Chapter One.

“Hillo, Roger! glad to find you at last. I have been hunting up and down along the cliffs for the last hour or more, till I began to fear that you must have been carried off by a Barbary corsair, or spirited away on the end of Mother Shipton’s broomstick.”

The speaker was a fine-looking lad of sixteen, dressed in the costume worn by Puritans in the time of the second Charles—a long cloth coat of unobtrusive hue, knee-breeches, high-heeled shoes with large buckles, a thick neckcloth tied in a bow, and a high-crowned, broad-brimmed hat; but the brim of the lad’s hat was looped up on one side by a rosette of silver lace, his shoe-buckles were of massive silver, his neckcloth was of silk, and his coat of fine cloth, betokening that he was of the rank of a gentleman, and that, if a Puritan, he had taken no small pains to set his person off to the best advantage.

“Faith! I had no idea that I had been so long hidden away in my cosy nook, and if you had not ferreted me out, Stephen, I should likely enough have lain perdu for another hour or more,” answered Roger, a sturdy blue-eyed boy, apparently a year or two younger than Stephen Battiscombe, and of the same station in life; but his dress, though of gayer colours and less precise cut than that of his friend, was somewhat threadbare, and put on as if he had not troubled himself much about the matter. “See, I have been studying the art of navigation, and begin to hope that I shall be able to sail a ship through distant seas as well as Drake or Cavendish, or Sir Martin Frobisher, or Sir Richard Grenville, or the great Christopher Columbus himself,—ay, and maybe to imitate their gallant deeds,” he continued, holding up a small well-thumbed volume. “I have not made as much progress this morning as I expected to do, for I have ever and anon been watching yonder fine ship, which has long been in sight, striving to beat down Channel against this light westerly breeze, but for some time past she has made no progress, or rather has been drifting back to the eastward.”

“It seems to me that she is standing in this way,” observed Stephen, shading his eyes with his hand from the noonday sun. “Certes, she is a goodly craft, and light as is the wind slips swiftly through the water.”

“Would that I were on board of her!” exclaimed Roger. “She is doubtless bound out to some of those strange lands of which I have read in Master Purchas Pilgrims, and many another book of voyages. How I long to visit those regions, and to behold with mine own eyes the wonderful sights they present!”

“Many, you should understand, are mere travellers’ tales—lying fables—such as Sir John de Mandeville would make us believe about monsters, half man and half beast, and people walking about with their heads under their arms, and cities of marble, the windows of precious stones, and the streets paved with gold, and such like extravagances,” observed Stephen. “I much doubt also whether your father will readily accede to your wishes. Think how he would grieve should any of the many mishaps befall you which so often overtake those who voyage on the treacherous ocean.”

“My father knows that I must seek my fortune in some calling or other, and he would be well pleased were I to come back with a goodly store of the gold of Golconda to restore the impoverished fortunes of our house,” answered Roger, still looking eagerly towards the approaching ship.

“Day-dreams, my friend, day-dreams,—natural enough, but very unlikely to come true,” said Stephen in a somewhat sententious tone, such as he considered became one of his mature years. If the truth were to have been known, however, Master Stephen Battiscombe was apt to indulge in day-dreams himself, though of a different character—a judge’s wig and robes, or even a seat on the Woolsack, were not beyond his aspirations. He now added, “But we must stop talking here longer. See, the sun is already at his height in the heavens; an we delay the Colonel and Madam Pauline will be justly chiding us for being late to dinner.”

“I am ready,” answered Roger, still, however, lingering and watching the ship in the offing. “But tell me, what cause brought you to Eversden this morning?”

“I came over to ask you to return with me to Langton, that you might join us in making war on the young rooks, which have increased too greatly in our woods of late. Not finding you, I would fain, I own, have remained in the house to enjoy the society of sweet Mistress Alice, but Madame Pauline, cruelly insisting that she required her aid in the manufacture of some conserves, sent me out to search for you.”

“I am bound to be grateful to you for coming, whether willingly or not, to look for me, or I might have remained in my nest mayhap till the sun had sunk behind Beer Head out yonder,” said Roger, beginning to climb up the cliff. “I would gladly, however, remain till the ship comes near enough to let us get a better sight of her.”

To this, however, Stephen would not consent, for the reason he had already given, and Roger also well knew that his uncle, Colonel Tregellen, would be displeased should they not appear at the regular dinner-hour.

Roger Willoughby’s cosy nook, as he called it, was a small hollow in the cliff a few feet from the summit, surrounded by a thick growth of purple bramble, scented clematis, pink thorn, and other shrubs, which formed a complete shelter from all but southerly winds, and likewise concealed it from any one passing along the downs above. It was on a part of the Dorsetshire coast between Lyme and Bridport, almost in the centre of the extensive bay which has Portland Bill on its eastern side and the Start Point on the west. To the right could be seen Lowesdon Hill and Pillesdon Pen rising above the surrounding country, while to the left a line of precipitous cliffs extended in a bold sweep for several miles to the conical height of the Gilten Cap, visible to the mariner far away out at sea, while inland, beyond a range of smooth undulating downs, were fields of grass and corn, orchards and woods, amid which appeared here and there a church steeple, the roof of a farm-house or labourer’s cottage, or the tower or gable-end of some more pretentious residence.

Still, Roger accompanied Stephen Battiscombe with evident reluctance, and turned more than once to take another look at the approaching ship which had so attracted his attention.

“She must be purposing to come to an anchor close to the shore, and we may be able to go on board her,” he exclaimed.

“Very possibly her captain intends to bring up to wait till the tide turns,” said Stephen in a tone of indifference. “If you have a fancy for visiting her, the sooner we get back to Eversden the more time you will have to accomplish your object, should your father not object to your going; but as we do not know the character of the vessel, he may doubt whether the trip is a safe one—she may be a pirate, or a trader in want of hands, and may kidnap you and your boatmen to fill up the complement of her crew.”

Roger laughed heartily as Stephen ceased speaking. “We need not fear any danger of that sort,” he said. “My father is not so over-careful of me as you suppose. Neither he nor the Colonel will say me nay, and if you are unwilling to accompany me, I will go alone.”

“No! no!—if you go I will go with you,” answered Stephen. “I merely wished to warn you, that you might not be disappointed.”

“I know well that I can always trust you, and that you are ever ready to please me when you can,” said Roger. “But, as you say, it were a pity to lose time—so we will hasten on to the manor-house, and as soon as we have satisfied our hunger, we will return to