48

JACK DORY, THE FREE-TRADER.

BY W. H. G. KINGSTON, ESQ.

CHAPTER I.

THE untiring waves of the changeful ocean have in vain expended their storm-excited fury for more than half a century since the time of which we write on the bold cliffs of Britain's Isle. Children have been born, have grown up, have become grey-haired men, and have died. Successive kings have ruled the land, and have become dust. Constitutions have been changed; things unthought of have occurred; wonders have been worked; manners and customs have altered; a generation has passed away-the ocean alone, though full of change, is still the same; the rocks and it laugh kings and constitutions to scorn.

On the coast of Dorsetshire, projecting far into the waters of the Channel, is a high and narrow headland well known to seamen by the name of the Bill of Portland.

It consists of a huge mass of fine granite rising abruptly out of the sea, and would be completely an island, were it not joined to the main by a long narrow strip of sand, so narrow, indeed, that in westerly gales the waves wash completely over it. It is generally called the Isle of Portland. On the northern and eastern side of the head is a bay called Portland Bay, which affords anchorage to ships in westerly winds; and further still to the north and on the innermost part of the isthmus is Weymouth Bay, on the shore of which the pretty town of that name is situated, once celebrated as the abode of one of England's best of kings.

The Bill of Portland also forms the eastern side of a deep and large bay called West Bay, of which Berry Head, and the shore on which the beautiful towns of Torquay and Tynemouth are situated, is the west side, the distance across being about thirty miles. On the north side of the Bill and on the shore of West Bay is the village of Chiselton. It is an uncivilised little place, inhabited chiefly by pilots, fishermen, and quarrymen. There are two other little villages or hamlets on the island, one called Weston, on the west side, and the other Wykeham, on the summit of the cliffs above Church Hope Cove, a little deep bay, overlooked by an old castle. The wealth of Portland consists in its stone, and it is full of very valuable quarries which may be profitably worked for centuries yet to come. There is a church in the centre of the island, two windmills, and a few trees in the more sheltered positions. On the summit of the cliff at the very end of the Bill now stand two lighthouses, serving to warn mariners of the surrounding dangers, though in the days of which I write they did not exist.

In a direct line to the south for a distance of several miles, especially during spring tides, whenever there is any wind there runs a furious and dangerous race, known well to seamen by the name of the Race of Portland. This is owing to the broken and rocky nature of the bottom, over which the tide rushes round the headland at a rapid rate. On beholding it one is impressed with the idea that the water is imbued with life or moved by some unseen agency. It tumbles, and leaps, and rolls, and

twists in the most violent and extraordinary manner. When powerfully excited it rushes up the sides and falls bodily down upon the decks of the largest ships, and woe betide the unfortunate bark of small tonnage whose hatches are not securely battened down! A broken plank or shivered spar will alone remain to tell the tale of her fate. Many a vessel running up Channel in hopes of finding shelter in some friendly port has unwittingly approached its dangers; and as the roar of its angry waters has struck upon the ears of the affrighted crew, without any other warning they have found themselves amid a boiling caldron of waves. In vain they attempt to escape-the sea claims them as its prey. The guards of the lighthouses have often seen such approach, and, without the slightest power of rendering assistance, have beheld them sink beneath the wild mad waves. So powerful is the current that a vessel has not, except with a strong breeze, the power of stemming it, and, once within its influence, is unavoidably driven through it. At a point to the east of the Bill the current sets directly off the land into the very centre of the race, so that a boat struggling to gain the shore, if she once reaches that point, must, if it blows hard, be inevitably lost. This point is appropriately called Put-off Point.

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To the east of the Bill some three miles off is another dangerous spot, denominated with more than ordinary propriety the Shambles, for numberless have been the unfortunate wretches who have there become the of the ocean. It is a ledge of a mile in length, consisting of rock and sand, on which, if the stoutest ship drives, she is quickly broken to pieces. by the fury of the waves. Cruel has been the fate of those who, perhaps returning home after a long absence from England, have thus lost their lives within sight of their native shore.

As one sails by the Bill during neap tides, in calm weather, all appears bright and smiling, and the headland itself a picturesque spot, alongside of which a vessel may lie moored to take in her cargo of stone. Such is a very brief description of the Isle of Portland, which we shall find necessary for the clear comprehension of the events in our story.

It was a beautiful evening. The sky was clear; the sun, sinking towards the waters of the west, shone bright and warm, and the slight ripple caused by the light summer wind which played over the sea gaily sparkled as the beams of the glowing luminary fell on them. Few could suppose that that same laughing water could suddenly be aroused to destructive anger.

