and he sha’n’t get a groat, a miserable, sanctified dog-fish. Steady, mare, steady! Bah, how thirsty I am! Wish I’d had another drop.”

      He kicked his horse’s ribs, and the docile creature broke into a gentle amble, but only to be checked sharply.

      “Wo-ho, mare!” cried the captain, shaking his head, for he was dizzy now, and the dimly-seen trees sailed slowly round. “Wind’s changing,” he said; “steady, old lass! Walk.”

      The mare walked, and the captain grew more confused in his intellect; while the night became darker, soft clouds rolling slowly over the star-spangled sky.

      The ride was certainly not sobering James Armstrong, and he knew