The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley. William Henry Giles Kingston

him dead. Two more only had now to be disposed of; they, still in ignorance of the fate of their companions, sprang up the hatchway, and before they had time to gain their feet were thrown down and secured. The man who had fallen below was groaning heavily.

      “He’ll do no harm,” observed Pat Casey.

      “Arrah, don’t be too shure of that,” said Tim; “if he was to come to life, he’d be after letting loose the others. It will be wiser to lash him too; and unless the dead man is kilt entirely, I’d advise that we prevent him from doing mischief.”

      Pat felt the Frenchman’s head. “Shure, I never knew a man come to life with a hole like this in his skull,” he remarked, “but to make shure in case of accidents, we’ll heave him overboard;” and without more ado the body of the Frenchman, who was undoubtedly dead, was shoved through the foremost port.

      Lieutenant Vinoy had not vainly boasted that he was a sound sleeper, for notwithstanding the scuffle over his head, he did not awake; and happily Norah, who had been stationed at his cabin door to keep him in check should he attempt to break out, was not called upon to exercise her courage. The two events which have been described were, it will be understood, taking place at the same time. During those exciting moments no one thought of what the ship was about; the consequence was that she flew up into the wind, and it became necessary to box her off. All hands were required for this purpose—the fore-yards had to be braced round, the after-yards squared away. Owen, from his wound, being the least able to exert himself, went to the helm, the captain hauling away with the rest of the crew.

      “Gerald, do you go forward and keep a look-out on our prisoners,” cried the captain. “If their arms by chance are not securely lashed, one or more of them may be getting free and setting the others at liberty. Call Tim Maloney to help you.”

      Gerald was about to obey this order, when the sound of loud knocking and Norah’s voice came from below, exclaiming, “The lieutenant is awake and trying to break out of his cabin.” Gerald heard it, and shouting to Tim to look after the Frenchmen forward, he sprang down the companion-ladder. He was not a moment too soon, for the French officer, awaking and believing from the sounds which reached him that something was the matter, had leaped out of bed with the intention of hastening on deck, when he found the door fastened on him—then, hearing the captain issuing orders, he guessed truly what had occurred. Supposing that there might yet be time to regain possession of the ship, he frantically endeavoured to break open the door. The only weapon he could discover was the leg of a stool, which having wrenched off, he managed with it to prise open the door. The light from the state cabin fell on him as he appeared at the opening; just at that moment Gerald sprang down from the deck. Catching sight of the lieutenant, he presented his pistol.

      “Stay, monsieur,” he exclaimed, “if you venture out of your cabin, I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of shooting you.”

      The Frenchman hesitated, for, the light glancing on the pistol-barrel, he recognised his own weapon, which he knew never missed fire, and showed him also that he was totally unarmed. Gerald saw his advantage. “Let me advise you, monsieur, to go back and sit down quietly, and no harm will happen to you,” he continued. “The ship is ours, and we intend to keep her.”

      “Parbleu!” exclaimed the Frenchman, shrugging his shoulders; “you have indeed gained an advantage over me.”

      “Very true—but not an unfair one,” said Gerald, laughing, but still keeping his pistol pointed at the officer, who now caught sight of Norah, also with a pistol in her hand, standing a little behind her brother. He might have made an attempt to spring upon Gerald and wrench the weapon from his hand, but from the determined look of the young lady he thought, in all probability, that she would fire over her brother’s head should he do so. He therefore stepped back and sat down on the only remaining stool in the cabin, folding his arms with an air of resignation.

      “I acknowledge myself defeated,” he exclaimed; “but when I have a young lady as an opponent my gallantry forbids me to resist.”

      “It all comes of being a sound sleeper, monsieur,” said Gerald, “but if you had kept your weather eye open it might not have happened. However, you may turn in again now and sleep as soundly as you like till we got into Waterford harbour, where we shall be, I hope, if the wind holds fair, in another day or two. But don’t agitate yourself we’ll treat you as politely as you treated us, except that we shall be compelled to keep you a prisoner, in case you should try again to turn the tables on us.”

      The ship had now been brought round; the head-yards were squared, and the course laid for Waterford. Still there was a great deal to be done; it was necessary to secure the prisoners, so that there might be no risk of their rising. Jacques Busson was a powerful and determined fellow, and he would to a certainty, if he had the opportunity, get free and try to set his countrymen at liberty. The lieutenant also, though addicted to sleeping soundly, was likely to be wide enough awake for the future, and would in all probability try to regain possession of the ship. He was therefore requested to confine himself to his cabin.

      “I am sorry to treat you so inhospitably,” said Captain Tracy, “but necessity compels me, and I hope that it will be but for a short time. I must warn you, however, if you attempt to break out, that we shall be obliged to secure you as we have done your men; but to save you from temptation, we shall secure your cabin door on the outside in a way which will prevent you from doing so. If, however, you will give me your promise not to attempt to regain your liberty, you will be treated with no further rigour.”

      “I must make a virtue of necessity,” answered the lieutenant; “it is a very disagreeable one, but I submit.” And without more ado he threw off his coat and quietly turned into his cot.

      “Don’t trust him, Gerald, whatever he may say,” whispered Captain Tracy, “till we have the door firmly secured.”

      “Ay, ay, father,” answered Gerald; “if he shows his face at the door without leave, I’ll make him draw it back again pretty quickly.”

      Pompey had been left to watch over Jacques Busson and the man who had been serving at the wheel. He had no pistol, but instead he held in his hand a sharp, long-bladed sheath-knife, which effectually kept the prisoners from stirring. He evidently took especial delight in his office, and reluctantly consented to drag Jacques Busson into a cabin, where it was arranged that he should be confined, but at the same time with his arms and legs firmly secured. The rest of the men were carried down into the forecastle, and were placed in their bunks, the captain having examined each of them to be certain that they were lashed in a way from which they could not liberate themselves.

      Morning dawned soon after these arrangements had been made. Jacques Busson grumbled greatly at the treatment he had received.

      “What for you make all dis fuss?” said Pompey, who was standing sentry over him. “You want to take us into French port—we take you into Irish port. Waterford berry nice place, and when we get dere we take you out of limbo, and you live like one gentleman.”

      “Sacré!” answered the Frenchman, who had only caught a word or two of what Pompey had said, “if we fall in with a French ship before we get there, I’ll pay you off, mon garçon, for nearly strangling me with your greasy arms.”

      Pompey only grinned a reply. There was no use wasting words, considering that neither understood the other’s language. The lieutenant took matters more philosophically than his inferior. He was, however, not to be trusted, and either Gerald or Dan kept watch at his door with a loaded pistol. The arms and legs of the other men were too securely lashed to afford much risk of their getting loose; still, a trusty man was stationed over them, as there was no doubt that they would make the attempt could they gain the opportunity, and if one could cast off his lashings he might speedily set the others at liberty.

      The sea was smooth; the sun shone brightly; and the Ouzel Galley made good way towards Waterford. She was, however, upwards of a hundred miles from that port, and might before reaching it fall in with another French ship. She was, indeed, now in a part of the ocean in which privateers were likely to be cruising, on the look-out