On the very southernmost point of the headland we have been describing, at a spot on the summit of the cliffs which commanded a clear view up and down the Channel as far as the eye could reach, and also into Portland Roads, a young girl was standing. She was the only human beng on the scene. Her figure was slight and graceful, though small, and almost concealed by a red cloth cloak, with a hood attached-the usual dress of the peasants of that part of the country in those days. Her straw hat had fallen back, disclosing a profusion of light glossy ringlets, which, as the breeze blew them across her fair brow, appeared tinged with a golden hue. Her eyes were large, of a deep blue, and full of expression; and although at first her countenance seemed almost infantine, on a second glance it told of woman's thoughts and woman's feelings-of a guileless heart, yet of a mind no longer childish.

То say that she was simply pretty would not be doing her justice, for she approached to being, if she was not perfectly, beautiful; and although her whole costume was that of a peasant-girl, she possessed a delicacy of complexion, and there was a grace and refinement in her appearance and manner, which made it seem that she must belong to one of the highest grades of society. At her feet lay a remarkably handsome mastiff, who evidently felt that he had committed to him the duty of protecting her from all molestation. One hand rested on her guardian's head, while the other held a long staff or wand, with a flag attached to it. Her gaze was directed towards a vessel which was approaching from the westward. The vessel was a cutter of considerable size, and though heavily rigged, and not to be compared in beauty and symmetry as the graceful fabrics known under that name at the present day, she was superior to most of her class then existing, both in burden and speed, as was evinced by the way in which she slipped through the water. The wind was off the land, with a little westerly in it, so that she could lay well up into West Bay, or fetch round the Bill. young girl watched the cutter till she thought the flag she held in her hand could be seen from the deck. She then, unfolding it, waved it two or three times in the air. The signal was immediately answered by a small flag run up to the mast-head of the vessel; it blew out for an instant in the breeze, and was again quickly hauled down. On seeing this, she unfastened the flag from the end of the wand to which it was attached, and, letting it hang beneath her cloak, turned to walk toward the centre of the island. She went slowly, as if in a meditative mood, nor did she seem to pay any further attention to the vessel we have been describing. She would stop every now and then, and look at her dog, and pat his head, whereon he would wag his tail slightly; but though she spoke, he seemed perfectly well aware that she was not addressing him.

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"I have done as I was directed, but I wish that the task had not been given me," she said, half aloud. "I cannot think we have any right to aid in what is unlawful; but, ah me! my father would not listen to my excuses if I refused to obey him. He would only laugh at what he would call my foolish scruples, and would say he repented having given me an education so much superior to what other girls of my rank in life obtain. Alas! since my poor mother's death, he has never been the same man he formerly was. Some secret care preys on his mind, and makes him severe; or, if he knew how he grieved me, he would not speak as he does." Thus soliloquising, she walked on for a mile and more, when, weary with the exertion, she sat down to rest on a rock, sheltered from the wind by the ground which rose considerably behind her, while the view to the eastward was open, presenting the calm glittering sea and the coast of Dorsetshire about Lulworth Castle.

Her thoughts were sad it seemed, for she pressed her hands before her eyes, to hide the tears which trickled down her cheeks, though there was no one to witness them, with the exception of her dog, who lay crouched at her feet, and looking up with a sympathising glance, full of intelligence, in her face, as if to inquire the cause of her grief.

After a time her thoughts grew calmer, her hands slowly dropped on her lap, and her eyes closed in sleep. Happy is the rest of innocence and youth; then. the slight cares or sorrows of the moment no longer

So slept the
Her faithful

have power to disturb the tranquillity of the bosom. maiden, with a sweet smile on her lips and a placid brow. companion seemed satisfied, and composed himself with his head on the ground, but not to sleep, for his eyes were open, and his legs extended, ready to spring up in a moment, to do battle in her service.

Time flew on; the sun had sunk beneath the waves, the shades of evening were approaching, and still she slept. Not a sound disturbed her; the soft air fanned her cheek, and the gentle ripple of the water contributed to lull her senses. Fortunately, her dumb companion did not yield to the soothing influences of the moment; on a sudden, his ears erected themselves, he lifted up his head, and then, with a loud fierce bark, sprang forward, but instantly returned to the side of his mistress. The sound awoke her, and she started up with a frightened and confused look, unable to account for the cause of the dog's anger. He continued growling and barking, nor did her caresses tend to soothe him, though he wagged his tail, and looked up affectionately into her eyes, as if to assure her that he would defend her.

"Come," she said, "Nep, we have waited here too long, I fear, and must hie home as fast as we can go." As she spoke she patted her dog's head, and advanced up a slight hill which lay before her. On reaching the summit she paused, for she saw before her a party of four or five men approaching the spot where she was. At the same time her dog manifested the same signs of anger he had before exhibited. One person was in advance of the rest: he was a man of some five or six and thirty years of age, and of good height and figure, and might yet have looked young, had not dissipation already dimmed his eye, and furrowed his brow and cheeks with premature wrinkles. He was dressed in the extreme fashion of the day, with rich lace ruffles and collar, an embroidered waistcoat, and light-coloured long-waisted coat, a flowing wig, with a three-cornered hat, low shoes with buckles, and a sword by his side. Two of his companions wore the Dutch high boots and broad-brimmed hats of fishermen, and a fourth was dressed in a costume of much the same cut, though of coarser materials than the first.

The young girl turned pale as she saw the features of the leader of the party. "Sir James Ousden!" she exclaimed. "Alas! that bad man has come here to persecute me again. I must fly from him, but my strength will scarcely last till I reach home."

No sooner did the person spoken of perceive the maiden, than he rapidly hurried on to meet her. On this, her courage gave way, and she turned aside from the path she had been following to one on the left, which apparently led nearly in the same direction, the intervening ground being broken and uneven. As soon as she began to run, the stranger pursued across the country, evidently hoping to cut her off, but his progress was, fortunately, much impeded by the uneven nature of the ground, his feet suffering from the sharp stones on which he trod.

The dog followed close on the skirts of his mistress's cloak, and it might have appeared that he had partaken in her fear, had he not every now and then turned round with a fierce growl on his pursuer to warn him of the danger of approaching nearer. Sir James Ousden, as she called him, however, did not seem to be daunted by his threats, but, calling on his men to follow, continued the chase.

"Stay, foolish girl!" he exclaimed; "I would not hurt you for worlds;

believe me, fair Jessie-believe me on my honour I would not; then why seek thus to shun me as if I were a fierce beast of the forest?"

His voice only made her run the faster, but her strength soon failed her, and he was on the point of seizing her, when her noble dog, like a good general, seeing that the moment for action had come, turned round with a fierce bark and flew at his throat. In his attempt to avoid the dog, his foot slipped and he fell to the ground. The animal was at his breast in a moment, and would undoubtedly have killed him had not his companions answered his loud shouts for help. The poor girl, her heart in an instant feeling pity for the man who had insulted her, called off the dog; but in this case he refused to obey her, signifying by his looks that now while he held down her pursuer was the moment for her to make her escape. So much engaged was he in looking towards her, that he did not perceive the approach of the other men, and before he had time to stand on the defensive a blow on the head from a heavy bludgeon sent him reeling to a distance. The poor animal could just turn his eyes towards his mistress, as if to say, 66 Ah! had you followed my advice we might both have been well," before he sank motionless and apparently dead on the ground.

As soon as the gentleman (for such, I suppose, he would have been called) found himself released and unhurt, instead of feeling grateful for the compassion shown towards him, with an angry oath he sprang up to overtake the young girl, while his followers, worthy imitators of their master, were about to drive out any spark of life which might remain in her dog.

She had now neither a defender nor the power of escaping.

"This is unmanly, ungenerous," she exclaimed, as Sir James seized her arm and endeavoured to persuade her to fly with him from the island. "I must repeat it, I have more reason to hate than to love you."

The baronet ground his teeth in anger. "Then if persuasion has no effect, I must use, fair one, a little gentle violence," he cried, dragging her forward. "Come, come, no folly; you have no one here to help you."

"But she has though," exclaimed a man, leaping down from a rock under which they were standing, and dealing a blow on Sir James's breast, which sent him staggering back. "What buccaneering work is this, I should like to know? Hilloa! you scoundrels, if you strike that hound, I'll send a bullet through your skulls as sure as you're alive."

These latter words saved the life of Neptune, and his intended murderers slunk off as if fully believing that the threat would be put into execution. The stranger, by his appearance, was evidently a man not to be trifled with. He was strongly built, of middle height, and about four or five and thirty years of age, though from his sunburnt and weatherworn complexion he, at the first glance, looked much older. He was habited in the rough costume of a seaman, but his dress was cut with nautical precision to fit him gracefully, and the materials were new and good of their sorts. He wore a long flushing coat and high boots, much the fashion among seamen in those days; while a leathern belt was round his waist, in which were stuck, with no attempt at concealment, two brace of handsomely-mounted pistols. His countenance was not unprepossessing, though rather broad, and, surrounded as it was with large whiskers and a full beard, it had rather a wild appearance, and there was